A/N

Okay I've officially decided that I like doing a one shot better. This is my one shot, came to mind as I was mad at myself for not being able to come up with anything for Those Who Do Not Speak. I hope you guys like it. I actually really liked it. It might be repetitive and stupid and pointless, but this is the style I like writing in. This is the stuff I can write about for hours and hours and hours and never get bored. I love the action and the stories about the hunts and all, but I can't write them.

He keeps his eyes closed. One, two, three, four, breathe in. One, two, three, four, breathe out. He recites it over and over in his head. There's supposed to be something soothing about counting your breaths, something relaxing. He remembers when he was little, Dean used to count for him. In the middle of the night when he woke up, and he crawled into Dean's bed right across the room, he would feel the shifting of Dean's body as he moved to adjust for his extra body. Dean would say something like "Sammy what's wrong?" or "Sammy why you awake again?" The silence would tell Dean that he had had another nightmare. And then Dean would start counting. "One, two, three, four, breathe in. One, two, three, four, breathe out. One, two, three, four, breathe in…" And he would calm down. Listening to Dean's voice telling him how long to breathe always put him back to sleep. Then he would be so far into sleep that everything would be okay, until the next night when all was repeated.

But tonight, he can't crawl into bed with Dean. He's twenty-two for Christ's sake. Dean would laugh at him, and hold it against him forever. But it doesn't work when he does it. He tells himself to breathe, but the voice inside his head is nowhere close to matching Dean's. The voice inside his head wants to believe it'll work, but it was almost always the confidence in Dean's voice that made everything okay. Because when Dean said it was okay, then it would be okay.

He shifts his body position hoping it might help; no such luck. He knows there's something about tonight that should bother him, but he can't quite remember right now. It's almost midnight; they had gone to sleep early last night. Neither of them wanted to stay up. But right now, he can't remember why Dean had insisted they go to sleep. He can't remember why they treated each other silence as the day began to end. Breathing forgotten, he pushes himself to remember what it was. He almost wants to wake up the sleeping Dean in the motel bed to his left to ask him what it was. But Dean would think he was foolish, hell he even thought he was foolish for wanting to do something like that.

Think Sam, think. He can almost hear Dean's voice in the back of his head telling him not to hurt himself. And now, he smirks. Its 11:59pm he can't sleep, he needs to remember what was so important, and all he can think about was how Dean would be making fun of him. Now he's forgotten about what he's forgotten. He can't help but think about Dean now. He's going through his head, recalling as many Dean quotes as he can come up with. But now he's forgotten why he's awake. He's frustrated now. He's woken up, can't sleep, fading in and out of remembering that he's forgotten something, and what he's forgotten, and all he can think about and know for sure is Dean.

But that's when it hits him. It's like he's standing there, and someone just hit him smack dab in the face with a brick. And boy did they have a wind-up. He remembers the forgotten. Tomorrow, or now he points out it's today because it's 12:02am. Today is November. And today is the second day of the month.

Now he realizes he will never be able to sleep. He looks around the small motel room once and his eyes land on the clock. It's one of the only lights in the room right now; it's bright red and currently reads the numbers 12:03. Eyes darting around the room again, he notices the only other light. His cell phone, that stupid green light always stays on when it's charging. But he decides that's a comforting thought. Now he's thinking. At the end of the day, people he loves will die, the world will keep changing, and as long as that cell phone is plugged in it will always have that green light. And now he's bothered, is that the only thing he can rely on in life, that the green light will be on? Now he's fully awake. He glances at the bed next to him, Dean's chest slowly rising and falling tells him Dean's still deep in sleep. He slowly slips out from the covers and grabs the cell phone, removing it from the charger. With one last glance at Dean, he heads out the motel room, and shuts the door quietly behind him.

He grabs his coat and pulls it around him tighter; November nights in North Carolina aren't exactly warm. He's shivering now, so he does the only thing he thinks will get him warmer. He starts running. He's never really been to North Carolina before, except when he was younger and all he remembers was the inside of the motel room John had left him and Dean in. He's passed through it, but that wouldn't have helped him know how to get around the town of Beaufort. He's never been to Beaufort before; he never even knew it existed. But they had been between jobs right now, and Dean was stalling. Neither wanted to talk about the date that was coming up, it was going to be a year from when started hunting together again. They had been driving along the coast, and found the Beaufort Hotel, although it was more like a motel, in the afternoon. It sounded like a nice place to stop, so they did.

But Sam isn't thinking of this as he runs down the street. Forgetting he is running, and just letting his legs move automatically in the pattern he had started, he is grateful that they had picked a motel right along the shore. There was one main street in Beaufort, and that is the street Sam is running down. No one is out; the place could've been mistaken for a ghost town. But Sam likes it that no one is out; he needs to be alone right now. So he runs, and he keeps running. And every time a single memory or thought pops up that has to do with anything in his exotic life, he runs harder. As he runs his legs starts to burn, and with every burn he pushes harder. There are now tears slowly making their way down his face. And then it becomes unbearable; there is so much burning in his legs, he thought he was losing feeling of them. He hopes that the burning feeling is somewhere close to the feeling Jessica and Mary had when they burned to death.

But he keeps running, and he pushes harder, and he screams. First he screams for Jessica, and for all the emotions and memories that are associated with her name. Then he screams at the demon. He screams at the demon for killing his mom, making his life this way. He screams at the demon for taking away Jessica, and for causing so much pain. Now he's screaming for and at John. He's screaming for all the fights they had, and all the things John did wrong. He's screaming for the anger he has that he can't find him, and that John keeps the puzzle going. But now he's screaming for his mom. He's screaming for her life, and that it got ripped away from her. He's screaming because he never really got to know her, and because he knows she loves him. He's screaming because she gave up herself for him.

