Envy
Disclaimer: The Winchesters, the Impala and the concept belong to Kripke and the CW.
Beta'd: By the infamous Wysawyg whose blue beta bat of angst helped beat this chapter into shape. You, my dear, are the absolute ultimate! (sorry – Gidget flashbacks).
BTW – Wysawyg wrote a birthday story for me with all my favorite stuff in it. If you haven't read her story, Birthday Bumps, I highly recommend it:D
I had homework to do after she beta'd so as usual, any remaining errors are mine and mine alone.
Thank you: To everyone who has been reading and reviewing – special thanks to the anonymous reviewers I can't thank personally.
Many Thanks: To MuffyMorrigan who helped me find the softer side of Dean - Brainstorming rocks! Also, thanks to Heather for her medical assistance. Thanks to Carocali for helping me work through some angst and to RhianaStar for sending some additional research info my way!
Sheesh – I obviously needed a bit of shoring up to make it through this chapter. LOL.
Time Line: June 1998. Dean is nineteen, Sam recently turned fifteen.
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"I think six or seven stitches should do it," Dean stated, his hand gently gripping Sam's arm. Sam did not even attempt to reply and he barely felt the pull of the thread through his skin. The darkness was surrounding him again and he knew this time he would not be able to stave it off.
He snuggled deeper into the covers as the tendrils of sleep invaded his mind. He stopped fighting it and let it come to take him. He was tired; somehow it seemed he had always been tired. Sleep enveloped his mind and he sank deeper into it.
He moaned when he felt the bite of the cuffs around his wrist, his skin worn raw from his earlier struggles. He moaned again. Somehow he had convinced himself Dean had found him and he had been free. He should have known it would not be that easy.
……………………………………..Pity is for the Living, Envy is for the Dead……………………………….
Sam shivered and shifted uneasily in his sleep. He moaned low in his chest as his eyes fluttered frantically behind closed lids.
"You ran away?" Dean shouted, angry spittle landing on Sam's face. "Do you know how mad Dad is going to be? Do you have any idea how mad I am?"
"No, I, she…" his protests were cut short when Dean grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt and slammed him against the wall.
"Don't lie to me, Sammy," he growled. "You suck at it anyway. Why do you even try?"
"Dean, I'm not…" Sam defended weakly.
"Don't lie!" Dean insisted, slamming Sam against the wall to emphasize his words. "Do you even care how worried I was? That I've been driving myself crazy looking for your sorry ass?"
Sam winced at his words, but he no longer made any effort to defend himself. Dean's words stung more than his aching back and head from hitting the wall. His arms hung weakly by his sides, but the left one burned when Dean grabbed it tightly.
"You are so selfish," Dean hissed. Sam stifled a groan of pain as Dean's fingers gripped his wrist harder. "You shouldn't have even bothered coming home."
Sam moaned as his arm and head throbbed in unison causing his conscious mind to wake enough to chastise his subconscious. You've had this dream before. You know this never happened. He shifted restlessly, but he could neither regain control of the dream nor escape from it entirely.
"You can take it nicely or I can force you to swallow it again," Rose offered. "It makes no difference to me."
"Please, no more," Sam begged. "I won't try anything."
"You know what the best predictor of future behavior is, Sam?" Rose asked, leaning in close to his face, the flashlight catching him in the eyes. He shook his head and scooted away from Rose as far as the cuffs would allow. "Past behavior," she supplied. "And you've been terribly uncooperative in the past."
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Stop apologizing!" Rose demanded. "You're only here because of your brother. If he would just fall into line, you could leave."
"Dean won't," Sam recklessly insisted. "He's not going to do anything once he finds out what you've done."
"What makes you think he doesn't already know?" Rose sneered. "When he thought you ran away he was secretly pleased. No annoying, ever-present, clingy little brother underfoot. He's not even looking for you."
"That's not true," Sam replied quietly, but he sounded a lot less sure than he had before.
"It is true," Rose insisted. "So make yourself comfortable, Sam, you're going to be here for awhile."
"No," he whispered so quietly Rose did not hear him. "No, he wouldn't."
When Rose handed him the pill and a glass of water, he obediently swallowed them both. She left him in the dark and went back upstairs. As the drugs took hold, he shivered against the cold before drifting off once more.
