Chapter 5: Vermilion

She is everything to me, the unrequited dream. The song that no one sings, the unattainable. She's the myth that I have to believe in. All I need to make her real is one more reason. I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do, and she makes me sad.- Vermilion part 2 by Slipknot

Sam stayed in his room the next day, mostly to annoy Dean who he knew would over think everything and blame it on himself. Maybe it was stupid and shallow but he had hopes that if he did not come down Dean would take what he had said to heart.

There had been a time when being stuck in his room all day would have drove him insane. He was usually active by nature and he did not like to just sit around doing nothing. That was before Jess had died. These days he did not do much of anything. He couldn't find the drive to. Instead, he found himself laying in bed trying not to cry over his loss as the days merged together and it became hard to tell how long he had actually been isolated in his room between sleeping all day and not being able to sleep at all. Thanks to the black out curtains there were periods where he had no idea how many days he had been in there outside of Dean complaining about the smell.

Sam laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing that Jessica was laying beside him. He missed the way that she curled into him, her head laying on his chest. He missed the soft sound of her breathing as she slept, and the way she would spoon up against his back if he turned away from her. His nose burned in the way that told him that he was going to cry and he wasn't going to be able to stop it.

"Stop it." He told himself as if his body was going to listen to him. Instead he found hot tears rolling down the sides of his face mingling in his hair and the shell of his ears. It was ugly he knew, his face would be red and blotchy if he looked into anything reflective and he hated that he could not stop it. Once he started he could not stop and he prayed that Dean would leave him alone and stay out of his room. He wouldn't be able to look him in the face if he was caught crying like this.

God he missed her. The way she laughed and how she looked at him as if he were her moon and stars. He thought about the things he wanted to say to her. He wanted her to know just how much he loved her, how much he missed her, and how he never thought that he would find anybody else. She had been the love of his life and he could not imagine feeling the way about anyone else the way he felt about Jessica. The way she had made his heart swell like a balloon, how she made him so happy but somehow made his heart ache at the same time as if his heart was breaking with just how much he loved her or something. He did not have words for it. All he knew was that everytime he looked at her he had fallen in love with her a little more.

How could he ever feel like that with someone else? He was only twenty two and his life may as well be over. He was nothing with out Jessica. She kept him on point and made life worth living. And it was all over. She was dead and he was never going to get anything back.

More tears fell and, for the thousandth time since the night that their home had gone up in flames, he felt his heart breaking and the world around him shatter. He needed her in his life an he would never hear her voice, or feel her touch, or come home to her making cookies. And for the thousandth time he fell asleep crying, sleeping the sleep you can only get because of exhaustion.

...

Sam woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. Absently, he reached out and grabbed the device from the bed side table and answered it.
"Hello?" His voice was rough and he had to clear it before repeating himself to make sure he was heard.

"Samsquach," the voice on the other end said in a voice that was far to cheery, especially for someone who had fallen asleep crying. "What are you doing right now?"

"Uh, talking to you?" Sam rubbed at his eyes. They burned with the need to close them again.

"Excellent! So you're not doing anything? Then you need to come to the bar, right now." Nick said happily.

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"I need a shower." Sam mumbled, still rubbing his eyes even though he knew that it was not helping anything.

"Fine, shower and then meet me at the bar." And then Nick hung up.

"Okay, I guess." Sam said to a dead phone. Feeling as if he weighed a thousand pounds, he drug himself out of bed and into the shower, not understanding why he was jumping at Nick's call when all he wanted to do is go back to sleep. Instead he took a shower, trying to wash his sadness down the drain, got dressed, and made his way downstairs.

Dean wasn't in the kitchen or the living room, Sam guessed that he had gone to work, something he had forgotten about until that moment. Just because his life had slowed to a stop did not mean that anyone else's had. In any case it saved him from having to deal with his brother as he locked the door and pocketed his keys.

The walk to Lucy's seemed to take forever as Sam wondered, yet again, why he had agreed to go. Not that he had said so to Nick, who had just assumed that he would come, but he did get out of bed and that in itself said it said he did not know but it said something which counted, he guessed.

The bar only had a few patrons, all sitting at the bar. It must be Monday, something he had not thought about. Days of the week and what time it was had meant so little to him that he had rarely thought about them anymore. For some reason the thought bothered him. Brushing it off, he made his way to the bar to wait for Nick.

"If it isn't my favorite new customer!" Nick called from the back, sticking his head through the door, a large smile on his face.

Sam didn't dignify it with a response, instead he stuck his tongue out at him which only made Nick laugh.

"So, what am I doing here, other than answering a crazy man's beck and call?" Sam asked, stifling a yawn.

"You, my ginormus friend, are in for a treat." Nick called from the back. He came out carrying plates on his arms as if he were some kind of waiter. Maybe he was, he really didn't know Nick very well.

"Tada!" He said, placing plates in front of him. Plates of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and toast. Breakfast.

"What's all of this?" Sam asked, not wanting to believe that a stranger had made him breakfast for no reason other than because he wanted to.
"Lucy's special." Nick said with a grin. "But don't get used to it though because I don't cook for just anyone."

"I thought Lucy's special was a greasy pork sandwich served in a dirty ashtray." Someone called from down the bar.

"No, that's just for you, Anderson. This is Lucy's special for people I actually like." Nick called back with a wink for Sam.

"I can't accept this." Sam stammered, unsure what to do. What was the etiquette for something like this?

"You can and you will because I made it myself, on the house, and you will eat." Nick pointed a finger in Sam's face and tried to look stern but the smile was still peeking through.

"Okay. Whatever you say, crazy man with a spatula." Sam couldn't help but smile back.

"Damn straight. Eat." Nick pointed at the food sitting in front of him.

As Sam cut into his pancakes, realizing just how hungry he was, Nick watched every movement in that way of his.

"So, any particular reason I get Lucy's special for breakfast?" Sam asked, taking a bite. They could have given Dean a run for his money.

"Your brother said you haven't gotten out much since Jess' funeral." Nick said, his smile fading.

Sam only shrugged. He didn't want to talk about Jess.

"I'm going to change that."

Sam couldn't tell if it was a threat or a promise.