Thoughts
Title: “Thoughts”
Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby, Death
Rating: PG-13 for a little language
Word Count: 3,119
Spoilers: 6.01-6.11
Warnings: None
Summary: Sam’s thoughts from 6.01-6.11 What’s going on inside his soulless head?
Author’s Note: This is my first Fanfic! Any tips are appreciated! Thanks so much for reading.
Sam knew something was wrong. He'd known since he came up from hell. There was something different, something off, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
He knew things. He knew who he was, and what had happened before hell. He could see all of it clearly, but in some instances he didn't know why he did what he did. Why did he always protect Dean first, kill monsters second? Dean was capable enough to take care of himself. Why did he save pedestrians that were in the line of fire and then kill the monster? It wouldn't matter if he killed the citizen, the monster would cause more damage if it hadn't been stopped.
All in all, he was a better hunter. He could work all night and all day, never stopping for anything but gas and food. He could travel alone and get a hell of a lot more done, but he didn't. He stuck with Samuel. Why? Samuel was his only lead for figuring out what was wrong with him. He didn't care about Samuel, or Gwen, or anyone that he called family in that group. He would sacrifice them in a heartbeat if he could figure out what was missing from him. Was that wrong? He didn't think so.
Then Dean came along, and things got difficult. The brotherly relationship Sam remembered was gone. He didn't care for Dean, but Dean wanted to help Sam in any way he could. It made no sense to Sam. What did Dean benefit from being around him? Nothing. Still, Sam decided to stick around Dean instead of Samuel. Dean was more useful.
Sam had to pick each and every word and every facial expression, especially when he was around Dean. It was exhausting. He had learned a lot about that from Dean. Whenever Dean's face was 'sad', Sam copied it. Sam copied his every move and expression because he had learned that was the best way to not concern or upset Dean.
Words, however, were more challenging. He had to analyze every word spoken around him to determine what emotion he should be 'expressing' when he couldn’t tell what Dean was ‘expressing’. He had to pretend to care about citizens, and had to put their lives over Dean's and even his own. Sam didn't want to put citizens over Dean; he needed Dean to find out what was wrong with him. He’d sacrifice them and wouldn’t give a second thought to it.
Once the Verita had said Sam wasn't human, he started analyzing himself, and unfortunately so did Dean. Before Sam could even process what the monster was talking about, Dean attacked him. Sam didn't want to hurt Dean, he needed Dean.
He logically decided to tell Dean that he needed help. It wasn't because he wanted to tell Dean what was happening, he definitely didn't want to. He realized by his brother's actions that Dean would never let this go. Why was Dean so concerned about Sam?
That's what Sam didn't appreciate about Dean. He didn't care if Dean was nosy, he could lie. But when Dean got in the way of Sam's mission, it made Sam question Dean’s value.
After being tied up and prodded by Cas, Sam sat listening to Dean and Cas fight. Why was Dean yelling? Sam didn't understand. Dean was not in pain, there was no reason to raise his voice. It had something to do with the emotion 'anger'.
Sam gradually realized what emotions looked like in a physical sense. Anger was yelling, fist clenching, and often the facial expression of a frown. Sadness was sometimes tears and being silent. Happy was confusing altogether. Happy was smiling, which bewildered Sam. Why would twisting your face into a smile register into someone's mind as happy? Sam didn't understand.
Sam was just beginning to understand 'grief' was a different emotion altogether. It was a mixture of sadness and anger. It was hard to tell with facial expressions because, Sam soon learned, someone can smile and not be happy. Why would someone smile and not be 'happy'? The prime example of grief was right in front of him all the time- Dean. Grief for Dean meant drinking, and refusing to talk about anything. Dean drank a lot. More than anyone he could ever remember. It was the first thing he did in the morning, and the last thing he did at night. It was difficult for Sam to identify whether Dean was sad, angry, or just grieving. He often said, ‘You're upset.’ because he couldn't classify Dean's emotions and therefore, couldn’t decide what to say.
After learning he didn't have a soul, Sam tried harder and harder to prove that he did. He wanted Dean to see that he could still be his little brother even though he didn’t have a soul so that Dean wouldn’t leave him.
He considered ditching Dean after learning he was soulless. He had no need for Dean anymore because Sam had done the math. His soul had been in the cage for around one hundred and eighty years. He would not shove that mutilated, emotional thing back into his body. He was fine without it.
