The Third Time

You felt the gravity of tempered grace falling into empty space, no one there to catch you in their arms

Tears ran down his cheeks, burning hot, the saltiness seeping through his lips. He could barely see through the tears. He swerved back and forth across the lane as his hands shook. The music was quiet, too quiet, as rain drops splashed against the windshield and the wipers hummed as they were drug across the glass. He focus too hard on the oncoming headlights to know he was over the yellow light until almost too late when he jerked the wheel back. The air smelled of copper and sweat, no matter how much AC he pumped through the vents.

As he drove, Sam felt something heavy fall against his arm. He looked over to see Dean, bloody, beaten, and… dead. When he saw his brother's broken face that seemed so peaceful, he thought he was just sleeping, snoozing until the next stop. Sure, a little scuffed up, but he'll be better when he wakes up.

But there's no waking up from this, thought Sam. Not after what Metatron had done to him. There was no coming back from that. The tears came again, creating new streams of sorrow down his face. He tried to push Dean off of him with his arm, but he was too heavy so he left him there.

He pretended he was sleeping and the hum of the wipers was snoring…

Sam gently laid Dean's corpse on the bed. He had spend a hour just washing him, taking a wet sponge and wiping off all the blood he could. He left his clothes on and he didn't even look under the bloody shirt that stuck to Dean's chest. He took a step back and watched as Dean slept. He looked peaceful, more than he had in a long time.

Sam tried to make everything good. Dean was in a better place hopefully, he could finally rest, maybe the mark isn't affecting him anymore… But then his mind wandered back to the place he so desperately wished he could carve out. But… I'm here alone.

With more tears brimming in his eyes, he ran out of the room and ran into his own room, slamming the door closed. He threw himself onto the ground, dragging a table down too. He pushed what he could reach off of his nightstand and threw books at the walls. He yelled at the empty space, a loud, angry yell that echoed back. He grabbed the whiskey bottle that fell on the floor and twisted off the cap and pushed the bottle to lips. From the corner of his eyes, he saw some pain pills sitting on the desk. He reached forward and snatched them. He opened the bottle and poured half its contents into his palm. Tossing them into his mouth, Sam let a small whimper escape his lips. He downed the remainder of the whiskey and threw the bottles down.

He curled into himself, pulling his legs to his chest, and he rocked back and forth. "Dean," he cried.

Then he felt something hard in his pocket. He reached inside with tears blinding him, and pulled out a shiny pocket knife, one that Dean had gotten him a couple years ago for Christmas. He opened it and stared at the blade.

Here we go again, he thought.

Memories flooded his mind, what he did before. Like the first time, he wanted to die, but it was more than that. He wanted to be numb, quiet, done. He wanted to be with his brother.

He pulled up his sleeves and dug the blade into his skin, pulling the blade down towards his elbow. He traded hands and did the same to the other arm. The blood pooled out of the wounds. He felt dizier much quicker than he had ever before. Lights danced in his vision, the dark room spun, and it pulsated to his heart.

It felt so good, the burn, the sting; it felt scared, human, right. He chuckled as he cut again.

When he had his fill, he threw the knife across the room. He laid down on his back, putting his arms, palm up, on the floor. The blood continued to pour out. The warmth pooled around his hips and seeped into his jeans, but he didn't care. The world was getting darker and darker, the lights dimming as his chest became heavier and his head lighter.

"Goodnight, Dean."

He closed his eyes…

And he slept.

From in the darkness, he heard a constant beeping, quiet at first but it grew louder as he recognized the rhythm it played. A dull light formed in the center of his vision, and when he opened his eyes, he saw the tiled ceiling of a hospital room.

Dammit.

The door opened and a moment of panic rushed over Sam. He turned his head, but he stopped midway when the world spun faster than he could ever imagine. He lifted his arm to hold his head but found an IV sticking out of his arm. His forearms were wrapped tightly in white gauze. He looked at the bed and realized the rails were padded. There were no sharp objects in sight.

He focused on the figure in the door. A man in a dirty trenchcoat smile grimly at him. His blue eyes sparkled with hurt. He moved into the room and sat gracefully in the chair beside the bed.

"Hello, Sam," said Cas.

"Hey, Cas… Where am I?"

