CHAPTER SEVEN
Dean watched Sam twitch restlessly in his sleep, his fists shaking where the laid on his belly. His big-little brother was laying on the moth-eaten couch in Bobby's living room. The old man was taking a breather up in his own bedroom which Dean hadn't been inside since he was a boy and didn't remember what it looked like. Sam grunted aloud and his lips trembled. His long legs shivered inside his drenched drawstring pants.
Dean bit his lip, not knowing what to do. He had covered Sam's legs with a comforter. But, it seemed to not be enough. Dean left the room and climbed up the stairs to get advice from Bobby, forcing himself to ignore another whimper Sam made in his sleep.
Sam could only hope he was dreaming again. This was not like any place he had ever seen on earth. He could only guess that he was in a cave. Everything around him was in impenetrable shadow but for the fifteen-foot diameter circle of ground he was kneeling on.
He could not see where the light illuminating the circle he was in the center of was coming from. It was as though this area of earth was lit from beneath. He was kneeling in what he could only compare to sand. But, he suspected that it was grounded-up skulls rather than miniscule bits of rock. Whatever it was, there was blood splattered all around him. Sam had padlocked chains around his wrists and ankles fastened into a large boulder behind him that must be over ten feet at its highest point.
There were two enormous fishing hooks pushed through the skin on his back. Blood was cascading down to his bare feet. He was still wearing what he remembered last: drawstring pants and a large t-shirt. His head was drooped downward, his brown hair swinging in front of his reddened hazel eyes.
"Help," he gasped, his voice cracking from lack of use; he wondered if he was dead. "No ... somebody help me!"
He clenched his teeth as he felt something pull down the hooks in his back, like a foot was stepping on the chains connected to the hooks. The hooks tore another half an inch down his back. Sam wrinkled his nose up as he snarled at the pain.
"What's wrong? I thought you were a masochist." hissed Lucifer from behind Sam. "How did it feel, lifting something ten times your weight? Those 'muscles' haven't been exercised in years. I bet it was excruciating. "
Sam gasped at the pain as the hooks were yanked out from his skin. His eyes welled with tears but he bit his trembling lips together, fighting the urge to scream. He didn't want to give the devil the pleasure of watching him suffer.
Sam gazed up into the vast darkness, "God, why won't you help me?"
He felt a breeze circle around him, raising goose bumps along his pale skin. Sam held his breath when air was blown in his face. He could not see Lucifer. Of course he couldn't. Lucifer was not in his vessel yet ...
"Sam Winchester," Sam heard the baritone voice grumble from somewhere in front of him, "I implore you to see reason. This is where you will end up if your beloved big brother finds out what you were doing on that dock. You don't want that to happen, do you?"
Sam furrowed his brows, "Yeah, maybe. But, it'll be worth it. You're only telling me this because you're suddenly afraid of me. Why? Show your face, you coward!"
Another rush of air, this time fire-hot, blew into Sam's face. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath.
Sam sat bolt upright, blinking his watering eyes. He squinted around and saw that he was lying on the couch in Bobby's living room. Dean must have carried him there from the dock. Sam quickly examined his left arm. He could not see any black veins, or much of any veins at all. He sighed with relief and rested his throbbing forehead on the heel of his hand as Dean rounded the corner and stepped into the living room. Sam furrowed his soft brows at what was in Dean's hand ... a hairdryer.
"He lives!" Dean joked, unwrapping the extension cord from around the hairdryer. "How you feelin'?"
Sam could see dark circles under Dean's eyes, "How long was I out?"
"Only like a half an hour," said Dean, grunting as he sank down to plug in the hairdryer in the outlet closest to the couch. "Lift the blankets, come on."
Sam did as he was told and raised his eyebrows when Dean pointed the hairdryer at Sam's damp pants and turned the machine on full-blast.
Dean caught Sam's confused look in the corner of his green eyes, "What did you expect me to do? Change your pants for you? We're not that close, man." After a moment, Dean frowned and shoved the hairdryer in Sam's face, "I'm not your slave."
Sam laughed for the first time in too long as he took the hairdryer in his hand. He bent forward to aim closer to the ice-cold fabric of his pants. Dean left to drag a chair from the kitchen to sit by Sam.
"I tried to carry you upstairs again but I prefer my arms attached to my shoulders." Dean chuckled, but there was no twinkle in his green eyes. "You're too heavy now, man. Not sayin' it was much easier before."
Dean clapped Sam's shoulder blade and Sam swayed forward and back under the force of it.
Sam smiled over his shoulder at his big brother while he turned off the hairdryer, "Aren't you going to ask what happened out there?"
Dean's face fell, "Nope."
