You know how there are habits? These little actions that your muscles don't even recognize anymore?
Sam’s got many of those. He always wakes up at 6, and the sunrise is like his own personal alarm. It blares outside motel windows, and he remembers his flat with Jess— it had curtains so thin and bright that the sun was always ready to chime out loudly. Those are habits. Wake up early. Pick up the local newspaper with a pencil in one hand. This is what he knows, what he sticks to.
But then there are habits, long forgotten. They come and go when he’s not looking, not thinking, not himself. One in particular he can’t shake out, even as his body is pulling itself in and shutting down, he can’t help but tuck his hands together in the only way they’ve ever been made to join. Side by side in an attempt to pray.
Dean’s a room away, fast asleep. And given the day they had, it’s a guarantee that Bobby is asleep too. He just got out of the hospital a few days ago and Sam's so grateful that despite everything he’s done, he’ll have this. His brother hates him, but he’s alive. Bobby possibly hates him too, but he’s alive. It’s good, and it’s better than Sam thinks he would get. Not everyone who lets the devil out of his cage must get so very lucky , he thinks. But he doesn’t know if it’s luck or if it’s someone else out there watching out.
He remembers this habit. This night time ritual, long forgotten but always at his fingertips. Every day when Dean went off on hunts, or when his dad forgot to call home, or when Bobby had disappeared for that one week when he was twelve, he would lie still underneath his quilt and let his hands beg for God. He’d speak his wishes out loud because some kid at the church had said that it was easier for God to hear if our thoughts were laid out. Spoken.
“I know I made a mistake. I can’t take it back either... But, I just wanted to ask you again... Can you keep Dean safe? Bobby too? They didn’t do this. I did. And I’ll figure out some way to fix it, I have to. But keep them safe. Give them my years, my life, if you caN. If you’re there and you still don’t hate me for what I’ve done, watch over them. I wish...
I wish I wasn’t what I am, but how was I supposed to know? I just wanted to help, I promise.”
His voice is not too loud, but he thinks if there was someone listening, it was loud enough.