After three weeks in the road, stopping off at any motel that had a room available, Sam had started to recover, the changes were only slight but it was progress. His breathing sounded less forced, less loud; he didn't wince at every movement or every time he tried getting settled on the couch or bed. Most of his injuries had healed; it was the burns that laced around Sam's lower back that worried Dean. The swelling was still there but the bleeding had stopped for the most part.
The fire had peeled away the majority of Sam's sun kissed skin, leaving behind patches of mottled skin. Most of the skin in Sam's lower back was a sickly white or a shade of pink depending on how the wound was healing. The areas of skin that hadn't been burnt away mottled Sam's back leaving tanned spots along his back, discolouring it and making the white stand out that much more. The area's that were still healing were still a vibrant red colour, Sam's flesh visible in the area's that skin hadn't covered or healed properly over. Blood occasionally surfaced over the flesh whenever Dean removed the bandages to help Sam lather the wound with the burn cream the nurse gave Dean at the hospital.
Dean watched Sam like a hawk every night, his gaze never wavering as his brothers lumbering form climbed into the bed. Sam's muffled wince cut through the silence that was oozing into the room, coated everything like a thick black slime, engulfing everything until the entire world was filled with total darkness. His voice was like a light, a simple orb cutting through the gloom and illuminating the room ever so slightly, just enough for Dean to see the contorted expression of pain on Sam's face.
Dean knew he couldn't send Sam back to hospital; their money was running out and Dean forked out the last lot of cash paying for the motel and Sam's medication. All Dean could do was to just wait and watch Sam suffer until they arrived at Bobby's.
"Hey, Sammy, you ok?" Dean could feel his voice crack slightly; no power or reassurance came from the words. Just a months' worth of sleepless nights and evenings drowned in alcohol when the sound of Sam's damaged breathing and constant pain became too much.
A muffled 'yes' was all that Dean got as a reply. Dean knew that Sam was hiding something more; he could see it in Sam's face, the hidden taint that the fire left behind. Dean could see the imprint it made on Sam soul. He saw it every time Sam though Dean wasn't looking, every time he replaced the bandages, every grunt or wince Dean could see through Sam's façade. Dean could see clear as day that Sam had given up. Dean could see that with each passing minute Sam was getting worse, his body was healing but his mind was a raw open wound, seeping blood and fluids.
"I'm gonna go grab something to eat and you some more of those tablets, want me to bring you anything" Sam's head lifted slightly, his gaze focusing on his brother before letting it collapse back down onto the soft bed.
Dean knew Sam could see through his lies but it was easier than the stone cold truth of 'I'm going to get piss drunk because I can't deal with my brother right now.'
"C'mon Sammy, you gotta eat something. You're basically running on nothing…" Dean wasn't sure if Sam was even listening to the pleading tone of his voice, couldn't hear or just didn't care. Dean couldn't tell which.
Sam's voice was faint; Dean could hardly hear the words that were coming from Sam's mouth. "I'm fine Dean." Those three trusty words that meant absolute bullshit but just this once Dean chose to believe them.
"Alright, don't, uh, strain yourself too much ok?" Without as much as a glance back, Dean made his way door, dreading too look back.
*.*.*.*
Sam glanced over as Dean turned his back to leave; the room felt empty, cold. Sam counted the minutes as they went by; ten rolled into twenty then sixty. All Sam could do was watch the door and wait. Sam spent the rest of the evening constantly glancing at the time and silently hoping Dean was going to come back and take him away from this place. The room was dark and cold, the tattered curtains made sure that even a sliver of light couldn't penetrate inside leaving Sam bath in the inky, unwelcoming blackness that consumed the room.
That's when the voices ran over him like cold water, sending shivers down him spine and making the skin along his spine prickle. They whispered into his ear, coaxing him, taunting him with each minute that passed. The whispering got louder, angrier, Dean was gone and nothing could protect him now, they had come for him and they were never going to stop. Sam reached out and grabbed the spare pillow, pulling it over his head to block them out, ignoring the voices, the feeling that washed over him as they inched closer.
