Underneath a Stretching Skyline verse #08 : In the Drift of Days
Title: In the Drift of Days, verse #08
Author: LaueHime
Rating: Mature
Genre/pairing: H/C, Angst, Family, Gen
Characters: Sam, Dean, Lucifer
Word count: +/- 4,300
Warnings: Some cussing, illegal use of legal drugs, disturbing images
Summary: Dean’s overprotective and Sam’s overreactive. It all ends in overconsequences.
Written for spnshannanigans’s prompt on ohsam which is “Sam's memories from hell threaten to overwhelm him every moment of every day. To calm the storm in his head, he comes to rely on either drugs or alcohol (or both). Dean allows this to continue (for now anyway) because he doesn't know how to help Sam and he can't stand the screaming”
Disclaimer: The show belongs to Kripke.
A/N: This is a series of verses. Every chapter can be read as a standalone story. But of course, it’ll make more sense if you’ve read them all (or at least most of them). Each verse has its own title based on the lyrics of the song the fic is named after.
I made a video for these sammyverses too (with aforementioned song). You can watch it HERE.
Feedback is love. Enjoy!
SNSNSNSN
Pain. It’s how it all started. He’d hurt himself; physically of course. For once, it had nothing to do with his loud passenger. The trip to the hospital had earned Dean a good laugh, while he’d been doped to the gills, and himself a prescription of the good stuff.
So yeah that’s how it started; with the pain, of course. Sure. Sam was hurting. At least that’s what he told himself. That’s what he told Dean.
Sweet little pill. Jagged little pill.
The pills dull the pain. Wait, that’s their job. They have nothing to do all day but work for him. Oh wait, did he just think that about the pills? Because now he’s giving them a life. Get a grip, Sam!
Dean is driving the Impala. Right. Dean is there, swimming in and out of focus. He’s not really sure. The colors are blurring past the windows and jumbling into a mess of water-washed paint drips. He’s blinking hard. His eyes start itching. There’s this burning sensation in them. Like something’s crawling under his lids. There are ants bathing on the surface of my eyes. Wait. What?
Dean’s saying something. The music is loud. There’s this drumming in his head. So have the ants gone up to his brain? He’s not sure, but something is definitely up. He blames it on the booze. It’s been twenty-six minutes since his last shot. Yes, he is counting.
There’s a sick feeling in his stomach. There’s this metallic taste in his mouth. Yes, he has felt like this before. He hates to admit that it feels the same. Back then, his only anchor was that he wasn’t an addict in the proper sense of the term. Did demon blood count anyway? Not really. Well that’s what he thought. But the nausea, the tremors and that insatiable pit in his stomach feel way too familiar.
He hears his name. It’s growing louder. He turns his head slowly and meets green eyes. His home. They give him enough strength to focus.
“Are you okay? Sam?”
He blinks, his eyebrows rising.
“Dean” he states simply. It’s a fact. Dean is there. Dean is always there when he gets lost.
“Dude, what the hell?”
Dean is concerned. He doesn’t mind. He actually finds it quite comforting.
“What?”
He is self-protective. It’s not like Dean has to know. What is there to know, anyway? He’s just fine. He’s dealing. Yeah, dealing. His brother is not a monk either. Dean doesn’t look any better when he doesn’t get his coffee in the morning. Too bad coffee stopped working for Sam. It’s not like he needs it anyway. Lucifer keeps him awake alright. Lucifer is like Red Bull. He tastes just as bitter. But Sam doesn’t get the wings that are said to come with the high. Or at least, he doesn’t get them from Lucifer himself. He has other means after all.
Sam puckers his lips at the thought of what the devil tastes like. He finds his mind wandering. Dean is still talking. Focus, Sam. Dean is talking. Wouldn’t want him to think you’re crazy.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Are you even in there?” Dean startles.
Sam jumps and then just stares. It’s a good question. He hadn’t thought of that. Now he’s wondering. Am I here? Where am I? What am I? He starts
poking himself. He does feel something, but it’s faint. Everything feels numb anyway.
“Here. There. I’m. Yeah. Here”
Dean frowns. He’s just as confused as Sam seems to be, which is wrong to begin with.
“Jesus! Are you high?”
Sam raises a finger.
“Uh… my name is Sam”
There’s a curling in his lips. The kid is smiling. Dean can’t believe it. Sam is giggling.
“Seriously?” He still can’t believe it. Is this really Sam? The guy who once saved the world? The guy who always wears a straight face. The guy buried in complex lore and Latin rituals. Because there’s no way he’s the same person as the goofball sitting next to him with the shittiest grin plastered to his face. Fuck this kid. Seriously!
“Not high. Happy! Can’t I be happy for one goddamned second?”
Dean’s fingers tighten on the wheel.
“No! I mean yeah, but no!”
Sam frowns. He’s not sure he’s following what his brother means.
“Why not?” He doesn’t hear himself clearly, but Dean thinks he hears slurring in his brother’s voice. His eyes widen and he waves his hands into the air before grabbing the wheel again, tightly.
“Because you’re Sam fucking Winchester! You don’t do happy! Or you’re a hypocrite and keep it for yourself!”
True. Dean doesn’t get to see Sam really happy. He’s the big brother. His role is to pick up the pieces and lately, he’s been picking up dust; the pieces burned to ashes. So no, Sam doesn’t get to wake up one morning and play around like the world isn’t ending because for them, it always is.
His little brother is pouting. Dean feels bad for Sam. But seriously!
