onasteelhorse | an exercise in control (for hunter

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[rp partner]: hunter_returns

an exercise in control (for hunter_returns)

It didn't escape Dean just how fucked up this was. But so was the whole situation, so what the hell, right? If it got Sam back, if it got him to see how that Ruby bitch was fucking with his head and helping him get hooked on something that was going to lead nowhere good... well, Dean could take the fall out. He'd take whatever hate Sam could throw at him, but he wasn't letting his brother damn himself like this.

He wasn't going to let Sammy turn himself into a monster.

So, he found a spell. He hated dealing in magic and witches, but if it all went right... well, it meant he'd have enough pull over Sam to get him to stop until he finished detoxing this time and hopefully realized just what the demon blood was doing to him.

To them both, really.

He was fucking terrified Sam was going to do something stupid, wind up in a worse situation. He couldn't let him, even if it meant betraying him in one of the worst ways.

The spell was cast though and all Dean had to do now was sit back in the tiny motel room and wait for Sam to get back from wherever he slipped off to today. He tried to play it casual, flipping through channels and fought down his nerves and conscience alike.

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Right. Just dump him off. Cut him off from Ruby, from the blood, from everything that made him something and then walk. The bitterness alone is enough to choke him and Sam tucked his legs up underneath him, curling himself into a ball to try and contain the violent shakes that were starting up along his arms.

"Whatever," he finally forced out. "Jus' leave me wherever right?"

He can't focus enough to hold it together, certain that he's just going to shake himself apart in that cold little motel bathroom.

"Dammit, Sam." He can't help the frustration building up. He's the one being told how much he's hated by the one guy who means the most to him and Sam's the one who gets to act like he's being thrown away. He bites back on that bitter feeling as he goes to the sink and wets a rag.

He's never dealt with Sam going through withdrawals, but he's dealt with him sick before. He can't leave him shivering on the bathroom floor like this. Kneeling down beside him, he reaches out to try to use the cloth on his face. "I don't get you, man. You went to sleep in the car because you couldn't stand being in the same room as me. I thought you wanted me to drop you off."

It's shocking how much Dean sounded like their Dad in that moment. Annoyed. Angry. Because Sam wasn't being a good soldier like Dean.

Because you're ungrateful. We spent our lives protecting you when what I should have done was kill you when I learned what you really are.

His head snapped up, eyes wide and horrified. Seeing someone that wasn't there. "D-Dad? No. I'm.. I'm not. Not a monster. 'm making it right."

Which is why Dean had to resort to magic when what he should have done was shot you in the head. You got your mother killed. Jessica. You burn everything you touch to ash, Sam.

"Sam?" If anything could get him to push past the annoyance and anger and all the hurt, it was Sam talking to people who weren't even there.

His eyes flicked to where Sam's staring, terrified, before he reached for his face, trying to get him to look over. "Sammy, you're sick. Dad's not there, alright? He's not saying anything."

He can barely tear his eyes away from the disapproving shadow of their Dad in the doorway. Never good enough. A monster. He'd seen it in John's face since his visions started up. But it's so much worse to hear a verbal confirmation - that he'd always thought those things.

Sam choked on a broken sound as Dean brought his attention back to him. "Shoulda let me go. Shoulda let me die." A year of self-destruction because he couldn't bear the thought that his brother sacrificed everything he was for him. Sammy who was never good enough, Sammy the runaway, Sammy and his freaky psychic thing that scared everyone.

"He's right."

"No," Dean barked out a little rougher than he attended. Frowning, he tried to draw Sam even closer, slide an arm around his shoulders.

"He's not right. I'd die for you a million times over, dude. Trust me. You're worth it, alright?" Because Sam had his problems. He had a lot of darkness in him and Dean was seeing it more than he ever wanted to... but underneath all that? He was a good kid. He always had been.

Better than Dean. Smart, kind, always trying to do the exact right thing.

He tried to do the right thing, tried to at least make Dean proud of him. But this time? This time it all got away from him, slipping away into revenge and power and Sam really isn't sure how it all happened anymore.

Sobbing, Sam buried his face against his brother's shoulder. He can't be worth it. Sam Winchester, the boy with demon blood, destined to be a monster.

"How do I stop it?" he finally managed. "Dean. I don't know how. How do I stop it?"

Dean's arms tightened around him as one hand came up to tangle through his brother's hair just to keep him close. "You just stop, Sammy... you trust me when I say there's other ways to end this, okay? We'll figure it out."

He doesn't know if Sam will really stay when his head clears up again, if he'll be back to being angry and hating him, but right now? His brother is crying and asking him what to do. He can't ignore that. When has he ever been able to ignore it when Sam really needs him?

