“What the hell were you thinking?!” Sam roared at you. He was pacing back and forth across the room in front of you as you sat on the end of the bed, following his every move with your eyes. You’d never seen him so angry. “You could have died! You could have been killed! Don’t you care about that?!” He stared at you, incredulous.
You gulped.
“I can’t believe you just went barreling in there on your own! What were you thinking?!”
“Sam, you can’t yell at me, I’m injured!” you finally roared back.
He pushed a frustrated hand back through his hair and you watched as the muscle in his jaw tensed. He sighed heavily and his shoulders slumped slightly. “I’m sorry for yelling... I’m sorry.” He walked straight over to you, his eyes catching on the freshly stitched gash in your arm, and knelt down so he was at your eye level. “You scared the crap out of me.” His brow was heavily lined with worry. “You really scared me...”
Now that his anger had abated you saw that it was all born entirely of fear. You reached out and pushed a strand of hair out of his face. “I know. I’m sorry,” you said quietly.
Sam’s hazel eyes shut at the touch of your fingers and he felt himself melting beneath them. He sighed again. “I can’t have anything happen to you. You have to understand that. You, Dean, and Cas? You’re my life.”
You gave him a sad smile and nodded. “I know. You’re mine, too.”
Prompt: “You can’t yell at me, I’m injured!”
Cas finds Sam in the war room again. He looks even wearier than usual. The last lead did not pan out, after all. Cas knows Sam identifies strongly with Jack, with his struggle against the darkness within. Not being able to find and help Jack has Sam feeling responsible and guilty, in that trademarked Winchester way. Cas thinks this explains Sam’s reaction when Cas asks him about the tattoo again.
“Again with the tattoo? Really, Cas?” Sam is glaring at him over the top of an open, heavy tome that he looks perilously close to hurling. “Don’t you think you should be talking to Dean about this?”
Cas remains calm. “You and I both know he won’t.” Sam sighs his assent at this. “I merely wanted to seek understanding about your culture’s remembrance rituals.” Sam purses his lips, nods once tersely.
Cas continues. “Dean says he got the tattoo to ‘remember me by.’” Cas doesn’t use the air quotes but thinks them, nonetheless. “But I noticed the other day when you changed into a clean shirt at the motel that you did not have one.” Cas tilts his head. “At least not in a location visible on your torso.” Sam makes a noise halfway between choking and coughing, but Cas persists. “So I was wondering why Dean would memorialize me in this manner but you wouldn’t.” Cas waits patiently for the response.
Sam looks down and sighs. Then he looks up at the bunker ceiling, as if expecting to find the answer written there. Cas actually follows his gaze, looking curiously at the ceiling, surprised when Sam speaks. “I guess it’s that whole ‘profound bond’ thing, Cas, I mean...I was sad you died, too, but…” Sam’s speech slows, then grinds to a halt. Cas looks down from the ceiling to see Sam fix him with an angry stare.
“No.” Sam shakes his head side to side, making his long hair sway. “You know what? I’m done with this.” Sam slams the lid of the laptop closed. “Cas, you’re a nice guy, and I like you, really I do, but I’ve had enough of your shit.”
Cas reels back on his heels as if Sam had smacked him physically.
Sam continues. “I’m sick of your ‘I’m just a dumb angel who doesn’t understand humanity’ act.” Sam crosses his arms in front of his chest. “If you don’t feel the same way Dean does, or you can’t, or whatever, that’s fine. Just have the goddamn decency not to pretend for one fucking second that you don’t know why he got a tattoo for you and I didn’t. It’s not fair to him. Okay?”
Sam stalks past Castiel down the hallway and Cas is left with his confusion and his initial hypothesis, now blossoming into a full-blown theory. He’s shaking, with hope and anxiety and fear. He told the entity he would fight it for eternity. He chose to live, knowing Dean might never choose him back. Cas had never considered what would happen if Dean did. He had never dared to.
Hey look, it’s my 100th post! Go me! Ok, so here’s a one shot of an angry Sam. This is OOC, but it’s my take on what he might do when he finally snaps. I actually considered going a bit darker, but I’m going to save that for my multi chapter one I’m working on. (Warnings: mentions of his torture/mind rape, but doesn't go into detail.)
Sam sat back in his chair, his hands clenched. His knee bounced up and down under the table. He thought about what had just happened and his eyes narrowed. Blood rushed through his ears so loudly he almost couldn’t think.
He didn’t hear Dean the first three times he called him. He only reacted when Dean finally grabbed his shoulder.
“Sam! What’s wrong with you? I called your name like three fucking times.”
Sam grimaced at his brother’s touch and shoved Dean’s hand off of his shoulder. He curled his teeth and snarled.
“Don’t touch me, Dean.” His voice was low and gravelly.
Dean was taken aback, raising both his hands above his head, responding, “Sam, what the hell?” He was thoroughly confused. And worried. This was not like Sam.
“Back off, Dean.” Sam stood up, making sure to not look at his brother. If he did, he knew Dean would talk him out of what he was about to do. He brushed past him and into the kitchen, where his mom had just entered. Dean followed closely behind.
“Mary,” Sam began.
