"Sammy! C'mon, Sammy, open the door!" Dean called desperately. He had seen the look in his brother's eyes. The fear. And he had a sickening notion as to what Sam was doing behind that door.
"What on earth is going on with you two?" their dad demanded. Dean hammered at the door, ignoring him, until John spun him around bodily. "Answer me, son!"
"Do you know what you just did?" The words threatened to strangle Dean even as he said them. "For once, that kid wanted to help, to be something in this wreck of a family, and you just shoved it back in his face!"
"You know just as well as I do that until we get past this demon blood mess, we can't fully trust him."
"And you dragged him here anyway! Sammy is fighting it more than you could imagine. More than he should have to, alone. He's your son, for Christssake! Maybe you could keep that in mind?" Rant expelled, Dean went back to pummeling the door. "Sammy, open up!"
No answer. The knob was one of those push-and-twist locks, no conducive to being picked. With panic building in his chest, Dean threw his shoulder against the door. "Dad, help me!"
John finally shook the moment of numbness he had been stuck in, and joined Dean's effort. Between them the doorframe splintered in four tries, and the door budged inward.
"Shit…"
Sam was propped against the tub, eyes half-closed, breathing shallow. Blood from numerous gashes covered his forearms. It soaked into his sweatpants, dripping on the floor, where a straight razor had dropped from his hand.
"Don't do this to me, Sammy," muttered Dean, who grabbed towels to staunch the wounds. John was once again paralyzed by shock. His son was stubborn and uncooperative, but suicidal?
"How…why…"
"He tried to get rid of the demon blood, jackass! It's all he's cared about since we rescued him. You still wanna question his reliability, or are you going to help keep him alive?" spat Dean.
John swallowed with extreme difficulty. "You're right, son…I-I'm sorry." He took over keeping Sam's arms above heart level while Dean went for the first aid kit. For the first time since Mary's murder, he couldn't process what to do.
"We need to get those slowed, cleaned and stitched if necessary," Dean continued upon return. "To be safe, I'm going to draw some of my blood to give him, since we have the same blood type." He set antiseptic and suture supplies on a clean towel before setting up his own blood donation (lucky Bobby had told them hunters have had to perform transfusions in the field on occasion, so they were prepared). The stab of the needle in his elbow resonated with the ache in his gut as he watched his semiconscious brother. Why? Why'd we let it get this bad?
John used a spare shoelace to keep Sam's left arm elevated with the towel bar while he focused on the right one. He recognized other cuts in various stages of healing. This wasn't Sam's first effort. And it galled him. His baby boy lay bleeding out on a motel floor because of his attitude.
"Sammy…"
His hands fought to keep steady as he put neat stitches –too many—in his youngest son's arms. By the time he had them swathed in gauze, his oldest held up a full bag of blood, the tube pinched off. They swapped out the needle for a clean one.
"Damn, I can't find a good vein," he cursed. Dean, elbow now bandaged, leaned over to help. They managed to hit one in Sam's hand, and get the transfusion going. Sam's face was scarily pale.
"We should get him to the bed. Pastor Jim told me once that it's too easy to get chilled after significant blood loss," breathed Dean. He began to strip off Sam's bloody sweats.
"Take it easy, you just drained yourself a pint of blood. Don't go moving too fast."
Dean glared at him. "I have to. You grab his shoulders."
John gripped the IV bag in his teeth, and hauled Sam's upper body while Dean lifted his brother's knees. Very slowly and awkwardly, they maneuvered the gangly teenager to the bed farthest from the door. John used a bare nail in the wall to hang the bag.
"Now you, sit," he commanded Dean. "I'll get you some water and one of the chicken sandwiches before you pass out too." He grabbed some for himself as well. With the excitement over, all that remained was to watch Sam, and hope. He had a feeling neither of them was going to sleep much tonight.
