[closed to gwen; backdated to days post wolves] oh when, oh when
Sam hurts. His body aches, it's tired and still in pain, his bandaging clumsy. But that's not the bad part. The bad part is the deeper pain, the part that hears you're a monster, Sam and pick a hemisphere. And that's what has him finding a quiet corner of the Mansion to sit down and lower his face into his hands.
God. God. One night, and it's all gone sour. They were doing better, they were even starting to (maybe) heal. But that's gone now. And it's never coming back. Or at least, he doesn't dare to hope so. Dean has made it clear often enough how thin of ice he's walking on right now.
And maybe he doesn't want to make it work. Maybe his brother doesn't think he can see it, but he knows the weariness and exhaustion are at least partly his fault, if not entirely. He's never made Dean's life easier. Maybe it'd be better to keep this distance. Keep them both safe. Maybe Lucifer hasn't found him here yet. Maybe it's only a matter of time. Maybe this is all Lucifer just messing with him.
God, he's tired. And alone, and profoundly, bitterly, lonely. Wishing there were someone he could talk to about this. Wishing there were someone he could spill his fear and loneliness and resentment onto without hurting.
Such a person, he knows, doesn't exist. Better to keep quiet, keep it to yourself. Lessons long learned in the family Winchester.
But he needs a moment. Just a moment, so that later if he has to he can pretend that nothing happened, because that's how it will be, won't it? If Dean lets him back in, they won't talk about this. They won't talk about anything. It'll just be another inch in what already feels like a bottomless chasm between them.
He almost (almost) wishes that...whatever it was had let him die. But that would probably only be worse.
God. God. One night, and it's all gone sour. They were doing better, they were even starting to (maybe) heal. But that's gone now. And it's never coming back. Or at least, he doesn't dare to hope so. Dean has made it clear often enough how thin of ice he's walking on right now.
And maybe he doesn't want to make it work. Maybe his brother doesn't think he can see it, but he knows the weariness and exhaustion are at least partly his fault, if not entirely. He's never made Dean's life easier. Maybe it'd be better to keep this distance. Keep them both safe. Maybe Lucifer hasn't found him here yet. Maybe it's only a matter of time. Maybe this is all Lucifer just messing with him.
God, he's tired. And alone, and profoundly, bitterly, lonely. Wishing there were someone he could talk to about this. Wishing there were someone he could spill his fear and loneliness and resentment onto without hurting.
Such a person, he knows, doesn't exist. Better to keep quiet, keep it to yourself. Lessons long learned in the family Winchester.
But he needs a moment. Just a moment, so that later if he has to he can pretend that nothing happened, because that's how it will be, won't it? If Dean lets him back in, they won't talk about this. They won't talk about anything. It'll just be another inch in what already feels like a bottomless chasm between them.
He almost (almost) wishes that...whatever it was had let him die. But that would probably only be worse.