Sam navigated the bleak corridors of the free clinic with relative ease. This hadn't been his first rodeo, after all. But, damn, he was hurting. When you passed out from pain in a diner where everyone was convinced you were a hopeless junkie, it was places like this where you ended up.
They'd tried to give him methadone for God's sake.
Sam snorted under his breath, finally making his escape into the chill of a grim, December night. He limped painfully along, trying to keep the warmth from dissipating, but the bank thermometer blinked a depressing 39 degrees, and Sam could feel every bite of it.
He had nowhere to go, but that didn't mean he wasn't smarter than most. Sam made for the nearest deserted parking lot and lifted the first car he saw that looked like the heater might work. He drove it right to the big hospital two blocks down and parked on the uppermost level of the parking deck. Then Sam cranked up the heater and reclined the driver's seat. He slid the shield back on the moon roof and sat looking up at the night sky as his shivering slowly abated.
Sam hurt. And he wondered if it would always be this way now - the stabbing pains in his back, the unbearable headaches, the quaking, the fever, the chills. It should have all gone away months ago, yet the withdrawal symptoms hadn't faded a bit, and Sam wished he had access to some of Bobby's old books to give him an idea of how long it took to detox from demon blood. Some days, Sam suspected there was no going back. Just like Dean had said.
It was too well lit here to see much, but Sam could just make out the big dipper. It was quiet up here and not likely to be patrolled. And even if an attendant strode by and tapped on his window, he could spin a yarn about visiting hours being over and not wanting to leave his brother all alone all night in intensive care.
He wouldn't anyway. Not like that. Not if Dean was hurt and needed him.
Sam wished he could tell his brother that. Instead, he pulled out his phone and punished himself by retrieving the message - the same one he'd listened to every day for more than a year.
"Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak." Dean snarled. "Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam - a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back …"
It never failed to bring him to tears. It had torn him up that night, and it still wrecked him today. Dean's voice - the voice that had soothed him when he was just a kid and woke up screaming from a nightmare and the voice that had lovingly called him Sammy more times than he could count. That voice hated him now. It was cold and hollow, cruel and cutting. And it held promises of what would happen should Sam and that voice ever end up together in the same room again.
And God, how Sam wanted to.
He needed Dean. He needed Bobby. He needed to know that he still had a family, even after all he'd done, all the mistakes he'd made, all the damage he'd caused. He hurt so much.
And he just wanted Dean to make it stop. He wanted Dean to pull him close in a impulsive embrace and hug him so tightly it felt like his heart would stop. He wanted Dean to fuss over him and make him lie down and bring him hot soup and an extra blanket. He wanted Dean to run a shower for him and make him go stand in it and then assail him with a cup of hot lemon tea when he was done. He wanted to hear Dean call him a bitch and a sasquatch and a girl - anything but a bloodsucking freak. Damn, he wanted that.
More than anything.
He rubbed his thumb absently over the screen of his phone, pulling up the single number that he hadn't called in over a year.
He wanted to do it so badly.
Would Dean even pick up? Would he check his caller ID, snort and toss his phone back on the bed?
Or would he trace the call and show up one day when Sam least expected it, wielding a machete and a look of sad determination?
A sudden tremor hit him hard, causing both legs to lock up with spasms from hell, and Sam cried out in agony. In a moment of desperation, he hit the dial button.
It rang one time.
