The Monster Inside-A Sam Winchester Dark!fic

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A/N This includes a suicide attempt.  I do not advise reading this if it may be triggering to you.  I understand things may trigger, and I know each person has his/her own limit, but I wrote this because I had suicidal thoughts again this weekend, so I let it all out using Supernatural Characters. The next chapter is also a dark!fic, so be warned.  The same not will be atop, but just be aware.  Thank you, Chelsea


“You’re a monster, Sammy.  I can’t trust you.”

“You can’t keep doing this.”

“I can’t do this, Sam.  Call me when you can control yourself.” 

With those words, Dean had left, now gone for three days, not even bothering to call Sam and ask about him.  Not bothering to care, to give a shit.

Sam hadn’t asked for such a large burden, hadn’t asked to be part demon.  But he was, and there was nothing he could do about it.  Well, nothing he considered until this very point in time, that is.

He didn’t want anything left for Dean to clean up.  He had it all thought out.  Before he left the last crappy motel room he’d ever occupy, Sam left his favorite gun on the bed, duffel filled with all his clothes zipped up beside it, and his cell phone on the pillow.  With little regret, he stepped out of the room, satisfied with the click of the lock as he closed the door behind him, mind empty and clear as a fierce, frigid wind whipped past him, causing a shiver down his back.  He took one step, and then another, steadily walking towards the river just a block down the road.  Sure enough, as he approached it, chilled to the bone but unable to feel anything, it was as tranquil and secluded as he remembered.  He needed a quiet place, especially after having such a hectic life.  It was nice being able to control something for once.  Reaching the bank, Sam carefully took off his shoes, one at a time, meticulously untying each lace, and set them side-by-side, perfectly.  He stripped down to his jeans, his jacket and shirt laid beside his shoes in a perfectly folded pile.  His pale chest visible in the moonlight, he looked up to the moon, almost as if wondering if it was the right thing to do.  He couldn’t back out now, Sam thought; so with a final breath, Sam grabbed a large rock, took a running leap into the middle of the river, and landed in icy waters, moonlight glistening over the top like crystals and diamonds.  Sam, however, couldn’t see them, as he was sinking continuously, the light fading with each passing second.  Part of him thought he was being ridiculous; he should drop the rock and swim back to the surface, call Dean, and ask what he thinks.  The other part of him, though, the majority, actually, remembered why he was here.

“You’re a monster, Sammy.  I can’t trust you.”

“You can’t keep doing this.”

“I can’t do this, Sam.”

Dean never did realize or ask if Sam could handle it.  He was just worried about himself.  Sam couldn’t handle it, realizing he reached bottom, both in life, and in the river as well.  Letting out the air in his lungs he had preciously held onto, Sam could no longer see anything, as the bottom was a dark and lonely place to be.

“You’re a monster, Sammy.  I can’t trust you.”

“You can’t keep doing this.”

He tried to take a breath, his body reacting horribly to the lack of oxygen, and his mind again tried to convince him to drop the rock and swim.  But he couldn’t.  He couldn’t deal with anything anymore.  He couldn’t keep trying to do what Dean wanted.  He couldn’t live up to everyone else’s standards.  He couldn’t breathe.

“You’re a monster, Sammy.  I can’t trust you.”

Choking on lungful after lungful of murky water, Sam tried to keep calm, but his mind traveled, replaying memories he hadn’t thought about in a while.

Mom, on the ceiling, fire around her, bleeding from the middle.

Dean carrying him out of the house.

Dad teaching him to fight.

Motels all across the country.

Holiday after holiday without his father, Dean consoling him each time.

Refusing to fight.

Going to College.

Returning to help Dean.

Loving.

Living.

Fighting.

Bleeding.

Trying.

Failing.

Scars.

Bobby.

Dad.

Dean.

Bitch.

Jerk.

Idjit.

Sam felt himself fading, darkness taking him entirely, and spasms wracking his body as his lungs filled to the brink.  His eyes fluttered shut one final time, hearing one last thought floating in his mind before he could no longer process a thought.

“You’re a monster, Sammy.”


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