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he’s fine. he’s absolutely totally completely fine. that’s what he has to be. because if he’s anything other than fine he’s not so sure he can get back up.
its his first case back. dean’s looking at him like he’s gonna kneel over any second. so sam does what he does best. he hunts monsters. when they first caught wind of the case, dean was going to handle it alone. sam insisted he came with. he couldn’t stand being cooped up in the bunker anymore. he needed a distraction and hunting was a damn good distraction.
the case turned out to be a vengeful spirit going after the people responsible for their death. a group of teenagers had killed him while driving a stolen car and buried him in the woods. they located the bones and burned them quickly. on the walk through the woods back to the impala, he heard him. he froze on the spot, cold fear snaking its way up his spine and settling in his chest. dean walked ahead a few steps before realized and turning around.
sam.... he sing-songed.
sam stared straight ahead and gulped down as much air as he could. it felt like a snake was squeezing around his lungs, determined to not let go until its pray was dead.
a firm hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his daze. “what the hell was that, man?” dean asked.
“nothing-nothing. i just thought i heard something.” sam brushed of his brother’s concern, but his heart was still racing in his chest. “let’s just go home.”
dean nodded, the deep etchings of concern not leaving his face.
when they got in the impala, sam rested his head against the window. he felt safe in the impala, the safest he’d felt since before he said yes. he closed his eyes, letting his guard down a little when dean started the engine and a led zeppelin song came through the speakers. as the road streached out before them, sam fought to stay awake.
“it’s a long way back to the bunker. get some rest.” dean said, his mother hen tendencies showing through the annoying big brother persona.
sam shook his head, try to fight the heavy weight of his eyelids. sam gave up eventually, sleep finally taking him over.
at first, it wasn’t so bad. the dream started in the bunker, with mom and dean together. they were talking about a case they were working. tracking a werewolf through the rocky mountains. the door of the bunker open, and cas walks in. he went into town to pick up groceries. he set the paper bag on the library table and smiled at all of them. a toothy smirk uncharacteristic of the angel. when he spoke, it wasn’t the usual baritone rumble he had become accustomed with over the years. it was the sickly sweet tone that made his stomach turn with bile. slowly, his face changed. it morphed into one that struck a fear so deep in sam he had no other instinct but to run.
he turned tail as fast as he could, crashing and knocking things over in his scramble to get away. the halls of the bunker stretched on, until sam could see a corner up ahead. he pushed himself harder, fueled by primal fear. he came skiding to a stop to the sudden wall of bars in front of him. he turned around, backing himself into the corner of the cage slowly building itself up around him.
“sam, sam, sam. you should know by now, there’s no use in running from me. i’ll always find you, sammy.” he crouched in front of sam. he reached a hand out and caressed his cheek. sam felt hot tears spill onto his cheeks. he tried to scream. he tried over and over until he was dry heaving, but no sound escaped his lips. he settled for begging under his breath. “well, would you look at that. we have company, sammy. let’s get you cleaned up. wouldn’t want out guest to see how unclean you are.” he snapped his fingers and sam flinched violently.
“don’t bother. he’ll still be dirty no matter what.”
no, no , nononono no NONO
toni beville looked down at him from beside lucifer. “no matter what we do, you will never wash that stain off of your soul. you are no better than us.”
somehow, he regains his voice in this moment. “NO!”
and suddenly there are hands on him, touching him everywhere and pulling him apart, ripping skin from muscle, muscle from bones, bones from tendons. until there is nothing left. but the hands start putting him back together, piece by piece, until he is whole again. the hands pull him up, away from the cage and they pull him up until he is sitting in the front seat of the impala, dean’s hands gripping his shoulders.
dean is whispering under his breath and even in the silence sam canty make out what he saying. sam feels like he’s underwater, he can see dean talking but the sound is muffled. and he knows dean’s hands are on his shoulders, grounding him, but he doesn’t feel them. he feels like he’s watching a movie where he is an actor, a spectator, and a director all at once. slowly he feels a tug in his chest. he is a fish caught in a net being dragged away from the comfort of underwater. underwater is safe. nothing can touch him there. he hears the sound of his own voice, but he doesn’t remember opening his mouth. he is trudging beneath the depths and floating all the same.
the tugging in his chest gets stronger, yanking him around like a dog on a leash. it pulls him in every direction until the pulling stops and he is out of the water. once again he feels hands on his shoulders and his brother’s voice in his ears and his concerned face staring into his.
“god, sammy, you scared me.”
“m’sorry” he manages to get out. he chokes a little on the words, and dean pulls out a bottle of water. sam gulps it down greedily, the rush of cold down his throat fully bringing him back into his body. his chest aches and his throat is scratchy, and he can see crescent shaped marks forming on the back of his hand.
“wanna talk about it?”
sam squeezes his eyes shut again, shaking his head. he sets the water bottle on the dash and leans back in his seat. he folds his hands in his lap and presses hard against the scar on his palm. “let’s just get home.”
when they arrive at the bunker, sam makes a bee line for his room. he drops his bag down and closes the door. he leans against it and rubs his hands over his face. he kicks his boots off and trudges toward his bed. he cant bring himself to take off his clothes or turn on the lights. he just peels back the covers and hopes he can get some more sleep before another nightmare wakes him.
and tonight, he’s lucky