Sam's Second Nightmare

[likethegun]

The clinic looked nothing like Sam remembered. Even on the slow days, it always seemed to be bustling with nurses and doctors and healers. But the front desk was empty, and Sam couldn't ignore the feeling that whoever had been there knew he was coming and had fled. People were afraid of him now, and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

The sound of machines beeping drew Sam to one of the exam rooms, and to the bed where Peter lay. He looked pale against the sheets, staring unresponsively into the space in front of him, and when Sam sat down and took his hand, it was ice-cold.

"He probably doesn't even know you're there," came the voice from behind him, where the demon, still in girl form, was leaning against the doorframe. "I guess that's a good thing though, since you're the one who broke him."

"I would never hurt Peter," Sam said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as he checked for any sign that Peter might be more conscious than he looked. "I would never hurt anyone I care about."

"That was the old you," the demon said. "The new you is a whole different story. The new you has been embracing all of that delicious rage, and taking care of anyone who tries to stand in your way." She moved away from the door and stood next to Sam, watching Peter. "He did try, I'll give him that. But in a fight of demon powers vs. human powers, the demon side's always going to win. You proved that so well."

Sam was only half-listening, putting most of his focus on checking Peter, and willing him to snap out of his current state and look at him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, tucking Peter's bangs back behind his ears. "I'm so sorry."

"He won't even respond when Nathan's here," the demon said, which only made Sam hold Peter's hand tighter. "You're probably the last person in the world he wants to see."

Sam could feel his anger building again, the new kind of inhuman rage he'd been feeling since this started, but before he could say anything, the sound of a rumbling car engine caught his attention, and he ran out of the clinic.

The first sign that something was very wrong was that the Impala looked as though it had seen better days. When Dean and John got out, guns raised and pointed at Sam, he couldn't move.

"Sammy, we've been looking for you," Dean said, looking more disappointed than Sam had ever seen him.

"I'm sorry," Sam said automatically. "I didn't mean it." He looked to his dad and found he couldn't keep his voice from shaking. "Dad, I'm sorry."

"Don't call me that," John said, holding his gun steady. "You're not my son, not anymore. You're just another thing to hunt."

Sam knew that it hurt to get shot, but he'd never imagined that it could hurt quite like this.