A/N: So without any further ado...just what is Sam DOING back in that motel room...? This chapter is for all the SFCOL(AR)S members (JJ Phoenix and iluvsmallvile)and potential initiates (looks at PointofView) and anyone who just really loves all we stand for. And to Gem--the only person who I would EVER consider monitoring my fic intake for.
Chapter Twenty-One
The motel room seemed unsettlingly empty. Sam tried watching the TV, but it didn't seem right while he knew where his brother was and what his brother was doing. He couldn't shake the doubting voice in his head that told Sam he should be with his brother. Dean was fighting his demons and all he could do was sit in a motel room and wait.
Sam hated the thought of Dean out there alone. His brother needed backup. Sam should be able to have Dean's back as often as Dean had his. But you can't be trusted. You'll fail him, you'll betray him.
Sam shook his doubts away, standing up and moving toward the bathroom. He trusted Dean, he trusted Dean's judgement. If it was too dangerous, it was too dangerous. After all, things hadn't exactly been crystal clear for Sam the last few days.
In the bathroom, he took a heavy breath, pausing to examine his scruffy appearance in the mirror. Gauging how bruised his eyes looked and how pale his complexion was, he couldn't blame Dean for not trusting him.
Sam turned off the faucet. It's you.
The voice startled him and he spun around, looking for the intruder.
The darkness is in you.
The voice echoed again from behind and he spun back toward the vanity in desperation.
The darkness is in you. It's you.
The voice came faster now, more insistent. He stumbled, turning endlessly, trying to find its source in the small room. The voice doubled and Sam's breath hitched. His vision became untethered and he felt himself drifting into panic.
His senses abruptly returned as he hit the cold tile floor, legs tangled over the toilet.
The voices were gone and he panted as he tried to get his bearings. He tried to remember Dean's words. It's not real, Sammy.
Sam laughed breathlessly. "It's not real." Dean was after the thing, killing it. "It's not real."
His courage rallied, he stood, steadying himself on the vanity. As his eyes crossed his features in the mirror, he gasped, pulling back in surprise.
Instead of his reflection, he saw a tall figure, shrouded in black, the hood low over its face.
"No," Sam whispered. "Not real." They had made it corporeal and Dean had conjured it, was conjuring it, was exorcising it. It wasn't here. It couldn't be here.
"I am as real as you," the figure said in a sickeningly familiar voice.
"No, Dean said—"
"I am your reality. I am you and you are me."
"No," Sam said, tears springing to his eyes uncontrollably.
The figure smiled. "Yes, Sam. You know who I am." A spindly hand carefully pulled the hood, slowly revealing the face beneath.
Horror passed through Sam as he recognized the reflection.
There he stood, grinning back at himself, his eyes blackened and soulless.
The reflection relished Sam's fear, letting his eyes subdue the young Winchester. "I am you, and you are darkness. Come, Sam."
Sam felt himself teetering, the mental precipice of sanity nearly completely eroded. "No…," he whimpered.
"You are darkness."
Sam shook his head, tears flowing now, and he tried to deny, tried to resist. It's not real, Sammy.
Dean.
It's not real.
"You are darkness."
The pull of the voice was powerful, nearly overwhelming, but he clung to his brother's voice. With a primal scream, Sam lunged at his reflection, taking his fists to the glass and letting it shatter around him.
The force drained him, and when he realized the mirror was in broken shards around him, he sank back against the door. It's not real.
He almost laughed, he was so relieved, and sat there, oblivious to the blood running from his scratched hands. It was all in his head.
You cannot run from me, because I am you.
No. The voice wasn't real. Dean?
But Dean offered nothing, no solace. You hate me that much. You're a selfish bastard, you know that?
Please. No. Dean.
Why, Sam?
No.
I am always with you. As you are, I will always be.
It was then that Sam knew its weakness, felt it. Dean was wrong. It was real, in all the ways that mattered.
It's you, Sam. You killed them. You killed Dean.
It didn't matter if he was the demon, or if it was just after him, or even if this demon was nothing but a figment of his imagination. It didn't matter if it was this demon or the next or the demon to end all demons. He existed with them, he existed in them, and they would seek him forever. He had nearly succumbed so many times, he had killed the two women who he loved most, and his mind had fallen so easily to the wiles of darkness.
It would destroy him, destroy Dean either way. He had to end it, stop it. He couldn't run far enough. Dean would always find him, they'd always find each other.
No. There was only one way.
You're my brother, and I'd die for you.
It was time to keep that promise.
There was only one way. If he couldn't destroy it, he could destroy himself.
The guns, the knives, the weapons. Dean had locked them up, taken them from him sometime after he'd started sleepwalking.
His hands left bloody trails on the white tile as he grappled to stand. It made Sam stop.
He didn't need a gun. He didn't need a knife.
His legs felt suddenly steady as he straightened in the sterile bathroom. The glass crunched under his feet, but he didn't hear it. He didn't feel it, he didn't see it. His senses had left him, became deadened to all except the voice.
Join me.
It was soft but insistent.
They're not real.
Maybe not—but he was.
Shaking, Sam lifted a large triangular shard of the mirror, feeling its sharp edges in his hands.
He would go where the voices couldn't find him, where he couldn't find Dean.
The glass was poised above his wrist.
I'm sorry.
