Dark Bleeds Bright
A supernatural fanfiction
(A/N: takes place after Lilith is killed and before Lucifer is back in the cage. Rated M for themes of addiction and wincest. Not 100% canon but mostly sticking to the show's plot)
Chapter 1
Sammy's heart wanted to do it. The demon blood made him feel powerful, like a vicious eagle perched on a tree ready to save the world. Again. There was an ache in his heart that made him decide to secretly seek out a demon. He needed it again. He didn't care how wrong it was, especially after Famine got him to try it again and he had to detox second time, before even getting a chance to enjoy it again. It was like he was forced to recover before he was bad enough to really need it.
There was a voice inside telling him not to do this. He didn't listen. He ignored the blatant knowledge that afterwards, if or when his brother found out he would throw him into Bobby's panic room. He hated the panic room, with a passion. He only had bad experiences there, a deep loneliness that gnawed in his bones. He hated that, and he hated the seizures. But he loved the taste of the thick sulfuric blood, the power as it slid down his throat. And he was tough and strong anyways, and it would be okay this time.
So, he found a demon and trapped it inside a pentagram that he drew on the ground in an abandoned warehouse. This was the fun part. When the demon came and realized it was trapped, Sam sliced the dark-haired female demon's wrist and started licking the blood, feeling raw power seeping into his stomach and his veins. He drank what he wanted - in control, not enough to drain the demon's vessel - and then he exorcized the demon from its vessel. He sent it back to hell. All part of the job, fun and games and saving people from things.
Sam started feeling ashamed; he pushed the feeling down, picturing his brother thinking he was becoming an evil monster like the things they hunted. But he had been psychic from the beginning anyways - not evil, just a part of who he always was - it was okay to enhance it. He wiped the blood off of his face and decided he would hide this from Dean. He told the scared woman that he just exorcized to head to the hospital, and she strangely thanked him for saving her. He did, didn't he? He cleaned everything up and called Dean and said he stumbled into a hunt and sent a demon back to hell. This was after making sure his face was clean. Dean didn't suspect anything - not yet at least.
Dean meets up with his brother. He is driving the Impala and meets Sam at the warehouse.
"Are you sure there aren't anymore?" Dean asked.
Sam shrugged. He made his face a blank slate, a poker face. Though Dean was good at poker and wondered what was going on inside that head of Sammy's.
"I don't think so. If they are, they cleared out," Sam said.
"Okay, let's get some food," Dean said.
Sam isn't twitching yet, he is still high and kind of wanting to use his power, and part of him is thirsty for more. You don't need more, not yet, he told himself.
"Fine. Sure, I mean," Sam says. He knows his big brother likes burgers and women and stuff like that.
Dean drives them to a diner that is close to the warehouse that Sammy was at. They slide into a table and at once a pretty woman is by the table asking Dean and Sam if they are ready to order. The pretty waitress brings the boys each a glass of water. Sam anxiously taps his foot. He reaches for the water and before he touches it, it walls down and is sent spinning off of the table and onto the ground. Did he just do that with his mind? Probably.
He reaches to hide it.
"Oops. Clumsy," he says, bending down to pick it up with his hands.
Dean is laughing - he makes jokes at his brother because he loves him - and doesn't suspect a thing. Certainly not demon-blood influenced telekinesis.
Sam closes his eyes and lets the feeling wash over him. He looks at his brother and feels something he never felt before, wondered what it was. But then just like that, it went away - vanished.
Soon there is a salad with quinoa on Sam's plate and a juicy bacon burger on Dean's. Dean winks at the waitress and starts eating the delicious burger. Sam is wondering if Castiel knows what Sam did, and if he does, would he let Sam hide it? Or will he tell Dean and ruin everything?
Sam starts thinking again that he needs the demon blood, to defeat Lucifer, just like he needed it to kill Lilith. That was a mistake, though, right? Although all of the angels (and some of the demons) had wanted it to happen. They didn't care how Sam felt, or that what he had to do to release Lucifer brought Sam loads and loads of suffering. He swallows the suffering like holy water and smiles, somewhat a masochist and definitely someone that was trying to be a hero.
