FRIDAY – WEEK 4
"Dean," I hear someone hiss in my ear. "It's me. Don't yell."
I force my eyes open, and I see my brother's face hovering over mine. He looks a little panicked, but good otherwise. "Sam?"
"Yeah, but I need you to keep quiet while I get you out of here, okay?" Sam asks of me.
"You're getting me out of here?" I ask rather loudly, excitement flooding my groggy system.
Sam shushes me, puts a finger to my lips. "You've got to stay quiet. I'll get you out of here, but you've got to be quiet," Sam tells me. I hear the door open, and Sam's grip on my upper arm tightens until it's almost painful.
"You couldn't have come at a worse time, Sam," Robert whispers as he walks over to my left side where Sam is standing.
"Robert?" Sam asks.
"Yeah, now let me get him unhooked from all this shit so you can get him the Hell out of here," Robert says as he starts to take the IV out of my left arm. "You're going to have to watch him constantly for at least the next twenty-four hours," Robert warns him.
"I know," Sam says confidently.
"The withdrawal is going to hit him harder than it would without the shit we've put into him tonight," Robert says.
"I know," Sam replies.
"He's going to need-"
"I'm ready. I have all the information you gave me, I've done research, and I have all the supplies I need. I'm ready," Sam says with a tone of voice that makes me smile. Sam's confident, ready for the job.
"When I gave you that information, I hadn't anticipated him being in here," Robert says, sounding upset as he tapes down a small piece of cotton where he just pulled the needle out of my arm.
"I'm ready," Sam says again.
I let out a whimper as Robert takes the catheter out, but he's quick enough and I'm sufficiently drugged to the point where it doesn't really even feel that bad.
"Let's get him into the wheelchair," Sam says, and I hear the soft squeak of rubber as he wheels it over to the bed. Both of them work at getting me out of the restraints, and then they put me in the wheelchair.
"I'm assuming you have a plan for getting out of here," Robert says, sounding concerned.
"Yeah, I do. Get back to your station so you don't get caught," Sam says.
"If you need anything, I want you to text me," Robert stresses.
"Thanks, Robert," Sam says, sounding grateful.
"Just take good care of him," Robert says, and then he's gone.
The rest of the trip to the car is a bit of a blur because of the drugs, but I do see a few people lying on the floor on our way out. I'm assuming they're still alive, but can't focus on one of them long enough to see a rise and fall of the chest. We get to the car, and I wake up as Sam struggles to get me into the back seat with almost no help from me.
"Sorry," I moan.
"It's okay, Dean," Sam says as he finally gets me in the position he wants me in. "Go to sleep," he tells me, and I almost instantly fall asleep.
SATURDAY – WEEK 4
I groan as I slowly regain consciousness and instantly feel a burning pressure-like pain in my pelvic area. I turn onto my left side to see that I'm not only sleeping at the wrong end of my own bed, but I'm also looking at the other bed in a hotel room which Sam is sitting on.
Sam slides over to the edge of the bed closest to me. "How are you feeling?" he asks me.
I wince. "I have to piss really, really bad," I say with a bit of a slur.
"Okay, let me help you," Sam says as he stands up.
"I've got it," I say as I slide to the edge of the bed, sit up.
"I want to help," Sam says as he bends over, tries to grab at me.
I push at him with my left hand, and he takes a step backward, obviously expecting me to refuse help. "I've got it, Sam," I say again, a little irritated.
I start to stand up, but my legs don't want to work, and I end up falling back down to the edge of the bed. Sam catches me before I go down to the ground on my ass.
"Sorry," I say sheepishly.
"Now will you let me help?" he asks, a bit irritated himself.
"A little bit," I say with a grin.
Sam gets an arm around me underneath my arms, pulls me up. He doesn't complain, but I'm pretty sure most of the weight is on him. Once we get into the bathroom, he drags me over to the toilet, shifts me in front of himself, wraps his arms around my chest from behind me.
"I don't think so," I say with a shake of my head.
"Just go, Dean," Sam says, sounding like he knew I would do this.
"Sam, you know I can't," I tell him, probably sounding exhausted.
"There's no way you can stand on your own," Sam warns me.
I desperately try to think of a way to do this as my bladder begins to hurt even more. "Let me prop myself up against the countertop, and I'll piss into the sink," I say.
"Dean-"
"Come on, Sammy, you know I can't do this with you in here," I say again.
Sam lets out a sigh that I can feel on the back of my neck. "I'll kill you if you fall in here," he growls at me.
We shuffle over to the sink and I lean my weight on both hands on the countertop. Sam doesn't take his arms away from my chest.
"I'm going to slowly let go of you. I want to see you stand on your own with only one hand to support you," Sam orders.
I feel his support leave me even though his arms are still around me. I lean heavily on my left hand, raise my right hand in the air, wiggle my fingers. "Ta-da," I say sarcastically.
"Jerk," Sam mumbles as he steps away from me.
"Yeah, whatever. Get out, bitch," I say with a smile as Sam leaves me alone, closes the door behind him.
I look in the mirror. I look like Hell, but I also notice that I'm in a gray T-shirt and my favorite pair of gray sweat pants instead of the scrubs I left the hospital in.
"Dude, did you change my clothes?" I ask, even though I know he did. Who else would have done it?
"I thought you'd feel more comfortable in your own clothes," Sam says from the other side of the door.
It does feel good. I've been in nothing but scratchy scrubs for so long, I had almost forgotten what soft clothing feels like. "I slept through it?" I ask.
"You slept so hard, I could've done pretty much anything to you while you were sleeping," Sam says with a chuckle.
By the time I'm done pissing in the sink, I feel like I've run a race and lost. "Okay, Sam, I'm done," I say through the door.
The door opens instantly, and Sam comes through with a concerned look on his face. He gets his arm around me again, and we make our way back to my bed. He gently gets me set down on the edge, then lets go of me slowly.
I push myself back, lie down with my head on the pillows this time, swing my legs up onto the bed. "You have no idea how much better that feels," I say with relief.
Sam chuckles. "You okay?" he asks.
I nod. "Now I am," I say with a smile. "Knew you'd come for me, man," I say as I look him in the eye, hopefully conveying how much this means to me.
Sam gives me a soft smile. "Anytime, dude," he says, then sits down on the edge of his bed. "Can I get you anything?" he asks me.
I shake my head no. "How long was I out?" I ask, just now noticing that the windows are still dark. I must not have slept very long.
"Twenty-two hours," Sam says with a grin.
I chuckle as I rub my hands over my face. "Why am I still tired?"
"All those drugs are still in your system. You're going to feel this way for about another twelve hours," Sam says.
I look around the room for the first time, see some cardboard boxes in the corner farthest from my bed. "What's with the boxes?" I ask.
"Those are all for you," Sam says with a smile. I give him a puzzled expression. "The whole explanation or the short version?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.
I turn on my right side so that I'm facing Sam. "Give me the whole thing before I pass out again," I tell him.
"I started by hacking into the hospital's computer system, reading everything I could about you, and-"
"You read everything?" I ask, my stomach clenching.
Sam winces. "Yeah," he says, sounding miserable. "I had to do it. I had to know what I was going to have to deal with when I got you out of there," he explains.
