A Few Notes
I wrote this such a long time ago, I don't even know. And I'm not sure why I never posted it, but...here it is.
Yep, I know it's another Mystery Spot tag, but it's short and I'm pretty sure it hasn't been done before. I love this episode to death and it still breaks my heart every time how Sam is so blank after Dean "dies" the last time. I think we all know that Sam probably tried EVERYTHING just to see Dean again, here is a oneshot about one of the stunts he might have tried to pull during the height of his desperation. EMO is a given. It's obviously NOT a deathfic, seeing as Sam is still alive. Hope ya'll enjoy: )
The sound of his cell phone filled the otherwise empty room. It made a low humming sound as it vibrated in a lazy circle on the table top. The blue light of the screen cut a dull glow through the dim of the motel room and beckoned for its owner to answer it. Sam had lost track of how many times the phone had rung, but honestly he couldn't care less. It was probably just Bobby calling again to try and urge Sam to come stay with him for awhile. Just until he "got back on his feet." Sam had stopped answering his phone a long time ago because the mere thought of "getting back on his feet" seemed laughable and an insult to his lost brother.
It had been about two months- sixty-five days, seven hours, and eleven minutes to be exact- since Dean died and Sam did not wake up to the annoyingly familiar sound of Asia, but to Sam it might as well have been two lifetimes. The days crept by at a snail's pace. Each one filled with little more than sitting around and staring into thin air. Sam would eat...occasionally, if he felt like it or the dizzy sensation that always accompanies an empty stomach became too overpowering. He had given up alcohol the first month when it did absolutely nothing to dull the pain and only caused him to pass out cold on the floor and wake up with the worst headaches of his life. He'd lost at least fifteen pounds off of his already slim body. His chiseled features had become even more prominent and the dark circles under his eyes all reflected how he felt. As Bobby put it, he looked like the walking dead. Sam would have to agree with that. He felt like the walking dead.
The phone rang yet again. Sam sat in a chair before the table, staring blankly at one of the two objects sitting before him on it. His attention shifted to the ringing cell phone. It stopped after a minute, but Sam kept his eyes on it. Before the shrill ringing could fully fill in the silence again, Sam brought his fist firmly down on the phone. The phone cracked in two and with another hit from Sam's fist, the ringing ceased. Sam looked at the broken pieces a moment longer before turning his attention back to the first object that had previously been holding his attention. His hand lay splayed near the article. He regarded it with an indifferent expression. The meager light in the room shone in the metal and made it glimmer. Sam reached out a long finger and rubbed it slowly across the smooth surface. It had been Dean's. It was always his favorite. Sam couldn't recall his brother using anything different in all the hunts they'd gone on together. A dozen memories flooded Sam's mind and forced tears from his eyes. He and Dean would never hunt together again. Never be together again. Never get to laugh about something that seemed so amusing at the time while they drove in the Impala. Never get to share any kind of moment together ever again.
The thoughts heightened the level of despair threatening to drown Sam and coaxed his hand to wrap around the smooth ivory. He held the object in his hands and looked down at it, rubbing a thumb over the intricate designs etched into it. "I'd go to hell, right? That's how it works?..." It wasn't the first time Sam had thought it through. "...I'd get to see Dean again." It was the only thing left to do. Sam had tried everything else and failed every time. He had many times over berated himself for killing the crossroad demon and against all hope he had even gone to a crossroads one night. Nothing had happened. Sam was pretty sure even if a new bitch had shown up that she wouldn't have made a deal. The other one wasn't willing to make one before, why would the new one be any different? Still, Sam had gone. Had sat in the cold all night. Cried. Screamed angry threats into the darkness, but only the song of crickets had served as a rather mocking reply.
Sam hooked his finger through the trigger-guard and suddenly felt the true weight of the .45 Colt in his hands. He held the weapon in a heavy gaze. It was ironic really. He couldn't help but notice that. After all he had been through, all the hunts, all the close calls...this was how it was going to end. It didn't seem a fitting death, but then again being shot by a random punk in a parking lot wasn't a fair end for Dean either.
"Looks like neither of us will be getting our seventy-two virgins, huh Dean?"
