"Dean?"
"It's OK, Sam. Just sit down, you're gonna be OK."
We were in the panic room. Again. Because Sam was going through withdrawal. Again. I was trying to get him to sit down on the cot, so we could get his misery off to a good and proper start. Bobby was at the top of the stairs, grim and worried. Cas was at the panic room door, grim and - well, I guess jfust grim.
"Dean - wait - just listen to me."
Sam sat down but reached out for me. He was shaking hard and sweating. He'd come here willingly, more willingly than I had, but that didn't mean he wasn't scared as all hell.
"Sammy, it's all right. It probably won't even be as bad this time, right? A day, hunh? We'll give you something that'll get you to sleep, you'll hardly even notice."
That was hope - or a lie - more than a promise. Even a day of his agony was going to be an eternity, and nothing would get him through it. No drugs, or drinking. Not even Cas' 'magic fingers' was powerful enough to put Sammy down for the count. He was in this for the duration.
"Dean. I'm not talking about the withdrawal. Please. You need to listen to me before - before I can't tell whether it's really you or not."
"All right." I crouched down in front of him and he grabbed at my sleeves and pulled me closer to him. "What're you talking about?"
"He was wrong, all right? He was wrong."
"Who was wrong?" The state that Sam was in, he could be talking about Famine or the weatherman or that kid in fourth grade who really did believe in Bigfoot.
"Famine."
Okay, good. I was with him so far.
"Dean - Dean?" Sam tugged on my shirt harder and looked at me like he wasn't sure it was still really me. I put my hands on his shoulders to help him realize I was still there, and his eyes focused again. "He was wrong when he said - when he said -."
He was getting closer to losing it entirely. The shaking was getting stronger, the physical pain he was in had to be ramping up too. Anger, anxiety, agitation - I could hear them all tuning up.
"Dean?"
"How 'bout you tell me later, Sam? Hunh? Okay? We'll just get you -."
"He was wrong when he said you were dead inside." Sam spat that out like he was on a race to say it. "Okay? Dean? Okay?"
"Okay, Sam." I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to think about it. I couldn't think about anything right now but Sam. "Now let's get you settled here -."
"You know how I know he's wr-wr-wrong?"
Sam's eyes weren't exactly focusing again, but his grip was harder on my arms.
"All right. How?"
"If you didn't get - hunger - because you're dead, then - then - what? This - this -." He took one hand off of me to gesture at himself. " - this means that I'm alive?Does it?"
He put his hand back on my arm and shook me for emphasis. I think he shook me; he was shaking so hard otherwise, it was hard to tell.
"Don't you get it, Dean? Don't you see? What - what - what killed those people -." He was stammering now, I was going to be losing him soon to the insensibility. " - it wasn't what they were 'eating' -" He actually 'quoted' the air with his fingers without giving up his hold on me. " - it's what had been eating them. What they were dying for. What - what - what - they were - don't you see, Dean? This - this - this -" He gestured to himself again "This has been the hole inside me. This - this - this - need. This - Dean? This - this - Dean?" I was about to call a halt to the whole proceedings and get him settled on the cot whether Sam wanted it or not. I started to stand up but Sam, as wasted as he was, was strong enough to keep me where he wanted me. The pleading in his eyes kept me there even more.
"Dean - you're the most alive person I've ever known. And life is death, to Famine. That's what he felt inside of you. His death, his emptiness, his need. Dean? Right? You see? He wanted you to - to think - he was trying to make you believe -" He shook his head like he was trying to unstick a thought. "If you're alive, there's hope. And he didn't want you to have hope."
He waited a couple of seconds, maybe waiting for some answer from me. But then he didn't give me enough time to say anything before he added,
"He was wrong."
As Sam waited for my answer, the pleading in his eyes turned to confusion and pain and blankness and I didn't have to answer him.
"Dean? Dean?"
"Right here, Sammy. I'm right here. C'mon. Lay back. Lay back." I finally got him settled back on the cot. "It'll be over soon, Sammy. " I didn't know if he could hear me or understand me. "This'll all be over soon."
I cuffed him to the bed, and waited until the screaming started and I knew that Sam didn't know if I was there next to him or not. I left the room and locked the door, and stood on the other side of it from Cas.
Sam's screams and cries and agony tore at me through that iron door. My whole life, my whole life, had been taking care of Sam, protecting him, patching him up, comforting him, reassuring him, teaching him, shielding him, encouraging him.
Only now -
"He just needs to get it out of his system." Cas said.
- I couldn't do anything but stand by and let Sam suffer alone. I wasn't sure Famine had been wrong about me. I wasn't sure Sammy hadn't only been grasping at straws. He wanted me to have hope, but what was hope anymore? What had it ever been for Sam?
"I need some air." I told Cas. I went up the stairs and past Bobby who didn't say anything, only tapped my arm in reassurance, and I went out into the cold yard.
If Sam wanted me to have hope, then it would have to be his hope, because I wasn't finding any inside of myself.
I looked up into the dark sky and the bright stars.
And hoped that God was listening.
"Please. I need help."
The End.