There was a soft knock at the door, Sam knew without a doubt who it would be. His dad would have never knocked.
"Go away, Dean." For a second, Sam was actually surprised at how his voice sounded to himself. It sounded rough and tired, well he wasn't that surprised because he sounded just as he felt.
"Sammy, please. Can't we just talk for a minute?" Dean pleaded through the door. It was unlocked, but he figured Dean wouldn't just barge inside unless it was an emergency.
Sam shut his eyes, feeling the tightness in his chest at his brother's pleas. "I- please Dean. I need…" I need your help, please help me. I'm drowning. "I need some space."
"I know Sam. I get it. Could we talk about the hunt then?" Dean tried.
Sam huffed and got off the bed and scooted to the door, slowly creaking it open until he could see Dean. He wished he hadn't done that. Dean's face was so full of concern and desperation it made him physically ill to know he'd been the one to cause it. He bit his lip and backed away from the door and dropped onto his bed, clenching and unclenching his hands waiting for Dean to speak.
"So, dad needs our help with a zombie infestation over in Virginia Beach. He said that if you kill the original, the rest would follow. The original is some young girl in her twenty's, I think dad said her name was Elle something. I don't know… Anyways, we're packing up in the morning. Bobby's staying here, he has another job a few towns over he's gonna take care of." Dean looked down at Sam. "Sammy-"
"Dean I don't want to talk about it, okay? I'm fine." I'm not fine. I do want to talk about it. "I just want to be alone for a while. Don't worry about me." He put on his best smile. He didn't want his brother to worry about him. He was a grown man and he needed to take care of his problems by himself… Though his method of taking care of his problems wasn't the best, it worked for him. Now he just needed to convince Dean he was okay so that he could be alone to take care of things. He unconsciously began stroking the pocketknife in his jeans.
Dean sighed, "Well, you know you can always talk to me… About anything. Right Sammy?" He hedged.
"Of course I know that. I just need to take care of myself for a change. I promise I'll tell you if I need you, but really… Nothing's wrong." Sam lied through his teeth. If he felt ill before, he definitely felt the sickness coming now. Bile rose in his throat as he swallowed it down, clenching his jaw tight. Dean watched him for a moment, considering what Sam had just said and started for the hall.
"Dad and I, Bobby too… We just want you to be okay." He told Sam without turning to face him, his hand on the doorframe. With that last statement, he walked out of their room and downstairs.
"I'm never going to be okay." Sam muttered under his breath, so low he could barely hear it himself.
He turned toward the window and saw that it was already dark out and he was exhausted. Sam considered his options of trying to go to sleep then or releasing some built up emotions with the comfort of his knife so that maybe he could sleep more peacefully. He went with the latter as he rose and stealthily made his way down the hall and into the small shared bathroom. Shutting the toilet seat, he sat and pulled out his pocketknife that he'd gotten from his father when he was just seven years old. The initials SW were carved into it and he slid his finger over the ornate script. With a deep breath, he popped the blade out and pulled the sleeve of his plaid shirt up to the elbow. Sam clamped down on his lip as he watched the skin pucker from where the blade bit into his skin. Ruby red drops came down onto the paper towel he laid on his leg. Not too much, he couldn't chance having anyone see now that he was on their radar.
After three small slices, he decided he was done for the night. He felt as if a load had been lifted from him and was suddenly very tired. Sam stood and opened the toilet seat and threw the soiled paper towel into the bowl and flushed the toilet. Running cold water, he rinsed both his wrist and the blade under the running water. Sam, for the first time in a long time, really looked in the mirror. He all but gasped at what he saw there. It didn't look like himself. But the man staring back with wide, alarmed eyes was him.
His skin was pallid and dark circles were forming under his eyes. They weren't terribly noticeable. His face was a bit sunken in, again, wasn't too noticeable. He just looked as if he had been on the mend from the flu or something. Though these things would not really stand out to a complete stranger, he knew that his family would see them. He turned away disgusted, stomach rumbling. Now came another dilemma. Go downstairs and possibly have to speak to Dean or his dad or even Bobby to get something to eat, or just go to bed. He wasn't going to chance it.
He walked back to his and Dean's room and saw that Dean was already in bed. Sam stood in the doorway for a while, not really sure why.
"You just going to stare at me or are you gonna get your ass to bed, Samantha?" Dean joked. He could hear the smirk in his voice.
"Yeah, okay. Bed… right." He stumbled in the darkness to his own bed and quickly changed into an old sweatshirt and matching pants. He was so tired he almost didn't bother pulling the sheets back before falling face forward into his pillow, wrapping himself in their warmth. Not a minute later he could feel someone –Dean he was guessing- pulling the covers higher on his back and pulling his wayward bangs away from his forehead. A quiet sorrowful sigh filled the room and then he heard the springs of the other bed as Dean went back to sleep.
