Nadir
lillelouis asked for more depressed Sam, and it ended up being a little longer than a prompt fic. This will be 3 chapters
Sam was strong. Strongest person Dean knew.
He knew all too well that it would have been easy for Sam to slip into apathy, to rely on Dean for everything—and Dean would've let him, too, he'd do anything for Sammy—but in the process lose everything that made him Sam.
Sam didn't, though, and Dean was so proud.
And terrified.
"Dude, what did you do?"
"I just wanted some tea."
"Okay, I'm going to resist making fun of you for making something so girly and just . . . keep your hand under that water, okay? I'm gonna grab some ice." Dean tore out of the room and shoveled handfuls of ice from the ice machine into his shirt, using it as a kind of pouch.
"The water's not very cold," Sam informed him as Dean re-entered their motel room, sounding kinda subdued, pushing air out through his teeth in a thinly-veiled attempt to hide the pain.
"I know, idiot, that's why I just got ice." Dean dumped the melting ice into a bowl, his wet shirt slapping against his belly. "Here." He filled it with water and twisted Sam's hand so that the burn area was submerged. "Okay. Okay. You good?"
Sam shrugged tightly, and Dean blew out a breath. "Right. You still want your tea?"
"That's okay."
Dean hovered for a moment before remembering that Sam hated that. "I'm gonna go work on the Impala." Dad had given her to him not long before Sam was blinded. Dean figured at the time that it had meant that pretty soon he would be able to take on minor hunts, him and Sam, but that had changed now. At least Dad had still let him keep the car.
"Sure."
Dean left Sam standing with his hand in a bowl with melting ice cubes, feeling oddly guilty—like he was leaving when he shouldn't.
Sam was pretty sure there was something wrong with him, aside from the obvious problem of being blind. Thirteen year-olds were teenagers. That was what everyone said when he told them his age.
Teenagers didn't cry.
The worst part was, he didn't even know why he was crying.
It wasn't from the burn. Sam had been hurt far worse before, touching a hot kettle shouldn't've bugged him at all.
Still, tears flowed down his cheeks, hot and wet.
Man, if Dean saw him like this . . . Sam swiped a hand across his face and breathed in, shuddering and deep. He'd been working so hard to be strong, be himself. If he let Dean help him too much, he would lose himself. He couldn't . . . he had to be strong.
Sam pulled his hand from the ice water, ignoring the dull throb. He was still getting the hang of moving around, but thankfully managed to avoid braining himself as he made his way from the kitchenette to the main room. He needed to calm down. He had to be strong.
"Sammy?"
Sam nearly choked in terror at Dean finding him. Angling his body away from the doorway, he surreptitiously scrubbed at his face with his non-burned hand.
"Sam." Dean's voice was gentle, way too gentle. Sam didn't need to be babied. He was strong.
"What is it, Dean?" Sam managed. There, his voice didn't tremble at all.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he snapped. "Why aren't you working on the car?"
"I thought you might wanna come outside. Hang out with me."
"Not right now."
Sam could feel the shifting in the air from Dean's approach—he was learning how to tell people apart, and Dean was the easiest for him to sense in every way.
"Sammy, are you sure—"
"Dean, just leave me alone!" Sam couldn't really escape, so he sat completely still in the hopes that Dean could take a hint.
"You need to let it out? Dude, for the past couple months you've been stoic as dad during a hunt. So c'mon. Let it out."
"I don't need to let it out, I'm just fine!"
"No, you're not."
"I am!" Sam realized that he was shouting, and clamped his mouth shut.
"Sammy, you're just a teenager and you've been blinded. You're not okay."
Dean's words were steadily ripping Sam apart, and Sam bit his lip in a desperate attempt to keep his scream reigned in.
"Let it go, Sammy."
Rage instead of grief spilled over, and Sam let out an inarticulate yell, slamming his fist into the motel wall that he knew was a couple feet in front of him.
"Sam!" Dean was there, struggling to pull Sam's arm away from the wall, and Sam turned on him, writhing and lashing out, crying and shouting for no reason. It was stupid. It was all so stupid and Sam just couldn't do it, couldn't live like this.
At some point, Sam came back into awareness to find himself completely wrapped up in Dean's arms, feeling completely gross from the tears and snot.
"We're okay, Sammy," Dean promised, his voice coming right next to Sam's ear. "You've been so strong, I'm so proud of you."
"I don't feel strong," Sam admitted quietly.
"You trust me, right?"
"Uh huh."
"Then know that I'm right."
Sam pressed his face into Dean's shoulder and took a deep breath. "Okay, Dean."
A/N: I apologize folks. Having a vacation and not writing anything sort of made me lose focus and inspiration. Thus the lack of writing and posting. And, unfortunately, the troubles aren't over, since I go back to school in a couple weeks (yay). D: