The first light of morning brightened the Arizona sky as Dean drove onto the uppermost level of the parking deck across the street from Southwest General. His hands shook, and he kept eyes in the back of his head.
Sam had sounded like Sam.
But then again … his brother had done things that no sane human could ever do and walk away from.
Sam could be baiting him. It could STILL be a trap. If Ruby was involved … In fact, this sounded just like one of her better schemes - call him and make him think Sam was in trouble. She knew Dean would come running to spare his brother unnecessary pain, even if his ultimate plan was … well … she'd know how to play him.
She'd know. She always could play them both like instruments.
Dean took a deep breath, distressed to hear it wobble inside his chest like he was five years old and seeing the bearded lady for the first time.
Damn, she'd scared the crap out of him.
But this, this was worse.
Dean drove on until he spotted a Hyundai Elantra. It was the right color, and Dean could see someone slouched down in the driver's seat. He passed the vehicle, parking seven spaces down in the next row and waiting.
He watched.
There was no movement from inside the car. Dean studied the parking deck. If Ruby was lurking, Dean couldn't see her, couldn't feel her. He patted his hip where the demon-killing blade was nestled snugly against his jeans in its holster. He wore double protection - a machete topped by the demon knife - like a nervous bachelor checking and re-checking his condom stash. He sighed and slipped quietly from the car, approaching the Hyundai from the rear passenger side.
Dean had no preconceived notions of what to expect, but he figured it'd be one of two choices; either Sam would be alone and hurt, sincere in his wish to die, or he'd be lying in wait for his brother, playing possum until the last possible moment. Either way, Dean would have … closure.
But there was no way in hell Dean was prepared for what he found inside the stolen sub-compact.
He approached the passenger cautiously, noting the sealed trunk and the empty backseat. He dropped down to glance inside the front seat and froze.
"Sam! Fuck!" Dean reached for the door and yanked it open. He was across the bucket seat in a heartbeat. His brother reclined in the driver's seat, the back of his head resting against the glass of the window, and he looked worse than Dean had ever seen him. Sam's skin was the color of white porcelain, and sweat dripped from his drenched strands of hair and down his face to soak the ragged tee shirt he wore.
And the smell.
Dean had smelled rawheads dead a week that were less offensive than the inside of Sam's stolen car.
"Sammy!" Dean grabbed his brother's chin and tilted it back. "Sam! You with me here?" He slapped his cheeks gently.
Sam's eyes were at half-mast, until Dean grabbed his chin and forced him to make eye contact, then they grew big like saucers. Sam tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go.
"No!"
"Sam, it's just me."
Sam scrabbled pathetically, trying to get away from Dean's strong grip. "Dean! Don't! Please!"
"Sammy, calm down. Let me check you over."
"You … you were supposed to send someone, Dean!"
"Yeah? Well you know, me, Sammy. Never been good at delegatin'." Dean placed a cool hand on Sam's forehead. "Damn. You're on fire."
Sam stared at his brother, torn between feeling relieved and feeling terrified. There was no way Dean didn't mean to kill him. He'd said as much. Sam had been listening to the same threat everyday for a year.
"What's wrong with you, Sam?" Dean asked, pulling his brother forward and tugging the soaked tee shirt over his head.
Sam fell limply back against the seat. "Withdrawal." He breathed, wincing when the bones in his spine clacked together.
Dean paused, "What was that?"
"My back."
"It clacked."
"S'withdrawal, Dean. It's … I don't know how much longer I can … I can't take it. Just, make it stop, okay?"
"You comin' down off the demon juice?"
Sam nodded, his neck seizing up.
"Shit! This is what it does? Seizes you up like an old man?" Dean put a comforting hand on the back of his brother's neck, torn between wanting to hug him and being afraid to touch him.
"I g-guess." Sam said through gritted teeth.
"How long?"
"A year."
Dean blinked, "No, how long you been off the juice?"
"A year, Dean. It's been a year."
Dean stared, "You mean you haven't … in a year?"
Sam met his eyes. "Not since, since that night. I … your message. Dean. I couldn't … didn't feed after that. I swear."
Dean's eyes welled. A year. They'd wasted a whole damned year. All this time, Sam had been … he'd been TRYING." He made a decision.
"Come on, Sammy. Let's get you home. Can you move at all?"
But Sam's eyes had fallen closed on the word home. Dean didn't really mean it. He couldn't. There was no home for him anymore. "Dean … please …"
Dean glanced up from his perusal of the floorboards. Sam didn't seem to have a bag or anything. "Please what?" he asked absently.
"I … you said home."
Dean's eyes narrowed, "Yeah? So?"
Sam stared at his brother through streaming eyes, "I … I thought you were done tryin' to save me."
Dean shook his head, "I'll never be done trying to save you, Sam. Just trust me, okay? Has your big brother ever steered you wrong before, hunh?" He winked. "Now, I'm comin' around on that side. Just hang tight til I move the car. Be right back."
