Chapter 4
Dean was watching his Sammy sleep. For a few hours his sleep is peaceful and then suddenly Sam's body starts convulsing violently. Dean also notices that Sam is sweating. Dean moves over to watch Sam's head and holds it while Sam seizes, making sure his head isn't injured during the seizure. Suddenly Sam wakes up mid-seizure, stops seizing for a second and screams, and Dean stifles a tear. He hates seeing his brother suffer like this. Sam's shaking hand grabs onto Dean's shirt. Sweat is dripping off his hand.
"You okay Sammy?" Dean asks.
Sam shakes his head.
"Not right now, not really," Sam mutters. There is pain and sadness lingering in Sam's eyes.
Dean climbs in the bed and lies beside his brother, in a completely chaste way, holding Sam's head and rocking him like he did when Sam was a little kid. He holds onto his brother and promises him that he doesn't hate him.
Despite this, Sam's body is sick from not having enough demon blood, and Sam starts seizing again. Dean holds Sam down during the seizure in order to protect him as much as he can. As soon as Sam's body falls silent again, tears like a flood start rolling down from Sam's eyes.
"I know it's wrong but I need more so badly. Not just a few drops Dean, it will make the pain go away for thirty minutes, but then it's back, it's not enough to mak it go away," Sam whimpers.
"I only have that little bit left. And I don't think Crowly would give us more anyways," Dean says.
"Okay then give me that. A thirty-minute break is better than the seizures," Sam says.
"Hold out one more hour, okay?" Dean insists.
"Why?" Sam asks.
"Because I said so," Dean said stubbornly. "Besides, once it's gone it's gonna get real bad if we don't find a supply of it until you can get all the way off of it."
Sam shudders and involuntarily starts crying again. Dean gently touches Sam's face.
"Hey, it's okay, it will be okay," Dean says.
But Sam is scared and very mad at himself for giving in and drinking the demon and getting addicted again. He guesses that his mind had never really been healed from the first two times, and he kept wanting it, wanting it, pushing it down, and he broke and drank it and now at least his brother isn't making him go cold turkey. The seizures hurt like hell and his muscles are sore and there are bruises on his body.
Suddenly Sam's body is thrown into the air at the wall of the motel and then smashes onto the ground and then back into the air. As soon as his body lands Dean runs to him and holds him down.
"Make it stop," Sam mutters.
Dean knows that even if he unlocks the safe and gives Sam the blood, shortly afterwards the detoxing would start again. But maybe it would stop the demonic seizures.
Dean gets the vial and hands it to Sam. Sam greedily drinks it all and is so relieved. He sits up and leans against the wall, so relieved. Dean sits next to him and holds his shoulder.
"Will you get me more before it starts again?" Sam asks quietly. "It's not gonna last. Need more, need more."
"Not on time. I might have to tie you down so the seizures don't throw you in the air again, okay? Just until we can trap a demon and get you some. But then you have to promise to try to get off of the stuff for good," Dean says.
"But the power feels so good," Sam says dreamily.
"Do the seizures feel good?" Dean asks.
"Well, no," Sam says.
He doesn't admit that it is almost worth it, to be as powerful as the demons an vampires and things that they hunt. He doesn't just want the blood, he wants the energy, the power, the magic. Why is that so wrong?
"Hey let me show you something," Sam says, grinning. He is high on the last of the vial of Crowly's blood. He telekinetically turns the hotel pillow into a bunch of white fluff and throws it at Dean, laughing.
"That was so not funny. And not fair. I don't have telekinesis." Dean says.
But the two brothers are both laughing anyways, because at least for a while Sam isn't in pain. He is enjoying the power and trying to make light of the situation. In this moment they both realize it will be okay, or at least mostly okay, most of the time. Because the light of their souls was stronger than the blackness of the demons.
And shouldn't the good guys have the power for once? Why not? Sam and Dean fall asleep with their arms around each other. They drift off into peaceful sleep, though ominously knowing that this is the calm before the storm. Sam will get strong enough to fight Lucifer, and Michael, well, a lot of people always thought he was one of the good guys, God's most holy knight. Guess that wasn't true either. The two brothers would re-write the rules together. They would hold on, as long as the world was there to hold onto.
To be continued...
(A/N: sorry this chapter was so short. Inspiration is dry so review and let me know what you think and I'll write another chapter as soon as I can especially if you like it.)
Chapter 5
Sam does know that detoxing in Bobby's panic room would be safer. Knowing that doesn't make him feel less like he got away with something, not having to lay on that nasty metal bed, hallucinating alone; shaking, sweating, terrified that this time it would kill him and he would land in hell like all of the monsters he has hunted and killed his whole life.
Why this, again, now?
Sam is surprised that Dean was weaning him off of the drug instead of Sam having to go cold turkey. Cold turkey was hard, bitter, like a demon gripping Sam and throwing him around. He was at the mercy of the black demon blood that was running through his veins; has been since he was six months old and yellow eyes bleed in his mouth. He would always be tainted, a monster, so why fight it?
He doesn't fight the burning, angry self-hatred either. He can still hear the phone voice mail, echoing in his ear: you're a monster, Sammy, a blood sucking vampire. Dad always said I'd have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm done trying to save you.
A part of Sam was done trying to save himself, as well. He had stopped praying ages ago. Praying to God, if He was real, to angels, even to Castiel, to Michael. There was a lonely sadness deep rooted in Sam's eyes; in the way his bones and blood ached, demon blood pulsing through him. It felt so good; the high hadn't yet faded but Sam knows he would come down soon.
The two brothers had been sleeping on the floor, Sam's back awkwardly leaning against the motel wall. Pillow fluff from Sam's telekinetic joke was everywhere. At some point in the middle of the night Dean had woken up and staggered over to one of the motel beds and gingerly went back to sleep. Sam struggles to his feet, he is dizzy, the motel room is spinning.
