By: Karen B.
Summary: Don't ask me? Ask the evil, old, seaweed for hair, hag of a muse. LOL…Sam is drinking demon blood and Dean knows. Just a little snippet.
Disclaim: I am just a Dreamer...who likes to write imagination down. I don't own a stake in the charecters...only chase after the dreams.
You're imagination is your preview of life's coming attractions -- Albert Einstine.
He braced his hands against the wooden dresser staring into the mirror. His greasy unkept hair hung down over his red-rimmed eyes. It didn't take a genie to know he was in a bad way. Sam frowned at the reflection of the demon sitting on the edge of the unmade bed. A slow smile crept across her face -- triggering his craving.
The air filled with the smell of sulfur, and Sam ignored the beads of sweat rolling down his back, soaking his shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see outside to the blinking neon sign of the motel. The flashing red light only served to accelerate his ever-throbbing anticipation. He was addicted. Couldn't help himself. He went to her. Drunkenly stumbling his way over. He froze only for a moment, then knelt before her. He was a lost dog, begging for food.
"Please," he whispered. "I'm weak." He closed his eyes. "I need this. Need to feel the power." His gaze met hers. "Please."
"You will pay the price?" Her eyes darkened.
"Not anything, Sam." She caressed his cheek. "Everything." She paused. "Will you pay everything? Just say the word. One simple word."
Sam shuddered. Pretended not to be afraid. Convinced himself he was still in control. Yet, the monstrous guilt inside of him was overwhelmingly powerful -- but not powerful enough. His heart was branded, his blood tainted. The creature had moved into his soul, solidifying there like the inside hull of an old cement mixer. Dean had seen the deep end of hell, but Sam -- Sam was a part of hell. He couldn't stop himself. He had stood on the edge of the world and jumped -- there was no going back.
"Yes," he said, the word like a dying scream tumbling and twisting through the very core of his being.
She picked up the knife off the mattress, and cut deeply into her arm, immediately blood dripped from the wound. The sight of blood alone took Sam to a dark place. A place that scared the living hell that was inside of him. Sam was silent for a moment, unable to take his gaze off the blood. The liquid of life reconnecting him to the bond he had with the demon.
A rippling chill swept through Sam, so cold it burned. Like daggers of shooting icicles that had been turned to flame, the feeling rammed through him. He couldn't blink, couldn't move his head. Every fiber in him telling him this was wrong, but the enemy within was strong.
"Take it, Sam. It's yours. All that you want." She gave a cold smile holding her arm up to his mouth. "Go ahead. Lean into it. Let it control you."
Sam inhaled the scent and licked his lips. He could feel the need bubbling inside him like a black cauldron.
"It's okay. Sam, It's okay. Take it."
Wrong be damned. Sam grasped her arm with both hands, and leaned over shaking violently. He sucked, fed, the venom filtering through his veins like a coiled viper.
"Good, Sammy. Real good."
Sam drank, lips quivering, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth.
His pulse was racing and his stomach roiled, his face twisting in raw agonizing pain. Wrong. Deep down inside of his flesh, he felt how wrong. Tears tugged at Sam's lids and spilled down his cheeks mixing with her blood.
"No." He ground his teeth, but continued to suck.
"You're okay. You don't have to stop. You can have it all." She ran her fingers through his hair. "Don't be afraid of it."
"Need it," he gurgled and swallowed hard.
"I know you do. You're fine. Doing fine," she spoke softly. "You do know what everything is? Don't you?" She bent over him, tauntingly. "Sammy?" She exhaled the whisper in his ear. " Dean." The word said low and deadly. "Dean is everything."
Sam jerked awake, breathing harshly inside the cool shelter of the Impala. He blinked a few times, wildly glancing around. Outside the skyline was just turning from the dark of night to the gray of early morning.
"Sam?" Dean questioned from behind the wheel.
"Yeah." Sam cleared his throat, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Nightmare or real? Sam couldn't be certain anymore. When had life turned into more than a challenge? Now a framework of tiny, intricate, mismatched pieces. His destiny certain. Dean was lost to him. Sam took in a ragged breath, scared and unsure. Shaken down to an almost childlike fear of the world before him. Doubt of who he really was raining through his tainted blood.
"You okay?" Dean whispered tensely.
"What time is it?" Sam asked, ignoring Dean's question and the horrible headache building behind his eyes.
