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"I can't open it", little 8 year old Sam Winchester said, walking over to his father, who was cleaning one of their many guns. In his small hands was a jar of peanut butter.
"Sam, you can do it yourself. You need to be independent", John replied, not looking up from his work. Sam stood there for a moment, trying to think of ways to change his father's mind. Coming up empty handed, he turned away.
"Okay, Dad", Sam said, carrying the jar back to the kitchen and attempted to pry off the lid again. As he was pulling on it, Dean walked in.
"Need help, squirt?", he asked, as he looked for his father's hidden beer stash.
"Yeah". Sam pushed the jar over to Dean, who unscrewed the lid with a deft twist of his wrist.
"Thanks, Dean", Sam said, clumsily spreading it onto the bread like Dean had shown him. Peanut butter always came first. If you put the jelly on first, you got a soggy sandwich, which nobody likes. He made three, handing the first one to Dean.
"Thanks, Sammy", he said, ruffling his hair as he left the kitchen victorious, with a Coors beer tucked under his coat.
Sam took the second one out to John, who accepted it with a small smile.
"Thanks, Sam", he said. He took a few bites while Sam watched eagerly, before setting it off to the side. Sam waited a few minutes, wiggling around in excitement before jumping up and asking, "Well? Did you like it?" He watched his father's face for a response.
"It was great", John said distractedly , but he left the rest of it untouched, and didn't even bother to look at Sam while he said it. Sam took the cue for his leave, and walked back to the kitchen, before gloomily poking at his own sandwich. It didn't look close to as appetizing now.
The next day, Dean was out in town during lunch, and Sam couldn't open the peanut butter again. As he struggled, he remembered John's words: Sam, you can do it yourself. As he twisted and pulled, the lid just wouldn't budge, but he knew better than to ask his father for help. He had to be independent. So he made himself just a jelly sandwich. It was okay. The bread was a little soggy.
"Sammy, come on. We're going to be late". 13 year old Dean pounded on his brother's door, anxious to get him out and into the car.
"Give me a second," Sam said, his breath hitching. As Dean listened, he heard a thud and a frustrated cry from Sam.
"Sammy, open up", Dean shouted, pounding on the door again. Sam opened the door, his tear stained face peeking through.
"What's the problem, Sammy?" Dean asked, kneeling down to his brother's height.
"I can't get the buttons", Sam said, holding up his hands. The ridiculously large plaid shirt he was wearing was unbuttoned at the wrists, and appeared to be his problem.
"Let me help you", Dean said, reaching for his brother's sleeves.
"I can do it by myself. Let's just go", Sam said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
"Sam-", Dean said, reaching for his brother's buried hands.
"I said I could do it on my own, Dean. Leave me alone!" With that, Sam stormed out to the idling car, leaving a sulking Dean behind. For the rest of the day, he fidgeted with his shirt sleeves, trying and failing to button them. In the end, he just let them be, dragging them through dirt and food, not caring anymore how messy he looked.
The next morning, he woke up to find that every single one of his shirts had had their sleeves buttoned in the night. He didn't even need to look over at Dean to see his smug smile.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus-", Sam muttered under his breath. 12 year old Sam had his eyes screwed shut as he focused on memorizing the words.
"What 'cha doin' Sammy?", Dean asked as he broke his brother's concentration.
"Memorizing the exorcism ritual", Sam huffed.
"Need any help?", Dean asked with a raised eyebrow.
"No thanks. I can do it by myself", Sam replied.
"Oh, really? Prove it", Dean said, crossing his arms.
"Fine, I will." Sam handed Dean the book and scrunched his eyes closed, letting the words fall out of him.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis infernali adversari, omnis.......omnis.......shoot-" Sam muttered, frowning as he searched for the next word in the ritual.
"Legio", Dean supplied. Sam glared at him.
"I wasn't done yet", he sulked, taking back the book from Dean.
"Sure you don't want help?", Dean asked his younger brother.