Sam raised his eyebrows, "Seriously?"
Dean shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in his chair, "Dude, you create your own freakin' problems. I can't wait on tender hooks," he didn't notice Sam flinch involuntarily at that word, "for you to trust me anymore, man. It hurts too much."
Sam swung his long legs over the edge of the couch and planted his feet on the rug, "You never told me that."
Dean raised his eyebrows briefly then nodded sadly, "I didn't think I'd have to."
Sam watched Dean's downcast eyes till Dean heaved himself to his feet and left Sam with just the hairdryer for company.
Night had fallen, its endless dark sky freckled with glinting stars. Sam had one hand gripped on the edge of the couch and the other at the top, those knuckles reddened from hitting the jagged windowsill. His eyes were watering with the effort to keep his mouth shut. Sometimes, he'd forget that he was holding his breath and would gasp for air.
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, taking deep slow breaths as his body began to tremble from head to toe. The dulled legs of the couched drummed against the wood floor beneath him but Sam couldn't hear it when he was like this. The rushing sound, which he had identified as his own rushing blood, was filling his ears for the ninth time tonight. His body temperature was skyrocketing again, his shirt and drawstring pants sticking to him with salty sweat. Sam knew he had done it right when he felt his eyes turn ice-cold in their sockets.
Getting to this point in his transformation was easier than the next. But, no less excruciatingly painful. Now, he needed to rein in all his strength to reclaim control of his vibrating limps. He could feel his fingers ripping the fabric of the couch and the soft feathers tickling his skin. But, he could not hear the tearing yet. Sam refused to allow himself to pant.
This way made it quicker to slow down his heart out of exhaustion. It wasn't complete control. But, it was better than what had occurred on the dock. His lungs refused to comply with his pounding heart and soon he felt nauseous. Sam could not see it, but, his entire body was pulsating with visible black veins rather than solely on his left arm like before.
His blackened eyes greyed the thin skin of his eyelids. A moment later, they began to disperse back to their hazel color as Sam felt them warm up again. This was the first stage of returning back to 'normal'. A little while later, Sam could feel his cold sweat desperately trying to cool his body. Now, the only thing that was shaking the couch was his shivering.
Sam opened his eyes and relinquished his grip on the couch as he gasped for air. He had forgotten to breathe for too long again. But, at least not as long as before. He felt famished, like he hadn't eaten in days.
"Okay, that's enough 'practice'." Sam whispered to himself in a rush, now allowing himself to pant in time with his aching muscles.
Sam felt so incredibly sore. Night was the best time of day to practice. He had successfully gone into his power-state six times and was able to return to his human-state. Sam rolled his eyes up at the ceiling and sighed. He sat bolt upright when he heard Dean stomping down the stairs and flip on the living room light.
"What's all that racket? Are you tap dancing in here or something?" Dean demanded with groggy irritation.
Sam realized he was clutching his blankets to his collar bone like a girl who had gotten walked-in on in while getting dressed and let it go. He was glad that his black veins were fading. Dean was squinting at him through the glaring light so hopefully he wouldn't notice anything out of the ordinary.
"I wasn't doing anything!" said Sam too quickly and far too innocently.
Dean turned away from him with a wave of defeat, "Well, whatever it is, cut it the hell out!"
His big brother slammed the light switch back down and shadows drowned the room in darkness again. Sam waited till he heard Dean slam the guest bedroom door shut, the room that he had given to Dean out of guilt, before sinking back down into the couch.
"I wish I could," Sam said sadly, closing his eyes and hoping he would get some rest tonight.
"Come on, man. We've overstayed our welcome. Time to hit the road," Sam heard Dean say as he passed him, patting Sam hard on his back.
Sam lurched at the blow and Dean turned just in time to watch Sam puke on the pillow he had been resting his head on a moment ago. Sam brought his fingers numbly to his lips, feeling the chucky texture and tasting the metallic flavor of blood and stomach acid in his mouth. He groaned as the roof of his mouth throbbed at the damage his regurgitated stomach contents caused. Sam had been feeling sick after his last attempt to control his monstrous powers. He regretted not going to the sink when his stomach first began churning rather than passing-out on the couch.
"Ugh!" wretched Dean, covering his mouth and noise against the odor of Sam's vomit. He said into his hand, "It smells like sulfur!"
Sam felt the color drain from his face at Dean's words. He pushed himself upright and wiped his mouth on the part of the pillow that his vomit had not spread to yet. Dean brought a roll of paper towels to Sam while keeping his distance as well as his hand over his mouth and nostrils.
Dean hovered at a safe distance from the smell, "If you puke in my car, I swear I'll strap you to the roof with bungee cords! God, you're helpless nowadays."
