SPN: These Days (8/9)

[moogsthewriter]

Title: These Days
Rating: T
Genre: Angst, family, h/c
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for 3.16. AU after that.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: This is the sequel to "One Hundred Nine Hours and Thirteen Minutes." I'd recommend reading that first if you haven't. Also, this was written in the summer and was completed before Season 4 ever aired. (Also written without ever looking at any spoilers for Season 4.) Partly journal, partly third person POV.
Notes the second: This chapter is a little bit different in the journal part--I think you'll understand why after you go all the way through. But the grammar mistakes are supposed to be in the journal entry.
Summary: The path to recovery is more like a winding mountain road. Post 3.16, AU Season 4.

( Day 1 ) | ( Day 6 ) | ( Day 15 ) | ( Day 19 ) | ( Day 26 ) | ( Day 39 ) | ( Day 51 )

 

Day 52

I hate demons.

They took Mom. Dad. Jess. And they took Dean.

And they’re responsible for what’s happening to that wound on my back.

I think I’ve been realizing it for awhile. I mean, I guess I should’ve known something right away. Although I was kind of thinking it was due to Azazel’s blood in me. And that could still be part of it, I guess. Probably is – it is supposed to be a catalyst for me going Dark Side I think. Which could what happening here. Although feels more like dying.

That wouldn’t be bad. Except for fact that it would probably kill Dean – again. Although… right now, maybe wouldn’t. It would be more of a relief, actually. Dean doesn’t really want to be around me, anyway.

Dying would be better than going Dark Side. By a long shot. I know it… Dad knew it. I don’t want

I keep screwing everything up. I let more demons out when I got Dean. That’s just what we need to deal with.

Dean… I told Dean off for keeping secrets when I’m still keeping biggest– that I’m more a Demon than he is. That the thing killed Mom practically made me his kid.

I feel like crap. I wonder when Dean’s coming back. I hope soon.

No I don’t. He didn’t want to see me before. He definitely won’t want to see this. I just wish I

I’m pretty sure I never got my brother back.

My brother doesn’t want me back anymore.

My brot

Dean

I’m sorry. Live

Lov

Sam tensed as he heard the tell-tale signs of Dean getting ready to leave the bathroom. He kept his eyes glued to the Solitaire game on the computer screen as the knob turned. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean emerge as steam billowed out of the bathroom. Dean tossed his dirty clothes in the vague direction of his duffle bag, his eyes practically glued to his watch. “Hey, I think I’m gonna walk down to the store and grab somethin’ to eat,” he declared, moving to put on his boots.

Sam raised an eyebrow but kept his eyes on the game, moving the nine of diamonds onto the ten of spades. “We just ate like two hours ago.”

“And I’m hungry again. Is that a problem?” Dean shot back, keeping his eyes on his hands as he laced up his boots.

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, closed his eyes, and silently breathed out through his nose as the pain in his back flared up again. The ache had been steadily growing worse ever since their encounter with the demon at the Dowry house yesterday, and it was taking all of Sam’s self-control to not react to it.

There were more pressing problems to deal with, after all. Namely, the one standing in front of him.

“Did you want anything?” Dean asked as he rose and snagged his leather jacket off the back of the beat-up chair near the door.

“No.” Sam finally looked up from the computer at his brother’s back. “Are we ever going to talk?”

Dean’s shoulders stiffened and he turned to look at Sam. “I thought that’s what we were doing – you know, I say something like ‘I’m going for food’ and you reply. I’m pretty sure that qualifies as talking.”

Sam shot Dean a look. “I meant about what happened.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed as he swallowed. “We already talked about that.”

“Uh huh. Because, ‘I’m fine, leave it alone, how are you’ qualifies as a full conversation.”

“Well, it’s true. You should still leave it alone, you had some crazy chick dig her nails into your chest and who knows where those have been – I still think you could get rabies or HIV or something – and I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not, Dean!” Sam huffed, springing to his feet and pointing a finger at Dean. “You’re avoiding me. You’ve barely slept, you’re jumpy, you’re leaving every chance you get, and you frickin’ walk whenever you can when you could just as easily drive. So obviously something about me must be bugging you, so out with it already! What did she say to you?”

Dean swallowed again, and Sam could see the faintest hint of panic tinting his eyes as his grip tightened on his jacket. “This isn’t about you, Sam.”

“Bull. Shit.”

Dean blinked in surprise at the vehement declaration. Sam whirled on his heel and paced towards the wall before turning back to face Dean. “I’m pretty sure this has everything to do with me. I’m not an idiot, Dean. I saw the look you gave me when she was whispering in your ear. What did she tell you?”

“I told you to leave it alone, damn it!”

“Yeah, ‘cuz that’s always a good idea, isn’t it?” Sam shot back. “You keeping secrets from me?”

Sam knew immediately he had gone too far even as Dean recoiled visibly. “I don’t need to listen to this crap. I’ll be back in an hour,” he grunted, forcefully shoving on his jacket and yanking the door open in one swift move.

“Dean,” Sam began, but was nearly drowned out as the door slammed shut. He crossed the room in four strides and pulled the curtain aside slightly to watch his brother march angrily down the street towards the local grocery store, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat.

