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The whiskey burned its ways down his throat, chills creeping through his legs from the cold floor. The dim industrial light threw harsh shadows on his face, highlighting the pale skin and bruised color under his eyes. Silence echoed in his ears as he chased down another mouthful of amber liquid from the half full bottle. And in the silence, he remembered.
He remembered running from his burning house clutching the precious bundle that was his baby brother to his chest, turning back to look at the flames from Sammy's nursery. "It's okay, Sammy," he whispered as he silently screamed, "Please God, help Mommy!"
He remembered the first time his Dad returned stumbling and bleeding into their one out of many motel rooms, the first of many times he would return injured to his children. He remembered his small fingers clutching his Dad's leather jacket as he tried desperately and unsuccessfully to hold his father's weight. Sam's even tinier fingers his brother's shirt. "Dada? De?" The 2 year old's eyes bugged pleadingly at his brother. "God help me please!" he silently begged.
He remembered Sam's first hunt. "God, why?" he sadly wondered as Sam plunged the knife into the shapeshifter. Their father's praise did not quell the shell-shocked look in Sam's eyes. It did not return the innocence his little brother lost that night.
"God, no, I can't do it without him," he thought desperately as Sam angrily slammed the door shut behind him, bag slung over one shoulder, bound for Stanford. For a life without him. Looking over at his father chugging down whiskey, pointedly ignoring his only remaining son, the thought suddenly changed, "You look after my little brother. Don't ever let him have to return to this life."
"God, no, not again ," he pleaded as he watched the flames engulf Jessica over Sam's head.
"No, no, no, no, Oh God!" he whimpered as he clutched Sam's lifeless body to his chest. Once so tiny he fit it his brother's elbow, his body now sprawled an unmanageable tangle of limbs and weight in the mud.
"What am I supposed to do!" He screamed at an unforgiving universe, at a non existent God.
He remembered being risen from the pit, being given a second chance, by a Being he could no longer deny existed.
He remembered the look on Castiel's face as the angel begged for the amulet, Sam's gift of simplistic love and trust from a much simpler time. "Maybe there's a chance He is out there."
"He's finished." He remembered the defeat on Castiel's face as he told him God wouldn't help. "He doesn't care, not even about His own angels."
He remembered kneeling bloodied, alone, and broken over the ground that had swallowed his brother into the deepest pits of Hell. "God, let me die."
He remembered Sam, miraculously resurrected from the cage, "God, thank you"
Bobby stolen from them, Sam fighting a losing battle with the hell in his mind that threatened to destroy his sanity, the world on the cliff's edge again, along with his own sanity, "You're not there are you?"
The Trials, the Mark, Abbadon, Kevin, Cain, they blurred into a mess of death, blood, and pain. God didn't exist.
Until He did, He returned, He showed Himself to them. He sat at their table. "Why did you leave us?" the man begged.
"I need your help... You're gonna bring them all back... You owe us!" he growled into the sky "Please, please help us," he whispered moments later, prayer the last hope of a desperate man.
"Welcome to The End."
Being betrayed by your own Creator. There was a certain irony to it. He allowed himself to chuckle grimly at the thought as he downed more amber liquid, His body now stiffened from the hard kitchen floor and the chill that now crept through his entire body. They were nothing more than God's favorite story. The interesting pet He goaded and bribed and teased with little bits of treats, small glimpses of freedom from the leash. Nothing he and his brother accomplished was theirs. Nothing they suffered was worth it because it was all a set up. The blood and sacrifice, just plot. There was nothing they could call their own, not even their pain. But did that also mean...?
Glass shattered against the far wall, whiskey dripping, glistening down the drab white walls. Shards shined in the harsh light. The man on the floor dropped his face in his hands and roughly dragged his fingers through his hair. Water dribbled from his eyes as he let himself silently cry, as his mind uttered the question he never wanted to ask, "Was what he and Sam had, the bond forged by years of death, blood, betrayal, resurrection and redemption, could they even call that their own?"
A/N Hello, everyone! This is my first time ever publishing fanfiction. Thank you in advance to everyone who gives it a shot.