Sam curled his legs in towards his chest and shivered. He was cold again. He tried to open his eyes, but he was still so tired that even that small task seemed insurmountable. Tremors racked his frame and he wrapped his good arm around chest in an effort to get warm. He choked back a sob. He wanted to go home.
"You're hurt," Dean explained, his tone gentler. He held Sam's left arm and raised it until Sam's wrist was in his brother's line of sight. "See? And a bump on the head, not to mention enough Xanax in your system to keep you knocked out for several hours. Do you know how much she gave you?"
Sam's face crinkled in confusion. "I uh, what?"
Dean gently released Sam's arm. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I don't see any other choice here. You need a doctor."
"No!" Sam replied fervently. He began fumbling with the door handle in an attempt to get out of the car.
"Hey, hey, stop," Dean instructed. He tugged on Sam's shoulder and he obediently sat back against the seat.
"I just want to go home," Sam stated his breath hitching. He hung his head, dejected. "Please, Dean. I just want to go home."
Dean ran a hand through his hair, a look of frustration on his face. "Sammy," Dean stated, the apology clearly evident in his tone.
"Please," Sam whispered. He placed a shaky hand on Dean's shirt sleeve.
"Sam," Dean replied, resigned. He released a sigh of long suffering. "Okay, we'll go to the motel."
Sam's eyes popped open and he let out a strangled sob. He was cold and in the dark just as he had been every time he awoke for God knows how long. He licked his dry lips and pushed with his feet until he hit the wall and scooted into a sitting position. He moaned when his back hit the wall and pushed off the mattress with his hands to ease pressure. "Agh," he groaned, unable to stop the cry from leaving his lips.
He folded his knees up to his chest, wrapped his good arm around his legs and rested his head on his knees. He could feel his heart racing and muscles shaking even over the ache in his head, back and arm. He had wanted to be home with his family so badly that he had dreamt it had happened. It felt so real, so much like Dean had really been with him that the loss actually hurt. He breathed deeply trying to reign in his emotions, but he could feel them spiraling out of control.
"Sam?" Dean's voice. It was Dean's voice calling to him softly in the dark. He hugged his knees tighter and tried to block out the deceiving call. "Are you awake?"
The voice was closer now and Sam chanted under his breath. "Not Dean, not Dean, not Dean."
"Sammy?"
Not Dean, not Dean, not Dean.
"Sam?" Rose asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. He shied away from the touch. "Are you hurting?"
Sam shook his head. There was no point lying about it. She would make him take the Xanax regardless. A hand in his hair caused him to startle back and smack it against the wall.
"Careful," Rose cautioned. "I don't think your head can take too many more bumps."
Sam inwardly rolled his eyes. She was making jokes now? Bright light assaulted his eyes even through closed lids and he pressed his face tighter against his knees.
"Sorry," Dean's voice again and the light was extinguished. He heard the clinking of the pill bottle. "Can you swallow these?"
Not Dean, not Dean, not Dean.
Sam did not move. The ache in his heart threatened to choke him. "Come on, Sam," Rose urged. Sam held out a shaky hand and felt two pills drop into his palm. Two pills. He hesitated. She had forced him to take two pills last time and that was when he thought Dean had come for him. He couldn't handle that again. "Do you need help?"
"No!" Sam cried out. He took a few deep breaths and added in a calmer tone, "No, I can do it." He popped both pills into his mouth and frowned when he felt a glass placed in his hand. He opened his eyes, but the dim light kept Rose shrouded in darkness. The closer he moved the glass to his mouth the more his hand shook and water sloshed over the edge and onto his t-shirt.
"Here, let me help."
Not Dean!
Rose wrapped her fingers around his and helped guide the glass to his lips. He gulped several times, but when he tried to pull his head back he found he was already pressed against the wall. He panicked and water went down the wrong passage. Choking and spluttering, he scrambled away from Rose and knocked the glass out of her hand. He took small consolation in hearing the shattering of glass against the wall.
Strong fingers gripped his arms and he struggled against the restraint. "Sam, calm down."
Sam pushed Rose away, coughing. He could feel his lungs protesting and the jerking movements pulled on his back and jarred his head. "Breathe, Sammy, you're going be okay. I'm here."
Sam bit back a cry. Not Dean.