Sam decided not to retort at Dean's insensitive words, trying to mop up as much of the vomit out of the dark decorative pillow. He worried how Bobby would react to this. Sam hoped this pillow wasn't special to his uncle.
He heaved himself to his feet, his long skinny legs trembling with the effort, with the pillow in one hand and rasped as he staggered past Dean, "I'll put this in the washing machine before we go."
Dean winced at the crackling sound of Sam's deep voice. He was beginning to doubt his brother would ever be completely healthy again. Dean decided to hide his concern with his stoicism, waiting for Sam to open up to him. But, he refused to ignore the warning signs like he had all those weeks ago when he had to dial 9-1-1 for Sam.
"Get a move on!" Dean forced himself to call indifferently, "Cas has a plan to stop Lucifer and Michael's battle!"
"Well, you're on your way back to looking like my hired-muscle." Dean teased while Sam stuffed his empty microwavable dinner into a plastic bag.
Sam smirked, "Shut-up. Where are we going anyway?"
"He's about an hour away from here."
Sam furrowed his brows down at the side of Dean's face, "Why the hell can't he meet us somewhere?"
Dean rolled his green eyes, "He's even more paranoid. He doesn't even want to know where we are. He'd only tell me the coordinates of where he is. He's afraid that we're being watched by Michael himself."
Sam went to zip his jacket up to his neck and realized that he could have his hands exposed without the threat of moving anything that shouldn't. He examined his hands, unaware that Dean was watching him intently in his peripheral vision. What was his little brother so fascinated by? Dean could not shake the all-too familiar feeling that Sam was keeping something from him yet again.
Suddenly, the Impala rocked from side to side as something large landed on the roof.
"WHAT THE HELL?" yelled Dean, trying to realign the Impala into the correct lane before they would hydroplane.
Sam gripped his seat and felt his temperature rising again, "No, please! God, no!"
"Hang on, Sammy!" Dean growled through clenched teeth, now placing his full attention on the road.
Sam's lips trembled as he felt his veins rising painfully to the highest point beneath his skin and darken. He tried to hide his hands but they would not move from where they were clenching the bench. Hopefully the way they were angled would make it too difficult for Dean to see them. Sam's eyes rolled up in his head as they turned black and the Impala straightened out in the proper lane.
"Phew, what the hell was that?" Dean glanced over at Sam, who was trembling in pain. "Sam?"
Before he could touch Sam, they vanished from the highway and hit the tile floors of an abandoned house. Sam opened his eyes as he felt his body going cold again. Had his powers just tried to save his brother and him?
"Get out," said the baritone voice of Castiel.
Sam finally looked into Dean's eyes as he sank down in his seat, panting frantically.
"What happened, Sammy?" Dean breathed, "You looked like you were having a seizure."
Sam chuckled in grateful hysteria, "I was just scared. Shut-up, don't look at me like that."
Dean was smirking at Sam when Castiel yanked open the driver's door, "Get out, Dean. We need to talk."
Dean glared at the angel when Castiel bent down to see the brothers, "If you wrecked my car, I will kill you. So help me God, I will."
"We have more important things to worry about than the condition of your vehicle," said Castiel in quick and monotone succession. "The damage occurred when something tried to overpower me. I suspect it was Michael. It felt too powerful to be a demon or any angel of my ranking."
Sam glanced away from Castiel at the angel's theory. He was glad that Castiel hadn't detected that it was he who had tried to keep the Impala on the highway. But, Sam hadn't initiated the act which frightened him. He would need to practice far more than he had planned. Sam could not risk Dean being oblivious to another 'surprise'.
Sam pushed his passenger door open and staggered to his feet. He felt famished as though he had not just eaten a meal. Sam suspected that was the result of his body temperature rising whenever he went into his 'power-state'. He would need to eat a lot before practicing later to prevent this ache in his stomach and head. Dean heaved himself out of the car and glared at the shoe-shaped dents in the roof of the Impala. He was about to round on Castiel to throw a fit when he noticed Sam swaying slightly where he stood.
"Sam, you okay?" he called out to his brother.
Sam could hear Dean's voice but he didn't understand what his older brother had asked. He could hear his blood pumping in his ears, almost deafening him to all else. He tasted something metallic and raised his fingers to his lips. He was having another nose bleed.
Dean shook his head, "Sam, sit down. Hang-on, let me help. You'll fall on your ass without me."
After giving Castiel a irksome glance, Dean circled around the car and helped Sam sink down to the concrete floor. He noticed while doing so that one of the tires was slashed. He growled through his clenched teeth to vent a little of his anger before returning his attention to his little brother. Sam was blinking deliriously, examining his hands again.
