Actions speak louder
Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?
Rating: PG13, T
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)
AN: for the very few people who know of my other work, I'm serious when I say that I'm not abandoning it—I just have so much left to work on before it's finished, and this just popped into my head in the middle of the night. It was begging to be told :)
Also, I'm ignoring the phone call that Sam got from his dad at the end of Asylum because this takes place about a week later.
Finally deciding that there was no amount of sleep that would ease his conscience, Sam had wandered over to the chair in the middle of the motel room. For the past few nights, he hadn't been able to convince his body to shut down and offer him the blessed freedom of unconsciousness, despite how worn out he felt. He listened to his brother sleeping in the bed closest to the door and wondered how the older man had done it. Dean had managed to sleep through his own ragged breathing and painful gasps that plagued him even while unconscious.
Sam had been unable to tear his gaze from the gentle rising and falling of his brother's chest. The hypnotic motion calmed and reassured him that Dean in fact, still breathed. No thanks to him after the damage that he himself had caused. It had taken Dean well over an hour to clean and dress the wounds from where the rock salt had blasted through his tee shirt, stubbornly refusing any help from Sam in the process. He shouldn't have insisted that they talk about it, because now it was only made worse by his persistent apologies.
As soon as he was done, a glare in the younger brother's direction silenced any word hanging on the tip of his tongue, and he crawled into bed foregoing their customary 'good night' biddings.
And things had only gotten worse in the past few days. Dean virtually ignored him and spoke only the barest of words, and then, only when absolutely necessary. Sam's heart sank a little more each day with Dean treating him like a total stranger instead of the brother that used to laugh and tease him affectionately. But then again, perhaps he was like a total stranger to his brother. Dean didn't know how he felt at all, thought that his little brother really hated and resented him. The damage he had done in one afternoon in the asylum was far worse than anything physical he could have done to his only sibling.
Though the words Sam had hurled at the older Winchester were said after being influenced by the evil spirit doctor, he had meant them. At least, the most hurtful ones. They were his words, projected from his own thoughts that he normally kept locked away--safeguarded from his older brother to spare his feelings. But they were usually only passing thoughts of irritation. And now they were the reason why Sam now found himself restlessly staring at Dean, willing him to wake up and forgive him—to understand why he meant those cruel things that he said and did back in the asylum. To understand why he would ever think of killing his only brother.
Sam had said that he was sick of following Dean's orders while he acted out of some desperate need to be a good little soldier, and he was. Dean's propensity to blindly follow their fathers orders was going to get him killed, and Sam couldn't stand the thought of that. John Winchester didn't seem to care about his children, always sending them anonymous coordinates that lead them into one deadly situation after another. And he didn't seem to care that each time, he had almost lost one or both of his only family in his never ending war against the supernatural.
Dean had meant the world to Sam. He had protected and raised him for his entire life, never once abandoning him to the hunt as their own father did time and time again. Dean had been the one to chase away the nightmares and tuck him into bed when their father left for days at a time. It was Dean he had looked up to and followed around trying to be like his big brother. Until he finally realized that he was nothing like Dean.
Sam knew that he wasn't, and never would be, as good at the hunt as his older brother. And the way that he could charm just about anything out of anyone, was never a skill that Sam had been able to master. He would never have the confidence to pull it off like Dean had. But he also knew that those facts bothered him, because he tried so hard. This lifestyle was made for Dean, but for Sam, it was the only thing he couldn't do perfectly. So yes, he envied Dean a little, which is where many of those harsh thoughts came from when Ellicott forced them to the surface. But certainly not enough to want to kill him. That was something else entirely. Because as much as Sam was sometimes annoyed with his only sibling, he didn't think he'd ever survive a lifetime without him.
This constant danger looming over their heads, threatening to steal his brother's life from him, terrified Sam more than anything they had ever faced in their lives. Every evil that set Dean hell bent on destroying it, was just as determined to return the favor, which was something he just couldn't live with. Sam had prayed almost daily that if Dean were to die on a hunt, he would soon follow. And in passing thoughts during moments of weakness, he even considered taking the easy way out to spare himself the pain of loosing Dean to some horrible and grisly fate. All he would need were two bullets. One for Dean. And one for himself.
Only Ellicott had picked up on that fleeting thought and tried to make it a reality, and in doing so, had driven a wedge between the two brothers that may never be able to be removed.
Sam curled up in a tighter ball, allowing the tears to flow freely as he stared at the figure on the bed. He loved his brother more than life itself, but he had no idea how to tell him. Thanks to Sam's new gift, he knew he was running out of time to do it. He had to try, for both of their sakes, and fast. The foreboding feelings that circled the two like a vulture forced the strained whisper from his lips, "Dean?"