I roll onto my back again, cover my face with my hands. "By everything-"
"I mean I read everything," Sam admits. "I'm sorry, Dean. I know a lot of it was very personal information, but I needed it. And if you never want to mention any of it ever again, I promise I'll never say a word about any of it," Sam tells me.
I know Sam. He wouldn't say it if he didn't mean it. "Jim?" I ask, hoping he didn't find a way into the counselor's information.
"His stuff, too," Sam whispers.
"Fuck," I grumble.
"Dean, I hope you know that I'd give anything to take back what they did to you in there. I didn't even like reading it. I can't imagine experiencing it," Sam says sincerely.
Well, there's nothing we can do about it now. He knows. Everything. "Okay, so you hacked in, and then what?" I ask as I turn toward him again, see the guilty look on his face that I wish wasn't there.
"It turns out Robert is quite computer literate himself, and he caught me. He sent me an e-mail like he knew who I was, saying that he believed you didn't belong in there," Sam explains.
"Go, Robert!" I say with a grin.
Sam chuckles, the guilty look replaced by excitement. He loves telling me about his accomplishments even if he doesn't admit it. "So we start e-mailing back and forth, and he ends up giving me all the information I needed on how to take care of you after I got you out," Sam says.
"Why do you need shit to take care of me?" I ask, puzzled expression on my face. Sam winces, looks down at his hands for a moment. "Sammy," I say to get his attention.
He looks back up at me. "You've been on some pretty serious drugs for long enough that you're going to go into withdrawal starting in about twelve hours," Sam says, looking horribly upset by this fact.
"Like heroin withdrawal serious?" I ask, my eyes wide.
Sam shrugs. "Robert wasn't sure how bad it would be because it's different for everybody, so he prepared me for the worst," he tells me.
I squeeze my eyes shut. "How long does it last?" I ask him, but he doesn't answer. I open my eyes to see him looking at me like he really doesn't want to tell me the truth. "Sam?" I prod.
"It'll start in about twelve hours, and it'll last for three to twelve days," he says with a wince.
I let out a groan as I roll onto my back yet again, cover my face with my hands. I hadn't expected all this. I thought, if I got out, I was out. Now I'm scared all over again. I don't want to go through withdrawal. After Dad told me about how bad it was, withdrawal symptoms were what kept me away from illegal drugs all my life. "Twelve days?" I almost whine.
Sam whimpers, and I turn to look at him. He winces again. "Involuntary and abnormal muscle movements can last six to twelve weeks," he says miserably.
I can't do this. I can't go through all this. I roll over onto my left side, back to Sam so that he doesn't see the fear in my eyes. "Tell me something good," I ask of him.
"Robert told me anything and everything you might need, and I've got it there in those boxes," Sam says confidently.
What if I wet the bed again? Is he ready for that? "How did you get all that stuff?" I ask as I stare at the wall in front of me.
"Bobby helped," Sam tells me.
"Did you stay with him while I was in the hospital?" I ask blandly, still not able to wrap my head around the fact that I'm going to be a shivering wreck in just a few hours.
"Yeah," Sam answers.
"So why did you choose last night to break me out?" I ask, interested.
"I read not only Robert's report from what happened in the morning, Dan's report of what he found on your leg, but also Jim's report on your dreams and how you reacted to it," Sam explains.
This is embarrassing. I didn't want anybody to know about that dream, and now Sam does. I certainly didn't want anybody to know about me wetting the bed, and now Sam does.
"You almost died, Dean," Sam says softly.
That gets my attention. I turn over to look at Sam again. "Huh?" I ask.
Sam scoots back on the bed, pulls his legs up to sit Indian style. "Did you have much contact with a patient named Avery?" he asks me.
"The dude who built his daughter a tree house," I remind myself out loud. "No," I say.
Sam reaches into his right pocket, pulls out a chain with an amulet, swings it in the air for me to see. "Avery was something called a Dreamweaver," Sam informs me.
"What the Hell is that supposed to mean?" I ask as I prop my head up with my right arm.
"Those nightmares you and the other patients were having weren't because of the medications," Sam says.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I ask as I sit up.
Sam shakes his head no. "The whole floor has been having nightmares ever since he came there. Nobody really took notice because psych meds tend to give people vivid dreams, and most of the patients didn't have extreme nightmares like you did," Sam explains.
"Let me guess. Danny and a guy named Kevin both had wicked nightmares?" I ask.
"You've got it. If you hadn't stopped Danny, Avery would have killed his fifth victim," Sam tells me.
My eyes widen. "Fifth?" I ask, surprised.
Sam nods. "He jumped the gun a little with you. He tends to wait until he's done with one before he moves on to the next, but he wasn't finished with Danny before he started in on you, and I just wondered if maybe you two had some bad contact that wasn't reported by the staff," Sam says.
"No, I never even talked to the guy," I say, still surprised. "So what's with the pretty little necklace?" I ask.
"This amulet is what holds the power. Avery just knew how to make it work," Sam says as he tosses the thing to me.
I catch it in midair, look at it. It's nothing special. It's not even something that anybody would look at twice. It's a black, oval-shaped stone surrounded by silver. The black isn't even shiny or glittery.
"Before I came to get you, I broke into his room and took it," Sam tells me.
I look up. Sam's not telling me everything. "You just walked in and took it?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.
Sam chuckles. "Okay, so he did put up a bit of a struggle. We ended up on the floor before I knocked him unconscious," Sam admits.
"You okay?" I ask, concerned.
Sam nods. "I just got hit a couple of times by a guy who can't hold his own in a fight," Sam says with a smirk.
"So, what do we do with it?" I ask as I dangle it from the end of my index finger.
Sam shrugs. "Smash the black stone. No big deal," he tells me as I toss it back to him.
"How does it work? How does it kill people?" I ask Sam.
"It doesn't kill the victims. The Dreamweaver uses the amulet to turn your worst fears into nightmares. They keep getting longer, more vivid to the point where the body starts to believe things are actually happening to it," Sam explains.
"That's how I got the bruise on my leg?" I ask.
Sam nods. "The nightmares get to the point where the victim commits suicide just to end them," Sam tells me.
"So Danny...," I trail off.
"If he hasn't given up completely yet, he should feel better now that the nightmares have ended," Sam says with a shrug.
I nod almost to myself as I look down at my hands. Danny sure looked like he had given up to me. I hope they can help him. I lie back down, still facing Sam.
Sam gets up, puts the amulet on the bedside table, then goes to the table and two chairs by the window. "Can you eat?" he asks me as he searches through a bag.
"Okay," I say, my stomach letting out a loud growl as I say it.
Sam chuckles, then walks over to me with a plastic-wrapped sandwich in his left hand, a small bottle of water in his right. "Take it slowly. Your stomach is probably going to be a bit funny," he warns me.
"It has been since I started on those pills," I grumble as I open the sandwich, take a bite. "Aren't you going to eat?" I ask him after I finish half of the sandwich.
"I just ate a little while ago," Sam says.
I nod, go back to eating. By the time I get through the sandwich, my eyelids start to droop.
"Get some sleep," Sam says to me as he gets up, takes the garbage from me.
I lie down. "Yes, sir," I say with a grin, already falling asleep.