Dean was asleep, and all Sam wanted to do was wander around outside, using his powers, hunt down some demons, drink them down, kill them, save the world by getting rid of those vile creatures and getting another power high again.
No, Sam told himself. It's not about the high. It's about killing Lucifer.
Yeah, you go ahead and tell yourself that, his conscience whispers. Go ahead and tell yourself that.
But Dean is sound asleep, so Sam staggers outside anyways, draws a pentagram on the black pavement with white chalk that he always kept with him, and summons and traps a demon.
The demon that comes is real pretty, short curly blond hair, pale skin, silver circles under its pitch-black eyes. It is wearing a white dress and black ballet shoes. it is grinning, rage and sorrow and evil dancing in its wild eyes. It thinks it is here to kill. But it is here t be killed; it is trapped; Sammy would rip into its neck and destroy it. Rid the world of another nasty old demon.
The demon looked like it was only 15, maybe its vessel was 15, but looks could be deceiving. Sam holds his demon killing knife for protection and saunters into the pentagram. He slices the pretty demon's neck and sinks his teeth into it. He devours her blood. He drinks it all, drains it, grinning, high, excited. His mouth and chin is red, bloody. He drains the demon and then stabs the demon with the demon killing knife that Ruby had given him when they were hunting Lilith. He felt so good.
Even so, he can hear Dean's voice inside his head. You did it again, Sammy. When are you going to stop? If you don't, you'll become a monster.
But I'm already a monster, Sam whispers to no one, the sky black as it is barely 4 am, the moon bright hanging high up in the sky. The black pavement, the black sky, space and all of its stars, the black eyes of the dead demon, the darkness swirling around in Sammy's veins.
He discards of the demon and its host's body, knowing that he killed her too, the girl the demon was possessing. He feels bad about it, but he had to do it. He couldn't go back to the pain, the seizures, all of it. But he hates himself for this; this isn't who he is. He's the boy who went to Standford, he's the hunter, he's someone with psychic gifts; he isn't a killer, he isn't an addict. It twists inside of him, and then the high from the demon blood comes, and he doesn't care anymore.
He paces around the lonely, dead empty town. No one is awake yet, no one but Sam, and he pulls at the stars in the sky, bringing them down to earth, shattering. At least he tries, and instead the lights in the town shatter, the garbage cans in the back by the motel is flung into the air and then falls down again. Sam paces back and forth, feeling so good, finally getting away from the self-hatred and pain and self-pity. Away from everything in his life that he hates, a vessel filled with rage.
When he goes back up to the motel room, Dean is still asleep, and Sam climbs into the other bed. He turns onto his side and watches his brother sleep. He watches his brother's eyes blink, obviously dreaming, so serene. Sam is very happy right now. He also thinks of Castiel right now, the way he is always so literal. He wonders if Castiel still thinks that Sam is an abomination, but Sam lets that thought drift off until it is far away, far away.
And so happy, so full of bliss, Sam drifts off to sleep and finally has peaceful dreams. It doesn't matter that he messed up; Dean was letting him wean off of the demon blood anyways. Drinking a whole demon isn't weaning off, Sammy, Sam can hear his brother's voice in his head. Whatever. It was okay. Sleep came.
"Wake up, sleepyhead!" Dean is shouting.
Sam has a piercing headache from using telekinesis, but the rest of his pain is still gone. Just the headache, proof that he had really use power, is alright.
"5 minutes!" Sam yells sleepily, groaning.
They had pretty much finished off the case and were leaving town. They would go someplace to research how to stop Lucifer.
Dean gives Sam more than 5 minutes. He has empathy for his brother, knowing that his brother is dealing with an addiction and in pain and a little bit of extra sleep, his Sammy deserved that.
"I'm up!" Sam shouts, finally forcing himself to sit up and jump out of bed. He isn't shaking. Things are right.
Dean drinks coffee and alcohol and a pastry. Sam has orange juice, a bagel with cream cheese, some salad. All via free motel breakfast buffet.
Then the two brothers get in the car.
"Are you feeling any better?" Dean asks.
"Better than ever," Sam says, then adds, "For now."
"Okay, lets hit the road," Dean says.
They drive to Bobby's to take a break from hunting to do research and stop the apocalypse. They had taken down two of the horsemen. Sam dreaded getting there because he knew that Bobby and Dean might lock him in the panic room again. That was never fun, he so dreaded it.
But maybe they won't put me in there this time, Sam reasons to himself. But the fear has already burrowed in. Sam cannot escape.
Meanwhile, somewhere far away, Castiel is in Heaven watching Sam and Dean Winchester. He always has, long before he made himself known to the two hunters. Alone, watching the Earth spin and spin, flying in space and watching. He had been ordered to watch, so he watches, that's all. In Cas there is a pure, radiant white light. It glows in his soul as he flies and protects.
When angels fall to earth, they do not become demons. They don't lose their grace. Castiel cannot just heal Sam, he is not allowed to, Heaven forbidden it because it was part of Sam and Dean's destiny to go through this, to become Lucifer's and Michael's vessels. Castiel is just a regular angel, often confused by humanity. The archangels are bigger, more holy, purer, more right.
But Castiel obeys God even though he has not met the Big Guy yet. Well, he met Chuck, but he did not yet find out that Chuck is God.
Castiel does not understand why humans have wars, why they hurt and kill and have so much pain. Isn't it easier to just obey? To become pure, fall into line, do the right thing, and sin no more?
Did Jesus die and suffer for nothing? Humanity seemed to just get worse, more killing, more diseases, more taint on humanity.
