First it's all a blur.
It's a comfortable pace of surfacing and drowning. Sam feels warm and comfortable and cozy where he is.
He feels like floating. His entire body feels soft and pliant, so do his surroundings.
It doesn't last long, until he starts to feel rather uncomfortable because of reasons he can't name yet. He feels like he shouldn't feel warm and cozy and that there's something he should be aware of.
Sam can't bring himself to care anyway, so he lets himself float some more, too drowsy and fuzzy to even want to think. To make his mind work.
The uncomfortable sensation soon turns into an uncomfortable pull in his stomach. Which morphs at a rapidly fast pace into ache and end in nearly overwhelming pain radiating through him.
Sam is trying to figure out what it is that's hurting him. He tries to remember how it even happened that he's hurting so bad.
It takes him an eternity to figure it out, since the memories are coming back to him only sluggishly.
But when he remembers, it hits him hard.
He pries his eyes open and blinks, trying to clear his vision.
He tries to feel himself – his body. He tries to assess which damage has been done to him, but he can't – for the love of it – locate anything in particular besides the searing pain in his side.
"Drugs.", he mutters to himself and smacks his dry lips. Which explains why his mind feels so badly dislocated from his body.
Sam wiggles his toes and fingers. He tries to lift the left hand to his face, but it feels too heavy. He then tries to turn his head, but instantly, dizziness hits him hard and he feels like he's going to puke if he tries again.
So, Sam gives himself time and he closes his eyes again.
He thinks, that there's no time to hurry, since he's in his room, and there are things attached to his body. Like an I.V. and he thinks he can feel a urinary catheter in his urethra too.
Though, he doesn't understand why Castiel hasn't healed him.
Or taken him to a hospital?
What has happened after him being stabbed, the vision and passing out?
He remembers, he's called out to Cas – haven't he?
He remembers Dean Winchester about to swing a hammer at his scull … Did he not do that?
Then everything went black, and now he's here.
In his room.
The whole situation doesn't make sense at the moment to Sam, but he figures, Cas will explain things as soon as he'll come around to check on him.
When he surfaces the next time, he's still alone.
The small light on the nightstand is on.
Sam can't tell if it's been on when he woke the first time.
He feels more coherent now and not so disconnected. Therefore, the pain feels more intense too.
"Cas.", he mumbles. His mouth and throat feel like sandpaper, and he can't tell if he's really saying it out loud, or if it are only his lips that move.
Sam lays there.
He feels the needle in his lower arm. He feels the tube in his urethra. He fells the bandage covering his stomach, and he feels the covers against his bare skin.
He feels the warmth, and he feels the cool air against his skin where it's exposed.
Sam opens his eyes and they still feel too heavy to open completely, so they stay on half-mast. He looks through the room, taking care to not move his head too much and cause nausea in the process. Sam's pretty sure, something's off about all of this.
If Castiel's around, he should've popped up by now due calling for him. And he doesn't.
A fact that makes him feel uneasy to the bone.
So – whatever's going on here – he needs to figure it out all by himself.
It takes Sam agonizingly long minutes to turn on his side and breathe through the pain the movement causes. He tries to assess his surroundings like he's used to as a hunter, but fails. He figures it's still because of whatever drugs or pain meds he's on.
Nonetheless he's determined to do the inevitable and get out of the bed to take a stroll through the bunker. To check on Dean's room, the kitchen (where he last can remember that he's been). He needs to know what happened after he's passed out.
Sam takes deep breaths and steadies himself for his next move.
He glances at the nightstand and sees syringes, and two bags of saline drips. He moves his head and his look catches at a leather recliner he thinks that belongs into the library.
So, someone's been sitting with him.
Someone's been taking care of his physical needs.
Which proofs to him that it's not been Castiel, since the angel is not one to handle an injured Sam that way. It tells him, that it must be a human being.
"Dean.", Sam breathes and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, when dizziness takes a hold of him, as he moves his head too fast.
It takes him long seconds to regain control over himself and he tries to prop up on his elbows. To his own surprise he feels weak as hell, but he eventually manages to get into a sitting position.
Sam notices, that he's naked under the covers and clears his dry throat.
He needs something to drink. He needs clothes. He needs a weapon. He needs to check on the bunker and he needs to know where the killer is.