It would be okay, maybe on a hunt he could secretly snag a dose. No, Dean would notice. Sam starts to get anxious again. If he can't get any, will he be able to hide his withdrawal symptoms? Probably - most definitely - not.
"Earth to Sam," Dean says.
Sam takes a bite of his salad and smiles. It will all be okay.
"Yeah. I'm right here. What?" Sam says curtly.
"I was just saying I found some strange deaths a few states away. A vengeful spirit or something. We should check it out," Dean says.
Sam nods. He is itching for a hunt anyways. This time he doesn't have Ruby to be his blood bag though, as terrible as it was to think of her as that. He realized quickly that he got into too much too quickly. It was either tell Dean and Bobby or suffer in silence and secretly find another demon to bleed. He could always make it look like one night stand like Dean always does. He steals a look at his big brother, noticing the way his chin is pointed hardly, coldness in his jaws. The jaws of a hero.
"Yeah," Sam says to Dean. "Let's go."
Feel the pain, Sam says to himself. If it comes, that is. Feel it. Let it be. And all will be okay.
Sam and Dean are in the car now and they are driving far away. Far away from Bobby's house and the panic room, Sam realizes, grinning.
"What are you smiling about?" Dean asks.
"Oh, um. Just excited to hunt things," Sam says.
"Okay," Dean says. He cranks up the volume on the radio. Sam pretends he doesn't like the rock music that Dean plays in the Impala, but sometimes he secretly does.
They've been in the car for a few hours now and Sam realizes he might start feeling withdrawal soon. He has already started shaking a little bit. He thinks he is hiding it well. Sam hadn't thought all of this through and hadn't realized he would instantly be in the car on a long drive. He had thought they would be in the small shitty town for a few more days or even a week. Enough time to get more demon blood, maybe enough time to secretly build up a stash.
Oh well. Whatever happened would happen, and hopefully when and if Dean found out they would be too far away from Bobby's house to not let Sam detox in the back of the Impala instead of in that horrible panic room tied down on the hard metal bed. He knew they said it was to protect him fom the seizures and from the demon blood flinging him around the ceiling, but still. It wasn't fun.
"What are you thinking?" Dean asks.
Sam can still hide it.
"Nothing, uh. Just sleepy I guess," Sam says.
Dean still doesn't suspect anything, but he would soon.
Sam clenches his teeth and fights through some shivers. He taps his foot and swallows the anxiety. Don't show any pain; all will be alright.
"How far are we from a motel?" Sam asks.
Demons did seem to follow them around, wanting to stop the big bad Winchesters from saving the world. Maybe Sam would find one at a motel.
"Just sleep in the car. We can make a few more hours before we find a place to crash," Dean says.
Shit. It's been almost seven hours since he drank demon blood again. Sam closes his eyes and hides a wince, and then he nods.
"Okay, fine," Sam says.
How much would Dean hate him if he told the truth, right here right now? Would he think he was a heartless vampyric monster? And not his smart little brother that ran away to Standford and was great at hunting.
Sam closes his eyes and shakes a little.
Protect me from the nightmares, Sam whispers a silent prayer to any dickless angel that would listen, or to God, if he was there somewhere.
Surprisingly Sam does fall asleep, maybe for an hour, and apparently, he was screaming through nightmares. Hopefully not prophetic nightmares.
"You alright there?" Dean asks.
They are far away from the panic room. Sam is already shaking and sweating. Maybe it is obvious that he relapsed.
"Just - need - something," Sam bites out the words and then he wishes he didn't say it.
"What?" Dean asks.
That demon had a lot of blood in it. Dammnit. He was already detoxing. He needed a little bit. Just a little bit, and he could hide it.
Then he decides to be brave. He is terrified that Dean will be mad but they are far away from any rest stop or hotel or the panic room. Sam is shaking and sweating and realizes that he has to tell the truth. His bones are aching. There is no way around it.
"I, um, I need..." Sam says. Then he closed his eyes. "I relapsed damnit. I was on the trail of the demon and I was going to just exorcise it but then the temptation was too much."
"Dammit Sammy," Dean says. "I thought we were over this."
Sam shrugs.
"I'm sorry. But now my whole-body aches. And we are already too far away from Bobby's. Please, I need some, just a drop, we need to find a demon, please..." Sam says.