He realized though that Dean was not fine without Sam’s soul. He knew that somehow, eventually, Dean would get it back. If Sam wasn’t there to intercept the soul, sooner or later it’d be unpredictably shoved back into him. Sam couldn’t let that happen.
So he went on to pretend he wanted it back. Once Dean figured out how to get it back, Sam would summon Balthazar to figure out how to destroy it, or how to stop it from getting back to earth. It seemed simple enough in Sam’s mind.
Sam had been thinking a lot about his soul lately. Why did Dean want it back so badly? One night in a junky motel room as Dean was about to fall asleep, Sam figured out how to correctly ask why. If he phrased it one way, Dean might be angry. If he phrased it a different way, Dean could be sad. But, if he phrased it just right, he could avoid emotion all together and just get the facts he wanted.
"Dean?" Sam asked, while sitting at the table. Dean was face down on the bed trying to sleep.
"Hmmm?" Dean asked, not moving a muscle.
This was his chance; he had to phrase it correctly. Let's start out with a lead on, to show Dean I am just curious. "I was just wondering..." Sam said. Perfect.
"What?" Dean prodded, but still didn't move.
"Why do you want to get my soul back?" Sam asked. Too harsh, Sam thought, analyzing how he phrased it. "I mean, I want to get it back as much as you do, but why?" Better.
Dean rolled around and sat up, scooting to the edge of the bed. "Why do you want it back, Sammy?"
I don't. "I asked you first."
"Because you have no emotion, Sam. You don't care about anyone or anything, and that's bad." Dean said, and stared at his brother.
Sam's forehead scrunched in confusion. "I don't understand. Why is emotion good?"
Dean sighed. "Don't you at least remember what emotions feel like?"
"No." Sam said truthfully. He can look back and remember all the actions and thoughts he had had, but it was like he had half of the story. He didn't understand most of his previous actions and thoughts.
"Really?" Dean asked, surprised. Surprise. To strike or occur to with a sudden feeling of wonder or astonishment, as through unexpectedness. Sam knew the definition, but he didn't know the feeling.
"Yes." Sam wanted to continue and say, 'I mean, I remember all the facts. I remember what happened, but sometimes I don't understand why I did what I did.' but logic stopped him. Dean didn't need to know that, so Sam didn't tell him. It seemed simple enough.
"Don't you want to feel something?" Dean asked.
That question stumped Sam. On one hand, he wanted to feel some things. He wanted to feel happiness, excitement, love. But the actions that came with sadness, anger, and grief; Sam did not want. He would react differently to situations if he felt those. He didn't want to feel those, even though he knew deep inside he needed to. 'That's what being human is, Sammy.' Dean once said. What if he didn't want to be human? What defined someone as human? Was it feeling? If he couldn't feel, did that make him less of a human? Maybe. The real question was: did not having a soul make him less of a hunter? That was what mattered to him.
Dean didn't agree. He thought Sam needed to feel in order to make judgment calls. Ever since the run in with the fairies, Dean didn't allow Sam to make judgment calls. Dean believed Sam didn't have a conscience, and Sam agreed. He did everything through logic. Talking to the old man had been logical. They needed more information on how to stop fairies. Killing the man had also been logical. Maybe the fairies would go away if they killed what Sam believed to be the source. Sam was willing to take the risk.
"Yeah, of course," Sam answered, but he knew the true answer: no. If sadness, anger, grief, and emotional pain were part of the deal; he could do without it. He didn't mind being emotionless. Then again, he didn't mind anything anymore.
"Good." Dean said, and turned over to go to bed.
Soon after, Dean of course figured out another way to get his soul back. He claimed Death could put up a wall in his mind. A wall that could last a lifetime. Even if Sam did want his soul back, he wouldn't take the risk.
Sam logically knew staying with Dean and Bobby would be the best choice. Sure, he could bounce to some unknown country and stay there, but Dean would eventually catch up to him. Sam would be thrown into the panic room, mostly likely, if he resisted the soul train.
Dean and Bobby had been nothing but good to him. Even though sometimes what they did wasn't right in Sam's mind, they still did more good than harm. He could easily leave and not think a single thought about them again, but Sam knew better. Strategically it wasn’t smart.
