A/N: So I've been having this idea in my mind for a while. I mean, what other things did Sam have to forgive himself for when he didn't have a soul? How the heck did Dean deal with it all? How did it all take a toll on them?
Please read and review. There will be more to come, just have to be patient. I take time to make sure each piece of work is well put together.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything belonging to Eric Kripke or anyone working with Supernatural, sadly, including the boys. The only thing here that is mine is my imagination running wild in this rainy setting.
Warnings: Language, slight wincest if you squint.
It was three a.m., the witching hour as they called it, the rain was just beginning to patter against the one grimy window their run-down motel room carried, and Sam found himself struggling to shut the painful memories of the past year with out his soul.
They were becoming more and more clear with every nightmarish dream he woke up soaked to the bone in sweat from. It was a shame they weren't nightmares, he pled with himself that they were. But Sam was slowing starting to remember. It was safer to do so, since he pushed all of his Lucifer problems onto Castiel, who was now left as a vegetable in the care of Meg.
"God why can't I just handle himself," Sam thought out loud in a barely whisper to himself.
He started to remember all the murders he allowed to happen on his watch, his soul-less mind, justifying them as a means to the monsters behind the crimes. He had flashes of all the random women and men he fucked over the last few months without his moral compass. He painfully reminisced about the case in that town he shouldn't have ever gone back into if he was going to play smart like his brother had advised.
"Don't use the same crapper twice," Sam whispered to himself.
He sighed and turned over to face Dean, who slept on the bed nearest to the door, always ready to get up and leave in case anything happened. Sam hoped Dean did that to protect his Sammy in case anything came barging in.
Or maybe he slept closest to the door so he could get out and leave with more ease. It was a desperate hope that wasn't the reason Dean slept nearest the door. Sam hoped he was just doing it to protect Sammy.
Sam felt his forehead crease at the idea of Dean calling him that childish nickname he hated to admit he missed to hear. Dean hadn't called him that since the Arachne case. His heart began to drop at the thought of that nickname falling from his beautiful older brother's full lips.
"Sammy," Dean breathed while brushing the bangs out of his younger brother's eyes, a whisper of a smile on his lips.
"Stop it. Stop thinking about it. It won't do any good for your already fucked up record," Sam berated himself under his breath so his quietly snoring brother wouldn't hear.
His fingers began to clench into fists at the mere split second of a memory he allowed himself to relive from his awkward teen years.
Those deep forest green eyes were like smooth jade. He had never really looked at Dean's eyes this way before. He had never been this close to his face to be able to see them so clearly and deeply.
A tear began to fall down Sam's cheek.
"Stop it Sam," he said to himself, shutting his eyes and turned to face the wall again, pressing his fingers into the cut on his palm, hoping it was Lucifer just fucking with him, making him remember all those painfully wonderful memories. He knew somewhere deep down he was punishing himself for all the horrible stabbing wrongs he cut his beloved brother's heart with in the last year.
He murdered innocent people.
He let Cas take his crazy because he was too weak to deal with it anymore.
He slept with all those people.
He betrayed his Dean with each and every patchouli, blonde, and married woman or man he got with just to get off.
He lost his trust.
He lost his best friend.
He lost his role model.
He lost his affection.
He lost his love.
Sam felt the hot tears of his frustration, guilt, disappointment, and disgust with himself slide down his face. Dean was less than six feet away from his bed sleeping, and Sam had never felt so distant from him in his entire life.
The rain sounded like dull needles against the window.