Visions 7 Chapter 3
Hey all! Here's the next chapter! Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! Everything's going to get much, much, much, much worse before it gets better, but.......well, that's what we're all here for right? :)
I had this ready to post like three days ago, but ff.net won't let me edit any of my stories. I don't know how to fix it and it's really irritating. So, yeah, I hope that's fixed soon.......
.....................................
A week of tense silence followed that fateful night.
Sam had never felt so disconnected from his brother. Even when they were fighting they had been brothers, there had still been something between them. He could always trust his brother to be there when he really needed him.
Now?
He wasn't so sure.
If he was honest with himself......he had never felt so alone.
..............
Dean had spent a good portion of the week drinking.
Day after day, Sam watched his brother go to the local bar and get as drunk as he could possibly manage. He left often, but never told Sam where he was going.
Sam was a little surprised by how much it hurt every time Dean walked right passed him in their motel room and didn't say a word, didn't even look at him.
Sam had been left to fend for himself.
Dean woke up before Sam several times, but never got his brother breakfast as he normally would. He got breakfast.....just none for Sam.
Frankly, Sam was almost glad to be able to leave the intense tension behind for a few minutes to get his own breakfast. He was so sick of the motel room. They hadn't left the town, they hadn't even left the motel room.
Dean hadn't even talked to him.
Sam had never seen his brother in such a state of strong and horrible grief. He had never been so shunned by his sibling, even at their worst times.
Sam wasn't sure how to balance reaching out to Dean and dealing with his own horrid grief and guilt. Normally, Dean would reach out to him. Sam had always thought that they would suffer through every trial together, that no matter what happened they would get through it because they were together.
Being proven wrong sucked.
Especially when you learned the hard way.
Dean's glare, so full of intense anger and almost hatred, had quickly detered Sam from trying more than once to reach out to his brother.
He had had nightmares about receiving that look from Dean. It was the look that Dean usually received for people who were threatening Sam, not for Sam himself.
Sam found it surprisingly terrifying.
The nightmares of being hunted returned, despite the fact that they had always been about.....about their dad before.
Now?
They were about Dean.
Sam woke up screaming every night.
Dean never stirred.
.................
Sam could clearly remember his breaking point.
He had tried so hard to give Dean space, hoped that Dean would come around and help him bear the burden that he thought was going to kill him.
Dad. Dad, I'm sorry.
Dad hadn't blamed him but did Dean?
It was with this in mind that Sam watched Dean come back from another night of drinking, walking right passed him without looking.
That's when Sam broke.
He needed to see his brother's loving gaze, his teasing smile.
He wanted the pain to go away. He didn't know how to deal with it alone. He had never had to before. How could he start now?
"Dean."
Dean froze.
It was the first words that had been spoken for a week between the two of them and Sam felt it like a physical pain.
"Dean, please. Please talk to me. Let me help you. We-we don't...don't have to do this alone."
Dean exloded. "It's not your job to fix me Sam."
That hurt.
"I'm your brother, Dean. Not only do I have a responsibility to help, but I want to help."
Dean spun around to face him. "Yeah, well, I'm not sure I want you to be that for me! You certainly weren't there for dad!"
Sam froze. "What?" his tone was soft, broken.
Dean stared at him, fury in his eyes, evident in the fists clenched at his side, shaking like he was trying to keep himself from hitting his younger brother. "It's your fault, Sam! If you had just taken the time to clean your gun, if you hadn't froze, if you had just used your stupid powers, you could have done something! You could have saved him, but you did nothing! It's your fault, because you freaking froze!"
Silence.
Oh.....
Sam had never heard such hurtful words spoken from his brother's mouth, nor had he known such pain was possible. He had suffered a lot in his short life time, but nothing compared to the pain of knowing that his brother blamed him. Truly blamed him and hated him for it.
He sat down hard on the bed, staring blankly at the floor. Some distant part of him recognized that he could very well be going into shock.
Dean stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
He was probably going back to the bar, if it was even open.
Sam lost track of time after that.
Minutes passed into hours, but it all felt like eternities to the youngest Winchester.
Dean's words spun around and around in Sam's head, the last week of silent suffering on both their parts.
It's your fault.
It's your fault.
It's your fault.
Dad is dead, because of you.
Dean hates you.
Sam froze on that one.
Dean hates you.
That's when Sam knew what he had to do.
................
It only took minutes for Sam to pack. Long years of practice kept him neat and orderly, keeping it easy to rush out the door if necessary.
His bag rested by the door, then he went out to the car, which still sat there, having been unmoved for a week now.
Dean always walked to the bar.
Sam opened the trunk, staring one last time at the array of weapons they owned, each telling him many stories of past hunts.
The rifle he had learned to shoot first, Dean's steady and gentle hands guiding him as he held it and aimed.
The machete he had learned to handle with practiced ease, Dean giving encouragement from the sidelines.
The journal that together he and Dean had filled with everything they knew about this life, about the creatures they had lived, and even died, fighting side by side.
