Supernatural: A Long Winter's Night 3/5
Title: A Long Winter's Night
Author: Ada
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Season One.
Characters: Dean, short-lived OCs so Dean has someone to interact with
Disclaimer: I make no claims to owning anything except the original content of this story.
Note: This is the sequel to The Art of Walking Away. This story is finished, I wrote it almost a year ago and it is part two in the trilogy.
Summary: Sequel to The Art of Walking Away. Two years, seven months, and 48 states he had searched for Sam. But he had no luck. After all, Sam was a Winchester, a hunter, and if he did not want to be found, then no one could find him.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
A Long Winter’s Night
By: Ada C. Eliana
Chapter 3
Time/ Standing all alone/ I bled for you/ I wanted to/ Each drop my own
Slowly they depart/ But fall in vain/ Like desert rain/ And still they fall on and on and on
Got to get back to a reason/ Got to get back to a reason I once knew/ And this late in the seasons/ One by one distractions fade from view
So/ Drifting through the dark/ The sympathy/ Of night’s mercy/ Inside my heart
Is your life the same?/ Do ghosts cry tears?/ Do they feel years?
As time just goes on and on and on
“Back to a Reason (Part II)” Trans-Siberian Orchestra
He turned back to Tessa who was shaking her hips to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” and thought about the Christmases Sam had spent at Stanford. Had he stayed on campus? Did his friends stay with him and decorate and bake and everything? Sam had never really said anything about his time in college and Dean supposed he was partially to blame for that. Ever since Sam disappeared Dean wondered more and more on the missing three years, trying to piece together in his mind what Sam’s life had been like before Jess died and it all came crashing down in a hail of flame.
It took him a moment to register the fact that Tessa was talking to him. “If it’s too personal, you don’t have to answer or anything, but I was just wondering… your brother… how did he disappear?” she asked. Joy and Jason had relocated to the couch, and were now making out in the glow of the “Yule Log.” Tessa’s elbows were on the counter, and she was leaning forward, towards Dean, the neckline of the green shirt under her white vest plunging low; Dean barely even noticed; his mind somewhere else.
“There was this… person… who was after us,” Dean said after a moment, surprising even himself. He would later blame this lapse on the high alcohol content of his eggnog, or the fact that it was so freaking cold outside, or some lapse in sanity, but it was really because he had been alone far too long with no one to really talk to; and it had absolutely nothing to do with some sentimentality about the Christmas season. “We got into a car crash, I was hurt pretty bad, and Sam - that’s my brother - thought he found out where the guy was headed while I was still in the hospital, so he took off after him. I tried to track him down, but nothing, and I haven’t heard from him since.”
“What about other relatives?” she asked, eyes filled with sympathy.
“It’s just me, Sam, and my Dad. But Dad decided that Sam was probably dead and that I was wasting my life searching for him, so him and me, we don’t really talk to each other anymore,” he added bitterly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes slightly glassy.
“So your turn, why is Skidmore your home?” he asked, deftly changing the subject before she got him to spill any more.
“My parents and I don’t really get along,” she shrugged. “College was my ticket out of their world, and I don’t intend to go back, ever. We made a deal, they would pay for my school, and I wouldn’t come home. It’s worked out pretty good so far.”
They sat in silence, punctuated by the music and the kissing sounds coming from the couple behind them. “When I showed you the photo… you said Sam looked familiar, are you sure you don’t remember why?” Dean pressed.
“Can I see the picture again?” she asked. Dean nodded and pulled the picture out of his jacket again, handing it to her and watching her expression closely. She furrowed her eyebrows as she stared at it, and then finally looked back up at Dean. “I mean… he looks familiar, but I think it’s just because he has one of those faces, you know? Like those people whose faces are kind of similar to other people; kind of standard.
“Are you sure?” Dean asked again, trying to stifle the slight hint of desperation in his tone.
“I can’t help you, I’m sorry,” she answered with finality, handing the photo back to him. Dean let his eyes linger over the image for a moment before pushing it back into his pocket.
Dean pressed his eyes closed for a minute, clearing his head and forcing himself to focus back on the topic at hand - an angry spirit. “So what Joy was saying, about this man in the woods, is there anything more to that?”
“Not much… she saw him once, but she doesn’t like to mention it, I guess she got pretty freaked out. She said he looked about sixty though.” Tessa paused, collecting her thoughts. “It was near that shack…”
“Really? Any directions on how to get to the shack?”