"We hunt demons, not drink them," Dean says, partially joking. "Wait, when that glass went flying, it was telekinesis?"
Sam nods.
"It hurts, Dean. I need some, please I need..." Sam says.
"It's your fault that it hurts," Dean says harshly. Then he realizes that although he is angry, he still loves his brother.
Sam tries to stop a tear from falling down his cheek, but it does anyways.
"I'm gonna climb in the back and try to sleep. Nothing else I can do to fix it," Sam mutters.
"Wait," Dean says. He sees that his brother is shaking and sweating and scared. "I'll pull over and help you get in the back. I wish you had told me what you did before we were this far from Bobby's. As it is now, we might as well still check out those ghosts. We are closer to there than to Bobby's.
Sam breathes a sigh of relief, though he is still in pain and still surging with uncontrollable power. The detox is just starting, and Sam knows that he will get a lot worse if he doesn't find a demon to drink soon.
"So, no panic room," Sammy says wanting to grin but in too much pain.
When Sam gets out of the car, he feels dizzy and almost collapses on the road but then he manages to crawl into the back of the car. Dean gets back in the drivers seat and they are on the road again.
"You gonna be okay back there?" Dean asks.
"Not really," Sam mutters. "Can't you find me some, its okay, I will be stronger for the hunt, need some..."
"You don't need demon blood. It's poison, Sammy," Dean said. Sam can smell disappointment and hurt in Dean's voice. It suddenly makes Sam so sad and nostalgic.
Sam braces himself and sighs.
"Okay. I'll try to sleep," Sam says. He gets as comfortable as he can and decides he will find some before the detox gets too bad. He knows that doesn't sound logical, but since when does addiction ever speak the language of logic? Sam closes his eyes and drifts off, hoping Dean isn't too upset with him for relapsing. After what happened with famine Dean should have known it would happen soon; the desire had been reawaken in Sam. It would have to be okay. Sam stifles a groan and hopes for the best. He is secretly hope that Dean will let Sam wean off instead of going cold turkey a third time, but when has that ever happened for Sam? Never.
To be continued...
Chapter 2
Sam is curled on his side in the back seat of the car. He wakes up and groans.
"You finally joined the land of the living. You were screaming a lot," Dean said.
"Ugh, everything hurts," Sam says. Of all of it, his headache is the worst. His head aches like his brain is twisting inside. It feels strange, the way it felt when he used to get visions but a million times worse. He would say it is a 10, but he knows that it will get worse, and then there will be a new 10. Not that he cannot handle it. There is a darkness in him that makes him strong, that holds onto him and tells him he can handle it.
"Your fault," Dean says.
"I know, jerk," Sam says. He is trying to be in a good mood. He doesn't know if he can control the telekinesis and power and his nightmares just felt so real. His nightmares had come true before. And this time he was on demon blood, so yes, it was possible, that if he could remember them, they could come true.
"We're close to a motel. Maybe 45 minutes. Think you can hold on until then?" Dean asks.
Sam shrugs. "Got no choice," he mutters. "Please don't tie me down," Sam decides to say.
"We'll see. If you start seizing or something, I'll have no choice. For your own safety. But it won't be the panic room. I'll sit with you through it all," Dean said.
Sam is surprised by the kindness and niceness in Dean's voice. They are brothers, yes, but Sam messed up, and he expected Dean to be angry. He expected Dean to punish him for drinking demon blood like a damn vampire. He also expected to try to find a way to get more demon blood, just a little bit, but now it was looking like he will have to suffer through the detox for a while. The addict part of his brain insists he will get some anyways, eventually. Until then he will suffer quietly. He is strong enough. The masochistic part of Sammy, that part, well part of him is trying to enjoy even this part of it. The pain, the shakes, the seizures. He is sure he seized a little bit already, and he doesn't want Dean to tie him down.
At least it isn't that cold panic room. The warding, and the loud and annoying fan. The loneliness that made his bones ache more than anything. Dean would sit with him through it this time. So, Sam steals away a small smile. It would all be okay.