Last of all, he laid eyes on his gun.
It was the handgun that Dean had given him for his 16th birthday, one that was his to use. He cleaned it, he cared for it, he used it.
His dad had died because of it.
Somehow Sam knew that if he left it behind Dean would just throw it away.
I need a weapon anyway.....
Sam tucked it into the back of his pants, then shut the trunk.
For some reason, it felt like he was shutting a lot more than that.
.....................
Sam took one last look around the motel room.
Everything that belonged to him was gone, packed and waiting by the door for him.
It amazed some distant part of him that wasn't completely numb that over twenty years of living, laughing, loving, fighting, and suffering could come down to a single duffle bag.
There was just one last thing to do.
Sam took the letter from his pocket and laid it on Dean's pillow, where he knew his older brother would see it.
He owed Dean an explanation of some kind.
If Dean cared enough to read it.
Maybe Dean was just that done with him, done with him enough to simply throw away the letter without reading it, with nothing more than a 'good riddance'.
Sam turned his back on the room, grabbed his duffle and walked out the door, shutting it softly behind him.
It was his first time on his own.
.......................
"Hey Bobby."
Sam had spent a restless night sleeping in a rental car that he had stolen, sleeping very little.
He couldn't stop thinking. Dean's words were always there, like a steady stream in the back of his mind: a constant reminder of his utter failure. In the front of his mind were more practical thoughts like, "what do I do now?"
He had never been on his own before. He had always hunted with Dean by his side. He wasn't used to living on his own and he was barely sure where to even start.
It had finally occurred to him that calling Bobby and running a few things by him might be a good start.
"Sam. How you holdin' up, kiddo?"
Bobby sounded concerned and it tore at Sam's heart.
"I've been better." was all he could manage.
Bobby sighed. "How's Dean?"
"Well.....um......" Sam finally took a deep breath and just plunged in. "We separated."
Stunned silence.
"What?"
Sam grimaced at Bobby's tone. "Dean.....I.....we both feel it would be for the best. It's, uh, it's been a really rough week, Bobby."
"Sam-"
Sam couldn't listen to lecture about staying by Dean's side. He couldn't.
"Bobby, I just.....I just thought you should know that....that we separated....just in case.....you know, just in case something goes wrong. Dean.....Dean deserves to know if something.....something happened to me. If....if he cares, then maybe you could pass the message along if you don't hear from me."
"Sam-"
"I gotta go, Bobby."
Sam ended the call, threw the phone into the empty passenger seat.
He pulled the car over to the side of the road, sat staring at the bleak landscape around him.
Finally, he bowed his head over the wheel of the car and began to cry.
I had this ready to post like three days ago, but ff.net won't let me edit any of my stories. I don't know how to fix it and it's really irritating. So, yeah, I hope that's fixed soon.......
.....................................
A week of tense silence followed that fateful night.
Sam had never felt so disconnected from his brother. Even when they were fighting they had been brothers, there had still been something between them. He could always trust his brother to be there when he really needed him.
Now?
He wasn't so sure.
If he was honest with himself......he had never felt so alone.
..............
Dean had spent a good portion of the week drinking.
Day after day, Sam watched his brother go to the local bar and get as drunk as he could possibly manage. He left often, but never told Sam where he was going.
Sam was a little surprised by how much it hurt every time Dean walked right passed him in their motel room and didn't say a word, didn't even look at him.
Sam had been left to fend for himself.
Dean woke up before Sam several times, but never got his brother breakfast as he normally would. He got breakfast.....just none for Sam.
Frankly, Sam was almost glad to be able to leave the intense tension behind for a few minutes to get his own breakfast. He was so sick of the motel room. They hadn't left the town, they hadn't even left the motel room.
Dean hadn't even talked to him.
Sam had never seen his brother in such a state of strong and horrible grief. He had never been so shunned by his sibling, even at their worst times.
Sam wasn't sure how to balance reaching out to Dean and dealing with his own horrid grief and guilt. Normally, Dean would reach out to him. Sam had always thought that they would suffer through every trial together, that no matter what happened they would get through it because they were together.
Being proven wrong sucked.
Especially when you learned the hard way.
Dean's glare, so full of intense anger and almost hatred, had quickly detered Sam from trying more than once to reach out to his brother.
He had had nightmares about receiving that look from Dean. It was the look that Dean usually received for people who were threatening Sam, not for Sam himself.
Sam found it surprisingly terrifying.
The nightmares of being hunted returned, despite the fact that they had always been about.....about their dad before.
Now?
They were about Dean.
Sam woke up screaming every night.
Dean never stirred.
.................
Sam could clearly remember his breaking point.
He had tried so hard to give Dean space, hoped that Dean would come around and help him bear the burden that he thought was going to kill him.
Dad. Dad, I'm sorry.
Dad hadn't blamed him but did Dean?
It was with this in mind that Sam watched Dean come back from another night of drinking, walking right passed him without looking.
That's when Sam broke.
He needed to see his brother's loving gaze, his teasing smile.