“Uh… I think… if you go to the road behind this one, and then follow the end of the road into the forest…. I think that’s the best way to get to it,” Tessa muttered.
Tessa refilled her glass with more eggnog and glanced around Dean at her housemates. “So really, what kind of ‘private investigator’ are you anyway?” she asked, turning her attention back to him, but not quite meeting his eyes.
“Well Tessa, we all have our secrets; besides, it’s strictly confidential,” he smiled. “Just hope you’re never in a situation where you have to find out what I do.” Tessa’s expression shifted and she looked nervously at Dean. “Jeez Tessa, it’s not like I’m going to hurt you,” he muttered, his social skills quickly degenerating. “I should get back to my car, thanks for… you know… everything,” he said, pulling his coat back on.
“You’re welcome,” Tessa responded as he headed for the door. “And… for what it’s worth, I hope you find your brother.”
Dean turned around, his hand on the doorknob, and looked Tessa straight in the eye. “So do I Tessa.”
------------------------------
The sky had darkened considerably while he had been in that apartment. It was nearly pitch black outside, winter forcing sunset to an earlier time. Trudging back to the Impala, Dean considered the hunt one more time, trying to ignore the way Tessa had looked at Sam’s picture as if she had seen him before; the way she answered “he looks familiar.” She didn’t know anything; she couldn’t have.
On the subject of the hunt, Dean decided to postpone any hikes through the woods until morning, at least then he would be able to see. But if a corpse needed to be dug up, it just might have to wait until spring.
---------------------------------------
Not wanting to deal with any more people for the remainder of the evening, Dean rented a room in the motel he had passed on his way into town. He slapped a credit card on the counter and asked for two queens. For the past two years every time he stopped for the night he would get a room with two beds; just in case that day he found Sam. The day he rented a room just for himself would be the day he gave up on his little brother.
Dean shoved the door open and stared at the room. It was relatively standard; plain striped wallpaper, two beds separated by a nightstand, a TV cabinet across from them, a small desk and chair. The sink was inside the room while another door led to the bathroom. It could’ve been any one of a hundred hotel rooms Dean had stayed in over the years.
Dean lugged his duffle bag and a small weapon’s bag and tossed them on the floor between the two beds, the laptop case he placed on the bed closest to the door. He ordered a pizza from a local place the guy working had suggested, and then settled down for a night of research. He unzipped the laptop bag; it was small, form fitted to the computer. He slid the laptop out and plugged the adapter into the wall. It was a MAC, a Powerbook or something, whatever that guy at the Apple store had suggested. It was supposed to be one of the best, with all kinds of special features and crap Dean didn’t really understand or care about. He had bought it when the Impala was out of the shop and he was ready to hit the road. The Dell had been destroyed in the wreck, and he figured he would be able to track down Sam relatively quickly, or that Sam would realize it had been dumb to leave, and come back to him, so he bought the computer as a gift for his brother - to be given to him after he kicked his ass for taking off like that of course.
For now Dean just used the computer for research on the internet, though he never mastered the trick of getting wireless internet anywhere like Sam did. The only time his brother had ever mentioned it he had said something about some sort of satellite internet or something; but Dean hadn’t been paying attention at the time, and so his internet access these days was hit and miss.
-----------------------------------
Two hours and three slices of pizza later and Dean had just stumbled across an article about the disappearance of two men; one a third year student at Skidmore, Gregory Davis, and the other a middle-aged local man, David Bennett.
“Bennett was reported missing early Monday morning by his wife; Claire; who said he had not been home since Saturday night.”
“Davis disappeared after a party in a Skidmore northwoods apartment Saturday night. Friends say he appeared to be intoxicated but insisted he was fine. He left the party alone and never reached his dorm.”
“So you both disappeared on the same night… what could have happened?” Dean mused, looking over the two articles again. “I’m suspecting there might be murder involved here. But why both of them?” Dean looked up more information on the two men, and puzzled over the details before throwing his hands in the air and giving up on the stupid research. He just had to get into the woods and look for the bones; salt and burn them, and then move along. And that would have to wait until tomorrow, which meant he needed to find something to do until morning.
