You don't know. Man, you don't know how many times I look over there, wishing—
This whole house is dark. Not just cloudy-day dark, but inside, scratching-under-your-skin, making-you-nervous dark. If you can feel anything. Which I really can't, not yet. It's still numb. Still filtering through. Like coffee grinds. Soaking up, dripping down.
Sam's lying on the bed in the other room.
Baby brother's gone.
I keep looking over. His head's turned toward me like he's listening in on me. And I keep thinking, hey, he looks like he's asleep. If I sit here long enough, something might change. I might hear him stretch, see him sit up, ask me how long he's been out of it. Hours, bro. It's been hours and I can't stop looking over at you.
Heartsick. I hear kids throw that word around a lot. Heartsick's what they call it when your cat gets hits by a car. First time you go through a break-up. When your favorite character on a TV-flick gets offed.
They don't know heartsick. It eats you alive. It's this black glob of rot that just sits on your chest and starts chewing down. And it doesn't just chew, it spreads—into every inch of who you are. Until it hurts so bad you think you're gonna throw up or just yell at the top of your lungs. Because man, it hurts. It's the worst thing in the world.
Thought I knew heartsick when dad died.
Didn't know it until Sam died in my arms.
My Sam, my kid brother. The person I was supposed to protect.
I look over at him again. Sheet-white, hands on his chest. Sleeping. You awake, little brother? Yeah, I know you can hear me.
No. You can't.
Man, you don't know how many times I look at you and wish I could see you breathing. 'Cause this whole damn thing is my fault.
I look back at the table.
I let the tears come out.
What's the point in pretending? World's ending today, right now, walls closing in on us. On me, 'cause I'm last-man-standing. Last son of a broken hunter. Last Winchester alive. Always knew I'd have to face it alone. Mom left. Dad left. Now Sam's gone, too.
First time it doesn't feel like a betrayal.
More like having a piece of me torn off.
Takes me a few seconds-cloudy brain, not really thinking straight-to figure it out.
Something ate through my heart.
And I don't think it's ever coming back.