Chapter 6
2012 (Season 8) There is no Amelia in my season 8 chapter because I really disliked that character.
Sam felt like he had been driving forever and he was tired. But eventually he made it to Rufus's cabin, and for the first time in his life, he was 100 percent alone. All of his friends and family were dead, and Sam just couldn't do it anymore. For the first time in his life Sam sat down with a bottle of whiskey for the sheer purpose of getting black out drunk and passing out. Sam wanted to forget, sleep forever. He wouldn't hunt; he wasn't going to save a world that had killed everyone he had ever loved. They were all in a better place and he was going to wait until he was gone too.
When Sam woke up the next morning, he saw the blood on his arm. The scars once again split open, for a second he felt shame, but then he remembered he was alone, and it didn't hurt anyone but him if he cut himself. So he pushed down on the cuts and found that calm place, realizing this time it didn't matter if he went too deep this time. Dean wasn't there to stop him, so he knew one day he would go to deep, the problem was this time he didn't care and nobody else was there to care about him.
Dean had never seen anything as beautiful as that run down cabin in the middle of the woods. He just needed somewhere to sleep for a few days, recharge his batteries, then he could go and find Sam. His brother had cancelled all of his cell phones and that really worried Dean. Sam wouldn't ditch the phones unless there was a reason. Dean pulled up to the cabin and grinned, sitting there in all its glory was Baby, she was a little dirty, which Dean would have to kick his brother's ass for, but she was all fixed up.
"Sammy?" Dean called. "You here?"
Dean could smell whiskey and blood that was never good. He pushed open the door to the small bedroom and saw Sam stretched out on the bed, he seemed to be asleep, but he had a shimmer of sweat all over his forehead. Dean frowned and put his hand on his brother's forehead to check for a fever, when suddenly Sam jumped up and pulled a gun out from under his pillow.
"SAM! Calm down it's me."
Sam stared coldly at Dean.
"No it isn't, Dean is dead. Stop being him."
Sam was shaking violently, and Dean was concerned. Sam did not look good. Dean pulled a silver knife out of his back pocket.
"Look Sammy, I am not a shapeshifter." Dean made a thin slice into his forearm; he then took a flask out of his back pocket and poured it on his hand. "Or a demon, c'mon Sam, you know it is me."
The coldness drained out of Sam's face and he lowered the gun.
"Dean?" Sam asked cautiously.
Sam was suddenly across the room folding himself into his brother's arms. Dean could smell whiskey on Sam's breath, and Dean was concerned, but what concerned him more was the raging fever that Sam had.
"Sammy, are you okay? you are burning up."
"M'fine, I'm just a little drunk, and I've got an infection."
"Infection from what? Something get you when you were out hunting?"
Sam laughed at that and took another drink from the glass on the table.
"No, I haven't been hunting in a long time."
"You quit?"
"Yep, why save a world that kills everyone I love." Sam stumbled backwards onto the bed, and curled up on his side. "I need to sleep, will you be here when I wake up?"
"Of course I will." Dean answered.
Sam nodded, and fell asleep.
Dean rubbed his hand across the stubble on his jaw and sat down in the chair next to Sam. There was blood on his sleeve. Not a lot, but enough for Dean to know. He lifted up Sam's sleeve, and saw the crude stitches on many of the cuts carved into Sam's arm. It had obviously been a long year for both of them. The deepest cut was below the crook of Sam's elbow, and it was red and pussy. That could be the cause of the fever.
"I'll get you better little brother." Dean said softly brushing the hair out of Sam's face, he then looked around the room at the empty whiskey bottles. "But as soon as you are better, I am so gonna kick your ass for all of this shit."
Sam moved under Dean's hand and his eyes opened up into slits.
"Dean? Are you real?" Sam slurred.
Dean's heart skipped a beat and travelled back to when Lucifer was running rampant in his brother's mind.
"Yes, I am real Sam. I promise."
Sam let out a sigh and closed his eyes again and didn't open them again until morning, and spent most of the next few days in a feverish haze. Dean had pulled the stitches out of Sam's arms. He was going to let them heal without the stitches. They would scar worse, but he couldn't close the wound with the infection on the inside. He covered the wounds with gauze and felt his stomach flip, how could things have gotten this bad?
Sam woke with a groan, his head hurt and he sat up in the bed.
"Morning sunshine."
Sam jumped and reached under his pillow for his gun, which wasn't there.
"Yeah I took that, didn't want you trying to shoot me again."
Sam turned towards the voice, and remembered that it was Dean.
"Sorry Dean, I forgot you were back." Sam looked down at the new bandages on his arms. "Did you…"
"I had to take the stitches out and let the infection drain out. Gotta say kiddo I though we had seen the worst of this. That was just fucked up."
"Sorry." Sam stood up and grabbed the whiskey bottle of the dresser and took a swig from the bottle.
"Do you really think that is necessary?"
"I need to get rid of my headache."
"Yeah that is called a hangover Sam, drinking more doesn't get rid of it."
Sam smirked at his brother.
"Are you giving me shit for drinking too much? Seriously? Don't you think you are the last one to give me a lecture?"
"No I am the perfect person to give you a lecture, cause I have been there. What the hell happened this year?"
Sam mumbled under his breath.
"Can you repeat that so someone can hear you?"
"I lost my stone number one."
Dean stood up and put his hand on his brother's shoulder.
"I am sorry Sammy."
Sam laughed.
"It isn't your fault Dean. It isn't your job to hold me together."
Sam was rubbing at that spot on his hand.
"Sam? Are you seeing him again?"
"No but… my entire family was dead, everyone I cared about was gone, where else could I be but hell?"
Dean nodded; he could understand his brother's thinking.
"You know this has to stop right? I am back you don't need this anymore."
"C'mon Dean, I think we both know I can't stop. I have been stopping for fifteen years. Let's stop kidding ourselves."
Dean grabbed Sam by his injured arm and Sam grimaced.
"Shut up Sam. When did you give up? You have slipped up a few times, so what? You haven't exactly had it easy. It's an addiction Sam. You know that. Somewhere in your head you know this isn't making your life any better. Do not let this get the better of you, I am begging you. You didn't let the demon blood get the better of you, and you have been fighting this for a hell of a lot longer. Please, I am back. I am not going to lose you to this."
Sam began to tear up, and put his arm around his brother hugging him close.
"Okay Dean, I am sorry."
"Okay Sammy, we are gonna get you better again, I promise. And no more whiskey, cause that is scaring me."
"Okay Dean, just don't leave me again, please. I need my stone number one. "
"I'll try my best Sam, but you know I can't promise that. Especially in our line of work."
"Can you promise anything?"
Dean smiled and gave Sam the same familiar promise.
"I promise that I will always be your brother, and even if I can't be here, I still care what you do to yourself."
Sam smiled.
"Okay Dean, let's start healing each other. All over again."