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The next morning, Sam found himself tangled in his sheets. He could hear snickering coming from the other side of the room as he began the arduous task of unwrapping himself from the blankets. As he pulled the last of the sheets away he twisted and fell onto the floor. The snickering turned into full-blown laughter as Sam quickly jumped up and rubbed his leg where he'd fallen on it.
"S'not funny Dean."
"The hell it isn't, Sammy!" He kept up his laughing until Sam leveled an irritated glare his direction. "I got all of your shit packed while you were off in lala land. We're leaving in twenty. You might want to go downstairs and grab some grub cause we're going to be on the road all day… And you know how dad never wants to make pit stops." He raised his eyebrow.
"Yeah, you're right." He agreed and followed Dean downstairs to the kitchen where Bobby was cooking up some eggs. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his dad packing up the Impala. "I guess we're taking the Impala. So we are all going to be in the same car then, huh?" He felt something in the pit of his stomach similar to stage fright. Dean just nodded. Understanding washed over his features as he figured what Sam was getting at with the question.
Bobby put a bowl of scrambled eggs and a plate full of bacon on the table. Sam and Dean sat in unison while Bobby pulled out the ketchup and placed it in front of Sam with a small smirk. Dean piled his plate full of bacon and only a spoon full of eggs while Sam took mostly eggs and only some bacon. He squirted the ketchup on his eggs, just like he used to when he was a kid. Dean always thought it was gross, but Sam thought the way he shoved bacon down his throat without hardly swallowing was gross.
"Hey kid." Bobby came and sat next to Sam and gave him a meaningful look. "You know your daddy wanted to see ya, it's not just cause of the hunt..."
"Yeah Bobby, I know." He didn't really believe that, but he wanted to make him feel better, so he lied. He's been doing that a lot lately. Actually, he's been doing that his whole life. Always trying to take the blame or telling white lies to comfort others.
"Now get to eatin'. You're six foot four, you need to keep some meat on your bones or you'll end up looking like a skeleton." He lovingly nudged Sam with his elbow as he passed him, walking out to where his father was. "Hey John, want some help with that? I could-" his sentence was cut off when he shut the door behind him. Sam finished up what he could of his breakfast and headed out towards the Impala with Dean on his heels. This was going to be a long trip…
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A full twenty-four hours later, after changing hands at the wheel a few times, Dean pulled into an average motel near the bay. He managed to get about an hour of sleep before it was his turn to drive and then he handed the wheel off to Dean after his turn. Their dad got out of the car and walked in to get them a room.
"So, when are we going to head out?" Sam asked, not really interested.
"We just spent twenty-four fuckin' hours in a cramped up car… If dad even thinks about making us go and hunt that zombie bitch anytime today I'll personally throw him out the door." Exhaustedly, Dean wiped his hand down his face. "I know it's only ten in the morning, but I'm gonna take a long nap the second we get inside. How 'bout you? Get much sleep on the ride?" Dean tried making conversation.
"I got an hour or so." A huge yawn had Dean following his action a few seconds later. "Yeah, I'll probably try to get a little more sleep. Who knows when we'll be heading out." Just then they saw their father stepping outside the building holding up a pair of keys and they stepped out of the vehicle.
They walked to their room, room 66, which had another six drawn next to the others. Well that was a great sign if he'd ever seen one…
"Well that's just great. Stupid kids don't know what is really out there." Dean spouted.
Their dad walked in first as usual, checking out the room before the boys came in. "Sam, lay down the salt lines while Dean and I bring in the rest of our bags." Dad ordered. Sam made quick work of salting the door and windows before noticing one huge problem.
Dean walked in first and dropped his and Sam's duffle bags at the door followed closely by their father. "Um, dad?" Sam started, staring pointedly at the two full size beds in the room.
"Sam, don't start. We don't have the means to get each of us our own bed. You'll just have to share with your brother." Sam huffed out a loud sigh. "You used to sleep in the same bed all the time when you two were younger!"
"Younger being the key word. We are two grown men." Sam tried to sound like he wasn't up for the idea, though really he didn't mind it. He would always sleep better when they shared a bed, but that was a long time ago. Their father just ignored him and went to the tiny bathroom and turned on the water for a shower.
"Hey man. Promise I won't take advantage of you during the night. I don't swing that way." Dean chortled and slapped Sam's shoulder as he walked to the bed furthest from the door and flopped down on the bed kicking off his boots. Sam walked toward the bed too and kneed Dean's dangling foot. "Bitch." Dean looked at him expectantly and Sam wasn't one to disappoint.
"Jerk." He sat at the edge of the bed and set his elbows on his knees. Running a hand through his hair he laid back onto the bed and the second his head hit the threadbare sheets, he was asleep. He didn't see his father coming out of the bathroom, didn't see him stare lovingly at his sons. He didn't feel his whisper light touch across his forehead, or him tugging off his shoes.