"A hospital. You hurt yourself again…"

"I know. I'm so sorry, Cas." A tear ran down Sam's face.

"Do not apologize, Sam."

An awkward silence fell over them for a few minutes as Sam stared into the blanket and Cas watched the liquid drip in the IV. "How did I get here?"

"I went to the bunker, looking for you and Dean, and I found you in your room on the floor. I couldn't heal you myself so I called 9-1-1."

Sam cleared his throat. "Why were you looking for Dean?"

"I- I don't know." He paused for a long time. "I know what happened, Sam."

Sam looked down again, fiddling with his fingers and the clip they put on his finger. "Yeah."

"Sam, it wasn't your fault. It was no one's fault."

"I could have gotten to him in time."

Cas shook his head. "No, you couldn't."

Sam looked Cas straight in the eyes, a stoic expression upon his face. "Why didn't you leave me on the floor?"

Cas stared back in shock to be asked such a question. "You don't deserve to die."

Sam laughed coldly. "Out of everyone on this damn planet, I do. Not Dean. Me."

"Sam-"

"Don't, Cas. I'm done. Done with all of this. Done with this life, this weight on my shoulders. I'm tired of it."

Tears began to form in Cas's eyes. "That's what Dean said, but you said he didn't deserve to die. Neither do you."

"I don't want to do this," he waved his arms. "without my brother." His voice cracked as he nearly broke.

Cas looked down at his own hands folded in his lap. "I know, I don't want to do it without him either." He looked up and Sam who was staring at the wall, trying to keep from falling apart. "I don't want to do it without you, too."

Sam began to sob. He opened his mouth like he was screaming but no sound come. Muscles in his neck tensed and his whole body shook. He covered his face and turned his back to Cas even though the IV stung sharply when he nearly pulled it out.

Jumping up, Cas ran to the other side of the bed and knelt in front of Sam. He gently placed a hand on his shoulders and rubbed them, trying to get him to come out of his ball.

"Stop…" cried Sam. "Stop… Cas, please… I want my brother. De-" He cried so loud, Cas was afraid the nurses would hear. He took his hand away but didn't leave Sam's side.

"I don't want to lose you, too, Sam. I don't want to lose another brother."

Cas stayed with Sam. He sat on the floor next to the bed. After Sam stopped crying, he fell into a deep sleep, snoring quietly, peacefully. Cas sat on the cold tile watching him from below. He wanted to be right there if he woke up in a fright or went into another breakdown.

A nurse came in once to check on them, and when she saw Cas sitting on the floor, she asked quietly, "Sir?" But Cas merely shoed her away. He stayed that way for hours…

Sam stayed in the hospital a few more days before he was able to get out of bed on his own. When the doctor noticed Sam was physically okay, he began asking questions about why Sam had taken all those pills and why he felt he needed to cut. Sam ignored him, staring blankly at the wall or at Cas. Cas would watch back in forth between the two.

When he noticed Sam was getting tired of the questions, Cas spoke up.

"Sir, could you leave him alone?"

The doctor shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that. He needs to go to the Psych Floor. He isn't stable."

Cas stood up. "No, he has the right to refuse. I have the right to refuse his treatment."

The doctor stared coldly at Cas. "Who do you think you are?"

"I'm his brother, and I say, 'No!'"

"Cas, I want to go home," interrupted Sam.

"He's not well!" shouted the doctor.

"Sam, do you feel well?"

"Well enough to get the hell out of here."

Cas stepped over to the bed. "We're leaving."

"I can't stop you from leaving," said the doctor. "But please, he needs help."

Cas smiled as he helped Sam stand. "I'll help him."

The doctor stormed out of the room. Cas walked Sam over to the bathroom and closed the door behind Sam. He stood at the door until Sam opened it, dressed and ready to go. Cas grabbed the bag he had packed for Sam and together they walked down the hall.

Cas kept a hand on his brother's back, steadying him as they went home.

Hi, guys! I'm sorry it took me so long to upload this chapter. I just finished it with a college preview day tomorrow and I also have so much homework I'm putting off. It's just been so busy lately. Bare with me, I will upload. It just takes time. Thank ya'll for all the positive feedback. Let me know what you think. Leave me a comment! Bye! Until next time...