Then, of course, the pain comes back, and Sammy whimpers and closes his eyes. 45 minutes, ugh. He tries to sleep and gets a few naps. He was in and out of sleep, dreamless sleep this time, feeling how cold it was in the car and still smelling disappointment on Dean's breath. Another headache comes, and Sam is breathless. The power in him is restless. It aches to make things move. He almost makes the Impala jerk to the side of the road and crash into a truck, and it almost happens, but somehow Sam controls it. And controlling it makes Sam's head hurt a million times worse.
"My head, Dean," Sam groans. "It's on fire."
He doesn't tell Dean what just almost happened, although the car had swerved a little bit. Dean assumed it was just his own tired mind, needing coffee, almost sleep-driving.
Dean wants to show kindness, but also, he is just so angry that Sam relapsed. He is mad that Sam made the wrong choice again.
Sam's head is twisting. It is aching and pounding, and he is hoping for at least nice words from his brother. None of the, it's your own damn fault. But, what can I do, Sammy? And the quiet solidarity, the brotherly love.
Dean tries to choose the second option this time, because Sam never admits that he is in pain, so it must be really bad right now. He bites down his anger. He tries to think of soothing words.
Finally, he chooses to say, "I hear you, brother," and changes the radio station to a more peaceful station. Maybe it will help Sammy boy's headache.
There is a little bit of relief, not much, but some. And that helps Sam to control his powers. He closes his eyes and feels the power pounding. He focuses on the power that is pulsing through his body. His body jerks and twists but it is okay. He focuses on his breath going in and out, the way Bobby told him to when he first started having psychic dreams. Focus on the breath, calmness, let all thoughts flow, go back to the breath. And it helps a little bit; at least Sam doesn't cause an accident. At least the pounding in his head became focused adrenaline, fuel to get through this. The pounding would come back, of course, but for now Sammy is okay. There is cold drenched sweat in his long hair, but he is okay. Well, okay-ish.
Their brotherly love, despite fights and Standford and demon blood and Ruby, was something that was instinctual. It just happened. Sometimes Sam wondered if they were codependent, but it was also a friendship that was beautiful and sacred. Sam slips into a dream of him and Dean when they were kids. All is okay again, for a while, maybe the psychic in Sam that is telling him that, yes, terrible things will happen, but you will always have your big brother and things will be okay. That this, too, was a psychic vision. Sam has been trained to think that his psychic side is evil and twisted and wrong. A part of him aches for someone to tell him that it is alright to be psychic. Just the way they say it's okay to be gay - wait what? - it's okay to be psychic. Right? It's okay, right? It has to be, because he is. He is.
It feels like forever, but the headache goes away again, and his body temporarily stops thrashing, and Dean finally pulls the Impala in at the motel that he found. Soon Dean is helping Sam get out of the car. Sam's legs are shaking, and he is dizzy, but Dean holds onto Sam and helps him walk into the check in section of the motel.
"You're gonna be okay, man," Dean says, holding onto his little brother, almost proud of his brother for getting through what must have been so damn painful, so damn gracefully.
"Don't tie me down," Sam mumbles.
"We'll see," Dean says, and the person at the desk handed Dean two room passes for the hotel, unfortunately on the second floor. "Come on."
Luckily there is an elevator. They get to the room and Sam collapses on one of the full beds. His body shakes a little and he almost instantly falls asleep. Dean looks at his brother for a few moments before getting into the other bed and falling asleep as well. Not, though, before having the morbid thought, we're all gonna die. But Dean Winchester was not psychic, so that thought did not have to come true.
Sam wakes up around 3 am and he is outside pacing back and forth. He can barely walk but he needs it, needs demon blood. The moon is white and bright. He tries to call out to whatever goetic force that might be near them. He is as quiet as he can be. He doesn't want to wake Dean up and alert him to what he is doing. He knows it is wrong to manipulate his brother like this, but he needs demon blood desperately and it wasn't poison because it makes him powerful.
"WHERE ARE YOU?" Sammy screams to all the demons that might be there and able to hear him. He collapses on the black pavement and sobs a little. To a hunter, a demon not coming should be a good thing. Sammy remembers who he is, who he has to be.