SUNDAY – WEEK 4
I wake up to the feeling of being watched. I open my eyes, but try not to react to the fact that Sam is lying on his right side, facing me. He's just looking at me.
"Hey," I whisper.
"Hey," he whispers back.
I give him a small smile. "What're you doing?" I ask.
He shrugs. "I missed you," he says, then leans in, gives me a soft kiss on the forehead, then pulls away to where he was before.
I pout at him. He's taking advantage of the situation, which usually happens when I'm injured from a hunt. It's hard for me to push him away when he's reassuring himself I'm here and alive, so he knows he can get away with the touches and babying.
Sam reaches up with his right hand, runs his fingers through my hair, which isn't as short as I normally keep it. I lean into the touch. I've missed him so bad it hurt. I can feel the backs of my eyes prickle at the thought of having to spend any more time away from my brother. I squeeze my eyes shut, try not to cry. I won't fucking miss the crying when that finally leaves.
"What time is it?" I ask him.
"It's a little after four in the morning," he tells me.
I open my eyes, thankfully without any tears coming out, and look at him. "How long do I have before I go into withdrawal?" I ask with a wince. This is scaring me, but I'd rather Sam didn't know just how much.
"Eight hours, give or take," he tells me, looking and sounding sad. I give him an unsure smile. "It's going to be okay," Sam says softly as his hand travels from my head to my right side. He just rests his hand there.
"Are you sure you're ready for this?" I ask, unsure about it all myself. Do I really want Sam to see me like this?
"Can't get rid of me that easily," he says with a grin.
"Sam, maybe you should go-"
"Don't even say it, Dean," Sam says, cutting me off with a fierce look in his eyes. "There's no way in Hell I'm leaving you alone for this, and it's not even what you want, anyway, so just shut up and go to sleep."
"Yes, sir," I say with a smirk, but then my mind starts to wander.
"What is it?" Sam finally asks. "Am I getting too mushy for you?"
I look back up at him with a grin. "I'll let it go this once," I tell him, then yawn.
I'm rewarded with a large smile. "Can you sleep now?" he asks me.
I nod. "Definitely," I say, then promptly fall asleep.
I keep shifting around in bed. I feel like I've been doing it for hours. I'm wrapped up in the blankets, but I'm still cold. I can't stop moving, but I know I'm not fully awake, either. It's upsetting me, but I don't know why. I can hear myself whimper a couple of times, but I try to hold it in so I don't wake Sam up.
I look at the clock to see that it's two in the afternoon, the room filled with light from the window. I'm shivering so badly my teeth are chattering. Finally I just can't take it anymore. I get out of bed on wobbly legs, lean over, shake Sam's left arm, not even taking notice of the fact that Sam's in the other bed instead of in bed with me.
Sam's instantly awake and sitting up, looking at me. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" he asks.
A sob comes out before I can stop it, and then the tears come. I don't mean to cry, but I'm just so fucking frustrated. "I can't get warm," I say, then let another sob out. My bottom lip trembles, and I feel tears running down my cheeks.
Sam sits up right away, eyes wide. "Okay, it's okay," he says as he moves to the edge of the bed, stands up. He puts a hand on each of my shoulders. "It's okay, Dean. Just calm down for me, okay?"
I nod as I wipe at the tears with my right hand even though more take their place. "Okay," I say.
Sam directs me over to my bed again. "Get back into bed," Sam says as he gently pushes me in that direction.
"But I'm cold, Sam!" I say louder as I turn to him, more tears coming. "I'm so fucking cold!" I yell through a tight throat as I let my forehead fall to his chest. "It won't stop!" I tell him as I feel his arms wrap around me.
Sam shushes me. "Calm down. I've got you. It's going to be okay, Dean," he assures me as he holds me. He lets me calm down a bit, then starts to push me toward the bed again. "Get into bed now," he says.
"Okay," I say as I obey him.
"I'm going to get in with you under the covers and hold onto you so that you get warm, okay?" he asks as he climbs in behind me.
"Okay," I say as Sam gets in and spoons up behind me.
When we're sufficiently tangled up and the covers are over top of us, I settle down, start to drift off again. I feel Sam kiss the back of my neck just before I fall asleep.
I wake to sound of my own moaning, my stomach killing me. I curl in on myself, wrap my arms around my stomach. I sit up in bed to see that Sam isn't in the room, but then I notice that the bathroom door is closed. A quick look at the clock reveals that it's only half past three. I didn't even get two hours of sleep.
My eyes widen as my stomach rolls. I look between the beds, find the garbage can, and start to throw up hard enough that my eyes hurt.
"Dean?" I hear Sam say as he comes out of the bathroom.
It seems like I'm puking up everything I've eaten for the past month. It just keeps coming and coming, and my stomach just keeps heaving to the point where I'm scared I'm going to knock something important loose. The heaving finally backs off enough that I lower the wastebasket a little.
Sam sits down on the edge of my bed, starts to wipe my face with a damp washcloth. "It's okay, Dean," he assures me.
"Hurts!" I tell him like he doesn't know.
"I know it hurts, but it's going to be okay. You're doing good," Sam says gently as he wipes my mouth clean. "Are you done for the moment? Can I clean out the can?"
I let him take the basket out of my hand, then flop back down onto the bed, totally exhausted. "I think so," I say as I close my eyes, try to slow my breathing down.
"I'll be right back," Sam says, and then I hear him using the sink in the bathroom.
"Sam!" I yell as I my stomach starts to roll again. Sam comes rushing in with the clean wastebasket, gets to me just in time for me to lose what little I had left in my stomach. When I'm done, I curl in on myself with my hands wrapped around my stomach again. "Hurts," I growl.
Sam sets the can down, starts wiping my face down again with the washcloth. "I'm sorry it hurts," he says, sounding as if he feels just terrible about it. He's got a worried look on his face as well.
"I'm still cold," I tell him, just in case he forgot.
"I know," Sam says as he runs his fingers through my hair.
I hear him get up. "Don't go!" I say quickly before he has a chance to get very far. When I look up at him, I see that he's got the can in his left hand, the washcloth in his right.
"I need to clean these out, and then I'll be right back," he tells me, then turns away.
I let out a moan, curl in on myself even more. I start to fall asleep again, but the pain in my stomach keeps me from totally going under. I feel the bed dip, and I look up to see Sam's concerned face.
He sets the can down, drapes the washcloth over the edge of it just in case. "Is your stomach any better?" he asks me.
I shake my head no. "It hurts," I tell him yet again.
I watch as he grabs a bottle of water from the bedside table. He opens it. "Drink a little of this to rinse your mouth out," he says as he tilts it toward me.
"I'll throw it up," I mumble as I turn my head away.
"Just a little," Sam urges. "I don't want you to get dehydrated."
"No," I say into the pillow.
I hear him sigh. "Okay, but I'm going to put it on the table. I want you to drink some if you feel like you can. Don't take a lot. Don't take more than a sip, but get some into you," Sam tells me.
The shivering seems to worsen a bit, and Sam tugs the blanket up to my shoulders. I feel Sam start to get up, and before I even realize what I'm doing, I reach out and grab hold of the material of his boxer shorts. I look up at him to gauge his reaction, and he actually looks a little surprised. I don't let go, but I don't say anything, either.