But Sam and Dean were Cas's friends. Not angels, but powerful. They were hunters, destroying demons, doing God's work. So, in that way, Cas figured, they were like angels, like him. Right?
Watching Sam suffer so much hurts Castiel, especially since he cannot just go touch his forehead and heal him. Watching Sam mess up, kill, drink blood. Watching Sam and Dean, arms linked together asleep with relief from everything that was being thrown at them.
And every time Dean prays to Castiel, Castiel shows up, tries to help, does his best. He does his best because he loves Sam and Dean. He can help in the normal, human: by being there, by being a shoulder to lean against, to awkwardly say the wrong thing.
So Castiel does that. When Dean prays to Cas, Cas shows up in the back seat as Dean and Sam are driving to Bobby's.
Awkwardly, Cas looks at Sam and shrugs. He almost says, I know what you did last night. I know that you killed an innocent girl. A demon was killed too, but an innocent girl got caught in the crossfire.
Instead, Cas says, "Hi Sam, Hi Dean."
Sam shrugs his shoulders and sighs.
"Hi Cas," Sam says. Castiel can hear the hurting in the words, the can you heal me of my addiction, purify me, get rid of all of this evil in me, unspoken.
And Dean is grinning.
"You came, Cas," Dean says.
"I always come when you call," the forlorn angel speaks.
"Sam relapsed again," Dean says to Castiel.
Sam feels awkward and nudges his brother. He doesn't want Dean to tell the angel about Sam's relapse. Too bad Dean already told Cas. Dean prays to Cas about precious Sammy all the time.
Castiel shrugs, wishing he could help. All he can do is shrug, and say, "I know." Castiel is an angel. He isn't God; he isn't even an archangel.
Bobby's house is in South Dakota, so the two hunters and the one angel have a long drive. It is probably a three-day drive, so after being in the car for many hours, they stop at another motel.
Sam is still high from the demon he drank, plus a little of Crowly's blood still lingering in his system. It will be at least a day before the withdrawal starts again and Sam feels very relieved.
Before checking into the motel, they stop at a little gas station shop just off the highway to buy comfort food and alcohol. Alcohol isn't Sam's drug of choice, but he does enjoy a little bit every now and then. He doesn't need it like Dean and Bobby do. Castiel certainly doesn't need it. Either way, they pay for the food and drinks and the cashier puts the stuff in a white plastic bag for them.
Then they drive over to the motel. They check in. Castiel gets his own room, even though he does not need to sleep. For now, though, the three men are in Sam and Dean's room drinking bourbon and talking. Castiel knows all of their secrets because he is an angel and therefore sometimes, he can read minds. Thats one of the ways angels watch over people.
"So, you relapsed again, Sam," Castiel says.
Sam shrugs. "Yeah, I guess," Sam says.
"You guess?" Castiel asks.
Sam laughs bitterly. "Um. Yeah. I did. I relapsed," Sam says. "It's not the end of the world."
It wasn't the end of the world; it was the way Sam would stop the end of the world.
"How are you feeling now?" Castiel asks.
"Okay, I guess. For now," Sam says.
"He isn't okay," Dean mentions.
Sam pokes his brother.
"Stop it Dean. I am okay," Sam says. Even though he knows it is a lie.
Castiel sits at the table, occasionally sipping bourbon, even though it doesn't affect him.
The alcohol blurs Sam's high. It isn't a high, Sam says to himself. Its raw power. It's what I need to defeat Lucifer.
The next morning, before Sam wakes up, Dean calls Bobby. He tells Bobby that Sam relapsed and that cold turkey wouldn't work this time, and, oh if you can, get a stash of some anti-seizure pills. Not that Sam would want to take them, or that they would really help with demonic seizures, but maybe it would help take the edge off a little bit.
"Cold turkey is always dangerous, ya idjit," Bobby said. Although both times in the past Bobby had agreed to cold turkey. Bobby and Dean both had, not realizing how damn dangerous it was. With any drug it was dangerous; with a supernatural drug like demon blood it was even more dangerous.
But both of them agreed that if it got worse, Sam could get weaned off in the panic room, every time he relapsed. Sam might hate that cold room, but that would teach him his lesson.
"How far away are you guys?" Bobby asks. Meaning to say, is Sam safe detoxing in the car?
"About two days of a drive now," Dean says, not knowing that Sam had drunk another demon, not just the tiny vial Dean had got him from Crowly.
"Okay, drive safe," Bobby says, meaning, keep your eyes on that boy, Dean.
Bobby is an addict too, he damn well knows it, he knows he will never kick his alcohol habit. Which means he knows how far an addict will go to his drug of choice. Manipulation, lies, stealing.
Stealing lives. Demon lives, but lives.
Sam doesn't know why, but for some reason he wants to run to Chuck, the guy who wrote about their lives. He doesn't really know who or what Chuck is, just that he is a prophet and that he knows everything that happens to Sam and Dean, which means Chuck is the only one who really knows Sam. The only man who understands Sam, doesn't think Sam is a monster.
Yeah, it is annoying that the guy wrote about their lives. Advertising it to nerds in bookstores and music stores. That was what Chuck did, Sam guessed. Chuck was a writer.
He almost says to Dean, let's go visit Chuck!
For some reason Sam starts thinking running to Chuck would just fix everything. Chuck would know, Chuck would understand.
Sam knows that Dean hates Chuck. Dean hates that Chuck wrote about their lives in order to make money. Sam just likes Chuck. He has never told Dean this.