---------------------------------
Eleven o’clock found Dean in the back of a crowded bar with a couple of empty shot glasses and a mug of beer in front of him. He watched the people around him; all miserable and most of them alone. Why else would someone go to a bar on such a frigid cold night? Anyone who had anyone they cared about would be out shopping for last-minute Christmas gifts, or inside with them rather than at some crummy bar (he was just happy the cutesy city of Saratoga Springs had crummy bars) drowning their sorrows in alcohol. There were no pool tables, and so Dean just had to sit there, thinking. How this was better than the hotel he didn’t really know.
As it always did when he had too much to drink, Dean’s mind drifted back two years; to the cabin and the last run-in with the demon. If he could go back and do it all over again, what could he possibly have changed? Shot his dad outright? He couldn’t have just sacrificed his father’s life, and Sam had proven that just hitting the person anywhere with a bullet didn’t kill the demon inside. Then what? Not antagonized the demon? But he antagonized the demon to get its focus off of Sam, and stop it from saying things that would just make Sam feel more guilty, and reverse all the progress they had made on the “it wasn’t your fault” front. And who knows what that demon might have said? What exactly were those “plans” and could knowing them have made the situation even worse?
Basically, looking back he still couldn’t see where he could have changed something to prevent Sam from leaving. It was up to Sam to make that decision, and Dean had no power over what he did. Somehow that did little to make him feel better. Because he didn’t want to blame Sam, to be angry at him and hate him; he couldn’t. Sam must have felt trapped; pushed into a corner with very few options; having to live with the guilt of two deaths on his shoulders, and not wanting to add his father and brother to that list. He understood why Sam did what he did, but he still wasn’t satisfied with that.
He cut his thoughts off there, they always seemed to just ramble and jumble together past that point. Paying his tab, Dean grabbed his coat and headed back outside to the waiting Impala.
----------------------------
The motel room’s heat was on high, the room stifling to him as he stumbled in from the cold. Slightly uncoordinated from drinking, Dean slammed the door shut and nearly tripped over the bed as he walked into the room. Picking himself back up again, he tossed his coat on the bed. The picture in the inside pocket poked out of the material, Sam’s face half-covered by the lining. “I mean… he looks familiar, but I think it’s just because he has one of those faces, you know? Like those people whose faces are kind of similar to other people; kind of standard.” Standard, was that what she had said? That Sam looked just like everybody else? Sam with his puppy dog eyes and his ability to get people to do exactly what he wanted? His too-tall brother who caught the attention of so many girls just by trying to be invisible? He’d been combing the country with this picture and never once thought that Sam just looked so similar to everyone else. Then again… maybe Sam didn’t even look like that anymore. Maybe he had been burned or cut or something and looked like someone completely different.
Maybe he was dead.
Shaking his head, Dean grabbed at the hem of his shirt and pulled it off. As he got the T-shirt up over his chest his hands ran across the scars from the demon’s attack. He threw the shirt on the floor and looked down at his abdomen where the slashes stood plainly out from his skin. They were his souvenirs from the fight; the last remaining evidence that the night in the cabin had actually happened. Touching them again made everything seem shockingly clear and real; the last two years he had spent alone; the utter destruction that one demon had caused in his family; the loss of not just his brother, but his father too. “It’s December 23rd; shouldn’t you be with your family or something?” Joy’s question repeated in his mind, mocking him, and Dean felt all the emotions he had bottled up come bursting out of him.
He saw red, and before he knew what was happening, he had reached for the items closest to him, bags and weapons, and threw them hard against the wall, satisfied as one smashed against the small dresser in the room and clattered to the floor. In a rage he tore through the contents of the room, throwing whatever he could get his hands on, and slamming other things around. John’s journal hit the wall hard and fell to the floor, pages and stuffed papers falling out as it reached the floor. He tossed anything he came into contact with, the physical release liberating and the venting of his pent-up rage relieving. The beds were ripped apart and everything Dean owned was either scattered or broken.
Anger, regret, sorrow, loneliness, and pure hate rolled out of him in a catastrophic wave, destroying everything he came into contact with. Breathing heavy, he grabbed the last thing in the room - the laptop - and threw it against the motel room wall.
His rage spent instantly as the white computer clattered to the ground. His breaths coming in shaky gasps, Dean collapsed on the floor beside the computer.
“I’m sorry Sammy. I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could do. I don’t know what to do anymore, Sam…” He lowered his head into his hands, not wanting to see the empty extra bed or the destroyed room. He tried to stifle the voice in his mind that told him that if Sam were coming back he would have by now; that Sam was gone forever. For the first time in his life, Dean felt the all encompassing feeling of complete loneliness. And for the fourth time in his life, Dean Winchester broke down and cried.
