So at the encouragement of several friends, this second chapter came into being, and if you can believe it, was more painful to write than the first. Enjoy more angst!
Jack doesn't know where he is. He doesn't care.
He can't even really see it, not after the glare of the bunker's emergency lights have left a flashing red overlay across his vision. Sam's broken body pulses in front of his eyes. Along with the bunker's alarm still blaring in his head.
KILLER. KILLER. KILLER.
YOU. KILLED. SAM.
That box. He just wanted out of the box.
He was afraid they weren't going to let him out. He got scared.
And that fear has taken Sam away from him.
He should have trusted Sam. Sam wouldn't let him down. Sam was in the room with him. Maybe he was about to open the lid before Jack blew the whole thing to kingdom come.
Not just the box. The room.
And Sam along with it.
He can still see it in his mind. Sam's body, splayed at odd angles under pieces of stone and rubble. Dark liquid pooling from his head. From everywhere. Eyes open.
He can still feel rocks slipping under his feet as he stumbles to Sam. The uneven ground giving way, just like his whole life.
It's gone now. Over. His home, his family. He just destroyed any chance of fixing things.
And what's the point, anyway. If Sam is gone.
Not gone. Dead. Killed. By him. By Jack.
YOU. KILLED. SAM.
His heart screams the burning question. Why couldn't I heal him?
Jack can still feel Sam's cooling skin beneath his fingers. He'd pressed two desperate fingers to Sam's bloody forehead, trying to focus his power through the panic tearing through him. It was nearly impossible—like trying to redirect a tornado with a handheld fan.
The realization had settled over him like a suffocating blanket. He wouldn't be able to undo what he'd done.
He can still feel the dead weight in his arms, as he'd tried to lift Sam's body from the sea of rubble. Sam had slipped out of his grasp, just like the last splinters of his old life.
His breathing had come in shorter and shorter gasps, dread spiraling through his stomach. Tears piercing his eyes like a hot poker.
KILLER. KILLER. KILLER.
The shouts of Sammy and What happened had propelled Jack to his feet. Dean on his way. The thought of Dean seeing the carnage, the result of Jack's latest destruction, had been enough for Jack to take flight.
He doesn't know where he is now. His only thought had been away.
His hands weave into his hair, helpless desperation rocking him back and forth on his knees.
Why didn't it work?
His powers had worked just days ago. The scene then had been frighteningly similar. Sam gasping on the ground. Blood leaking dark and sticky from the gash in his head, mixing with the surrounding snow. Eyes staring.
Jack's panic then had been just as terrifying, just as all-consuming. Seeing Sam, the person he'd first trusted in the world, the person to always care for him and protect him, the only one to always believe in him, lying bloodless on the ground, had stolen the breath from his lungs. Turned his limbs to rubber.
Only one single coherent thought had steeled its way through.
He couldn't let Sam die.
He'd knelt at Sam's head, next to Dean. He could hear Dean's breath catch with every inhale. Dean was frantic. And if Dean were so upset about Sam, then that meant it was serious.
Jack had reached deep inside him, calling on the foreign grace to knit Sam back together. The heat had pulsed through his fingers into Sam's forehead, where he could feel the healing begin immediately.
It had been easy. Healing had been easy.
But then he'd killed Mary.
Then he couldn't bring her back to life.
Now Jack seems to have lost the ability to heal altogether. Now his powers only seem to destroy.
He killed Mary, and he couldn't bring her back.
And now he's done the same thing to Sam.
He claps a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle the sobs punching their way up his throat. Sam. Gone. Gone.
A million memories bounce against the walls of Jack's mind, each one bringing him more pain than the next.
Sam, sitting next to him on the bench outside that police station. Still in his first day of life, and Jack already had a bloody hole in his shirt. Sam had placed a hand on his back and spoken softly to him. I don't know if you caught it in there, but my name's Sam. I know you're scared, but I'm going to take care of you, okay? You're gonna be okay, Jack.
Sam kneeling next to Jack's bed, where Jack sat cross-legged concentrating on a pencil in front of him. You know you don't have to try that anymore. I told you we would stop.
But you asked me to, Jack had protested. I want to do this for you. Less than a month old, and he already wanted to do anything Sam asked. Already his chest swelled when Sam smiled at him, offered him encouragement.
Sam's hand on his shoulder, after Jack had come to his room in the dead of night. Jack. None of this is your fault. You didn't ask for any of this to happen. And you don't need to go around thinking that. That you just cause problems. I really think the world can be better with you in it. Not because of your powers. Just you being you.
What if I mess up? What if I let you down?
You don't have to prove yourself to me, Jack. We're all going to make mistakes. What matters is that we try not to. I mean, do you want to be evil?
No. I just...don't want to hurt anyone.
Then I don't think you have to worry about letting me—us—down. Sam had drawn him in close, into the first hug he'd ever had. The gesture had brought a lump to Jack's throat and tears to his eyes.
Thinking about it now crushes Jack. He crumples to the ground on his side, wishing for the earth to swallow him whole, so he can follow Sam to wherever he's gone.
Jack still doesn't want to be evil. But he has hurt people—killed them. Good people. A good person. The very person who first believed in him. Who made him believe in himself.
Maybe this is a mistake he can't come back from.
Maybe killing Mary damaged his soul in such a way that it affected his powers. Maybe after such a dark deed he can't heal anymore, no matter how much grace is in him.
Maybe that act, the murder of an innocent, was the one to push him adrift for all time. Maybe there is no coming back. No good left in him.
After all, he just killed Sam.
What could be more evil than that?
Thank you for reading! Leave a review to let me know what you think! As always, you can check out my tumblr too!