The man probably saved his life to do whatever he does to his victims after he's recovered enough to be tortured, so Sam has to think.
He has to either, get the drop on the killer, or to leave the bunker, if Castiel's not reachable at the moment.
He needs to regroup and get better.
Once, Sam feels stable enough to move, he tries to slide from the edge of the bed, but feels the burning sensation in his urethra and curses.
The first thing is to get rid of is the I.V in his arm.
His gaze falls onto the syringes on the nightstand, and before he thinks big about it, he grabs one of them, empties it on the floor and eventually finds the port to unblock the balloon which fixes the tube in his bladder.
It's not a big deal to unblock the balloon, but it's a rather inconvenient thing to remove the tube from where it's settled. So, Sam takes a deep steading inhale of air and when he exhales, he pulls it out, cursing under his breath.
Sam's sweating profusely when he's done and holds onto the edges of the mattress in a death-grip. He takes time to recover from the burning sensation and decides, that he'll first get his clothes before moving into the bathroom for water.
It doesn't go down as smooth as Sam would've liked, but he eventually manages to put on boxers, jeans and a button-down shirt (which he's not buttoning up, since his vision is too bleary to make out the small buttons).
His way into the bathroom is agonizingly slow and he's not sure he'll ever make it there, not to mention getting back into his bed, or anywhere else.
His legs feel wobbly, and he can't see straight, but he eventually manages to get into the bathroom and sit down on the toilet, where he's catching his breath, clutching his side, where he can feel a wet warmth soak through the bandages now.
He's pretty sure he's bleeding, but refuses to look. Sam's afraid he'd pass out if he actually sees it, so he decides to just ignore the circumstance of being injured (as far as that's even possible) and moves to the sink.
He goes for his pain-meds then and swallows two of them dry, in hopes it'll dull the pain without making him all drowsy again.
Sam's pretty sure it wasn't a good idea to get up from the bed, but it's how it is, and he needs to make sure, that he's not in the clutches of the psychotic serial-killer he intended to CURE.
Sam has no clue what he's going to do, when he finds out that it's that way. He has to plan on how to proceed if he's under Dean Winchester's control.
But he's sure he'll figure something out. Later. When he's able to think straight again.
For now, he goes with whatever's going to wait for him out there in the bunker. Sam dearly hopes it's not Dean Winchester though.
When he feels ready to get going again, he makes his way out of the bathroom, panting and leaning against the walls, which lead him towards his room's door. Once there, he doesn't feel like walking anymore. He doesn't feel like thinking anymore.
If anything, he feels like laying down and dying right where he is.
As if on cue, his vision turns misty and dark and he feels himself getting washed away into unconsciousness.
~ The Black Beast ~
Night has settled over the land, when Dean's about to be done with fixing the Impala, when an approaching vehicle claims his attention. Due the darkness, he's only able to see the headlights at first, until the driver's turning on the blue lights on its top.
He curses inwardly and his face scrunches up in annoyance before he puts on his poker-face which includes a forthcoming smile, and soft features.
Of course, the police car has to pull up behind his parked car, and of course, the officer has to get out and check on the man who's car has broken down in the middle of the night.
The authorities, your guys in the white hats.
~ The Black Beast ~
Dean's pissed.
When he arrives in the bunker's garage, he hurries up to get the duffel and medical case with his so-called emergency-gear from the trunk and goes straight for the map's room, where he dumps his equipment on the giant table with the map on it.
His next way leads him into the kitchen, where scrubs his hands clean under burning-hot water, using a brush to get the dried blood out from under his fingernails.
It feels like it's taking him unnecessary long to do so, and until he's satisfied with the outcome of his efforts.
Dean's gaze lands on the kitchen-table, which's still covered in dried blood, and the heap of garbage on the floor, and pulls a grim face at the scene, but decides that now's not the time to take care of that issue.
He passes the mess and goes back to the map's room, and grabs the duffel and the medical case. Dean heads through the corridor towards Sam's room and rants internally at the wasted time due his Baby's breakdown and the police officer coming into his way.
Dean stops dead in his tracks when he rounds the corner towards Sam's room, and his gaze lands on the hunter's body, sprawled out on the floor in the threshold. He can't see the man's face, since that ridiculously long hair is hiding it just perfectly fine.