Why not stop the problem at the source? The ring would be the answer to all of this. If he could get the ring, he could destroy it. Dean would be mad, but he'd get over it if he wanted Sam to stick around. Obviously, if it really went bad, Sam would leave Dean. Simple.
Sam planned out his robbery carefully and quickly. He would take a 'walk' and dig up the ring. It seemed simple enough; the main issue was lying to Dean. Dean can always tell when something is off with Sam, and with something this important Sam knew Dean was being extra observant.
First he tried to turn around and walk away, but was stopped by Dean saying, "Where are you going?" Damn.
What should he say? Sam turned around slowly and tried to put on his best I'm-gonna-let-you-get-back-my-soul face. "Look, I hear you. I get it. I just need a minute to wrap my head around it, alright?" Good. I didn’t give anything away in that entire sentence. Sam turned and walked out the door, and felt Dean's eyes on him the whole way.
Sam spent a good amount of time pretending to look around while walking through the junkyard. He slowly and casually walked towards the spot where the ring was buried. Son of a bitch. The ring was gone. The ground had been dug up recently because the dirt looked very fresh.
"Looking for this?" He heard Dean behind him. Shit.
Sam turned around and stared at Dean, noticing the control Dean thought he had because he was holding the ring. Sam would stop this somehow. He had nothing to lose. Sam shrugged. “Just taking a walk.”
Sam turned and waited for Dean to stop him once again. “Sam.” Sam turned to face Dean. “I’m your brother, and I’m not gonna let you get hurt.”
I wonder what it feels to trust. I don’t trust you. The only person I trust is me. Something will go wrong, something always goes wrong. “And what if it goes wrong?”
“I won’t let it go wrong.” Dean said after taking a few steps towards Sam. Sam thought this situation over quickly. How would I respond if I had a soul? He decided if he had feeling, he’d trust Dean. That was a good place to start. Trust. Reliance on the integrity, strength, ability, surety, etc., of a person or thing; confidence. Sam could pull off trust. He could also pull off surrendering.
Sam shrugged and said, “Fine.” He knew Dean wasn’t going to let this go. He knew now more than ever that if he made a move, he’d wake up chained to the cot in the panic room. Dean didn’t trust him and that was obvious without his quiet, ‘Watch him.’ to Bobby as he walked off to be Death.
Why did Dean never trust him? Hadn’t he proven himself enough in the past? Sam could clearly remember times when he had done something logical, and Dean had been angry at him. Why was that? Why couldn’t Dean accept the logic, and help Sam do his job?
After calling Balthazar, and discovering he needed to kill Bobby, Sam thought over his options. Bobby had always been good to him. He was always there to help Sam whenever he needed anyone to talk to in the past. He always knew how to help him with Dean issues. Long story short, as clear as Sam could remember, Bobby would never let him down. And now Sam was about to kill him.
Sam knew this is what Dean would call a ‘bad judgment call’. Sure, it was wrong for Sam to kill Bobby. He knew that. Sam also knew this was the only way to keep his soul out forever, and that was a sacrifice he had to accept. The old Sam would never go through with this, Sam thought. The old Sam is gone.
As he was about to kill Bobby, and he felt a hand grab him, he knew it was over. He knew he’d be locked up in the panic room for the rest of his life because Dean obviously had broken the deal. He looked at Dean, and became one with his fist.
Sam woke up and kept his eyes closed. He felt the metal touching his hands and feet, and he knew he was in the panic room. Predictable.
He had enjoyed drifting in oblivion; it was a nice break from his harsh reality. Sam knew he might not get out of here in time and that Dean might somehow figure out a way to shove his soul back in.
Even if Dean couldn’t convince Death to get it, he’d keep Sam in here. He’d come down and feed Sam and help him go to the bathroom and help him drink water, and Dean would keep his cuffs on. Sam didn’t mind. It was better than the alternative of letting Dean shove his soul back into him. Eventually, he’d escape and all of this crap would be over.
Time to face reality. He opened his eyes and tried to rub his face, but he remembered he was chained. He looked towards the door to the panic room. Sure enough, he saw Dean’s unmistakable green eyes peering through the small window of the door. They started at each other, and Sam’s face twisted to show confusion. Why was Dean looking at him this way? Sam was only trying to protect himself. Dean just doesn’t understand.
Dean eventually closed and locked the small window, and Sam was alone again. He tested each chain carefully, not trying to make a lot of noise in case Dean or Bobby was listening. I just need one hand free and I can do the rest.
Soon, he gave up being quiet. He twisted and pulled his hand so hard against the cuff that his wrist turned red. Dean had made the cuff tight, too tight. If he had tightened it any more, it would be hurting Sam right now. Sam tried again and again to pull his hand out, but there was no point. It wouldn’t come lose.
This might be my last hour or two. I might be ‘dead’ soon. Death might pity Dean and help him get my soul back. That alone encouraged Sam to continue to pull his arm against the cuff.
Why was Dean so evident on getting his soul back? Sam wasn’t that bad. He did what was logical. He mostly protected Dean. He tried his hardest to show emotion even when he didn’t feel anything. He had done everything he could to be what Dean wanted, yet here he was, chained to a bed in the panic room. Why wouldn’t Dean just trust him?
Suddenly, Death appeared in his cage. Fear washed over him, real fear. He had never felt this before. Death’s presence created fear even in a soulless man. “No. No! Please!” Sam shouted, but Death continued to walk towards him. Dean failed! No!
He fought hard against the cuffs, but they didn’t budge from his wrists. Oh God. This is it. This is my end. The door flew open and Dean and Bobby stood in it, shocked. He looked at Dean with real fear in his eyes, and Dean could tell. Save me!
Death proceeded to set his bag and cane on the cot and to sit next to Sam. He told Sam not to scratch the wall, but he wasn’t listening. I’m going to die. No. No!
He looked at Dean, shaking his head violently, “You don’t know. You don’t know what this will do to me! Dean, please!” Dean just stared.
Death opened his bag, and Sam could feel the emotions, the hurt, and the pain coming from his soul. I won’t survive this. Death picked up his soul and stared at it preciously, and then brought it closer and closer to Sam’s body. Sam couldn’t do anything about it.
The soul was pressed into his chest, and the heat from it radiated throughout his whole body. He knew the soul was torn and broken, and soon he’d be too. No! He screamed from the pain and let his head hit the mattress beneath him.
Goodbye, emptiness. Hello, pain.
Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby, Death
Rating: PG-13 for a little language
Word Count: 3,119
Spoilers: 6.01-6.11
Warnings: None
Summary: Sam’s thoughts from 6.01-6.11 What’s going on inside his soulless head?
Author’s Note: This is my first Fanfic! Any tips are appreciated! Thanks so much for reading.
Sam knew something was wrong. He'd known since he came up from hell. There was something different, something off, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
He knew things. He knew who he was, and what had happened before hell. He could see all of it clearly, but in some instances he didn't know why he did what he did. Why did he always protect Dean first, kill monsters second? Dean was capable enough to take care of himself. Why did he save pedestrians that were in the line of fire and then kill the monster? It wouldn't matter if he killed the citizen, the monster would cause more damage if it hadn't been stopped.
All in all, he was a better hunter. He could work all night and all day, never stopping for anything but gas and food. He could travel alone and get a hell of a lot more done, but he didn't. He stuck with Samuel. Why? Samuel was his only lead for figuring out what was wrong with him. He didn't care about Samuel, or Gwen, or anyone that he called family in that group. He would sacrifice them in a heartbeat if he could figure out what was missing from him. Was that wrong? He didn't think so.
Then Dean came along, and things got difficult. The brotherly relationship Sam remembered was gone. He didn't care for Dean, but Dean wanted to help Sam in any way he could. It made no sense to Sam. What did Dean benefit from being around him? Nothing. Still, Sam decided to stick around Dean instead of Samuel. Dean was more useful.
Sam had to pick each and every word and every facial expression, especially when he was around Dean. It was exhausting. He had learned a lot about that from Dean. Whenever Dean's face was 'sad', Sam copied it. Sam copied his every move and expression because he had learned that was the best way to not concern or upset Dean.
Words, however, were more challenging. He had to analyze every word spoken around him to determine what emotion he should be 'expressing' when he couldn’t tell what Dean was ‘expressing’. He had to pretend to care about citizens, and had to put their lives over Dean's and even his own. Sam didn't want to put citizens over Dean; he needed Dean to find out what was wrong with him. He’d sacrifice them and wouldn’t give a second thought to it.
