Flashback time (as promised at the end of the last chapter!)
Sam awoke with a start, heart pounding. The room was dark, and for a moment he was back in his cell with Little Fucker. He had been dreaming that the evil son of a bitch had somehow crawled down inside his throat and was ripping his guts out. Panic and nausea subsided when he felt soft bedding gripped between his palms, and noticed the thin orange glow from streetlamps below the hotel window. A burst of relief escaped his lips, and he pushed his hair away from his forehead, wiping away beads of sweat.
Sam was still tired, groggy more than anything, but his bladder began cursing at him to get up and make a visit to the bathroom. Fumbling around in the dark, dry-mouthed and sore, Sam flipped the switch on a small table lamp next to his bed. Dean's bed was rumpled but empty.
"Dean?" He called out loudly in case his brother's bladder had had the same idea as his. He slowly stood up, every muscle in his body aching. He was mildly shocked at the amount of blood that had stained the sheets as he had slept. The bedding, plus his fresh t-shirt and boxers, looked like something out of a horror movie. Hobbling across the bedroom, he opened the door to the bathroom, saw it was empty. He relieved himself then washed his hands, which re-opened some of the deeper cuts to the back of his fingers. He needed stitches just about everywhere, but they would have to wait until later. His brother could sew like a pro. In the meantime, he found a clean-ish toothbrush glass and gulped down as much water as he could. Then borrowed Dean's toothbrush and cleaned his teeth; something he hadn't done in weeks. He took his time, enjoying the sensation while it lasted.
Minty-fresh and somewhat hydrated, Sam clutched the sides of the small basin, staring at his bloodshot eyes in the mirror. How long had he slept? Now that he thought about it, he had no idea what time he crashed after eating yesterday. It had definitely been daylight, but that was all he knew for sure.
Stepping back into the bedroom he dug through his duffel bag and pulled out a spare cell phone. Chilly from only wearing t-shirt and boxers, Sam carefully dragged on socks and a hoodie as he waited for the phone to boot up. The time flashed on as 4:29 am. He dialled Dean's number, but hung up when Dean's phone started to vibrate on the side table next to his bed. What the hell?
Head still feeling like it was stuffed with nothing but cotton wool and violent dreams, Sam snuggled back down under his sheets, turning to face his brother's bed as he had done so many times in their lives.
Dean's duffel bag was stuffed under his bed.
Knowing Dean would be totally pissed if he found out Sam was snooping - but currently all out of giving a shit, Sam got back out of bed and carefully went through the bag looking for any clue as to what was going on inside his brother's head. It was hard at first; trying to avoid dripping blood onto any of Dean's stuff made the job slow going. So he found some band-aids and wrapped several of them around his fingers to keep them clean. Then decided to apply some self-adhesive bandages to the worst of the cuts on his torso and thighs while he was at it.
Turned out the snooping was a bust - there was nothing in Dean's bag to indicate where he currently was, or what was going on. Underwear, a couple of knives, cash, various pills of the illegal and legal sort; nothing unusual. Sam dry swallowed two of the painkillers and two antibiotic tablets, shoving the remainder of the packs in his hoodie pocket.
He pushed Dean's bag back under the bed, but kept hold of a lock picking set. Something strange was going on behind that inter-connecting door and now was the time to find out, before his brother got back from whatever club or pub he was at.
Feeling weird at possibly crashing into someone else's room half dressed, Sam pulled on jeans and boots. For all he knew, someone else had checked in whilst he had slept, and he could be about to surprise some unsuspecting couple. The blood-stained t-shirt felt itchy, but he'd have another shower later then let Dean stitch him up before changing into cleaner clothes. Quiet as a mouse, he picked the lock and softly swung the door open.
Luckily for him, the room was empty, so he flicked on a light to better look around. The bed was made, but messily, not up to house cleaning standards. No bags or cases were apparent, and Sam took all of two seconds to see the small wardrobe was empty. There was no sign that anyone was staying in the room. Had he made a mistake? Maybe the door did keep opening by accident, as Dean had said yesterday, but the lock seemed pretty firmly closed just now. And the look on Dean's face as he slammed that door shut definitely told a story. Sam needed to know what that story was.