I don't hang with hypocrites but I'm quick to call that kettle black
Swear I'll say it to your face when I'm talking behind your back
My thoughts are kind of dirty but my clothes are clean
What you see is what you get, but what you get ain't what it seems
I'm just human buried in denial
I judge people and i read the Bible
I drink too much but my body is a temple
I love Jesus but I cuss, just a little
My heart is kind of dirty but his blood is clean
So what you see is what you get, but what you get ain't what it seems
~Kylie Morgan Cuss a Little
The country song came on the radio in the Impala and Sam can't help but relate to it. He thinks about all of the Bibles in the millions of motels he's lived in on the road. He knows angels are real. But what about God, what about Jesus? He doubts that anyone, not even God, can make Sam real. In fact, God is probably as much as a dick as the angels.
You know that isn't true, a voice in Sam's mind whispers; maybe his intuition. Maybe it is the humour in him telling him, Let's go visit Chuck!
They don't know who Chuck is yet; not even Castiel knows.
Anyways, Sam dreads getting to Bobby's. He is afraid that Bobby won't agree with Dean about weaning off the demon blood instead of being locked up and going cold turkey, in so so so much pain. Bobby would never agree, Sam rationalizes to himself, and maybe it's what is meant to be anyways, that he deserves the pain, deserves death even. So yes, Sam is afraid.
He is afraid that he will start shaking again soon, or that he won't start shaking soon enough and Dean will find out what Sam did. He never would catch a break, woul he?
The road is monotonous, the music is loud, and fate was on the way. So Sam would accept it. He would accept whatever came; yes, it was his own damn fault. He would face the music. He would be strong.
To be continued...
Chapter 6
5 Years ago, Season 1
At age 20 Sam Winchester ran away to go to college. It was the kind of thing normal guys from normal families do. He even got a full scholarship to Standford and was studying to become a lawyer. There was an itch inside of him, always, that said, you aren't normal. He was taught how to shoot a gun when he was eight years old, and he killed monsters every day. He was done with it, he swore, he would be normal. He wanted to be normal at least.
At Standford Sam fell in love with Jessica. She was pretty, and so nice. There was a purity to her that Sam loved so much. He loved caressing her forehead and twirling his fingers in her soft blonde hair.
Then the visions started coming. And afterwards, he would get these intense headaches, like his brain was twisting inside of his skull, screaming. It was agony, and when he told Jessica she overlooked it, told him to go to a doctor. Sam was prescribed pain killers, but he hated taking them. He didn't like the way they made him feel.
So, Sam stopped telling Jessica about the visions. It was small things at first, like thinking about someone and then thirty minutes later they texted him. But then he started having them when he was asleep, intense nightmares. He had nightmares of Jessica burning on the ceiling and her house burning down. Jessica, dead forever. He had the dreams many nights before it actually happened. He was devastated when it happened; felt like it was his fault because he never listened to the psychic dreams. He didn't want to let himself believe that it was real because his whole life he was taught that having psychic powers meant you were a monster. So, Sam did nothing, and Jessica died anyways.
After it happened, the headaches got worse. He decided to quit Standford, drop out, and go on the road with his big brother to hunt things. He didn't tell Dean about the psychic visions at first. He suppressed it, hid it, pretended that it wasn't happening. He was back to hunting, to making the world a better place. He gave up on being normal. He decided that it was never meant to be, and that normal was overrated.
Jessica's death, her demonic murder, was the trigger that started Sam's self-hatred. It started to eat at him, and a deep rage started growing inside of him. He channeled the rage, used it to salt ghosts and kill demons. He laughed and joked with his big brother and pretended, like always, to be okay. He was very good at seeming okay on the surface, to always look stable and in control of himself.
Sam had really loved Jessica. He had loved studying, acing midterms, and doing research. After he left school to hunt things, he purchased a really good laptop. Hunting involved lots of research, and Sam was much better at researching than his brother Dean. In fact, often, researching old legends and myths and finding the truth made Sam proud. So proud, that he could forget about his issues. He could push them down into the abyss inside of him.
In the beginning, hunting was about fighting evil. It wasn't really about saving the world, because you never could. There was always another monster to ice. Life was making salt circles, digging up graves and burning bones, traveling the world and living in motels.
The headaches got worse, and the psychic visions and powers got stronger. It was easy to hide it because it wasn't that intense, especially after yellow eyes was killed. And there was that one time that he used his mind to move a dresser away from the closet on a hunt so he could save Dean from a monster. But using that intense amount of power, it had only happened that one time, just adrenaline intensifying what was already there. After this happened, Sam started to be afraid that he would become a monster like the rest of yellow eyed's prodigies. They were just kids killing with their minds, using their minds to control what other people did. But Sam would never become that; Sam would never use psychic powers for evil. Yet still, he was afraid. The influence of his brother, who thought anyone spiritually different might as well be a demon, a thing, influenced Sam's self-hatred and fear of becoming evil. It became deep rooted inside of Sam's personality.
So, when Dean died, it was okay to spiral into madness. It was okay to listen to Ruby, drink demon blood, because doing this would help him get his brother back. Whatever means necessary. The first time he drank Ruby's blood he thought it was disgusting. He wasn't addicted to it; not at first. He wanted to find a way to pull Dean out of hell. A way to get revenge on Lilith for killing Dean. Sam felt guilty, because Dean made the demon deal to raise Sam from the dead anyways.
Current time, in the car to Bobby's house
So now Sam is still addicted to demon blood. He still has a deep-rooted self-hatred; fear that he has become a monster like his brother and father had always warned him about. The headaches are worse, every time he uses his power. He doesn't need the demon blood to use his powers, but they are a million times stronger when he is on the demon blood.
In the beginning the taste was disgusting. Now he loved it, craved it. It was juicy and delicious. He liked it warm in his mouth, red and thick like strawberries. On the car ride the music that is playing leads Sam to be fantasizing about how good the blood tastes. He is not physically in withdrawal again yet, but emotionally he wants it so bad. He thinks about how right it feels, how refreshing. He thinks that when he drinks demon blood, he kills demons. So, it's okay, right? It has to be okay, right?