Once the Verita had said Sam wasn't human, he started analyzing himself, and unfortunately so did Dean. Before Sam could even process what the monster was talking about, Dean attacked him. Sam didn't want to hurt Dean, he needed Dean.
He logically decided to tell Dean that he needed help. It wasn't because he wanted to tell Dean what was happening, he definitely didn't want to. He realized by his brother's actions that Dean would never let this go. Why was Dean so concerned about Sam?
That's what Sam didn't appreciate about Dean. He didn't care if Dean was nosy, he could lie. But when Dean got in the way of Sam's mission, it made Sam question Dean’s value.
After being tied up and prodded by Cas, Sam sat listening to Dean and Cas fight. Why was Dean yelling? Sam didn't understand. Dean was not in pain, there was no reason to raise his voice. It had something to do with the emotion 'anger'.
Sam gradually realized what emotions looked like in a physical sense. Anger was yelling, fist clenching, and often the facial expression of a frown. Sadness was sometimes tears and being silent. Happy was confusing altogether. Happy was smiling, which bewildered Sam. Why would twisting your face into a smile register into someone's mind as happy? Sam didn't understand.
Sam was just beginning to understand 'grief' was a different emotion altogether. It was a mixture of sadness and anger. It was hard to tell with facial expressions because, Sam soon learned, someone can smile and not be happy. Why would someone smile and not be 'happy'? The prime example of grief was right in front of him all the time- Dean. Grief for Dean meant drinking, and refusing to talk about anything. Dean drank a lot. More than anyone he could ever remember. It was the first thing he did in the morning, and the last thing he did at night. It was difficult for Sam to identify whether Dean was sad, angry, or just grieving. He often said, ‘You're upset.’ because he couldn't classify Dean's emotions and therefore, couldn’t decide what to say.
After learning he didn't have a soul, Sam tried harder and harder to prove that he did. He wanted Dean to see that he could still be his little brother even though he didn’t have a soul so that Dean wouldn’t leave him.
He considered ditching Dean after learning he was soulless. He had no need for Dean anymore because Sam had done the math. His soul had been in the cage for around one hundred and eighty years. He would not shove that mutilated, emotional thing back into his body. He was fine without it.
He realized though that Dean was not fine without Sam’s soul. He knew that somehow, eventually, Dean would get it back. If Sam wasn’t there to intercept the soul, sooner or later it’d be unpredictably shoved back into him. Sam couldn’t let that happen.
So he went on to pretend he wanted it back. Once Dean figured out how to get it back, Sam would summon Balthazar to figure out how to destroy it, or how to stop it from getting back to earth. It seemed simple enough in Sam’s mind.
Sam had been thinking a lot about his soul lately. Why did Dean want it back so badly? One night in a junky motel room as Dean was about to fall asleep, Sam figured out how to correctly ask why. If he phrased it one way, Dean might be angry. If he phrased it a different way, Dean could be sad. But, if he phrased it just right, he could avoid emotion all together and just get the facts he wanted.
"Dean?" Sam asked, while sitting at the table. Dean was face down on the bed trying to sleep.
"Hmmm?" Dean asked, not moving a muscle.
This was his chance; he had to phrase it correctly. Let's start out with a lead on, to show Dean I am just curious. "I was just wondering..." Sam said. Perfect.
"What?" Dean prodded, but still didn't move.
"Why do you want to get my soul back?" Sam asked. Too harsh, Sam thought, analyzing how he phrased it. "I mean, I want to get it back as much as you do, but why?" Better.
Dean rolled around and sat up, scooting to the edge of the bed. "Why do you want it back, Sammy?"
I don't. "I asked you first."
"Because you have no emotion, Sam. You don't care about anyone or anything, and that's bad." Dean said, and stared at his brother.
Sam's forehead scrunched in confusion. "I don't understand. Why is emotion good?"
Dean sighed. "Don't you at least remember what emotions feel like?"
"No." Sam said truthfully. He can look back and remember all the actions and thoughts he had had, but it was like he had half of the story. He didn't understand most of his previous actions and thoughts.
"Really?" Dean asked, surprised. Surprise. To strike or occur to with a sudden feeling of wonder or astonishment, as through unexpectedness. Sam knew the definition, but he didn't know the feeling.
