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another hunt, another late night in a crappy motel off the freeway.
Sam couldn't sleep.
But this time it wasn't lucifer, it wasn't nightmares or still being on high alert after the hunt.
It was just Sam. Just Sam and his thoughts.
There he laid, flat on his back with his hands tangled together over his chest. The quiet sound of his brother snoring in the bed next to his.
His thumb rubbing absently over his other hand's palm.
It had helped to keep his demon away, even after it was long since healed. But this time he wasn't massaging it to get rid of a hallucination.
Sam thought of the pain as he circled the scar on his hand with his thumb. The satisfying relief that came with the burning pain.
“You deserve this. Feel it. Let it consume you. Let it guide you.”
It wasn't Lucifer's voice in his head, but rather his own.
After all that Sam had done, After all he had been through. All the mistakes he has made. He questioned why he was still here, why he had been raised from hell. It had been, well, Hell, he hated every second of it and would never willingly go back, but a part of him thought he deserved it. Every second of his skin burning, every second spent as Lucifer's play thing. All the pain and suffering he endured. He thought he deserved that.
After his trip with Hal-Lucifer, you know the one where he almost blew his own or his brother's head off, he had no doubt left in his mind that he was broken. Maybe he had deserved this, but Dean? Dean shouldn't have to be the one to clean up this mess. His mess.
Him.
He hadn't realized his heart thumping in his chest or the way his nails dug into the skin on his wrist until the burning feeling of his skin tearing under the pressure set in.
Sam exhaled, heavily, slowly. He released his arm and sat up, red indents left behind where his nails had settled. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed and carefully making his way to the bathroom, he flicked on the dim light and leaned on the sink.
He turned the faucet on cold, letting go of the porcelain to pool the water in his hands before splashing it on his face. Over and over until his cheeks bloomed red, the cold sensation grounded him. Snapping back to reality, he couldn't bear to look himself in the mirror. Out of fear of who he'd see staring back at him. Instead his eyes found his forearms.
He looked over his left arm, his head twitched to the side at the unhealthy thought that crossed his mind as he saw the red crescents he'd made with his nails moments ago.
He never thought he'd be seriously considering slicing his arm open to relieve pain…yet, here he was.
He'd known he was a freak, an abomination. It was in his blood after all. But this? This was a new low.
“Sam?”
Dean practically mumbled from his place in bed, propped up by one elbow as he switched the bedside lamp on.
Sam had been standing there, head bent over the sink with the water running for minutes.
“What're you doing?” Dean questioned, sleep still clouding his voice.
“Uh,” Sam pushed the faucet off and reached for a towel to dry his face. “Just, couldn't sleep…”
Not here, not now, Sam thought.
“You good?” His big brother countered almost immediately. With everything Sam's been going through, he was right to be concerned.
Especially after his hallucinations led him to a warehouse with a gun in his hand, Lucifer shouting in his ear to put the gun in his mouth and shoot-
Sam turned off the bathroom light and took a few steps out “Yeah.” was all he said before making a beeline for the mini fridge.
Not now.
He reached in and took out an ice cold bottle of water, he could feel Dean's eyes burning holes into the back of his head as he chugged it.
He needed to feel.
The cold liquid threatened a brain freeze as it went down his throat.
It felt good. It hurt, and it was grounding.
The plastic bottle crinkled as he downed the last of it. Sam took in a deep breath as he lowered the bottle from his lips and resealed it with the cap, deciding to leave it on the counter instead of searching for the trash can in the low light.
“You sure?”
Sam turned back toward his brother, squinting to try and make out his face in the dark. “What?”
“That you're okay?” Dean reiterated.
Sam let out a half sigh, half scoff as he made his way back over to his bed. “I'm fine, Dean. I can't just be thirsty?” He said and maybe he was lying, but he was better. Better now that a headache started to settle between his eyes, better now that he felt something. Something distracting, something relieving.
Sam collapsed back into bed, the hard motel mattress felt so much more comfortable than before.
“Alright,” Dean watched his brother for a moment as he got comfortable. “Just making sure.” He switched off the lamp next to his bed before tucking himself back in.
Sam took another deep breath, wrapping an arm around one of his pillows.
He doesn't need to cut himself to calm his mind. There are other ways. Cold water, Sam found, was one of those ways.