Hello people! This story took me a while to write and I only have a single chapter completed as of now. Which means I need suggestions to get rid of the writer's block.

Thanksgiving is primarily celebrated in America. It is practiced relentlessly every year but people aren't really thankful anymore, they gather with families just because it is a national holiday. No matter the religion, thanksgiving is always a big deal, not because people feel the need to thank the higher power for blessing them, but because it gives them a reason to have big feasts and eat more food than they can ever stomach.

I once saw a native American talk about how it is the glorification of them losing their land to settlers, and how life for them has never been easy because of the cruelties they had to face by the hands of settlers as they took over. It truly is sad to think about, if I was ever robbed of my house and made to live like a lesser person in my own home I would cry bloody murder and try to take back what is mine. The natives are the saints in our community, it is because of their patience and incredible tolerance that we are not at war.

Thanksgiving is a big deal all over America, from Alaska to Florida and from Washington to Maine there is not a single state that is not in uproar for this holiday. It was cemented as a holiday by Abraham Lincoln in 1863, it is celebrated on the 4th Thursday of November each year.

It has always been seen as a glorious day paired with big meals. When I was a naive kid with no knowledge of the suffering that was also bought upon people day in day out, still. I always wanted to have a meal with my family, to talk and to be normal just for a day. My yearning bought me nothing but sharp reprimands and shame. I heard the usual 'You are a Winchester, so suck it up and stop being childish we have a hunt to finish, people are dying Sam! Can you be any more selfish.'

It hurt so bad back then, dad calling me selfish and looking at me like I was the reason he drank. The look in his eyes stuck with me, even now, I sometimes see him in my dreams. He is always glaring at me, telling me how bad a son I was, how much of a burden it was for him to carry me around like a noose around his neck strangling him slowly but surely. The literal bane of his existence. I was the cause of his death too. I know that. I do.

While I have given up on being bitter, I have made peace with the choices my dad made. It was for our own good, dad just wanted us to survive, he wanted us to know how to protect ourselves. He accomplished his mission, raised two soldiers, who try as they might could never get rid of that instinct to follow orders, it is so ingrained, it is practically second nature.

I have died before, I have felt the level of pain that is enough to drive the very life out of your body. I have been tortured in ways that are beyond the imagination of humans. Humans are fragile, so easily breakable, but they are also strong, so strong that they were given free will. They were allowed to make decisions for themselves while angels were made to follow orders, were slaves to the will of God.

Just like angels, me and Dean were forced to follow orders, day in day out, our free will was nothing. When I rebelled and tried to break free, I was banished by my own father, I never wanted that. Never. It is exactly what happened to Castiel, he rebelled and he was banished from his own home. He was stranded just like I was. I have felt that same pain that Castiel suffers. At least he still has a father, absentee or not, at least there is hope that one day God will come out of hiding and take him back. I have nothing, no satisfaction, no peace, my father died thinking that I hated him. I have no hope. None.

I have felt responsible for his death for all these years, I was the driver, I should've - I should've - seen that truck. Maybe if I had, dad would still be alive and I could still have a chance at finding my peace. I know for a fact that he never forgave me for going to college, I mean I am the traitor, chose my selfish wants over family. Now though, I am a soldier and I have found my happiness in Dean and the hunt. It is my life now. Dean is the only thing left, he is the only thing I can cling to, to find comfort and reasons to live. If he dies, I won't survive either.

But if dad were to come back I think (I hope to God) he would be more receptive to why I did what I did, and maybe - maybe, he would even forgive me. Maybe he would tell me I made him proud. I survived, that is what he wanted, he must be proud. He must be.

I read a book titled 'the sea' years ago and a quote stuck with me "We carry the dead with us only until we die too, and then it is we who are borne along for a little while, and then our bearers in their turn drop, and so on into the unimaginable generations." I ponder sometimes what motivated the author to write the book with such deep insight and such accurately portrayed emotions over death, loss and grief. It makes me think about dad and how I carry the burden of his death, but it also makes me realize while I have been bought back to life quite a few times there will come a day when I won't return. Will that release me of the burden of guilt, or will it haunt me in the afterlife too.

You would think I had plenty of time to be guilty when I was in the cage or even in heaven. But the thing is being relentlessly tortured or being thrown into heaven with an angel chasing you, doesn't give you much of a thinking room, let alone enough time to feel guilty.

While I don't give two shits about my life, I don't care how I die or when. It is going to happen sooner or later, it is better to be ready for it. I am not suicidal but I am always ready for death. Because no matter how badass a hunter you are, your time comes and when it does you have no choice but to go. John Winchester is a dead proof of it. Pun intended.

