Demon Blood

Chapter Eleven: Withdrawal

The first symptoms were the shakes and the sweats.

Sam had read about withdrawal symptoms back in high school, and intellectually understood what he might end up going through now. The reality, however, was much, much, much worse.

Huddling in the corner of his room with his legs drawn up to his chest, Sam focused on trying to keep his breathing even and avoid hyperventilating. He clenched his arms as tightly as he could around his legs and stared blankly across the room, his thoughts darting in and out of his mind too quickly to hang onto. He knew he thought of Dean often, and of his dad and even of Bobby, but he couldn't keep track of what exactly those thoughts were about, let alone how long they lasted before darting away again. Hell, time had pretty much lost all meaning by this point.

If he lived through this, he was never touching any fucking demon blood ever again. And if anyone tried to make him, he'd be sure to kill them for even suggesting it.

Next came the muscle spasms.

Sam grit his teeth and clenched his eyes shut as he tried to loosen a charlie horse in his left leg. No one had disturbed him since breakfast that morning (or was it yesterday, now?), and not only was he hungry for actual food, but he was craving more demon blood and it freaked him out almost as much as he wanted it out so he could be just a little less freakish. Not that there was any going back to the way things were, but if drinking the demon blood was the main cause of his new ability to exorcize demons, then he was fine without it. As for the rest?

"You're an even bigger freak than I ever was."

Sam's head shot up, startled. He hadn't heard anyone come in, but —

"Max?"

I've gotta be hallucinating, he thought desperately as the short boy who had shot himself in the head months ago slowly approached him.

"Seriously, though. I thought that I was the freak, Sam," Max Miller said dully, stopping at the foot of Sam's mattress. "I could move anything, while all you ever did was witness my revenge in your mind. But now? You're even weirder than I ever was."

"Shut up," Sam said lowly. "I haven't had a choice in the matter, Max."

"Choice?" Max raised his eyebrows. "Isn't that what you were preaching to me before I shot myself? How I didn't have to kill my dad and uncle, how I could choose a different path… What else could you have said? Nothing's set in stone? There's no such thing as destiny? You know that's not true, Sam! We're freaks of nature! That brother of yours, Dean? He's as close to normal as you'll ever get, and that's not saying much."

"Why are you here?" Sam asked, hating how weak and pathetic his voice sounded.

Max actually smiled and chuckled as though Sam had missed the whole point. "Don't you get it?" he said softly. "You and me? We are alike, Sam. Maybe your dad didn't get drunk as often as mine did, but you know he secretly blames you for your mom's death, just like my dad blamed me for my mom's!"

"He doesn't," Sam tried to cut in, but Max kept talking.

"You may have that older brother of yours to keep your nose clean for now," he taunted, "but sooner or later you'll turn out just like I did. A killer, a murderer. You kill anyone who gets in your way, and soon enough, you start to enjoy it. We're on the same path here, Sam," he added after a moment. "I just got to the end a little bit sooner than you did."

"No!" Sam shouted. "No, I'm not a killer, I never will be!"

"It's your fault that girl died two days ago," Max said simply. "You're the one who damaged her lungs beyond repair before getting rid of the demon inside her. It's your fault she's dead, Sam! And it'll be all your fault when your family dies, too."

"Stop it," Sam bit out, looking down at his knees. "You're not real, it's all in my head."

"So?" Max said, and Sam looked back up at him in surprise. "It doesn't matter whether I'm real or not. A brain hopped up on demon blood makes it real enough." He lifted one hand and Sam was flung across the room, hitting the opposite wall with his left shoulder and crumpling to the ground in pain.

"I hear that you're the best of all of us," Max said. "I wasn't strong enough to keep living, I realize that, but you? You're more likely to angst yourself to death than any of the others, and that's only because you know what's really going on. But then, that's probably your saving grace, too."

Sam slowly lifted his head and glared at Max. "What the hell does that mean?" he gasped out.

Max slowly moved towards him again. "It means you were born to do whatever that yellow-eyed demon wants of you. Military training, supernatural training, thievery, lying, cheating, hiding, research, strength? You've got it all, Sam, and now that you've unlocked the seal over all those other powers you got, there's no going back. You are a freak, Sam, and you're gonna be hunted the rest of your life. Your dad and Dean? They're gonna turn their backs on you once the realize how fucked up you really are."

"Stop it," Sam whispered.

Max frowned and suddenly Sam was flung across the room once more, hitting his head and back this time before slumping onto his mattress. "Your family will desert you," Max said quietly as Sam struggled to sit up again. "Just wait, and you'll see."

Sam looked up, but Max was gone. Taking a shuddering breath, he ran a hand through his messy hair and eased himself back against the corner he had been huddled in. Dad and Dean will save me, he thought, desperately trying to reassure himself. They always have, and they always will.