Sam gives me a small smile. "I'm not going to leave you alone," he tells me. We look at each other until Sam takes a look down at my hand. "How about I get back into bed with you?" he asks, then looks back up at me.
I let go of Sam's shorts, and he climbs in behind me as promised. "Sorry," I mumble into my pillow once we get settled.
Sam lifts my shirt a bit so he can get his hand under there to gently lay it on my stomach. "Stop apologizing," Sam whispers into my left ear, then puts his head on the edge of my pillow.
The warmth from Sam's hand feels good on my stomach. I swear it makes it feel better, but I think I've blown Sam's mind enough for one night to tell him. I fall asleep to his thumb almost tickling my skin as it moves back and forth under my shirt.
The next time I wake up, it's to my own whining. I open my eyes to see that I'm now facing Sam.
"What's wrong?" he asks, instantly awake and into caretaker mode.
"I don't know. I don't feel good, but I don't know why. I just don't feel right," I complain.
Sam tries hard not to frown at my vague explanation. "Does anything hurt?" he asks me.
I shake my head no. "My stomach still hurts, but the rest of me just feels weird," I tell him with a wince.
"Can you drink a little bit for me?" he asks as he sits up in bed.
"It still hurts," I say as I sit up, too.
"You need fluids," he insists as he reaches across me to snag the water bottle. He takes the cap off, holds the bottle up to my lips.
I push it away with both hands. "I'll just throw it up," I tell him.
"I just want you to take a sip," Sam says as he pushes my hands out of the way of the bottle with his free hand.
"I don't want to throw up," I say.
"Just a sip," he repeats as he finally gets the mouth of the bottle to touch my lips.
I growl, but give up and take a sip. He only allows me about half of a mouthful, just like he said, before he pulls the bottle away from me. I watch as he sets it back on the bedside table.
"Okay?" he asks.
I shake my head no. "I don't know what's wrong, but water didn't fix it, you creep," I say as I let myself fall back against the wall, head making a bit of a thump as it connects with the painted plaster.
"Are you still cold?" he asks me.
"Yeah," I moan.
"Are you tired?"
"Yeah," I say as I slide toward him, smack my forehead against his shoulder. He feels warm. He smells good. He smells like Sam. I missed him so badly.
Sam wraps his arms around me, pulls me closer to him.
I startle myself awake some time later in the same position. He held me all the time I slept.
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't leave, okay?" I ask of him again. I don't know why I need the reassurance. I don't know why I'm being so pathetic.
"I'm not going anywhere," Sam tells me again.
"Don't leave," I mumble as I fall back to sleep.
When I wake, Sam is still holding me, but it's darker in the room. "Ouch," I groan.
"What's wrong?" Sam asks, sounding concerned.
I rub my stomach with my right hand. "Stomach," I tell him.
"Are you going to throw up?" he asks.
"I think so," I say, and he untangles himself from me, leans over my legs, and pulls the wastebasket with the washcloth on it up onto the bed, sets it on my lap. Sam puts his right arm around my back, his left hand on the can, so it doesn't fall. "I hate throwing up," I complain as my stomach starts clenching.
"Just calm down, and slow your breathing down a bit," Sam tells me as he rubs my back.
Once he says it, I realize that I'm panting. And it isn't until he tells me to that I try to calm down. It doesn't make a bit of difference, though, as I suddenly grab the can with both hands, throw up the little bit of water that I sipped earlier, and then start dry heaving.
"You're okay," Sam says as he starts to wipe my face down with the washcloth. "Slow your breathing down," he tells me again.
"This sucks," I nearly yell as I let myself fall onto Sam, my forehead colliding with his chest.
Somehow Sam gets the washcloth and wastebasket on the floor in between the two beds, then wraps his arms around me. "Everything's going to be okay," he says as he gently runs his fingers over my right shoulder.
"How long?" I ask.
"How long has it been since it started?" he asks me.
"How long until it's over?" I ask him.
"Robert said the worst happens in about twelve hours, but that the whole deal takes anywhere from three to twelve days, so I don't know how long you've got to go," Sam tells me.
The backs of my eyes start to prickle again, but I really don't want to cry in front of Sam, even though I already did earlier. I bring up both hands, push my fingers into my eyes to get the sensation to go away.
"Do you think you can drink for me?" he asks as he reaches over, grabs the water bottle off of the bedside table.
"No," I groan as I turn my face away from the bottle and into his chest even more.
I hear him uncap it. "Yeah, come on, Dean," he says as he taps my shoulder. "Just a sip," he tells me.
"No," I say, not moving.
"Do you have to piss?" Sam asks me.
"No," I say again.
"Do you know why?"
"No," I say, snuggling into him as hard as I can.
"It's because you're not drinking enough, and you're going to get dehydrated," Sam tells me.
"I don't want to throw up again," I say, voice muffled by Sam's shirt.
"I know you don't, but you've got to drink," Sam insists.
"Just a sip?" I ask.
"Yeah," he says.
"Okay," I give, then turn and take the smallest sip possible.
Sam seems placated, puts the bottle back onto the bedside table. His fingers start to run through my hair again, and it puts me to sleep.
When I wake up again, Sam's not in bed with me.
"Sam?" I ask, a little panicked.
"I'm right here," Sam says from over by the window. I turn over in bed to see that he's sitting in the chair with his laptop on the table in front of him. "You okay?" he asks as he sits forward in the seat.
"No," I whimper.
He stands up, walks over to the bed, and sits down on the edge closest to me. "What's wrong, Dean?" he asks me as he rests the back of his right hand on my forehead for a moment, pulls it away to rub my right upper arm.
"My skin doesn't feel right," I tell him. I feel stupid telling him, but I want him to know just the same.
"What's wrong with your skin?" he asks, somehow not making me feel like an idiot.
"It doesn't feel like it's supposed to be mine," I whisper as if it's too silly a concept to say out loud.
Sam doesn't laugh at me. "You'll feel better soon. Don't worry about it, okay?" Sam asks of me.
"Okay," I agree. Sam starts to get up, but I grab his right wrist. "My stomach hurts, too," I tell him.
"I made you some broth," he says as he gently takes my hand away from his wrist. "I want you to see if you can get some of it down," he says as he walks over to the hot plate, picks up a mug that was warming on it.
"No!" I nearly yell as I childishly pull the covers over my head.
I hear him come back over, feel him sit down on the edge of the bed. "I want you to try for me," Sam says as he pulls at the blanket.
"No!" I say again from under the covers.
"You need fluids," Sam argues again.
"I need sleep," I reply.
I hear him set the mug on the bedside table. He then uses both hands to pull the blanket away from me. "You need to get something in your stomach," he says.
"My stomach hurts," I growl as I try to pull the covers away from him.
"Stop!" Sam barks, and I freeze at the tone. "If you don't get something in you, I'm going to have to hook you up to an IV for rehydration. I don't think you want that, do you?" he asks.
"No! Don't!" I say quickly.
He picks up the mug again. "Drink," he says as he holds it out to me.
I slowly sit up. "You actually have the shit to give me an IV," I say, and it's not a question.
"I told you I have everything I need to get you better," Sam assures me. I take the mug from him. "Just take a sip or two. Don't overdo it just because you're scared of needles."