But now he's screaming louder. He's running faster, and his legs are burning so much, and he's screaming as loud as he can. He's screaming for Dean. He's screaming because he doesn't think he deserves what Dean's given him. He's screaming because Dean is the perfect older brother. He's screaming because of all the things Dean gave up for him, and for all the times Dean has always been there. He's screaming for the most important person in his life, and he can't scream any louder.

Now he's stopped. He's stopped screaming, he's stopped running, and he's stopped crying. He leans up against a tree that's just off the sandy shore. He's looking out at the ocean, and he can't help but hate it. His legs have given up, and he stumbles away from the tree. He falls to the ground on the soft sand, and he can't move his legs; they burn too much. But that doesn't matter. Right now, he hates the ocean. He's lying on his back, eyes darting away from the ocean and up at the sky. He's got no more screams, and he's got no more running. But then he sits up, and he grabs a handful of sand and he throws it at the ocean. It throws it at the ocean because it's normal, and it doesn't have feelings. It doesn't have to worry about life like he does. So he throws the handful of sand. But the handful of sand doesn't reach the water. It spreads, and the sand goes flying through the wind. Now he's crying again. He hates the ocean, and there's silent tears running down his face. It's a marathon, it's a race. Everything is; who can kill the other first, the demon vs. the Winchester's? Which tear will make it down his face first? Now he's sobbing, and he's grateful no one's there to watch him or hear him. He stares at the ocean, still hating it with every wave that breaks.

The tear's finally slowing he picks up his phone. He scrolls through his phone book finally landing on the one person he wants to call. He presses send and holds the phone up to his ear. He doesn't expect anyone to pick up; he actually expects the number to be disconnected. But when it goes straight to the voicemail, he's silently thanking whatever gave him at least this.

"Hey, you've reached Jessica. Sorry I'm obviously busy so leave your name and number and I promise to get back to you."

Her voice makes the tears resurface. But he refuses to start crying, because now is his chance to talk. He hears the beep and everything's silent for one moment.

"Jess…"

Now he's laughing.

"I can't believe I'm doing this. But I needed to talk to someone."

He strokes his free left hand through his long hair.

"It's so hard with you gone. Baby I'm sorry. I should've told you."

And now it starts coming out.

"I should've told you about what my family does. I should've told you about the dreams. I should've told you about my mom dying. I'm should've told you about dad and Dean. I should've told you everything. I know you would've understood, I know you would've cared. But baby, please forgive me."

He wipes away the single tear that dares to fall. But he's not crying now, he needs to finish this.

"Please forgive me for never telling you. Forgive me for everything I didn't tell you. I love you baby."

That's all he can say to her now. But he's not done. The rest comes out in one blow.

"Someone forgive me. Everyone forgive me. I'm sorry I got mom killed. I'm sorry I lived and she didn't. I'm sorry dad had to work this hard. I'm sorry I took away normality from Dean. I'm sorry that he was teased with a little bit of it. I'm sorry he had to take care of me. I'm sorry he's my older brother. I'm sorry dad got stuck with me. I'm sorry I left them. I'm sorry I went to Stanford. I'm sorry I got you in all of this mess. I'm sorry for everything I didn't tell anyone. I'm sorry for every time I fought with dad. I'm sorry for everything! EVERYTHING! It's my fault. I know it is. I know mom died to protect me, and I know that's where it all started. I'm sorry she had to give up her spirit for me again. I'm sorry I failed everyone."

And then he stops. And he smiles.

"And I'm not fucking sorry for that bastard demon that did this. I'm not fucking sorry for the pain it feels when it's dead."

The evil smile is gone.

"But most importantly, thanks. Thanks to mom for giving herself up for me and loving me. Thanks to dad, for trying and still loving me when I gave him crap. Thanks to you for helping me forget and really loving me, and letting me love you. Thanks for giving up yourself for me, I'm never going to forget you baby. Thanks to Dean for everything he ever did for me. Thanks to Dean for caring about me so much, and always, always being there for me. And more thanks to Dean for being the best fucking brother and best friend I could ever ask for. I miss you baby."

And then the phone beeps, the message is done. It's too long.

"I love you baby."

He puts his phone back in his pocket and looks at the ocean. He doesn't hate it anymore. Now he feels bad for it. And he sits there for twenty minutes, not moving, just staring. Now he's done. He needs to get back before Dean wakes up. He gets up and starts moving back towards the little Beaufort Hotel, ignoring the aching pains through out his legs. As walks back in complete silence, greeting the silence and loving every minute of it. And then he reaches the Beaufort Hotel, and he dares the tear in his eye to fall.

"That's the last one."

He concentrates on the moving tear and feels it run down his face. He allows it to fall slowly, but it's the last one. And he stares at the motel room door that says 112. It's ironic he thinks, but he's busy. And then the tear falls, and it hits the ground. He reaches in his pocket and grabs the room key. After letting himself in and putting the phone on the charger again, he climbs back in bed, all the while keeping an eye on the bed occupied by Dean. He glances at the clock, the red light informing him that it is 2:17am. He looks back at the phone charging with the little green light. No, you're wrong. That's not the only thing that will always be there; Dean will always be there.

And now starts counting. One, two, three, four, breathe in. One, two, three, four, breathe out. One, two, three, four, breathe in. One, two, three, four breathe out…