Sam's clamped his hands around his ears, his fingers digging into his scalp as he drags his nails down clawing at his ears. Curling up in a tight ball he lay there unmoving, whispering to himself, saying the same thing over and over "It's not real, it's not real, it's not real…" He knew his prayers were in vain, just a string of false hope just waiting to be cut away. Dean wasn't coming home, not now anyways, but the idea was all Sam could hold onto, what kept his sanity. Dean's coming home, it'll be ok. It's what kept the demons away.
*.*.*.*
Dean couldn't tell how long he sat at the bar for, or how many glasses of liquor he ploughed through. The drinks just kept coming, a shot to drown out Sam, and another to block out the dark haired and blue eyed face that had been swirling around in Dean's mind this last week, and two more to drown out the voice of his father that echoed through his head. The sound of disappointment that reverberated through his skull as his thoughts drifted to his biggest failure, Sam. But no matter how many shots, how many glasses of alcohol he consumed the thought of Sam always resurfaced and always followed closely behind by the image of that stupid doctor with his annoyingly mesmerising ocean blue eyes, and the way his stupid scrubs were never tucked in properly like he just rolled out of bed, and how whenever he said 'h' the corners of his lips would turn up slightly into a small smile as he spoke…
Dean was not in love, that'd be absurd and he certainly wasn't pining over Sam's doctor. He pinned it on the alcohol; it was fogging his brain, removing any sensible thought and replacing it with absurdities. The whole idea of that was ridiculous; Dean couldn't have pushed the thought of Castiel out of his mind faster.
The thoughts of Cas slipped away; soon the only thing that occupied his clouded, alcohol induced thoughts was his little brother, Sam lying down on the bed completely oblivious to his surroundings. The thought of Sam drifting around like a ghost, silent, unaware, uninterested about his surroundings for who knows how long haunted Dean. It haunted him every morning he woke and saw his brother's fragile figure sprawled out the bed, each limb placed specifically so there was minimal pain, how each movement was calculated, cautioned. He was a ghost and Dean couldn't take looking at the hollow wreck he called Sam Winchester.
Dean could barely form a coherent thought, his mind was clouded, the world started to spin as his senses were suddenly abused as a petite blonde started making her way over. Her hips swayed slightly with each step, she radiated confidence as she strutted forward, and she walked with poise and certainty as she slid into the seat next to Dean. Her sharp gaze cut into Dean's back as he took another sip of his alcohol; no matter how hard he tried he couldn't ignore her.
Dean pivoted his body around to face her, grinning widely as if he didn't have a care in the world. "Can I buy you a drink there Miss…" His mouth felt too dry, his tongue too big for his mouth as his words came out in a slurred mess.
"Cassie" She supplied for him, letting her leg press up against Dean's thigh, "and I think we've both had enough" She dragged her fingernails over Dean's arm lightly, sending small jolts of pleasure straight through his arm and right down to his stomach.
'Cassie,' the name itself made a faint blush ignite the tips of Dean's ears, further reddening his already flushed cheeks. It was too similar, too close; why did it affect him so much. Wonderment and confusion swirled around Dean's thoughts before he realised she was watching him with familiar calculating blue eyes, expecting a reply.
"M' names Dean by the way" Dean could barely get the words out before their both collided into a messy kiss. Dean could feel her arm snake around his lower back pushing him further into her as her mouth ravaged his.
The rest of the night was a blur of colours and touches. The light caress of skin on skin and the intoxication brought on liquor and lust. The trip to her house was a haze of colours; reds, pinks and blues blurred together as they stumbled into the bedroom. Their energies clashed against each other, her icy grasp licking against the fire that was Dean's soul, burning bright into the cold night. They devoured each other; ice dampening the fire and the fire melting away the ice. Their energies rippled, drifting away before surging back together in a frenzied climax.
Dean dreamt of fire; of being strung up as flames licked his body consuming him whole. Dean dreamt of his mother burning, of Sam trapped in his house as fire ate away at his flesh. He watched his mother die over and over, her scream echoing through his dream, the fire that consumed her and almost killed Sam. He saw it through his eyes, the eyes of a naive four year old; Mary hanging from the ceiling as her blood started to pool below her, the fire catching as it engulfed the whole room stealing his mother away, taking Sammy and running outside. He watched it happen over and over before it started to fade away, the memory diminishing before all that was left was the roar of the flames and a gaping hole in his chest. Dean dreamt of Hell and he was in it.
