The House that Sam Built

Sam Winchester entered the motel room and shut the door behind him, automatically locking it. He dropped the backpack that hung from one hand to the floor without caring where it landed, dropped the car keys next to it. He shuffled across the room, shedding his jacket as he did, exhaustion etched in every taut line of his body. The big man reached the bed and he sat heavily on it, leaning so that his elbows rested on his knees and his hands hung limply between his thighs.

He sat that way for several minutes, thoughts in disarray and body weary. Finally he blinked and glanced around the room, as if just noticing he was there. He sighed heavily and struggled to kick off his boots, finally leaning over to loosen the knots tying them. When they were off, he collapsed back on the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling.

Dean was gone.

His brother was gone and he was alone.

They had set out to kill Dick Roman and, as seemed to be par for the course with them, it had all become a giant clusterfuck. Oh, they had succeeded: His brother and Castiel had ended the Leviathan leader as planned. Dean had shoved the Bone of the Righteous Mortal into his neck and, moments later, Roman had literally exploded in a mess of black tar-like goo and the remnants of his human form. It was the aftermath that had gone horribly wrong. When Sam and Kevin climbed to their feet after the explosion knocked them backward, Dean and Castiel had been gone.

A quick search of the lab had shown that Dean wasn't there, and panic had set in. He had searched for his brother, searched the building and the surrounding parking areas, knowing he wasn't there but unable to stop himself. He had called for Cas, to no avail. An hour of searching, two hours, then Kevin had laid a hand on his arm, spoken his name in a gentle voice.

Shock had set in, with it a soul-chilling inability to believe that his brother was gone. Numbness and exhaustion, and he had wanted only to crawl into the Impala and sleep. He had dropped Kevin at the safehouse, muttered something about needing some time, and started driving.

Hours later and his exhaustion had taken hold. In a state of numb despair, he found a motel and checked himself into a room. Now he laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

The soulmark on his shoulder had started burning the moment Dick Roman had exploded, and was burning slightly still. Sam knew what it meant - it had happened before - and he didn't want to look at it. He closed his eyes for a moment, then sat up to push up his shirt sleeve. He glanced down at the soulmark - a small crescent moon on his right shoulder. He swallowed hard as he stared at it; already it was fading, the raised lines of it smoothing out and taking on a lighter color. He knew soon it would fade to white, like a small white scar on his skin.

Their soulmarks were there from his birth, Dean used to tell him.

The day Sam was born, a crescent moon on his left shoulder, was the day Dean's appeared on his right. Light blue in color, outlined in black, like small tattoos.

Sam raised a shaking hand and brushed his fingers against the Mark, then dropped his hand back to his lap. He fell back on the pillow, eyes on the ceiling again. He swallowed hard and blinked back the wetness in his eyes, his thoughts chaotic.

They had done questionable things in their lives, fighting monsters and demons, but he felt the good they did outweighed the bad. So why did it seem they were destined to lose everything at every turn?

Dean was gone. No Cas to whom he could pray. No Bobby. Even the comfort and safety of Bobby's house had been stolen away, burned to the ground in ashes.

A sob escaped Sam as he rolled onto his side and clutched the pillow beneath his head. He was alone - truly alone. Despair seized hold and Sam couldn't find the will to fight it, so he didn't. He caved to it and, body aching from their battles with the Leviathan and from the overwhelming, all-consuming loss of his brother, sobbed himself into an uneasy sleep.