Author: Ada
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Season One.
Characters: Dean, short-lived OCs so Dean has someone to interact with
Disclaimer: I make no claims to owning anything except the original content of this story.
Note: This is the sequel to The Art of Walking Away. This story is finished, I wrote it almost a year ago and it is part two in the trilogy.
Summary: Sequel to The Art of Walking Away. Two years, seven months, and 48 states he had searched for Sam. But he had no luck. After all, Sam was a Winchester, a hunter, and if he did not want to be found, then no one could find him.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
A Long Winter’s Night
By: Ada C. Eliana
Chapter 3
Time/ Standing all alone/ I bled for you/ I wanted to/ Each drop my own
Slowly they depart/ But fall in vain/ Like desert rain/ And still they fall on and on and on
Got to get back to a reason/ Got to get back to a reason I once knew/ And this late in the seasons/ One by one distractions fade from view
So/ Drifting through the dark/ The sympathy/ Of night’s mercy/ Inside my heart
Is your life the same?/ Do ghosts cry tears?/ Do they feel years?
As time just goes on and on and on
“Back to a Reason (Part II)” Trans-Siberian Orchestra
He turned back to Tessa who was shaking her hips to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” and thought about the Christmases Sam had spent at Stanford. Had he stayed on campus? Did his friends stay with him and decorate and bake and everything? Sam had never really said anything about his time in college and Dean supposed he was partially to blame for that. Ever since Sam disappeared Dean wondered more and more on the missing three years, trying to piece together in his mind what Sam’s life had been like before Jess died and it all came crashing down in a hail of flame.
It took him a moment to register the fact that Tessa was talking to him. “If it’s too personal, you don’t have to answer or anything, but I was just wondering… your brother… how did he disappear?” she asked. Joy and Jason had relocated to the couch, and were now making out in the glow of the “Yule Log.” Tessa’s elbows were on the counter, and she was leaning forward, towards Dean, the neckline of the green shirt under her white vest plunging low; Dean barely even noticed; his mind somewhere else.
“There was this… person… who was after us,” Dean said after a moment, surprising even himself. He would later blame this lapse on the high alcohol content of his eggnog, or the fact that it was so freaking cold outside, or some lapse in sanity, but it was really because he had been alone far too long with no one to really talk to; and it had absolutely nothing to do with some sentimentality about the Christmas season. “We got into a car crash, I was hurt pretty bad, and Sam - that’s my brother - thought he found out where the guy was headed while I was still in the hospital, so he took off after him. I tried to track him down, but nothing, and I haven’t heard from him since.”
“What about other relatives?” she asked, eyes filled with sympathy.
“It’s just me, Sam, and my Dad. But Dad decided that Sam was probably dead and that I was wasting my life searching for him, so him and me, we don’t really talk to each other anymore,” he added bitterly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes slightly glassy.
“So your turn, why is Skidmore your home?” he asked, deftly changing the subject before she got him to spill any more.
“My parents and I don’t really get along,” she shrugged. “College was my ticket out of their world, and I don’t intend to go back, ever. We made a deal, they would pay for my school, and I wouldn’t come home. It’s worked out pretty good so far.”
They sat in silence, punctuated by the music and the kissing sounds coming from the couple behind them. “When I showed you the photo… you said Sam looked familiar, are you sure you don’t remember why?” Dean pressed.
“Can I see the picture again?” she asked. Dean nodded and pulled the picture out of his jacket again, handing it to her and watching her expression closely. She furrowed her eyebrows as she stared at it, and then finally looked back up at Dean. “I mean… he looks familiar, but I think it’s just because he has one of those faces, you know? Like those people whose faces are kind of similar to other people; kind of standard.
“Are you sure?” Dean asked again, trying to stifle the slight hint of desperation in his tone.
“I can’t help you, I’m sorry,” she answered with finality, handing the photo back to him. Dean let his eyes linger over the image for a moment before pushing it back into his pocket.
Dean pressed his eyes closed for a minute, clearing his head and forcing himself to focus back on the topic at hand - an angry spirit. “So what Joy was saying, about this man in the woods, is there anything more to that?”
“Not much… she saw him once, but she doesn’t like to mention it, I guess she got pretty freaked out. She said he looked about sixty though.” Tessa paused, collecting her thoughts. “It was near that shack…”
“Really? Any directions on how to get to the shack?”
