There was an empty, ugly void inside his chest where there should have been life, a gentle singing, a kiss of a summer’s cool breeze, the hot kiss of blood against his lips. It was ugly inside of him. It used to be beautiful in here… and now it was ugly.
There was a storm raging in here, between bones and on either side of ribs and inside of marrow and muscle. The sunshine, the bright and clear sunshine of day was Sam and Hanna, peering behind the clouds and offering their warmth and offering to save him, but they are not strong enough. Eric regrets it… he wishes it were different, that it were otherwise…
He was the man borne of fire, but the fire destroyed him.
It will never be okay.
”Can you fix it?” ”Fix what?” ”Fix me.”
”I wanna go now. I want to leave now.”
He’s being irrational, it’s true.
They can’t take Hanna and run, leave everyone behind and pretend like they never set foot here. They can’t scour the country looking for her.
But maybe they could.
He withdraws himself from Sam’s embrace, smears blood across his cheeks like tribal markings that tell the tale of a father that lost his daughter. There’s no truth there, there’s a rhyme and there’s a reason but to get the full story one needs to see into his heart.
He’d do this for Sam if it were Dean that were missing.
He can feel it.
All of it.
Eric isn't trying to hide anything -- or maybe he's just too distracted to try.
And it's horrible.
Like mourning.
Even though she isn't dead ( or at least they have no proof that she is ) -- it still feels the same. Only with the added guilt heaped up on top. Things he shouldn't press upon himself. But Sam knows how it is to take the blame. To shoulder that responsibility. And he knows all too well that words won't make a difference when it comes to either shifting it or sharing it. It's just a solid weight that rests on your chest and makes it hard to breathe. Makes it hard to keep opening your eyes and putting one foot in front of the other.
It makes him sad. In a way that he shouldn't be. But it does. it hurts that he can't fix this. It twists his stomach into knots to know that Eric is in pain and there's nothing he can do. No blood that will mend the wound. No magic potion or pill. No rite or ritual. Nothing he can do -- not a damn thing. That there's a place he can't touch, that doesn't belong to him. She was his first. Had been with him for a hundred years. And Sam really can't imagine what it's like. Can only liken it to losing Hanna and that is something he can't even bear to think about.
Feeling Eric pull away from him was difficult. Like there was something to hide about this. Like it was a shameful secret or some kind of forbidden thing. Like any kind of weakness was abhorrent or repulsive... It wasn't.
"Okay."
It was simple and it was softly spoken.
It was the only answer he could give.
It was the only thing he could do.
If if was something Eric had to do, then perhaps now was the time to do it. Hanna could stay with Dean and Sookie and Risa. She'd be well looked after and protected. He wouldn't risk her. But he was happy to risk himself. If that was what Eric wanted -- needed -- then... Okay.