The reverie in Sam's head is interrupted suddenly by Dean saying something. It was like he had been sleeping and shocked awake.
"I'm right here. What?" Sam asked.
"I was just saying we are going to stop soon for food and gas. Anything you want?" Dean asked.
Sam thought about saying, sure, I'd like some demon blood and for this headache to go away.
It wasn't even the worst of his headaches. It was just a dull throbbing that is almost always there. It never goes away, not really.
"Yeah, um, get whatever you want. Soda, I guess, protein bars," Sam said.
Dean was into fast food, and Sam was into health food and green smoothies. Eating natural foods helped with the headaches and calmed him down. It was something instinctual that Sam had had to learn, a way to instantly calm down. That was why he was so good at seeming normal and stable and not falling apart on the outside. Being able to do this was something that Sam was very proud of.
By that point Cas had teleported out of the Impala, winged his way somewhere else, probably watching over people, taking care of Heaven, doing angel things. For now, it was only Sam and Dean in the car. Dean pulls into a rest stop. He puts gas in Baby and then they go into the little shop together to pick up car ride food. Dean buys some candy bars and sodas and protein bars and a strawberry smoothie for Sam. The strawberry smoothie was a surrogate; Sam pretended the smoothie was the demon blood, hoping for the placebo effect to do something for him. That it would take away his headache and make the cravings subside. It usually didn't work.
They are close to South Dakota now. It's day 3, and the withdrawal has already started a little bit. Sam hasn't had any since the demon he secretly trapped, and he is starting to fidget a lot, to have fits of trembling every now and then. He grips the car window tightly, trying so hard to hang on.
Dean had said he didn't have to go off the stuff cold turkey. Which means eventually he would get a little bit. Dean and Bobby would probably only let him have a few drops every five hours, not that it was really enough.
"You holding on there?" Dean asks.
Sam decides not to lie.
"It's getting worse, Dean," Sam says, trembling.
"You want to go in the back and try to sleep?" Dean asks. "We probably still have eight hours in the car."
Sam doesn't want to give in. He wants to remain strong on the outside.
"Not yet. I'll be okay," Sam says, clearly lying.
"Okay," Dean says. "But if you need to rest there's no shame in that." Dean knew that Sam was trying to be strong; trying to hold everything together. He wanted to tell Sam that he didn't have to do that.
Sam stays in the passenger seat, but he allows himself to close his eyes for a moment, grit through the pain. He lets his thoughts trail off to better things, like when Jessica was alive and how much he loved her. He loved her in a different way than the way he loved Dean. Dean was his big brother, the idol - the hero - that Sam looked up to. He wanted to be strong like Dean, a good hunter like Dean. Pure, good, righteous.
But Dean is self-righteous, Sam reminds himself. So against Sam's "psychic shit".
After a few hours Sam does decide to crawl in the back and get some rest. Like Dean said. No shame in that. He pressed on his head, massaging it to make the pounding headache go away. After a long moment it works a little bit. Sam sighs and closes his eyes. He falls asleep and dreams of blood and monsters. Slashing and killing, angry beasts killing everyone he loves. Not the best dreams, not fun, but better than being awake, shaking, everything hurting.
He sleeps through most of the rest of the drive to Bobby's. Before he knows it they are pulling up into Bobby's driveway. Sam is sure Dean told Bobby about the demon blood relapse. So, Sam braced himself for being thrown in the panic room. He hoped at least that wouldn't be the first thing Bobby and Dean would turn to.
Luckily, when they walked into Bobby's a healthy lunch was prepared for Sam and Dean. Bobby told Sam that he had gotten some anti-seizure pills for him and that if things got bad, they would tie him down in one of the bedrooms, not the panic room unless it was absolutely necessary.
"But pills will do nothing. The seizures are supernatural of origin!" Sam protests. "You know what I really need!"
"Calm down boy. When we can we'll get a little bit of it to wean you off. Anti-seizure medicine might help a little bit," Bobby says.
"It won't help at all," Sam says in protest. "Besides, the seizures haven't started yet. They won't for at least a day, I think. Why can't I just have the blood? That will prevent the seizures. Pills do nothing."
The three men get ready for the storm to come. It would get worse before it got better. In fact, it was like fractal math. It would get worse, then better, then really strange, and then really bad again. The apocalypse would come and go, and then there would be another one.
Sam begrudgingly takes the two pills Bobby hands him with a glass of water. Bobby's rationalization was preventing the seizures before they came, just in case. That or the panic room, you idjit. Of course, Bobby said those words with love, not real anger or hatred. Then Sam collapses on the couch and tries to sleep.
To be continued...
Chapter 7
A smoke will get your head right
Pretty demon
You're gorgeous in the right light
Pretty demon
Stop tryna fuck with my life
And pretty demon
There'll never be a right time
Yeah
Here's why
You keep watching all my stories
Stop it
Your face is getting kinda boring
It's shit
I probably shouldn't tell your new guy
But I did
And now you're missing my soul
And you won't find it
Yeah
Now that we're offline
My souls found a place that you'll never find
And yours is outside
Pacing up and down and drinking that wine
And since there's no sign
You stuck posters up and not posts up online
Yeah
But the drawing style was quite nice
Pretty demon
You're gorgeous in the red light
Pretty demon
Stop tryna fuck with my life
And pretty demon
There'll never be a right time ~Cameron Sanderson, Missing my soul
Sam collapsed onto the couch after swallowing the pills Bobby gave him. He suppressed a few moaning sobs, not wanting to seem weak or less of a man. His head felt like it was splitting open and burning fire spilling into his noodle. He gripped the couch with his left hand and tried to ignore the wave of anguish that shuddered through him. His hand shook a little and he could feel disgusting sweat dripping down his forehead.
