Chapter 12: Blame

Dean rubbed his eyes sleepily and looked at his Sam. Sam was now too hot for blankets and was sweating again. He shook Sam lazily trying to wake him.

"Mmmmph." Sam tried to shake Dean's hand off.

Dean smiled hugely at that. Sam had always been the one who hates being woken up. He remembered waking him up for school was always a pain in the butt. He remembered the song his mom would sing to him to put him to sleep and wake him up. He had the idea of singing it to Sam. He would sing it to him when he was really little, but he was sure Sam had forgotten about that. "Hey Jude don't make it bad." He started.

Sam's eyes flew open. He looked over at Dean and smiled. Dean smiled even bigger. Sam Winchester's real smile, not the one he used to get his way, but his genuine smile could stop traffic. It was youthful and beautiful. It was the exact smile that his mom had. It was one of the only things Dean had left of her. Sam yawned and then lazily tickled Dean's forearm. "What?" He said through another yawn.

"You want to take a shower, and then breakfast?" Dean asked hopeful. He wasn't betting on it but he thought maybe Sam would do better today, withdraw free.

"Yeah." Sam said seeing the hope in Dean's eyes. His head was pounding again and his skin felt too tight, like he had to rip it off.

Dean sprang to his feet and went to the other side of the bed helping Sam get to his feet.

He helped Sam to the bathroom. He turned on the water and tested it with his hand. When he decided it was a the perfect temperature he turned on the shower. "Do you need...help?" Dean asked.

"No." Sam said adamantly.

"Okay." Dean said, as he left closing the door behind him.

Sam went to the door and locked it. Once he heard Dean make his way to the kitchen area he went on his quest. He had a stash in the bathroom that he was sure Dean hadn't found. He looked underneath the sink. There was nothing. He checked the medicine cabinet, nothing. He checked the last place that he had hidden a small baggy of Coke. He opened the toilet tank, and felt for the baggy he had taped just above the water line. He didn't feel the bag, but instead there was a piece of paper taped there. He lifted the folded paper and read it.

'Sorry Sammy I had to flush all of it. I was hoping you wouldn't look for it, but I know you are an addict, so I had a feeling you would. Don't worry Sammy you'll get through this, you have me.'

Sam crumpled up the note angrily and threw it in the toilet bowl. He slammed the toilet tank top down. He went over to the mirror and looked at himself. He eyes were sunken in and his skin was gray. He looked like a man going through withdraw, and that pissed him off. He could hear Dean, fake Dean, telling him to end it all. "Shut up!" He yelled as he swung at the mirror.

Dean was in the kitchen brewing coffee when he heard the loud crash. He dropped the bag and ran to the bathroom door. He turned the handle but it was locked. "Sammy!" He called out. "What was that? Are you okay?" Dean asked concerned.

Inside Sam's fist was bloody with pieces of glass under the skin. He groaned in pain but didn't answer Dean. He didn't know why, but he couldn't answer Dean. He went to the shower and put his hand in the stream. The blood mingled with the water before disappearing down the drain. Sam stepped inside the shower and lost his balance, feeling dizzy again. Sam sat down in a crouch letting his hair cover his face. He felt the water cascade all over his body. He pretended like the water was washing away all his insecurities.

Dean waited for the answer. There was still nothing. He had said if Sam didn't open the door he would break it down. Sam knew he could do it, physically. Dean pictured Sam passed out in the shower with the water filling up the tub, going into his mouth and nose, his lungs. Dean kicked the door, hard. The door busted open on the first try. He went in the bathroom and he saw the mirror broken. He saw the drops of blood that led into the shower. He didn't speak he just pulled open the shower curtain, terrified of what he would find.

He saw Sammy staring blankly. Dean didn't say anything he just turned off the shower, plugging the tub and putting on the bath. Sam didn't move or say anything. That made Dean even more worried. Dean got the shampoo and put a generous amount in his palm. He made a nice lather with it and started washing Sam's hair gently, like he was a baby. When the tub was filled enough he stopped the water and directed Sam to lay down. Saw obeyed, still speechless. Dean rinsed his hair, still gentle. Dean grabbed the washcloth and put another generous amount on the cloth. He worked up a nice lather and slid the cloth across Sam's skin. It wasn't a sexual gesture, more like a parent taking care of a child. When he was done he directed Sam to stand up and he wrapped him in a towel. Sam just stood in the bathroom still expressionless, and speechless. Dean lifted him up, noting how much lighter Sam had gotten.

Dean laid Sam on the bed and went to drying his hair. He brushed the tangles and curls out of the ends. After that was over he brought one of Sam's t-shirts and directed him to lift his arms so he could put it on him. Sam was obeying his every command, but he still remained expressionless. Dean brought some boxers and slid them over Sam's naked legs. Dean brought them up and directed Sam to lift up so he could move them in place.

Dean went to the nightstand and pulled out the bandages and tweezers. He also brought the whiskey over and a washcloth. First he looked over the bandages on Sam's wrists they were pretty munched healed, so he put ointment on them but did not bandage them again. After that he placed a washcloth under Sam's hand and poured whiskey over it. Sam didn't flinch and still remained completely expressionless. Dean poured whiskey over the tweezers and took out the small pieces of glass that were lodged in Sam's right first. Dean had the precision of a surgeon.

When he was done tending to Sam's injuries he spoke. "Sammy what's wrong?"

Sam said nothing.

Dean forced his voice to be soft and gentle even though he was getting annoyed with Sam's silence. "Talk to me...please." He pleaded.

Still nothing.

"Come on baby." Dean said brushing Sam's hair back.

Nothing.

"Sam!" Dean finally gave into the frustration and yelled.

Sam said nothing but laid on his side on the bed, closing his eyes.

Dean wanted to shake him and demand an answer, but he didn't want to further traumatize him. Dean just laid next to him he was beat from taking care of Sam, and he fell asleep.

When Sam heard the familiar sound of Dean's even breathing. He got up. He wanted to say so many things to him. He wanted to let everything that he kept bottled in loose. He felt like he was suffocating. He had Dean for less than a week and he already needed a break. It was too much. He knew he loved him, but he needed freedom. He needed to get well on his own terms. He went to the nightstand and pulled out the pad and pen and wrote Dean a note. He left the note on his pillow and kissed Dean's forehead and lightly stroked his hair. Sam took out his phone and snapped a quick picture of Dean sleeping, his favorite sight in the whole world. Sam picked up his bag and left. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't know how long he would be gone, he just knew he needed a break.