Chapter 10 ~ Hollow

Sam was too tired. Tired of everything.

Since when did Winchesters freak out about a bang? When had he become so unstable and vulnerable? It was just a bullet. He had no idea how he could have missed his brother coming in. Hell, he wouldn't have even noticed in time if a damn horde of werewolves had broken into the house and slaughtered everyone in there.

His instincts? Gone.

The more time passed, the clearer his mind got, the calmer his thoughts were, and the weirder everything started to get. The more he reached out of the dark corner in his mind where he felt completely safe, the less clue he had about what must've happened to him. It was just like something didn't want him to be him again. Like something had still control over him, telling him to be obedient or else he would hurt even more. And this something - whatever the hell it was - made him feel unbelievable useless.

Sam wasn't Sam anymore. He could feel it.

He couldn't even say why he was the way he was now. Yes, he could see the scars on his body, and the fading bruises. He was still sore as hell, even though it felt like an eternity since he'd woken up to find himself back among the living. He felt just wrong, like he didn't belong there. Like he didn't belong in this world.

Hollow.

He barely remembered the original fight between him and Dean. He knew there'd been one, and he knew it was bad. He remembered some of the things Dean had said, and also some things he'd brought up. More than that, he remembered that it hurt. It hurt like hell.

He remembered that Dean had been mad at him. Damn mad. Mad enough to leave the parking lot of the motel with the Impala and his duffel-bag, leaving $200 on the bedside table for Sam. He hadn't taken it - at least, he didn't remember taking it? What he did remember was that it hurt like he was being ripped apart from the inside to watch Baby's red tail lights fade away into the darkness of the night.

After that, there were a few flashes of a hunt, and then a whole lot of shorter flashes of what came later. He knew there was pain. He knew he was alone, and that it was cold, and that even more pain followed. Voices. Cruel laughter. Loneliness. Then the smell of a hospital, and Dean... holding him, rocking him. There weren't images, really, more like flashes of feelings and then - then always, the pain.

Flashes of Bobby's house and Dean, bleeding. But - Dean was fine? He didn't seem injured... Sam tried to remember, honestly tried to remember what had happened, but he just couldn't. It was like a damn wall that didn't want to break.

Sam wondered what had happened between him and Dean after they split up. He hadn't expected to see his brother ever again. Hell, he hadn't expected Dean would ever again look at him as the little brother that he was. His recent small smiles, gentle words, comforting gestures, and all the cuddling and snuggling - the Dean he remembered would have broken his nose just for invading his personal space.

This was just so damn confusing and disturbing. He felt like he couldn't get a clear thought between all of this and the feeling that he just had to end this-

...that he didn't belong...

At the moment, Sam was worried. He hadn't seen his brother since he woke up yesterday night, and now Bobby was preparing lunch and Dean was still outside somewhere. Sam had been on his bare feet since then, roaming through the whole house in search of his brother. When he couldn't find him anywhere, he sat down on the old couch in the living room, staring out into the yard and not letting the black Impala out of his sight.

It was past one p.m., and Sam was sitting directly on the windowsill now, leaning against it where the wall and window met above the couch. Still staring out of the window at the Impala. Dean wasn't gone - the Impala was still there, so Dean had to be around somewhere.

Sam refused to go back to sleep. He hadn't touched the breakfast Bobby made for him. And he wouldn't leave the window, even for just a second.

Dean left the barn around two. Time to eat. Time to check on Sam. The comforting aroma of grilled chicken and cherry pie enveloped him as he entered the house through the back door.

Dean was a mess. No, worse than a mess. His body was crying for a shower and rest. He had dark shadows under his eyes and was covered in dirt. Dirt and blood, mostly. And he stank - stank like demon, death and dirt. He was exhausted, and tired, and he felt bad about leaving his little brother sound asleep in his room, alone. About not letting him know where he was going, or that he was leaving.

It was for the best, though. He wouldn't have been able to get away to take care of the demon Rufus and his guys had captured otherwise. He'd wasted the bastard fast - well, faster than the bitch that came afterwards, at least. Both had given him reasons to worry about Sam. The possessed girl whose body he'd just buried in the backyard had told him some unsettling things. Things that made him wonder. Things he didn't want to know.

He tried to shove her words aside for a couple of hours. Maybe he'd take a nap with Sam after lunch. This Sam didn't mind taking a nap at any time of day, even if he just lay there and listened to Dean's heartbeat.

"Sam?"

Bobby was worried, he definitely was. The kid hadn't slept since he'd walked into the living room last night. Bobby had been sound asleep on the couch at the time, but his hunter senses kicked in and he became aware that someone was checking the house room by room.

Since then, he hadn't gotten a second of sleep either.

"Dean's gonna be back soon, kiddo, don't you worry." Bobby wouldn't tell the boy that he knew where Dean had gone. Of course Bobby knew where he was - in the barn, trying to get information about the demons that had captured his brother.

