Chapter 5
Sam does know that detoxing in Bobby's panic room would be safer. Knowing that doesn't make him feel less like he got away with something, not having to lay on that nasty metal bed, hallucinating alone; shaking, sweating, terrified that this time it would kill him and he would land in hell like all of the monsters he has hunted and killed his whole life.
Why this, again, now?
Sam is surprised that Dean was weaning him off of the drug instead of Sam having to go cold turkey. Cold turkey was hard, bitter, like a demon gripping Sam and throwing him around. He was at the mercy of the black demon blood that was running through his veins; has been since he was six months old and yellow eyes bleed in his mouth. He would always be tainted, a monster, so why fight it?
He doesn't fight the burning, angry self-hatred either. He can still hear the phone voice mail, echoing in his ear: you're a monster, Sammy, a blood sucking vampire. Dad always said I'd have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm done trying to save you.
A part of Sam was done trying to save himself, as well. He had stopped praying ages ago. Praying to God, if He was real, to angels, even to Castiel, to Michael. There was a lonely sadness deep rooted in Sam's eyes; in the way his bones and blood ached, demon blood pulsing through him. It felt so good; the high hadn't yet faded but Sam knows he would come down soon.
The two brothers had been sleeping on the floor, Sam's back awkwardly leaning against the motel wall. Pillow fluff from Sam's telekinetic joke was everywhere. At some point in the middle of the night Dean had woken up and staggered over to one of the motel beds and gingerly went back to sleep. Sam struggles to his feet, he is dizzy, the motel room is spinning.
Dean was asleep, and all Sam wanted to do was wander around outside, using his powers, hunt down some demons, drink them down, kill them, save the world by getting rid of those vile creatures and getting another power high again.
No, Sam told himself. It's not about the high. It's about killing Lucifer.
Yeah, you go ahead and tell yourself that, his conscience whispers. Go ahead and tell yourself that.
But Dean is sound asleep, so Sam staggers outside anyways, draws a pentagram on the black pavement with white chalk that he always kept with him, and summons and traps a demon.
The demon that comes is real pretty, short curly blond hair, pale skin, silver circles under its pitch-black eyes. It is wearing a white dress and black ballet shoes. it is grinning, rage and sorrow and evil dancing in its wild eyes. It thinks it is here to kill. But it is here t be killed; it is trapped; Sammy would rip into its neck and destroy it. Rid the world of another nasty old demon.
The demon looked like it was only 15, maybe its vessel was 15, but looks could be deceiving. Sam holds his demon killing knife for protection and saunters into the pentagram. He slices the pretty demon's neck and sinks his teeth into it. He devours her blood. He drinks it all, drains it, grinning, high, excited. His mouth and chin is red, bloody. He drains the demon and then stabs the demon with the demon killing knife that Ruby had given him when they were hunting Lilith. He felt so good.
Even so, he can hear Dean's voice inside his head. You did it again, Sammy. When are you going to stop? If you don't, you'll become a monster.
But I'm already a monster, Sam whispers to no one, the sky black as it is barely 4 am, the moon bright hanging high up in the sky. The black pavement, the black sky, space and all of its stars, the black eyes of the dead demon, the darkness swirling around in Sammy's veins.
He discards of the demon and its host's body, knowing that he killed her too, the girl the demon was possessing. He feels bad about it, but he had to do it. He couldn't go back to the pain, the seizures, all of it. But he hates himself for this; this isn't who he is. He's the boy who went to Standford, he's the hunter, he's someone with psychic gifts; he isn't a killer, he isn't an addict. It twists inside of him, and then the high from the demon blood comes, and he doesn't care anymore.
He paces around the lonely, dead empty town. No one is awake yet, no one but Sam, and he pulls at the stars in the sky, bringing them down to earth, shattering. At least he tries, and instead the lights in the town shatter, the garbage cans in the back by the motel is flung into the air and then falls down again. Sam paces back and forth, feeling so good, finally getting away from the self-hatred and pain and self-pity. Away from everything in his life that he hates, a vessel filled with rage.
When he goes back up to the motel room, Dean is still asleep, and Sam climbs into the other bed. He turns onto his side and watches his brother sleep. He watches his brother's eyes blink, obviously dreaming, so serene. Sam is very happy right now. He also thinks of Castiel right now, the way he is always so literal. He wonders if Castiel still thinks that Sam is an abomination, but Sam lets that thought drift off until it is far away, far away.
And so happy, so full of bliss, Sam drifts off to sleep and finally has peaceful dreams. It doesn't matter that he messed up; Dean was letting him wean off of the demon blood anyways. Drinking a whole demon isn't weaning off, Sammy, Sam can hear his brother's voice in his head. Whatever. It was okay. Sleep came.
