Disclaimer: Supernatural, the Winchesters, and any other characters and/or places which may appear do not belong to me.

Whumptober 2020, Day #15

Prompt(s): Possession (took this one a little loosely; I'm using the aftereffects of Sam's possession by Gadreel)

Author's Note: Direct tag to 9x10 Road Trip

Okay but this story hurt me like a bitch. A long time ago I imposed on myself a rule to never write anything set in season 9. It's my least favorite season for a couple reasons but the only one that really matters is that I hate how much Dean and Sam fight. I mean, it like physically hurts me to see them angry with each other. So. Yeah.

Anyways, I knew from the beginning that writing anything set in this season would be really hard and yet here I am. Chances are this will be the first and last time I break my rule but we'll see. I'd say enjoy, but I don't know if anyone is really gonna enjoy this one.

(AU Note: yeah I know their rooms are farther apart than they are in this story but I needed it for the pain okay?)

Today's Whumpee: Sam Winchester

Cas had tried to talk to him once or twice in the car; Sam had shut him down, his voice harsh and bitter.

When they'd reached the Bunker, Sam didn't do anything, not even speak to Cas, before walking straight to his room. He didn't stay there for long though. The idea that that angel had been in his room made him want to scream in fury. He ripped the sheets and blankets from the bed, torn the pillowcases from the pillows, then dragged it all into the hall. Then he slammed the door shut behind him with a loud bang. He walked down the hall, passing Dean's room as he did so. The door was open and he couldn't help but glance in.

Dean's room looked exactly as he expected. The bedcovers slightly rumpled, the headphones laying on the nightstand, pictures and weapons strewn precariously around the room, but still in a very Dean fashion.

There was the tiniest hint of guilt in Sam's heart as he remembered the words he'd spoken to Dean those few hours ago. How he had spoken them so coldly. How he had told his brother to go, as though it was the easiest thing to say. Which it was, but it was also the hardest.

But then Kevin's smiling face swam in front of his eyes and his heart was filled was pure grief and anger again.

Sam wasn't angry that Dean had saved him. God knows his brother loved him. It was a well known fact between the two of them that if one was dead, the other basically couldn't function. Sam understood that.

No, Sam wasn't angry that Dean had saved him. Sam was angry that Dean had lied to him. Again and again and again. Over and over to his face! Cas had said something earlier about how Dean wanted Gadreel gone as soon as possible, but that Sam still wasn't well enough, but Sam didn't care about that.

Dean knew Sam. Knew that Sam would've fought had Dean asked him to. Hell, that's exactly what had happened! Dean had shouted, begged Sam to come back to him.

There ain't no me if there ain't no you!

And Sam had fought. He'd said yes. He'd said yes for his brother. For his stupid, selfish-and-yet-completely-selfless big brother.

Goddammit, why did everything in their lives have to be so fucking complicated! Sam had gone by Dean's room now. He made his way through the halls and then the kitchen. The sight of a couple empty beer bottles and a few plates in the sink reminded him of just a day or so ago when him and Dean had been laughing about something or other over a dinner of Dean's burgers.

Damn it. Sam swiped the bottles off the table and threw them into the trashcan where they landed with a muffled shatter. Then he — rather unceremoniously — washed the plates in the sink and tossed them onto the counter to dry.

Sam's heart, his eyes, his hands, his entire being felt cold. His jaw was set tightly as he glanced around the kitchen and then left and went into the library. A lamp was shattered across the floor, books strewn all over the room. The whole room was just a mess. He'd clean it properly tomorrow, he thought as he grabbed a few of the books from the floor. There was no sign of Cas, although if Sam was being honest, he didn't know and didn't much care where the angel was at the moment. Sam felt as though he could go the rest of his life without seeing an angel again, even if that angel was Cas.

Eventually, Sam found himself in the small sitting room where him and Dean had put a couch and a TV. They'd even made sure to buy a couch long enough to hold Sam's lanky figure because Dean had insisted that his little brother would undoubtedly fall asleep on it at some point and there was no need to have a cranky little brother who'd slept with his legs or head hanging off the end of the sofa. Sam stared hard at the simple piece of furniture for a moment, images of him and Dean laughing together while watching something flashing through his mind.

The ocean of emotions continued coursing through him, feeling like the culmination of pain, resentment, grief, and so much anger. It felt as though it would explode from him like a tidal wave soon.

He tentatively laid down on the sofa, his hands curling around the cushions and his head resting on a pillow.

He didn't sleep. He couldn't sleep. How could he be expected to sleep after everything that had just gone down?

Sam's eyes strayed over the black TV screen opposite him. Part of him thought of turning it on, running some stupid program or something, but that thought left almost as quickly as it had arrived.

Sam didn't sleep. He couldn't sleep. How could he be expected to sleep when he was simultaneously enraged with his brother, and yet wishing more than anything that he was here?

AN II: So. Yeah. There it is. Damn that really hurt to write. The "no writing for season 9" rule is officially back in place. I wrote this in the middle of the night also btw. Now I need to sleep because it's a quarter to 4.

Review if you like :) I'd appreciate your thoughts, particularly on if you think I got Sam in character.