Dean suppresses a curse and heads towards him the very next moment. He dumps the duffel and medical case and squats down. Instantly, his hand is on the man's neck and his fingers are searching for his pulse.
When he finds it, he's not flattered. Fast and erratic thumps against his fingertips, mirroring the hunter's heartbeat.
Dean grabs him by the shoulder and turns him onto his back. He brushes long bangs of chestnut-brown hair out of his face and holds his flat palm close over his nose and mouth, while his look roams over the man's bare chest and towards the bandage, covering half of his stomach on the left side.
There's blood seeping through.
It's taking the Winchester the better half of an hour, until he manages to drag Sam back into the room and maneuver him onto the bed again. He sets another vein catheter at the back of the man's hand and attaches it to one of the prepared saline drips he's put on the nightstand.
Once that's done, he moves to get his duffel and case and places them on the table at the end of the bed. He opens the case. Revealing an assortment of vials, pre-arranged syringes filled with liquids and marked with badges revealing their contents.
Dean thinks for a long moment which one to choose, and decides that he'll need some more time to handle the mess in the kitchen and to set everything up as he wants it to be. So, he goes for the real heavy stuff to buy himself another five hours for now.
He injects the complete content of the syringe he chooses into the saline drip, and squeezes the bag to speed up the drip and get some of it into the hunter's blood-steam faster than it'd take if he'd just let drip by its own.
Dean check's Sam's pulse and when it's slowing down and the drugs are doing their work, he packs up the case and carries it and the duffel into his room. He dumps his gear on the bed and pulls a bottle, latex gloves and two cloths out of it.
When he leaves his room, he locks it down and walks into the kitchen. Once there, he goes on the hunt for a bucket, which he fills up with hot water and dumps his cloths into it.
Dean's not a notorious man when it comes to cleaning up, but when it's about his job and the things that he does to satisfy his needs, he's conscientious.
He pours the entire bucket over the kitchen-table. Then he pours some of the bottle's content on it and starts to clean the surface with a scrubber and the clothes.
Half through his task at hand, he strips off his gloves and checks on Sam's I.V. There's not a lot of its content left, so he speeds it up some and exchanges it when it's due. The second one he spikes with morphine, since he figures, even if the man's down under, he might feel the pain his wound has to cause.
For once, he's not content with the knowledge, that someone's in agony and maybe suffering. He doesn't want the man to feel any pain. He doesn't want him to be hurting – specially not because of the killer's hands.
Dean makes sure, that Sam's well settled and as comfortable as possible before he leaves him to himself again.
Another three hours later, the kitchen looks like nothing has ever happened there. Much to Dean's satisfaction.
With the knowing in mind, that he's made a good job, he heads back to his room after deposing the mess he's left behind while trying to save the hunter's life and flops down on top of his bed, where he falls asleep short after.
~ The Black Beast ~
The alarm of Dean's phone goes off about five hours later, which means it's eight o'clock in the morning.
He doesn't want to get up, but he knows he has to.
So, he makes himself coffee, checks on Sam who's still out for the count, gives him a reduced dose of the morphine and gets the handcuffs from his back-pocket, with which he's cuffing Sam's wrists to the bed so he won't get wrong ideas if he'd wake up while Dean's still busy.
The Winchester's taking a long hot shower, enjoying the water-pressure.
He makes use of his time under the water, to think about himself. He rarely does that, since he's never felt the urge to muse and overthink about what he's done so far and what he is about to do.
When he's done with styling his ridiculously awesome hair, he makes himself breakfast consisting of scrambled eggs and bacon.
He wolves down the food like a starving man and empties the better half of the coffee he brewed beforehand.
Dean glances at the watch and decides that it's time to check on the hunter again. The man is supposed to wake up anytime soon now, since he hasn't given him anything since last night. So, he fills one of the paper-cups with water and takes off.
The hunter's eyes are on half-mast when he enters his room.
Dean can tell, the man's pretty much out of it, and isn't aware of his surroundings and his company yet. But he will be in a couple of hours, and that somehow bothers him.
But he can't keep the man under the heavy sedation either for any longer if he wants him to not suffer from pneumonia or thrombose. Other than his concerns about the man's physical state he's worried about, are his visions. He's curious about what he thinks that Dean has to do with these visons, and he thinks about the demon turning him into a cold-blooded psychopath.
