xantissa

just so you know. i am alive and I do write this story. It's just that I don't like what I come up with. You have no idea how many of possible chapter were discarded already.. sigh. Hopefully chapter 21 will be out soon. Here is a teaser, but beware, it's only been though spell-check. no beta.

John watched Sam stare at the now cold breakfast. The silence between them wasn’t as strained as before, but it wasn’t comfortable either.

It could have been seconds or it could have been ages before Sam finally pushed the tray away and curled his fingers in his hair, resting his elbows on the table and his head in his hands.

“I think...” Started Sam with an oddly listless voice. “I think I’m broken.” He sank even lower, pressing his forehead into the cool wood and curling his arms around him like a shield. “There’s something wrong with me. I think... it was from the very beginning.”

“Sam...” Whispered John at a loss of what to say.

“I think...” It seemed that Sam either hadn’t heard John or simply ignored him. “I don’t think I can be fixed Dad.” His voice was low and quiet, much too calm.

“It’s only been a few weeks. Give it time Sam… we could seek help...” He offered hesitantly, now way too scared to even consider holding on to his pride. “Just... don’t give up Sam. That’s not the way to do anything...”

Sam turned his head, one cheek still resting on the wooden surface, messy hair falling all over the place and looked up at John from his odd position. Even in the shadows the uncommon, luminous green of his eyes after the transformation made the older Winchester’s breath catch. Sam stared at him with calm, steady eyes.

“Do you know what happened when Pandora opened the forbidden box?” Asked Sam out of the blue, still staring at John with one eye.

Confused as to why his son was suddenly asking about Greek mythology, John nevertheless answered:

“All the misfortunes of Man got out.”

An odd, bitter smile curved his son’s lips.

“And do you know what was the last horror that escaped the box?”

John felt his chest constrict, like a vicious case of indigestion. He said nothing as Sam straightened from his slouch and rose from the table. He sat still, staring at the patterns on the highly polished table, trying to convince himself that the burning in his chest was because of the foreign cuisine that was served in Marakaj’s household.

He heard the door close with a soft click and closed his eyes, feeling drained of energy, tired and so very, very helpless.

“Hope.” He whispered quietly. “Hope was the last misfortune.”