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Summary
Despair, on the other hand, crept in quietly. First, it slithered in, hiding in the corners of his mind, but now it was an old friend. It stopped knocking and simply walked in.
Some mornings, he woke up and felt as if the world had already ended, and he missed it. He hated looking at his hands, knowing they were empty and failed at holding onto anything of value. He stopped fighting the cold; he didn’t have the strength to anymore. Instead, he let it sit beside him, lace its fingers with his, let it whisper that nothing could change, not really.Or: Sam reaches his breaking point. Dean catches him on the way down.
In the aftermath of panic, grief, and the same old motel-room silence, they fall back into the only pattern they’ve ever known.