"Eat me," I grumble, then take a sip of the broth with shaky hands. I let it settle for a few seconds, then take another small sip. "You know how to put an IV in?" I ask when it hits me.
Sam winces. "I know how to do it, but Bobby didn't seem too appreciative of how long it took me to find a good vein," he admits. "Okay, that's enough," Sam says as he pulls the mug from my hands, sets it on the bedside table.
I close my eyes, let my head fall back to the wall. It's then that a full body spasm hits me. It comes from deep inside my stomach, radiates outwards so that it looks like somebody punched me in my lower back. My eyelids open quickly, and I look to Sam like he's going to know what happened to me.
"Calm down," Sam says as he checks my temperature with the back of his right hand again. Seemingly satisfied, he rests his hand on my left upper thigh. "Remember those involuntary muscle movements I told you about?"
My eyes widen. "That's what's going to be happening for six to twelve weeks?" I ask, panicked and pissed at the same time.
"It's not always going to be that strong, but yes, that's the involuntary muscle movements I warned you about. It's nothing to be scared about," Sam reassures me.
Too late. I'm scared. I scoot down in the bed, turn my back to Sam, curl up into a ball so he won't see a couple of tears escape.
Sam starts to rub my right arm. "You okay?" he asks softly.
I move my right hand so it's covering my stomach, but get another full-body spasm for my troubles. "Yeah," I say, hoping he can't hear the tears in my voice.
"I'm going to be right over there by the window, okay?" he asks me, probably sensing I don't want him to see how upset I am.
"Okay," I mumble. I hear him sit down in the chair, his fingers going to work on his laptop. The next second, I'm crawling over the blankets just in time to throw up into the wastebasket.
Sam comes back over instantly, rubbing my back and getting the washcloth ready. "It's okay, Dean. I'm here. It's okay," he reassures me as the dry heaving backs off.
I sit up in bed, let Sam wipe my face yet again. I back up to the wall, but get another spasm, and I end up blasting my head into the wall instead of resting it there. "Shit!" I yell as I rub the back of my head.
Sam winces in sympathy. "Are you okay?" he asks.
"Yeah," I growl.
"I'm going to go clean this out," Sam says as he picks up the wastebasket.
"Okay," I say as I watch him nonchalantly grab one of the cardboard boxes on his way into the bathroom. I wonder what he's doing only until I see him walk out of the bathroom with a glove on his right hand, a blister pack of suppositories in his left. "No!" I yell as I scoot backwards on the bed. I'm not stupid enough to turn over onto my stomach.
"You need this, Dean," Sam says as he comes around the second bed.
"No! Don't! I don't need it!" I say as I try to get even further away.
Sam reaches down, grabs a hold of my right ankle with his right hand, pulls my leg to his right, and easily flips me onto my stomach.
"Sam, stop! I don't need it!" I yell into the bedclothes.
Sam straddles my knees, and I turn to look at him over my right shoulder, just in time to see him set the blister pack on the bed to his right. I reach back and cover my ass with both hands, but he gathers up my hands, holds them in his stupidly-huge hands. He gets both of my wrists situated in his left hand and pins them at my lower back.
"Stop it! Sam, I mean it! Don't do this!"
I try to get out of his hold, but he just lowers my sweat pants with his right hand. I put my forehead to the bed as I hear the blister pack crinkling.
"Stop! Sam, stop! Please stop!" I yell into the bed as I feel Sam's finger find my opening. I growl as he pushes the suppository in, panting into the sheets as I feel him pull my pants back into place, and then he finally lets go of my hands.
Just as Sam gets off of my knees, I turn as quickly as I can, plant my foot on his chest, and send him tumbling to the floor between the beds. I hear him grunt as he hits, but I'm too busy climbing down off the bed and onto him to care. I straddle his hips, pin his wrists to the carpet on either side of his head.
"I just spent the last three weeks of my life getting things done to me you didn't even want to read about. You can't just...," I trail off as the tears start to blur my vision. I drop my forehead to Sam's chest and pant, trying to force the tears away.
Sam lets me sniffle a few times. "Dude, are you wiping your snot on my shirt?" he asks, smile evident in his tone of voice.
A chuckle that is half sob comes out of me. "You got a problem with that?" I ask him. Sam doesn't answer, just lets me get myself under control in my own time. I sit back, wipe the tears from my face as I get to my feet. I turn, flop face down onto the bed, shove my face into the pillows.
"I'm going to want you to try and eat something in about fifteen or twenty minutes," Sam says, and I hear him walk back over to the chair, sit down, and start typing on his laptop again.
I don't bother responding. My body spasms again, and I let out a small grunt. They seem to be getting stronger. I close my eyes, try to relax, hoping that will make the spasms less severe. It doesn't work. Just when I feel like I'm about to fall asleep, I get a spasm, and it wakes me up again. I hear Sam rummaging through some plastic bags in the corner of the room where the boxes are, and I cringe. I don't know what he's going to do to me now.
"Can you sit up for me, Dean?" he asks as he walks over, sits down on the edge of the bed.
I warily turn over, scoot back until I'm against the wall. I look down at his hands. He's got a small package of crackers. "My stomach still hurts," I inform him.
"It's not any better after suppository?" he asks as he looks at me with a raised eyebrow.
He's right. It is better. I don't want to admit that to him, though. "My stomach still hurts," I repeat stubbornly.
He holds a cracker out to me. "I want you to eat two, then take a few sips of water," he says.
I take the cracker from him with a shaky hand. "I really don't like throwing up," I tell him like he doesn't know.
"I know, but hopefully the suppository will make it so you can keep something down," Sam says as he rests a hand on my thigh, rubs his thumb back and forth over the material there. He watches as I eat the whole thing before offering me some water. "Take it easy on the water," he says as he hands the bottle to me.
I carefully take just a sip, then set the bottle between my legs. I manage the second cracker and another sip of water without throwing up. Sam caps the bottle, sets it on the bedside table, and closes the package of crackers, sets that next to the water.
"Don't lay down yet," he says as he gets up, goes over to the dreaded cardboard boxes. He pulls out a bottle, brings it over, sits back down on the edge of the bed.
"Over-the-counter antacids?" I ask, wincing at just the thought of the chalky shit.
"Richards had you on a prescription antacid for your stomach. Robert suggested this as not only a substitute, but as something that would help when you were going through withdrawal," Sam says as he pours some of the gritty stuff into the little plastic cup that came with the bottle.
I take the cup from him, down it quickly, making a sour face as I hand the cup back to Sam. "That's going to keep me from hurling?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.
Sam winces. "We're hoping that, between the antacids and the suppositories, we should be able to keep you at least hydrated for the next few days," he tells me.
"Oh, you're not doing the suppository thing again," I say as I shake my head no.
"Dean-"
"No, Sam, it's not going to happen," I say firmly, cutting him off before he gives me an argument.
"Let's just-"
"Oh, shit!" I nearly scream as the room fills with a blinding light that I flinch away from.
"What's wrong?" Sam asks, sounding just a little panicked.
The light dims slowly until I see where it's coming from. Mom is hovering between the front door and the window. She's dressed in a white, flowing dress, and light seems to be emanating from her.
"Dean?" I hear Sam say, but I ignore him.