As the room contained no other useful clues, Sam went into the bathroom. It had a faint smell of strawberry shampoo, but any bottles or lotions had been removed. A few strands of long blonde hair were trapped in the plug hole, but they could have belonged to anyone. With only one place left to look before admitting defeat, Sam pulled out a small wicker garbage bin from underneath the basin. There wasn't much in there; empty crumpled packaging for a face cream, and some tissues used as lipstick blotters.
A woman had stayed here last – no question. If it was just some hook-up of Dean's then why would she be staying in a separate room? And why would Dean try to hide it? Still holding one of the lipstick stained tissues, Sam was deep in thought as sat down on the closed toilet seat. There were too few clues to go on. He would have to ask Dean, but if his brother didn't want to talk about whatever had gone on in Sam's absence, there wasn't much he could do about it.
"What ya doing Sammy?" Dean was standing in the bathroom doorway. Swaying gently, voice thick with alcohol, his green eyes glittered with suspicion. Sam was treading on rocky ground here - he knew that Dean could be at his most sober – and dangerous – whilst drunk.
"Where's Cas?" Sam tried changing the subject.
"Off doing whatever it is Cas does." Dean wasn't going to be that easily dissuaded. "I said, what are you doing in here, Sammy?"
Sam stood up, and went to push past his brother. Dean held out a hand, raised the palm to Sam's chest. "Uh uh. Nope little brother. What you doing in here? Spill…"
"Just like you said Dean, the busted door opened up again whilst I was asleep. I got up for a piss, but curiosity got the better of me, I guess." Sam was pleased at his quick thinking – especially as his brain was still woollen. Now Dean either had to go back on a previous lie, or accept Sam's version of the truth.
Dean raised an eyebrow. "So why's my lock-picking case on the floor outside the open door then huh?"
Ah, shit. Sam had no answer. He puffed out heavily and sat back down on the toilet seat. "Ok. You got me. Who stayed in this room Dean?"
Dean's voice grew angry. "I'm the one asking the questions here – why'd you break into this room?"
"Because something's going on with you and I wanted to know what!"
"So you went behind my back instead of just asking me?"
"Yesterday was too overwhelming to get into it. And you weren't here when I woke up. So yeah, I went snooping. I'm sorry Dean, but I didn't know where you were and I saw an opportunity to find out, without having to rake up whatever's obviously eating you up from the inside out. You're hurting Dean, and you need to tell me why!"
For a moment, Sam thought his brother was actually going to talk. His eyes softened and he opened his mouth a fraction. Then the moment passed. Dean turned on his heels and loudly, but unsteadily, marched back into their room. Sam hobbled behind him. "Dean!"
Dean was screwing the top off of a bottle of Tesco's own brand whiskey. "So that's your answer to everything, again. Drown yourself in the cheapest bottle of whatever crap you can find instead of telling me what's happened…"
"Oh for fucks sake Sam, you're not my wife. You don't like my drinking then fucking leave…"
Sam pulled the bottle out of Dean's hand, and drank deeply, enjoying the raw burn against his sore throat. Then shoved it back to his brother. "Seriously Dean? It's not about the drink! It's about you not talking to me!" He sat down heavily on his bed. "I'm tired in every way a person can be. I've spent the last three weeks being starved, tortured…and the worst part of it all, the very worst part was that I thought you were dead. But you're not! Against all the odds, you're wonderfully, amazingly alive. And three-quarters broken…"
"Sam…" Dean's eyes were wet. But he still couldn't bring himself to bare his soul. So Sam gave his brother a break.
"Ok. It's ok man. Tell me whenever you're ready." Sam smiled, as he held out the olive branch. "Just don't expect me to ignore my instincts and not investigate an intriguingly mysterious door…"
Dean raised up his chin, scratched roughly at the stubble underneath it. "Let's go get breakfast."