“Uh… I think… if you go to the road behind this one, and then follow the end of the road into the forest…. I think that’s the best way to get to it,” Tessa muttered.
Tessa refilled her glass with more eggnog and glanced around Dean at her housemates. “So really, what kind of ‘private investigator’ are you anyway?” she asked, turning her attention back to him, but not quite meeting his eyes.
“Well Tessa, we all have our secrets; besides, it’s strictly confidential,” he smiled. “Just hope you’re never in a situation where you have to find out what I do.” Tessa’s expression shifted and she looked nervously at Dean. “Jeez Tessa, it’s not like I’m going to hurt you,” he muttered, his social skills quickly degenerating. “I should get back to my car, thanks for… you know… everything,” he said, pulling his coat back on.
“You’re welcome,” Tessa responded as he headed for the door. “And… for what it’s worth, I hope you find your brother.”
Dean turned around, his hand on the doorknob, and looked Tessa straight in the eye. “So do I Tessa.”
------------------------------
The sky had darkened considerably while he had been in that apartment. It was nearly pitch black outside, winter forcing sunset to an earlier time. Trudging back to the Impala, Dean considered the hunt one more time, trying to ignore the way Tessa had looked at Sam’s picture as if she had seen him before; the way she answered “he looks familiar.” She didn’t know anything; she couldn’t have.
On the subject of the hunt, Dean decided to postpone any hikes through the woods until morning, at least then he would be able to see. But if a corpse needed to be dug up, it just might have to wait until spring.
---------------------------------------
Not wanting to deal with any more people for the remainder of the evening, Dean rented a room in the motel he had passed on his way into town. He slapped a credit card on the counter and asked for two queens. For the past two years every time he stopped for the night he would get a room with two beds; just in case that day he found Sam. The day he rented a room just for himself would be the day he gave up on his little brother.
Dean shoved the door open and stared at the room. It was relatively standard; plain striped wallpaper, two beds separated by a nightstand, a TV cabinet across from them, a small desk and chair. The sink was inside the room while another door led to the bathroom. It could’ve been any one of a hundred hotel rooms Dean had stayed in over the years.
Dean lugged his duffle bag and a small weapon’s bag and tossed them on the floor between the two beds, the laptop case he placed on the bed closest to the door. He ordered a pizza from a local place the guy working had suggested, and then settled down for a night of research. He unzipped the laptop bag; it was small, form fitted to the computer. He slid the laptop out and plugged the adapter into the wall. It was a MAC, a Powerbook or something, whatever that guy at the Apple store had suggested. It was supposed to be one of the best, with all kinds of special features and crap Dean didn’t really understand or care about. He had bought it when the Impala was out of the shop and he was ready to hit the road. The Dell had been destroyed in the wreck, and he figured he would be able to track down Sam relatively quickly, or that Sam would realize it had been dumb to leave, and come back to him, so he bought the computer as a gift for his brother - to be given to him after he kicked his ass for taking off like that of course.
For now Dean just used the computer for research on the internet, though he never mastered the trick of getting wireless internet anywhere like Sam did. The only time his brother had ever mentioned it he had said something about some sort of satellite internet or something; but Dean hadn’t been paying attention at the time, and so his internet access these days was hit and miss.
-----------------------------------
Two hours and three slices of pizza later and Dean had just stumbled across an article about the disappearance of two men; one a third year student at Skidmore, Gregory Davis, and the other a middle-aged local man, David Bennett.
“Bennett was reported missing early Monday morning by his wife; Claire; who said he had not been home since Saturday night.”
“Davis disappeared after a party in a Skidmore northwoods apartment Saturday night. Friends say he appeared to be intoxicated but insisted he was fine. He left the party alone and never reached his dorm.”
“So you both disappeared on the same night… what could have happened?” Dean mused, looking over the two articles again. “I’m suspecting there might be murder involved here. But why both of them?” Dean looked up more information on the two men, and puzzled over the details before throwing his hands in the air and giving up on the stupid research. He just had to get into the woods and look for the bones; salt and burn them, and then move along. And that would have to wait until tomorrow, which meant he needed to find something to do until morning.
---------------------------------
Eleven o’clock found Dean in the back of a crowded bar with a couple of empty shot glasses and a mug of beer in front of him. He watched the people around him; all miserable and most of them alone. Why else would someone go to a bar on such a frigid cold night? Anyone who had anyone they cared about would be out shopping for last-minute Christmas gifts, or inside with them rather than at some crummy bar (he was just happy the cutesy city of Saratoga Springs had crummy bars) drowning their sorrows in alcohol. There were no pool tables, and so Dean just had to sit there, thinking. How this was better than the hotel he didn’t really know.