With a frustrated sigh, Sam flicked the curtain back into place and whirled back to face the room, forcing a hand through his hair. “Damn it!” he finally shouted, flipping the chair by the door onto its side with one hand. He stared at it spitefully, as if it were the one driving Dean away instead of him.

Suddenly the pain in his back flared to a white-hot intensity, driving him to his knees. Sam’s entire body arched, his head snapping backwards as the pain climbed up his spine like a spider made of knives. He moaned low in the back of his throat, the groan growing louder the closer the pain got to his skull. His body switched from arching back to curling in on itself, his long fingers gripping at Dean’s bedspread tightly as his forehead touched the thin, stained carpet.

His vision went white when the pain finally travelled through his neck and into the base of his skull, flaring through his head as if someone had nailed him with a sledgehammer. He was faintly aware of a distant scream, and after another pain-filled moment, he realized it was his own.

Then the white went dark, and images started flashing behind his eyelids. Sam saw himself back at Bobby’s, sitting Indian-style next to Dean’s pale and lifeless body as Bobby drew a series of symbols around the pair. Then it flashed to him thrusting his arms forward, blowing the gigantic black wrought-iron gate backwards. Numerous clouds of black smoke shot out towards the direction Sam had come from as he strode forward, bellowing his brother’s name at the top of his lungs. The scene cut back to South Dakota, where Bobby was frantically pumping Sam’s chest, practically sobbing, “Breathe, Sam! Breathe, damn it!” as Sam’s head lolled limply on the wooden floor, bumping with Dean’s shoulder a couple of times. Then a dark cloud shot into the room, twisting once around Bobby, who seemed not to notice its presence as he continued to try and force Sam to breathe. The demon then moved to swirl around Sam’s body. Sam felt a faint flare of pain from the wounds on his back and side, and his eyes widened as he realized the demon was cutting him in the same places where he had been slashed trying to get to Dean.

Then a shadow covered everything, and the pain in Sam’s skull began to recede. Gradually it retreated back down his spine until only the area directly around the scar from where Jake had stabbed him was throbbing. The sulfur scent in his nose gave way to a mixture of cigarette smoke and bleach.

Sam swallowed, his throat grating painfully as he tried to work up some saliva. He gingerly tried to stretch out his legs, but he was impeded by something wrapped around them. When he tried to move his arms, he realized they were pinned, too. He forced his eyes open, blinking a few times as the fluorescent lights blinded him, and was faintly surprised to find he was all caught up in the bedspread.

He raised his head up a few inches off the floor, which was difficult since it felt like it weighed four times as much as it normally did, and looked around. Somehow he had wedged his body in the narrow space between the two beds. Dean’s blankets and sheets were piled on the floor around him, and his own bedspread had been pulled halfway off the bed. After a few minutes of uncoordinated thrashing, Sam managed to get to his hands and knees. With a groan, he flung an arm out, grabbed the edge of Dean’s mattress, and forced himself up to half-standing position, his head still nearly level with his waist.

He really wished Dean was around. It would’ve made this a whole lot easier.

Wincing as the pain in his back flared again, he stumbled backwards until he was sitting on his bed. He sighed deeply, propping his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands as he tried to breathe through the pain.

That’s it, man… in… out… in… out… you’d think a pre-law student would be able to remember something as basic as breathing… c’mon, Sammy, just keep breathing, dude…

A painful lump formed in Sam’s throat at the memory of Dean coaching him through the aftermath of one of his visions, and he wished even more for Dean. “How did everything get so screwed up?” he murmured, his voice hoarse from screaming.

There was no answer. No rough voice trying to joke everything away and make it all better. No firm presence to keep him anchored to the real world.

No Dean.

Sam sighed again, sitting up straighter. The room spun for a moment, but to his surprise the headache was already receding. The pain in his back, however, was not. And he could feel the t-shirt underneath his button-up clinging to his lower back and pulling at the stitches, and he knew that the wound across his spine was bleeding a little.

At least, he hoped it was only a little.

So… what the hell was that? Sam wondered, rubbing his right temple with an index finger and squeezing his eyes shut. Vague memories of the images he had seen flashed across his mind again. It wasn’t really a vision… because it was showing me the past. But why?

The silence was nearly deafening, making Sam huff in frustration. He really, really needed a way to think through all of this, and since Dean wasn’t there to talk with him… he’d just have to settle for the next best thing.

He turned and sprawled across his bed, scrabbling for the duffle bag on the floor on the other side. His hand clenched around his journal, and with a grunt he pulled it up onto his bed. He didn’t even sit up to write. He just grabbed the pen, yanked the top off with his teeth, spat it on the floor, and began scribbling. His handwriting was off because he was still sprawled on his stomach, and he was shivering, but he kept writing even as his mind started going hazy again.

I hate demons.

tbc...

Comments

[phx69.livejournal.com]

The poor baby, he really, really needs his big brother back. Waaahhh!!!!

[sendintheklowns.livejournal.com]

'Sam’s entire body arched, his head snapping backwards as the pain climbed up his spine like a spider made of knives.'

One word comes to mind -- intense.

[ex-egorstan.livejournal.com]

Oh, the tension! I love the tension. This was exceptional! I know I keep saying it, but I love your writing style.

Still don't know what the Demon said to Dean .... grumble ... grumble.