He looked over at Dean and Bobby, who were both anxiously watching Sam. Sam felt so grateful that they didn't lock him in the panic room this time. Sam anxiously brings his arms to his face, and he sees ugly blackness in his veins. It looks like his skin is cracking. He is not sure if this is a hallucination or if it is the demon blood swirling around in his veins, turning him into a demon. No, Sam thought with a shudder. I don't want to be a demon.
The thought made him doubt everything, again, but he didn't want to quit, not yet. He knew that he would have to, eventually, but not yet. He wanted to drink the sweet, hot red liquid. Hot darkness dripping down his throat. His body craved it more than his mind craved it. He wondered if he would ever truly be over it. Sam forced himself up into a seated position, trying not to panic and assume the worst. He leans his back against the not-that-comfortable couch and looks at Dean, trying to give him a look that read, I'm okay, stop worrying.
"You alright little brother?" Dean asks.
Sam shakes his head.
"Um. Not. Really. Not. At. All." Sam says.
He stares at the fan in the living room. He stares at the dust and hair on the carpet, and at old stains that Bobby had never manage to clean up. All of Sam's sense were heightened, and he was very alert. He felt like there really was a demon inside of him, although he had the protection tattoo on his chest that made it impossible for a demon to ever possess him. So the monster is me, Sam ponders. It feels like there is a monster inside him, clawing to get out. It was clawing to climb its way out of Sam's clammy skin and throw Dean and Bobby at the wall and make them hurt the way that he did. Grip their bodies, and then toss them on the ground.
NOOO, I would never do that, Sam screams to himself. The impulse was not his own, just remnants of the demons he drank and the evil that was holding onto him, not allowing him to breathe.
Dean sits down next to Sam and puts a cautious hand on Sam's shoulder. He sits their awkwardly, knowing his Sammy is in pain and Dean was wanting to alleviate as much of Sam's pain as he could.
"It will be alright," Dean assures Sam, starting to rub circles on Sam's upper back.
As Dean does this, Sam realizes he was holding his breath. He realized that he was holding tension inside. Deans hand on Sam's back made some of that tension fall away. Sam closes his eyes and allows himself to drift off as Dean massages his back. A small part of Sam's mind wonders if this was more than it was, something that was so wrong. But no, it wasn't that; it was just the way when Sam and Dean were kids and when Sam had the flu Dean would rub his back and tell him stories until Sam felt better. There was nothing twisted - nothing dirty, nothing sexual - about it. For a millisecond Sam wishes that there was, but that was so wrong, Sam wasn't gay and they were brothers. Though, where do you draw the line? Drinking demon blood and accidentally fantasizing about hurting people, or at wanting to fuck your brother? Sam quickly pushes the thought down; assumes it's just another symptom of the detox.
It had been too fucking long, of course, since Sam has had any of the demon blood. Not since the drive to Bobby's house, so it was what, three and half days now? It would get so much worse. The pills Bobby forced Sam to take would do nothing. Sam leans against Dean's shoulder and closes his eyes. The anti-seizure pills are at least making him drowsy, so he lets himself drift off to sleep and into nightmare-land.
Sam dreams of Lucifer grinning and laughing, Thank you for letting me out, Sammy boy. I will reward you. Sam is in a dream, and in his dream he clutches onto the dreamscape. It isn't real, it's a lucid dream, it fucking isn't real. He tells himself that, yells at himself. He started the apocalypse and now the devil was in his head.
I'll fucking kill you, Lucifer, Sam says in his dream body, although he knows that at least right now Lucifer is a dream character and not the real Lucifer. Sam figures he might as well practice killing the devil. It's a dream, Sammy, he tells himself. He reaches with his mind and pulls at Lucifer until he becomes thick black smoke that twirls into the ground and then vanishes. This is a dream; a lucid dream; Sam is in control.
Almost two seconds later, the monster is back. At first Lucifer looks like a pale, sickly blonde man. But then the monster shape-shifts, and looks just like Sam. The monster looks like Sam, and it is engulfed with flames. Sam can almost feel the flames, burning him, sickening him. Then the dream shifts scenes, and Sam loses lucidity. He lets the dream take him away, until the sleep finally allows him to rest. It will be okay in the morning.
Later...
Dean and Bobby are hunting while Sam is sleeping off the detox chills. They have been doing re-con to both stop a few demons that have been terrorizing Bobby's town in South Dakota. However instead of just killing the demons, they are torturing information out of the demons about where Lucifer is held up. They also are collecting some blood in order to have some to wean Sam off of the poison. They fill up two jugs of the stuff and then when the bloody, bruised and tied up demons refuse to give up their information, Dean stabs the demons with the demon killing knife. There had been three demons, and none of them had broke.
However, even though they were demons, if cops came it would look like someone had tortured and murdered three innocent humans. So, Bobby and Dean have to clean up the mess. After burning the bodies that the demons had been in - after, realizing they hadn't even tried to save the possessed humans, so focused on torturing information out of the demons - Dean and Bobby took the jugs of demon blood and headed back to Bobby's house.
When they got back, they noticed that Sam was still asleep. Every now and then Sam's body would shake and be pulled into a slight convulsion, and then his body would calm down and be still.
Bobby took the jugs of blood and locked it up so Sam would not be able to get to it, because Bobby knew a little bit about addiction, and he would. They would give him a little bit, if they absolutely had to, in order to wean Sam off of the stuff. But they would keep it locked up. They weren't sure if Sam would be able to smell that the stuff was around.