“Sammy? Hey! I didn’t mean it like that” he starts softly. He’s sure he has ruined it already. Why does he always have to ruin everything? Sam was happy for once. He couldn’t have just kept his mouth shut, no.
Sam has turned his head towards the window and Dean sees his brother’s shoulders shrug and slump.
“Whatever, Dean” he sighs. He just looks tired. There’s no fight left in him. Dean can’t blame him.
“Why don’t you tell me what made you happy, instead of brooding like a beaten puppy” Dean tries. He feels terrible for deflating his brother’s mood.
“I thought you said I didn’t do happy” Sam echoes. Dean wants to slap him because really Sam, do you always have to take my shitty comments and spit them right back into my face?!
“I’m sorry, okay” he says, louder than he needs to. He doesn’t need Sam to make him feel worse than he already does. Sam cuts his eyes at him. He wonders what his kid brother is thinking. Is he accepting the apology? Because Dean could use forgiving considering they still have a few hours left in the car and he doesn’t even know how they could make it more uncomfortable, at this point.
Sam is still looking at him silently. Dean rolls his eyes. “C’mon, I apologized! Don’t be a bitch! Bitch” he starts. Sam shivers. Being honest with himself, he would admit that he doesn’t feel good. But when is he ever honest? It doesn’t even have anything to do with Dean’s teasing. He feels fuzzy. And nauseous.
Dean is getting anxious. Sam can tell just by the way his brother gets fidgety when he’s nervous. Dean doesn’t deal well with the silent treatment. On top of that, he hates being ignored, especially when he wants something. At that moment he wants Sam to talk. He wants to make sure he didn’t hurt his brother.
But Sam is staring. Damn kid.
“What? Cat got your tongue?” Dean asks loudly. Sam flinches slightly and he seems to pale. Instantly, Dean’s concern meter is ready to implode.
“Sam! Talk!” he orders. If questions don’t work, orders just might.
“What d’you want, D’n” Sam hisses. He sounds tired and annoyed.
“Dude, you’re slurring”. Dean starts looking for any sign that something is wrong with his brother. Sam gets that his brother is concerned, but he’s too tired to care.
“Jus’ wanna sleep” Sam admits, his lids growing heavier. He leans his head against his arm, which is propped up on the windowsill.
“What’s up with you? You feelin’ okay?”
Sam doesn’t look like himself and Dean has to admit that he has a bad feeling about it. His brother has been weird for a while, but Sam never seemed so off before. Until now. Dean’s big brother radar is on.
Sam shrugs sleepily. His stomach feels like it’s swinging inside his abdomen. He feels somewhat dizzy too. But he’s afraid. He’s afraid that it all points to early signs of addiction so he doesn’t say anything. He wouldn’t want to worry Dean.
“I’m fine” he finally huffs. Dean doesn’t look convinced.
“Hey, I’m not trying to pick a fight here. I’m trying to help!”
Sam rolls his eyes. He knows that Dean is solely doing this to help. But he doesn’t want his brother to get involved. He wants to be able to take care of
himself for once. He’s all aware of his brother’s mission to ‘save Sam’ or ‘protect Sammy at all costs’ and it’s exactly what stops him from reaching out to his brother. All of his life, he’s had Dean behind him, at his six. He needs to do this on his own now. He needs to prove himself that he can do this.
“I know” he manages to reply. “I’m good” he adds. His hands start to shake. He feels that pit inside his stomach. It’s getting deeper.
“Uh, Dean. Can we stop soon? I could use a bathroom” he tries. He really just needs to get out of the car.
“You sure that’s all there is?” Dean studies him from the corner of his eye. He is suspicious. Sam breathes out in annoyance.
“Yes, Dean. Can we stop now?”
Dean flinches at the tone of the reply. If that’s how it’s going to be, he doesn’t want to argue anymore.
“Sure” he complies.
They do stop. Sam hides in the bathroom and fumbles with shaky hands for his flask. His fingers brush against the cool metal and he pulls the object out
swiftly. Lucifer is sitting on the side of the commode. He’s looking at him with a grim smile.
‘When Dean asks if you’re fine, I think he wants to make sure that you’re not losing your marbles’ he proposes.
Sam flinches at the grating sound of the devil’s voice. He wants to ignore him, but it’s hard to pretend Lucifer’s not there when he is and voicing his own thoughts out loud.
‘If I were you, I’d tell him I’m completely sane’ Satan teases.
“But you’re not me so shut up!” Sam hollers.
Lucifer takes on a look of hurt. Sam rolls his eyes and turns his head away.
‘Oh and I wouldn’t do that if I were you’ Lucifer points the flask. Sam looks at him indignantly.
“Just shut the fuck up!” he growls, taking a swig of liquor just to get back at the devil. But it only makes the latter smile. Sam feels the goose bumps on his skin. There’s something about that look that scares him.
“Why are you laughing?” Sam asks. He’s worried that he has missed something. Lucifer looks mischievous.
‘I know it has been through worse, but I’m not sure your stomach enjoys all of what you’re putting it through right now’
Sam frowns. His stomach has managed demon blood. What could a little alcohol do to him? And what the fuck does Satan know about his stomach anyway?
‘Because you think it’s what’s making you feel bad? Right’ Lucifer grins. He looks like he knows what he’s talking about, but Sam has no idea and he doesn’t want to know.
“You’re not real. Just leave” he stutters. His eyes are wild and he just wants the nightmare to be over. Lucifer is laughing even more.
‘I wouldn’t want to miss the show. How’s Dean by the way?’ the devil winks. Sam has a flash of Lucifer ripping the skin off his brother. He can hear Dean’s screams and he can smell the blood. His stomach rumbles. A surge of anger-fueled energy fills his veins and he lunges at the mirror. His fist connects with the glass and it breaks at the contact.