Warm blankets covered him. She had never given him blankets before, but he was grateful. He trembled under the covers, unable to stop the tremors running through his body. He breathed deeply, his anxiety starting to fade. "Get some sleep, Sam." Sam shuddered and yawned before sinking back into the tight grip of sleep.
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John gingerly leaned back against the seat in Bobby's run down heap. Bobby had taken Beninger inside the clinic and stayed to make sure the young cryptozoologist stuck to the cover story. John glanced at his watch; Bobby had only been gone for five minutes. He sighed impatiently and reached down to pull his cell phone out of his pack. He powered up his phone and checked his voicemail.
"Three new messages."
John hit the three on his keypad to play the messages and closed his eyes. He would never admit it to Bobby, but a few days of sleeping on the ground had left him tired and his ribs were still aching from his sudden impact with the ground. He listened as the mechanical voice continued. "First new message: received, Saturday, June sixth. Fifty-seven seconds. To listen, press three. To delete, press seven." John blindly thumbed the three key and replaced the phone to his ear.
"Dad, call me please." John sat upright and opened his eyes. He could hear the restrained panic in his eldest son's voice. "Sammy's missing. He didn't go to school yesterday and when I got home…the shower was still running, Dad. But Sammy's gone. All of his stuff is here. Dad…" John held his breath when Dean's voice cracked. "I've got this one, but I wish you were here. Call me, please?"
John hit the button to continue to listen to his messages. He pressed three to skip past the voice informing him the next call came in nearly two days later. He refused to react even as his heart hammered against his chest. Sam had probably been upset about something and gone for a walk. Dean had simply forgotten to call him back because of the excitement of the ballgame and everything was fine. Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. Dean would never forget anything that important. "Dad, I uh, I guess you are still out on Mackinac with Bobby," Dean said. "Sammy's still missing and I'm almost out of ideas." John flicked the handle on his pack in agitation.
John heard Dean take a deep breath before continuing. "I broke our rule, Dad. I had to." A pause long enough John did not know if Dean would continue. "Waste of time. Police think Sammy's a runaway and I can tell they aren't going to do much." John could feel his own panic rising. His little boy was missing and his other son needed him. Not for the first he questioned his abilities as a father.
A fist banging on something solid came through the phone. "I, I got it though." Another bang, it sounded like the steering wheel now that he thought about it. Another deep breathe, this one sounded like his son was trying to compose himself. "I mean, I'm working on it, but call me when you can." John scrubbed a hand down his beard. I'm proud of the way you handle yourself, son, but when did you start believing you had to handle everything on your own? John tapped his knee repeatedly. Probably when you stopped being there for them, jackass.
His need to do something, anything, overwhelmed him and he sprang from the truck and headed into the clinic. He did not care if they stranded college boy here. He needed to get back to Florida and to his sons and he needed to do it now, if he could figure out how to teleport there, he would. He continued to listen to his messages even as he strode towards the clinic. His mind whirled so quickly he did not even hear the mechanical female voice prattle on, but automatically hit the key to skip to the message.
"Dad." Dean spoke in a hushed voice. "I found Sam. He's, ah…" John could practically hear his son's wheels turning. He found Sam. Dean found Sam. Good job, son. John stopped walking and took several deep breaths to compose himself. He's banged up. Not to mention she drugged him. I'll explain later. Anyway, he's pretty out of it. I'm going to patch him up and give him a couple of hours to sleep before we start heading your direction." What does he mean, 'she' drugged him? What the hell happened? "I'll call you later, Dad, once I know more. You don't have to worry. I've got it covered."
John met Bobby coming out of the automatic doors. "Got the kid all squared away," Bobby said. He pushed his cap up and squinted at John. "What's going on?"
"Something's happened with my boys," John stated. He shook his cell phone at Bobby. "Something's really wrong." Oh God, I should have been there. I should have stayed with them.
"John?" Bobby's face took on a look of wrinkled concern.
"Sammy was missing. Missing for at least two or three days." John headed back for the truck and Bobby fell into line beside him.
"Was missing?" Bobby asked, correctly clueing in on the pertinent word.
"Dean found him," John replied walking back around to the passenger side. "He said, 'She drugged Sam.'"
"She drugged Sam?" Bobby asked, sliding into the driver's seat. "What exactly happened?"
"I don't know, Bobby," John replied, dejectedly. "But I sure as hell intend to find out." Just drive the damn truck, Singer. I need to get back to my sons.