She looks beautiful. Her gorgeous blonde hair is blowing in a wind that touches nothing but her, and she's smiling softly at me, looking me right in the eye.
"Is it a hallucination?" Sam asks, sounding calmer than just a moment ago.
I nod, stupid look on my face as I just stare at Mom. I don't want to look away. She might leave.
"Okay, stay here while I get you something," Sam says, starts to get up.
"No!" I say as I finally look at Sam again, grab his wrist. "It's okay, Sam," I say with a smile that I hope lets him know I'm not freaking out over this.
His eyebrow raises. "Is it a hallucination?" he asks again.
"It's Mom," I tell him, then look at Mom again. I don't pay that much attention as Sam leaves me. I just stare at her. I can feel warmth coming from her. It feels good. I've been cold since this whole withdrawal thing started, and I finally feel warm with her here.
The bed dips to my right, and somewhere in my head I register the fact that Sam has come back. "I know you don't like shots, Dean, but I can't have you hallucinating on me," Sam says.
I turn my head quickly, look at Sam with widened eyes in time to see him flick the bubbles out of a syringe. "No!" I say as I push his hand away.
Sam grabs my wrist with his free hand, holds it out to the side. "Dean, do you remember the hallucination you had of Dad?" he asks me.
I wince, hardly able to tear my eyes away from Mom long enough to nod. "Yeah, so?" I ask.
"This is another hallucination. Do you really want to see it if Mom decides to do something to you like Dad did?" he asks me.
That gets my attention, and I look Sam in the eye, notice that his pupils are swirling with pretty colors. "No," I admit with a frown.
"Okay, then lean over a bit, so I can give you the shot," Sam says as he lets go of my wrist.
I shake my head no. "Not a shot! Please! Don't give me a shot, Sam!" I ask of him with wide eyes.
Sam stands up. "I'm really sorry, Dean, but I have to do this," he says as he puts the syringe between his teeth, comes at me.
"No! Don't!" I scream as he uses both hands to get my upper body down onto the bed to my left side.
Sam straddles my legs, shoulders me into position with his right arm, then uses his left to take the syringe from between his teeth.
"Sam, please don't! I don't want it! I don't need it! It's just Mom! She's not going to hurt me!" I yell at him, then let out a growl as the needle pierces the skin of my right hip. Sam's weight finally leaves me, but I stay where I am, eyes squeezed shut.
"Dean?" Sam climbs onto the bed when I don't answer him. I feel him sit down in front of me. Fingers start running through my hair. "I'm so sorry I had to do that," he tells me, sounding upset.
I thought that, once I got out of the hospital, I wouldn't have anything done to me anymore that I didn't want. This is hard to swallow. I don't bother responding to Sam at all. I certainly don't want to open my eyes, see Mom is gone. I turn my face into the sheets, sniffle once as I feel the drugs start to take effect. Sam just keeps running his fingers through my hair. Between Sam's ministrations and the mild sedative, I feel like I could sleep, so I do.
I wake to another full-body spasm. The sedative must have kept the spasms to a minimum, allowing me to sleep at least for a little while. I feel even worse now. I start counting the seconds in between spasms. It takes anywhere from fifteen to thirty seconds before I have another one. That sounds like a lot. This is going to wear me out.
I know Sam is sleeping at the foot of the bed, and when I open my eyes, I see that he's facing me. He's breathing softly, looking impossibly young and at peace. For a moment, I wonder if I could possibly learn how to use the Dreamweaver myself, only give Sam good dreams instead of nightmares.
"Leave the door open," Sam mumbles as I start to slide off the bed.
"Yes, sir," I say as I stand up. I was hoping I wouldn't get spasms while walking or doing other things, but they're still there.
I look at the sink for a moment, wondering if I should use it again, because when a spasm hits, it seems like every muscle is involved. I'd hate to piss all over the bathroom just because my hand couldn't stay still. I decide to go for the toilet, but concentrate on holding everything as still as possible, which only makes the shaking worse. I wait for a spasm to hit, then start to piss. One decides to hit me at only fourteen seconds, and I end up squeezing my dick, sending piss onto the rim of the bowl.
"Shit!"
"You okay?" Sam asks from the other room.
"I'm fine. Stay out there," I say, knowing he's on the verge of coming to see if I'm okay.
If I would have made just a little bit more of a fuss, he'd be in here already. And I would rather he not see the piss all over the side of the bowl. I know he wouldn't laugh at me, but it's still embarrassing. I clean up the mess as quickly as one can do when they're shaking as badly as I am. I feel like my body is falling apart. I want this fixed.
"I'm fine," I repeat as I enter the room again, just to reassure Sam. He's sitting up against the wall at the head of the bed. I crawl onto the bed on Sam's right side, wrap my arms around his waist, and rest my head on his right thigh. "How can I be so tired already? All I did was take a piss," I grumble. Sam starts to run his fingers through my hair. It feels so good that I close my eyes.
"This is a lot for your body to handle," Sam says.
I fall asleep to the feeling of Sam's body warming me, but I awaken feeling cold and prickly. Sam isn't beneath me anymore, and I'm shivering to the point where my teeth are chattering.
"I'm right here," Sam says from the other side of the room.
I let out a whimper as I turn onto my back, stare up at the ceiling. There's an ugly water spot. It's not big, but it makes me sick to my stomach for some reason. I reach up and start to rub my stomach, but stop as soon as I feel skin on skin. It burns. It doesn't feel right. It feels horrible. I drop my arm to my side in defeat.
"Do you think you can drink some water this time?" Sam says, and I hear him get up from his chair.
I reach up to rub my face with both hands, but stop as soon as skin touches skin again. I can't believe how bad this feels. Then I notice that my clothes feel scratchy. I've got my softest clothes on, but they don't feel good. It feels like I've rolled in dry grass, and I have tons of little pieces in my clothes poking at me.
Sam walks up to the bedside table, picks up the water bottle, opens it. "Can you sit up for me?" Sam asks me.
"Yeah," I say as I sit up, scoot back until I'm against the wall at the head of the bed. I take the water from Sam, drink a little bit, hand it back to him.
Sam sets the bottle down, sits down on the edge of the bed. He reaches out and rests his right hand on my upper thigh.
"No! Don't touch!" I yelp.
Sam immediately removes his hand, eyes wide. "What happened? What did I do?" he asks.
I shake my head no. "You didn't do anything. My skin just feels horrible. I can't describe it, but nothing feels good, and I don't even want my clothes touching my skin right now. Everything hurts," I tell him.
"Do you want me to help you out of your clothes?" he asks.
"No, I'm too cold," I nearly whine.
To his credit, he doesn't laugh at my ridiculousness. "Do you want to take a shower?" he asks me.
"That actually sounds like torture right now, Sammy," I tell him with a bit of a chuckle.
Sam winces. "Can I do anything for you?" I shake my head no, and it turns spastic when my body jerks. "Do you want to watch TV?" he asks.
"No, just go back to what you were doing. I'm okay," I say with a sad imitation of a smile.
He's trying hard. He wants to touch me. Sam's so tactile. He wants to reassure me, and that's the best way he knows how. "Okay, well, just yell for me if you need anything," he says, then goes back to his laptop.