Then he gives up and goes back into the crappy motel room and collapses on the bed again. His body hurts and he hopes he doesn't have any bad seizures because then big brother Dean will tie him down and that will just not be fun. And if he is tied down he won't be able to search for demon blood, and if he doesn't have demon blood then he would be pretty much as powerless as a normal human hunter when him and Dean are on the ghost hunt. If Dean even allows him to come with him for the ghost hunt. The adrenaline that will come from the ghost hunt might help a little bit, Sam ponders. If the demon blood doesn't wear off, maybe he can put his telekinesis to good use.
For now, all the two brothers can do is sleep. What will come in the morning, that is yet to be known.
To be continued...
Chapter 3
I dreamed I was missing, you were so scared
But no one would listen, 'cause no one else cared
After my dreaming, I woke this fear:
What am I leaving when I'm done here?
So if you're asking me, I want you to know
When my time comes, forget the wrong that I've done
Help me find some reasons to be missed
and don't resent me, and when you're feeling empty, keep me in your memory
Leave out all the rest
Don't be afraid, I've taken my beating
I'm strong on the surface, not all the way through
I've never been perfect, but neither have you
~Linkin Park Leave out all the rest
Sam wakes up in a cold sweat. He has to figure out how to get more demon blood and how to hide it from Dean. Just a little bit, just a sip, to keep the hallucinations that would soon to be coming at bay. He had tried calling for demons outside of the dank motel. It was in the middle of the night and it hadn't worked. Sam was strung out and almost mad and he knew the worst parts of the detox was coming soon. He knew his brother would force him to go off the demon blood cold turkey, and that could kill him. It damn near almost did the first two times. He needed some, just a little.
He knew it was rationalization, exactly what a junkie would be thinking, but at this point Sam didn't care. His body was shaking and dripping in sweat. He sits up in bed and looks to his right to see Dean sound asleep on the other bed. Dean was sleeping so peacefully and even when strung out on demon blood and a little bit of alcohol, he took solace in the fact that his big brother seemed happy and right. Sam smiled and then sighed. He might as well sleep a little more. It was barely 5:30 am and after pacing around outside and collapsing in the dirty pavement, Sam had barely gotten any sleep, certainly not deep sleep. He squeezed his eyes shut. He pushed his pain away, shoved it down, and drifted off to sleep again.
Later, Dean is awake and watching his little brother sleep. Sam was tossing and turning and screaming violently. He seemed to be having terrible nightmares. Dean sat at the table in the motel room sipping a cup of coffee. He wanted to reach for his flask of alcohol; it is hard for him to handle the fact that his little brother relapsed again. Would this ever be over? How would they hunt the ghost when his brother was so strung out? He briefly thought he could slowly wean his brother off of the demon blood, just temporarily, so Sammy could function. He cursed himself at the thought; the demon blood was more poison than any other drug someone could be strung out on. Cold turkey was the only option. Sam would have to deal with the debilitating pain of the detox. There wasn't a safe room, though, and who knew what the demon blood would make Sam do. Dean knew how much power it gave Sam, and he knew that that amount of power would be incredibly hard to control. It had flung Sam around the air at the walls in the panic room, BOTH times he was detoxing.
Dean's thoughts were interrupted as Sam shot awake and sat up straight, shouting.
"Where am I?" Sam muttered, confused. Dean wondered if Sam forgot what happened, but in a few short moments, Sam mutters, "Oh. I remember. Sorry."
Sam gets out of the bed even though his legs are shaking, and they barely support him.
"You okay man?" Dean asks.
"Of course I'm not okay," Sam mutters. "You know I need demon blood. Cold turkey sucks."
Sam looks at Dean. Dean has a death grip on his flask of alcohol, and Sam can't help but think that his big brother is a damn hypocrite. Alcohol was just as bad as demon blood, if less evil. Alcohol couldn't turn you into a monster. It could - but not that kind of monster. A human monster, angry and violent, the way that some drunks are. Bobby and Dean weren't really violent when they went on a drinking binge, but Sam knew that some alcoholics did. If Dean was allowed to drink that much alcohol, shouldn't Sam be allowed to have a little bit of demon blood every now and then? It made him a better hunter.
No, Same muttered to himself. He isn't even sure if he said it out loud. It made him a better monster.
Still. Sam watched Dean take a swig of his alcohol. Burbon, probably, or whiskey.
