Sam Winchester [AU] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
milesfromfine) wrote2014-06-20 09:14 pm
milesfromfine) wrote2014-06-20 09:14 pm
I'm not crazy, I'm just a little impaired
In retrospect, Sam really should have seen it coming. Things were going so well... he and Gabe had a place of their own, two rowdy, slobbery dogs that adored them, and regular visits from Ellen bearing delicious gifts. It was pretty much time for Sam to hit a roadblock in his life. Past time, really.
His roadblock was four years older and twice as put together. He'd been awkwardly trying to bridge the gulf between himself and Dean since he'd been released from rehab. Dean seemed reluctant to reach out this time. Not that Sam could blame him, still... it was a constant ache. He wanted his brother back.
So, he'd made the drive to Dean's apartment bearing a six-pack and a couple of pizzas. That had been his first mistake. Even though alcohol had always been his least favorite drug, Dean still saw it as a weakness in his resolve. They'd begun fighting as soon as Sam walked in the door and continued until he'd stormed back out again.
Sam drove in a haze of anger, both at Dean and at himself. Mostly himself. God knows he deserved to be held at arm's length, but it still stung. Made him think back over every stupid mistake, every terrible decision, building more and more self-loathing until he almost couldn't see straight.
By the time he calmed down enough to focus on his surroundings, he'd been driving quite a while. Driving a familiar path. It didn't take long, once he looked, to recognize his old neighborhood with its run-down buildings and run-down people. His dealer lived just blocks from the stop light where he paused, car idling, heart hammering in his chest. It would be so easy.... just a few blocks, a few dollars, and easy oblivion. No more anger or pain. No more anything.
The longer he sat there, the more the anxiety built. He was so close. Right on a razor's edge.
Sam pulled a fast u-turn, tires screeching, and raced for home.
He drove blindly until he reached the house, parking haphazardly and sprinting inside like he was being chased. The door slammed behind him and he leaned back against it, dragging in ragged, heaving breaths. He ignored the happy pups bouncing around his feet and staggered to an empty corner of the living room, tucking himself into as small a space as he could, knees to his chest, head resting on them, while his blood raced in his ears.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
His roadblock was four years older and twice as put together. He'd been awkwardly trying to bridge the gulf between himself and Dean since he'd been released from rehab. Dean seemed reluctant to reach out this time. Not that Sam could blame him, still... it was a constant ache. He wanted his brother back.
So, he'd made the drive to Dean's apartment bearing a six-pack and a couple of pizzas. That had been his first mistake. Even though alcohol had always been his least favorite drug, Dean still saw it as a weakness in his resolve. They'd begun fighting as soon as Sam walked in the door and continued until he'd stormed back out again.
Sam drove in a haze of anger, both at Dean and at himself. Mostly himself. God knows he deserved to be held at arm's length, but it still stung. Made him think back over every stupid mistake, every terrible decision, building more and more self-loathing until he almost couldn't see straight.
By the time he calmed down enough to focus on his surroundings, he'd been driving quite a while. Driving a familiar path. It didn't take long, once he looked, to recognize his old neighborhood with its run-down buildings and run-down people. His dealer lived just blocks from the stop light where he paused, car idling, heart hammering in his chest. It would be so easy.... just a few blocks, a few dollars, and easy oblivion. No more anger or pain. No more anything.
The longer he sat there, the more the anxiety built. He was so close. Right on a razor's edge.
Sam pulled a fast u-turn, tires screeching, and raced for home.
He drove blindly until he reached the house, parking haphazardly and sprinting inside like he was being chased. The door slammed behind him and he leaned back against it, dragging in ragged, heaving breaths. He ignored the happy pups bouncing around his feet and staggered to an empty corner of the living room, tucking himself into as small a space as he could, knees to his chest, head resting on them, while his blood raced in his ears.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.