1Disclaimer: I unfortunately don't own the boys. They belong to the CW and Eric Kripke.
A/N: This is my first fan fiction and it is unbetad. Thoughts and constructive criticism are welcome. This is reuploaded inorder to fix some errors I noticed when I was reading it to a friend.
On the Inside
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Sammy always pushes. He's always trying to find out what I'm feeling, what I'm thinking, what's going on in my head. JEEZ! He is such a girl. He pushes and pushes, and then gives me those damn puppy dog eyes of his. So I crack a little and give him enough to make him happy.
He doesn't understand. Telling him that doesn't help. "Help me to understand! Tell me why." What he is silently saying is "let me in"
Oh, God! I want to. Sometimes I want to so bad that if he pushed one more time, I would spill everything. So I get up and leave, so he can't ask. He says it hurts him, he just wants to help, he hates seeing me suffer.
As I walk to my second baby (Hey, Sammy is and will always be my first, but he'll never know that.) to drive off the latest emotional, chick flick , touchy feely mumbo jumbo Sammy tried to suck me into, I can't help but smile a little sadly. Currently Sam thinks it's just Dad's death and the information my lovely Father so kindly entrusted to my care that has me all "moody and distant" as he puts it. Well, hell! Yeah that's part of it. Not all, though. See, Sammy wants in my head so bad, but if he saw what was there or knew, he wouldn't, no couldn't handle it. I mean come on, he blames himself for everything anyways. Black Plague? Yeah, I'm pretty sure he thinks he was instrumental if not the very cause of the plague to begin with. So I'm pretty damn sure he'd find a way to blame himself for my thoughts as well.
I wouldn't change my past, well, I would if I could keep mom, but if that wasn't possible I wouldn't change it, for myself. I might for Sammy. Not for me though. But then again being four going on thirty isn't exactly easy. From the time I was four, Sammy-boy was my reason for existing, I had to be strong for him. I had to be the stable one for him to turn in our sorely unstable life. Happy Sammy made me happy. Seeing me cry, seeing me hurt, or overly emotional only made Sam anxious, which made him cry when he was a baby, which made Dad nervous, or mad (specially if Sammy wouldn't be quite) which in turn made everyone upset. So it was better to not make Sammy anxious. Then as he got older and more cares where heaped on my small shoulders, a lot of them from hunting, I clammed up. First it was to protect Sam, But then it was to also to try and give him the innocence that I wished I could have had. Well to give it to him as long as I could. He thinks I'm mad he went to college. I'm not. Well, not at him. I wanted him to go to college, I just didn't want him to leave. If he left me I would be all alone with myself and that honestly scares the shit out of me.
Truth is I'm so fucked up inside that if I spill like Sammy wants, I won't be ale to stop. Then I wouldn't be good for anything. So I give him a few crumbs, silently praying he'll hear what I'm not saying out loud, but what my soul is screaming at him to hear, to understand, to tell me it's ok. But Sam doesn't, and I leave, drive for awhile, grab dinner and go back. He starts to say something the minute I walk through the door, but I cut him off with a "don't worry about it Sammy." and toss him his food. And life is back to normal. I'm the strong, unflappable, stable person for Sam to turn to, and Sam? Sammy-boy is the one keeping me together.
Maybe that yellow eyed son of a bitch was right. I do need Sammy more than he needs me. After all Sammy-boy's keeping me sane, keeping me in one piece, in comparison, what am I doing for him?