His mind is full with questions aimed at himself and some at the hunter.
He needs to figure out what makes Samuel Campbell so special, that Dean doesn't want to torture and kill him like he usually would've done. He needs to figure out, if there's something else behind the demon's intentions in turning him into a serial-killer.
Well, Dean's sure it's all himself doing what he does. And he's sure, that the demon only had given him a nudge into the right direction back then.
He's never thought about it though, but now – after going through Sam's Journal – he gets aware of the fact, that he barely remembers what happened before his FATHER got possessed.
Something tells him, that he has to figure out things about his past. That he must remember what it was like before.
~ The Black Beast ~
Dean waits patiently in the recliner, watching Sam drift in and out of consciousness for the upcoming couple of hours. In between, he gets himself coffee and chips and beer, while he waits some more time.
Eventually, it's already evening, when Sam regains consciousness and seems coherent enough to become aware about where and with whom he is.
Dean inserts a light-blue liquid from one of the syringes into the port of Sam's vein catheter and returns to the recliner where he sits down again.
"There you go.", Dean says and leans forward in the recliner, a cup of coffee in his right hand. "About time you wake up, Rapunzel."
Sam's too groggy to realize it's the killer talking to him at first, but when he finally does, his eyes snap open and he casts his look towards the recliner.
He also realizes, that he's cuffed to the bed and he yanks at his bindings as forceful as he possibly can (that's not quite powerful, but he tries anyway, just to make his point).
Dean moves and rises from the recliner. He reaches for the cup on the nightstand and tugs his hand under Sam's neck to lift his head up a bit.
Sam tries to turn away from the touch, but his head feels way to heavy and his muscles too weak.
"Drink.", Dean orders him and puts the cup to the man's dry lips.
Sam takes a small sip, wetting his tongue and throat. Sam's thankful for the cool liquid, but he's also aware that he's at the other man's mercy and that he's everything but safe. So, he drinks some more and doesn't fight it, because who knows when he'd get him something to drink again.
Other than that, he doesn't feel like fighting at the moment anyway.
Sam's pretty sure he's not even in the mood to bargain with the man above him in any way right now. Which feels actually weird, but he doesn't care.
"So. I have some questions." Dean takes away the cup and sits back down in the recliner. "About your visions."
Sam clears his raw throat and licks over his lower lip. "You read my Journal?" He's staring daggers at the man beside him – because he can't actually physically stab him.
"Quite interesting reading material." Dean's jaw is set and his emerald-green eyes are sharp as he watches the hunter. "Visions, Sam. – I want to know about them."
"You read everything about them." Sam's voice is hoarse and raw and it actually hurts to talk.
"I certainly don't. – I'm sure you didn't write everything into your Journal. – Tell me what's not written."
Sam blows out a shuddering breath and winces when he shifts his butt. "Everything I can remember is noted there. – Why didn't you kill me right away? Would've been too fast? Wouldn't get you off like it's supposed to?"
Dean shrugs, a grin spreading over his lips that won't reach his eyes. "Yeah. – Weird thing is, I don't feel like killing you." He purses his lips and leans back. "I'm curious what makes you so special that I'm not tempted to watch you suffocate and drown on your blood." He cocks an eyebrow and chuckles wickedly. "I could do it anyway though. Just to make a point."
Sam's eyes narrow and suspicion creeps into them when he eyes the human monster in the recliner beside his bed.
"You wouldn't." It's a realization Sam has, and doesn't know why he has it, but it's there. He can tell the man won't kill him for some reason.
"Nah. – You're right. I won't.", Dean admits – surprised about himself that he does so. "Like I said, you're a special one, and I'm curious. I'd love to know why it's different with you." He pauses. "So. – What's not written in the Journal?"
"I think it's some sort of connection. – The closer I got to you, the more intense the visions became. I don't know why. – No psychic could tell. No witch. No spell.", Sam tells him calmly and tugs at his bindings again.
Dean purses his lips. "You saw everything I did?"
Sam sniffs. "Bits and pieces.", he admits.
"The point in capturing me was, to set an end to the visions of yours?" Dean already knows, but he asks anyway. – Not that he interprets something wrong, or misses out on something.
