Regret's Resonance
Sam flees the motel room, giving Dean and Bobby some mumbled bullshit excuse about going to look through some lore. Unlocking the door with numb and shivering hands, he stumbles into the overcast weather of that afternoon. Sam is surprised his legs are still able to hold him up with how weak they feel. His ears are ringing, and his heart is in his throat. Sam harshly swallows down something broken and miserable that threatens to escape for a second. No. No way. He starts to walk.
Reckless and selfish and arrogant
This kind of thing don't get forgiven.
I want you to lose my number.
Bobby's harsh words echo through his mind in a sickening loop. They trail behind him on the street, lodge themselves under his nails, inside his chest.
Sam walks and walks, draws the air into his hurting lungs, and tries not to choke on the weight buried behind his ribs. Tendrils of shame and despair wrap around him, constricting him, making every step Sam takes slow and heavy as if he's underwater and blindly searching for the shore.
Sam feels like he can't breathe.
Through Bobby's tirade, Dean didn't say a thing. But Dean didn't need to say anything. His silence says all Sam needs to know. It's a wordless verdict, louder than any words could ever be. And honestly, he's already made himself clear. The voicemail Dean left promises him no second chances if Sam were to step beyond the line again (Sam feels like he's walking a tightrope, with below his feet only the dark and deep waiting). Silently, Sam wonders why Dean is still at his side, why his brother hasn't already put a bullet through him as he had vowed. But- that would be like mercy - that would be too easy. Sam has to clean up his mess. He's a big boy now, as he has made evident to Dean so vehemently over the past few months.
Sam unconsciously wipes his hands over his pants. Again and again. A nervous tic. Because no matter how many times he washes them, they will never be clean again. His hands will remain stained no matter what he does. Sam will never be clean again.
Sam walks on.
Bobby, the man who is like a surrogate father to him, loathes him now. Sam spilled the truth - couldn't hold it in any longer, the words like acid at the back of his throat. The look of scorn is pathetically familiar to Sam. His dad probably hated him too - sensed the darkness inside Sam long before anybody else did. History tends to repeat itself. Go figure. And Sam deserves it. He had it coming. As soon as he took a glance at the demon blood and thought he could do right, Sam should have known better.
The church is old and musty and, most importantly, empty. Inside the building, it's chilly, and Sam shivers, burying himself a bit more into his jacket. There are dark wooden beams high up, stained glass windows that have seen better days, dirty, with only meager sunlight falling through them, and spiderwebs spanning the ceiling. Sam takes another step inside, leaving the grey of the afternoon behind. As soon as the heavy door falls shut behind him, cloaking him in semi-darkness, cutting him off from the world outside, for some reason, something in him simply crumbles. It leaves him breathless, a tide taking him under (and Sam can't breathe). Hot tears are on his face before he knows it. Fucking pathetic. He started the end of the world and runs away to cry about it when he's facing the consequences for it. Sam sucks in a rattling breath that doesn't do anything for his starved lungs, and his ragged breathing reverberates through the quiet. He sinks to his knees, fingers tingling, and he desperately pushes back the sounds that want to erupt from his chest. Sam takes breath after breath, crouched down on the dusty tiles, hands over his face as if that will keep the demons out. Because let's face it - who's the real monster here? (Oh, you know who, his brain whispers. And Sam does know all too well). Sam breathes breath after breath till he thinks he's going to be sick with it - till it feels like he's not drowning in his own mind anymore.
It takes a while for him to calm down, and when he eventually does, he's nothing more than a shivering and silent mess. He peels himself off the floor slowly, knees stiff and head aching. Sam doesn't know how much time has passed since he left the room in a rush, but his guess is about 30 minutes. Sam should go back and see if Dean hasn't finally decided to leave him behind for good. Sam wishes he could stay, the need to be alone longer tugging at him, but something in his chest tells him to return to the room. Sam exhales and brushes his fingers a final time across his face. He pushes open the door and squints into the sparse daylight that greets him. And so, Sam leaves his little shelter behind.
Despite the dust and frigid air, the ambiance of the church had been soothing on his frayed nerves. And while this particular church was not all that remarkable, the architecture and ancient history of the churches they sometimes visit drags Sam in whenever he has the chance. It's an interest of his that's often met with an eye roll and a snarky comment from Dean. The thought of Dean making fun of him tightens something in his chest.
Despite all the anger and hurt hanging between them, Dean remains by Sam's side. And maybe Bobby wants Sam to lose his number, and Sam isn't going to pretend that that doesn't hurt, but it's time for Sam to open his eyes and face the outcomes of his mistakes.
Sam makes his way back to the motel room, back to his brother, the anxious feeling fluttering in his chest and telling him to hurry.
The chaos Sam stumbles into when he unlocks the door to their room makes him temporarily forget his reflections. Meg is there, smiling and taunting, like she always does, and then she's gone again in a cloud of dark smoke. Sam's on the floor, body aching, but Bobby is bleeding, and Dean is bloody. He fumbles for his phone, but then Dean is there, keys to the car in his hand.
It's a disarray of moments stitched together, but finally, Bobby is deemed stable and safe. Sam tries not to think of it, but the white hospital sheets remind him too much of their dad.
It's when Bobby looks him in the eye and says that wasn't me, it was the demon talking, and I ain't cutting you out, boy, that Sam dares to hope again. Maybe.
But it's a start.
I wrote another tag to 5x01. The scene where Bobby rips Sam apart with his words while Dean stands by silently will always hurt me.