Bobby was doing research on demon blood addiction. There was no lore on it, and Bobby figured that demon blood addiction didn't follow the same rules as heroin or cocaine or, well, alcohol. It wasn't a drug, it was a supernatural substance. It was blood, it was darkness, it was destroying Sam.
Even later...
Sam was dreaming about Ruby. The seductive demon twisting in his mind, taking advantage of Sam and starting the addiction. Sam awakens with a gasp, pushing Ruby's dark, attractive body out of his mind. He had been laying on the couch, asleep. He sits up and his whole-body aches, probably from convulsions that Bobby's pills had failed to prevent. Sam pushes that thought out of his mind and clenches his teeth. He focuses on how he will stop Lucifer. He had set the devil free, so it is his responsibility to stop him... kill him, lock him up, prevent the apocalypse.
The second thing that hits Sam is a wave of desire, a dull wanting in him. He desires blood, to drink it from pretty demons, from Ruby. Sam had killed Ruby, sent the bitch back to hell. Ruby was not a she. Ruby was an it. Ruby had taken advantage of how badly Sam missed Dean, how it was his fault Dean was in hell. And Sam had been willing to do anything to get him back. In the end, though, it had been Castiel who had saved Dean from hell, and all Sam had done with the powers that Ruby had helped him hone was start the apocalypse. Although, Sam at the time had no way of knowing that killing Lilith was the final seal and that doing so would release the devil from it's cage. He hadn't known, but that was no excuse. It was still his fault.
Ruby was dead again, in hell. Her dark curly hair, her seductive eyes, the way she had pretended to save Sam. It had all been a guise. Now she was gone, suffering in hell. A quiet whisper in Sam spoke, no one deserves to suffer in hell, or suffer at all. But he shoved that thought away. Ruby deserved to suffer in hell. The apocalypse was really her fault, Sam reasoned, her fault and Castiel's fault for letting Sam out of the panic room just because Heaven had ordered him to. It seemed like both sides wanted the apocalypse to happen, and that Sam and Dean had no free will, and that they had been pulled to make it happen no matter how much they had tried to do the opposite. Oh well. That thought, however, didn't take away the guilt and the pain.
"How are you doing, Sam?" Bobby's voice broke Sam from his quiet reverie.
"Better, I guess," Sam lies. His body hurts, and he feels so guilty and wrong. He feels like his insides are twisting and screaming, and that a dark shadow has taken a hold of him. It was the darkness that had always been inside, even before the demon blood. There had always been a dark rage inside of Sam, although Sam had been pretty good at controlling it and keeping it locked up inside. He remembers when he and Dean had gone undercover in a mental hospital to stop a monster, and about how much rage had been inside Sam that the monster had enhanced. He remembers throwing the hospital staff around, thinking they were the monster he and Dean were hunting, but he had been so angry.
Bobby knew that Sam was lying, but he let it go.
"You hungry?" Bobby asked.
For blood, Sam thought, but pushed the thought. I have to stop; I have to stop wanting this.
"Not really," Sam said.
"Well, you should eat. Dean is cooking burgers; they'll be ready soon. You want some coffee?" Bobby asks.
Maybe the coffee would help. It would give him energy, help the pain fade.
"Sure, Bobby," Sam says.
Bobby wheels away to get the coffee, and brings it to Sam.
Sam chugs the coffee and sits still on the couch. A tremble rocks through his body and he holds on for his life. He thinks about the horsemen that they had hunted. They had their rings and would collect the remaining two. They did not yet know that the rings would be the key to throw Lucifer back inside of his cage. Even though they did not know that they still figured ganking all four of the horsemen would help stop the apocalypse. After all, hunters tended to have good intuition, most of the time.
Sam places the almost empty mug of coffee on the little table that is by the couch he is sitting on. Bobby is drinking coffee as well; Sam wonders in Bobby had put Bourbon in his coffee. It would be just like Bobby.
Soon Dean comes into the room with plates filled with home-cooked burgers. The three hunters eat the comfort food that Dean had prepared and cooked. The delicious food distracts them, and for a moment they are ordinary men eating and watching TV. But they are not ordinary men; they are hunters, and they had to save the world.
Sam wants to ask them if they had gotten any demon blood for him. He knows they said they would ween him off, and right now he wants it so badly. He physically aches, and his mind is fascinating about it. He thinks about asking for just a little bit, but he suppresses the thought for now. He shoves the empty plate away and closes his eyes, trying to will the ache in his body and mind away. He wants to curl up in a fetal position and scream, hold himself and squeeze his eyes shut. He resists, though, tries to be strong, on the surface anyways.
And a quiet strength in Sam says, I am going to quit, I can do it. He knows that later another voice in Sam will whisper, I'll never stop, the stuff is good, it makes me stronger, how is power evil? It's not like I'm drinking the stuff for kicks. There are two desires in Sam waging a war: one side wants to drown in demon blood, the other side wants to quit the stuff forever, suppress his powers, this other voice screams, you are becoming exactly like the monsters - evil things - that you hunt, and soon Dean will kill you, just like he promised on the voicemail right before you went and killed Lilith.
His brother would never kill him, right? But he would become a monster, and monsters deserved to be killed. Monsters were to be killed, even if they weren't doing any killing. Shoot first, ask questions later. You always kill monsters. Even if the monsters are kind, even if the monsters fight their nature, even if they don't kill. Sam has only killed monsters, things; he had never killed humans. But monsters are monsters, and Dean and Bobby and Sam killed monsters. Hell, he would do it himself if he was strong enough. At least, if he really became a monster. Having powers isn't what makes something a monster. Doing things that are evil makes something a monster. And Sam does not want to be a monster...he just wants the powers that the monsters have.