Sam nods. The movement doesn't do his fuzzy brain any favor and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment.
"Why not kill me?" Of course, Dean wants to know.
"Because it's not how it has to go down. – If there's a way to get you out of that psychotic state of mind you're in, I'll try." It's not a secret either, so he tells him and waits, assess the killer's features, his body-language.
"So … you're telling me, you wanna try and cure me from being a serial-killer?" He can't suppress a chuckle that erupts deep in his throat and blurts out from his mouth before he can stop it. "Like a dog hit by a car? Taking him in? Making him whole again?"
A smile tugs on Sam's lips. He's never seen it that way, but now that he hears the reverence, he's pretty sure it's exactly what he is trying. "Yeah, something like that." It's quite amusing at some point.
"But you're aware that I'm not a dog, right?" Dean's not quite sure if the hunter has a nut loose.
"Yes. – You're a human for what reasons ever – most likely due the influence from a demon – turned evil.", Sam states. He's not sure why he says that, but he does it anyway, because that's what pops up in his head first. "And despite that you went dark side, I dearly hope that you can be cured and that I don't have to kill you to get rid of my visions. – Because if I can't cure you it means, that everything that I'm trying to fix is damned to go to hell."
He is generous about talking about what's in his mind, and that's not something he usually does. A realization dawns at the back of his mind then and he thinks for a moment.
"You've drugged me, didn't you?", because that's exactly why he'd answer all the questions freely probably.
Dean smiles and this time it reaches his eyes and he's looking utterly amused.
"Yeah. – Kinda. Easier for the both of us if you're compliant during my interrogation." He tilts his head to the side and watches the man's face closely now. "I don't want to hurt you, and I certainly don't want to kill you because of unknown reasons. – Besides, my drugs do wonders, instead of the stuff the military uses to interrogate their prisoners." Dean shrugs.
There's silence. The both men keep staring at each other square in their faces.
"You're in any pain?", Dean asks and breaks the silence.
Sam shakes his head and regrets it in an instant. It makes him feel nauseous and dizzy and his brain feels as if it's floating freely around in his skull and thumps against its walls when he moves.
He squeezes his eyes shut and grunts, trying to stop the weird sensation washing over him.
"Don't you worry. – It'll fade.", Dean says and straightens up with a sigh. "Inevitable side-effects of the drugs, kiddo."
Sam wants to curse, tell him that he's an asshole. But he doesn't, because he doesn't feel like he's supposed to care anyway.
"I'll give you something for the pain though.", Dean says, gets up and moves towards the nightstand, taking one of the syringes in his hand, reads the label, and puts it back on the table. "It'll help when you start to feel your injury again. – Only enough to take the edge from it though. You're supposed to move, get your circulation going.", he explains clinically.
"So, as long as the drug lasts, I'll help you to get into the bathroom, you take care of your business and get cleaned up. – When that's done, I'll give you the morphine."
Sam thinks it's a cool idea, because – now that the man is mentioning it – his bladder is about to burst. And yeah, he actually doesn't want to feel any pain, and he's not certain why he's ever refused taking pain-meds before in his life when he's been injured.
Dean does as he had said. He removes the empty saline drip from the catheter to Sam's hand and closes it with a red small screw.
He helps Sam get up from bed, guides the swaying tall man towards the bathroom, helps him with his jeans, which get lost there and replaced with loose sweatpants.
Dean helps him to sit down on the toilet and waits without leaving the man out of his eyes. Sam doesn't seem to mind – which is because of the drugs, Dean knows that. He's sure, the hunter's going to punch him for that later on – at least he'll try.
When Sam's done, Dean tells him to stand up and he pulls his boxers and sweatpants up. He adjusts the waistband so, that the pants are tugged short above his hip-bones, and he leads him back to the bed.
Sam crawls onto it awkwardly and lays down on his injured side.
Dean tells him to turn on his back, that it's no good to fall asleep like that, and Sam obeys without any signs of protest.
Usually, Dean loves his vics all compliant and obedient, but not so this one. It doesn't feel natural having the hunter that way. He prefers the fighter, the bitchy one. The one who wouldn't - for anything in this world – do as Dean Winchester orders him.
~ The Black Beast ~