Sam didn't move. He stared out the window, lost in his mind.

Bobby heard steps on the stairs, echoing through the halls. Finally. Dean had returned from his little excursion to the barn, shaved, showered and with clean clothes. He wore a gentle smile when he entered the room, attracting Bobby's attention from where he was lingering over a book on the table.

The older Winchester raised an eyebrow at the retired hunter. Bobby knew he looked like he hadn't gotten a single minute of sleep the night before. He hadn't.

Dean was the first one to break the constricting silence. "How are you two holding up?"

Sam didn't seem to recognize him or his presence, which made Dean frown. He and Bobby continued to look at Sam. The younger Winchester just continued sitting on the windowsill, leaning his forehead against the window as he stared outside.

"Sam?" Dean asked quietly, concern filling his voice.

Sam didn't move.

The older brother took in his sibling's features, his pale face and lightly flushed cheeks. "Sammy?" he spoke a little bit louder.

The younger man just blinked once, then continued staring, never letting the black beauty out of his sight.

Dean wasn't there.

Sam couldn't feel his presence anywhere near him. He knew he'd been there when they went to sleep - he had been holding onto his brother's shirt. He remembered that. And then he woke up, and everything was cold, and he was alone... again...

And maybe the voices had been right. They were gone for sure now, but Sam remembered what they'd kept telling him, bits and pieces of it. Maybe they had been speaking the truth. Maybe it was true - Dean would really leave him for good some day.

... and when his brother was really gone, what reason would Sam have to stay in this world?

Dean went to the couch and sat down, observing his brother. The younger Winchester seemed so far away, deep in thought. He looked peaceful and innocent when he was lost like this.

"Sam, you with me?" The older Winchester reached up and laid his hand on Sam's lower leg. "Sam?"

That softly spoken Sam snuck into the younger man's thoughts.

"Sammy?" Dean softly rubbed his brother's knee. "Are you in there?"

Dean's voice... Sammy...

Sam inhaled a deep breath, like a swimmer taking his first breath after breaking the water's surface. The younger man turned his head slowly away from the window, looking at the hand rubbing circles into the fabric of his sweatpants. Then his gaze moved up to meet emerald eyes.

Instantly, Sam slid down from the sill onto the couch besides his brother and slung his long arms around him.

"Whoa, kiddo." Dean chuckled and hugged him back. "Missed me?"

Sam still wasn't talking at all.

Later, they had lunch in the kitchen. Sam picked at his food but barely ate a thing. He just stared at the plate in front of him and swallowed a couple of times.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said with concern. "Not hungry?" He was waiting for a response, for a sign of any emotion to cross Sam's features - a reminder that he was still in there somewhere. The whole situation frustrated him at the moment, plain and simple.

Dean and Bobby exchanged thoughtful looks.

"You there?" The older Winchester grabbed his little brother's bicep and held him tight. "Sam?" He raised his voice.

Sam flinched and looked up as he snapped out of his thoughts. His eyes looked hollow and exhausted.

"Eat something, understand?" Dean sounded grumpy, his voice stable and forceful. He wasn't going to accept any kind of protest.

Sam flinched again and reached for the fork, shaky hands guiding it over the plate. He managed to swallow one bite, but had trouble with the second. As he felt the food go down, his eyes started to water. He'd felt sick since he got up last night, and now, with the filled plate under his nose, his nausea started to grow.

Bobby looked up, checking on the kid on the other side of the table. "You okay?"

Sam didn't look up. He was trying desperately to control his stomach. He didn't want to throw up on the table and make a bigger mess than he already had just by his presence.

"Sam?" Bobby's words forced Dean to look over at his brother. "What's wrong?"

Sam couldn't answer. If he opened his mouth, he'd vomit right there. He let go of the fork, and shook his head. He swallowed again. "Please-" was all he said.

Yeah, it was one of Sam's bad days. Dean had figured that out when he first entered the living room, and now he had the proof - his little brother puked up the contents of his meal before Dean could get the garbage can in place.

After cleaning the floor and Sam up again, Dean guided his brother upstairs, putting him into the bed furthest from the door. Sam hid under the covers, curled up onto his side, and fell asleep almost instantly.

Dean sat on his own bed for a while, watching the lump under the covers and the way the sheets moved when Sam breathed. Yeah, it was a pretty bad day...

After a couple of minutes, he let out a sigh, rubbed his face and headed back downstairs. Even with the circumstances, he was still starving, and he figured he had two choices: eat or faint like a girl. Since he had to take care of his little brother, now more than ever he needed to look after himself. Eating it is, he thought.

Dean thought about the day. It had been one of Sam's really bad ones. Sam had just sat there, staring into nothing, seemingly completely lost. Just a shell of what he had once been. On days like this, it was harder to get through to him to do anything except sit and stare at nothing, or lie down and stare at the ceiling.