“Just fuck off!” he screams angrily. Blood is dribbling down his hand. He doesn’t realize he’s bleeding until Lucifer eyes his hand sadly. Sam feels the sticky warmth on his fingers. He raises his hand only to find it bloodied.
‘Aw, Sammy’s hurt. Poor baby’s got a bad boo boo’ Lucifer pouts.
Sam’s breath catches in his throat. He wants the devil to be gone already. His fingers trace a piece of the broken mirror. He grabs it cautiously and studies it with a dark passion.
‘Hey, Sammy! Your mother didn’t tell you not to pick up anything that’s on the ground’
Sam looks up with a fire in his eyes. Lucifer’s smile stops halfway. He’s looking at the taller man, perplexed.
“Leave” Sam orders. He looks determined. Lucifer shakes his head like a petulant child.
‘Or what?’ he asks. Sam’s eyes are dark. He presses the piece of glass to his skin and tilts his head with a scary smile.
‘You’re going to hurt yourself! There’s no point to it, really! And I’ll just stick around anyway’
“Then you can watch me bleed” Sam says through gritted teeth. To prove his point, he pushes the glass closer to his skin. Lucifer’s smile dies.
‘Well aren’t you a killjoy?! I was starting to have fun. Whatever’ he complains before disappearing.
Sam lets the glass fall to the ground and breathes deeply. His chest is going up and down quickly. That was close. But the adrenaline has kept him from
feeling the pain in his arm and with Lucifer gone, it’s starting to flare. He takes out a pill he has stashed from his last visit to the doctor’s. He doesn’t like to
waste and cringes since he’s taken one just a short while ago, but he doesn’t mind the numbing sensation it offers.
Aside from funny thoughts, it doesn’t really do anything to hurt him. And it keeps the devil away. At least for a while. He swallows the pill and wraps his bleeding hand in towel paper. This time he knows he won’t be able to hide it from Dean. He’s just going to have to deal with his brother’s questions.
Dean’s eye widen when Sam gets back with his hand covered in bloody wrappers.
“Woah woah, hey there! What happened?” he asks as soon as he reaches his brother’s side. Sam avoids his brother’s eyes.
“I uh. I fell. There was some glass on the ground and I cut my hand accidently” Sam rambles. Dean doesn’t miss the smell of his brother’s breath.
“Dude, you been drinkin’?”
Sam’s head bows even further and his eyes hide under his long bangs. With the blood all over himself and Lucifer, he totally forgot to conceal his alcohol breath. Too bad Dean had to find out like this. He wishes it had played out differently.
“You’re unbelievable! I can’t even let you out to the bathroom without supervision” Dean claims. Sam flinches away from his brother.
“I don’t need supervision, I’m not a kid!” he moans, unsteadily pacing backwards.
“Then why are you hiding yourself to drink? And you come back with a bloody hand! Please tell me you didn’t do this to yourself” Dean begs as he comes to realize just how much Sam is drifting away from him. His brother is slipping through his fingers and he didn’t really notice how much until now.
“Let me handle this, Dean! Stop hovering around me like a fucking parent! God, let me breathe! I can take care of myself” Sam shouts, swaying on his wobbly legs. He doesn’t remember drinking a lot, but his knees are starting to weaken all the same.
Dean puts his hands up in surrender. He doesn’t want to deal with Sam when his brother is in that state. He tells himself that the kid is probably drunk anyway so he’s not looking up for a fit.
“Alright, big boy. At least let me help with the cut”
Sam cradles his hand to his chest, studying the proposition.
“I’m not gonna eat it and you won’t be able to stitch it yourself. Come on!” Dean presses, motioning for Sam to bring his hand forth. Slowly but surely, Sam pulls his hand out. Dean studies it with a frown.
“Yep, definitely needs stitches. Sorry, bro”
Sam is halfway gone mentally when Dean pulls the first aids out. He doesn’t question Sam’s state of stupor as long as his brother remains quiet. Sam is good at that. He’s excellent even. At some point it does unnerve Dean. He looks up to see that Sam is hardly awake.
“I wonder how you even manage to sleep through that” Dean states. Sam doesn’t even twitch. Dean is almost done with the stitches. He frowns.
“Sam, you with me?” he asks. Sam moans softly. He hardly moves at all.
“How much did you drink, anyway?”
Sam’s head starts to lull and his eyes flutter. He’s not even close to coherent enough to formulate an answer.
“Yeah, don’t answer that” Dean continues. He realizes he’s doing the monologue act while Sam is napping. He pulls the last stitch together and makes sure that everything is holding into place.
Sam starts to rouse softly.
“Fixed your hand. Try not to have another accident” Dean says, his tone changing at the end. He’s not accusing Sam or anything, but he still feels like there’s something fishy about the whole thing.
“Thanks” Sam moans, his eyes opening enough to stare at the new set of stitches on his hands.
“Here” Dean says, handing Sam a double dose of regular painkillers. Sam grabs them absentmindedly and swallows them. Dean pats him on the shoulder.
“Ready to hit the road?”
Sam moans in reply and without further objection, Dean takes it as a yes. He starts driving and Sam sleeps next to him. He shoots furtive glances in his brother’s direction. Sam has been off all day and he doesn’t like how his brother came back from the bathroom with a bloody hand or how he’s been very defensive about it. He also doesn’t like the fact that Sam has been hiding himself to drink.