Dean woke up from his dream with a jolt as if someone pulled him out, rescuing him from the fires that tormented his sleep. Dean groggily opened his eyes and glanced around the blurred room, his eyes were burning and his head was pounding along with his heart; rapid and loud. His chest felt like a herd of wild bulls had stampeded over him, even breathing felt like an effort; pins and needles tickled along his hands and feet like ants crawling under his skin. As he tried to pull himself up the world started to spin, mercilessly sending pangs of nausea straight to Dean's stomach, making the insides of his stomach threaten to make an encore appearance. Without another thought he reached over for his clothes and tugged them on, trying as much as he could to ignore the pulsing headache. The only thing Dean wanted to do was go back to sleep, in this strange room and just forget, forget about his duties, forget about Sam. Shit…
SAM
"Fuck!" the realisation hit Dean like a punch to the stomach, without a second thought Dean rolled out of the bed, half falling half jumping out of the bed forgetting his hangover for a second, but only for a second.
The nausea rolled over Dean sending him running to the bathroom without so much as a glance towards the door that lead to his freedom, for now he was trapped by the weakness of his stomach, caving in to its pains.
As soon as Dean's knees hit the cold tiles in front of the toilet the bile that was resting in his throat was wretched up, spilling into the toilet bowl. Kneeling there Dean tried to piece together last night's events; it just came to him in flashes of countless shots and the sensation of light touches. Then it slowly hit him, the girl at the bar, the sex… Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.
After finally composing himself Dean slowly lifted himself off of the floor and made his way back to the bedroom. Dean pulled out his phone to check the time, almost eleven am. Fan-fucking-tastic, Dean thought as he scrolled through his messages. The number 4 hung over his message inbox, clicking on it Dean started to read, attempting to make out the blurred words that danced around his screen.
7:19pm
Sam Winchester
Dean are you coming back?
10:36pm
Sam Winchester
Dean?
1:47am
Sam Winchester
The keys under the doormat
7:03am
Sam Winchester
I need more meds… can you get them on the way back?
After gazing intensely down at his phone for another ten minutes Dean made it to his feet and he started to slowly make his way out of Cassie's apartment looking around at the unfamiliar shops, searching for anything that resembled a chemist. Walking through the crisp morning air helped Dean clear his mind; the pounding in his head had started to subside. It helped him think, as well as he could think at that given time anyways, he thought about how he failed Sam, how he failed at protecting him, how he failed at being a big brother, he thought of how instead of sitting with Sam last night he went out and got trashed; Dean's thoughts cluttered his brain filling him with self-doubt and self-deprecation.
As he strolled past an old washed out diner Dean could feel his stomach groan in protest at the thought of food but it didn't stop the niggling sensation at the back of his head crave for as much sodium pumped carbs that could be served on a small plate. The small diner was quaint, not many people sat at the few tables to have lunch. The quiet was somewhat soothing; crowds' right now wasn't the best way to cure a hangover, although coffee certainly was one step closer to a clearer head.
"What can I get you darl?" Dean glanced up and looked at the young plump lady that was hovering over him with a small notepad in hand and wearing an overly fake smile in hope that it would score her a decent tip.
Glancing upwards Dean returned her smile with a small flirtatious grin, "just some coffee and whatever burger you've got"
"Alrighty, it'll just be a minute with your coffee" With a slight toss of her hair the waitress heading back towards the kitchen without as much of a glance back.
The service was quick; Dean ate his food slowly, exaggerating each chew and swallowing each bite of food as slowly as possible, hoping that his procrastinating would prolong the time it would take to face his brother. He wasn't sure why he felt so ashamed of what happened last night, it was perfectly normal for someone to get shitfaced because they could bare watching their baby brother writher in pain all night. It definitely wasn't his fault he woke up in someone else's bed either. He was purely blaming the amount of alcohol he co summed last night, nothing more than the influence of liquor and a pair of pretty eyes. Sam would understand Dean knew he would, he was his brother after all.
