A/N: So sorry about the delay! I hope y'all enjoy this chapter!
It may sound absurd,
But don't be naïve,
Even heroes have the right to bleed.
"Superman (It's Not Easy)" -Five for Fighting
Sarah was waiting at the door for them; Dean could see her peering through the frosted glass panes of the front door, although when he got Sam inside the house she was hanging back in the foyer.
"Sam," she said and he jerked his head up from where he had been staring at the floor, eyes at half-mast. Her shoulders visibly sank when Sam cringed away from her, stumbling into Dean who had to brace himself against the wall when Sam's weight pushed into him. "Sam," Sarah said again, not willing to give up. She took a step forward, reaching out an arm and touching her husband on his arm. He was shaking under her touch and she recognized the tremors of withdrawal, had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from sighing.
"Sammy's got a bit of tranqs in him," Dean said lightly. "Right?" Sam mumbled something that might have been a yes or might have been a no. Sarah's hand dropped back to her side.
"He should sleep it off," Sarah said. "He'll sleep it off."
Dean thought she might have taken the lead but instead she stepped back and let Dean steer Sam down the hallway into the master bedroom. Sarah had a fondness for the ocean and the room was painted a light blue with porcelain seashells scattered on the walls. A collection of starfish hung above the headboard of the bed that Sam collapsed onto, groaning and pulling himself into the fetal position. Dean let him be, digging into the oak dresser and grabbing a pair of flannel pants and a t-shirt.
"He'll sweat through them," Sarah said. She was standing by the door, watching. Just watching. Dean paused, glanced down at the pajamas, and then over at Sam. He chose not to answer and Sarah disappeared.
"Don't worry about her, Sammy," Dean said, climbing onto the bed and kneeling beside his brother. "She's just a little bit upset." Sam moaned in response and swatted Dean's hand away when he tried to uncurl him. "Sam, let's get this hospital shirt off, you stink."
Sarah was right; Sam's body was already coated in a thin layer of clammy sweat that made Dean's fingertips sticky as they brushed over his brother's skin. It was only going to get worse, Dean knew, but he tugged a t-shirt over Sam's hair, wishing he owned a pair of clippers to get the mess out of Sam's face once and for all. Sam's body gave a tremendous shiver and he pulled himself out of Dean's hands over to the side of the bed.
"Hey, hey, hey," Dean said, jumping off the bed and grabbing the wastebasket from next the dresser. He put it under Sam's nose just in time for Sam to vomit into it, nearly falling off the bed in the process. Dean got Sam sitting upright and then sat next to him, one arm around his shoulders while the other gripped the bicep closest to him. "You got this," Dean said as Sam lurched forward, held back only by Dean's strong hands. "It's okay, you're okay. Just breathe through it, you'll be fine." Sam spluttered and choked his way through a solid five minutes of throwing up, emptying his stomach of the next to nothing he had eaten while being in the hospital.
"Dean," Sam muttered as he eased onto the pillows, using the back of his hand to wipe drool from his lips. All it did was smear it across his cheek.
"I got you, buddy," Dean said. He wet a washcloth from the adjoining bathroom and ran it over Sam's face and hands, trying to drown out the whimpers coming from his brother. He remembered doing this for years, wiping the chubby cheeks of infant and toddler Sam after he had eaten, after he had played outside, before Dean had tucked him into bed.
"Where's Sarah?" Sam wanted to know, curling up again; it was easier to contain the shaking that way.
"In the kitchen," Dean said, fumbling with the medications he had shoved in his pocket and dumping the right amount into his hand. "Sam, you gotta take these," he said, trying to get Sam to sit up.
"I want Sarah," Sam said, whining like a petulant child, but his words were sluggish and tripped over each other. "I want her."
"I know," Dean said, opening his brother's mouth and sticking two of the pills onto his tongue before holding a glass of water to his lips. "Swallow," he instructed and Sam did. He swallowed all the pills and then flopped onto the bed, hair fanning onto the pillow, eyes closed. Dean stayed with him until he was asleep and then left after covering him with blankets.
He found Sarah in the kitchen, dumping a bottle of sauce into a crockpot.
"He's sleeping," Dean said, putting the pill bottles on the counter. Sarah swept them up and opened a cabinet door before dropping them into a saucepan and shutting the cabinet door again.
"Great," she said without turning toward him. She unscrewed another bottle and dumped it in the pot. Barbeque sauce by the smell of it; Dean's favorite.
"He's asking for you," Dean said.
"Mmm," Sarah said in response, stirring the dinner. Dean grabbed a glass from the counter and filled it with water from the tap. It felt weird to be talking about Sam when he was just down the hall.
"You know he's sorry," Dean tried. Sarah dropped the wooden spoon and rested her palms flat on the counter. Dean heard her draw in a deep breath before she turned around.