Mary turned to face her youngest son. Her face was emotionless. She was showing no signs of love toward Sam, nor remorse for her actions of deciding to work with the fucking British Men of Letters. Sam walked all the way up to where Mary stood, standing just a few inches away from her. She looked up at him and said nothing.
“How could you choose them over me? I’m your son. They fucking tortured me. They burned my feet with a blowtorch, Mary. A blowtorch.” Sam’s voice was not shaky. Sam’s voice was steady. He took deep, even breaths and stared directly into Mary’s eyes.
Mary sighed and rolled her shoulders back, “yes Sam, I know. But they mean well, they really – “
“They mean well? Do you think they meant well when they drenched me in ice cold water? When they cut my face? My torso? When they drugged me and mind raped me?” Sam’s voice was rising slowly. Dean could feel the anger radiating from Sam’s body. But Sam’s words shocked Dean completely, and he had to catch his breath.
Dean’s eyebrows furrowed and he grabbed Sam’s arm gently, “wait, whoa, they what?”
Sam turned on Dean, grabbing his arm and pulling it off of him. “Dean, I said get your hands off of me!” Dean reluctantly backed off and Sam turned back to his mother.
“How dare you,” Sam began, “how dare you come back into my life and do this to me. You are not the mother I thought you were. You are not the person I thought you were.”
“Sam, we’re family, we can work this out.” Mary reached her hand out toward her younger son, but he raised his hand and took a step back.
“Don’t you touch me,” Sam said, pointing his finger at her, “And family? Ha! You’re not my family. Family doesn’t mean blood, I’ve learned that. So don’t touch me. Don’t you even come near me. I just need to know - do you have any regrets at all? Do you even care about my feelings? How can any of this be ok? How can you justify this?” Sam’s eyes were wide, and all of his muscles were tense.
Dean wasn’t sure what to do or say at this point. He’d never seen Sam quite this pissed before.
Sam was breathing heavily but did not turn his eyes away from his mother. She blinked and looked down at the floor.
“Oh, what, nothing to say? Right. I figured.” Sam crinkled his nose and exhaled sharply through it.
He turned to face his brother.
“Dean.” Sam’s voice was pleading.
“Sammy, what can I- “
“Shut up and listen to me. I don’t know why Amara chose you. I don’t know why you got your deepest desire, and I don’t know why that desire was mom. But here we are, and here she is. And our mom thinks torturing me is ok. She might as well have been in that room with Toni, holding that blowtorch, and injecting me over and over with that needle. What now, Dean? I can’t live in the same home as this…person.” Dean shuddered, thinking about how Sam was tortured, and how he had to live with that forever. And how his mother didn’t care.
Mary crossed her arms and just stared at Sam. Dean noticed she wasn’t upset at all. Sam’s words about her joining the torture didn’t get a response at all. She just seemed irritated. Dean was becoming upset too, but he knew that Sam needed to get this out, so he stayed strong for his brother. He turned his attention back to Sam.
“Sammy. Listen, I didn’t know, you never told me about that.” Dean’s eyes were sad. He tried to keep his voice calm, his words gentle. Mary looked on from the other side of the room, still saying nothing.
“Of course I didn’t fucking tell you! You think I wanted to share that? You think I wanted to relive what that bitch did to me?”
“Sam, calm down, let’s –“
“Calm down? Calm down? Christ, Dean, when is it my turn?” Sam started yelling, startling Dean. “When do I get comforted, when do I get to heal!” Sam was pointing to himself, his eyes filled with rage.
“I hear you, Sam, I do. We’ll figure this out, we’ll take care of all of this.” Dean tried to stay calm for his brother. He wanted to deal with his mother in the worst way, especially the way she was handling this situation. But Sam was suffering and Dean needed to help.
Sam continued, his yelling turning to screaming at the top of his lungs. “NO! I’ve had enough of this! I just can’t anymore!” Sam picked up a mug that was sitting on the counter and flung it across the room. It hit the wall, shattering into pieces. Mary jumped, and Dean tried frantically to think of what to do next. Sam was always the calm one, Sam was the one that grounded him.
Sam walked closer to his mother, his anger seething. His body was shaking with rage, and he could barely control his impulse to reach out and grab his mother’s neck. Dean cautiously took another step, ready to jump into – whatever might happen.
“How dare you.” Sam’s voice was more steady now. But years of anger and emotion that had been welling up were finally taking its toll on Sam.
He leaned in close to Mary and said through clenched teeth, “You don’t even know me. You might have given birth to me, but you were never my Mom. And now you never will be.”
Sam turned and pushed Dean out of his way, hard enough to send him tumbling to the floor. He swept his arm across the table as he walked by, sending dishes crashing to the floor.
Dean got up to go after him, but Sam merely said, “Don’t, Dean.” Sam left the kitchen, and the next sound Dean heard was the bunker door closing. Sam was gone.
Ok, I’m SO on this...hey guys, I’ve tagged a few of you because you’ve read my stuff before. If you’re reading this and want a Pissed!Sam fic, throw some ideas my way, if you have any. I’m going to write this...Sam deserves this. Reblog/add others if you think they might like this or have ideas? I’ll start writing tonight after I gather some good plot points... :):)
