A thing worth saving

"It's already gone too far Sam."

"If I didn't know you... I would want to hunt you."

"And so would other hunters."

"We used to be in this together. We used to have each other's backs."

"You don't need me, you and Ruby go fight demons."

"Sucking blood? You've got to know that's wrong."

"I know what you did to that demon."

"You think you have good intentions?"

"Think again."

Shut up. Let me sleep. Just this once, shut the hell up.

At first he thought the slow, repititive sound he heard was coming from the little bathroom.



Leaking faucet maybe. Or toilet. Or shower. Yes, that was probably it. You got used to it after a while. Motel rooms.

He continued to stare at the ceiling above the bed, following the cracks with his eyes. Aside from that, there was nothing. Nothing except for the sound of his brothers soft breathing from the other bed.

Oh. And the voices. Those dammed voices that wouldn't go away. Repeating the same things over and over in his head. Dancing around the room like the ghosts they were hunting. Taunting him. Drowning out everything else. Almost.



The soft, dripping sound would have unnerved him on any other night, but now it was strangely reassuring. It kept interrupting the voices. And that was a good thing.

"You know I finally get why you and Dad butted heads so much."

"You two are practically the same person."


He should have been tired. Bone tired. Sad, maybe. Depressed. But he wasn't. He was angry. Impatient, irritated and angry. He had felt like that for so long now. And it wouldn't go away. It was always there, this simmering anger, right outside his field of vision, lurking in his shadow, whispering in his ear. Everything else seemed to be far away, he barely noticed it. It felt like there was a thick wall between him and the rest of the world. None of that mattered. It wasn't important. But this, this anger... it was razor-sharp, close, real. He held on to that, protected it, hid it. Because deep down he knew - no, he was sure - that someday he would need would have to rely on that and nothing else.

Everything had been so simple, so clear. Until Dean returned from the dead. Until Dean told him that it was all wrong. That he should find another way. Like it was that easy.


He frowned. For the first time he realised that the dripping sound was close. Too close to originate from the bathroom.

"He really was your brother."

"You should know that."


Slowly, he lifted his right arm and stared at the thick, heavy bandages. Started moving his fingers. A few hours ago it had hurt like hell. But now his arms were numb. Not even a tingle in his fingers. Huh.

He flinched when something touched his neck. It felt like a drop of water. For an insane moment he thought that maybe the roof of the hotel was leaking.

But deep down he knew what it was. He slowly turned his wrist, staring at the underside of his arm, at the part of the bandages that had been hidden by the shadows.


And for the first time in weeks, maybe months... he felt calm. He had thought about that himself. In those foggy, insane moments between the pain and the hissing voices of ghoul - Adam and his mother, he had considered it.

It was colder now. Not freezing, but colder.

It took him a few moments to realize that he had somehow managed to sneak out of the hotel room. Or maybe he hadn't even tried that hard. Maybe Dean had indeed heard him leave and just didn't care.

Walking through the dark... it didn't really bother him. There was no sound, no smell. It was all just.. numb. Just like his arms, his fingers.


The park bench appeared out of nowhere. He didn't even remember sitting down. And why should he? It didn't matter. Again there was no sound. No people. No cars driving by.

He once more lifted his arms which had been hanging limply at his sides. The bandages were gone now, he remembered tearing them off, leaving them behind like a trail of bread crumbs. Blood was dripping down from his fingertips and he caught himself staring at it in morbid fascination.

Blood. It was always about the blood. The demon blood.


"So this is your solution?"

He was just standing there, not far from the bench. An old trenchcoat, dark hair sticking out at odd angles - and a face that constantly looked worried. The intense, dark eyes looked at him in silent accusation. Disappointed.


The angel took a step towards the bench. "You seem surprised."

"It's just that... you never talked to me before." Me being the evil brother and all. The freak drinking demon blood. The god damned antichrist.

The silence that followed was deafening. And the blood seemed more and more fascinating. Still, he didn't like the silence. It made him think.

"What do you want?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you this question? Look at you, Sam."

He still didn't look at the so called angel. Instead, he tried to move his fingers again and found it a lot more difficult now than back at the hotel.

Another tentative step towards him.

"Do you honestly believe this will solve anything?"

No, of corse not. But it's still a lot better than anything else I can come up with. "It's just demon blood, right? So no loss." There's a lot more where this came from.


Again there was silence. And it was almonst funny in a sad, disgusting kind of way. An angel trying to talk to a guy possessed by demon blood. I bet that wasn't anywhere in your job description.

"Do you have faith?"

It came out of nowhere. And it was asked with so much sincerity, Sam couldn't do anything but laugh out loud. And the sound was so sad, so hollow that even the angel flinched.

He lowered his arms and for the first time he really looked at Castiel.

"You're serious."

"Yes I am."

And just like that, in the moment he actually considered that question, he felt the numbness slip away. The protective wall between him and the world was gone and for the first time he felt the cold of the air and the wetness of the blood dripping from his arms.

"You think you have good intentions?"

"Think again."

For long, agonizing moments he was confused. Unsure of everything. And he remembered. Rememberd why this wall was so important, why it helped so much. Why he could not let anyone in, not even Dean.

Because they couldn't understand. No one could. Before, everything had been so simple, so clear. Him, Ruby, Lillith, his powers, the blood. It was a one way street, he knew that. But this way, at least he knew where it would lead. It helped him focus, find his way. It was either them or him. Black and white, no grey inbetween. He knew where he had to go, what he had to do to end it. Once and for all. HE would do that. Not Dean. Not anyone else. He just wanted it to end. So that he would not be angry anymore. Was that so hard to understand?