I roll around on the bed for the next forty-five minutes, looking at the clock in between counting the seconds from one spasm to the next. A feeling was building the entire time, but suddenly I realize what the feeling is. I'm horny. I'm extremely horny. I roll around some more, don't bother holding back the grunts and whines that seem to accompany my predicament.
"I'm fucking horny!" I yell.
There is silence in the room as Sam probably recovers from the scare, then tries to figure out what to say to my proclamation. I hear him get up, and then feel him sit down on the bed beside me.
I sit up and look at him. "Sam, I think I'm going to die. I'm so horny, I think I'm going to die," I tell him seriously.
I see Sam's eyes glance down at my groin, then back up to look me in the eye. "Do you want me to leave so you can take care of that?" he asks as he nods to my groin.
"I don't know how I can," I whimper at him.
Sam tries hard not to laugh, but he's got a grin on his face. "Well, I can think of several ways."
"And do all of those ways involve skin-on-skin?" I ask with wide eyes.
"Oh," he says, finally getting it, frowning. "What if you just touched your dick, nothing else," Sam offers.
"It's still skin!" I tell him.
"I know that," he says with a smile. "But maybe it's not as bad as you're imagining. Just kinda brush against it through your clothes."
"Fine, I'll try it," I say, then let the fingers of my right hand just lightly touch my dick through the material of my sweat pants. "Oh, fuck, it fucking hurts!" I yelp again, beginning to pant.
Sam flinches, as if he felt the pain of it himself. "Sorry," he says with a wince.
"It's not your fault," I say with a frown. "It's me and these fucking drugs."
"It's okay. Just calm down," Sam says softly. "Take deeper breaths, and try to calm yourself down."
I slowly try to get my breathing under control, getting annoyed when the spasms don't even leave me alone while I'm trying to calm myself. "It still hurts, and I'm so horny it's twitching," I groan at him.
"How long have you been hard?" he asks me, looking concerned.
I glance at the clock. "At least a half hour," I whine, even more upset now that I realize how long this has been going on.
Sam looks around the room as if the answer will come to him that way. "Okay, stay here," he says as he stands up, walks over to the table.
"What are you going to do?" I ask, suddenly worried. He grabs his phone. "Oh, don't even think about calling and telling anybody about this, Sam," I say.
"I've got to," Sam says.
"Wait! Stop!" I say as Sam heads for the door.
"What?" Sam asks as he turns to look at me.
"Don't-"
"I'm going to call a friend of Bobby. He's a doctor. He's the one who helped me get all the shit I would need to take care of you. So just stay there, and I'll go outside and call him," Sam orders, then leaves before I can say anything else.
I flop back onto the bed, look up at the ceiling, and groan when I see the stupid water stain again. I can't hear what Sam says, but he's only gone a few minutes. I sit up again and watch as he comes over, sits down on the edge of the bed.
"Okay, the doctor said that, if your erection lasts for more than three hours-"
"Three hours!" I nearly scream.
"If your erection lasts for more than three hours, I'm supposed to give you pseudoephedrine," Sam says.
I pause for a moment. "A decongestant?" I ask with a confused look on my face. Sam nods. I don't bother asking how it works. "What if that doesn't work?" I ask.
"The doctor said that, if it lasts more than four hours, then we need to get you to a hospital," Sam tells me.
My eyes widen. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"He says it shouldn't come to that," Sam says, shaking his head. "He thinks that you're just horny because of what the withdrawal is doing to your body, and it's nothing more serious. He said that we should keep you calm, and try applying an ice pack."
"Don't even think about the ice," I warn him.
"Would you rather hear what they have to do at the hospital if you stay hard past four hours?" Sam asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Ice would be good," I say quickly.
"I thought you might feel that way." Sam says as he gets up, walks over to the boxes in the corner, rummages around until he finds a small sandwich bag, then heads for the door. He comes back moments later with an ice-filled bag, hands it to me.
"Thanks," I say, not really sure this is going to work. I look at it for a moment, wondering just how I'm going to do this.
"Why don't you lay down on top of it?" Sam says as he takes it back, positions it on the bed. "Lay down on your stomach," he tells me as he points to the spot he wants me.
I do as he says. The spasms really aren't helping the erection at all. Every time I get one, my dick gets rubbed into the bed.
Sam looks down at me sadly. "Can I do anything else for you?" he asks.
"I'm good," I say with a bit of a smile that probably looks more like a grimace.
"Try and get some sleep," he says, looking like he wants to touch me, soothe me somehow.
"Okay," I say, then close my eyes. I hear him go back to the chair. I don't know what he's researching, but it must be interesting. I wonder if he's researching for a new hunt. I wouldn't mind killing something evil soon.
The shivering and cold that I feel from the withdrawal is only compounded by the bag of ice at my groin. It almost feels good, but the spasms make it hard to relax or to even think about sleeping. I'm tired, but I'm starting to feel bored. I don't know what I want to do, but lying here isn't it. I try for quite a while to get to sleep, but the spasms just make it impossible to do anything other than start to fall asleep.
I open my eyes, let out a groan. "Sam," I whine.
"Yeah?"
"The walls are breathing," I tell him as I squeeze my eyes closed. It almost makes me sick looking at them, not because it's upsetting me but because te motion is strange and it's doing odd things to my stomach.
I feel the bed dip to my right, but Sam doesn't touch me this time. "Are you seeing anything else?"
I look up at Sam, let out a gasp before I can stifle it, eyes widening. I catch myself before I scramble away from him. Instead I squeeze my eyes closed again, press my forehead to the bed. I feel Sam get up, hear him over by the boxes. I know he's getting a syringe ready for me, but after seeing Sam's face do whatever the Hell it just did, I'd consider begging for the shot.
"Just stay still," Sam says the bed dips again.
I try hard not to stop him, but can't help tensing up. I hate this. I let out a grunt as Sam pushes the needle into my hip once again, but I manage to keep my hands away from him.
"Keep your eyes closed for a little while, okay?" Sam says, still not touching me.
"Okay," I say with a pathetically small voice.
Sam leaves me alone again, but it feels like he's watching me. He's not typing. He's just sitting in his chair.
"Why am I hallucinating when I feel completely lucid?" I ask, knowing that he's just waiting for me to say something.
"It's the medications you were on. Brain chemistry isn't something to play around with and there are side effects to every medication, whether a person needs it or not," Sam explains.
"Am I acting strange?" I ask. I swear a squeak comes out of him, as if he's sitting over there with his mouth hanging open, not knowing what to say. "I mean I know some weird shit is happening to me, but I'm still acting like me, right?" I ask again.
"Yeah," Sam says. It doesn't sound like he's lying. "It is strange. One second we're having a conversation. The next second you're seeing Mom over my shoulder," he says like he can't believe it, either.
"None of these drugs have done any permanent damage, have they?" I ask, having wanted to ask earlier, but been afraid to.
"You weren't on any of them long enough to do anything more than fuck with your nervous system," Sam says.
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"What happens if the erection won't go away?" I ask, probably sounding as scared as I am inside.
"Go to sleep, Dean," Sam says instead of answering me.
"But-"
"It'll be okay. Just try and sleep," Sam says again.
"Fine," I growl.