"What did you say?" Dean asked.
"Oh, um, nothing," Sam says.
"Okaaay," Dean says. Dean decides to ignore the situation, for now. "We have to go and interview the father of the little girl that was killed. It's important. You good?"
Sam wasn't good, not anywhere near. He tried not to tremble, the hallucinations hadn't started, which meant there was more demon blood still strumming in his system. It meant there was still raw power that he could use. He would focus on that power - that power that was darkness, or so he had been told by everyone he cared about millions of times - and use it to push down all the pain, all the trembling and the shakes. He was good at hiding his pain; he regrets giving in and telling Dean that he relapsed. But in the car, it had been so bad, he had no choice; he couldn't pretend that he wasn't suffering. Might as well come clean.
"Yeah, I'm good," Sam says. "Let's go."
Sam stands up and puts his stuff in his backpack.
"You want any coffee or anything? Dean asks.
Sam smirks. Dean knows what Sam wants.
"You know what I want," Sam can't help but say, glaring at his brother. He loves Dean, but the damn withdrawal is making him angry.
"Can't have that," Dean has. "Drink some coffee. Maybe it will help you keep yourself together until we find a safe place for you to detox. The case comes first, you'll have to suffer in silence for a while."
Sam decides that a little coffee might help him function. He goes over to the motel's Keurig coffee maker and brews himself one cup of coffee. He sets it at the table angrily and a few drops of hot liquid spill on the motel carpet. He drinks the coffee. Dean throws a donut at him.
"You gotta eat too," Dean says.
Sam slowly eats the donut. He drinks the rest of the coffee quickly, already realizing that it actually will help him hold himself straight. It gave him a surge of energy, and he still had that telekinetic, demonic power strung out inside of him. He hopes his eyes won't turn back. I'm not a demon, I'm just psychic, he thinks to himself, but he knows Dean and Bobby and most hunters they know think that his psychic powers make him more like one of the monsters they hunt than a human.
Then Sam and Dean threw their stuff in the Impala. They put their fake badges in their coat pockets and Dean put on the rock radio station. It was playing, ain't no mountain high enough, to keep me from getting to you babe. A girly song for Dean, but Sam can't help but enjoy the music. The coffee and food dulled the edge of the demon blood withdrawal a bit, enough for Sam to suffer in silence. He gave no outward signal that he was in pain. That, of course, was Sam's greatest superpower. To be breaking down at the force of a billion shooting stars, and still standing still like a statue, showing no signs that he is suffering.
There is still an hour drive in the Impala before they get to the little town where a ghost had killed a little girl. The vengeful spirit would probably try to kill other people, and the Winchesters had to stop it. A simple salt and burn, hopefully. Sam briefly wonders if the blood of a ghost possessed person would have a similar affect as the demon blood, but it most likely wouldn't, so Sam dismisses the thought and puts his hands idly in his lap.
The radio switches songs. Elton John is on. And I'm gonna be a high as a kite by then. I miss the Earth, I miss my wife, It's lonely out in space. And I think it's gonna be a long long time till touchdown brings 'round to find, I'm a rocket man.
Sam feels lonely, like he is in space, an alien. No one can understand him. In his mind he whines to nobody, angsty and mad because he can't get what he wants and because Dean doesn't know what it's like to be psychic. Dean doesn't get the damn twisting headaches and visions and powers, so how could he understand it? Sam feels so alone because he is neither human nor demon...okay, he is human, but right now he doesn't feel human. He feels like an alien.
It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside. I'm not one of those who can easily hide. The radio blares another Elton John song. Sam can usually hide, though, but somehow Dean always finds out anyways.
Sam decides to play with his power. It's fun, and why not have a little fun when he still had remnants of left-over power. He glares out the window of the shot-gun seat and tries to make a car in the other lane drive faster. He uses his mind to pull at the back truck and make it go faster. He focuses so much that his head starts to strum and ache, and then the black truck is driving faster. Sam grins, he did it! He is excited. He still has it! Using his gifts helps him to be distracted the fact that the horrors of detoxing will be slamming into him soon. It already was, damnit, but it would get much worse. It would last for weeks if Sam couldn't find a way to sneak in some more demon blood. He was determined that he would find some, and just drink a little bit, every few days. He told himself that he could handle it, and that he wasn't addicted, and that he could give into just a little bit. He could stop and detox whenever he wanted to. Right now he didn't want to.
