Sam pulled the doctor aside. "I know I just brought you his needles, but you still don't know what he's been taking? Didn't you do blood tests?!"
"Yeah, we did, Sam. But they all came back negative," Dr. Ward replied.
"Sam! Get out of here! Now!"
Sam began to think that maybe his brother was possessed – he's heard that tone of voice from Dean before – usually when something bad – supernaturally bad – was about to happen. But demons don't leave track marks. Either way, he didn't think it would hurt to check.
"Not leaving you, Dean," he told Dean, returning to his side. Then he leaned in closer and said, "Christo." No reaction. "Tell me, Dean. What's going on? What are you taking?" he whispered.
You want to tell him, don't you, Dean. And you will. Eventually. But we like this game. Seeing poor Sammy worry about you so…
But Dean only responded by crying out in pain again. And throwing up.
Just as Sam moved back out of the way, avoiding the mess, a nurse moved in to clean up and make sure Dean didn't choke.
"Go away, Sam," Dean whimpered. "Please."
Sam couldn't believe the desperation in Dean's voice. He thought he heard shame in it, too. Knew that this was more than just his brother in pain. He'd seen Dean in pain, heard him too. Too many times in their lives. This was different, and he didn't know how to handle it.
"Dean, look at me."
But Dean either wouldn't, or couldn't meet his gaze. Sam put his hands on either side of Dean's face and held it still, willing Dean to open his eyes. But Dean just shut them tighter as he groaned in agony, fighting the restraints in an effort to curl into a ball to fight the pain.
Sam let go and stood back, helpless. Putting his hands into his coat pockets as he leaned against the wall and watched his brother writhe in pain, fighting the restraints, he fingers rubbed against his cell phone. He contemplated calling their father's number. His jaw clenched in anger, knowing it would be useless to even try. John Winchester wasn't just MIA, Sam believed he was choosing not to communicate with his sons.
An orderly and another nurse entered the room and began moving some of the tubes and wires connected to Dean.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"We've got a room for your brother," one said. "You can follow us up if you want. Room three-twelve."
Sam sat by Dean's bedside for another hour or two, watching as his brother became weaker and weaker as he fought against the withdrawal pain. As much as he'd tried to get Dean to talk to him, begged him to tell him what was going on, what kind of drug or drugs Dean was taking – to give him some sort of clue – Dean refused to say anything to him. Other than telling him to go away, anyway. He looked up when someone new entered the room.
"Mr. Simmons? I'm Dr. Kelly. I've taken over your brother's case," the man said by way of a greeting.
Sam stood and shook the doctor's outstretched hand.
"Have you found anything new? Gotten those syringes tested?" Sam asked.
"We redid Dean's blood work again, with still no conclusive results," Dr. Kelly replied, shaking his head. "And those syringes were clean, too. Your brother must rinse them out – only water in them."
Sam let out a sigh and looked at his brother, who had begun writhing on the bed again, albeit weakly.
"Can you try to give him something for the pain? There's gotta be something you can do – you just can't expect a guy to go cold turkey," Sam asked the doctor.
"We can try to give him some Narcan – it should help if he's been taking narcotics," the doctor replied.
"Will that hurt him if that's not the case?"
"We'll monitor him closely."
Sam didn't like that answer. "I'll think about it," he told the doctor as he sat back down next to Dean, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder, trying to calm him.
Sam looked to the door as the doctor took his leave.
"Sam…" Sam looked at Dean and met his gaze. It was the first time in an hour Dean had seemed lucid.
"I'm right here, Dean."
"Sam… you need to go away. Please? You can't stay here. They'll take you, too," Dean struggled to get out, between gasps of pain.
"What are you talking about, Dean? Who will take me?"
"No. No. Can't tell."
"Dean?"
Dean didn't reply, though. Sam watched as Dean seemed to close in on himself again, squeezing his eyes closed, his breaths becoming shallow pants trying to control the pain.
Sam sat back in his chair and wiped the tears that had begun to fall as he looked at his brother in sadness and frustration.
"Sure, Dean, you leave messes in and around everything you own. The only thing you ever clean are the guns and your car!" Sam stood up and began pacing angrily around the room. "Can't clean up your dirty dishes or do your own laundry, but you fucking rinse out your needles!" He stopped and laughed to himself as he looked at Dean again. "I guess you paid attention to all those Health Department PSAs on TV – always use a condom and never share needles!"
Sam ran a hand through his hair and sat back down. "Of all the things, Dean. When I need you to be a slob, you run water through your fucking syringes," he whispered, dropping his head, letting it hang down.
No sooner had Sam hung his head, though, did he bring it straight back up, bringing his gaze to Dean. "Water," he whispered. "Water," he said again, louder, as he stood up. "Son of a bitch, Dean!"
Sam rushed to the nurses' station down the hall from Dean's room.
"Excuse me?" he called to the nurse on duty. "I need a priest. Is there one here at the hospital, or one on call?"
"Yes, I saw Father Gann a little earlier," she replied. "But really, Mr. Simmons, your brother isn't that bad off…" she added.
"Can you page him for me?" he asked, then added, "I really think he'll be able to help Dean and I," giving the nurse his best puppy-dog-eyed look.
"Sure."
Sam watched and listened as the priest's name was paged on the hospital intercom system, telling him to come to room 312. Sam returned to Dean's room and approached the bed.
"Am I right, Dean? You got yourself in some kind of mess – got yourself possessed or something?"
Ooh, he's onto us, Dean! Time to end this?
"No!" Dean screamed.
"Yes, Dean!" Sam replied, not hearing the voices taunting his brother.
Dean screamed again, writhing in the bed, fighting against the restraints again.
"Oh, my," Sam heard whispered behind him. He turned to see the man who whispered it. Father Gann had shown up.
"Father, thanks for coming," Sam said.
"Addiction is a frightening and painful experience not only for the addict, but for his family," the priest said. He held his hand out to Sam in greeting. "I'm Father Gann."
"I'm Sam. This is my brother, Dean."
"Shall we pray together, Sam?" Father Gann asked, approaching Dean on the opposite side of the bed from Sam.
Sam ran a nervous hand through his hair. "Actually, Father… I've kinda got a weird request." The priest gave Sam a look that told him that this probably wasn't something he hadn't heard before.
"What do you need, Sam?"
"I need you to bless Dean's IV – like you would for holy water," Sam told him.
Father Gann raised his eyebrows. "Okay, that is a new one. Why?"
It's over, Dean. Ready to die? We'll say goodbye to Sammy for you.
Dean cried out painfully as he fought against the ghosts, "Sammy! Go away! Hurry!" he got out.
Somehow Sam heard a different kind of urgency in his brother's voice. He knew he no longer had time to waste.
"Please!" Sam begged the priest. But when the priest hesitated, Sam reached for his gun and pointed it at Father Gann's head. "Just do it! Now!" he threatened.
Father Gann swallowed as he nodded his head, put his hand on Dean's IV line and said the words Sam wanted to hear.