Sam said quietly to the empty room. He took in a deep breath and held it. The muzzle of the gun felt cold against the underside of his chin and Sam released the breath slowly once the weapon was fully in place. All he had to do was pull the trigger. Just one click, and he'd be able to see his brother again. Fresh tears fell at the thought and Sam closed his eyes. His finger began to tighten around the trigger.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Sam's hand shook as the voice in the back of his mind awakened and spoke up.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Sam countered, repositioning his grip on the handle.
"It looks like you're be a true and utter dumbass is what it looks like."
"Yeah? How's that?"
"You think Dean would have wanted this?"
"Dean would understand. He did practically the same thing for me. What he did was suicide, it just took him longer to die."
"That's right. He traded the single most valuable thing he had for the most important part of his life."
"I didn't ask him to!"
"Doesn't matter. He did. Your brother willingly went to Hell so you could be alive again. Don't you think it's a bit of a bitch slap to his face to deliberately end what he gave up his soul for? You."
Sam didn't have a response to that.
"I'm right and you damn well know it. And you know how royally pissed Dean would be if he knew what you are doing right now."
"He'd be a hypocrite to be pissed at me."
"Is that right?"
"You know it is."
"To be a true hypocrite you have to accuse someone of doing something when you yourself have done the exact same thing, right?"
"Explain to me how you blowing your brains out will bring Dean back."
Sam was caught again. It was true. If he pulled the trigger right now, it would not bring Dean back. It would not save his soul or return his life. Sam would do it purely for himself. To end the painful suffering that he'd gone through for the past two months.
In a sense Dean had committed suicide when he made that deal, but not in the sense that Sam was about to do. Dean had given up his life for another, Sam was simply planning on giving up his life so he wouldn't have to spend the rest of it alone. Without his brother. The last sixty-five days had felt like an eternity...what would the rest of his life feel like? A silent sob sent a tremor through Sam. His hand began to shake, the gun in its grasp along with it.
"I...I just can't do this. I can't live with this."
"Yes you can. And you have to. Dean said himself he wanted you to keep fighting. Remember?"
"So keep fighting. The best thing you can do for him is honor his wishes and be thankful of the gift he gave you, even if it's not fair and you didn't ask for it. What you're about to do won't solve a damn thing...Put the gun down, Sammy."
The cool steel slid from under Sam's chin and he put the gun down on the table with a loud clunk. He doubled over in a sob and covered his face with his long fingers.
"Oh God, Dean. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Guilt suddenly flooded Sam for what he had tried to do. The voice was right. It was right because it was Dean; Sam's one refuge in the storm, the rational touchstone when he wasn't thinking clearly. Dean had always been the voice in the back of Sam's mind. Guiding him when he was lost, comforting him when he was scared, anchoring him when he felt like he had nothing else to hold on to. And it was right. Killing himself wouldn't solve anything and now that Sam had his head cleared a bit, he realized that it wouldn't stop the pain either. Where he would be going would only bring new pain and suffering. Knowing that made Sam feel trapped and defeated. That realization felt like a cold hand constricting around his body.
Sam let himself cry. He didn't really care how long he let the bitter tears fall, but he knew that it had been long enough for him to become physically exhausted. He pulled himself out of the chair and moved to his laptop computer where it sat dormant on the bed. He booted it up and waited while it went through to process of taking him to the desktop. Sam made a vow to do what the voice had told him: honor Dean's wishes. He would continue hunting, just like he knew Dean wanted him to. Sam would hunt as many evil sons of bitches he could get his hands on and he wouldn't rest til they were all dead. And he knew just which evil son of a bitch he was going to kill first. The thing that had started all this, killed his brother over and over again and forced him to helplessly watch it happen...the Trickster.
Don't ask me how the hell I came up with something so dark. As Dane Cook would say: "Why would I even go there? Why would my mind even present that as an option?"
Not my favorite piece, but I hate to see it just sit here in my fanfic folder. Anywho, don't have much else to say except that I hoped ya'll enjoyed the EMO. Let me know: )
Reviews are like killing Dean...And I'm the writers on Supernatural.