MONDAY – WEEK 4
I come back to awareness slowly. I cringe at the fact that I still feel horny, even just waking. I roll onto my left side, but the ice pack is gone. "Where's the ice pack?" I mumble, still half asleep, but scared that my dick is still a little hard.
"It's only supposed to be left on for twenty minutes at a time," Sam says from the other bed. "In the last two hours, you've had it on for a total of half that time."
"You moved me while I was sleeping?" I ask.
"Yeah, you were out of it," Sam says as he looks up at me from his laptop on his lap. He gives me a smile. "How does it feel?" he asks me.
"Better, but I've still got a semi," I say with a wince.
"Are you still horny?"
"Yeah, but the urgency of it has backed off a little," I tell him.
"How does your skin feel?"
"It still feels awful," I say with a scowl as I drag myself to a standing position.
"Leave the door open," Sam says absently as he looks back at his laptop.
"I'm not going to fall in, Francis," I grumble, but leave the door open anyway. After I'm done cleaning up after myself, I come back into the room.
"Do you mind if I take a shower?" Sam asks me.
I chuckle. "I'm a big boy. I think I can handle being alone for a few minutes," I say, wondering if he can tell that I actually don't want to be alone at all.
"I'm going to leave the door open. Yell if you need anything, okay?" he asks.
"Okay," I say as I ease myself back down onto the bed. I frown as even touching the bed with the bare skin of my forearms makes me feel gross. I probably should take a shower myself soon.
I want to do something. This hotel room is stifling, and I just want out. I'm not panicking. I just want to take a walk. I pull my boots on without socks, without doing up the laces. I write a quick note to Sam, put it on top of the TV where our notes to each other usually go, then I grab a keycard off of the top of the dresser, step outside.
It feels so good to be outside in the fresh air. It's perfect out here. Of course, I would probably say that no matter what the temperature was just because I was actually outside for the first time in a long time.
I walk to the end of our row of motel rooms, turn to the right on the sidewalk, and follow it to the courtyard. I slide up onto a picnic table, sprawl out on my back widthwise on it, putting my hands behind my head.
I wish that it was daytime, the sun was out. The wind is blowing just a little bit, but that doesn't feel as good as it should. Everything would feel so much better if I didn't have these drugs in my system. It would feel better if I wasn't having a nearly full-body spasm every half minute or so, too.
I don't know how long I'm lying there, but it feels so good to not be told what to do or be stuck in a room somewhere. I don't want to leave.
"What the fuck, Dean?" Sam screams at me.
I nearly fall off the picnic table as I try to sit up. "Sam, you scared-"
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Sam yells, cutting me off. He looks furious. Well, as furious as one can look in nothing but jeans and damp hair.
"Dude, I-"
"Get back in the room!" he says, then points toward our room.
I don't think I've ever seen him this mad. It's almost scary. I know he's not going to hurt me, but I don't like seeing him that upset. "Look, man, I'm sorry I scared you, but-"
"Get in the fucking room," Sam says, voice low and controlled.
I hold my hands up in front of me for a moment. "I'm going," I say, then head off toward our room. I hear him stomping behind me, and I'm not surprised when the door is slammed behind me. I walk over to the corner of the room, toe my boots off while Sam goes to the center of the room.
"Sit!" Sam orders as he points to my bed.
I figure it's best not to argue with him right now, so I do as I'm told. He looks like he's about to fall apart. I watch as he paces the center of the room. I wouldn't have left if I would've known he would react like this. "I left a note," I say helpfully as I point toward the TV.
He stops mid pace to turn and look at me. "You don't just leave, Dean!" he yells at me.
"Sam, would you calm down? You don't need to keep yelling at me. I'm fine," I tell him.
"You are going through withdrawal. You are having hallucinations. You are not in your right mind," Sam lists, voice toned down a bit. "You don't leave!" he yells again.
"I said I was sorry, man. I don't know what you want from me, here," I say as I shrug my shoulders, eyes wide.
Sam lets out an agitated huff. "What I want from you is for you to stay! I want to know that you're safe! Do you even see that what you did was dangerous?" he asks me.
That is a question that could easily get my ass kicked. Again, I don't think he would ever hurt me, but Sam can go off on a rant just about better than anybody I've ever known. My jaw drops open as I try to come up with a response that won't agitate him further.
Before I can speak, Sam drops to his knees in front of me, rests his forearms on my thighs, and looks up at me with a sorrow that makes my stomach clench. "I can't lose you," Sam says brokenly as he looks me in the eye.
Next thing I know, my head is encased in huge hands, and I'm being pulled into a strong hug. His touch doesn't feel good on my skin even though I wish it did, but I know that Sam needs this, so I wrap my arms around him.
Sam finally lets go of me after what seems like forever. He pulls my head down until we're leaning on each other's foreheads. "I'm sorry, Dean, but I was so scared when I came out and you weren't here. You have to know how bad an idea that was," he says as he pulls away, looks up at me.
"I just had to get out of here for a minute. I've been kept indoors for so long that I just wanted out. I wanted some fresh air," I explain.
"Could you do me a favor?" he asks.
"Maybe," I say with a sideways grin.
"Could you ask me to take a walk with you next time you feel like you need some fresh air?" he asks.
"That I can do," I assure him.
Sam suddenly pulls his hands away from me as if burned by the touch. "Oh, I forgot! The touching!" he says with a wince.
I chuckle at that. "It's okay. I mean, it's not okay, but it's okay," I say stupidly.
WEDNESDAY – WEEK 4
"You're sure about this?" I ask one more time.
It really is pretty out. I wish we were out here for a walk or something. The sun is shining, and there's a soft breeze. Everything smells fresh and alive. I can hear the wind blowing through the leaves on the trees. There are kids skateboarding across the street from the motel. Everything is almost too normal.
"You've seen firsthand what it can do. It has a lot of power. Too much power," Sam says reasonably.
I look down at the amulet. Sitting on the picnic table outside the motel rooms, it doesn't look very malicious. "This could be used for good, Sammy," I say, a token protest, and we both know it. It strikes me as odd that I'm fighting for it, Sam against it. It's an odd role reversal.
"You have the honors, big brother," Sam says as he hands me the hammer he's holding.
I take it from him, wince. "Seems like a waste," I mumble as I imagine relieving Sam of his nightmares for good. I turn and look up at Sam. "This is the right thing to do?" I say, but it comes out as a question.
"I think you know the answer to that, and I trust your judgment. You know what to do, Dean," Sam reassures me.
I do know. I've known ever since I set eyes on the amulet. It's dark magic. There's no question it has to go, no matter how much I wish different. "Okay, then," I sigh as I heft the hammer, bring it down on the amulet.
A satisfying crunching sound and a small puff of black smoke let us know that it's over. It won't ever be used again to hurt someone.
I feel Sam's right elbow knock into my side, and when I turn to look at him, he gives me a smile. He doesn't flinch when a spasm hits me, just stands there waiting for me.
"Want to go back inside?" Sam asks.
I don't answer him for a moment. "Hey, Sam?"
"Yeah?" he asks as he rests his chin on my left shoulder.
"If... I-if you ever want to, you know, ask me... about Dad? You can," I say, stuttering and awkward as I shift from one foot to the other.
Sam's smile gets a little bigger. "Thanks, Dean," he says. "I will."
End.