The Past Is Real

Sam watched as the dark red blood dripped onto the pure white tiled floor. He watched with such intensity and concentration, that the pain on his arm was merely a pinch. This blood, this blood that was wrecking the floor was him. It was all the things he hated about himself, all of the things he hated about his life and what he was doing with it. All these things were wrecking him and ruining him just as this blood was ruining the white tile. He lay back against the wall, his arms limp beside him.

He forced himself to breathe slowly, listening intently on every breath. He felt the tips of his fingers tingle a bit; he wiggled them back and forth. He watched the blood buildup and then crawl down his arm and drip onto the floor. Tears flowed down his face and he started to sob. The tears dripped onto his arm, mixing with the blood both on his arm and on the floor.

He heard the front door of the motel swing open, and his big brothers footsteps walk in. Trying to stop the sobs was impossible. Being this weak, he couldn’t even gather up the energy to try and clean up the place; he just sat there, gasping for breathes. He heard rustling as his brother took off his shoes, and hung up his coat, and then there was nothing; no sounds at all.

“Sammy?”

Sam bit his lip to stop from crying any louder.

“Sammy, where are you?”

The footsteps got closer and closer, and stopped as Sam could see the shadows beneath the door of the bathroom. There was a knock. He looked at the door, didn’t bother to try and open it. He gathered up the energy to cover the gashes with his unhurt arm. This, of course, did no use as he didn’t clean up the mixture of blood and tears. The knock came again, this time faster and harder than before.

“If you’re in there Sam, open up. What are you doing?”

Sam shook his head back and forth, biting his lip. He didn’t want to cry in front of his big brother. Dean would think it was pathetic; he would think Sam was weak.

The doorknob slowly turned. Sam couldn’t hold it any longer, he violently started crying, trying to take big heaves of air in between each sob. The door floor open, Dean stood in the entrance, helpless, not knowing what to do.

“Sammy, what are- why- oh, Sam.” He knelt down beside his brother, and rubbed his arm. Sam used the last bit of his energy to move himself into Dean’s arms. Dean sat down, as to cradle his little brother better. He held him, and let Sam sob into his shoulder. Dean did the best he could to comfort him, which involved petting and kissing the top of Sams head.

The big brother glanced at his little brother’s arm; he glanced around at the pool of blood.

“Sam, how long have you been in here?”

He didn’t answer him back. Dean hugged his brother more.

“Sam, you need to know that you’re stronger than this. There are, there are other ways to cope, Sammy.” At the mention of the name, Sammy, Sam cried even harder. He shook his head in Dean’s shirt.

Dean lifted his face from his shirt, which now was stained both with the blood of Sam’s wrist and the tears of Sam’s eyes. He held Sam’s face up so it was facing his. As he stared into Sam’s eyes, he could see the pain. Seeing this made Dean want to break down but he knew he had to be strong; he had to be strong for Sammy.

“Sam, no. We’re hunters. We’re stronger than this,” he looked at Sam’s arm. “We have to be.”

Sam gulped. “I’m not, Dean. Not anymore. I- I can’t be. I don’t know how to be.”

Dean sighed, and held Sams head against his chest.

“What are you talking about, Sammy?” he asked him.

Sam cringed. “Dad was right, Dean.”

Dean made Sam face him. Sam looked at him with those hurting puppy eyes; those eyes that told Dean so much. They told him Sam was afraid, told him he was weak. Seeing Sammy like this, seeing his Sammy like this was painful even for Dean, but he couldn’t break. Dean needed to be the big brother that Sam needed; Dean needed to be strong.

“Stop it, Sam. You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Dean snarled at Sam.

He held Sam by the shoulders in front of him, so that Sam was eye level with Dean, except Sam refused to look Dean in the eyes. He only looked down at the bloodied mess on the floor. Sam let out a heavy sigh.

Dean became soft again, lifted up Sams cut arm and whispered, “Sam, don’t do this to yourself.”

Sam jerked. He jumped up with random fury and rage and violently pushed Dean away.

“You don’t understand!” He couldn’t help but yell. He didn’t want to, he loved his brother, but it just happened.

Dean looked up, shocked. He had been pushed up against the rim of the toilet seat. There was now a shooting pain in his back. If there was one thing he didn’t think Sam had, it was this much strength. He didn’t know his little brother was capable of this much strength and anger. He watched as Sam breathed heavily, trying to contain himself but failing in the process. Dean, for once, felt helpless, like he couldn’t protect his brother when he really wanted to.

“I’m…Dean…I don’t know what to do.” Sam clenched his fists in rage. This rage came out of nowhere far too often.

Dean slowly stood up, lifting himself up on the toilet seat. He did it slowly as to not anger his brother, treating him as gently as if he were an angered bear. He stood a bit away from him, just staring at him, studying him, trying to understand him.

As Dean stared he realized how much his brother had changed. His hair was long and unkempt, almost greasy, like Sam just didn’t care much anymore. His eyes showed pain and weariness. They looked as though they’d been worn out, like he’d seen and experienced too many unsettling things. He was getting slowly thinner and more sickly looking. For the first time, Dean noticed the scars on Sams arms; both of his arms.

Dean became disgusted with himself for not ever noticing these things before. He felt sick to his stomach. Sure, he’d been protecting Sam from demons and the supernatural but what he really needed to be protected from was himself. Dean never wanted it to get to this point. He never wanted Sammy to have to feel this way