so, updating pretty quick on this story...for some unknown reason, it is easier to write about drug-addicted Sam then about a psychopathic serial killer...lol!! hope everyone enjoys!! cookies to those who review!! thanks again, bambers;0
Chapter Three
Dean leaned against the doorframe and stared incredulously at Sam. Sam lay on the ground, intently gazing up at the ceiling, a look of wide-eyed wonderment plastered on his face. What the hell's he doing?
Walking to the table, Dean set the two bags he was carrying down, and then gestured toward the ceiling. "Somethin' interesting up there, dude?"
Sam rolled over and propped his head on his hand, a slow lackadaisical grin spreading across his features. "Yeah. I was just countin' all the dots."
Dean frowned, eyes narrowing as he continued to stare at his brother. "You were what?"
Gesturing upward, Sam's smile deepened. "Countin' the dots. An' I think I was up to ten thousand-eighty, but seein' how you've interrupted me, I'm gonna have to start over." Sam rolled onto his back, and started jabbing his finger toward the ceiling. "Hey, Dean, wanna help, you could start in the left corner."
"You gotta be kiddin' me, right?"
"Naw, Dean, this could take all day if I have to do it by myself."
The frown on Dean's face deepened into a scowl as he realized Sam wasn't joking. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Yeah, got kinda tired of watchin' the specks of dust float by, although it was so totally cool when they caught the light. But it would've been a waste of time starin' at dust all day."
"An' countin' ceiling dots is much more productive?" Dean asked, concern clearly evident in his tone.
"Well yeah, Dean," Sam replied as if the answer should be obvious.
"Are you okay, Sammy?"
"I'm freakin' awesome, dude . . . . No demons to hunt at the present moment, found some girl's phone number in my pant's pocket, called her, and we're going out later." Sam sat up, leaned against the bed, and rested his arms on bent knees, grinning lopsidedly at Dean. "Course, she'll probably die some horrific death after dating me, but ah what the hell."
Yeah, so definitely not okay. Dean stalked to Sam, squatted in front of him and looked into Sam's eyes. Both pupils were constricted to mere pin-pricks. "You didn't hit your head the other night when we were hunting the Pritikin Ghost, did you?"
"Told you I was fine." Sam grimaced and tried to lower his head, but Dean grabbed hold of his chin and forced Sam to look him in the eyes. "Umm . . . Dean, aren't you the one always talkin' about personal space."
"Christo." Dean held his breath and waited to see how his brother would respond.
Sam chuckled loudly. "Never thought my going on a date meant I must be possessed . . . you're so gettin paranoid, Dean."
The muscle in Dean's cheek jerked erratically, teeth tightly clench, as he noticed for the first time how bloodshot Sam's eyes were. Damn it, he's as high as a freakin kite.
"What are you taking, Sam?"
"Don't know what you mean, dude."
Sam tried to stand, but Dean snatched Sam's shirt, and pushed him back against the bedframe.
"I asked what kind of drug you're taking — don't make me ask again."
Leaning in so his face was within mere inches of Dean's, Sam's expression suddenly lost any sense of warmth, a glint of pure evil in his eyes. "Let-go-of-my-damn-shirt, or I'll snap your freakin' neck like a twig."
"Sam — "
"That wasn't a request, Dean. It's a promise."
Dean's grip on Sam's shirt loosened, and Sam leapt to his feet and headed for the door. Dean bound past Sam, and blocked the exit.
"Afraid I can't let you leave, Sammy." Dean crossed his arms and shook his head. "Not like this."
"Aw, Dean, did I hurt your feelings?" Sam glowered. "We're so not gonna have a chick-flick moment here, are we?"
"Look, Sammy, I know you're in pain, but whatever you're taking, isn't the answer — you need to stop."
Sam laughed mirthlessly. "I'm not in pain, Dean . . . I don't feel anything."
The lack of inflection in Sam's tone sent a shiver of dread running the length of Dean's spine. What the hell kind of drug did he take? One minute he's all coo-coo for coca puffs and the next he's just plain — oh, shit!
"Listen, Sammy, who gave it to you? You gotta tell me, dude, cause I think it could be some sort of demonic drug."
"God, Dean, could you be any more pathetic?" Sam raised his brows until they'd nearly disappeared beneath his shaggy hair. "Let me clue you in on something everyone else seems to know except for you. Not everything in the world revolves around demons and hunting."
"Where-did-you-get-them?" Dean demanded an answer.
Sam let out a deep aggravated sigh as he shook his head, a look of disgust on his face. "From a doctor, Dean — a doctor, not some demonic hell-spawn."
Dean held out his hand. "Give them to me."
"Can't do that." Sam pursed his lips, and gave a curt shake of his head. "I need them. Now get the hell out of my way — before I hurt you."
"No."
"I'm not going to ask again." Sam glared at him, an evil scowl twisting on his face.
"Give it your — "
Before Dean could finish what he was saying, Sam smashed a powerful fist into Dean's stomach, followed rapidly by an uppercut to the jaw. Dean's head snapped back, slamming into the door.
Recovering quickly, Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulders and kneed him in the gut. Sam staggered backward a few steps, then charged Dean, pummeling him in the chest and ribcage with well-placed punches.
Dean caught Sam's fist, yanked it behind his back, and slammed Sam into the door, bashing his fists into Sam's lower back repeatedly.
Sam groaned in pain as he smashed his head into Dean's face, blood spilling from Dean's nose. Dragging his forearm across his mouth, Dean swiped away the blood from his lips.
"Sonuvabitch."
Sam swung around and flew at Dean, sending them both crashing through the table. Sam rolled, leapt on top of Dean's chest and pounded him in the face. Dean grabbed his arm, jerked hard, dislodging Sam.
Dean vaulted to his feet, Sam followed. They circled, fists raised, each vying for an opening.
Sam jabbed, catching Dean with a shot to the kidneys. A rush of air escaped Dean's lips as he staggered backward, clutching his side.
Advancing on him, Sam threw another punch. Catching his arm mid-strike, Dean twisted it and drove his fist into the middle of Sam's back. Sam cried out, stumbling forward into a chair. Sam grabbed onto the chair and swung it at Dean. The chair connected with Dean's side, sending him sprawling into a dresser, his head striking the edge.
Dean's vision blurred as he collapsed to the ground. Blood dripped from the deep gash on his forehead. Sam stalked toward him, a malicious glint in his eyes.
"Ss-sammy — s-stop," Dean's words slurred as he blinked hard, trying to remain conscious.
Sam knelt beside him, a wicked smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He reached in Dean's coat pocket, and snatched the keys to the Impala. Eyeing them for a moment, Sam's gaze then fixed on Dean.
"Think I'll take the car."
Reaching into his own pocket, Sam yanked out a bottle of pills, jerked off the cap and took three. Dry-swallowing them, he then replaced the cap and put them back in his pocket.
"S-sam, don't . . . y-you could get in a — "
"You know, Dean, I'd have to say the best thing about you is your Impala." Sam stood, headed for the door, opened it, and swung to glare at Dean. "Know what — I think I'm gonna keep it." Chuckling, Sam tossed the keys up in the air and caught them in his right hand. "Yeah, definitely like the sound of that — my Impala. What do you think, Dean?"
"Sammy . . . you're n-not thinkin' straight . . . yy-you could h-hurt someone."
"So long, Dean." Sam turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.