Title: Ramblin' On My Mind
Setting: Post-"Born Under A Bad Sign"
Summary: Even with Meg pulling the strings, it could have been him.
Word Count for Full Story: 376
Originally Posted: August 15, 2007
Disclaimer: I do not own anything, I am merely playing in someone else's sandbox for zero profit whatsoever.
Notes: For Nereem for giving me the aftermath prompt.
A bruise had formed along his jaw and Sam longed to reach up to try and sooth the ache but considering the last week, he deserved it.
A week of flashes, and darkness; feeling, and numbness. Trapped between wake and nightmare. He should have tried harder. He should have fought harder. He was always just out of reach, gone too soon before he could make sense of it. It had been disorienting. But he could remember. He could still remember.
He remembered killing a man. A hunter. And possessed or not, he remembered feeling the knife slide in; human texture so different than demon.
He remembered attacking Jo. Holding her down with his greater strength, his superior weight. Knocking her out, holding a knife to her throat, the taunts…
He remembered shooting Dean. And God help him that it wasn't the first time it happened.
He shot his brother; and trust the man to still insist on driving with a hole in his shoulder…
It could have been Sam that did it. Hadn't the asylum doctor pulled out a rage inside of him just a year before? An anger that burned so hot and so fast… Were there things inside him he wanted to ignore? To never acknowledge them, and keep them from the light of day? Was there something inside him that wanted out?
He could have done it all. Even without Meg pulling the strings. Gordon had called him a monster. Said he'd become one in time, that he'd be like the rest. And this time he could have...
He could have...
He jolted out of his thoughts. When had the Impala stopped?
Rough fingers trailed lightly over his blossoming cheek, gently turning his face towards their owner.
"It wasn't you Sammy." Green eyes watched him steadily.
"It could have been," he said, voice rough and dry.
He couldn't read the look in Dean's eyes but the soft caress of his fingers on Sam's face never stopped.
His brother's lips pressed against Sam's; quieting him, calming him, like all the answers and the salvation he feared needing could be found in the full softness of Dean's mouth.
And for a while, just a while, Sam let himself believe they could.