"Wake up, sleepyhead!" Dean is shouting.
Sam has a piercing headache from using telekinesis, but the rest of his pain is still gone. Just the headache, proof that he had really use power, is alright.
"5 minutes!" Sam yells sleepily, groaning.
They had pretty much finished off the case and were leaving town. They would go someplace to research how to stop Lucifer.
Dean gives Sam more than 5 minutes. He has empathy for his brother, knowing that his brother is dealing with an addiction and in pain and a little bit of extra sleep, his Sammy deserved that.
"I'm up!" Sam shouts, finally forcing himself to sit up and jump out of bed. He isn't shaking. Things are right.
Dean drinks coffee and alcohol and a pastry. Sam has orange juice, a bagel with cream cheese, some salad. All via free motel breakfast buffet.
Then the two brothers get in the car.
"Are you feeling any better?" Dean asks.
"Better than ever," Sam says, then adds, "For now."
"Okay, lets hit the road," Dean says.
They drive to Bobby's to take a break from hunting to do research and stop the apocalypse. They had taken down two of the horsemen. Sam dreaded getting there because he knew that Bobby and Dean might lock him in the panic room again. That was never fun, he so dreaded it.
But maybe they won't put me in there this time, Sam reasons to himself. But the fear has already burrowed in. Sam cannot escape.
Meanwhile, somewhere far away, Castiel is in Heaven watching Sam and Dean Winchester. He always has, long before he made himself known to the two hunters. Alone, watching the Earth spin and spin, flying in space and watching. He had been ordered to watch, so he watches, that's all. In Cas there is a pure, radiant white light. It glows in his soul as he flies and protects.
When angels fall to earth, they do not become demons. They don't lose their grace. Castiel cannot just heal Sam, he is not allowed to, Heaven forbidden it because it was part of Sam and Dean's destiny to go through this, to become Lucifer's and Michael's vessels. Castiel is just a regular angel, often confused by humanity. The archangels are bigger, more holy, purer, more right.
But Castiel obeys God even though he has not met the Big Guy yet. Well, he met Chuck, but he did not yet find out that Chuck is God.
Castiel does not understand why humans have wars, why they hurt and kill and have so much pain. Isn't it easier to just obey? To become pure, fall into line, do the right thing, and sin no more?
Did Jesus die and suffer for nothing? Humanity seemed to just get worse, more killing, more diseases, more taint on humanity.
But Sam and Dean were Cas's friends. Not angels, but powerful. They were hunters, destroying demons, doing God's work. So, in that way, Cas figured, they were like angels, like him. Right?
Watching Sam suffer so much hurts Castiel, especially since he cannot just go touch his forehead and heal him. Watching Sam mess up, kill, drink blood. Watching Sam and Dean, arms linked together asleep with relief from everything that was being thrown at them.
And every time Dean prays to Castiel, Castiel shows up, tries to help, does his best. He does his best because he loves Sam and Dean. He can help in the normal, human: by being there, by being a shoulder to lean against, to awkwardly say the wrong thing.
So Castiel does that. When Dean prays to Cas, Cas shows up in the back seat as Dean and Sam are driving to Bobby's.
Awkwardly, Cas looks at Sam and shrugs. He almost says, I know what you did last night. I know that you killed an innocent girl. A demon was killed too, but an innocent girl got caught in the crossfire.
Instead, Cas says, "Hi Sam, Hi Dean."
Sam shrugs his shoulders and sighs.
"Hi Cas," Sam says. Castiel can hear the hurting in the words, the can you heal me of my addiction, purify me, get rid of all of this evil in me, unspoken.
And Dean is grinning.
"You came, Cas," Dean says.
"I always come when you call," the forlorn angel speaks.
"Sam relapsed again," Dean says to Castiel.
Sam feels awkward and nudges his brother. He doesn't want Dean to tell the angel about Sam's relapse. Too bad Dean already told Cas. Dean prays to Cas about precious Sammy all the time.
Castiel shrugs, wishing he could help. All he can do is shrug, and say, "I know." Castiel is an angel. He isn't God; he isn't even an archangel.
Bobby's house is in South Dakota, so the two hunters and the one angel have a long drive. It is probably a three-day drive, so after being in the car for many hours, they stop at another motel.
Sam is still high from the demon he drank, plus a little of Crowly's blood still lingering in his system. It will be at least a day before the withdrawal starts again and Sam feels very relieved.
Before checking into the motel, they stop at a little gas station shop just off the highway to buy comfort food and alcohol. Alcohol isn't Sam's drug of choice, but he does enjoy a little bit every now and then. He doesn't need it like Dean and Bobby do. Castiel certainly doesn't need it. Either way, they pay for the food and drinks and the cashier puts the stuff in a white plastic bag for them.
