Altitude
Chapter Four
Author's Note: I never intended this to be a multi-chapter fic, but the reviews I got kept inspiring me. Do drop a line; good, bad or ugly.
Despite the late hour, the sky was bright, low, heavy clouds an orange swathe above the street lights, the air filled with a flurry of tumbling flakes. The rumble of an engine cut out, leaving the only sound in the gentle night the buzzing of the neon sign above the motel.
Slipping out of the driver's seat, Sam drank a long breath of the cool air, tipping his head back, taking a moment to appreciate the feel of fragile ice crystals melting across his eyelids. He sighed, rolling his shoulders. It had been a long couple of days.
Six hours the day before to drive what should have taken two – road conditions had been insanely bad and what with weekend traffic and a five car pileup…
Then that morning they'd driven four hours through snow and ice only to be stopped by a cop who informed them the road was closed due to avalanche. Then four long, grueling hours back. Just over eight stressful, dangerous hours on the road to end up back at the same inn they'd stayed at the night before.
And Dean – Sam sighed again – Dean was falling apart.
He knew there'd be some kind of withdrawal from whatever his brother had been taking. But it was way worse than he'd hoped; worse than he'd expected.
Sam had quickly researched every kind of "pep" pill he could find, so he'd have some preparation… But these were Winchester-brand; they could have had anything in them. Hell, for all he knew, Dean could have been cutting in heroine – though he doubted it.
The first morning had been all right – when Dean's hands trembled but slightly and the headache was only a dull throb.
Now… Now his hands were shaking so badly he could barely keep them crushed against his skull and the word "headache" had lost all meaning, becoming more of a joke than anything.
And that was just what he couldn't help but admit to. Sam didn't like thinking about what Dean could be hiding – the elder was always the sort to endure silently. Hell, he probably wouldn't even have mentioned the headache, save that the pain had become so intense he couldn't see straight and it was simply too dangerous for him to drive.
Sam opened his eyes to the dancing snow. He brother was suffering. For one, brief moment, he'd actually felt guilty for having caused such misery, but he knew he'd done the right thing getting Dean to chuck the pills. If getting off them was this hard…
They must have been dangerous.
Shaking snow from his hair, Sam reached into the back seat, hauling out the heavy bags of Chinese takeout. He'd had to drive all over town to find the place, but just couldn't bare the thought of bringing Dean deep fried grease in a paper wrapper. Not again.
Nudging the door shut with his knee, Sam crossed the parking lot to the room. Taking a deep breath he steeled himself – Dean was probably going to snap at him again. That was all right; he didn't mean it, he couldn't help it.
Turning the knob, he stepped in quietly, "Dean?"
The elder was hunched in one of the chairs, elbows braced on the table, shirtsleeves rolled up, the heels of his hands ground hard against his temples. The coffee pot on the table was empty again. Sam winced; he looked terrible.
"What?"
Forcing a grin, the younger kicked the door shut. "I brought dinner."
"Lovely."
Sam ignored his brother's tone. He could handle a cranky Dean. What he couldn't handle was a Dean dead from popping homemade pills – regardless of if he knew what he was doing when he made them.
"How're you doing?"
"Fan-fucking-tastic."
A thousand curt retorts flashed through his mind, but he said none of them. "Here," Sam jostled the bags onto the table. "A break from the Big Mac." He caught Dean's smirk, though the elder kept still in the chair.
Sam took the coffee pot, moving to the dresser to get another perking. Crossing back, he started unpacking the bags, setting the styrofoam containers in the middle of the table.
He bit his lip; Dean really looked horrible. "Here," the younger slid a plastic fork across the table to his brother. "Get some food into you, then you can take some more aspirin."
Dean didn't respond, sitting very still, trembling hands squeezing his skull.
"C'mon, man. You haven't really eaten all day."
"Why don't you just shut the fuck up, Sam?" Dean gritted his teeth, jabbing the heel of his hand into his forehead. "Shit."
The younger had actually jumped when his brother shouted, but let it go. "Well, I'm starving." He dug his own fork into the chow mien, determined.
"Sam…" the elder muttered through clenched teeth. "Look… I appreciate this…"
"I know." He gestured with his fork, "Just eat some while it's still hot, all right?"
