A/N: Ok now that I've been updating this like continuously I'm going to take a little break (like 3 days) so I can update my other fics. I've been getting a lot of inspiration for this story so I thought I should write it all before I forget, so hear it is. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and if anyone has any ideas on how I canimprove let me now : )
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IT'S SALVATION THAT YOU WANT
-SAM POV-
God, can you see me?
Inconsequential. Adjective. Meaning: not important or significant.
That's how I feel right now. Not important. No way am I significant. I'm just this small little person trapped in this big body. I stand up for a second and realize I tower over my brother. Me. The smallest most insignificant thing to ever grace this earth.
I may not look it, but trust me. I'm tiny.
I put on this goddamn self-righteous act. I paint my face so many colors it could never be. I'm a liar. A tiny, insignificant liar.
And I'm so into making people feel sorry for me. I don't mean to, I swear. I sit around all day in this sort of trance. And when I finally come back I find that I'm sitting on a bed with my eyes facing the wall. I'm crying so hard, I wonder if there's a puddle beneath me. And even with this entire show I'm putting on over here, Dean hasn't said one word. Hasn't acknowledged my obvious distress.
I can't even get my own brother to feel sorry for me, that's how unimportant I am.
Goddamnit I'm selfish.
Dean keeps asking me to clean up that mess. And I know that's one of the only things he can think about. But every time I so much as glance at the mess on the floor, I slip into this fear. Like from those pieces she's gonna come back. She's gonna make this more worse than it already is. I can't even face a pile of broken glass. How the hell am I supposed to face my so-called fate.
God, what do you think of all of this?
I've hit my breaking point, in case you haven't noticed. So I'm turning to you. If there even is a 'you'.
I can't turn to Dean. I can't give him another reason to worry. I can't put something else on his shoulders. I don't want to cause him distress. Or confusion or any of the feelings I'm feeling right now. I want this taken care of quietly. I want this over before Dean even finds out what 'this' is.
And I don't know what Dean wants me to think he's doing, but I know what he is doing.
He's been staring at me all day like I'm a king. A president.
That's right, Dean. I'm George Washington, reincarnated, sitting on the floor with shards of glass sticking out of my hand. I'm the yellow-eyed demons chosen one, tears are streaming down my face and I feel like I'm choking on them. Pretty goddamn pathetic, right?
I'm Jessica Moore's boyfriend. I'm Mary and John Winchester's son.
I'm Dean Winchester's brother. I'm supposed to be better than this.
So at this point I've basically used myself as a human sponge. Pressed my hand down into the glass covering our floor to get them to stick. Get them to pierce. But by now I've cried myself so sick, my fingers are tingling. My head is on cloud nine. My entire body is floating somewhere high in the air. A place when petty things like glass and blood do not equal pain.
So I press my hand again. This is supposed to hurt. And all it does is bring a few tears to my eyes. No, not tears of pain. Tears of realization. I'm realizing I'm numb. I can't feel a thing. Should I be happy or sad?
God, can you feel me?
Dean's probably only left me alone here for a few minutes, but it seems like forever. That was the longest three minutes of my life. That was the three minutes when I felt myself give up. I actually felt myself give up on life. I'm giving into fate even though there's probably choices I can make to change it. I can change it, I know I can. But I don't know if I want to.
I've practically been counting the seconds until Dean got back, but when he did I didn't even notice. I'm just sitting here like a complete phsyco. The self-destructive freak sitting in the middle of his dingy motel room. The chosen one? The cursed one? What a joke.
I'm a joke.
I say how a pray every night. And some nights I dream. I dream about god, about redemtion. Salvation. Reclamation. Delieverance. It scares me. I don't know why I'm scared to dream of god, when those are the only things I want. All I really want is to be saved from all of this. And still I'm pushing it all away.
I'm a hypocrite.
I say how I rely on what I can see, when I let my mind drift to the idea of salvation. To the idea that in three days I might kill my brother. To the idea that somewhere in the sky there is a heaven where my mother and father are together, watching over us.
I don't even notice Dean touch my shirt and quickly pull away from me. I don't even notice how I'm crying salty tears into open wounds. I barely even recognize that the soft and soothing shh's are coming from my brother.
I don't even notice I'm suddenly confessing. I'm confessing everything to him. I'm telling him all my secrets. I know he doesn't know what I'm saying. I know he's shutting out the chick-flick-ness of this moment. Ha. I know.
God can you hear me?
I'm letting go of all of my secrets and still feel no weight being lifted. The burden is still there. The trance-like state is still coming and going. I still can't feel anything.
I'm done. I'm gonna die like this. I'm going to cry myself to my grave. I'm sealing my casket. Digging my hole. Burning my body. I'm lighting the match and watching it go up in flames. I'm killing myself, and I know it. I'm fully aware but I can't even snap out of it.
I wonder if I should give up if I'll die. I wonder if they'll open the gates of heaven for me, or if they'll push me down into the firey pits of hell all alone. Maybe that's all I deserve. I'm too small to belong in heaven. I'm too insignificant.
God, will you let me in to heaven?
I'm desperate for Dean to hear me, desperate to make this all go away. The only thing I feel now is myself crumble into Dean's arms. But his arms can do nothing for me. His embrace alone should be more than enough to stop me from changing, but they're not. They do nothing for someone as small as me.
"Come on, Sammy don't cry.
How do you expect me to stop?
"You have to stop you're… You're going to make yourself sick."
I already am sick.
"You're… Little brother… You're gonna make me cry…"
He already is, I can feel his tears on my shoulder. This is what a brother who doesn't know what to do feels like. I feels like a soft head on my shoulder. It feels like a hand on my back. I feels like to hearts breaking at once.
It feels. It sounds. It looks. It smells.
It's this room. It's right now. Right here.
I don't know how I'm supposed to get saved like this.
"Relax"
He's letting my head rest on his soft shoulder. Letting his shirt be a tissue for my tears.
I've stopped mumbling, stopped letting my secrets overflow. He seems somewhat thankful for this. Who knew, I finally tell him everything he wanted to hear and he's tuning me out. My brother is tuning out my voice.
I'm just crumbled into my brother as he whispers assurances that are almost as inconsequential as me into my ear.
Dean keeps whispering words that are nonsense. Almost as much as the ones that witch whispered.
He's saying so many things. So many heartfelt things.
But he still never says what I really want to hear.
He never says "It's all going to be ok".
God.
Can you save me?