He wanted the pain to go away. He didn't know how to deal with it alone. He had never had to before. How could he start now?
"Dean."
Dean froze.
It was the first words that had been spoken for a week between the two of them and Sam felt it like a physical pain.
"Dean, please. Please talk to me. Let me help you. We-we don't...don't have to do this alone."
Dean exloded. "It's not your job to fix me Sam."
That hurt.
"I'm your brother, Dean. Not only do I have a responsibility to help, but I want to help."
Dean spun around to face him. "Yeah, well, I'm not sure I want you to be that for me! You certainly weren't there for dad!"
Sam froze. "What?" his tone was soft, broken.
Dean stared at him, fury in his eyes, evident in the fists clenched at his side, shaking like he was trying to keep himself from hitting his younger brother. "It's your fault, Sam! If you had just taken the time to clean your gun, if you hadn't froze, if you had just used your stupid powers, you could have done something! You could have saved him, but you did nothing! It's your fault, because you freaking froze!"
Silence.
Oh.....
Sam had never heard such hurtful words spoken from his brother's mouth, nor had he known such pain was possible. He had suffered a lot in his short life time, but nothing compared to the pain of knowing that his brother blamed him. Truly blamed him and hated him for it.
He sat down hard on the bed, staring blankly at the floor. Some distant part of him recognized that he could very well be going into shock.
Dean stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
He was probably going back to the bar, if it was even open.
Sam lost track of time after that.
Minutes passed into hours, but it all felt like eternities to the youngest Winchester.
Dean's words spun around and around in Sam's head, the last week of silent suffering on both their parts.
It's your fault.
It's your fault.
It's your fault.
Dad is dead, because of you.
Dean hates you.
Sam froze on that one.
Dean hates you.
That's when Sam knew what he had to do.
................
It only took minutes for Sam to pack. Long years of practice kept him neat and orderly, keeping it easy to rush out the door if necessary.
His bag rested by the door, then he went out to the car, which still sat there, having been unmoved for a week now.
Dean always walked to the bar.
Sam opened the trunk, staring one last time at the array of weapons they owned, each telling him many stories of past hunts.
The rifle he had learned to shoot first, Dean's steady and gentle hands guiding him as he held it and aimed.
The machete he had learned to handle with practiced ease, Dean giving encouragement from the sidelines.
The journal that together he and Dean had filled with everything they knew about this life, about the creatures they had lived, and even died, fighting side by side.
Last of all, he laid eyes on his gun.
It was the handgun that Dean had given him for his 16th birthday, one that was his to use. He cleaned it, he cared for it, he used it.
His dad had died because of it.
Somehow Sam knew that if he left it behind Dean would just throw it away.
I need a weapon anyway.....
Sam tucked it into the back of his pants, then shut the trunk.
For some reason, it felt like he was shutting a lot more than that.
.....................
Sam took one last look around the motel room.
Everything that belonged to him was gone, packed and waiting by the door for him.
It amazed some distant part of him that wasn't completely numb that over twenty years of living, laughing, loving, fighting, and suffering could come down to a single duffle bag.
There was just one last thing to do.
Sam took the letter from his pocket and laid it on Dean's pillow, where he knew his older brother would see it.
He owed Dean an explanation of some kind.
If Dean cared enough to read it.
Maybe Dean was just that done with him, done with him enough to simply throw away the letter without reading it, with nothing more than a 'good riddance'.
Sam turned his back on the room, grabbed his duffle and walked out the door, shutting it softly behind him.
It was his first time on his own.
.......................
"Hey Bobby."
Sam had spent a restless night sleeping in a rental car that he had stolen, sleeping very little.
He couldn't stop thinking. Dean's words were always there, like a steady stream in the back of his mind: a constant reminder of his utter failure. In the front of his mind were more practical thoughts like, "what do I do now?"
He had never been on his own before. He had always hunted with Dean by his side. He wasn't used to living on his own and he was barely sure where to even start.
It had finally occurred to him that calling Bobby and running a few things by him might be a good start.
"Sam. How you holdin' up, kiddo?"
Bobby sounded concerned and it tore at Sam's heart.
"I've been better." was all he could manage.
Bobby sighed. "How's Dean?"
"Well.....um......" Sam finally took a deep breath and just plunged in. "We separated."
Stunned silence.
"What?"
Sam grimaced at Bobby's tone. "Dean.....I.....we both feel it would be for the best. It's, uh, it's been a really rough week, Bobby."
"Sam-"
Sam couldn't listen to lecture about staying by Dean's side. He couldn't.
"Bobby, I just.....I just thought you should know that....that we separated....just in case.....you know, just in case something goes wrong. Dean.....Dean deserves to know if something.....something happened to me. If....if he cares, then maybe you could pass the message along if you don't hear from me."
"Sam-"
"I gotta go, Bobby."
Sam ended the call, threw the phone into the empty passenger seat.
He pulled the car over to the side of the road, sat staring at the bleak landscape around him.
Finally, he bowed his head over the wheel of the car and began to cry.