Title: So Far From Normal
Disclaimer: Santa didn't bring me everything I asked for. I was good, honestly.
Blurb: This was a gift for Janglyjewels on LiveJournal. My prompts were "angst" and "Powers!Sam." I tried…but of course I had to throw in a little hurt and comfort.
Super fantastic Supernaturaldh lent me her awesome beta skills!
So Far From Normal
He clenched his fist, before slowly releasing the tight grasp, flexing his too-tight fingers in the cold night air. He repeated the process again and again until all he could feel was flesh and bone, muscles twitching under taut skin as they slowly relaxed.
Turning his hands over, he stared at his palms, almost expecting to see some sign – some residual leftover from the energy that had coursed through his body, extending and shooting from his hands.
They looked ordinary. Calloused and tanned; a testament to the fact that he was no office worker, not even close.
But beneath his skin, he could still feel the fine tremors running through his weary limbs, the final vestiges of energy being gradually expelled.
It got a little easier every time, hours of secret practicing finally starting to pay off. On each attempt it seemed to take less time to build the energy from within and throw it out, to feel the air crackle with the force. It was like building a tidal wave though, energy stacking on top of energy, building and cresting until suddenly flowing free, taking everything with it.
It left him feeling drained and weak.
All he wanted now was to lie down in a dark place, immerse himself in silence and deprive his body of all his senses. He felt as though he'd endured sensory overload, and his body required complete withdrawal just to equalize the trauma he'd put it through. He needed time to restore his energy and bring the balance back to normal.
Yeah, not a term he tossed around lightly anymore. It signified every thing he could never be, could never have. Something he'd spent years striving so hard to achieve only to abandon. He knew better now. Had learned to grudgingly accept his lot in life, acknowledging that he had little chance to change what was simply outside of his control. He'd been dealt his hand early in life, now he had to play it out. That was the one fact he relished above all others – regardless of who'd dealt the hand, it was his life to live.
His power to control.
A key scarping in the motel room door lock shook him out of his thoughts and he twisted towards the sound, waiting for his brother to enter. As the door opened, a flash of guilt assaulted him, like he'd been caught watching porn, and he hastily tried to push the feeling aside. The last thing he wanted was for Dean to guess what he'd been doing.
"Hey." Dean announced his entry with time honoured eloquence, sparing Sam a quick glance as he stepped in to the room.
"Hungry?" Dean asked, tossing a couple of take-out bags onto the small formica table.
Sam swallowed against the thought of eating, the aroma wafting from the bags almost enough to turn his stomach. He kept his mouth firmly closed and shook his head as he took a step away from the greasy offerings Dean was pulling from the bags.
"Sam?" Dean raised curious eyes to his brother.
"Uh huh," Sam continued backing away, bracing one hand against the wall as he continued to retreat.
Dean abandoned the food wrappers and turned his full attention towards Sam. "You okay?"
Sam just looked at Dean, all the colour draining from his face before he turned tail and bolted towards the bathroom. He slammed the door closed with unnecessary force, before dropping to his knees in front of the toilet.
"Sam? Sammy?" Dean pounded on the door.
Sam spat a string of saliva into the toilet, desperately trying to thwart the threatening sickness.
"Sammy?" Dean pounded again, a little more desperate now, as his calls remained unanswered.
The pounding ratcheted through Sam's skull.
"I'm okay." Sam answered, hoping the waver in his voice would magically disappear as it travelled through the door.
"That's it, I'm coming in." Dean announced, his tone heeding no argument.
Sam looked up and to his dismay, saw the door handle twisting. He didn't want Dean to see him like this, to start asking questions he wasn't ready to answer. He just needed a little more time. With barely a thought, he stared at the door handle, focusing the energy within, until the lock clicked into place.
It was enough to tip him over the edge. Sharp daggers of pain pierced his skull and rocked his body. His grip tightened on the edge of the toilet bowl and he hung his head low as his stomach made a sudden but decisive protest.
Dean slammed his fist against the door in frustration. "Sam!"
"I swear to God Sam, I'll break this door down if you don't open up," Dean hollered.
Wave after wave of nausea assaulted Sam, until all he could do was hold on and try to draw breath between each bout. The sharp kick to the door barely penetrated his subconscious, his body solely focused on rocking in time with the relentless heaving.
Dean didn't even smile as the wood splintered, already lining up for a repeat performance.
Sam choked back a sob as his stomach clenched and unclenched, ruthless in its pursuit to expel everything he'd ever eaten, plus a little more. Vile acid burned his throat and tears stung his eyes, but there was no relief.
And then a warm hand grasped his shoulder, holding him steady. A warm body slid down behind his own, pulling him back against the solid strength.
"Shhhh, it's okay, I'm here." Dean wrapped an arm around Sam's chest, offering support.
Maybe everything would be alright.
Maybe he could share this burden.
Reviews are love.