"Five in the morning." Dean frowned. "I take it you had a nightmare?
"Dude." The word hung for a moment between them.
"Dean, I don't feel like sharing." Sam slouched back against the seat and closed his eyes, trying to erase the bad feelings inside.
What happened to the time when the only creepy things he knew about were bugs, snakes and salamanders? Creatures that sparked the interest of a young inquisitive boy. How had that boy gone from playfully eating black snowballs on the dare of his brother, to drinking the blood of demons?
As Dean drove, Sam continued to stare out the window. The world before him strange and silent. Only the passing of streetlights illuminated the inside of the car. Only his inner demon echoed in his ears. What was happening to him -- to them? What was he doing? Where were they going? Would he lose the best thing he had left in this crap world? How could he stop that from happening? A helpless feeling settled in his diaphragm like a colossal-sized case of heartburn.
"Sam, I know what you're doing."
"What! Sam's head snapped around sharply, expecting to see disgust, but only catching a sad look in Dean's eyes. "What-- what do you mean?" he asked uneasily.
The very thought of Dean knowing what he was doing made a sickness creep up into Sam's throat.
"I know," Dean growled softly. "Everything."
Sam was stunned, didn't move a muscle, desperate to act unaffected by his brother's words.
"What exactly do you know?" Sam asked, playing it cool, knowing the question was moot.
Sam knew his brother well. The grave tone and mortally wounded look on Dean's face, told all. Dean did know -- everything. The pain in Dean's eyes, evident. The knowledge killing him as if Sam himself had put a bullet in his brother's heart.
Sam wanted to slide under the Impala's seat. Hide from Dean's burning look -- a look that striped him bare.
"How?" The tic in Sam's jaw tightened.
"You don't need to know that." Dean's calm tone was like a jolt of caffeine sending Sam straight and stiff in his seat, hand gripping the handle of the passenger door.
Should Sam bolt. Tuck and roll out of the car. Why hadn't Dean leapt across the seat. Why hadn't he unleashed his training, raining damage down on Sam's face -- the way he'd done in the past when Dean hadn't liked the road he'd followed.
Sam thought about denying Dean's accusation, or maybe to explain why he was doing what he was doing.
"Dean." Sam opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
"Don't bother, Sam," Dean said in such a composed tone, Sam's stomach clenched and the little hairs on his arms stood to attention.
"You're not mad?" Sam dared to ask.
Dean didn't answer, gripping the steering wheel, his face ghostly pale against the dark interior of the Impala. Sam's shocked expression turned sullen. He had to make his brother understand.
"Dean, I have to be strong enough to…"
"Mad doesn't begin to explain it, okay, Sam," Dean cut him off, using the same scary, even tone. "But, I understand why you're working with hell."
"Are you sure about that?" Sam narrowed his eyes in uncertainty. "'Cause I'm not even sure I understand, Dean."
"Look, it's simple. All you need to know is --" Dean took in a breath. "Sammy, No matter what -- I promise you, we will win this war. Together. All the way. I'm not going to lose you again, and you're not going to lose me. End of story. Okay, brother?"
Baffled, Sam cocked his head, biting deep into his lip and tasting his own blood.
"Okay, Dean." Sam turned away, leaning his head against the passenger window.
"Just, no more disappearing acts. Okay, Houdini?" Dean grinned.
Sam caught Dean's eye -- a reflection in the glass. They smiled in unison. Destiny moved them forward. The message loud and clear in their world without many words. They were fighters. Born of fighters, and they would make it. The two of them. Brothers to the end. Sam sighed, tainted blood or not.
"Now you don't see that everyday!" The familiar voice shouted.
Sam jerked back, pulling away from the demon's arm. He turned to find Dean standing in the motel's open doorway behind him. Dean's expression -- ultimate disgust.
Nightmare or real. This time Sam was certain.
"Dean," Sam muttered in shock.
"Sam! What the hell are you doing?" In a blur, Dean had the demon killing knife raised high above his head. "I'm going to kill you, you bitch!" He advanced forward, fury in his eyes.
"Dean, wait." Sam stumbled to his feet. One step forward. Two steps backward. Swiping demon blood from his lips. "Let me explain." He composed himself taking up position and standing his ground in-between Dean and Lilith. "Just let me explain."