Pure dread shot to Dean's stomach as he finally finished the last of his meal, nauseating him all over again. Knowing Sam would probably have a fit at grease filled buns he had just consumed, Dean brought a less oil pumped and salt filled meal for him. After all Dean had said he was going to bring some food home for Sam to eat, he was just a tad later than expected. Leaving the diner he set out to his original mission of finding somewhere he could purchase anything to ease Sam's pain.
After walking for a few more blocks, Dean eventually stumbled into the store he was looking for. He walked into the chemist, clutching Sam's prescription in his hand alongside a large wad of cash that he had been saving up in these last few weeks. He glanced down at the prescription that was written is Cas's messy scrawl, two repeats of mezlocillin for infection, acetaminophen with meperidine for the pain, and take oxandrolone for two weeks for the healing process. Without as much as a question Dean quickly paid the cashier and fled back home to Sam or at least the ratty, run down motel they could barely afford.
*.*.*.*
The strong smell of alcohol and dried vomit wafted into the motel room as Dean stumbled back in the next day with two bags in hand alongside the dark look Dean threw Sam across the room before heading straight for the couch. One look and Sam knew exactly what happened and he knew Dean wasn't at all in the mood to give out any names or details at the moment.
Dean's voice wafted over from the couch and into the kitchen, "good to see yah walking bout' Sammy"
"''M just getting some food and its Sam" The sound of the fridge closing muffled the rest of the sentence.
"Whatever princess, and I brought you something from a diner anyway" Without as much as shifting from his position on the couch he held out the bags he brought back with him, shaking them slightly in the air, a rattling sound emitting from one "and a special concoction called a shitload of pain killers mixed with some other meds I can't read"
"Yeah, last night and you can't read them 'cause they're more than two syllables long" with a huff Sam slowly made his way over to Dean, his feet dragging along the worn out carpet floor. "Oh and Bobby called, he was wanting to know when we were gonna arrive?"
"Hmmm? Oh right yeah, I better call him back. We should leave tonight around seven so we can hit the high way and get there tomorrow before dark" With a nod Sam took both of the bags and settled on the arm chair, leaning slightly on the side so his back wouldn't press too much against the back of the chair.
After a few minutes of sitting in an uncomfortable silence Sam looked over at Dean's still form, "Dean?"
"What?"
"Go have a shower, you kind of stink," the corners of Sam's mouth twitched slightly as to small grin formed on his face.
"Bitch"
"Jerk" Sam quickly shot back, his mouth twisted into a large smile as he gazed over at Dean, something Dean hadn't seen since before Sam left for Stanford. Today might not be as bad as Dean was dreading.
*.*.*.*
Night came quickly and Sam and Dean had started to load the car, packing the few items they actually owned. A backpack each full of their clothes, Sam's medication and their phones summed up their belongings. All of Sam's personal belongs had been destroyed in the fire that claimed Jess's life and almost claimed Sam's life. Anything Dean owned that held any personal value was in the impala; then again his most treasured item was the impala.
The impala was more than just Dean's car or John's hand me down, it was much, much more; it was in essence Dean's soul in its purest form. It was Sam and Dean's childhood, it was their home. No matter how many times Dean replaced the car parts or scrapped off old pieces of metal, the impala stayed the same and it was the small things that made it theirs; the car they lived in as kids and escaped in as adults. It was things like Sam and Dean's initials that they had carved into the interior of the car as kids when they were on the way to a new town, the rattling every time the air conditioner was turned on. It carried each nostalgic memory Dean could hold onto, no matter how small and insignificant it was what carried Dean's soul, his childhood.
The impala was a memory in itself; it reminded Dean of what he had and what he could never have again. All of those small things were just a reminder of the past, the past that he longed for, the past that he was so close to reaching but could never touch.
They climbed into the impala, Sam constantly shifting and squirming in his seat in attempt to find a comfortable position. The pain wasn't as uncomfortable and obvious as before, they both could see the significant changes. After using the new creams and medication in the morning Dean noted that the redness was fading and the puffiness of the damaged skin had god down considerable. The burns still were tender and in some areas a much brighter red colour but it was healing. Slowly but surely, it was healing. Soon all that would remain would be scars and the discolouration of Sam's skin.