Then they drive over to the motel. They check in. Castiel gets his own room, even though he does not need to sleep. For now, though, the three men are in Sam and Dean's room drinking bourbon and talking. Castiel knows all of their secrets because he is an angel and therefore sometimes, he can read minds. Thats one of the ways angels watch over people.
"So, you relapsed again, Sam," Castiel says.
Sam shrugs. "Yeah, I guess," Sam says.
"You guess?" Castiel asks.
Sam laughs bitterly. "Um. Yeah. I did. I relapsed," Sam says. "It's not the end of the world."
It wasn't the end of the world; it was the way Sam would stop the end of the world.
"How are you feeling now?" Castiel asks.
"Okay, I guess. For now," Sam says.
"He isn't okay," Dean mentions.
Sam pokes his brother.
"Stop it Dean. I am okay," Sam says. Even though he knows it is a lie.
Castiel sits at the table, occasionally sipping bourbon, even though it doesn't affect him.
The alcohol blurs Sam's high. It isn't a high, Sam says to himself. Its raw power. It's what I need to defeat Lucifer.
The next morning, before Sam wakes up, Dean calls Bobby. He tells Bobby that Sam relapsed and that cold turkey wouldn't work this time, and, oh if you can, get a stash of some anti-seizure pills. Not that Sam would want to take them, or that they would really help with demonic seizures, but maybe it would help take the edge off a little bit.
"Cold turkey is always dangerous, ya idjit," Bobby said. Although both times in the past Bobby had agreed to cold turkey. Bobby and Dean both had, not realizing how damn dangerous it was. With any drug it was dangerous; with a supernatural drug like demon blood it was even more dangerous.
But both of them agreed that if it got worse, Sam could get weaned off in the panic room, every time he relapsed. Sam might hate that cold room, but that would teach him his lesson.
"How far away are you guys?" Bobby asks. Meaning to say, is Sam safe detoxing in the car?
"About two days of a drive now," Dean says, not knowing that Sam had drunk another demon, not just the tiny vial Dean had got him from Crowly.
"Okay, drive safe," Bobby says, meaning, keep your eyes on that boy, Dean.
Bobby is an addict too, he damn well knows it, he knows he will never kick his alcohol habit. Which means he knows how far an addict will go to his drug of choice. Manipulation, lies, stealing.
Stealing lives. Demon lives, but lives.
Sam doesn't know why, but for some reason he wants to run to Chuck, the guy who wrote about their lives. He doesn't really know who or what Chuck is, just that he is a prophet and that he knows everything that happens to Sam and Dean, which means Chuck is the only one who really knows Sam. The only man who understands Sam, doesn't think Sam is a monster.
Yeah, it is annoying that the guy wrote about their lives. Advertising it to nerds in bookstores and music stores. That was what Chuck did, Sam guessed. Chuck was a writer.
He almost says to Dean, let's go visit Chuck!
For some reason Sam starts thinking running to Chuck would just fix everything. Chuck would know, Chuck would understand.
Sam knows that Dean hates Chuck. Dean hates that Chuck wrote about their lives in order to make money. Sam just likes Chuck. He has never told Dean this.
I don't hang with hypocrites but I'm quick to call that kettle black
Swear I'll say it to your face when I'm talking behind your back
My thoughts are kind of dirty but my clothes are clean
What you see is what you get, but what you get ain't what it seems
I'm just human buried in denial
I judge people and i read the Bible
I drink too much but my body is a temple
I love Jesus but I cuss, just a little
My heart is kind of dirty but his blood is clean
So what you see is what you get, but what you get ain't what it seems
~Kylie Morgan Cuss a Little
The country song came on the radio in the Impala and Sam can't help but relate to it. He thinks about all of the Bibles in the millions of motels he's lived in on the road. He knows angels are real. But what about God, what about Jesus? He doubts that anyone, not even God, can make Sam real. In fact, God is probably as much as a dick as the angels.
You know that isn't true, a voice in Sam's mind whispers; maybe his intuition. Maybe it is the humour in him telling him, Let's go visit Chuck!
They don't know who Chuck is yet; not even Castiel knows.
Anyways, Sam dreads getting to Bobby's. He is afraid that Bobby won't agree with Dean about weaning off the demon blood instead of being locked up and going cold turkey, in so so so much pain. Bobby would never agree, Sam rationalizes to himself, and maybe it's what is meant to be anyways, that he deserves the pain, deserves death even. So yes, Sam is afraid.
He is afraid that he will start shaking again soon, or that he won't start shaking soon enough and Dean will find out what Sam did. He never would catch a break, woul he?
The road is monotonous, the music is loud, and fate was on the way. So Sam would accept it. He would accept whatever came; yes, it was his own damn fault. He would face the music. He would be strong.
To be continued...