so new chappy...took awhile to get back to it...toomany stories to write and not enough hours in the day...thanks for reading!! lat me know what you think!! reviews are golden!! bambers;)
Chapter Seven
Out of the corner if his eye, Dean noticed Sam reach in his pocket and pull out a small orange bottle of pills. Sam jerked off the cap, shook some into his hand, and swallowed them. He then dumped a few more in his hand, and took them as well. Shaking his head in disgust, Dean didn't say a word.
Dean's gaze then trailed downward to the knife resting on Sam's lap. His grip tightened on the steering wheel, hand shaking as he fought the urge to grabbed the knife and plunge it into his brother's heart. Come on, Dean, fight this, he's your brother for Christ sake.
"Let me know if you spot any purple men, wouldn't want them sneakin' up on us," Dean mocked, returning his attention the stretch of road before him. "And while you're at it, keep an eye out for falling houses, Dorothy."
"What the hell are you talkin' about, Dean? You're actin' kinda crazy, you know that, right?" Sam slid his hand over the knife, fingers curling around it.
Cringing at the sound of Sam's voice, Dean cranked up Metallica's Whiskey in the Jar to drown him out. Don't listen to him. Block him out. Keep your mind on the road. "Didn't know when your happy-joy pills would take effect, and you'd go all buckets of crazy again," he shouted above the music. "So thought better safe then sorry."
Sam angrily shoved the bottle of pills in Dean's face. "Read the label, Dean. They're prescription pills. Didn't buy them in a back alley someplace."
For a moment, Dean thought to snatch the demonic pills from Sam, but for some reason, he just couldn't find the will to do so. "Get them outta my face, Sam, or I swear to God, I'll break every bone in your hand."
Sam hesitated for a few seconds then jerked his hand away and stowed the bottle back in his pocket. Drawing in several deep breaths, he turned in his seat to look out the side window, silently brooding.
"Can you stop breathing so damn loud? For Christ sake, I can hear you over the music." Dean reached over and cranked the music up even louder. Searching the road ahead, Dean looked for any sign of Bobby's beat-up pickup truck. Come on, Bobby, don't know how much more of him I can tolerate.
His brother swung back to glare at him, hazel eyes glazing as the medication took effect. Grabbing the dial, Sam flicked off the radio. "Always hated your music."
Dean flipped it back on, turning the volume up all the way. "If it bugs you so much, there's the door." He gestured toward it, and continued, "Just give me a reason to shove you outta it."
Sam's grip tightened around Dean's Bowie knife. "Really like to see you try."
Dean chuckled, the humor not reaching the depths of his menacing green eyes. "Don't tempt me."
"Think I just did." Sam flipped the radio off again, and smirked.
Slamming on the brakes, Dean jerked the wheel to the right, and pulled off the road, tires screeching loudly as loose gravel kicked up from beneath them. "Get outta the freakin' car."
"No." Sam shook his head, the simpering smile never leaving his face.
"Not gonna tell ya again." Dean's eyes narrowed menacingly as he glared at his brother. "Get out or I'm gonna drag your sorry ass out."
"Think you just asked again," Sam goaded. His gaze turned deadly as he pointed the tip of the blade at Dean. "Wanna go for a third cause I'm not budging."
"Last chance . . . don't want to hurt you." When Sam shook his head, refusing to move, Dean opened the door and leapt out of the car. Stalking to Sam's side, he jerked on the handle, and the door opened with a loud creak. He grabbed onto Sam's jacket and yanked him out of the Impala. "You can wait here for Bobby cause if I have to be around you for two more minutes I'm gonna kill ya."
"You can't just leave me out here in the middle of nowhere." Sam stared incredulously at him as Dean strode back to the driver's side.
"Yeah, I really think I can." Dean chuckled.
Sam glanced at the knife still clutched tight in his hand, and then back up at his brother, a slow smile creeping across his features. Taking a few short steps, Sam bent and plunged the knife into the front tire, and yanked down hard on it, slicing through the thick black rubber. Watching the tire rapidly deflate, Sam laughed. With his sardonic grin never wavering, Sam looked at Dean and then pointed at the wheel. "Looks like we're both waiting now."
"You sonuva — " Dean changed directions and charged at Sam.
A deep guttural growl escaped Dean's lips as he slammed his fist into Sam's stomach. Sam groaned as he stumbled backward a few steps. Before his brother had a chance to catch his breath, Dean advanced again, delivering a quick jab to the ribs.
Dean drew back his fist to strike again, but Sam caught hold of his arm, and tried to twist it back, but Dean broke free. Usually agile on his feet, Sam's movements were slow and awkward as he struck out at Dean with a weak ineffectual blow to the jaw.
Rubbing his chin, Dean smirked. "That the best ya got, Sammy? Cause it ain't close to being good enough."
"Dean . . . I — " Sam took a shaky step forward, then faltered as his body began to tremble violently. His eyeballs rolled backwards, the whites of his eyes showing. Crumpling to the ground, he jerked spasmodically.
"Sam?" As he watched his brother, Dean's mind cleared from whatever effects the drug held over him, and he realized what was happening. Rushing to his brother's side, Dean dropped to his knees. "Sammy, talk to me! Tell me what's wrong?"