He knows how much he’s pushed his brother to deal and cope with things, but he didn’t mean it in a way that would make Sam feel like he needed to hide his weaknesses. Yes, Dean wants to see his little brother get better, but he doesn’t want his brother to act like he’s tough and then destroy himself in silence while Dean isn’t watching. They need to deal with this together. He feels worse for not helping Sam in the right way.
He casts another glance at his brother. A frown creeps up his face when he notices the shivers. Sam is restless in his sleep. He twitches and moans and Dean can clearly see that his brother is shaking. He turns on the vents in hopes that it will warm Sam up. Sam seems to settle for a while. Dean is relieved. His peace is short lived when Sam jerks, which wakes him up with a jolt.
“D’n” he slurs. It’s worse than it was before. He turns his head quickly but long enough to see Sam blinking sluggishly.
“You okay?”
“Pull over” Sam croaks.
“What? Sam?”
“Pull over!” Sam shrieks. The panic in his voice makes Dean’s heart clench and beat faster. He stomps on the brakes and pulls to car into a halt on the side
of the road.
The youngest bursts out of the car. Dean thinks that if Sam could’ve gone through the metal of the door, he would have. It doesn’t do much to settle his racing heart. He pushes himself out quickly enough and follows the sounds of Sam’s panting. What he finds makes his blood run cold.
Sam is on his knees and vomiting his guts out. Dean’s brain takes a second to snap back to reality before his legs spring into action. He’s by Sam’s side within seconds.
“Let it out, Sammy. It’s okay” he reassures, patting circles on his brother’s back. He cringes at the acrid smell and the strength it takes out of Sam to get it all out. Sam’s breathing is ragged through the heaving and gagging. Dean keeps a hand on his brother’s shoulder.
Sam eventually stops vomiting and starts listing forward.
“Sam, hey. Come on!” Dean only has time to put a hand to Sam’s chest to keep his brother from face planting into his own mess. Being sick apparently weakened him. Dean pulls him back so he can lean him somewhere and assess his condition. He knows he can’t really lay him flat on his back, in case Sam needs to vomit again. Seeing no other option, Dean leans his brother against his chest. Sam is pretty out of it anyway so he shouldn’t complain too much.
“Sammy, you okay?” he asks, patting his brother’s cheek gently. Sam moans, though his eyes remain closed.
“You need a few minutes before we get you back to the car? I’m gonna need your help for that”
Sam doesn’t react. He doesn’t twitch.
“Just let me know when you’re ready”
Still nothing.
“Sam?”
The youngest remains oblivious. It’s only then that it occurs to Dean that his brother is deathly still.
“Sammy?” he asks again, his voice shakier. He tries to tap his brother’s cheek again. He finds it somewhat cold.
“Whatever the fuck you’re doing, it’s not funny. I know you don’t like me hovering, but you’re not exactly making it easy either”
When again, his comment creates no reaction, Dean starts to panic. He goes from cheek tapping to full body shaking. Sam remains unresponsive through the process.
“Okay, you wake up right the fuck now or I’ll kill you myself, damn it!” Dean growls, using his fingers to pull his brother’s lids open. He finds that Sam’s pupils are constricted a little more than they should be.
“ODing? Seriously? That your way of calling out for help? Because I can recall many times I’ve offered mine, you hard-headed son of a bitch!”
Dean is furious and worried at the same time. Sam is a few steps away from needing a hospital. If he doesn’t wake up soon, Dean will have no other choice.
“You better not die on me, you understand?!”
Dean musters enough strength to pull Sam back to the car and manhandles him in the passenger seat. He finds a blanket in which he wraps his brother. He sits back behind the wheel and starts driving. The next half hour will have him decide whether he takes the exit for the motel room or the one for the ER.
Sam wakes up after some time. Dean lets out a breath he’s been holding for too long. His relief is short lived when Sam breathes out the word “sick” and they’re back on the side of the road again. Sam is more awake this time, albeit confused.
“Wha’s goin’ on?” he rasps when Dean has him lying on his side.
“You ODed, mister smart guy. My two painkillers wouldn’t have been too bad if you hadn’t taken anything else” Dean replies, knowing that it’s the only way Sam could have managed to overdose and he only assumes that if his brother has been hiding to drink, he could have taken something else as well. He then remembers the Vicodin prescription from the last visit to the doctors and the broken arm.
“Fuck Sam, why did you take them? You could have killed yourself!” Dean sounds so desperate. It reaches Sam and hurts him worse than any broken bone ever could.
“Sorry… Was an accident… Lucifer wouldn’t go and my hand was bleeding… I forgot I had taken the Vicodin” he admits painfully. Dean wants to cry. It’s Lucifer’s fault again. If he could actually see the devil, he would shoot it in the face.
Sam looks like he’s about to break too. His bottom lip is quivering.
“Dean? You mad at me?”
And just like that, there’s no more big-boy Sam who wants to take care of himself and who wants Dean to cut him some slack. There’s just this scared little boy who fears whatever monster would go bump in the night. And Dean is the only one who can make his kid feel better. Dean is his home.
“Nah. You just scared the living shit out of me. Don’t ever do that again, you understand me?”
Sam closes his eyes and nods. Whatever happens to him or whatever mistakes he makes, Dean is always there to pick up the pieces. Even when he’s nothing but dust and still pulls the shittiest moves, his brother forgives him and tries his best to make him feel whole.
If it weren’t for Lucifer, he might be able to deal. But the devil is something on its own.
And Sam has the feeling that he’s not done hearing about Lucifer.
But Dean is still there and he’s all that matters. He is his family. He is his home. He is one thing to hold on for. Dean’s the only reason he’s still here at all.
