Warning! - Upping the angst factor ;p
C2
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Shutting the lid of the trunk harder than was necessary, Dean used the heel of his hand to angrily rub the unwanted tears from his face. Striding to the driver's side door, he dropped into the seat of the Impala and gripped the wheel with both hands, his knuckles showing white with tension. His movements were quick and sharp as he turned the key in the ignition, knocked the gear into drive and pulled off, refusing to look back at the bunker as he drove away. It was his determination not to look back, that meant Dean didn't see the smartly dressed man and woman step out from the trees and into the road, watching him go. The pair turned to each other and smiled in unison, before blinking out of existence.
-o-
Feeling like he was on auto pilot, Sam had made a pot of fresh coffee, unable to help himself from thinking that it looked like a lot of coffee for one person to get through. Sitting at the kitchen table he tried to make some amount of sense out of his thoughts and feelings. Really, even more so than when he openly denied Dean as his brother, leaving Dean both angry and torn apart inside -Did I do that three times? I can't remember- Sam had managed to actively cut Dean out of his life between cases. He had been ensuring that he was never sat in the same part of the bunker as Dean, and avoided speaking to him unless it became necessary. Silence came naturally to Sam but it never had to Dean, part of the reason Dean didn't like spending the hours in a library, unlike Sam who was more than content to do. Whilst the distance between Sam and Dean had grown, become more ingrained, the bunker had been for the most part, silent as the grave. Both the Hunters had then begun to take refuge in their separate rooms. Whether Dean's reason had been anything like his, Sam didn't know. He hadn't asked at the time, and he couldn't ask now. Before Dean's interference in Sam's life, or rather his death, the bunker had very quickly became their home base. Now suddenly it felt way too big, much too empty. Sam's sense of belonging there had already begun to dwindle, being gradually replaced instead by the growing feeling more akin to being an uninvited intruder stuck wandering the corridors of a large, abandoned museum at night.
-o-
A surge of anger drove Sam rapidly to his feet, the speed of his movement knocking his chair backwards and sending it crashing to the floor. Spinning around, Sam started toward the open kitchen door, knocking a foot against the fallen chair on route. Without thinking, Sam grabbed hold of the chair, lifted it above his head and threw it against the nearest wall, watching in satisfaction as the chair broke on impact, snapping two legs right off. This was all Dean's fault. He had no right! No right at all to bring Sam back. It wasn't Dean's choice to make, it was his, should have been his. Dean conned him, and invited a creature to enter and take control of Sam's body. It might have been Gadriel residing inside, but it was actually Dean who had violated him, and for what? So that poor old Dean didn't have to be alone. And where was poor old Dean now? Right. Exactly where he hadn't wanted to be, on his own. And of course that meant now, so was Sam.
-o-
The pain exploding in Sam's knuckles as he punched the wall meant nothing and he punched it again, uncaring of the sensation when his forefinger and middle finger broke, not seeing the bloody marks on the wall from where the skin over his knuckles had torn and peeled off on contact. Moving away from the wall, Sam turned and let himself fall backwards against it, thumping his back on the wall before sliding down it, until he was sat on the kitchen floor. He immediately began to bang the back of his head rhythmically on the wall, his eyes screwed tightly closed, his breathing deep and heavy. Each time his head hit, through gritted teeth, Sam repeated in sync Why?... Why?... Why?...
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