Title: Coming Home
Author: Kira Lynn
Rating: PG
Show: Supernatural
Genre: General, Angst
Story Type: One-shot, episode tag
Warnings: SPOILERS for episode 4.14
Pairing: None
Complete: Yes
Summary: He wasn't just broken. He was shattered, unrepairable. It wasn't that he didn't want to find his way back, it was that he didn't know how.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural nor do I ever intend to. I don't own Alter Bridge either, which is the band I got the title from. Don't sue a starving artist, please, no copyright infringement intended.
The silence, usually companionable, was suffocating him. Guilt was gnawing away any sense of self respect he had left of himself. The words he'd said, the things he'd
done the lying, the sneaking around, his brother was right about all of it. He was different, he'd changed, and not for the better. He hadn't recognized it until now. The moment he'd seemingly brushed off all of the horrible things he'd said to his brother, and made no other attempt to coax out a conversation to straighten things out, Sam knew.
Gone was the little brother, the days of hero worship, and trust. They'd built up a wall, so thick and high that not even the bravest and strongest of climbers could get over it. And the trouble was, Sam was the one adding the bricks. The absolute worse thing, however, was that he couldn't find it in him to stop.
Somewhere along the road, the one he'd had to travel alone when Dean abandoned him, he'd come to rely on his feelings of detachment. He liked not knowing from day to day whether or not he was going to live or die, and frankly being okay with the latter. He enjoyed the rush that he got when he pulled demons out of people, sending them back to hell, feeling powerful, in control, for once in his life. Somewhere along the road, the one he'd had to travel alone when Dean abandoned him, he'd lost himself.
Naive as it was, Sam thought that once Dean was back that everything would change; That the hollow in his heart would fade, that desperate need to stop feeling would go away, that maybe, just maybe, things could go back to the way before. He was wrong, horribly wrong. Things got worse, because here was Dean, the constant in his life, the one he could count on, the only person he'd ever really associated with
home, here he was standing right in front of him. And Sam couldn't find his way back.
Now, sitting in the passenger's seat of the Impala, the seat that felt unfamiliar and strange to him now, Sam let his eyes slide over to catch a glimpse of his brother. Stone-faced and somber like always, Dean pretended like he didn't notice. Sam understood. He wouldn't want to face himself either.
"Take a picture."
Jumping a bit at the first worse spoken since they'd established they were 'good,' Sam looked over. "Huh?"
"It'll last longer." Sam watched for any sign of Dean. The infamous quirk of his lips, that smirk, a lazy chuckle, anything. He saw nothing. The words were right, but they were all wrong at the same time.
Nodding, Sam turned away to stare out the window, watching as the sun dipped lower and lower into the sky, disappearing behind rolling hills in the distance.
"I wanna go home," Sam said out loud, the words low, soft,
pleading. He felt that familiar sting in his eye and instantly fought against it, a defense mechanism he'd built up over the last few months to keep himself strong. He didn't need tears, he'd found liquid consolation in a bottle.
There was a long stretch of silence, a sigh, contemplation, Sam assumed before he spared a glance at his older sibling.
"We'll get there."
A surprised frown on his face, Sam stared at Dean, watching his brother drive ,before finally,
finally, Dean looked back. There was a conviction in his eyes, an understanding that Sam hadn't seen before.
"Thanks," Sam managed to choke out in a whisper, keeping those offending crystals at bay before he looked away. He saw a door, now, it was small, far off in the distance, and obstructed by a brick wall. But it was there. But with four words and a plea, Sam began to dismantle those bricks, piece by piece. He could do it, he had to. Now he was sure of it, there was a light there. Slowly but surely, he was coming home.
Coming Home by Kira Lynn