Author: LaueHime
Rating: Mature
Genre/pairing: H/C, Angst, Family, Gen
Characters: Sam, Dean, Lucifer
Word count: +/- 4,300
Warnings: Some cussing, illegal use of legal drugs, disturbing images
Summary: Dean’s overprotective and Sam’s overreactive. It all ends in overconsequences.
Written for spnshannanigans’s prompt on ohsam which is “Sam's memories from hell threaten to overwhelm him every moment of every day. To calm the storm in his head, he comes to rely on either drugs or alcohol (or both). Dean allows this to continue (for now anyway) because he doesn't know how to help Sam and he can't stand the screaming”
Disclaimer: The show belongs to Kripke.
A/N: This is a series of verses. Every chapter can be read as a standalone story. But of course, it’ll make more sense if you’ve read them all (or at least most of them). Each verse has its own title based on the lyrics of the song the fic is named after.
I made a video for these sammyverses too (with aforementioned song). You can watch it HERE.
Feedback is love. Enjoy!
SNSNSNSN
Pain. It’s how it all started. He’d hurt himself; physically of course. For once, it had nothing to do with his loud passenger. The trip to the hospital had earned Dean a good laugh, while he’d been doped to the gills, and himself a prescription of the good stuff.
So yeah that’s how it started; with the pain, of course. Sure. Sam was hurting. At least that’s what he told himself. That’s what he told Dean.
Sweet little pill. Jagged little pill.
The pills dull the pain. Wait, that’s their job. They have nothing to do all day but work for him. Oh wait, did he just think that about the pills? Because now he’s giving them a life. Get a grip, Sam!
Dean is driving the Impala. Right. Dean is there, swimming in and out of focus. He’s not really sure. The colors are blurring past the windows and jumbling into a mess of water-washed paint drips. He’s blinking hard. His eyes start itching. There’s this burning sensation in them. Like something’s crawling under his lids. There are ants bathing on the surface of my eyes. Wait. What?
Dean’s saying something. The music is loud. There’s this drumming in his head. So have the ants gone up to his brain? He’s not sure, but something is definitely up. He blames it on the booze. It’s been twenty-six minutes since his last shot. Yes, he is counting.
There’s a sick feeling in his stomach. There’s this metallic taste in his mouth. Yes, he has felt like this before. He hates to admit that it feels the same. Back then, his only anchor was that he wasn’t an addict in the proper sense of the term. Did demon blood count anyway? Not really. Well that’s what he thought. But the nausea, the tremors and that insatiable pit in his stomach feel way too familiar.
He hears his name. It’s growing louder. He turns his head slowly and meets green eyes. His home. They give him enough strength to focus.
“Are you okay? Sam?”
He blinks, his eyebrows rising.
“Dean” he states simply. It’s a fact. Dean is there. Dean is always there when he gets lost.
“Dude, what the hell?”
Dean is concerned. He doesn’t mind. He actually finds it quite comforting.
“What?”
He is self-protective. It’s not like Dean has to know. What is there to know, anyway? He’s just fine. He’s dealing. Yeah, dealing. His brother is not a monk either. Dean doesn’t look any better when he doesn’t get his coffee in the morning. Too bad coffee stopped working for Sam. It’s not like he needs it anyway. Lucifer keeps him awake alright. Lucifer is like Red Bull. He tastes just as bitter. But Sam doesn’t get the wings that are said to come with the high. Or at least, he doesn’t get them from Lucifer himself. He has other means after all.
Sam puckers his lips at the thought of what the devil tastes like. He finds his mind wandering. Dean is still talking. Focus, Sam. Dean is talking. Wouldn’t want him to think you’re crazy.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Are you even in there?” Dean startles.
Sam jumps and then just stares. It’s a good question. He hadn’t thought of that. Now he’s wondering. Am I here? Where am I? What am I? He starts
poking himself. He does feel something, but it’s faint. Everything feels numb anyway.
“Here. There. I’m. Yeah. Here”
Dean frowns. He’s just as confused as Sam seems to be, which is wrong to begin with.
“Jesus! Are you high?”
Sam raises a finger.
“Uh… my name is Sam”
There’s a curling in his lips. The kid is smiling. Dean can’t believe it. Sam is giggling.
“Seriously?” He still can’t believe it. Is this really Sam? The guy who once saved the world? The guy who always wears a straight face. The guy buried in complex lore and Latin rituals. Because there’s no way he’s the same person as the goofball sitting next to him with the shittiest grin plastered to his face. Fuck this kid. Seriously!
“Not high. Happy! Can’t I be happy for one goddamned second?”
Dean’s fingers tighten on the wheel.
“No! I mean yeah, but no!”
Sam frowns. He’s not sure he’s following what his brother means.
“Why not?” He doesn’t hear himself clearly, but Dean thinks he hears slurring in his brother’s voice. His eyes widen and he waves his hands into the air before grabbing the wheel again, tightly.
“Because you’re Sam fucking Winchester! You don’t do happy! Or you’re a hypocrite and keep it for yourself!”
True. Dean doesn’t get to see Sam really happy. He’s the big brother. His role is to pick up the pieces and lately, he’s been picking up dust; the pieces burned to ashes. So no, Sam doesn’t get to wake up one morning and play around like the world isn’t ending because for them, it always is.
His little brother is pouting. Dean feels bad for Sam. But seriously!
“Sammy? Hey! I didn’t mean it like that” he starts softly. He’s sure he has ruined it already. Why does he always have to ruin everything? Sam was happy for once. He couldn’t have just kept his mouth shut, no.
