Sam gritted his teeth against a wave of pain that shot from his knees up through his spine. He tried hard to think of something else.
There was something Dean wasn't telling him. He could sense it, but he was too afraid to dig deeper. Sam had a feeling he wouldn't like the answer.
All those long months, as the pain had gotten worse and worse, and the memories had grown more and more vivid, the only thing that had kept him sane was the thought that maybe his big brother was still out there somewhere, looking for him, not giving up.
If he ever thought that Dean really had turned on him and meant it … well.
Sam was pretty sure that'd be the end for him. There'd be nothing left for him to live for. Sure, Bobby cared about him, but not like Dean. There was no one anywhere who'd always been there for Sam like his big brother had been. As far back as Sam had memory, Dean had been there, picking him up and dusting him off and figuring things out.
There was no problem too big and no obstacle too insurmountable once Dean decided to remove it.
And Sam really needed that in his life, especially now. He needed to know that somebody, somewhere still believed in him and still thought he was worth saving.
Because Sam sure couldn't find that in himself anymore.
And he needed someone to search for a cure for this pain because it was quickly becoming too big and too consuming to deal with, and his teeth clenched as he tossed back his head in agony and let out a muffled roar. The tremor started in the heels of his feet and traveled upward, making his whole core quake and causing joints to clack together all over his body.
And that's when he started to scream.
#####
"Sweet Mother of Mercy, how long can this go on?" Bobby shouted, frantic. The book of lore that was open in front of him giving him no satisfaction. He turned a grim face to Dean and shook his head. "He can't survive pain like that for long, Dean! We got to find the cure!"
"You think I don't know that?" Dean growled, frantically flipping pages. From the bedroom Sam screamed again, and Dean's resolve all but broke. He stopped in his desperate perusal of the book and hung his head. "He's … he's hurting, Bobby. He's hurting so bad, and I can't …" his voice hitched. "I can't do anything to stop it!"
Bobby clapped a strong hand on the younger boy's shoulder, "We'll find it, Dean. I'll keep looking. You go - take him some more pain meds."
Dean looked up, eyes wet. "Is it time?"
"Does it matter? Boy ain't gonna survive much longer if we don't do something."
Dean nodded, swiping the pills from the desk and shooting into the bedroom. He took one look at Sam and swore. The kid was curled up on the bed in a fetal position, drenched in sweat, face hidden in his armpit.
"Sammy. Here. More pills." Dean sat gently down on the edge of the bed and reached for the water bottle on the nightstand. He shook out three pills and held them in the flat of his hand. "Come on, Sammy. Open up for me. It'll help."
Sam just shook his head wordlessly, his face still hidden.
Dean reached down and brushed sweat-streaked hair back. "Come on kiddo. I need you to take these for me, okay?"
But Sam's body suddenly went taut. His legs shot out straight, and his body pulled back like a bow.
"Gggnh … D-Dean!"
"Sammy! I'm here. It's gonna be okay. I'm right here. Just ride it out, okay?"
"Help … m-me! M-make it s-stop! Please, Dean!"
Dean's hands shook as he measured out two of the muscle relaxers and fought to get them onto Sam's tongue. "Swallow for me, Sammy. Just try to swallow, okay?" He grasped his brother's chin and tipped the water bottle back. "Good job, Sammy. Those'll kick in shortly. Just ride it out brother."
Sam tried to nod, but couldn't get his muscles to cooperate. He sobbed. "I'm d-dying Dean. I'm s-sorry f-for everything."
"Stop it, Sam. You're not dying. Come on, it's just withdrawal man. You can handle it. You've been handling it for months all alone. Bobby and I are here now. We're gonna find the cure, okay? You just … you gotta hang on for me. None of that sayin' goodbye shit." Dean crouched on his knees on the bed beside his brother, his hands on Sam's shoulders to try and stop the quaking.
Sam's teeth began to chatter and he jerked away. A long, piercing wail escaped him as he fought against the pain. Then, as suddenly as it started, Sam went slack.
"Sammy!" Dean cried, leaning over him. He grabbed the younger boy's chin and turned his wrecked face to look into his eyes. "Sammy! Come on, man. Come back to me."
Sam stared up at him, blinking.
"Sam, what's going on? Tell me."
Sam's eyes wandered around the room. "I - I think …"
"What? What's happening?"
Sam's eyes found Dean's. "It's … gone."
"What?"
"The pain."
"What? All of it?"
Sam's let out an hysterical giggle. "Yeah."
Dean's first thought was paralysis. "Can you move everything?"
Sam tried. He wiggled his toes, then his fingers. He flexed the muscles in his neck. "Yeah. I think so."
Dean stared, a smile starting. "It's just … gone?"
The door burst open and Bobby exploded through. "Is he okay?"
"Yeah. He says the pain's gone."
Bobby expelled a relieved breath and stood grinning like the cheshire cat.
Dean knew that look. "Bobby? What'd you do?"
Bobby grinned down at them. "Wasn't withdrawal from the demon blood. It was a damned spell."
"What?" They asked in unison.
"A spell, Sam! A spell! She put it on you when you took your first drink of demon blood, and as long as you were feeding regularly, it stayed dormant inside you. But it needs the blood, otherwise it activates and just gets worse and worse until it eventually either kills you or makes you wish you were dead!"
"So that black-haired bitch did this to him?"
"How do you know?" Sam asked softly, his voice wrecked.
Bobby held up the ancient book he was grasping in his left hand. "Found it in Colt's journal, of all places."
Dean gaped, "Colt? As in Samuel Colt? How did you get that?"
Bobby's eyes flashed, "I got ways, boy."
"So … how did you t-take it off?" Sam sighed.
Bobby shrugged, "A little liquid silver, hair of a rat and some of that DNA you left all over my sink in the bathroom, kiddo" The old hunter grinned. "Had everything I needed right in the house. Well, that and an incantation or two."
Dean grimaced, "You keep rat hairs in the house? That's gross, Bobby."
"Shut it, ya idjit. It's a good thing I do, too, I'd say." His eyes fell on Sam. "So it really worked, kid? Pain's really gone?"
Sam moved his arms and legs tentatively. He took a deep breath and expelled it, turning grateful eyes to the old hunter. "It's gone, Bobby. It really is." He looked at Dean, grinning. "For the first time since I can't even remember, nothing hurts, Dean!"
A slow smile spread across Dean's face before morphing into a stupid grin. "Thank God. I thought I was gonna have to knock you out there, Sammy."
Sam snorted, "That's funny, Dean. Ha ha."
The three hunters exchanged glances, unsure of what to do next, but Sam suddenly decided for them when he flopped unceremoniously over onto his stomach and muttered into the pillow. "Don't wake me up before spring." He sighed, contented. "I can't remember the last time I slept either."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, go on, Samantha. You just have a nice nap there. I'll go clean up the mess you left us in the bathroom."
Sam's muttered response was lost in his pillow, but Dean got the gist of it from Sam's raised middle finger. The older boy grinned and stood up. "Yeah, I love you too, Sam." He said, sarcastically, moving silently to join Bobby at the door and closing it quietly behind them.
The two hunters stood together outside Bobby's bedroom, and shared a relieved look, both grinning like madmen.
"Holy shit, I need a beer." Dean quipped.
"I need a damned trauma unit." Bobby answered. "But a beer'll work, I guess."