"Yes." Sam wanted to continue and say, 'I mean, I remember all the facts. I remember what happened, but sometimes I don't understand why I did what I did.' but logic stopped him. Dean didn't need to know that, so Sam didn't tell him. It seemed simple enough.
"Don't you want to feel something?" Dean asked.
That question stumped Sam. On one hand, he wanted to feel some things. He wanted to feel happiness, excitement, love. But the actions that came with sadness, anger, and grief; Sam did not want. He would react differently to situations if he felt those. He didn't want to feel those, even though he knew deep inside he needed to. 'That's what being human is, Sammy.' Dean once said. What if he didn't want to be human? What defined someone as human? Was it feeling? If he couldn't feel, did that make him less of a human? Maybe. The real question was: did not having a soul make him less of a hunter? That was what mattered to him.
Dean didn't agree. He thought Sam needed to feel in order to make judgment calls. Ever since the run in with the fairies, Dean didn't allow Sam to make judgment calls. Dean believed Sam didn't have a conscience, and Sam agreed. He did everything through logic. Talking to the old man had been logical. They needed more information on how to stop fairies. Killing the man had also been logical. Maybe the fairies would go away if they killed what Sam believed to be the source. Sam was willing to take the risk.
"Yeah, of course," Sam answered, but he knew the true answer: no. If sadness, anger, grief, and emotional pain were part of the deal; he could do without it. He didn't mind being emotionless. Then again, he didn't mind anything anymore.
"Good." Dean said, and turned over to go to bed.
Soon after, Dean of course figured out another way to get his soul back. He claimed Death could put up a wall in his mind. A wall that could last a lifetime. Even if Sam did want his soul back, he wouldn't take the risk.
Sam logically knew staying with Dean and Bobby would be the best choice. Sure, he could bounce to some unknown country and stay there, but Dean would eventually catch up to him. Sam would be thrown into the panic room, mostly likely, if he resisted the soul train.
Dean and Bobby had been nothing but good to him. Even though sometimes what they did wasn't right in Sam's mind, they still did more good than harm. He could easily leave and not think a single thought about them again, but Sam knew better. Strategically it wasn’t smart.
Why not stop the problem at the source? The ring would be the answer to all of this. If he could get the ring, he could destroy it. Dean would be mad, but he'd get over it if he wanted Sam to stick around. Obviously, if it really went bad, Sam would leave Dean. Simple.
Sam planned out his robbery carefully and quickly. He would take a 'walk' and dig up the ring. It seemed simple enough; the main issue was lying to Dean. Dean can always tell when something is off with Sam, and with something this important Sam knew Dean was being extra observant.
First he tried to turn around and walk away, but was stopped by Dean saying, "Where are you going?" Damn.
What should he say? Sam turned around slowly and tried to put on his best I'm-gonna-let-you-get-back-my-soul face. "Look, I hear you. I get it. I just need a minute to wrap my head around it, alright?" Good. I didn’t give anything away in that entire sentence. Sam turned and walked out the door, and felt Dean's eyes on him the whole way.
Sam spent a good amount of time pretending to look around while walking through the junkyard. He slowly and casually walked towards the spot where the ring was buried. Son of a bitch. The ring was gone. The ground had been dug up recently because the dirt looked very fresh.
"Looking for this?" He heard Dean behind him. Shit.
Sam turned around and stared at Dean, noticing the control Dean thought he had because he was holding the ring. Sam would stop this somehow. He had nothing to lose. Sam shrugged. “Just taking a walk.”
Sam turned and waited for Dean to stop him once again. “Sam.” Sam turned to face Dean. “I’m your brother, and I’m not gonna let you get hurt.”
I wonder what it feels to trust. I don’t trust you. The only person I trust is me. Something will go wrong, something always goes wrong. “And what if it goes wrong?”
“I won’t let it go wrong.” Dean said after taking a few steps towards Sam. Sam thought this situation over quickly. How would I respond if I had a soul? He decided if he had feeling, he’d trust Dean. That was a good place to start. Trust. Reliance on the integrity, strength, ability, surety, etc., of a person or thing; confidence. Sam could pull off trust. He could also pull off surrendering.
Sam shrugged and said, “Fine.” He knew Dean wasn’t going to let this go. He knew now more than ever that if he made a move, he’d wake up chained to the cot in the panic room. Dean didn’t trust him and that was obvious without his quiet, ‘Watch him.’ to Bobby as he walked off to be Death.
