Chapter 8
It was, of course, getting worse. Sam was on the couch squeezing his eyes shut. Feeling too weak and shaky to stand up and walk to the bedroom. His whole body achy, and the hallucinations started. It started with voices, negative self-talk, you are terrible, a monster, an unclean thing. Sam tried, of course, as he always did, to appear strong and okay on the surface. During demon blood detox, it was a million times harder, and although he stifled screams that became moans; he was yelling for the blood.
"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, I NEED IT NOW. It's twisting in me, killing me, begging for more, I need it Dean!" Sam screamed.
Sam knew they had got some for him to wean off, but he also knows that both Dean and Bobby and even Cas are a little bit against weaning off. It's something supernatural, not a drug. The same rules did not apply.
"BUT I NEED IT!" Sam screams, not really realizing that Dean and Bobby are asleep and the demon blood is locked away.
He could get up, wander outside. They had trusted Sam, they hadn't handcuffed him. Yet, not yet. Which also meant no protection from the seizures that would surely be coming, Sam realized. Panic twists inside Sam's gut, twisting up through his esophagus, his lungs, his heart. What will happen if the seizures get too bad?
But Sam's legs are too shaky to get up and wander around the city, into the dark night, alone and afraid, only wanting for one thing - for the pain and anguish to be gone, for sweet demon blood, for bliss.
In a moment of weakness, not really in control of his own body, Sam gets off the couch. He starts to stumble to the kitchen, maybe just water or juice, he can pretend it is the blood. Maybe the water would purify him, get away the damn need, the damn darkness that was clawing around inside of his body and his soul.
So his intention is getting water, sit in the kitchen and watch his breath. To sit at the table and look out the window, listen to the rain patter down, the darkness and the moon. He wonders if it is still beautiful.
But he collapses before he gets anywhere near the kitchen. He lays on the carpet floor. His breath is unsteady, his pulse erratic. He leans over and dry heaves. Nothing is coming out. He curls into a ball. He tries not to scream, not wanting to be ashamed or weak. But then he sees Ruby, dancing around wildly laughing.
"You were so weak. It was so easy to manipulate you into this!" Ruby screams, twirling her soft black hair in her fingers. There is a manical laugh on her pallid face.
"GO AWAY!" Sam screams, not sure if she is real.
Is she real? He needs her blood. Needs it.
"Nope, Sammy. I'm not real. Sorry kiddo!" the hallucination that looks like Ruby whispers. There is such vivid evil dancing in her eyes. Why hadn't he had seen it before, before he trusted her enough to drink her blood?
Then Dean is there, a different Dean, not the real Dean.
"You'll always be one of the monsters we hunt. Look at you, you trusted her. Well, it."
Was he an it now? Was the demon blood inside of him slowly replacing the human blood?
What time was it? Probably way into the night, 2 am. Then he can hear footsteps walking down the stairs. At first Sam is afraid, then he is relieved, confused, hopeful. Hopeful that it is the real Dean, coming to rub his upper back, get the knots out, get the pain out.
It is Dean, sauntering down the stairs, a manly smile on his face.
"How are you doing, kiddo?" Dean asks as he walks over to where Sam is on the floor.
"Not that hot," Sam says. A shudder runs through his body.
Dean puts his hand on Sam's shoulder and presses down a little, trying to massage away the obvious anguish Sam was in.
"Come on, I'll help you walk back to the couch," Dean said.
"Need it. I need it," Sam mutters. He tries to stand up. His legs are shaking. It takes him longer than it normally would.
"We said we'd give you a little when you absolutely need it, life or death you know. Wait it out a little, Sammy. That shit is poison," Dean utters.
Liquid poison. Liquid power.
"I'll...I'll try," Sam says.
Both Sam and Dean were too tired to help Sam get up the staircase and into a real bed. The couch would have to be enough for now.
"Will you stay with me? Don't let it...it's in me...don't let it hurt me," Sam says.
"Yeah, okay," Dean says.
Sam lays on the couch and closes his eyes. Dean sits near him and watches over him, the way an angel would. The way the good angels would, not the dick angels who only cared about red tape and assured absolute destruction. Dean loves his little brother so much. He tries not to be angry that Sam relapsed. Instead he sat watching over Sammy. It was an addiction, right? Dean finally realized that it wasn't - not fully, at least - Sam's fault. Right?
But he chose Ruby over me. A chick, yes, a demon chick, a monster under the guise of a beautiful savior. Why not me?
Dean loves Sam more than anything, but this habit...it was darker than anything, shit, and it had such a hand on his Sammy. Evil always lurking. He was introduced to it when he was a six-month-old baby. The rules had always been rigged. Right?
Sam finally drifts off to sleep. Every now and then his body shakes. Occasionally he screams, battling nasty nightmares. Sometimes nightmares could wound him - anyone, really - more than anything else could.
Fear of eternal damnation; fear of becoming completely evil and wrong and twisted. So far off of the plantation.
Dean has always been a light sleeper. He decides to sleep on the floor so he can be there, and alerted, if something really bad happened to Sam. The detox symptoms, if they got a lot worse. But soon he too drifted off to sleep, happy and at ease because he had not yet had to feed Sam his drug, the demon blood. Even letting him have a few drops made something twist inside of Dean. But what if the detox was too powerful this time, and not having it meant death? He couldn't live without Sam. He couldn't, and there weren't handbooks for this kind of thing.
What is, what once was, what is yet to be - it was all there, ready for the hunters. A lot of shit was coming. Can they handle it?
To be continued...
