Wait over a year you might as well get 2 chapters in one day.
John left. He didn't tell anyone where he was going, just that "something I have to do." and "take care of your brother" which was laughable considering John was the one abandoning them. The door shut with a thud, Bobby and Dean left staring at it. Bobby was mad, fists clenched and brows furrowed, breaths coming in deep huffs. Dean was sure that if Sam hadn't been sleeping it would have turned into a yelling match. Bobby wanted him to be mad too, said something like "It's okay to be angry at the people we love." He wasn't sure what Bobby meant by that. In a way he was glad John left, knew that what Sam was going through John wouldn't be able to handle. "Man it up Winchester" wasn't exactly a helpful remark at the moment.
A scream broke his thoughts and he rushed to the living room where Sam was sitting up on the couch. Eyes wide and staring at something Dean could not see. Dean rushed to his side but was yanked back by his collar and fell sprawling on the ground. Bobby stood over him, hands held up. "Sorry boy but you're going to scare him if you rush in." Bobby's voice was only a decibel above a whisper. "Give him a second, approach slowly."
Sam was backed into the couch cushions, skinny arms covering his small frame as his eyes stayed glued onto a spot a few feet ahead of him. Dean could see small tremors running through his frame. He got up off the floor slowly, frustration growing every second that passed without his brother by his side. "I know how to take care of my brother" Dean whispered, not meaning for that older man to hear.
"Heyya Sammy." Dean spoke softly, palms open as he walked forward. "Whatcha seeing there little bro?"
Sam didn't respond, didn't acknowledge that he heard Dean at all, just sat and stared.
Dean was closer now, only a few feet away. "Feeling okay? I hear you haven't been sleeping too well bro." The question was dumb but Dean was way out of his depth here. Sure Sam had nightmares before but he would wake up, get embarrassed that Dean was there but wouldn't say anything when Dean sat down and talked about dumb shit until Sam got tired again.
"Come on bro you gotta look at me." Dean gave a half smile "Don't tell me I'm that ugly." again the words might as well have been white noise. Dean stepped in front of Sam, interrupting the line of sight and Sam's eyes flew up to him but the terror remained if not grew, Sam pushing himself further into the edge of the couch, tightening in on himself to the extent that small crescent moons formed where his fingernails met his legs.
"It's okay." Dean crouched down, making himself smaller and less threatening. "It's okay Sammy it's me, don't you remember your big brother Dean."
Dean was close enough now to see the beads of sweat on Sam's forehead, the tremors in his hands and legs, the short panting breaths he took. Dean had never seen it before but he knew what it was, he had been told to expect it, signs of withdrawal.
"Been like it since we brought him home." Bobby spoke from the doorway. "Best ya can do is restrain him if he starts hurting himself. Got some stuff to help knock him out if he gets too bad."
It seemed bad already, Sam had experienced bad before, when hunts were graphic, when kids were mean, when schools were changed and dad forgot his birthday. Sam had bad days before but Dean was always able to drag him out of the hole with some pizza and a dumb documentary where Sam parrots facts for weeks. This wasn't like that, this hole was so deep Dean couldn't see the bottom.
Eventually Dean got up from his couch when it became apparent that it wasn't helping Sam to be so close. He went to the other side of the room and sat down on the floor, never taking his eyes off his brother. Bobby walked across the room slowly and with a gruff sat down next to Dean.
They didn't speak, there was nothing to be said. They just sat there for hours, watching Sam who for the most part just hugged himself close and rocked back and forth on the couch. Every so often he would stop, eyes widening and let out a little gasp, almost a sob. It made the knife in Dean's stomach twist, made him wish he was out there with his dad doing who knows what, and made him despise himself for it. They sat like that as the sun made its way across the sky, as the seconds were timed with the slight squeak of the couch springs, and his stomach pain was slowly mixed with hunger. They sat until the day transitioned into evening and until Bobby let out another huff and pulled himself up and to the kitchen.
Bobby made some soup, Dean wasn't sure what kind something brothy with potato chunks. He wordlessly took the bowl, checked to make sure it wasn't too hot and went to feed Sam.
Except Sam wasn't there.
"Bobby!" Dean yelled, running back into the kitchen, soup splashing onto the floor.
Bobby wasted no time putting down his own spoon and following Dean into the room. "It's ok" Bobby said quickly upon seeing the predicament. "It's okay I know where he is"
Bobby hastily showed Dean to the screen door overlooking the old rickety back porch. It was cold out, not as cold as it had been but still well past comfort levels, Dean felt the air seeping through the door before he touched the handle, letting himself out into the evening where the sun was just beginning its slow descent behind the earth.
Dean approached, and when Sam made no reaction, slowly sat next to Sam. Sam had positioned himself on the edge of the porch, feet hanging down, toes swiping at the tall scratchy grass that Bobby nevers seemed to get a handle over. Sam was no longer shaking so violently, smaller trimmers still ran his body, his breaths coming in slow and steady (if a bit shallow) his hands were relaxed on the railing, his eyes staring at the sunset.
Dean sat there, staring out at the junkyard, the, pretending for a moment that this was just another day at Bobby's, the sun reflecting off the windshields in bright white light causing the rusting junk to look almost beautiful. He had just started shivering and the sun was halfway past the horizon when he heard the squeak of the screen door. Bobby stood with blankets, if Sam heard the door he didn't show it, eyes fixed on the sun. Bobby passed the blankets off to Dean and snuck back inside.
"Here ya go Sammy" Dean spoke softly, wrapping a blanket around his little brother. "Gotta keep you warmed up, wouldn't do you any good to catch a cold."