The drive was quite, the soft hum of the engine was soothing as Dean sped down the highway trying to make it to Bobby's house before the sunrises. The faint thrum in his head was what fuelled him forward; the ghost of his morning headache reminded him how he failed at the simplest task. Look after Sammy. Take care of your baby brother.
The haunting memory of the fire than killed claimed his mother's life and almost took Sam away too was still clear. The sound of her scream, the burning flesh, his father giving him Sam to run as fast as he could out of the house. The memory was all too familiar, it tormented his dreams and now it was mixed with something else. Something that Dean could barely to live with, the memories that haunted him day and night.
When he was his mother burn he saw Sammy with her, both kneeling in the fires as it consumed them. Eating them whole and dragging them all down into the depths of pit to be strung up and carved into all eternity. Nightmares plagued his dreams, constantly nagging his subconscious of the similarities of his mothers and Jess's death. He thought of the faces constantly flashed through his dreams, black eyes and the glimmer of a reflection on a blade, the fire reflecting in the silver of the knife as it slid across his flesh. They were the faces that Sam described, down to the cruel glint of black eyes and the claws that raked his flesh. Sam's voice tickled the back of Dean's mind, 'Dean, the demons… they're here. Dean… please' the constant nagging from his eight year old brother about monsters that lurked in the dark and demons that hid in the shadows.
Dean quickly withdrew from his thoughts and glanced over at Sam's sleeping form. He watched the steady rise and fall of his chest and the peaceful expression on his face; all the worry lines that had taken refuge to Sam's forehead in these last few weeks had faded away. Turning back to the road Dean let himself relax and keep driving, there were still a couple hours until they arrived at Bobby's and he will let Sam rest until then.
*.*.*.*
Sam awoke to the gentle prod of his shoulder as Dean attempted to wake him up from his dreamless sleep; it was the best rest he had gotten in weeks.
With blurry eyes Sam gazed over at Dean, slightly irritated for being awaken "We at Bobby's yet?"
"Yeah we're here, sorry for waking you up. Bobby probably has a bed ready if you wanna go back to sleep" Dean slowly climbed out of the impala and gazed over at Sam, waiting for him to get out of the car.
"Nah I'm good, I'm awake now and it's almost two in the afternoon. I can survive a couples hours of sunlight, I slept for ages anyway" Sam followed Dean, carefully climbing out of the car so he didn't bump against anything.
"Hurry up and get out of the car princess, I need to unload the car" With an arm outstretched, Dean half guided and half pulled Sam out of the car seat, directing him over to Bobby's porch.
"Whatever… Jerk"
"Bitch" Dean quickly shot back.
Sam's gaze flickered over to the front door and then back to Dean who was pulling out their bags from the trunk of the car. With a soft sigh he walked over the front door, tripping over a loose floorboard that was jutting out. Sam rapped his knuckles against the door pane a couple of times and waited patiently for a response, hoping the old coot was home. Sam glanced back over at Dean's lumbering form as he dragged the bags to the porch, wondering if he should try and help, but the tingling sensation in his lower back said otherwise. After a few seconds of the faint shuffling sound coming from inside, the door swung open to reveal a slightly disgruntled Bobby, but that didn't stop Sam from throwing his arms around him.
Pulling his arms back, Sam smiled gently as he looked at the older man. "Hey Bobby, it's been a while"
"You boys have grown up a fair bit, especially you Sam, it's been a while" Bobby shared a quick glance with Dean before heading back inside, signalling for Sam and Dean to follow. "Good thing Dean called so I could clear the rooms a bit"
It was exactly as Sam remembered it as a kid; the piles of books littered the entire house taking up most of the space. It was the exact same organised chaos as it had been for years and it was the only place that Sam could truly call a home. All of the other places he dared to call home had been destroyed, and he knew both times it was because of him. Every time he entered this household he felt a twinge of guilt and anticipation, it was only a matter of time before he loses this home as well; Sam knew that was to be expected, he knew not to ever get attached to something that could easily slip through his grasp. He had Dean, he had the impala and that's all he needed
They spent the rest of the day trying to get settled in the house, slowly unpacking all of their clothes and maintaining light hearted conversation. Sam knew what they were up to, he could see it in the silent exchanges Dean and Bobby shared whenever Sam showed a hint of pain that reminded them of the sin he committed. He knew they were trying their hardest to skip around and dodge any conversation that involved the topic of 'Sam's letters.' 'Jess' and 'the fire'; Sam knew what they were up to; he could see it in the silent exchanges Dean and Bobby shared. He could see the look on their faces whenever Sam showed a hint of pain that reminded them of the sin he committed. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind and forced himself to laugh along to the conversation and reminisce of the 'good old days.'