"He's not sorry," she said. "That's just the withdrawal talking. He'd say he was sorry for global warming if he thought that would take the pain away." The words came out tight and bitter but Sarah couldn't bring herself to take them back. Dan ran a tired hand over his face, the callouses on his palms catching on growing stubble.
"Sarah…" But her shaking head cut him off.
"Dean. I have a child to care for, a house to run, a job to not get fired from. He promised he would never do this again."
"He just needs time."
"I gave him time," Sarah cried, her voice finally rising in frustration. She threw her hands up in the air. "And he lied to me…again."
"He really is sorry."
"You don't know that."
"This is Sam we're talking about," Dean protested.
"Which Sam? My husband, the hunter, the addict?" She shook her head.
"So what?" Dean said. "Are you saying you're done with him?" Her eyes flashed dangerously and her voice shook when she spoke to him, her words a fierce whisper.
"Don't you dare, Dean Winchester. I'm not throwing him away like a piece of trash. It's just…"
"What?" he challenged. Her shoulders sagged
"I don't know. I don't know what to do." Dean pulled himself back for a moment, let the protective older brother in him take a step away and saw that Sarah was truly lost. It had always been so clear to him: take care of Sam no matter what, forgive Sam no matter what. It wasn't like that for everyone. Sarah had boundaries.
"Do you want me to take him somewhere else?" Dean said, "I have some money. We could get a motel room, maybe an apartment for a while." Sarah sighed again.
"I think that would throw him off. I don't know. It's not like I'm not supportive, but I don't trust him and I don't know if I ever will again. So do your thing, get him through the worst of it and we'll go from there. Besides, he always listens to you more." She walked out without giving Dean a chance to respond.
Sarah retired around ten, traipsing past the master bedroom with a pillow and blankets. She stuck her head in, catching Dean's attention from where he sat watching Sam.
"I'm going to sleep in the office," she said.
"You should use the guest room," Dean said. "I'll be in here all night."
"Are you sure?" Dean nodded, his eyes flickering over to Sam; Sarah followed his gaze. Her husband was sweating but still shivering under the three blankets Dean had covered him with. He hadn't shaved in days, untidy scruff covered his jawline and crept down his neck.
"Why does he do it?" she asked and Dean couldn't tell if she was actually looking for an answer.
"I don't know," he said softly. "Sam has a lot of things he's trying to forget." She stared for a few moments longer and then cleared her throat.
"You should get some sleep while you can," she said and tried to give him a smile before she left. Dean heard the light switch click on in the room next door and then the muted sounds of the TV came through the wall. He settled further back in his chair but there wasn't a chance he could rest. Instead, he just waited.
xxx
The tranquilizers began to wear off a little past midnight and Dean was there when Sam started eliciting pained whimpers that turned quickly into moans.
"Shhh," Dean soothed, crouching beside the bed. Sam wouldn't even open his eyes but he started to move his heavy limbs and Dean caught the hand that flailed nearest to him.
"Hey, Sam, you're okay bud." Sam grunted and kicked out, drawing the blankets down to his waist. "Sam, open your eyes," Dean said. Sam's forehead scrunched and he grunted again, trying to find is voice. "Open up," Dean instructed.
The hazel eyes finally blinked open but then disappeared again as they hit the overhead light.
"Hold on," Dean said, crossing the room and turning the light off, sending them into almost full darkness. The only light now came from the thin gap between the curtains covering the far side windows. "Better?" Dean asked, switching the bathroom light on so that a rectangle of yellow paleness patterned the floor. Sam's searching eyes found Dean as he sat on the edge of the bed.
"Easy," Dean said as Sam tried to sit up only to find is muscles were not cooperating. They danced and writhed under his skin, milking him of his strength. Dean slid an arm around his brother's shoulders and helped prop him on.
"D'n?" Sam voice was thick with sedation, the name was little more than a mumble of twisted sounds. Still, Dean recognized it.
"Yep, I'm right here." Sam's chest shuddered in a sigh. Everything was fuzzy still, both in vision and in mind. Dean blurred when he moved and Sam couldn't help but wonder why his brother was here at all. His tongue felt swollen and hot inside his mouth when he asked,
"Where's Sarah?" Sam was out of it enough that he didn't pick up on Dean's momentary hesitation before he answered.
"Sleeping. It's late."
"What…" Sam was going to ask what happened but he had an inkling the nightmare pressing against his skull wasn't a nightmare at all but a terrible reality.
The pills, the hospital, the doctor telling him he should be locked up like some wild animal. The cramping in his stomach was there too, his bare feet were damp with cold sweat and all of a sudden he wanted the blankets off.
He kicked out frantically, trying to untangle himself but ended up only twisting them further. Fuck, he wanted them gone, they were going to swallow him, eat him while he was still alive. He was being smothered.
"Chill out," Dean said, standing, reaching past Sam's scrabbling fingers to unwrap the blankets. Sam was breathing heavily, almost panting with effort and fright.