Sam thinks of Castiel, and a stubborn part of him doesn't want Castiel to use his angel powers to just zap him clean. A part of Sam wants to hold onto this, to keep the power, the high of the demon blood, et cetera. He knows that he should wish for it to all ust be zapped away, but he wants it all, the high, the coming down, the pain, the power.
A secret voice deep buried inside Sam's subconscious whispers; you can have the power without the demon blood. But it is way too buried in Sam's mind for Sam to really hear it, though he gets a tingly sense. A sense of calmness, which Sam assumes is just a leftover wave of the high. For a moment Sam feels peace. Mind, consciousness, bliss. Everything would be okay, it had to be. Existence, consciousness, bliss.
There was an old saying, If you follow your bliss, you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you. Joseph Campbell had said it.
Power itself, isn't evil. Using power for evil is evil. But Sam is trembling, remembering the voicemail of Dean calling him a vampire before Sam had downed two demons and went and killed Lilith with his mind. He started the apocalypse. If that isn't evil, he tells himself, what is? He negatively talks to himself, thinking that he is a monster, an abomination, someone that his own father had warned his own brother that he might have to kill Sammy someday. If he couldn't be saved, and a secret part of Sam feels way beyond saving.
The hours in the car draws on and on, feeling like days instead of almost two hours. Soon Dean pulls up in a small town and they get out of the car. They get some food at a local cafe and do some research before heading to the little girl's, who, ironically was named Cassandra, parents. Sam walks shakily but no one notices that he is shaking. They knock on the door and the mother, an elderly lady with white hair and bright green eyes, opens the door.
"We're agent Smith and agent Campbell from the FBI," Dean says smoothly. "We have a few questions for you about your daughter Cassandra's passing."
The old woman lets Sam and Dean inside and leads them to sit down on a faded green couch.
"Do you boys want anything to drink? Water, coffee, orange juice?" She asks, smiling with a wistfull expression on her face. There was kindness in her aura; Sam could see her aura, it was a glowy white color emanating around her body. Sam forces himself to smile as he sinks into the couch.
Sam wants to say, "Sure, some demon blood please!" but of course he doesn't say it. He thinks that more coffee would just make his already intense headache worse, so he decides on the orange juice.
"Orange juice would be nice, sure," Sam says, and Dean says that coffee and water would be just fine.
Dean does all the questioning as Sam sips the orange juice while trying not to spiral out of control. The elderly woman, who has now told the two hunters that her name is Elissa, is talking about her daughter Cassandra's cat, who had died three months ago. Cassandra had been very depressed after her cat died and had supposedly spiraled into darkness and committed suicide. Elissa's aura is pulsing violently and it is making Sam's headache worse. He is bombarded with both Elissa's bright aura and with psychic senses about the old woman's emotional state. Right now, Sam is feeling Elissa's emotions and the pain in her bones.
Sam realizes that this psychic information could help them with the case, and he nudges Dean a bit too harshly.
"Do you think it's the cat's ghost?" Sam asks Dean when they left the nice lady's house. He tells Dean the psychic, empathic senses he got off of Elissa and Dean swears.
"Damnit Sam, not your psychic shit now!" Dean says.
"But maybe the psychic information could help," Sam says, shrugging sheepishly.
"Fine, Sam. What did you see?" Dean asked, begrudgingly realizing that it might help them find out what ghost killed Cassandra and where its bones are.
"Well, it could have been the cat, and I sensed the lady was overwhelmingly sad, and she had a bright white aura, so bright that it made my head hurt more than it already was hurting," Sam says curtly.
"Of course, she's sad, Sam. Her daughter died," Dean says, and laughs a little. Joking was a part of his personality.
Just in case, they find where the cat was buried, and they salt and burn its bones. Then they do more research to see if there were any other strange deaths in the town or in nearby towns.
Sam is itching to get demon blood. The detoxing is getting worse, and he is starting to tire of being able to appear in a normal mind state on the surface. His control is collapsing.