Sam has turned his head towards the window and Dean sees his brother’s shoulders shrug and slump.
“Whatever, Dean” he sighs. He just looks tired. There’s no fight left in him. Dean can’t blame him.
“Why don’t you tell me what made you happy, instead of brooding like a beaten puppy” Dean tries. He feels terrible for deflating his brother’s mood.
“I thought you said I didn’t do happy” Sam echoes. Dean wants to slap him because really Sam, do you always have to take my shitty comments and spit them right back into my face?!
“I’m sorry, okay” he says, louder than he needs to. He doesn’t need Sam to make him feel worse than he already does. Sam cuts his eyes at him. He wonders what his kid brother is thinking. Is he accepting the apology? Because Dean could use forgiving considering they still have a few hours left in the car and he doesn’t even know how they could make it more uncomfortable, at this point.
Sam is still looking at him silently. Dean rolls his eyes. “C’mon, I apologized! Don’t be a bitch! Bitch” he starts. Sam shivers. Being honest with himself, he would admit that he doesn’t feel good. But when is he ever honest? It doesn’t even have anything to do with Dean’s teasing. He feels fuzzy. And nauseous.
Dean is getting anxious. Sam can tell just by the way his brother gets fidgety when he’s nervous. Dean doesn’t deal well with the silent treatment. On top of that, he hates being ignored, especially when he wants something. At that moment he wants Sam to talk. He wants to make sure he didn’t hurt his brother.
But Sam is staring. Damn kid.
“What? Cat got your tongue?” Dean asks loudly. Sam flinches slightly and he seems to pale. Instantly, Dean’s concern meter is ready to implode.
“Sam! Talk!” he orders. If questions don’t work, orders just might.
“What d’you want, D’n” Sam hisses. He sounds tired and annoyed.
“Dude, you’re slurring”. Dean starts looking for any sign that something is wrong with his brother. Sam gets that his brother is concerned, but he’s too tired to care.
“Jus’ wanna sleep” Sam admits, his lids growing heavier. He leans his head against his arm, which is propped up on the windowsill.
“What’s up with you? You feelin’ okay?”
Sam doesn’t look like himself and Dean has to admit that he has a bad feeling about it. His brother has been weird for a while, but Sam never seemed so off before. Until now. Dean’s big brother radar is on.
Sam shrugs sleepily. His stomach feels like it’s swinging inside his abdomen. He feels somewhat dizzy too. But he’s afraid. He’s afraid that it all points to early signs of addiction so he doesn’t say anything. He wouldn’t want to worry Dean.
“I’m fine” he finally huffs. Dean doesn’t look convinced.
“Hey, I’m not trying to pick a fight here. I’m trying to help!”
Sam rolls his eyes. He knows that Dean is solely doing this to help. But he doesn’t want his brother to get involved. He wants to be able to take care of
himself for once. He’s all aware of his brother’s mission to ‘save Sam’ or ‘protect Sammy at all costs’ and it’s exactly what stops him from reaching out to his brother. All of his life, he’s had Dean behind him, at his six. He needs to do this on his own now. He needs to prove himself that he can do this.
“I know” he manages to reply. “I’m good” he adds. His hands start to shake. He feels that pit inside his stomach. It’s getting deeper.
“Uh, Dean. Can we stop soon? I could use a bathroom” he tries. He really just needs to get out of the car.
“You sure that’s all there is?” Dean studies him from the corner of his eye. He is suspicious. Sam breathes out in annoyance.
“Yes, Dean. Can we stop now?”
Dean flinches at the tone of the reply. If that’s how it’s going to be, he doesn’t want to argue anymore.
“Sure” he complies.
They do stop. Sam hides in the bathroom and fumbles with shaky hands for his flask. His fingers brush against the cool metal and he pulls the object out
swiftly. Lucifer is sitting on the side of the commode. He’s looking at him with a grim smile.
‘When Dean asks if you’re fine, I think he wants to make sure that you’re not losing your marbles’ he proposes.
Sam flinches at the grating sound of the devil’s voice. He wants to ignore him, but it’s hard to pretend Lucifer’s not there when he is and voicing his own thoughts out loud.
‘If I were you, I’d tell him I’m completely sane’ Satan teases.
“But you’re not me so shut up!” Sam hollers.
Lucifer takes on a look of hurt. Sam rolls his eyes and turns his head away.
‘Oh and I wouldn’t do that if I were you’ Lucifer points the flask. Sam looks at him indignantly.
“Just shut the fuck up!” he growls, taking a swig of liquor just to get back at the devil. But it only makes the latter smile. Sam feels the goose bumps on his skin. There’s something about that look that scares him.
“Why are you laughing?” Sam asks. He’s worried that he has missed something. Lucifer looks mischievous.
‘I know it has been through worse, but I’m not sure your stomach enjoys all of what you’re putting it through right now’
Sam frowns. His stomach has managed demon blood. What could a little alcohol do to him? And what the fuck does Satan know about his stomach anyway?
‘Because you think it’s what’s making you feel bad? Right’ Lucifer grins. He looks like he knows what he’s talking about, but Sam has no idea and he doesn’t want to know.
“You’re not real. Just leave” he stutters. His eyes are wild and he just wants the nightmare to be over. Lucifer is laughing even more.
‘I wouldn’t want to miss the show. How’s Dean by the way?’ the devil winks. Sam has a flash of Lucifer ripping the skin off his brother. He can hear Dean’s screams and he can smell the blood. His stomach rumbles. A surge of anger-fueled energy fills his veins and he lunges at the mirror. His fist connects with the glass and it breaks at the contact.