Sweat trickled down the sides of Sam's face as he continued to thrash wildly in the grass. Dean reached inside Sam's pocket and yanked out the empty pill bottle. He quickly glanced at the date it had been filled, panic gripping his heart when he saw it had only been a little more than a week ago. Christ, Sammy, what did you do?
He scrubbed his hand across his face as he tried to recall how many pills Sam had taken, but the answer alluded him. Why the hell didn't I stop you? "Damn it, Sammy, how many did you take?"
Dean glanced at the knife sticking out of his tire, and then looked around to see exactly where they were. Not seeing any road markers, his worried gaze settled back on Sam. "Where the hell is Bobby . . . I need to get you to a hospital."
Sam abruptly stopped shaking and went deathly still.
"Sam?" Dean gently shook his brother's shoulder, and when he didn't respond, Dean bent and listened to hear if he was breathing. Nothing. He quickly checked for a pulse, but didn't find any. "Damn it, Sammy, don't you do this to me."
Without hesitation, Dean tilted his brother's neck back, pinched his nose, and started to breathe into his mouth. He turned his head, watched Sam's chest slowly rise and fall, then lowered it again to give his brother another breath. Come on, Sammy, breathe for me.
Leaning over his brother, Dean locked his fingers around the back of his hand, and started compressions, silently counting them off in his head. He then lowered his head, gave Sam two more breaths and started over with the compressions. Don't you leave me.
As the moments ticked off slowly, Dean continued to perform CPR on his brother, praying Bobby would come along. Not letting you die out here, Sammy.
Sam gagged, and Dean quickly rolled him on his side, vomit spilling from his brother's lips. When he was finished retching, Dean rolled him back, and cleared Sam's mouth with his finger. Dean checked to see if he was breathing, but still couldn't hear anything or see Sam's chest rise, and resumed CPR.
Hearing Bobby's truck pulling up beside them, Dean glanced up, wiped the sweat dripping from his forehead, and yelled to him. "Call 911. He's not breathing."
Bobby hastily complied, and then hurried over to them. He dropped down beside Sam, and took over giving compressions as Dean continued giving him breaths.
"What the hell happened?" Bobby asked between compressions.
"Overdose," was the only thing Dean could think to say.
"How long's he been down."
Dean gave his brother two more breaths, and then answered. "Don't know, don't care. He's gonna be okay."
He glanced up at the old hunter, and saw Bobby narrow his eyes, a look of concern etching his craggy features. Bobby nodded in understanding as he continued to pump on Sam's chest. "We'll get him back, Dean."
Sam gagged again, and they quickly rolled him on his side, more puke spewing from his mouth. When he was finished, they turned him back, and Dean cleared out his mouth again. Seeing that his chest still wasn't rising and falling, Dean gave him two more quick breaths and Bobby followed with compressions.
"Why the hell didn't I stop him . . . saw him taking them." Dean glanced at Bobby then lowered his head to look at his brother's still form. "God, this is all my fault."
"Can't think about that now, Dean," came Bobby's gruff reply. "All we can do is make sure he stays alive till the ambulance gets here."
They continued on in silence, only stopping long enough to check if Sam was breathing. When they saw he wasn't, they resumed CPR.
In the distance, Dean heard the sound of sirens, and his heart skipped a beat, a feeling of momentary relief washing over him.
"Hear that, Sammy, they're coming. Everything's gonna be okay."
A few minutes later, the ambulance rolled up along side the Impala, and came to a stop. Two paramedics got out, and hurried to the back of the vehicle. One of them pulled out a backboard as the other grabbed their equipment, and both rushed over to Sam.
"How long hasn't he been breathing," the taller of the two men asked, as he knelt beside Sam.
"Not sure," Dean supplied, staring helplessly at the man. "Started CPR right away."
The shorter man knelt, and took Sam's vitals. "What happened?" he asked as he quickly jotted them down.
"He overdosed." Dean swallowed hard, not liking the way the word 'overdose' sounded when referring to his brother.
"Know what he was taking?" the dark-haired, taller man asked as he placed a bag-valve mask over Sam's mouth and nose, and attached the thin clear tube that dangled from it to an oxygen tank.
"No."
"How long's he been using?"
"Don't know . . . not long."
"Age?" the shorter man, with salt and pepper hair said, looking up at Dean.
"Twenty-four," Dean said, quickly rattling off answers to the questions the two men threw them at him. "He's gonna be okay, right? I mean, I started CPR right away . . . he has to be okay."
"We'll do everything we can for him, sir." The taller man, calmly stated. "Now you have to back away and let us work."
Reluctantly, Dean and Bobby, stood and moved back. Dean watched as they worked with trained precision, doing everything in their power to make sure Sam lived.
"Let's scoop and run, George," the shorter man muttered to his partner as he assessed Sam's vitals again.
George nodded in agreement, and hurried to make Sam ready for transport. Within a matter of minutes, they had Sam strapped to the board, and were lifting him off the ground. They quickly carried him to the awaiting ambulance.
"I'm coming with you." Dean rushed to the back of the ambulance, waited for them to load Sam in, and for George to get back out, and then leapt inside the vehicle.
Dean heard the door slam shut behind him and then heard another door open then close. He felt the movement of the vehicle as George did a quick u-turn to head back the way they'd come from. Yet, none of that truly registered as Dean helplessly watched the older man trying to save his brother's life. Fight for me, Sammy. God, please don't leave me.