Sam pulled his legs against his chest again, wrapped his arms around them, dropped his head and, for the first time since being taken from his family, he prayed. He prayed for his family's safety, prayed that they'd find him, that they'd save him from the monster he was turning into. He prayed for the strength to hang on just a little longer, and he prayed that Dean would have enough strength left over to carry him through this, because he was almost completely drained. "Please," he whispered. "God, please."

Sam woke up some time later feeling stiff, sore, and desperately thirsty. Unfortunately for him, there was nothing in his room to drink. Was anyone even watching him suffer? He struggled to his feet, walking around a little to try and ease the pain in his legs.

"What happened to wanting to be normal?" Sam spun around and took in the sight of, well, himself. Granted, the Sam before him looked to be around fourteen years old, but his eyes looked as haunted as Sam imagined his own looked now.

"Well?" little Sammy demanded. "What happened? We were supposed to go to college, get away from all this supernatural crap, from our family."

"You don't just turn on family," Sam snapped back, dropping back onto his mattress. "Yeah, it sucked that we never knew what Dad did until we were eight years old, and yeah, it sucked that we moved so often, but walking out? That was the worst mistake of our life."

"What, so you like all the Hunting, all the lies and secrets and Dad's stupid revenge?" Sammy demanded, crouching down before Sam. "We hated it growing up."

Sam looked away. "I never understood why Dad did the things he did," he said softly, "not until Jess died in that fire last year, anyway. And yeah, I want to stand on my own two feet, to have Dad treat me like an equal instead of a permanent child, but the way we acted towards him growing up? He didn't deserve it, not like that. You know it never would've been that extreme if it hadn't been for Doug, or Rachel, or that stupid grade school teacher in Michigan —" Sam cut himself off and he and Sammy stared at each other silently.

"We let a bunch of demons influence us," Sam finally said, realizing he had pinpointed another two demons who had fucked with his life. God, how many had there been? "Maybe we never realized it," he added, "but that doesn't make it right, or even a good excuse. We wanted a stupid house with a white picket fence like all the other kids so damn much we let others tell us what people did and didn't need in their lives. We wanted normal so badly we walked out on Dad, on Dean!"

Sammy was forced to stand and back away as Sam lurched back to his feet. "We fucking walked out on Dean," he said harshly, "and he never deserved it! He watched out for us our whole life, protected us when Dad couldn't, let us hang onto that innocence about the real world for years longer than he ever got! And we walked out!"

"What good would staying have done?" Sammy shouted back. "Dad never told us the truth! He knew what we were gonna become long before the visions even started, you know he did! He knows where this is all going, and he never once thought we deserved to know the truth! Not once!"

"Who cares?" Sam exploded. He and Sammy stared at each other, chests heaving in anger. "Who cares?" he said again, his voice breaking as grief overtook his anger. "He's still our Dad."

"Since when has that been good enough?" Sammy asked with narrowed eyes.

Sam smiled sadly. "Dad isn't perfect, I know," he said, "but it was always good enough for Dean, and it should've been good enough for us, too."

He turned away and quickly wiped away his tears, but when he looked back, Sammy had vanished just like Max.

Pain. It was completely unbearable and Sam couldn't stop his screams as his body continued to detox. God, he needed more blood, he couldn't live without it, and how was he ever going to live through this? Azazel was going to let him die in here, die alone and he'd never see his family again…

Suddenly, the pain began to ebb away, and Sam opened watery eyes to see Mary in her white nightgown, blood covering her stomach where she'd been slashed before burning up on the ceiling. Just like Jessica. "Mom," he croaked out.

"Shh," Mary whispered, gently settling herself beside Sam on his sweat-soaked mattress. "You're all right for now, love, I promise you."

"Wha…" Sam tried so hard to make his brain work, but it refused to cooperate.

"I'm so sorry you're going through this," Mary said softly, reaching out and gently brushing Sam's damp hair from his face. "This is all my fault, you being here now with all this demon blood in your veins. I never should have confronted that man that first night he showed up, never should have let myself be placed in such a position where John ended up being hurt by my secrets."

Sam smiled slightly. "Why didn't you ever tell Dad?" he asked, hating how his voice cracked from screaming too much.

Mary's smile was incredibly sad. "I came from a long line of Hunters," she said, "but I never wanted that life for myself, let alone John, Dean or even you. I was so determined to marry your father and just walk away from this life, but then that Hunter showed up, said there was a powerful demon around, even convinced my dad to help him." Mary suddenly frowned. "It's funny, but his name was Dean, too."