And now there was Dean. Telling him that it was all wrong, twisted. That he was a freak, a monster.

Like that was a newsflash. Of corse he was. And if anything, knowing that made it a lot easier.

So, faith?

"How...how can you ask me that? After everything...after all this?"

The angel seemed to consider that for a moment. Then, he slowly shook his head.

"I know that you used to pray, Sam. Almost everyday. But..." He sighed. "When I asked you this, I wasn't necessarily talking about that kind of faith."


That small, simple word escaped before he could stop it. And it sounded so lost, so confused it took Sam a moment to recognise his own voice.

"Like I said," the Angel continued, "you used to pray. You had faith. And not only in God."

You had faith in Dean. You believed that whenever things went wrong, he would know what to do. That was one of the few constants in your life, wasn't it?

He should have been scared, angry and offended the moment he realised that he was hearing an angels voice inside his head. But somehow he wasn' t. Because really, it was just one more voice amongst all the others.

"Well, that was then."

"What happened?"

He tried to build up that wall again, because now this was getting ridiculous. Angel or not, this guy was deliberatly trying to piss him off.

But as much as he tried, it didn't work. He still felt cold, confused.. and the more he tried to hold on to his anger, the more it seemed to slip through his fingers. He just had to come up with something nasty, some angry answer to a ridiculous queston. But he drew a blank. There was just ... nothing. And Castiel seemed to know that.

Of corse he does, you idiot. He's inside your head.

And oh great, now Bobby was in there, too. Just what he needed.


"You guys happened. Angels, archangels, prophets, dragging people out of hell..."

But the moment he said it out loud, Sam knew that it was a lie. All this had started long before Dean had miraculously been rescued from the pit.

And somehow, in a scary way, that explained at least part of it.

He had been alone. Left behind. Without Dad, without Dean. And still he had kept going, because Dean had told him to. Because really, there had been nothing else left for him to do.

But how do you keep going, trying to save the word... when there is no one left to save it for?

And like a sudden gust of wind, like waves around him breaking, he felt the helplessness from so long ago return with a vengeance. Once more he was alone and unsure where to turn.

Again he heard the angel sigh. The poor guy seemed to do that a lot.

"Sam... I am not going to tell you what to do. Because in spite of what you might think, that is not what we do."


Sam blinked. The guy was standing right in front of him now. When had that happened? His vision swam in and out of focus and he was feeling lightheaded. Of corse he knew what that meant. He had felt it before, just a few hours ago. And God, a few hours? It felt more like a lifetime.

"But there is one thing I would like to tell you."

The voice of the angel seemed louder now. Closer. Sam blinked, but it was so difficult to stay awake now, to actually listen. Still he nodded. And ooooh, that was not a good idea.

"Whenever you don't know what to do, you have three options."


"You can do the easiest thing and choose the past of least resistance..."

He caught himself staring down at his arm and tried to move it, shocked to see that it was covered in blood. Much of it. And with perfect timing, the numbness was replaced by waves of pain.

"You can do the right thing.."

And all of a sudden he felt sick. Like, really sick. He was going to throw up right in front of an angel for Gods sake. He just knew it.

"Or you can do what you really want."

It wasn't an epiphany. He had not been enlightened or something cheesy like that. This was no chick flick moment. But through the fog in his brain and the cold, not to mention the damned PAIN, he heard at least that last sentense. And in a weird way, it made sense. Because really, what did he want? What was important to him? Who was important? And who wasn't?

And just like that, he was gone. No great speech, no facts, no real help. Sam heard himself snort, which of corse sounded more like a weak, unmanly whimper.



God damnit Sammy, look at yourself. What the hell are you doing out here?

He couldn't stop it. Didn't even try to. It appeared out of nowhere, fought it's way to the surface and he just went with it. He threw his head back and laughed.

Because after all this, how could it not be funny? What else was there left to do, when after all the angry, accusing voices inside his head were gone, the one that refused to shut up was Deans?

He felt.. good. Better than he had in months. Like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Of corse he knew that this was most likely caused by the blood loss. And that should have worried him. But somehow, it didn't. Because even if he died out here tonight, maybe he was not the only one out there to walk that god dammed one way street to Apocalypse. Not any more.

The world tilted to the left - and that couldn't be good.

I don't believe this. I swear to God - if you barf in my car, I'll throw you out.

Was that... Dean? He wasn't sure. It was hard to tell. He felt cold. And tired. He wanted to sleep. Yes, sleep sounded good. Maybe he should just do that. After all that had happened during the last months, they deserved a little peace. The end of the world could wait.... right? Right.

Sam? Come on, time to get up.

Ah, much better. Now at least it wasn't so cold anymore. And the pain was gone, too. It was quiet. A different kind of quiet than before. Different, but nice. He could get used to that.

"...Sam? SAM!"




Uuuuh.... two words: don't ask. Because seriously? I don't remember writing most of this. I watched "Jump the shark"...after that I listened to the piece "My name is Tom" from the Motion Picture Soundtrack of "Spy Game" (which I stronlgy recommend, it's fantastic in a creepy kind of way) - and BAM. This happened. Most likely it's completely out of character and overall just crap, but I felt like I had to get it out of my system. So I did and you had to suffer through it xD

Soooo, I haven't written anything in ages, I have no idea how many spelling mishaps or formatting desasters are going to stay in there after I posted it. I apologise for that. And one more thing: English is not my native tongue. Just so you kow xD