Sam gnawed his lip as Dean stretched a shaking hand toward the fork. He stood quickly, retrieving the coffee pot.
"Dammit…"
The younger pretended not to notice the curse, or the trouble his brother was having managing the utensil. He wanted to help him, but wouldn't do that to Dean. Instead, he filled their mugs, leaving the pot on the table. Slipping back into his chair, he scooped up another mouthful of noodles, chewing automatically.
Dean groaned, dropping the fork and pressing both palms over his eyes.
"Headache's bad?" the younger asked sympathetically.
"Just a tickle."
"Dean, please eat something. You shouldn't be taking as much aspirin as you are on an empty stomach."
"You worry about the strangest things, Sammy…"
"Yeah…" the younger scooted the fork closer to his brother again. "Well, Heaven forbid someone actually worries about you…"
"Piss off!"
Sam squared his shoulders; he knew better than to be offended, but it was hard. He picked at the fried rice, "It's good, man. You're missing out."
"I'm not a child!"
The younger wondered if his brother would have taken a swing at him if it wouldn't have involved jostling his head in the process. He'd take a punch if it would grant Dean some relief, but knew it wouldn't.
Sighing, the elder grasped the fork, trying twice to spear a piece of chicken and it was an actual effort to get it to his mouth.
"Good, huh?"
"Look, Sam," Dean set the fork down again. "I'm feeling a little nauseous here…"
A little? The younger bit his lip harder; if his brother was admitting to some discomfort it was bad.
Dean closed his eyes, reaching for the coffee mug, glad Sam hadn't filled it full. Shaking hands struggled to bring it to his lips and he truly wished his head would simply implode and get it over with.
"Fuck, man…" Sam's eyes were somber and earnest. "I can't stand seeing you like this."
Dean jut snorted, clutching at his temples.
"You have any more of those pills?"
"I left them in the trash, Sam."
"Yeah, I know… Do you have another bottle somewhere?"
He didn't reply for a long moment, Sam prompting: "Dean?"
"In the trunk," the elder answered quickly. "But I swear I haven't touched them."
"I'm gonna go get them." Sam stood. "Maybe we should be easing you off those things instead of going cold turkey."
"Sam," he stopped his brother.
"Look, you made this promise to me, so I can let you out of it. This isn't working."
"Sam," his voice was firm. "I take one of those and I'm not going to stop."
"How long have you been taking them?"
Dean looked up at his brother with something akin to a sneer on his face. "Long time, Sam."
The younger inched back toward his chair. "Since I left?"
"Started 'bout a year after…" Dean dropped his voice, speaking into his mug, "Had a year to try everything else…"
Sam felt his heart catch, "What?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing? Dean what did you…" The younger steeled himself, "Alcohol?"
The elder gave a dry laugh that his brother didn't like at all. "Sure. You could start there…" He caught the look on Sam's face and snorted. "Don't worry. Dad caught onto the drinking pretty quick. His twelve step program consisted of shouting that my drunk ass was going to get us both killed and hurling a bottle of Jack out the car window at seventy miles an hour. Pretty effective, actually…"
"Are you… I mean now…"
"A beer now and then is not a drinking problem."
"Okay." He could deal with that. "What else?"
Dean chuckled bitterly. "Name it."
Sam dropped heavily onto the seat, "Dean, I can't even…"
"What? You thought it wouldn't effect me at all when you bailed?"
"I didn't mean…"
"You thought I wouldn't care when you turned your back on me!"
"I didn't turn my back on you…"
"No?" Dean demanded, looking up. "I took care of you every damn day of your life! Hell, almost every day of mine! And then you just strolled out! Left me on my own!"
Sam's voice was soft and melancholic, "On your own? What about Dad…"
"No, Sam! You were my backup! My fucking flank! Always were! You knew that!"
"You don't need anyone to watch your back…"
"Shut up, Sam!" he snapped. "I gave you everything I had! And you walked out on it, like it meant nothing!"
"Nothing?" the younger's voice caught. "Nothing… You think it was easy for me to leave?" He squeezed his eyes shut. "Shit… I kept that letter in my pocket for two days before I even had the courage to open it. I didn't even know what I wanted it to say… I mean… yeah, I wanted to get accepted… But if I didn't, at least I wouldn't have anything to worry about."