"Dean," he gasped once he was free. "Dean, I'm gonna-," he motioned to his stomach.
"Alright, bathroom's right here. Let's go." Sam crossed the room on unsteady legs, Dean following close behind, reaching out to ease the crash when Sam sank to his knees on the tile floor. He was sick for only a minute before the vomiting turned to dry heaving. Eventually, Sam leaned back, resting his head against the wall. Dean was perched on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the basket of bath toys under the sink. He could make out several barbies with pink hair and some sort of dolphin thing that looked as if it might float.
"You wanna head back?"
"Give me a minute," Sam said. His cheeks were pale underneath the glisten of sweat and Dean knew that behind the closed lids were bloodshot eyes. This wasn't nearly as bad as the demon blood withdrawal – when Sam had hovered so close to death for weeks – but it still pained Dean to see his brother going through it. Even if he had brought it upon himself.
"Sarah's mad at me, isn't she?" Sam asked suddenly. He squinted at Dean when his brother didn't answer and then let out a sigh. "She has a right to be."
"She doesn't understand why you did it," Dean said. "To be honest, Sammy, neither do I."
"I don't know," Sam muttered. "I didn't want to do it. I won't do it again, I promise."
"You said that last time," Dean reminded him. Harsh as it had sounded coming from Sarah, Dean didn't trust his brother any more than she did. Sam had a nasty habit of trying to do the right thing and having it backfire on him. Dean was sure that Sam had taken the pills as a last resort, that he had thought there was no other move to make.
Unlike Sarah though, Dean still had faith in his brother. He knew there was something in Sam that could put him on the right track again, it was just a matter of finding that something and igniting the flame beneath it.
"Let's go back to bed," Dean said, helping his brother rise and keeping a firm grip on his elbow as Sam lowered himself back onto the pillows. He was shaking again, his toes curled against the trembling and the nausea, one hand tucked under his head, the other trying to hold onto Dean's shirt. The flannel was velvety between his fingers.
"Lucy's gonna h-ate m-m-me," Sam said, peering beyond Dean – or maybe right through him. His teeth did more than chatter; they were doing the goddamn Charleston against each other but Sam was scared that if he stopped talking, his throat would close up forever and he'd never speak again.
"No, she's not," he heard Dean say. That gruff voice was so different from the soft material still clenched in Sam's hand.
"Y-yes she i-i-is," Sam stuttered, trying to curl even further in on himself, drawing his knees up to his chest, his chin dipping down against his chest. His bangs fell into his eyes when he did so and he felt Dean sweep them back and then keep stroking.
"She loves you, Sam," Dean said. "She can't wait to see you." Sam squeezed his eyes shut, images of his precious daughter running across the mind. She had been so little when she was born, five weeks early. Had fought so hard to survive in that plastic container in the hospital and Sam had loved her since the nurses first let him hold her. He had been sitting in an armchair in the NICU and she was so tiny, not even the full length of his forearm. Sam remembered thinking he was going to drop her even as she pressed herself against his chest seeking out comfort.
Six years later, he had finally dropped her.
Dean sat up most of the night, accompanying his brother on several trips to the bathroom so Sam could hover over the table and retch, stringy clumps of drool being spit in the toilet. He dozed off now and then but Sam was usually awake, watching the room with wandering eyes, lost in his own world of mental and physical anguish. When the shivering grew too intense for him to continue talking, he contented himself with just holding onto Dean's shirt, making sure his brother didn't go anywhere. Sam knew that if Dean left him, he wouldn't make it. He would drown in his own misery as his body continued to punish him for being stupid enough to take those pills. Why hadn't he remembered withdrawal was this painful? Why had he done it in the first plae?
It was nearing five in the morning when Sam finally dropped off into a more peaceful sleep, still folded in on himself. Dean waited a while to make sure Sam was truly asleep before rising slowly, pulling his shirt out of Sam's now relaxed grip. His back ached from sitting in one position for so long, his feet hurt from wearing his least favorite pair of boots. He kicked them off into a corner of the room and padded into the bathroom on socked feet. The small space reeked of sweat and vomit but Dean was oblivious as he splashed water on his face, swished some around in his mouth. His own eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and after one glance in the mirror, he avoided looking at himself again.
When he went back into the bedroom, Sam was in the same position as before. Dean eyed the armchair next to the bed and then, with stiff movements, climbed onto the bed next to Sam, slipping his cold feet under one of the blankets. As if sensing him there, Sam's body scooted back until his back was pressed against Dean's shoulder.
They weren't going to solve everything in one night, Dean thought, allowing himself to close his eyes and grimacing when they burned at the forgotten movement. It was going to take a while for fix this problem, but he wasn't going to let Sam extract himself from this life he had created for himself.
Sam finally had a home and a real family and Dean was going to make sure it stayed that way.
A/N: This story is still relatively new so I'd love to know what you think about it!