"Dean, it's getting worse. I'm starting to see things," Sam admits. "And my head hurts so damn much and I can't stop trembling."
Dean hands him his flask of alcohol and suggests drinking some.
"You know alcohol won't help at all, Dean, very funny," Sam says angrily. "And you know that quitting cold turkey almost killed me last time. Please, you know what I need. Just a little, help me find some, please. Besides I know you like killing demons."
"Not yet, Sam," Dean said. Dean realizes that it might be worse this time and that he doesn't want his brother to die. If Sam needs a little bit of demon blood, he would get him the damn demon blood. But not yet. Let him sit in his misery for a while so he learns not to give into temptation next time he wants to give in. Let the boy learn his lesson. "Hold out for a little bit longer. If it gets worse, I might be willing to get you some. I know going cold turkey was hard for you. It obviously didn't work because you're back on the shit."
Sam suddenly feels so relieved, like a weight was lifted from him. His bones still ache, but he realizes his brother doesn't hate him, maybe Dean would let him have some of the demon blood. Just a little bit, to help take the edge off the detoxing. It isn't like Dean, but Sam shrugs. You can't look a gift horse in its mouth.
"When?" Sam asks, his voice sad and aching.
"Not yet," Dean says. "Hold on a little bit longer, okay?"
"Fine. I need to lay down then. I don't want to have a freaking seizure in public, Dean," Sam says.
"That would be a funny sight," Dean says.
"Shut up!" Sam says. "This is so not the time to be joking." He taps his feet and ironically starts seizing a little bit. His head is yanked to the side and his body almost falls off the chair. Dean decides not to laugh at his little brother's pain.
"Okay, fine, let's find another motel and you can lay down. We could always call Crowly and get a little bit of the stuff from him for you. Just a few drops, okay? I don't want the seizures to kill you," Dean says.
Crowly was the king of hell, so of course his blood would be more potent. Sam starts to get excited.
"Stop looking excited, damnit!" Dean says. "Just a few drops. And then you can lay down and ride out the pain."
They leave the cafe and find a motel. Dean does call Crowly and Sam is actually surprised that his brother gave in and is dealing with his addiction differently than he has in the past. Crowly agrees to give the boys a vial of his blood and Crowly drops it off at the motel. Dean goes down to the front desk and gets it while Sam sits up in bed waiting impatiently.
When Dean brings up the vial of demon blood, he lectures Sam that he is only allowed to drink half of it. He would get the other half in five hours.
Sam looks at it and frowns. "But that isn't anywhere near enough!" Sam protests.
"You're lucky I'm letting you have any," Dean says, and hands Sam the vial. Sam is tempted to drink the whole thing against his brother's advisement, but it is his only supply, and he will need it again later. He downs half the vial and throws the half-filled vial to Dean.
"You feel any better?" Dean asks.
It was barely any blood, but it was better than nothing, and power surges inside of Sam's body.
"My head still hurts, but I can feel the power," Sam admits. "It really wasn't enough, though," he said sadly, hating seeming so much like an out-of-control addict.
Dean locks the other half of the blood in a safe that Sam doesn't have the key to. Sam sighs as he sees Dean lock the blood away.
Dean pours himself a glass of alcohol and asks Sam if he wants any but Sam shrugs and says he is fine.
It was a very small amount of blood, but it was also the blood of the king of hell and it was more potent than Sam orginally thought it was. He starts feeling much better and allows himself to be happy even though there is only one dose left and once Sam is clean Dean won't let him have any more. But Sam likes the stuff, and realizes it isn't just his body that is addicted to the stuff. His mind - and maybe his soul - is very addicted to it too.
"Your loss," Dean says, but Sam is feeling the bliss of the high of the demon blood, so he leans back against the cushy pillows on the motel bed and starts meditating. He focuses on his breath and does some visualizations. It feels good and his pain washes away and all that is left is the buzz of the psychic high. He lets himself feel good, even though he knows it is not permanent. Nothing is, though, and Sam lets the bliss and consciousness be enough for now. For now.
He drifts off to sleep and has nightmares and one lucid dream and screams a few times. For now, though, even the nightmares are okay. He drifts off while his brother sits by his side watching over his beautiful little brother.
To be continued...
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