Dean won't be happy if he ever found out about my ready-to-die-whenever 'sentiment'. Which is why I keep my thoughts to myself, it is safe here. I hope it is safe here.. I found out a while back that I was possessed by Ezekiel without my consent. I thought things that I would never have shared with anyone. Ever. And Dean - DEAN - my brother, let me be violated, raped of the only thing I had control over, my thoughts, my body. Sometimes I feel dirty, used. I didn't even know and something shared my body, heard my thoughts. It was inside me. Inside me. Something I never wanted, happened. I was violated. I lost control. I killed Kevin with my own two hands. These hands. I - I am incredibly burdened. He was a friend, one of the only friends I had left. And my own hands killed him. It might have been Ezekiel's grace that smote him but it-it happened through my hands. Mine. I didn't even know. I didn't. But KEVIN died. He is dead. Dead. I - I could've saved him. I should've. But I couldn't. Right!? Right?

Dean let it all happen to keep me alive. He said he'd do it again. He would too. I am scared sometimes, I would rather die than get violated like that again. But Dean, he doesn't understand, he doesn't know what it's like to be possessed and controlled and to scream so loud in your head and to not be heard. To cry loud and long and just suffer with no end in sight. To see yourself kill people, end them - like a robot, a servant to someone else's will. It is soul crushing, I have been to the cage, I know exactly how it feels to have your soul crushed.

I am a selfish bastard. I know. But I would never let it happen to Dean, he deserves better. I love him so much, I would do anything for him, anything. If he wanted me to let him go, I would do that for him. I might shoot myself in the head right after but I would let him go. He has never been possessed and I am thankful, so thankful, I could cry forever. It is the worst violation known to this universe. It is rape. It is something that leaves a mark on your soul. It tarnishes you deep inside, irreparably.

It is thanksgiving today. Dean is in the kitchen, I can hear him cursing from the library. He made me swear not to enter the kitchen today, he says he has plans. His absence in the library resonates even while I can hear him working in the kitchen. He is here but not right here. There is a difference. I miss him sometimes, so much - it hurts, even though he is always close these days.

On days like these when there is nothing to research. I have hit dead ends on how to fight the darkness. No cases to look over, no hunts. Just me and Dean, Dean busy with something or other. My mind drifts. It thinks about everything and nothing. I am happy. I am. That doesn't mean my mind doesn't lead me to dark places, events long past but never forgotten.

I open my eyes and jerk as I hear glass shattering, followed by Dean cursing "SON OF A BITCH, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! WHO TOLD YOU TO FALL OVER!" I chuckle because it is just like Dean to curse at or talk to inanimate objects. "Dean," I call out, loud enough for him to hear but not loud enough to hurt my throat. I hear more angry mumbles but no reply. "Dean!" I call louder this time.

"COMING!" Dean yells and runs all the way to the library. Looking cranky but alright. I sigh, not hurt then.

Dean has a washcloth in his hand and looks almost angry, if I didn't know him I would be scared of the look he is wearing on his face. But I do know him and I also know it is not anger but worry on his face.

"Are you okay?" His voice is calm, controlled. His face though is pinched and the wrinkles around his eyes are visible from where I am sitting on a chair with my head on the table. "Yeah, yeah. Fine" I try to reassure but my voice is hoarse and weak. My throat raw and achy.

Dean looks positively skeptical and keeps on staring, I sigh, might as well tell him the truth. "I hurt everywhere, my nose is blocked, my eyes keep watering, I am tired."

He walks over to me palms my face, and I jerk back, his hands are frigid. "Dean! Your hands are freezing." He snorts "It's not my hands princess, you are burning up."

"Am not."
"Are too."
"Not."
"Shut up, Sam."

I open my mouth to argue but instead start coughing, it hurts. My lungs feel like they are on fire. It is not a pleasant feeling. I can't breathe. I can't. "De-" my miserable try at his name is cut off by more coughing which would be fine if it weren't so painful. And OH GOD! I can't breathe.

Things go hazy for a minute and when I blink my eyes open again I realize I am on the floor with my back against Dean's chest, his hands are on my face and chest holding me upright. I realize I can breathe again. It is weird sitting here on the floor but Dean is warm so I can just sit, and Dean can be warm. Nice and warm. If the floor was made of cotton it would've been more comfortable, a blanket would help too.. maybe some apple juice. Yeah.. apple juice..

I hope you liked it, if you did, kindly leave me a review. Thanks for reading. Hope you have a wonderful day. BYEE :D