I won't be writing this a million times, okay?

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. As heartbreaking as it is, I don't. If I did, you'd see a shitload of Sabriel and Destiel in the RAW. If you know what I mean.

Just for shits and giggles, Sam's a virgin. YAY!

June 15, 2011

Stars. He had always loved stars. He had been sneaking out every moment Dean wasn't paying any attention or as soon as Sam was sure Dean was asleep, he'd be ready to leave the motel room. Since he had been recovering, he always needed more time to think, more time to mull things over. Dean seemed to always be so...bitchy, too. He always, always thought Sam was out for more Demon blood. The distrust shone in his eyes more than an Angel's light even could.

It hurt even more than any other thing imaginable. The Cage was an exception but damn him if it wasn't close. Sam had long since then stopped praying. He knew that it was more than high time to start again, and so, he closed his eyes and he tried as he was stretched out in the middle of an abandoned field, hands tucked behind his head.

God, I know I have done some unsavory things in my life, but Cas told me that even for people like me there is redemption. Please don't make your son a liar. I don't trust anyone but I'm finding it harder and harder to trust even Angels, Angels. Lord, please help me. I need something, but a miracle is far too much to ask.

It'd be nice if you could send me something to draw strength from. This is probably pointless, but, man, I needed to do something. Thank you.

Sam sighed as he opened his eyes. He stared at the starry sky before he hauled himself up and began to walk. It was about an hour before he got to where he wanted to go. A bar, with alcohol, and lots of it.

Alcoholism wasn't something he had planned on turning to, Hell, he wouldn't even admit he had a problem. As he walked into the bar, he was slammed with the heavy sent of cigars and booze, but he was used to it so he welcomed it. It only signaled his soon to come comfort.

He sat down and ordered a bottle of whiskey to go, any would do, and left with it, back to his spot he had claimed hours earlier and opened the bottle, took a sip and sighed. In his ever-changing life, the stars seemed to become his constant, his only friend. They were always there and until he was where he wanted to be, they were the only thing he could look forward to.

So, after half of the bottle had passed, so had an hour and a half, Sam pulled something out of his pocket and lit it, taking a long drag calmed his nerves and he basked in the calmness. Oh, yes, he smoked. He loved it, too. The thought of him becoming something that he hated even more than becoming a junkie was becoming an alcoholic and a smoker.

Half an hour passed and he felt another presence. Awww, shit, he thought. I'm so fucked.

He slowly, slowly turned to the silhouette that had to have been anyone but his brother. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his head and eyesight.

Was that...Gabriel?

"What do you want?" Sam slurred.

"World peace, a candy bar...a sober Sammy." Gabriel murmured the last bit.

"No, I'm serious. What do you want?" Gabriel walked closer to Sam and caressed his cheek.

"Exactly what I said, Sammyboy." Sam looked at him with drunkenly glazed, dilated eyes. "Sam, are you high?"

"Uh, yeah... Please don't tell Dean, he'll kick me out and I'll never be able to come back and-and I don't know what I'd do..."

"Listen, Sam. You have to stop this destructive behavior! I've given this speech before!" Sam's eyes swam in hurt but he knew he had to. He told himself, next week, for real this time. Tomorrow was the night he was going to quit. He just wanted a little more. Just a little.

Gabriel sighed and put two fingers on Sam's forehead, detoxing him. He was no longer addicted, but he would also no longer remember this night, either.

Sam looked around himself, confused as to why he had a half bottle of whiskey and two blunts beside him.

"A seriously not funny joke, man." He growled at Gabriel.

"It's not a joke, Sam."

Sam blinked and confusion was etched deeply into his face. When his eyes were opened, he was back in his motel room, in his Pj's and standing beside his bed. He shrugged and pulled the covers back then crawled into the deeply inviting sheets and rested his head on the pillow. He couldn't have had any more than four hours of sleep this week and these cheap motel sheets felt like satin.