chapter one
( too sad to cry )
SAM KNEW Dean was going to be furious when he made it home. He knew his brother would insist on Sam telling him what had happened, why his face was beat red and already bruising. Why his rib cage consisted of purple, yellow, and mauve bruises and was covered in new and old blood, some already beginning to try and scab. But the youngest Winchester couldn't breathe, not properly anyway. And he had made it home in one peace, so that was all that mattered, right? Honestly he couldn't even see straight. Everytime he breathed too deep it hurt, made his chest sting. But he didn't mind the pain, it gave him motivation, motivation to make it inside and upstairs to his room without Dean or his father even noticing he had ever entered.
He didn't know why everything in his life seemed so fucked up lately. He didn't like unpredictability, he didn't like the person he was becoming. The old Sam would have never imagined doing what he did tonight, the old Sam would have called Dean right away and begged for his help. But he wasn't the same and he didn't understand why. In his mind the fifteen-year-old thought he should have figured everything out by now. He should know what college he was going to go to when he graduated, what he wanted to do with his life. But ever since the realization hit him that John wouldn't let him leave the hunting life without a fight any motivation and plans he had toward the future were gone with the wind.
He felt like a failure. He felt greedy. Dean was satisfied with this life, he got with the program and was now one of the best hunters Sam knew. Hell, he'd dropped out of high school his Junior year just so that he could hunt full time. But Sam never felt that way toward their job. He used to love the euphoria he got when they would save people, but now everytime they did he only wondered how much longer he would last. How much longer he could pretend to be happy until someone noticed, or worse, he died. It wouldn't shock him if a hunt had gone wrong. It scared him how much he thought about death. Growing up that was one of his biggest fears, aside from clowns. The idea of not knowing where you go after you die was frightening to him, especially knowing about the supernatural world already. But now the thought brought Sam peace. The image of nothing but black, pitch black. No noise, not a sound besides the quiet in and out of him breathing. It excited him, thag after this lifetime he would be able to rest, he would no longer have to keep fighting.
Sam didn't think he was depressed. He had read about depression and the symptoms but he refused to admit he was depressed. That made everything feel too real. He wasn't suicidal though. Which was a symptom of depression. He didn't want to die, most of the time. But he wasn't afraid of death either. He knew hunters died young and not many got to live past sixty, hell, maybe even forty-five. But the thought of there being somewhere peaceful, monster free, after all of this made him happy.
He slowly wobbled up the driveway to the small bungalow that the Winchester's had been renting. It wasn't cheap but they were also going to be in this town for an unusual long time. There were a series of random supernatural deaths in the town, not only was there a werewolf, but the longer they stayed here the more they found out there was also a nest of vampires somewhere. Who even knew if that was where it all stopped? Normally there was a ghost in one town, they'd kill it, and then they'd go. But it had now been nearly three weeks and they hadn't upped and left yet. Normally Sam would be grateful he could settle her longer. But the longer they stayed the more he realized the people here were shitty.
As soon as he opened the door, making sure she open it slowly and quietly, he noticed the tv wasn't on. Meaning either Dean wasn't home or was in their room. Most of the time he was out working or going on dates with random chicks he had no feelings for. Sam shuffled into the house and shut the door behind him. He held his hand in front of his face to block out the blinding light and then did a double check around the room. "Dean! Dad?!" he yelled out to nobody.
There was no response.
He let out a gigantic breath of relief he hadn't noticed he was holding in. The more he stood in the house the more he realized of his family had been home then he would have for sure been screwed. He didn't know why he thought he'd be able to hide himself if they had been home, especially if Dean had been home.
Sam made his way up the short stairs, letting out a wince here and there as he twisted his side in the wrong way accidentally. He made it inside the washroom just outside his and Dean's room and he pulled up his sweater to check on his chest. It looked about as bad as it hurt, which was horrible.
He slowly and hesitantly pulled off the think long sleeve and threw it to the dirty floor. Surprisingly it was quite clean compared to the other places they had stayed. At least this place didn't have mould. Then he bent down to the cabinet below the sink, grunting in pain as he pulled out the first aid kit they brought everywhere with them. He grabbed a roll of gauze and begun wrapping his chest. He knew that he should wash off the blood and clean the cuts from the pavement but he didn't have the energy in him to do any of that right now. He just wanted to sleep.
After tightly securing the gauze around his chest and down to the beginning of his waist, he moved on to his face. He grabbed a roll of toilet paper and soaked it with rubbing alcohol to clean his cuts. He had a gash at the top of his head and probably a small concussion. But he wasn't that worried considering his hair was overgrown enough to cover it. For the concussion, he played on taking some pain killers and then passing out. After he cleaned out the cuts on his face and made sure there was no more blood on his face he grabbed a couple of bandaids and covered the cuts with them. Aside from the gash on his head he had also busted his lip open, but he decided if he told his family he had fallen off his bike then they might just believe him. After all, he was the clumsy Winchester.
Finally, after he finished patching himself up and took a long hard stare in the mirror. He hadn't really paid attention to himself lately. And when he did he would only see the flaws. Like how scrawny his arms were compared to Dean's, or how boney and narrow his face looked. It used to be so chubby and full of life, he used to have hope in his eyes. Now all he saw was the tiredness. He didn't like how he looked, then or now. He always looked weak and pasty. He just wanted to be tan like his brother and father, maybe have a smile on his face every one and a while. Was that so hard to ask for?
He groggily made his way into his room and threw on yet another sweater. Sometimes he'd wear two just to make him look less scrawny and weird. When his growth spurt had originally hit Sam was estancia, nearly being his brothers height. He liked no longer looked like a five-year-old, he liked being treated like an adult. But he never fully gained the proper weight for his height, he had a constant fear he would overeat and become overweight. Dean would try and get him food, claiming how delicious it all was. But Sam didn't want to put anything in his body that would only create more fat. At least any unnecessary fat.
Once he changed Sam slowly walked downstairs and grabbed some pain killers from the top cabinet, having to hold his back with his other free hand just to make the pain hurt a little less. He twisted open the bottle and grabbed two pills, popping them in his mouth and then turning on the sink, cupping water in his hand, and swallowing them.
He contemplated grabbing something to eat but it was nearly ten at night and that would mean he'd need to wait thirty minutes for the food to digest before he could sleep. So he opted out of eating and headed back upstairs. Once he got into bed and pulled the covers over himself he stared up at the popcorn ceiling with no thoughts running through his head. He was in pain, sure, but it was distracting him. Which was all he could ask for right now.
Eventually, nearly twenty minutes of tossing and turning Sam had finally fallen asleep. For once his sleep wasn't filled with nightmares, for once it was peaceful.
Only the next morning it wouldn't be.