DISCLAIMER: I don't own Supernatural. Or Sammy or Dean.
Just popped into my head, I'm not really sure about this mini-fic but I figured I may as well post it for you and anyway, it's only short - I'm only wasting 2 seconds of your life! Please review!
Sam turned the heat up on the shower and stood under the steaming spray, watching as the now slightly brown water pooled around his feet. He hated this feeling of dirtiness after a hunt. The smell of smoke that clung to his skin and hair until all he could smell was the acrid, stingy death of another monster. The heat and water was hopefully going to drown that out like every other time but Sam never grew used to it, never accepted it.
The smell of smoke to the Winchesters meant another creature was dead, in this case a creature that was once human. A wendigo, once human turned cannibal at the risk of starvation, changed forever. Sam hated the idea of that turning point, of no going back. Not being able to change your mind and take back what you did, to correct what you did wrong. To have to live with what you have done, with the curse that you brought on yourself. To never be able to make it up to the world, or yourself.
The motel bathroom was soon steamed up and the hot water burning his back but Sam still stayed under the water, waiting for that release when the guilt and reminder of another kill disappeared from his mind. To be replaced by preparation for the next time. But it didn't come and the youngest Winchester could hear their father yelling at him to hurry up and come pack - now. John and Dean were never affected like this, they didn't mind hunting and weren't plagued with thoughts of regret - hell, Dean relished the hunt. And John was looking for revenge. Every time his Dad killed something supernatural it was in memory of Mary Winchester. Sam understood his Dad's obsession to kill the thing that killed his mother but at the same time, Mary Winchester was only a photograph to Sam. He sometimes wondered if his Dad even noticed his two sons were still around. As sons, not soldiers. Soldiers that killed what once had been innocent men.
Climbing out and wrapping a towel around himself, Sam rubbed his hair vigorously while still trying to rid himself of this smoke. The particles seemed to have tightly wrapped themselves around him, clinging to every bit of material he had touched last night as well and his only 'clean' hoodie now attacked his sense of smell. Shuffling through to the main room again to dress Sam refused to look in his family's direction. For now, he would forget this. He would ignore the screaming voices in his head insisting he did wrong, that he committed murder. And he couldn't kid himself this time - he had shot the flare that hit the monster's chest. He had finished it and he was the sole reason for the smoke that still tormented him. But for now, Sam would forget. He would move on; research the next hunt and hopefully, hopefully he could leave the murder to his protectors. Until he could get away from this life. From the torture of this life on his soul.
Thanks, review if you loved/hated/liked/have no feeling about!