“Welcome to the inner workings of my mind
So dark and foul I can't disguise
Nights like this
I become afraid
Of the darkness in my heart.” - MS MR
The first time it happened, he thought it was maybe just a nightmare. It certainly felt like one. But now it's more frequent, and every time it's the same.
He snaps awake, twisted in the bedsheets, grimy with sweat. He stares at the little cracks in the ceiling, and feels the wave of anger come. It bowls him over and pulls him beneath the surface, far more powerful than anyone could withstand. Pure, white-hot, high-pitched rage.
He knows that getting out of bed disturbs Jess, so he doesn't move a muscle. In those moments, those dark moments, he's so frighteningly angry that he genuinely doesn't know what he'd do if she woke up and complained about it. His hands feel like crushing blocks of muscle. So he remains stock still—carved from the toughest stone, he imagines, into the shape of a man in bed with one hand tucked under his head and the other clutching the blankets to his chest in a fist so tight that it aches the next morning.
Sam Winchester is angry. He's angry at a level he didn't even think was possible.
The first time it happened, it frightened him so much so that he felt hot tears well up in his eyes and trickle down his neck. His sniffs woke Jess, and she held him in her arms and told him she loved him and that everything would be okay.
It's not that he doesn't believe her anymore. He does. He knows she loves him. But it's starting to feel like it doesn't matter.
It's been a little over three years since Sam woke up in a hospital bed, reeling from a car accident he can barely remember. He got out with a fractured clavicle, and luckily not much more; when he lies awake fuming with rage, he imagines he can still feel the little cracked hairlines along the bone.
He and Dean survived. His father didn't.
So much has changed since that horrible night that Sam feels like he's an entirely different person. Sure, he and Dean get together for beers and hang out and go driving, like they used to before things went to shit. He'd always looked to his big brother for support and love—and for parenting, when their dad would take off for weeks at a time. But now Sam looks at Dean and sees that there's something different—something broken.
And then Sam began to wake up at night, consumed with rage.
In the daylight hours, the thought of it haunts him. He puts it away into a drawer in his mind, the same way he's always dealt with the rough parts of life. He works as hard as he can to look himself in the mirror each morning and see a human being.
On the outside, he genuinely loves his life: he loves school, he loves his girlfriend, he loves his brother. He loves all the indie music he plays while he goes jogging and the fact that he cooks dinner on a rotating schedule and they're starting to look at mortgages half-seriously. He loves having a semblance of normalcy after years of chaos. He even plays Halo .
But in the darkest part of the night, Sam knows that it's all so much window dressing, because things aren't okay.