Sometimes, all a monster needs is a friend, a smiling face, someone's shoulder to hold onto.
Right, because monsters are so good at making friends.
Sometimes, all you could do was close your eyes, fight and hold on.
to be continued...
Chapter 8
It was, of course, getting worse. Sam was on the couch squeezing his eyes shut. Feeling too weak and shaky to stand up and walk to the bedroom. His whole body achy, and the hallucinations started. It started with voices, negative self-talk, you are terrible, a monster, an unclean thing. Sam tried, of course, as he always did, to appear strong and okay on the surface. During demon blood detox, it was a million times harder, and although he stifled screams that became moans; he was yelling for the blood.
"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, I NEED IT NOW. It's twisting in me, killing me, begging for more, I need it Dean!" Sam screamed.
Sam knew they had got some for him to wean off, but he also knows that both Dean and Bobby and even Cas are a little bit against weaning off. It's something supernatural, not a drug. The same rules did not apply.
"BUT I NEED IT!" Sam screams, not really realizing that Dean and Bobby are asleep and the demon blood is locked away.
He could get up, wander outside. They had trusted Sam, they hadn't handcuffed him. Yet, not yet. Which also meant no protection from the seizures that would surely be coming, Sam realized. Panic twists inside Sam's gut, twisting up through his esophagus, his lungs, his heart. What will happen if the seizures get too bad?
But Sam's legs are too shaky to get up and wander around the city, into the dark night, alone and afraid, only wanting for one thing - for the pain and anguish to be gone, for sweet demon blood, for bliss.
In a moment of weakness, not really in control of his own body, Sam gets off the couch. He starts to stumble to the kitchen, maybe just water or juice, he can pretend it is the blood. Maybe the water would purify him, get away the damn need, the damn darkness that was clawing around inside of his body and his soul.
So his intention is getting water, sit in the kitchen and watch his breath. To sit at the table and look out the window, listen to the rain patter down, the darkness and the moon. He wonders if it is still beautiful.
But he collapses before he gets anywhere near the kitchen. He lays on the carpet floor. His breath is unsteady, his pulse erratic. He leans over and dry heaves. Nothing is coming out. He curls into a ball. He tries not to scream, not wanting to be ashamed or weak. But then he sees Ruby, dancing around wildly laughing.
"You were so weak. It was so easy to manipulate you into this!" Ruby screams, twirling her soft black hair in her fingers. There is a manical laugh on her pallid face.
"GO AWAY!" Sam screams, not sure if she is real.
Is she real? He needs her blood. Needs it.
"Nope, Sammy. I'm not real. Sorry kiddo!" the hallucination that looks like Ruby whispers. There is such vivid evil dancing in her eyes. Why hadn't he had seen it before, before he trusted her enough to drink her blood?
Then Dean is there, a different Dean, not the real Dean.
"You'll always be one of the monsters we hunt. Look at you, you trusted her. Well, it."
Was he an it now? Was the demon blood inside of him slowly replacing the human blood?
What time was it? Probably way into the night, 2 am. Then he can hear footsteps walking down the stairs. At first Sam is afraid, then he is relieved, confused, hopeful. Hopeful that it is the real Dean, coming to rub his upper back, get the knots out, get the pain out.
It is Dean, sauntering down the stairs, a manly smile on his face.
"How are you doing, kiddo?" Dean asks as he walks over to where Sam is on the floor.
"Not that hot," Sam says. A shudder runs through his body.
Dean puts his hand on Sam's shoulder and presses down a little, trying to massage away the obvious anguish Sam was in.
"Come on, I'll help you walk back to the couch," Dean said.
"Need it. I need it," Sam mutters. He tries to stand up. His legs are shaking. It takes him longer than it normally would.
"We said we'd give you a little when you absolutely need it, life or death you know. Wait it out a little, Sammy. That shit is poison," Dean utters.
Liquid poison. Liquid power.
"I'll...I'll try," Sam says.
Both Sam and Dean were too tired to help Sam get up the staircase and into a real bed. The couch would have to be enough for now.
"Will you stay with me? Don't let it...it's in me...don't let it hurt me," Sam says.
"Yeah, okay," Dean says.
Sam lays on the couch and closes his eyes. Dean sits near him and watches over him, the way an angel would. The way the good angels would, not the dick angels who only cared about red tape and assured absolute destruction. Dean loves his little brother so much. He tries not to be angry that Sam relapsed. Instead he sat watching over Sammy. It was an addiction, right? Dean finally realized that it wasn't - not fully, at least - Sam's fault. Right?
But he chose Ruby over me. A chick, yes, a demon chick, a monster under the guise of a beautiful savior. Why not me?
Dean loves Sam more than anything, but this habit...it was darker than anything, shit, and it had such a hand on his Sammy. Evil always lurking. He was introduced to it when he was a six-month-old baby. The rules had always been rigged. Right?
Sam finally drifts off to sleep. Every now and then his body shakes. Occasionally he screams, battling nasty nightmares. Sometimes nightmares could wound him - anyone, really - more than anything else could.
Fear of eternal damnation; fear of becoming completely evil and wrong and twisted. So far off of the plantation.
Dean has always been a light sleeper. He decides to sleep on the floor so he can be there, and alerted, if something really bad happened to Sam. The detox symptoms, if they got a lot worse. But soon he too drifted off to sleep, happy and at ease because he had not yet had to feed Sam his drug, the demon blood. Even letting him have a few drops made something twist inside of Dean. But what if the detox was too powerful this time, and not having it meant death? He couldn't live without Sam. He couldn't, and there weren't handbooks for this kind of thing.
What is, what once was, what is yet to be - it was all there, ready for the hunters. A lot of shit was coming. Can they handle it?
To be continued...
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