"I told you already. I can do this by myself", Sam said. With that, he marched away, starting again on the ritual.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spirirtus-"
It was 1:25 in the morning, and only one work station in the library was lit up. Sam sat there, shuffling through book after book of ancient Greek myths, searching for the answer to a string of recent beheadings in a usually quiet town. As he opened yet another book and felt his eyes drift closed, a hand tapped his shoulder.
Sam jolted awake and turned to see Dean, who was holding a large cup of coffee.
"How's the research going?", Dean asked, looking at the piles of books on the desk.
"Pretty well", Sam replied, gratefully taking the warm drink from Dean. "I think it's a Greek demigod, I'm just not sure which one", he said between sips.
"Need any help narrowing it down?" Dean asked, already knowing the answer.
"Nah. I've got this. Thanks for the much needed coffee though", Sam said, returning to his books. Dean nodded and walked away, leaving Sam in his island of light in the sea of darkness.
As he walked out into the cold night, he wondered if Sam had noticed the newest volume on his desk. He might find the conveniently bookmarked chapter on Perseus pretty helpful.
"Gahhhhhhhhhhhh", Sam moaned in pain as agony sliced through his forehead. An image of a young woman being killed flickered in his mind. She turned in Sam's direction and screamed as she saw him. Her scream pierced his skull as it continued to ring and ring and ring and ring.
"Sam. Sammy. What is it?" Dean asked, shaking his younger brother. As Sam came to his senses, he realized that he was the one screaming. And suddenly, he was laying on a cheap motel room floor. Just moments ago he had been bringing in their bags.
"Sam?" Dean asked, concern eating at the edge of his voice.
"I'm fine Dean. Really", Sam said, brushing off his brother. He sat up, and bit back a moan as his head split open. Dean helped him over to one of the beds, where Sam collapsed.
"Just stay here, Sam. I'll be back in a few minutes." Sam fell into blackness, and when he next resurfaced, he saw Dean sitting on the opposite bed, watching him.
"Good morning, Aurora. Have a nice sleep?", Dean asked with a smile.
"Yeah", Sam said, rubbing his eyes. He looked out the blinds on the window, seeing the newly risen sun.
"Crap. How long was I out for?"
"Most of last night. I gave you some advil and water when you last woke up, about......3 hours.....4 hours ago", Dean said as he assesed his brother.
"Thanks", Sam muttered, his voice hoarse. They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Sam said what was on both of their minds. "Dean, the headaches and the visions......They're only getting stronger", Sam's voice cracked with fear.
"I know Sam. But we're gonna fix this. Together. You can't do this on your own." Dean stared Sam down, daring him to disagree. But for once, Sam was glad Dean was there. Maybe he couldn't do this by himself.
Sam was still in shock. It had been a full 3 weeks since Dean had been dragged down to Hell, but the pain and emptiness where Dean should be were still sharp. He went through his daily routine, just doing what needed done.
He got dressed, putting on his plaid shirt. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked at the unbuttoned sleeves, but he didn't even try to fix them.
For lunch he made himself a messy, dripping sandwhich with only jelly. He hadn't opened the peanut butter in three weeks. Tears dripped down onto the bread, and jelly dripped down onto his sleeves, but he didn't care about either.
Afterward, he tried to research, but he couldn't find any of the information Bobby needed on a North Dakota haunting. It was right about now that Dean would say something stupid that would spark his mind and help him find a clue. Only, inspiration was as absent as Dean, so Sam gave up, pushing his laptop off to the side.
He was lucky his Dad couldn't see him now. His entire life, John had been trying to make Sam independent. And if had somewhat worked. Because by the time he was 12, Sam no longer depended on John. His downfall was that instead, he depended on Dean.
Sam closed his eyes, and for the first time in weeks, he felt his resolve harden. If Dean were here, he wouldn't be throwing himself a pity party, he would be fixing the situation. Pulling the laptop toward himself, Sam opened his eyes, which for the first time in a long time were free from tears. Because he was going to save Dean from Hell. He didn't know how, but he would. Sam started searching the internet and his books, searching for a solution. Days and days passed without success, and Sam just wanted to give up and call Bobby. But he wasn't finished quite yet, no sir, because there was always one more book, one more myth. Sam pushed on. He could do this by himself.