“Just fuck off!” he screams angrily. Blood is dribbling down his hand. He doesn’t realize he’s bleeding until Lucifer eyes his hand sadly. Sam feels the sticky warmth on his fingers. He raises his hand only to find it bloodied.
‘Aw, Sammy’s hurt. Poor baby’s got a bad boo boo’ Lucifer pouts.
Sam’s breath catches in his throat. He wants the devil to be gone already. His fingers trace a piece of the broken mirror. He grabs it cautiously and studies it with a dark passion.
‘Hey, Sammy! Your mother didn’t tell you not to pick up anything that’s on the ground’
Sam looks up with a fire in his eyes. Lucifer’s smile stops halfway. He’s looking at the taller man, perplexed.
“Leave” Sam orders. He looks determined. Lucifer shakes his head like a petulant child.
‘Or what?’ he asks. Sam’s eyes are dark. He presses the piece of glass to his skin and tilts his head with a scary smile.
‘You’re going to hurt yourself! There’s no point to it, really! And I’ll just stick around anyway’
“Then you can watch me bleed” Sam says through gritted teeth. To prove his point, he pushes the glass closer to his skin. Lucifer’s smile dies.
‘Well aren’t you a killjoy?! I was starting to have fun. Whatever’ he complains before disappearing.
Sam lets the glass fall to the ground and breathes deeply. His chest is going up and down quickly. That was close. But the adrenaline has kept him from
feeling the pain in his arm and with Lucifer gone, it’s starting to flare. He takes out a pill he has stashed from his last visit to the doctor’s. He doesn’t like to
waste and cringes since he’s taken one just a short while ago, but he doesn’t mind the numbing sensation it offers.
Aside from funny thoughts, it doesn’t really do anything to hurt him. And it keeps the devil away. At least for a while. He swallows the pill and wraps his bleeding hand in towel paper. This time he knows he won’t be able to hide it from Dean. He’s just going to have to deal with his brother’s questions.
Dean’s eye widen when Sam gets back with his hand covered in bloody wrappers.
“Woah woah, hey there! What happened?” he asks as soon as he reaches his brother’s side. Sam avoids his brother’s eyes.
“I uh. I fell. There was some glass on the ground and I cut my hand accidently” Sam rambles. Dean doesn’t miss the smell of his brother’s breath.
“Dude, you been drinkin’?”
Sam’s head bows even further and his eyes hide under his long bangs. With the blood all over himself and Lucifer, he totally forgot to conceal his alcohol breath. Too bad Dean had to find out like this. He wishes it had played out differently.
“You’re unbelievable! I can’t even let you out to the bathroom without supervision” Dean claims. Sam flinches away from his brother.
“I don’t need supervision, I’m not a kid!” he moans, unsteadily pacing backwards.
“Then why are you hiding yourself to drink? And you come back with a bloody hand! Please tell me you didn’t do this to yourself” Dean begs as he comes to realize just how much Sam is drifting away from him. His brother is slipping through his fingers and he didn’t really notice how much until now.
“Let me handle this, Dean! Stop hovering around me like a fucking parent! God, let me breathe! I can take care of myself” Sam shouts, swaying on his wobbly legs. He doesn’t remember drinking a lot, but his knees are starting to weaken all the same.
Dean puts his hands up in surrender. He doesn’t want to deal with Sam when his brother is in that state. He tells himself that the kid is probably drunk anyway so he’s not looking up for a fit.
“Alright, big boy. At least let me help with the cut”
Sam cradles his hand to his chest, studying the proposition.
“I’m not gonna eat it and you won’t be able to stitch it yourself. Come on!” Dean presses, motioning for Sam to bring his hand forth. Slowly but surely, Sam pulls his hand out. Dean studies it with a frown.
“Yep, definitely needs stitches. Sorry, bro”
Sam is halfway gone mentally when Dean pulls the first aids out. He doesn’t question Sam’s state of stupor as long as his brother remains quiet. Sam is good at that. He’s excellent even. At some point it does unnerve Dean. He looks up to see that Sam is hardly awake.
“I wonder how you even manage to sleep through that” Dean states. Sam doesn’t even twitch. Dean is almost done with the stitches. He frowns.
“Sam, you with me?” he asks. Sam moans softly. He hardly moves at all.
“How much did you drink, anyway?”
Sam’s head starts to lull and his eyes flutter. He’s not even close to coherent enough to formulate an answer.
“Yeah, don’t answer that” Dean continues. He realizes he’s doing the monologue act while Sam is napping. He pulls the last stitch together and makes sure that everything is holding into place.
Sam starts to rouse softly.
“Fixed your hand. Try not to have another accident” Dean says, his tone changing at the end. He’s not accusing Sam or anything, but he still feels like there’s something fishy about the whole thing.
“Thanks” Sam moans, his eyes opening enough to stare at the new set of stitches on his hands.
“Here” Dean says, handing Sam a double dose of regular painkillers. Sam grabs them absentmindedly and swallows them. Dean pats him on the shoulder.
“Ready to hit the road?”
Sam moans in reply and without further objection, Dean takes it as a yes. He starts driving and Sam sleeps next to him. He shoots furtive glances in his brother’s direction. Sam has been off all day and he doesn’t like how his brother came back from the bathroom with a bloody hand or how he’s been very defensive about it. He also doesn’t like the fact that Sam has been hiding himself to drink.