"Promise you, we'll find a way to make it okay."

He doesn't need the spell to believe his brother. Dean is sure that there's another way and that's enough for Sam to believe him. Right now he doesn't see a way out, doesn't see a way that won't end in blood and pain and leave him alone again.

His hands twist in his shirt as he shakes, awkwardly curled up in his lap as the tremors take him. "Hurts," he pants, trying to get even closer. "God Dean, it hurts."

"I know," he sighs, holding Sam as close as possible. "I'm sorry."

It's not like he wants his brother to suffer. That's pretty much always the opposite of what he wants... but this is for the best. It's what he keeps reminding himself as he holds Sam tighter and rubs his hand up his spine in soothing motions.

"We need to get you to bed."

He doesn't mean to whimper, wishes he was stronger, braver. But he wasn't as strong as Dean, never was. Sam struggled to his feet, every muscle knotting up and cramping in protest as he tried to shuffle the few feet back towards the lumpy motel bed.

"Dean.. don't go," he pleads. "Please."

When Dean was gone, that's when his life tended to spiral out of control. Dean kept him strong, kept him safe.

With Sam laying down, Dean joined him, settling beside him on the bed. He wasn't planning on getting much sleep tonight, not with how Sam looked right now. he didn't figure it was in the cards tonight. He hesitated at the request and dropped a hand to brush through his hair in soothing motions.

"Don't know if you'll feel that way when you're feeling better, but I ain't leaving anytime soon, Sammy."

The tremors were rocking his entire body now and all he could do was set his jaw and try not to cry out. Everything hurt and it was just getting worse.

Dean. Dean. He could focus on that. On his brother holding him close and soothing him.

"'m not strong. Not like you. Can't.. can't do it alone." He never could.

"What are you talking about? You're one of the strongest guys I know." Maybe he'd gotten mislead, but... he knew he could be strong. Knew he had it in him.

"You're not alone. I'm right here until you tell me to go, Sam."

He wasn't strong enough. Couldn't be. If he was, why would he be like this right now? Why did Dean have to resort to magic to get through to him? Sam shook his head mutely, burying his face against Dean's chest.

"I'm sorry," he chokes. "Dean 'm so sorry."

Anything. As long as he'd stay.

"Sam, I need you to go to sleep," he murmurs after a few moments. He's not sure what he's apologizing for, if he means it, and Dean's trying to take care of both Sam and his own wounds and guilt. He's not entirely sure how much more he can handle.

"It'll be okay. I promise. Just trust me, okay?"

The direction works and Sam obediently shut his eyes, sagging against his brother as he drifts off to sleep, powered by the initial spell. Enough to let him sleep through the worst of the withdrawal. No hallucinations, no screaming. He can simply fall into his brother's arms and know that he's safe.

He doesn't move for twelve hours, exhaustion and addiction having driven his body well past it's limits.

It works and Dean's relieved. He doesn't sleep for a while, but when he does, it's deep and dreamless from exhaustion. He doesn't wake up until he feels Sam finally shifting against him. It makes him jerk awake and watch him close. Had to make sure he was okay.

Or -- well, whatever. He was so far from okay and he knew it.

"You sleep okay?"

Oh god. Everything hurts. Sam moaned against his chest, trying to burrow closer as if Dean could somehow save him from the pain of withdrawal. But he slept well, better than he had in months. "Yeah," he finally grated out. "'s a little better."

"Good." Lifting a hand, he ran it through the other's sleep mussed hair, smoothing it back down absently.

"I should get up, Sam. You're gonna need to eat, if you can."

The thought of trying to keep down anything that wasn't warm, smoky blood made his stomach churn. But Sam forced himself to nod. He had to get better. For Dean. He had to get better if he was going to find some way of making this right again.

"O-okay. I'll try Dean. I will."

"I know, Sammy." He smiles a little down at him and for the first time, it's feels a little more genuine. He reaches over, slowly, to ruffle his hair. He's not sure why Sam's not still screaming about how much he hates him and it's a tough memory to forget, but... he'll take this. He'll take Sam trying to get better and whatever happens after? Well, he'll deal with that too.

"Need anything else?"

When Sam remembers what he said in anger, he'll be utterly sick with remorse. But right now his head is muzzy with exhaustion and the withdrawal and it's enough for him to remain focused on the moment. Slowly he shakes his head. HIs throat is parched and he's pretty sure whatever Dean brings him to eat he'll have a hell of a time keeping it down. But he'll try.

"No. 'm okay. Just tired."

an exercise in control (for hunter_returns)

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OOC

OOC