(no subject)

[elinorwise]

Since the Cage, he's always known he can never trust his mind completely, never be fully certain what he sees and hears. But his body - the pain of his scar when he presses down on it for comfort, the movements seared into his muscles from decades of fighting, his ability to fight through the pain when he's knocked down and get back up - he's trusted that, even trusted what's in his blood enough to hate it. It's kept him tethered almost as much as Dean has. Now he can't even trust his own ability to get out of bed in the morning. 
He hasn't lost hope yet, he really hasn't - it's in Sam's nature to believe in the impossible, he still hasn’t learned his lesson - but it's taking more and more energy to convince himself that things will turn out okay, and energy just isn't something he can spare much of right now.

A voice taunts him in the back of his mind as he grimaces and pulls himself up with the sink, catching another glimpse of the stranger in the mirror. Sam Winchester, always running away. His brain doesn't supply the helpful nuance of whose voice his subconscious is mocking him with, but it doesn't matter if it's Dean's, Lucifer's, his dad's, his own. 
He can't run away this time, not when his body is the thing that he wants to escape.

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