Sam stared at Mary and frowned. Why did that part of the story seem familiar to him? It couldn't be, Azazel hadn't said anything like that. "Some Hunter turns up out of nowhere, interrupting me in the middle of one of my deals. So, I jumped ship and chose to take Grandpa Samuel's meat suit, which led to drawing my attention to John Winchester, the mechanic who served in the Marines and Mary Campbell, the daughter of Hunter Samuel Campbell. I thought that I must have found the best of my potential children in this particular couple, so I broke John's neck and told Mary I could bring him back if she made a simple deal to allow me access to her home in ten years. She made the Deal, I stabbed Gramps and twisted Grandma's neck, and now I think I've found the one who'll carry out my plans."

Sam's frown deepened. He couldn't quite figure out why, but that story suddenly didn't seem quite right. Was it?

"Even after I made the Deal," Mary continued, "I still thought I could forget everything, forget that awful night I lost both my parents, forget that I almost lost John, too." There were tears in her eyes as she stroked Sam's head softly. "I guess we both learned you can't run from your past," she added ruefully, swiping at her eyes with her free hand.

"I don't blame you," Sam whispered, staring at his mother and wishing to God this was real, that Mary was actually here with him. "You had no idea what Azazel was planning, no one knew. I just wish you hadn't walked into my room that night."

"I couldn't have done anything else, Sammy," Mary said with a choked-up sounding chuckle. "I'm not that kind of mother. Oh, you're so strong, Sam, you have no idea how well you're really doing with everything that's happened to you, even now." Her eyes were shining with tears again. "You'll make it through this, I know you will."

"Thanks," Sam replied, closing his eyes. "I hope Dad and Dean get here soon."

Mary was silent for a long moment. "Sam," she said hesitantly, "you do know the price of their coming here, right?"

Sam cracked his eyes open. "Figures you'd know everything I already know," he grumbled, wincing as he tried to sit up. "I have to believe they'll find another way that doesn't require that," he said, meeting Mary's eyes with his own.

"You know that won't happen," Mary whispered, placing two fingers on Sam's forehead. Suddenly, a raging headache burst into life, and Sam was falling —

"Make the Deal or I kill them both here and now," Azazel said calmly. "It sure would be a shame to lose Sammy here, but I've still got others out there I can choose from, so it's not the biggest loss ever."

"No," Sam whispered, "no, please no, don't do it, please —"

There was a long moment of silence.

"I got no choice."

"Ah!" Sam snapped back into reality and forced his eyes open, wanting to demand how Mary had done that, but she wasn't there. "God, I'm losing my mind," he whispered, collapsing back onto the mattress.

"I think you already have." Sam knew without looking that it was Azazel. "Still, once I have my deal, I think you'll find a way to keep going. You're not like Max Miller, you're not gonna just flame out under the pressure, not after everything else you've been through."

"Go away," Sam groaned, keeping his eyes tightly shut.

"But I brought water, Sammy," Azazel said in a mock-hurt voice. "You must be pretty dehydrated after 52 hours of this."

Sam cracked one eye open and saw that Azazel was, indeed holding a glass of water. He forced himself to sit up and took the proffered glass in shaking hands, raising it to his lips. He spilled a little at first, but eventually he managed to slowly drink the entire thing, glad for its chilled temperature soothing his sore throat.

"Your daddy, Dean and Uncle Bobby should be here pretty soon," Azazel commented when Sam handed back the glass. "I can't wait to see what they do in their attempt to rescue you, especially seeing as how I've got their best weapon."

"You're an asshole," Sam stated, staring at his knees again.

"Yeah, well, I think it's part of my charm. Or something." Azazel snorted. "Doesn't matter in the end, Sammy. I'll get what I want, and you'll get the one who matters most." He grinned when Sam looked back up at him. "I wonder if you can live with what's coming, kiddo."

"Ask me that again when I finally kill you," Sam snapped dully, looking away again.

Azazel laughed aloud this time. "I look forward to the attempt, Sammy," he said as the door to the room opened. "In the meantime, enjoy your detox. I think you've still got a long way to go before you're out of the woods."

Sam watched through his bangs as Azazel left and the door slammed shut once more. I can't do this, he thought bleakly. I'll never make it.

Meg was ruthless in her torture. Sam knew, somewhere in his screwed up head, that this was only another hallucination, like Max and his mom, but Jesus Fucking Christ, he was hurting!

"We could've had a lot of fun together, Sam," Meg cooed in his ear as he struggled against the bindings holding him to the floor. "All you had to do was get on that bus with me, and we both could've gone to California together, maybe even put together a life worth living." A frown crossed her borrowed face, Meg Master's face. "Well, at least until my father required you in his plans."