When he woke, it was dark out. He and Dean were both under the covers and he could hear the soft snoring radiating around the room. He pushed himself up on his elbows and noted the two eldest Winchesters sleeping peacefully. Sam smiled fondly at the sight. It was as if nothing had changed… As if those four years had not happened. But they did. What was the point anyway? Why did he even bother going to Stanford in the first place, just to have his dreams ripped away because of one fateful night? He didn't want to be here… In this damned motel room, in this state, in this life. Sam had rebelled against his father's crusade for as long as he could remember. He wanted none of it, and yet… Here he was.
Sam never thought of himself as the suicidal type. He always knew that he had a responsibility to his family and to people he didn't even know. He had thought of suicide a few times in his life though he only tried to go through with it once.
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Sam was heading off to yet another high school, in another town, in another state. They were hunting a wendigo in the forests behind the park at the edge of town. That night, they would be going to kill the beast that'd been snacking on children wandering too close to the forests edge… Thanks to Sam, they almost didn't make it out that night.
When they were all deep in the trees, waiting for the monster to come out, Sam and their father were having an argument. Sam didn't want to leave right after they finished the hunt. He had a history presentation due the next day that he'd been working on for a whole week.
"SAM. This is no time to be whining about some stupid history project! The second we kill this son of a bitch we're heading out. Now get your act together." His father sternly spoke at Sam. He didn't speak to him, he spoke at him.
"But dad, I-" a sudden rustle of the bushes caught Sam's attention and he yelled to Dean, "DEAN! BEHIND." One second too late, Dean tried to turn to get a flare off. The wendigo swiped his claws toward Dean and sent him flying into a tree with a loud thud. He heard his father curse and Sam sent a shot toward it, narrowly missing his target. The wendigo came at Sam and almost grabbed him up when his father sent his flare spiraling through the air and hit the creature in the chest. It arched it's back and sent a horrid howl to the sky as it burned. Sam didn't even take a second to look at it burning as he sprinted over to his brother.
"Dean. Dean can you hear me?" He frantically shook his brother until he could see his deep green eyes open to tiny slits and a moan came from him. "Oh thank God. Dean I am so sorr-" He was cut off when a hand came down harshly on his shoulder and pulled him backwards onto his rear.
"Son, are you alright?" His father questioned. He received a small whine when he prodded his head where some blood was trickling down his face. Sam peered around his dad to see a few slashes across his arm. They didn't look too bad though. Probably wouldn't even need stitches.
"Dean?" Sam whispered. He felt awful. He shouldn't have been arguing with his father out on a hunt. This was all his fault. The scowl he received from his father confirmed that thought.
"Sam, go bring the car up the trail. If anyone tries to stop you, knock them out." His father spoke in a monotone voice.
"Yes sir." He rushed down the trail and toward the Impala. Even though he was only fourteen, he knew how to drive just as well as someone who has been driving for years. Mostly because he too has been driving for years, since he was twelve years old and he had to drive his injured father and brother home from a hunt gone awry.
Sam sped though the dense trees to where he saw a small opening just large enough for him to turn the car to face where he'd come from and parked it. Seeing his father half carrying Dean, Sam jumped out of the car and toward the pair. His father gestured to the back seat of the car and Sam quickly opened the door and rushed to the other side to help pull Dean in. In a matter of minutes, they were settled in the car. Dean's head rested in Sam's lap while their dad took the wheel and began weaving through the forest toward the main road. A few more minutes later they arrived at one of the shittiest motels they have ever had the displeasure of staying at.
Carefully, they both helped Dean out of the Impala and into the room. Placing him gingerly on his and Sam's shared bed, his father curtly shooed Sam away.
"Dad, I can help. Please let me-" Sam clamped his mouth shut at the glare he was receiving from his father.
"Don't you think you've done enough…?" His father raised his brows, his mouth a tight line.
Sam just walked out of the motel room, muttering to his father he was going to take a short walk. His father agreed that would be for the best. He wasn't sure where his feet were taking him until he was at the edge of a cliff, staring down at the rushing rapids below him. One more step and everything would be over. One more step and all the pain would be gone. His family would be safer not having him around. He was like a bad luck charm they couldn't get rid of. Dean could have died that night because of his stupidity. He was about to take the plunge into the icy water below him when a park ranger grabbed him from behind and dragged him away from the edge, kicking and screaming. He managed to escape his hold and ran back toward the motel, hearing the concerned ranger calling to him from where he left him. When he got back to the motel, Dean was patched up and his dad was sipping on some whisky. Sam made his way toward the bathroom and pulled out his hunting knife he still had on him. This was the first time he'd cut himself.
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