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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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."

He heads to the bathroom first to clean himself up a little and then comes out, glass of water in hand. Holding it out for Sam, he tilts his head, watching him. Poor guy looks beat down right now...

"Drink this, clean up, and I'll be back in a little bit, okay?"

Dean has every right to kick his ass to the curb for everything, for the way he'd been acting, for being that stubborn and that stupid. God knows that Dad had when push had come to shove (and to blows). Slowly Sam levers himself up. He has to hold the glass with two hands to keep from spilling anything.

"Okay."

He starts with small sips, forcing down every one until the glass is empty. The shower is another matter, but between the spell driving him and sheer Winchester-grade stubbornness, Sam makes it there and back again. By the time Dean returns he's back in bed, pale and shivering.

Like Dean could ever really kick Sam out of his life. He'd let him go, if he really wanted that, but it'd kill Dean even now. He needed his brother in his life in some way... and it was selfish, he knew it. He's just never been good at letting Sam go though.

When he comes back to see Sam back in bed, shivering and looking even worse for wear, he puts their food down on the table beside the bed and goes to slide an arm around Sam, pulling him in. "Hey, Sammy, come here. You look like you're freezing, dude."

Sam had tried to do things on his own, tried to be strong. Dean had given his life for him, sold his soul to bring him back and he still kept screwing things up. For months he'd tried and the blood gave him direction, gave him purpose. It was the focus he needed to channel his power and do something worthwhile.

And it had all gone wrong.

"Can't.. can't get.. warm," he stammered out, curling himself around Dean in a desperate attempt to try and warm himself.

Dean let Sam curl into him like he wanted and held him tight, trying to soothe away those chills. He rubbed his hand over Sam's back lightly while the other tugged up the blankets. "Feel better, Sammy?"

The contact helped as much as the warm blankets coming up and over his shoulders. Sam nodded mutely, waiting for the heat to start seeping back into his bones. When he could speak without his teeth chattering, "Yeah. Warmer."

Better? Not really. But demon blood was thick, toxic stuff. It was going to take him awhile to find his way back out.

an exercise in control (for hunter_returns)

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