Ugh I suck at comment fills :( I'm sorry everyone. It's a Long Walk Home (7/?)
At some point there was little left to do. There was no one to talk to unless he caved to bothering either Dean or Bobby, and stubbornness and fear held him back from both, respectively. He thought of going for a walk, maybe never stopping. Eventually he'd run through every memory of Bobby that came to mind, once, twice, overlapping, broken apart and pieced back together. Thinking of Bobby made him physically exhausted, but it didn't seem his mind had run the full gamut of miserable contemplation.
He thought of what Dean had said instead--that he'd stayed with Lisa and Ben for a full year. He'd listened, however reluctantly, to Sam's request.
Dean still danced around the subject like it would be the push that made Sam fall the descent to madness, but it didn't take a genius to piece together what had drawn him back out.
It made Sam's stomach ache.
He'd tried to end Bobby's life, and he had ended Dean's.
The two forms of himself, bodiless and soulless both, had a year that he still didn't know the extent of.
The only parts he could piece together had resulted in brutally harming his family and condemning strangers to death.
He wanted the other part. He wanted the memory of his time below. He wanted it to wash over him, not like a flood, but like baptismal water. His soul was the only part of him that he was sure had paid its penance, and he wanted its suffering back.
Sam wondered if he could head out now, on foot, and find it himself. It made a distant sort of sense. Dean could go back to Lisa and Bobby wouldn't have to look over his shoulder inside his own house. Sam wouldn't have to come back-- he could cripple his soul and go off like an old dog to die or its tangible suffering would bring some kind of peace. But he also knew this only worked in a hypothetical; in practice Dean would drag the bottom of the oceans to find Sam, and he would demand Bobby's help every step of the way. Even if it wasn't a selfish idea in itself, if he actually made a go of it he'd be the only one who might find peace from it.
So instead of making his way outside and walking until he could catch a ride out of town, Sam pressed his palms into his eyes and laid down on the couch again. He pushed hard, as though he might crush his memories this way.
He couldn't make them fade away then and they pestered him while he was awake, but they disappeared quickly the moment he fell asleep. His sleep was different right now, than it had been. It was solid but restless, though that wasn't the way it felt new. The new part was that, while he'd heard no sleep was truly dreamless, he could never think of anything but black behind his eyes the next morning. He was sure that would end soon. He'd had dreams, deep and vivid, since he was a child, even before they had become premonitions. It was a nice change. He was grateful for it.
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carisma_sensei
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Date: 2013-09-02 12:22 am (UTC)It's a Long Walk Home (7/?)
At some point there was little left to do. There was no one to talk to unless he caved to bothering either Dean or Bobby, and stubbornness and fear held him back from both, respectively. He thought of going for a walk, maybe never stopping. Eventually he'd run through every memory of Bobby that came to mind, once, twice, overlapping, broken apart and pieced back together. Thinking of Bobby made him physically exhausted, but it didn't seem his mind had run the full gamut of miserable contemplation.
He thought of what Dean had said instead--that he'd stayed with Lisa and Ben for a full year. He'd listened, however reluctantly, to Sam's request.
Dean still danced around the subject like it would be the push that made Sam fall the descent to madness, but it didn't take a genius to piece together what had drawn him back out.
It made Sam's stomach ache.
He'd tried to end Bobby's life, and he had ended Dean's.
The two forms of himself, bodiless and soulless both, had a year that he still didn't know the extent of.
The only parts he could piece together had resulted in brutally harming his family and condemning strangers to death.
He wanted the other part. He wanted the memory of his time below. He wanted it to wash over him, not like a flood, but like baptismal water. His soul was the only part of him that he was sure had paid its penance, and he wanted its suffering back.
Sam wondered if he could head out now, on foot, and find it himself. It made a distant sort of sense. Dean could go back to Lisa and Bobby wouldn't have to look over his shoulder inside his own house. Sam wouldn't have to come back-- he could cripple his soul and go off like an old dog to die or its tangible suffering would bring some kind of peace. But he also knew this only worked in a hypothetical; in practice Dean would drag the bottom of the oceans to find Sam, and he would demand Bobby's help every step of the way. Even if it wasn't a selfish idea in itself, if he actually made a go of it he'd be the only one who might find peace from it.
So instead of making his way outside and walking until he could catch a ride out of town, Sam pressed his palms into his eyes and laid down on the couch again. He pushed hard, as though he might crush his memories this way.
He couldn't make them fade away then and they pestered him while he was awake, but they disappeared quickly the moment he fell asleep. His sleep was different right now, than it had been. It was solid but restless, though that wasn't the way it felt new. The new part was that, while he'd heard no sleep was truly dreamless, he could never think of anything but black behind his eyes the next morning. He was sure that would end soon. He'd had dreams, deep and vivid, since he was a child, even before they had become premonitions. It was a nice change. He was grateful for it.