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Dean sat down at the table and ran a hand through his hair. Every time Sam had fallen asleep, he slept restlessly, kicking off blankets and moaning. He had seemed disoriented in the car, but just now it was as if Sam did not even recognize him. Dean turned back to the laptop, thankful yet again that the motel had internet to jack into. He had a sinking suspicion that Sam was not only dealing with what happened, but the after effects of the drugs as well.
He typed Xanax into the search engine and scanned the article.
Possible side effects of Xanax include:
Drowsiness – check. He doubted Sam had been awake for more than five minutes at a time since he found him. Dean continued reading down the list.
Fatigue – check. Sam had complained about being tired several times and he seemed barely able to hold himself upright. That was two for two so far.
Impaired coordination – check. Then again, Sam's growth spurt had left him awkward and uncoordinated for weeks now. That one he'd have to change to a maybe.
Memory impairment - possible. Sam had seemed to have difficulty recalling what had happened, but then again a concussion could explain that and the other symptoms as well.
Speech difficulties - nope. Chalk one up for his verbose little brother.
Dean sighed in frustration. Not only had Sam demonstrated some of these symptoms, but he felt the knock on Sam's head had resulted in a mild concussion. It would mask some of the signs and he would have that much harder of a time figuring out just how much Xanax she had forced on his little brother.
Further down the page, the side effects due to a rapid decrease in dose or abrupt withdrawal caught his eye. Blurred vision, decreased concentration, decreased mental clarity, depression, heightened awareness of noise or bright lights, loss of reality, nervousness, rapid breathing, tremors, weight loss and seizures.
Dean leaned back in his chair, looked over at a sleeping Sam and scrubbed a hand down his face. How the hell was he supposed to deal with anything this big? At this point he could only hope that a little over three days had not been long enough to cause any lasting damage although he had noticed Sam seemed to be having trouble with light. Then again, his drowsiness, short term memory loss and sensitivity could be the concussion. The near panic attacks though, that was something else entirely.
He stood up and paced the room propelled by nervous energy. He tapped his hand on his leg and traveled tight circuits in the small room. Dean wished for something to punch or shoot, anything to relieve his anger and frustration at what had happened to his baby brother. Not to mention the guilt. A small part of Dean knew it wasn't his fault and that there was not any way he could have known that Rose was unstable. The larger part of Dean, the part that screamed at him echoed by his father's voice, knew he should have figured it out sooner. He should have seen it, stopped it and protected Sammy.
He flipped on the bathroom switch and used the refracted light reflecting off the full-length mirror to pick up the broken glass beside Sam's bed where it had shattered when Sam knocked it from his hand earlier. Sam moaned and twisted in the bed until one arm broke free from the blankets. Dean froze, his hand full of broken glass, waiting. Sam quieted and Dean resumed picking up the remaining glass. The irregular shards poked the skin on his palm and he contemplated squeezing his fist closed - the pain a welcome distraction from the guilt.
The guilt itself was a distraction from the real issue. A loss of control. He had no reasonable way of knowing who Rose really was or what she was capable of doing. He had felt desperately, terribly impotent to find his brother or protect him from whatever had been happening while he was missing. And now? Now Sam was adrift in a nightmare of confusion and Dean could not fix it. This wasn't skinned knees, bruised ribs or wounds that needed stitching. Sam's mind held him prisoner and Dean's super big brother powers were not only useless, but crumbling under the Kryptonite of helplessness.
Get a grip, Winchester. Don't be such a girl. Dean snorted to cover a partial sob and dumped the tinkling glass into the bathroom wastebasket. He had Sam back physically and he intended to bring him all the way home.
He resolved that from here on out if his dad or his brother were in danger, even if that danger was not supernatural, he wouldn't hesitate to do what needed to be done. Their lives came first and both of them would just have to accept that. Dean knew he could live with what he might have to do long before he could live with something irreparably bad happening to his family.
Sam shifted again and moaned, louder this time. Dean glanced at his watch. Ten minutes. Sam had slept ten minutes this time. His little brother kicked and his legs became hopelessly entangled in the blankets. "Nuh," Sam mumbled, furiously thrashing before scrambling backwards until sat huddled against the wall, face buried in his knees again.
"Sammy?" Dean asked tentatively. He started to reach out to touch his brother's shoulder but, remembering Sam's violent reaction earlier, he hesitated. Please let me do the right thing.
