CHP 1. SORROW

Hi guys! This is the same concept for my other story 'Here and Now' But I've pretty much given up on it. But don't worry Jess will appear. But a little more angst. I don't have a beta all mistakes are mine. Enjoy!

Sam had changed these past few years and he knew it. He was no longer the chubby 12 year old named Sammy. He was a young man who had seen many things, been through many hardships. And grown-up too fast. He didn't hold himself higher than others because of this, but he did hold himself apart.

Sam had little to no friends in Johnstown High School. Sam had recently avoided all human interaction outside his family.

Dean had of course noticed, but choose not to say anything. Dean had knocked it down to Sam finally accepting the isolation of the hunters life. Dean himself had not had a friend out of the hunting community since he was in elementary. And was glad Sam had realized that those outside can only cause pain. Unless of course it's a one night stand, that on the other hand, was a whole other form of stress relief.

Sam himself would not say what one reason was responsible for his new look on life. Sam had then thrown himself into hunting. He trained more than even his father called for.

He often skipped homework or study to visit the local park to run laps and run himself dry. He often came home tired, worn and sore. His school work suffered horribly, research for hunts became top priority.

Sam wasn't driven by the need to change his fathers opinion of him. But anger.

Anger that he would never lead a normal life. Anger at never having a friend for more than three months. Anger that he would never join a sports team. Anger that he would never got to college. Anger that he would never marry. Anger that he would never be safe. Anger that he would die young.

A normal existence was out of the question. His father made that clear. He had a responsibility, an obligation. To what? Save the world at sixteen? Fight evil?

All this on his shoulders because he knew the worlds greatest secret. And the reason he knew this secret.. Because he killed his own mother. And then this anger turned in on himself.

Sam by now had deducted that he was his mothers murderer. At first it was unclear to him. Only a dark dream, that came as his only nightmare.

He dreamed he was laying on his back unable to move in darkness. He could only look at a shrouded ceiling. Then a shadow in the already dark place would fall over him. Fear clouded him .Then a soft mellow sound, calming, a voice perhaps but he could not distinguish it. A darker voice more sinister comes soon after, Sam can tell he should know what this voice says, its important. A warm drip falls upon his lips. A bitter taste. Then movement accompanied by a whooshing sound, a cut-off scream, then silence. And the last sound is the slow pit pat of warm liquid upon his forehead.

Then one night it came to him as his gasped awake covered in his own sweat and tears . The dripping a familiar feeling as it is the warm drops of blood. Sam was bombarded with emotions. His fist tearing at his sheets. This one tiny detail and then he knew it deep in his bones. As he must have always. She died for him. It came together slowly. The scream, he knew that voice, that sound, as every child retains some memory of their mothers voice even if repressed. Though not completely clear to him how this was true. He knew it was true. Why his father could sometimes not look him in the eye. Why he hated him.

Sam couldn't take it, he needed something, some kind of outlet for what he was feeling. He scrambled quickly from his bed trying to fend of tears with quick gasping breaths. He stumbled to the bathroom down the hall. Shutting and locking the door behind him. Sam went slowly to his knees. Tightly shutting his eyes, taking slow gasping breathes as his nails clawed at the floor. He bowed his head and began shakily sobbing.

Sam could only think that he was the only reason for all the pain in his family's life. All the sorrow. Without him his Dad would be happy instead of the tortured bitter soul he was today. Dean would be living a normal cookie cutter life. None of this would of happened. He should have never been born.

Sam slid his seated self into the bathroom wall pressing painfully against it. He fisted his hands in his hair and let out a soundless scream. His lips quivered and his face turned red with the effort. Pulsing veins pushed out on his forehead.

His father hated him, he hated everything he was. And Dean, poor unknowing Dean who had always been there for him. Who had raised him. Dean who loved him. Dean had never know. If he did he would surely feel as his father did now.

Sam then thought that the one good thing his father had done for him was not tell Dean. But perhaps that was for Deans sake not his. So that Dean wouldn't have to be tormented by Sam simply for living, and constantly remind of his mothers death as his father clearly was.

Sam was violently shaking now. His bare shoulders rising and falling with stuttered gasp. Sam brought his hand up to his face trying to wipe the tears. He shakily began to stand using the wall for support. His eyes now dry. He stopped for a moment leaning his face against the wall and listened to the sounds of the house. Making sure he had not waken anyone. There was the soft creak of the roof as the wind brushed by but no other sound. Sam was well practiced in silent sorrow.

Sam turned himself completely away from the wall with his eyes still closed and slowly opened them. He was still in darkness hr realized he had neglected to switch on the light. As Sam did so, it flickered for a few seconds before his bent figure leaning on the counter became clear in the mirror.

Sam stood at least two inches taller then Dean now. He could no longer be called thin. But lean and well built, but still with narrow shoulders unlike Deans. Sam had four prominent scars on his chest and one on his abdomen and each had a story. Sam's hands were large with long nimble fingers. They were well calloused and worn, and two of his nails were growing back. As Sam looked over his own face he could not say he was proud at what he saw. Sam's eyes were clearly bloodshot and red and puffy around. His entire face had the sheen of sweat and tears. The scar on his lip stood out more then ever on his pale face. He had splotches of clashing red on his cheeks. And Sam's eyes, held no sorrow, no anger no nothing.

For Sam had decided he was done. He no longer hoped for an escape from the hunters life. He no longer deserved it. He didn't wish for his fathers love or understanding, every insult was well deserved. He would become determined and efficient. But neither would he lay down and take any insult. He would become stronger and better in every way.

REVIEW. CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM is more than welcome in fact I want it. Anything you hated anything you want changed etc. Oh and plot ideas are welcome. Not promising it will happen though. So REVIEW! Possible hurt Sam in later chapters.