Sam turned to look at him, and give a small smile. Dean swore he saw Sam mouth a small 'thanks' but couldn't be sure. Dean took a risk and wrapped an arm around Sam, and to his surprise Sam leaned into the touch, resting his head against Dean's chest. Dean could feel the shivers that ran up and down Sam's body, and could feel the heat from Sam's skin, unnaturally hot in the cold night. Things used to be simple. Sam got sick a lot as a kid, John said once "It's his body's way of working through what his minds too young to understand" Dean wasn't sure what that meant at the time, he understood now. He lowered his head to rest against Sams, closing his eyes.
"We'll get through this you know." he whispered. "Remember when we would play hide and seek out here? You always crawled under the smallest cars. I had to check every single one." Dean smiled at the memory. "I got so much crap on me that Bobby had me doing the laundry for a week." Sam was breathing slowly now, and Dean knew that he was on the edge of sleep, so he kept talking, slow and gentle, recalling the shenanigans that happened what seemed like another lifetime ago.
John Winchester stood at the edge of a clearing, no streets, no lights, no other soul around. black soot dusted his hands and clothes, a long gash on his arm from a fresh cut, a blow torch in one hand and a page ripped from a book in another. A symbol had been scorched into the ground, some areas still glowing faintly from the fire. In the middle, a bloody knife stuck straight down, plunged into the ground.
"Obscurum ab imo, beelzebub magna," John spoke in a low voice, there was no hesitation. antiqua potestas, daemonium," his voice grew louder as he continued on, determination and anger spoken in every word "hic te vocet morte terrae, sanguinem vitae meae, et verba atra cantica."
As the last word spoke a force flowed from the knife, wind hot and violent attempting to push John away but the man stood, planting his feet as the dust swept up around him, the nearby plants uprooted, John had to cover his face with his sleeve to keep breathing. The ashes blew around in a circular motion, the blackened soot began to glow again with fire, and the forcefield of wind quickly turned into a heated fiery tornado, John standing in the center, now joined by a stranger.
As quickly as the wind came it died, the dust, and burning plants falling flat to the ground and the fire quickly sizzling out.
"That is a dangerous spell John Winchester" the man smiled, tilting his head and his eyes flashed yellow.
"I may have been a fool" John stood, eyes locked onto the yellow eyed demon "but even I know you are not summoned so easily. You have chosen to come."
The demon nodded, as if this was the expected statement. "We both want the same thing, and I have come to negotiate."
Johns mouth tightened, a vain in his forehead standing out against the sweat. "Why have you done this to us? Why Sam? Why Mar-" he stopped, voice giving out. John swallowed "Why my wife?"
"You know why." Azazel smiled again. "I know you have found out why, who Sam is, who he will become." the demon leaned in "Ask me the real questions John and do not waste my time."
Johns hands tightened, the paper crumpling in his fist, the propane torch falling to the ground with a dull thunk. "He was-he is a child. He is just a child." John growled.
Azazel seemed unbothered. "I told you not to waste my time. We want the same thing John."
John knew it was useless, he knew that the demon was stronger, he knew he still had not found a way for it to be killed, he knew that this was not what he came here for. But he swung, pulling his arm back and attacking the demon with all his ability, he was surprised when he felt his fist collide with the demons neck, and then a hand grabbed his own neck and lifted.
"You insult me." Azazel held John in the air with inhuman strength, fingers tightening around his throat. "You call me here to throw a tantrum? I thought you better Winchester." his eyes flashed and John could see anger in them.
John fought for breath, the fingers strong against his throat, his hands desperately clawing at the thumb trying to loosen the grip, trying to break free. His body fighting on instinct not hearing the words as his vision began to grow spotty and his arms began to grow numb. Just as he was on the verge of darkness he felt the pressure release and he fell, dropping to the dirt like a sandbag, hands desperately searching his throat and his body rattling in scrapy and harsh breaths that burned his chest.
"Let us try this again now." Azazel stepped over John, staring down at the man. "Why have you called me Winchester?
John attempted to speak but only horse sound came out. He coughed, specks of blood coating his blackened hands. "Samuel" the word came out in a horse whisper "save him."
Azazel smiled at this, and pulled out a small vile, only the size of a finger, glowing white and shining like a star in the night. "Samuel Winchester is going to die, and hell is not yet ready for him to die." Azazel held out the vile to John.
John hesitated, he sat up, forcing his lungs to keep breathing, he stared at it, the light almost hypnotizing. "What is that?"
"That is of no matter." Azazel closed his hand, and put the vile away. "Without it Sam will be left with the choice of death, or" Azazel smiled wider "he could go back to his medication."
John felt bile rise in his mouth at that thought, and quickly shook his head "What do you want for it? My soul?"
Azazel raised his head and laughed, the sound harsh and high pitched, echoing in the night. "Goodness you are not great at the negotiation, but luckily for you there is something else i want tonight." he lowered his gaze back to john, eyes darker than the sky. "Samuel will not know that what happened to him was by supernatural cause."
John silently got up, brushing the dirt from his pants he steadied himself, shoulders back as he faced the demon. "Why?"
Azazel reached out, taking one of Johns hands and rolling the vile into his palm, "You will tell little Sammy it was humans who hurt him, so long as he does not find out it was anything more then I will not touch him until he is of age." Azazel curled Johns fingers around the vile. "Hells plans are not yet to be revealed to the boy king."
It was only after John gave a nod that the demon vanished, leaving John alone, the vile clutched tightly in his palm.