Even in the dim light, Dean could see the minute tremors running through Sam's body, but aside from the involuntary movements, his brother remained still. He could hear hushed mutterings and leaned closer to hear what Sam was saying. "Not Dean, not Dean, not Dean."
Dean's heart sank and he sat down on the bed when his legs lost their ability to hold him upright. Sam startled, but he did not raise his head and Dean could hear the quiet mantra continue unabated. "Sammy?" he tried again and this time he could not resist placing a hand on Sam's head, hoping the physical contact would snap his brother back to him.
Heat radiated from Sam's now dry hair and Dean bent closer to Sam's ear. "It'll be okay," he insisted. "Open your eyes, Sammy."
The mumbling stopped, but Sam did not raise his head. Dean removed his hand from Sam's hair, gripped him by the arms and gently pushed him upright. "It'll be okay," he repeated. "Open your eyes."
Sam blinked, but whether or not he understood where he was, Dean couldn't tell. "Dean?" It was a tentative whisper, a fearful question and a hope-filled plea all wrapped into one word.
"Yeah, Sammy. It's me." Dean loosened his grip on Sam's arms.
Sam drew in a shaky breath and his eyes searched Dean's face. "How long?" he asked softly.
"How long were you missing?" Dean asked, tightly. "Seventy-eight hours, thirty-two minutes." Dean moved sideways and sat shoulder to shoulder with his little brother. "How long have you been back?" Dean asked, his voice softening. "Four hours, eighteen minutes."
Sam's eyes continued to move frantically while he assimilated the information. After a lengthy pause he turned his head towards Dean. "You're really here?" The fifteen-year-old Sam was no longer visible to Dean's eyes, but rather a tall, gangly, lost three-year-old.
"Yeah, I'm really here and you're gonna be okay." Dean watched as Sam's eyes went from fear to relief.
Sam unfolded and reached out for his brother and Dean could not deny him. Sam buried his face, this time in Dean's shoulder, and his body racked with sobs. Dean held Sam while he cried, not pulling away from the chick flick moment or joking it off. If Sam needed this comfort, then he would provide it. Besides, if he was being really honest with himself, he needed it a little too.
"You're gonna be okay," Dean repeated, holding his brother tight. I'll do whatever it takes, little brother. I don't know how I'll fix it yet, but I will.
When Sam was spent he simply collapsed in on himself. Dean gently lowered his brother back to the bed and recovered the blankets from the floor before spreading them over Sam. He stood up and watched his brother sleeping for a moment before heading to the bathroom.
He stood, leaning heavily against the basin, trying to gain control. He wanted to throw up, he could feel the bile rising in his throat, but he pushed it down. His hands grew slick on the porcelain and his face dotted with sweat. He ran cold water and splashed his face before looking in the mirror.
Water droplets clung to darkening stubble and hung off scruffy spikes. As he stared at his pale reflection, water dripped off his face into the sink and that's when he realized – his shirt was dry. Sam had cried, his face pressed against his shoulder and his shirt was dry. Sam was dehydrated.
Dean cursed himself for not thinking of it earlier and filled a glass with water. Sam would need sport's drink and he should have intravenous fluids, but water would be a start. He was half-way back to Sam when his phone jangled in his pocket.
He pulled out his phone and glanced at the caller I.D. before continuing through the room and outside, closing the door quietly behind him. Dean took a deep breath to quell feelings of shame and guilt before he explained to his dad how he had been fooled by Rose and Sam had been caught in the cross fire. He flipped open his cell phone and pressed it to his ear. "Dad?"
"Dean?" Dean nearly sagged in relief at the sound of his father's voice. No matter how disappointed his dad might be in him, he was no longer in this alone.
TBC
….……………………………………………………..Supernatural…………………………………………...
AN: So it is hopeless. I can't pull away from the boys long enough to focus on another story no matter how insistent the other characters are. So it doesn't appear I'll finish NaNoWriMo, but I have a healthy start and hope springs eternal. :)
I have, however, managed to pick up a sinus infection. Ew. BG.
A special thanks to Phx for moral support when I needed it.
Oh, and Wysawyg? You get to be right (and I don't concede that fact very often!). I posted the chapter after telling you I was going to wait a couple of days and get further on the next chapter. Come on, admit it, you totally called it. LOL.