He's laying in bed, back flat with hands resting above his stomach. Eyes wondering the ceiling above. His mind felt scattered some how. Couldn't think about one thing without getting in too deep that he's falling into the dark rot of his own mind. Like spiraling with no end. It happened a lot really.
These days.
Everything was just dragging too slowly. And he thinks if time had the ability to be heard it would probably sound like furniture dragging by a long lonely endless hallway. Dramatically and easily slow. Or maybe it wouldn't, he doesn't know. Just that it would be really irritating real quick.
Maybe Dean would agree. No. He doesn't think so. With the amount of times he's already seen the sorry looks from his brother when he'd pass his room (cause really Sam doesn't go out unless it's absolutely necessary), or even try to make small talk, only to have it drag and grow in awkwardness, he doesn't think Dean would agree with any of his ideas. This is why they'd only at least let the other know that they were okay and in the bunker.
Presence being enough more than words. They weren't exactly fine, but okay was just a start. And ofcourse he knew that Dean wasn't okay either, he could tell by those swollen and baggy eyes. He's been seeing it for days now- days after...
He shakes his head. He already knows the facts, already knows it's true, but he doesn't want to believe. Doesn't want to believe- but the long slowing furniture along halls with it's hauling and dragging movements is just making it harder to not see the truth. Hard to not face that- (all he needs to do is admit it)...
Sam is getting up from the bed and heading to the bathroom. It feels odd to leave his bed. The comfort of sleep, being that he could just escape and fade away even for a little, was tempting to him right now. But he will, soon, he'll get to rest in sweet peace and serenity. His steps feel out of place, out of balance and way too quiet. It's not comforting to not hear his syncing feet playing a two step rhythm. It's way too quiet now he thinks. So he hurries toward the bathroom and upon reaching, he closes the door behind him. Locking it. Knowing he was well alone within the bunker.
He breaths nonetheless, once- twice and looks around. He doesn't need to. Maybe he's just stalling... for just a little. He sighs shutting his eyes for a bit then blinking them open as he goes to reach for the cupboard and stops. Determined with his movements this time.
Hand just ghosting the opening. And he almost gasps at the sight he's caught in the mirror. Honestly he's just stuck, frozen at the sight of himself. He's been avoiding looking into the mirror ever since. And the sight of him now makes him wonder what Dean- what he must have been going through in his head at the sight of his little Sammy with a beard, dark circles clearly showing under his hazel eyes and the most ruffled up bed head. He looks like a mess. And not just on the outside too.
But he can't stop here, he's been planing this for too long now and the perfect opportunity came up. He can't back down. So he's opening up the cupboard and leaving the voices to the back of his head. The one's that kept saying: I wish I told you... I wish I told you..
He knows the ending of the sentences but he's caught between saying them, admitting and feeling the truth bloom in his chest. So he usually leaves it as an unfinished sentence. Never once really finishing it. Not completely. Sam reaches his hand to the far back. He knows the bottle by heart now. The one without a label, 'cause he tore it off, within a little clear blue bottle. Just like any other pill bottle just without the labeling. And when he finally grabs on to it he's bringing it closer to inspect it. Knowing what's inside of the full bottle of pills he's had for so long now, hoping for the moment, he wonders if- no. Don't think Sam- ''Just do it,'' he flips off the cap and looks down at white coated pills. He's pouring out a few in his shaking hands-