"Sam, when are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Dean asked, furrowing his brows.
Sam's head hung back like he was about to faint but Dean caught him. Dean read Sam's lips mouth, "Nothing wrong."
Castiel squinted down at Sam, "I suppose I should have been gentler when transporting you two."
Dean scowled up at the angel, "I was just thinking the same thing!" He cupped Sam's face between his sweaty palms, "Sammy? If your lights go out again, you could really die! Come on, dude, let's get you on that nice leather sofa over there." Sam's eyelids drooped and Dean patted Sam's cheek, "No! No nap-time for you, man. Get up. Now, Sam! Now!"
Sam gripped the front of Dean's leather coat as his older brother struggled to pull Sam up to his booted feet. Castiel seemed to be growing increasingly frustrated and impatient by being ignored by the brothers so he raised one hand in Sam's direction and the other at the shiny leather couch. Sam was yanked out of Dean's grip and the couch came growling across the old wood floor. Castiel lowered Sam onto the couch and set the couch back where it had been set originally without touching either.
Dean rounded on the angel, "Cas, I almost forgot you were fuming over there. I thought the heat was just coming from me."
He smirked over at Sam who grinned sadly up at his brother, showing that he had understood the joke.
Castiel walked between Dean and Sam, "Do I have your undivided attention now, Dean?"
"As soon as you un-divide your angelic ass between me and my brother. He needs me now more than you do," Dean growled.
Castiel stepped aside to avoid raising tempers so early in their meeting, "The world needs you more. Both of you."
"Put the world on hold, would ya?" Dean scoffed as he knelt at Sam's side. "You gotta start telling me when you're too sick to travel, Sammy. That's kind of a big deal since we do nothing but travel."
Sam shook his aching head, "I've been sick since I was a baby, Dean."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean asked, frowning down at Sam's reddened hazel eyes.
"Remember? I used to see people die in my sleep? Remember how Yellow-Eyes 'recruited' me and other 'children' like me?" Sam asked his brother with a tired voice, "See? I've been ill for a long, long ... long time."
Dean glanced over his shoulder up at Castiel then looked at Sam sternly, "Talk about a walk down memory lane. Sammy, that crap ended like ... over three years ago. You're better now. You're normal. Aren't you? Sam?"
Sam hated the dread surfacing in Dean's emerald eyes and focused on the floor to avoid them, furrowing his brows in deliberation. If there was a moment to tell Dean what he was going through, what Lana had done to him, this was it. If only Castiel weren't here. If only Dean would understand that Sam never asked for any of it. If only he could show Dean how much pain Sam has gone through thus far to gain control of his unleashed 'powers'.
"As normal as I'll ever be," Sam chose to say, knowing it was not a lie but couldn't ignore how cryptic it sounded.
Castiel stomped over to them, "Has it escaped both of your minds that I have a plan to stop the Apocalypse?"
Dean heaved himself back to his feet and turned his broad back on Sam. Sam peaked around Dean's leg and looked up into Castiel's crystal blue eyes. His eyes went cold for a few seconds and he closed his eyes. In his mind, he found himself standing in Bobby's basement months ago. He saw Castiel unlocking the Panic Room... just days before Sam busted open Lucifer's cell. Sam's eyes warmed again and with shock he opened them again.
Sam sat up alarmingly quickly, "He did it, Dean!"
Dean twisted around, "Did what?"
"He's the one who broke me out of the Panic Room!" Sam growled, getting to his feet with surprising strength. "We wouldn't be in this mess if he wasn't such a daddy's boy for a father he has never even seen!"
He could feel his heart pounding but somehow he knew it would not get out of hand. Perhaps, with each grain of truth, he'll have complete control over them. Sam felt vindicated towering over the angel. Dean gaped at Castiel.
Castiel looked sternly into Dean's livid eyes, "May I remind you that you broke the first seal, Dean Winchester."
Dean shook his head, "You've got a lot of balls stooping that low to turn my back on my brother. Seems to me like you're the only one out of the three of us who started this whole mess knowledgably and willingly! What the hell is wrong with you, Cas? How could you not say anything? How could you keep this, of all things, from me?"
Sam glared down at Castiel, "What did I ever do to you? Huh? I've been torturing myself with guilt for months, months! I almost died of it! Sure, yes, I am still to blame. But, I didn't have to take all the credit."
Sam and Dean circled around the angel to return to the Impala.
Castiel turned called after them, "Lucifer is planning to devastate your birthplace!"
The brothers glanced from each other to over their shoulders harmoniously at the traitorous angel.