She dragged her knife across Sam's stomach, and God he couldn't stop his screams. "Mmm, you sound so good, Sam," Meg murmured, gently stroking a hand through his hair. "The things I could do to you right now…" She ran her index finger along the cut on Sam's stomach, sending flashes of pain through Sam's system and he gasped for air. Then she shoved her finger into the cut and Sam screamed, arching off the floor, which only caused Meg's finger to sink deeper into his guts and he could feel tears sliding down his face as he tried to pull away. Meg's finger only followed him, as did her horrific laughter at his pain. Then her mouth clamped over his, kissing him ruthlessly, plundering his mouth with her hot tongue and holding his head in place with her free hand.

Sam couldn't struggle, couldn't move, and he felt so fucking violated that, as soon as Meg's mouth left his, sobs broke through, wracking his chest as they alternated with his screams of pain. Oh, God, make it stop, please make it all stop, just kill me, stop stop stop stop —

And suddenly Sam came back to himself. No Meg, no bindings holding him down, no cuts or other injuries and he couldn't help but sob in relief as he curled onto his right side. He couldn't keep this up, let alone focus on anything that was going on around him anymore. He never heard his cell door open, never heard the harsh words, didn't even feel the strong hands pulling him upright or notice that he was being dragged from his prison of a room. All he knew was pain and fleeting thoughts that never lasted long enough for him to grab onto.

It took three days before Dean was finally able to stand before the targeted warehouse in Los Angeles, California. He swallowed back his fear for Sam and turned to his dad. John nodded silently before slowly leading the way forward, Dean and Bobby following closely behind with the rising sun at their backs.

Their only weapons were their shotguns, loaded with salt rounds, and several small containers of holy water. John and Bobby had each taken the time to memorize a few exorcisms in Latin, while Dean was choosing to rely on his weapons to give them the time they needed to get rid of each demon while keeping an eye out for Sam. Dean wasn't the praying type by any stretch of the imagination, but right now he couldn't stop from praying that they'd be able to save his brother without any significant loses. Although, knowing Winchester luck…

"Sam needs you more than he needs John. Not that he doesn't need you both, but you matter more to him." Rachel's words seemed to be haunting him, taunting him with the secrets they were concealing. There was so much that could go wrong today, Dean knew that, but those words made him think this was all an elaborate trap. And it could very well cost them all their lives.

The first demon was easy to take out. Dean held it down while Bobby sprayed it with holy water and John rushed through an exorcism, the words almost blending together in their haste to get this over with without attracting any attention. It was the same thing with the next few demons.

After that, it got really complicated.

Dean was quickly running out of rock salt rounds as they moved through the maze of offices before spilling out into the main room by the loading bay. John and Bobby were behind Dean, still facing the hallway they had emerged from as they continued to shoot and spray the demons, so it was Dean who caught the first sight of his little brother.

Sam looked like hell. He was sweating profusely, dark circles under his eyes as his head lolled languidly on his shoulders. Two brute demons were holding him upright since he couldn't seem to support himself on his knees, and he was shaking so badly that he reminded Dean of a druggie going through withdrawal symptoms. "Sammy," he whispered, lowering his shotgun at once.

Then he spotted Azazel.

"Hello there, Dean," he said with a cheery wave. The other demons that had been attacking the three men abruptly backed away, and John and Bobby finally turned around. "I have to say, this is pretty much what I expected outta you three. It is such a shame I've got the one weapon you need to waste me for good."

"Azazel," John ground out harshly from Dean's right side. "Let Sam go."

Dean tightened his jaw when Azazel started laughing. "And why would I do that?" he asked jovially. "Sammy here really is the best of all the kids of his generation. He'll make a damn good leader of my army. Once I have it, that is." He grinned, yellow eyes flashing. "That's still a ways off, of course, but I have to admit, I'm pretty excited." He walked over to Sam and placed a hand on his head, chuckling when Sam flinched violently and tried to pull away from the brutes holding him up.

"Stop, please," he whispered, and Dean caught a glimpse of his cloudy, unfocused eyes. "Make it stop…"

"What the hell did you do to him?" Dean demanded, clenching his hands tightly at his sides.

"Me?" Azazel looked up at him. "Oh, nothing, really. We just stopped dosing him, saved you some time."

Dean stared at Sam. "You got him addicted to the demon blood, didn't you?"

Bobby sucked in a breath from Dean's left side as Azazel patted Sam's head and ignored his pleas. "Wasn't hard," he admitted with a careless shrug. "The potential's been built into his system since he was six months old. Same with the other kids, but what are the chances of them randomly ingesting demon blood?"

"You sick bastard," John bit out, and Dean could see his hands tightening on his own shotgun.

"I know, right?" Azazel said with a 'what can you do?' gesture of his hands. "Of course, this does rather leave us at an impasse, does it not? You've got nothing to bargain with for Sammy's life, and you've no way of getting out of here in one piece. Those weapons of yours won't last much longer."

Dean briefly met John's eyes as he surveyed the situation. Unfortunately, Azazel was right. They were trapped, and there was no way out.

TBC...