Chapter 2
Sam is curled on his side in the back seat of the car. He wakes up and groans.
"You finally joined the land of the living. You were screaming a lot," Dean said.
"Ugh, everything hurts," Sam says. Of all of it, his headache is the worst. His head aches like his brain is twisting inside. It feels strange, the way it felt when he used to get visions but a million times worse. He would say it is a 10, but he knows that it will get worse, and then there will be a new 10. Not that he cannot handle it. There is a darkness in him that makes him strong, that holds onto him and tells him he can handle it.
"Your fault," Dean says.
"I know, jerk," Sam says. He is trying to be in a good mood. He doesn't know if he can control the telekinesis and power and his nightmares just felt so real. His nightmares had come true before. And this time he was on demon blood, so yes, it was possible, that if he could remember them, they could come true.
"We're close to a motel. Maybe 45 minutes. Think you can hold on until then?" Dean asks.
Sam shrugs. "Got no choice," he mutters. "Please don't tie me down," Sam decides to say.
"We'll see. If you start seizing or something, I'll have no choice. For your own safety. But it won't be the panic room. I'll sit with you through it all," Dean said.
Sam is surprised by the kindness and niceness in Dean's voice. They are brothers, yes, but Sam messed up, and he expected Dean to be angry. He expected Dean to punish him for drinking demon blood like a damn vampire. He also expected to try to find a way to get more demon blood, just a little bit, but now it was looking like he will have to suffer through the detox for a while. The addict part of his brain insists he will get some anyways, eventually. Until then he will suffer quietly. He is strong enough. The masochistic part of Sammy, that part, well part of him is trying to enjoy even this part of it. The pain, the shakes, the seizures. He is sure he seized a little bit already, and he doesn't want Dean to tie him down.
At least it isn't that cold panic room. The warding, and the loud and annoying fan. The loneliness that made his bones ache more than anything. Dean would sit with him through it this time. So, Sam steals away a small smile. It would all be okay.
Then, of course, the pain comes back, and Sammy whimpers and closes his eyes. 45 minutes, ugh. He tries to sleep and gets a few naps. He was in and out of sleep, dreamless sleep this time, feeling how cold it was in the car and still smelling disappointment on Dean's breath. Another headache comes, and Sam is breathless. The power in him is restless. It aches to make things move. He almost makes the Impala jerk to the side of the road and crash into a truck, and it almost happens, but somehow Sam controls it. And controlling it makes Sam's head hurt a million times worse.
"My head, Dean," Sam groans. "It's on fire."
He doesn't tell Dean what just almost happened, although the car had swerved a little bit. Dean assumed it was just his own tired mind, needing coffee, almost sleep-driving.
Dean wants to show kindness, but also, he is just so angry that Sam relapsed. He is mad that Sam made the wrong choice again.
Sam's head is twisting. It is aching and pounding, and he is hoping for at least nice words from his brother. None of the, it's your own damn fault. But, what can I do, Sammy? And the quiet solidarity, the brotherly love.
Dean tries to choose the second option this time, because Sam never admits that he is in pain, so it must be really bad right now. He bites down his anger. He tries to think of soothing words.
Finally, he chooses to say, "I hear you, brother," and changes the radio station to a more peaceful station. Maybe it will help Sammy boy's headache.
There is a little bit of relief, not much, but some. And that helps Sam to control his powers. He closes his eyes and feels the power pounding. He focuses on the power that is pulsing through his body. His body jerks and twists but it is okay. He focuses on his breath going in and out, the way Bobby told him to when he first started having psychic dreams. Focus on the breath, calmness, let all thoughts flow, go back to the breath. And it helps a little bit; at least Sam doesn't cause an accident. At least the pounding in his head became focused adrenaline, fuel to get through this. The pounding would come back, of course, but for now Sammy is okay. There is cold drenched sweat in his long hair, but he is okay. Well, okay-ish.
Their brotherly love, despite fights and Standford and demon blood and Ruby, was something that was instinctual. It just happened. Sometimes Sam wondered if they were codependent, but it was also a friendship that was beautiful and sacred. Sam slips into a dream of him and Dean when they were kids. All is okay again, for a while, maybe the psychic in Sam that is telling him that, yes, terrible things will happen, but you will always have your big brother and things will be okay. That this, too, was a psychic vision. Sam has been trained to think that his psychic side is evil and twisted and wrong. A part of him aches for someone to tell him that it is alright to be psychic. Just the way they say it's okay to be gay - wait what? - it's okay to be psychic. Right? It's okay, right? It has to be, because he is. He is.
It feels like forever, but the headache goes away again, and his body temporarily stops thrashing, and Dean finally pulls the Impala in at the motel that he found. Soon Dean is helping Sam get out of the car. Sam's legs are shaking, and he is dizzy, but Dean holds onto Sam and helps him walk into the check in section of the motel.
"You're gonna be okay, man," Dean says, holding onto his little brother, almost proud of his brother for getting through what must have been so damn painful, so damn gracefully.
"Don't tie me down," Sam mumbles.
"We'll see," Dean says, and the person at the desk handed Dean two room passes for the hotel, unfortunately on the second floor. "Come on."
Luckily there is an elevator. They get to the room and Sam collapses on one of the full beds. His body shakes a little and he almost instantly falls asleep. Dean looks at his brother for a few moments before getting into the other bed and falling asleep as well. Not, though, before having the morbid thought, we're all gonna die. But Dean Winchester was not psychic, so that thought did not have to come true.
Sam wakes up around 3 am and he is outside pacing back and forth. He can barely walk but he needs it, needs demon blood. The moon is white and bright. He tries to call out to whatever goetic force that might be near them. He is as quiet as he can be. He doesn't want to wake Dean up and alert him to what he is doing. He knows it is wrong to manipulate his brother like this, but he needs demon blood desperately and it wasn't poison because it makes him powerful.
"WHERE ARE YOU?" Sammy screams to all the demons that might be there and able to hear him. He collapses on the black pavement and sobs a little. To a hunter, a demon not coming should be a good thing. Sammy remembers who he is, who he has to be.
Then he gives up and goes back into the crappy motel room and collapses on the bed again. His body hurts and he hopes he doesn't have any bad seizures because then big brother Dean will tie him down and that will just not be fun. And if he is tied down he won't be able to search for demon blood, and if he doesn't have demon blood then he would be pretty much as powerless as a normal human hunter when him and Dean are on the ghost hunt. If Dean even allows him to come with him for the ghost hunt. The adrenaline that will come from the ghost hunt might help a little bit, Sam ponders. If the demon blood doesn't wear off, maybe he can put his telekinesis to good use.
For now, all the two brothers can do is sleep. What will come in the morning, that is yet to be known.
To be continued...
