A/N: Spoilers for S8! I own nothing, and I'm sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes.


Title: Suffer Through

He hurt. Everything hurt. His head was trying to split in two; right down the middle, between his eyes, down his nose and mouth, popping the teeth out from his gums. His bones ached when he moved, his muscles drew tight when he shifted on a chair or bed, his skin was stretched too tight over his body, feeling like it would crack open over his joints.

He knew he was losing weight, and he was so hungry, starving for food, but every time he ate something, half an hour later he puked it out. Then, he stopped eating, because every solid food smelled of rotten flesh and all liquids smelled of cat's piss.

When he puked all that came out was air - loud and long burps - white, foamy spit and strings of thick saliva connecting his mouth with the toilet. He had nothing, absolutely nothing to give, but his stomach was still revolting against something, something that just wasn't there.

When he slept, he slept curled up, shaky arms beneath his knees pushing them as close to his heart as possible without breaking bone. He slept with the throbbing side of his head smashed into the pillow. It helped, weirdly, putting pressure where it hurt the most. He slept in snatches of time and space; he was lying in bed, then he wasn't, then he was again, then he was floating, then he was lying on something solid again and then it was dark and light and dreams, and lucidity and dreams and hurt.

He hurt. Everywhere.

He was trembling, his legs always wobbling and trying to give up on him, but he was strong, a fighter, a hunter, he always caught himself on his two unsteady feet. Sometimes with his brother's hands touching him, guiding him and supporting him, other times those hands were just close enough to touch, heat from them mixing with the heat coming off of him in waves ... they never touched him, but they were there, inches away, close enough to catch if he'd fall. A shadow following him through the pain.

He hurt. Everywhere.

There was pressure in his stomach, deep down where he felt hollow; pressure that made him cough up blood; the taste of copper and rust up his throat, exploding in his mouth until it settled on his palm. Pressure in his veins, where his tainted blood was flowing too fast, then too slow and then burning through him in bright light.

"Sam!"

And whenever he said I'm fine, I'm good, I can do this, what he really wanted to say was I don't wanna fail you.

I'm gonna suffer through it. I have to.


The finale broke me. The End.