Why did Dean never trust him? Hadn’t he proven himself enough in the past? Sam could clearly remember times when he had done something logical, and Dean had been angry at him. Why was that? Why couldn’t Dean accept the logic, and help Sam do his job?
After calling Balthazar, and discovering he needed to kill Bobby, Sam thought over his options. Bobby had always been good to him. He was always there to help Sam whenever he needed anyone to talk to in the past. He always knew how to help him with Dean issues. Long story short, as clear as Sam could remember, Bobby would never let him down. And now Sam was about to kill him.
Sam knew this is what Dean would call a ‘bad judgment call’. Sure, it was wrong for Sam to kill Bobby. He knew that. Sam also knew this was the only way to keep his soul out forever, and that was a sacrifice he had to accept. The old Sam would never go through with this, Sam thought. The old Sam is gone.
As he was about to kill Bobby, and he felt a hand grab him, he knew it was over. He knew he’d be locked up in the panic room for the rest of his life because Dean obviously had broken the deal. He looked at Dean, and became one with his fist.
Sam woke up and kept his eyes closed. He felt the metal touching his hands and feet, and he knew he was in the panic room. Predictable.
He had enjoyed drifting in oblivion; it was a nice break from his harsh reality. Sam knew he might not get out of here in time and that Dean might somehow figure out a way to shove his soul back in.
Even if Dean couldn’t convince Death to get it, he’d keep Sam in here. He’d come down and feed Sam and help him go to the bathroom and help him drink water, and Dean would keep his cuffs on. Sam didn’t mind. It was better than the alternative of letting Dean shove his soul back into him. Eventually, he’d escape and all of this crap would be over.
Time to face reality. He opened his eyes and tried to rub his face, but he remembered he was chained. He looked towards the door to the panic room. Sure enough, he saw Dean’s unmistakable green eyes peering through the small window of the door. They started at each other, and Sam’s face twisted to show confusion. Why was Dean looking at him this way? Sam was only trying to protect himself. Dean just doesn’t understand.
Dean eventually closed and locked the small window, and Sam was alone again. He tested each chain carefully, not trying to make a lot of noise in case Dean or Bobby was listening. I just need one hand free and I can do the rest.
Soon, he gave up being quiet. He twisted and pulled his hand so hard against the cuff that his wrist turned red. Dean had made the cuff tight, too tight. If he had tightened it any more, it would be hurting Sam right now. Sam tried again and again to pull his hand out, but there was no point. It wouldn’t come lose.
This might be my last hour or two. I might be ‘dead’ soon. Death might pity Dean and help him get my soul back. That alone encouraged Sam to continue to pull his arm against the cuff.
Why was Dean so evident on getting his soul back? Sam wasn’t that bad. He did what was logical. He mostly protected Dean. He tried his hardest to show emotion even when he didn’t feel anything. He had done everything he could to be what Dean wanted, yet here he was, chained to a bed in the panic room. Why wouldn’t Dean just trust him?
Suddenly, Death appeared in his cage. Fear washed over him, real fear. He had never felt this before. Death’s presence created fear even in a soulless man. “No. No! Please!” Sam shouted, but Death continued to walk towards him. Dean failed! No!
He fought hard against the cuffs, but they didn’t budge from his wrists. Oh God. This is it. This is my end. The door flew open and Dean and Bobby stood in it, shocked. He looked at Dean with real fear in his eyes, and Dean could tell. Save me!
Death proceeded to set his bag and cane on the cot and to sit next to Sam. He told Sam not to scratch the wall, but he wasn’t listening. I’m going to die. No. No!
He looked at Dean, shaking his head violently, “You don’t know. You don’t know what this will do to me! Dean, please!” Dean just stared.
Death opened his bag, and Sam could feel the emotions, the hurt, and the pain coming from his soul. I won’t survive this. Death picked up his soul and stared at it preciously, and then brought it closer and closer to Sam’s body. Sam couldn’t do anything about it.
The soul was pressed into his chest, and the heat from it radiated throughout his whole body. He knew the soul was torn and broken, and soon he’d be too. No! He screamed from the pain and let his head hit the mattress beneath him.
Goodbye, emptiness. Hello, pain.