Falling Shadow: Dean's Battle (Supernatural Fanfiction Book 3)

Behind the Mask

I woke up feeling like a truck had run over me. The motel room was still dark, the only light coming from the dim glow of the alarm clock on the nightstand. Sam was already up and gone, probably off somewhere to clear his head again. It's a pattern I've noticed—when things get too overwhelming, he takes off. I just wish I knew where he goes and what he's doing.

I dragged myself out of bed, my body protesting with every move. The weight of exhaustion was pressing down on me, but I forced myself to push through. We had a case to wrap up, and I needed to be sharp. I didn't want to add any more stress to Sam's plate.

Bobby was already in the other room, going through case files. "Morning, Dean," he greeted me, glancing up from his laptop. "You look like you got hit by a freight train."

"Feels like it," I grumbled, rubbing my face. "Any word on where Sam is?"

Bobby shook his head. "Not since he left early this morning. I figured he needed some space."

"Yeah, well, it's starting to worry me." I wasn't sure how to express it, but it was becoming a constant source of stress. Sam's progress seemed to come in fits and starts, and I was struggling to keep up.

We grabbed some breakfast at a nearby diner, and I tried to focus on the case details. My mind kept drifting back to Sam. He'd lost more weight, and the bruises from our last fight were still visible. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong, and my attempts to get him to talk always seemed to end in frustration.

Back at the motel, Sam eventually showed up, looking more haggard than usual. His eyes were hollow, and his movements seemed almost mechanical. He barely spoke as he joined us for a quick strategy session about our next move.

While Bobby and Castiel discussed the details, I watched Sam from across the table. I could see the effort he was putting into maintaining a semblance of normalcy, but it was taking a toll. His forced smiles and short, clipped responses were a stark contrast to the brother I remembered.

After the meeting, I decided to talk to him privately. I found him in our room, pacing back and forth. "Sam, can we talk for a minute?"

He looked at me with a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. "What's up?"

"You've been pushing yourself too hard," I said, trying to keep my tone calm. "I know you want to be involved, but I'm worried about you. You're losing weight, and you're not exactly in the best shape right now."

Sam stopped pacing, his shoulders tensing. "I'm fine, Dean. I just need to keep busy. It helps me get through the day."

"That's the problem," I said, my voice rising slightly. "You're not fine. You're barely holding it together. And every time I try to talk to you about it, you shut me out. What's going on?"

He threw his hands up in frustration. "I'm doing what I can, okay? I'm trying to get back to normal, and it's not easy. I don't need you breathing down my neck every minute."

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my own frustration in check. "I'm not trying to be a jerk, Sam. I'm trying to help. But you've got to let me in. I can't fix this if you won't let me."

Sam's face softened, but he still looked guarded. "I know you're trying. I just... I don't want to drag you down with me. You've got enough on your plate with everything that's happened."

I wanted to argue more, but I could see the toll it was taking on him to even have this conversation. I decided to back off, hoping that maybe someday he'd open up on his own terms. "Fine. But just remember, I'm here whenever you're ready to talk."

Sam nodded and gave me a small, weary smile. "Thanks, Dean."

As he left the room, I felt a familiar knot of worry settle in my stomach. I knew he was still hiding something, and the weight of it was becoming unbearable. I had my own struggles, but seeing Sam suffer was like adding salt to an open wound.

Later that night, after Sam had gone to bed, I found myself unable to sleep. I wandered outside for some fresh air, hoping to clear my mind. The night was quiet, the only sounds were the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of crickets.

I leaned against the Impala, staring up at the stars. It was hard not to feel overwhelmed by the weight of everything we were facing. Sam's battles, my own struggles, and the constant pressure of our work—it was all taking its toll.

I thought about what Sam had said earlier. He didn't want to drag me down, but the truth was, I was already sinking under the weight of our shared pain. It's like we were both treading water, each trying to stay afloat while the other struggled.

Eventually, I headed back inside, determined to keep my own demons at bay. I knew I had to be strong for Sam, even if it meant burying my own fears and frustrations.

As I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, I hoped that one day we'd both find a way to confront our pasts and heal. For now, I had to keep pushing forward, even when the weight of our burdens felt almost too much to bear.