As it always did when he had too much to drink, Dean’s mind drifted back two years; to the cabin and the last run-in with the demon. If he could go back and do it all over again, what could he possibly have changed? Shot his dad outright? He couldn’t have just sacrificed his father’s life, and Sam had proven that just hitting the person anywhere with a bullet didn’t kill the demon inside. Then what? Not antagonized the demon? But he antagonized the demon to get its focus off of Sam, and stop it from saying things that would just make Sam feel more guilty, and reverse all the progress they had made on the “it wasn’t your fault” front. And who knows what that demon might have said? What exactly were those “plans” and could knowing them have made the situation even worse?
Basically, looking back he still couldn’t see where he could have changed something to prevent Sam from leaving. It was up to Sam to make that decision, and Dean had no power over what he did. Somehow that did little to make him feel better. Because he didn’t want to blame Sam, to be angry at him and hate him; he couldn’t. Sam must have felt trapped; pushed into a corner with very few options; having to live with the guilt of two deaths on his shoulders, and not wanting to add his father and brother to that list. He understood why Sam did what he did, but he still wasn’t satisfied with that.
He cut his thoughts off there, they always seemed to just ramble and jumble together past that point. Paying his tab, Dean grabbed his coat and headed back outside to the waiting Impala.
----------------------------
The motel room’s heat was on high, the room stifling to him as he stumbled in from the cold. Slightly uncoordinated from drinking, Dean slammed the door shut and nearly tripped over the bed as he walked into the room. Picking himself back up again, he tossed his coat on the bed. The picture in the inside pocket poked out of the material, Sam’s face half-covered by the lining. “I mean… he looks familiar, but I think it’s just because he has one of those faces, you know? Like those people whose faces are kind of similar to other people; kind of standard.” Standard, was that what she had said? That Sam looked just like everybody else? Sam with his puppy dog eyes and his ability to get people to do exactly what he wanted? His too-tall brother who caught the attention of so many girls just by trying to be invisible? He’d been combing the country with this picture and never once thought that Sam just looked so similar to everyone else. Then again… maybe Sam didn’t even look like that anymore. Maybe he had been burned or cut or something and looked like someone completely different.
Maybe he was dead.
Shaking his head, Dean grabbed at the hem of his shirt and pulled it off. As he got the T-shirt up over his chest his hands ran across the scars from the demon’s attack. He threw the shirt on the floor and looked down at his abdomen where the slashes stood plainly out from his skin. They were his souvenirs from the fight; the last remaining evidence that the night in the cabin had actually happened. Touching them again made everything seem shockingly clear and real; the last two years he had spent alone; the utter destruction that one demon had caused in his family; the loss of not just his brother, but his father too. “It’s December 23rd; shouldn’t you be with your family or something?” Joy’s question repeated in his mind, mocking him, and Dean felt all the emotions he had bottled up come bursting out of him.
He saw red, and before he knew what was happening, he had reached for the items closest to him, bags and weapons, and threw them hard against the wall, satisfied as one smashed against the small dresser in the room and clattered to the floor. In a rage he tore through the contents of the room, throwing whatever he could get his hands on, and slamming other things around. John’s journal hit the wall hard and fell to the floor, pages and stuffed papers falling out as it reached the floor. He tossed anything he came into contact with, the physical release liberating and the venting of his pent-up rage relieving. The beds were ripped apart and everything Dean owned was either scattered or broken.
Anger, regret, sorrow, loneliness, and pure hate rolled out of him in a catastrophic wave, destroying everything he came into contact with. Breathing heavy, he grabbed the last thing in the room - the laptop - and threw it against the motel room wall.
His rage spent instantly as the white computer clattered to the ground. His breaths coming in shaky gasps, Dean collapsed on the floor beside the computer.
“I’m sorry Sammy. I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could do. I don’t know what to do anymore, Sam…” He lowered his head into his hands, not wanting to see the empty extra bed or the destroyed room. He tried to stifle the voice in his mind that told him that if Sam were coming back he would have by now; that Sam was gone forever. For the first time in his life, Dean felt the all encompassing feeling of complete loneliness. And for the fourth time in his life, Dean Winchester broke down and cried.