He shook his head, "Then it was good two weeks before I went to Dad."
"And me? You didn't even tell me!"
"I couldn't tell you!" Sam checked himself, lowering his voice. "I couldn't… I knew Dad would be pissed. I could deal with that. I was used to that. But you… I just couldn't stand the thought of you hating me…"
"Hating you?" Dean pressed the heels of his hands into his forehead, the headache threatening to rip through bone.
The younger sighed, "Dean, you look terrible. Maybe you should just try and get some sleep…"
"I'm fine." He looked to his brother, eyes flashing. "I never hated you, Sam. Never. You left and I was angry and hurt and… I was a lot of things. And I did a lot of fucked up stuff to try and deal with it."
Dean forced his brother to meet his gaze. "But I finally got my head around it. I couldn't take care of you anymore… but that was… all right. Because you were safe. In your boring, Joe College, normal life you were safe."
"Dean, I…"
"And whenever the jobs were real fucked up and Dad and I ended up closer and closer to dead… I was real glad you were out."
"Do you wish I was still out?"
He snorted, "Right."
"You told me I could go back to school."
"Yeah, well, believe it or not, I actually want what's best for your sorry ass!"
"I know." Sam lowered his eyes. "Look, man… I'm not going anywhere."
"No one is. Road's closed."
"That's not what I…"
"I know…"
Sam shifted uncomfortably, "Dean, I'm sorry. But, look, man… I never… never meant to be… abandoning you." He gnawed at his lip. "Neither did Dad."
"What?" he frowned.
"I don't know where Dad is or what he's doing, but he didn't vanish in order to… ditch you."
"Sam…" Dean dropped his face into his hands. "My head hurts too much for this… Where're you getting this from?"
Closing his eyes, the younger sighed, "Shape shifter."
Dean groaned, "That fucking thing…" He rubbed his eyes. "They lie… Demons, spirits, creatures, they lie…"
"I know," Sam looked away. "But maybe it wasn't so far off… You already said I turned my back on you…"
Dean sighed, long and low, clearly hearing the ache in his brother's voice. "But then I figured it out. I understand why you left, Sammy…"
"Really?"
"Yeah… I think so."
"Do you ever think about getting out? Quitting hunting?"
"Nope."
"Never?"
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes…" Sam smirked.
"Hey, something comes close to tearing your heart out and, yeah, you're gonna think about finding a new job."
"But?"
"But I believe in this. It's important. We stop bad things. We help people."
"What about… settling down? You know… a family?"
Dean chuckled, groping for his coffee mug. "Can you even imagine how messed up my kids would be? Bigger freaks 'n us."
"No, man. I don't think so."
The elder pinched the bridge of his nose hard. "Doesn't matter."
"Why not?"
"Picket fence, nine to five office job, yappy poodle… I'd lose it within three months and blow my brains out all over the bay window."
Sam smirked, "That's graphic."
"Technicolor and everything."
Sam grinned, rolling his eyes. He winced sympathetically as a grimace came across his brother's countenance, Dean pressing clenched fists to his forehead.
"Dean…"
"I'm fine," he spat. "Leave me alone!"
Sighing, Sam rose to his feet, moving to rummage through his duffel bag. Retrieving the bottle of aspirin, he screwed it open – he'd watched Dean try to get the child-proof cap off with his shaking hands earlier that day and wouldn't put his brother through that again – and set it beside the elder's elbow.
Releasing his breath, Dean grabbed at the bottle, shaking out a handful.
"No," the younger caught his brother's wrist. "Just two."
The elder lifted his eyes setting Sam with a glare most would have backed away from.
"Two," he insisted, pouring the rest back into the bottle. "Two more after you eat."
"What are you? My sitter?"
"When the occasion calls for it." Sam smirked briefly. "Look, man, if you eat, it'll probably help settle your stomach. All you've got in there is coffee and aspirin."
"You know, Sam, sometimes I really despise you."
"I know," the younger grinned. "Now eat, before I cram it down your throat."
"There's care and concern."
"Damn right."