The sun started to slowly set and Sam could feel himself start to become weary as the sun disappeared and the moon took its place as the only source of light. His eyelids felt like a ten ton weight had crashed onto them making it feel almost impossible to keep them open. Putting down the beer he was cradling in his lap, he slowly rose from the couch and nodded over at Bobby.
"I'm going to crash, see you all tomorrow" Sam lumbered back to his room ignoring the 'goodnights' that the other two mumbled in his wake.
The bed was soft and comforting, better than anything those hotels had to offer; it was compelling, the soft mattress and the clean duvet. Any ideas of showering or taking his medications floated away as soon as he sunk into the bed, sleep overcame his senses, drowning out his wants and needs. Sleep came easily that night but it was only followed closely behind by nightmares and the whispering voices
*.*.*.*
With Sam's absence the atmosphere had become less tense, only the occasional glance was shared between Dean and Bobby after Sam left. They sat in silence as Dean carefully exhumed the warm beer in his hand as if it contained all the solutions to his problems. Bobby was the first to speak which snapped Dean out his daydreaming, "Sam's looking better but the kid can't stay focused for more than 10 minutes. Always retreating back to that big head of his"
"I don't know what to do Bobby; he's been like this since he woke up. It's worse now than ever. It's like the further we get away from everything the more he retreats back into his head" Bobby could sense the anxiety coming off Dean in waves as the words came tumbling out of his mouth. "It's like I'm not ever there anymore, he sees right through me as if there's someone behind me, gazing right over my head"
Bobby just gave Dean a sharp nod before taking a quick swig of his beer, considering Dean's words. "Is that it or has that small brain forgotten something else that could be important. This is Sam we're talking about. That kid has never been 'alright'"
Dean could feel his breath catch at those words, he could hear the sincerity and concern behind them but it just flew over his head. "This is Sam we're talking about, the only strange thing bout' that kid was he cared more about books than people" Dean snapped back putting up his mental barriers.
"You both were little snot nosed brats but Sam's always been a spirited kid, just as suborn as your father but you're right, he is your brother. That's why you need to do something about it Dean" The sternness of Bobby's voice took Dean by surprise and he let his shoulders slump down in defeat.
"I can't just waltz up to a university and demand information about of the students, especially after… after what happened with Jess"
"Listen, you boys are all the family I have left and just asking around won't hurt a bit. The kid had friends right? Ask them"
With a sharp nod Dean slid away from his seat, "I'll go in the morning, better get it over with. Give me a few days" chocking back a yawn Dean walked over to his bed, reading to crash for the night hoping to rid himself of the world.
Sleep came quickly, crashing over him like a wave as it pulled him under. Colourless images and thoughts swirled around in his thoughts, prodding at his subconscious, toying with his fears and teasing his hopes. Dean dreamt in colour that night, a blinding mixture of reds, yellows and oranges. He dreamt of fire, burning away his heart and soul.
Sorry this has taken so so so so long to update but mix intense procrastination, anime and schizophrenia meds that make you sleep into one big concoction of 'couldn't write if I had a gun pointed to me head.' I just want to explain that it took a really long time to get the words out. Writing a lot of this was pretty emotional because the type of issues Sam is facing is what I have and it's hard admitting that this is very similar to what I experience in my life. To whoever is still reading this or just found it thank you for taking your time for my shitty writing and my dialogue-phobia. Reviews would be absolutely grand.