He knows how much he’s pushed his brother to deal and cope with things, but he didn’t mean it in a way that would make Sam feel like he needed to hide his weaknesses. Yes, Dean wants to see his little brother get better, but he doesn’t want his brother to act like he’s tough and then destroy himself in silence while Dean isn’t watching. They need to deal with this together. He feels worse for not helping Sam in the right way.
He casts another glance at his brother. A frown creeps up his face when he notices the shivers. Sam is restless in his sleep. He twitches and moans and Dean can clearly see that his brother is shaking. He turns on the vents in hopes that it will warm Sam up. Sam seems to settle for a while. Dean is relieved. His peace is short lived when Sam jerks, which wakes him up with a jolt.
“D’n” he slurs. It’s worse than it was before. He turns his head quickly but long enough to see Sam blinking sluggishly.
“You okay?”
“Pull over” Sam croaks.
“What? Sam?”
“Pull over!” Sam shrieks. The panic in his voice makes Dean’s heart clench and beat faster. He stomps on the brakes and pulls to car into a halt on the side
of the road.
The youngest bursts out of the car. Dean thinks that if Sam could’ve gone through the metal of the door, he would have. It doesn’t do much to settle his racing heart. He pushes himself out quickly enough and follows the sounds of Sam’s panting. What he finds makes his blood run cold.
Sam is on his knees and vomiting his guts out. Dean’s brain takes a second to snap back to reality before his legs spring into action. He’s by Sam’s side within seconds.
“Let it out, Sammy. It’s okay” he reassures, patting circles on his brother’s back. He cringes at the acrid smell and the strength it takes out of Sam to get it all out. Sam’s breathing is ragged through the heaving and gagging. Dean keeps a hand on his brother’s shoulder.
Sam eventually stops vomiting and starts listing forward.
“Sam, hey. Come on!” Dean only has time to put a hand to Sam’s chest to keep his brother from face planting into his own mess. Being sick apparently weakened him. Dean pulls him back so he can lean him somewhere and assess his condition. He knows he can’t really lay him flat on his back, in case Sam needs to vomit again. Seeing no other option, Dean leans his brother against his chest. Sam is pretty out of it anyway so he shouldn’t complain too much.
“Sammy, you okay?” he asks, patting his brother’s cheek gently. Sam moans, though his eyes remain closed.
“You need a few minutes before we get you back to the car? I’m gonna need your help for that”
Sam doesn’t react. He doesn’t twitch.
“Just let me know when you’re ready”
Still nothing.
“Sam?”
The youngest remains oblivious. It’s only then that it occurs to Dean that his brother is deathly still.
“Sammy?” he asks again, his voice shakier. He tries to tap his brother’s cheek again. He finds it somewhat cold.
“Whatever the fuck you’re doing, it’s not funny. I know you don’t like me hovering, but you’re not exactly making it easy either”
When again, his comment creates no reaction, Dean starts to panic. He goes from cheek tapping to full body shaking. Sam remains unresponsive through the process.
“Okay, you wake up right the fuck now or I’ll kill you myself, damn it!” Dean growls, using his fingers to pull his brother’s lids open. He finds that Sam’s pupils are constricted a little more than they should be.
“ODing? Seriously? That your way of calling out for help? Because I can recall many times I’ve offered mine, you hard-headed son of a bitch!”
Dean is furious and worried at the same time. Sam is a few steps away from needing a hospital. If he doesn’t wake up soon, Dean will have no other choice.
“You better not die on me, you understand?!”
Dean musters enough strength to pull Sam back to the car and manhandles him in the passenger seat. He finds a blanket in which he wraps his brother. He sits back behind the wheel and starts driving. The next half hour will have him decide whether he takes the exit for the motel room or the one for the ER.
Sam wakes up after some time. Dean lets out a breath he’s been holding for too long. His relief is short lived when Sam breathes out the word “sick” and they’re back on the side of the road again. Sam is more awake this time, albeit confused.
“Wha’s goin’ on?” he rasps when Dean has him lying on his side.
“You ODed, mister smart guy. My two painkillers wouldn’t have been too bad if you hadn’t taken anything else” Dean replies, knowing that it’s the only way Sam could have managed to overdose and he only assumes that if his brother has been hiding to drink, he could have taken something else as well. He then remembers the Vicodin prescription from the last visit to the doctors and the broken arm.
“Fuck Sam, why did you take them? You could have killed yourself!” Dean sounds so desperate. It reaches Sam and hurts him worse than any broken bone ever could.
“Sorry… Was an accident… Lucifer wouldn’t go and my hand was bleeding… I forgot I had taken the Vicodin” he admits painfully. Dean wants to cry. It’s Lucifer’s fault again. If he could actually see the devil, he would shoot it in the face.
Sam looks like he’s about to break too. His bottom lip is quivering.
“Dean? You mad at me?”
And just like that, there’s no more big-boy Sam who wants to take care of himself and who wants Dean to cut him some slack. There’s just this scared little boy who fears whatever monster would go bump in the night. And Dean is the only one who can make his kid feel better. Dean is his home.
“Nah. You just scared the living shit out of me. Don’t ever do that again, you understand me?”
Sam closes his eyes and nods. Whatever happens to him or whatever mistakes he makes, Dean is always there to pick up the pieces. Even when he’s nothing but dust and still pulls the shittiest moves, his brother forgives him and tries his best to make him feel whole.
If it weren’t for Lucifer, he might be able to deal. But the devil is something on its own.
And Sam has the feeling that he’s not done hearing about Lucifer.
But Dean is still there and he’s all that matters. He is his family. He is his home. He is one thing to hold on for. Dean’s the only reason he’s still here at all.