These were the things that dragged the demon's words back into his memory... what he'll do to himself... not supposed to last much longer... Dean had tried to get everything he could out of the chick he'd tortured in the barn. All she could tell him was, "They made sure that as soon as the job was done and he gave the meat suit back, that's when your brother's life ends. Even if through some miracle you survive, your brother ain't gonna."

It was worrisome.

"...They made sure..." How could the demons be sure Sam would die when the demon smoked out? Sam was still around, and after all he'd been through, he seemed to be doing pretty well.

Dean needed to talk to Bobby about it. He was kind of an all-knowing resource when it came to stuff like this.

The former hunter was in front of the stove, re-heating and stirring the chili for the older of his adopted sons. Without looking at Dean, he ordered, "Get me another beer while this is warming up."

"What happened to the chicken?" the younger man questioned with a faint grin. Bobby just shrugged.

The older Winchester went silent for a moment. He was exhausted. There was nothing he wanted more than to go to sleep, get some rest, and be with his little brother when he woke up.

"There's something the demon said, Bobby," Dean started. Bobby stopped stirring the pot. "She told me Sam was supposed to die."

Bobby's shoulders fell as he turned around to face Dean. "Well, she could've meant your brother's injuries - we had Castiel, and he fixed him halfway. Otherwise he wouldn't be here."

Dean nodded thoughtfully, still concerned. "I know, but... she seemed so damn sure about it - 'he wasn't supposed to survive either way', is what she said."

Bobby frowned. "You think we've got a curse on our hands?"

"I don't wanna bet that it's not. I know demons lie, but on the other hand, I don't wanna risk anything." Dean rubbed his palms over his face. "They've messed enough with Sam's head. I just don't wanna lose him, Bobby. I can't lose him like this, not again - not because of a demon."

"You won't lose Sam, boy. We won't lose him period. It was just a bad day," Bobby said calmly, filling a bowl with the warmed-up chili for Dean. "You were out in the barn and Sam had been looking for you since yesterday night. He was waiting for you. After everything he's been through, he's doin' pretty good. Sure he's still a mess, but no one's gonna blame him for that. I say we wait and see how it goes. If we get any hints of anything, we'll find a solution. But as long as we don't know what kind of - or if - something supernatural is goin' on, we can't do anything."

Dean nodded and dug into the thick goop with his spoon. The beans were overcooked, but he was too tired to care.

He should've done it days ago.

Everything seemed crystal clear now. Something had been telling him to do it all along. No, not "something" - himself. Now that the voices had stopped and there was silence, any thoughts he had were his own. No one was locking him into that dark corner in his mind.

He knew if he did this, he had to do it right. He remembered what Lucifer had told him: he would fix him if he died; he'd bring him back no matter what because he was Lucifer's vessel...

But was he really able to do that? Could he really put his vessel together again? Sam wasn't sure about it, he honestly wasn't. Lucifer shouldn't even be able to find him, right? With the sigils burned into his ribs, no angel would be able to track him down now. And of course, when he died, they'd burn his body. There'd be nothing left but ashes, and Sam doubted even Lucifer could rebuild him out of dust... out of nothing.

It wasn't like he really wanted to do it, but he felt like a burden. And at least this way he would die as a hunter, the way he was meant to. He would have a hunter's funeral. He deserved that.

Sam knew where Dean kept the Vicodin and all the other good stuff - the stuff that would make it easier for him to do what he should've done right after he'd realized he was more of a burden for his brother and friends than anything else.

He'd already wrapped his mind around this idea... now he just had to do it right.

Three days later...

Dean came out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam following him as he walked into the bedroom, fully clothed. He'd expected his brother to still be asleep, but he wasn't. In fact, Sam was sitting on his bed, watching him, when he emerged.

The past days had been good. More than just good. Sam had improved further. He seemed calmer and steadier than before. His little brother had also gained some weight, was more alert and he had stopped crying. He still wasn't talking, but Dean was sure his brother would get over that. It might take Sam a little bit longer, but he was sure that he would talk when he was able to. But Dean also knew all too well that talking meant answering questions - obviously - and Sam didn't seem to want that yet.

Dean grinned widely as he looked at his little brother. "Ready for breakfast?" he asked, fetching his wallet from his bedside table. "I'll be back in about an hour or two."

Sam nodded. He was ready, all right... as ready he ever would be.

The younger Winchester stood up and stepped towards his sibling, pulling him into a tight hug. "Goodbye, Dean," he whispered, grasping the back of his shirt in a death grip. "I love you, big brother."

Dean froze, swallowed hard. Sam was talking...

Sam was talking. After so long, his first real words - not crying, not sobbing, not just apologizing, not hesitating. His first clear words.

Dean smiled gently. "I love you too, Sam."