The Glass Vial | Chapter Three - Part II
Chapter Three: Healing - Part II
Previous chapter (Chapter Three Part I)
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When they return back Bobby is at his desk, flicking through books and he smiles at them both when they walk in.
“Good to see you up and about, kid,” he says, and Sam nods absently at him, scanning the books that line the walls. Bobby’s smile doesn’t falter but he looks at Dean and Dean gives a little shrug.
“Come on, Sammy,” he says, gently leading him towards the couch. “Sit and get your shoes off.”
Sam complies easily, and bends down to pull at his shoelaces and kicks his shoes off. Dean leaves him with Bobby and goes into the kitchen, and pours a glass of water. He pauses when he sees the package on the counter with his name on and he puts down the glass and picks it up.
He knows what it is without opening. He fingers the package hesitantly before opening it and pulls out the wristband. It’s simple and cool to touch, with Sam’s name engraved on it and Dean’s number and name beneath. He walks over to Sam, and unceremoniously drops it beside him.
Sam looks up at him with questioning eyes.
“It’s just a precaution, okay? I can’t always be there -- I mean, I’ll try. But. Can you just wear it?”
Sam picks it up carefully between his fingers and frowns as he begins to read it. Then he looks back up, and his face softens, and he must read something in Dean’s face because he clears his throat and slips it onto his wrist, before tightening it. “Sure, Dean. I’ll wear it.”
It’s just a small thing in case Sam ever wanders, but it’s enough to ease Dean’s worries, just a little. He goes back to the kitchen and hears footsteps behind him to see Sam is following.
“Here, man,” he says, handing Sam the glass of water he abandoned. Sam takes it gingerly and holds it with both hands. Dean grabs the envelope the package came in and throws it in the bin, and turns to see Sam nervously biting his lip.
“I - uh. I don’t think...”
“Sam?” Dean asks cautiously, and takes the glass from his hands, putting it on the kitchen table. “You okay?”
“Cold,” Sam says, eyes flicking around the room. “I don’t...”
Dean tries not to let the agitation show, had thought they were doing well today, but it’s going to be a slow process, he knows that. He takes a deep breath. “Hey, listen to me. You’re not there. You’re out.”
Sam shakes his head and his hands find Dean’s shirt, and clutch at it. He whimpers, and it’s quiet and broken. Bobby walks into the kitchen, book in hand, and raises his eyebrows when he sees them both.
“Everything alright?” he asks, looking between them.
“Sam’s switched off again,” Dean says, trying to remove Sam’s fingers from around his shirt.
He finally manages to get Sam to let go and starts to guide him towards the bedroom, and he walks easy, eyes constantly looking around the room.
“I don’t want to, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he says quickly, quietly, and Dean shares a glance with Bobby before leading him into the guest bedroom that’s become Sam’s and sitting him down on the bed.
“You’re with Dean. You’re out,” Dean says quietly, pulling the bed covers back and ignoring the sharp jolt of pain he gets when that’s not enough to bring Sam back as he continues to plead with the devil inside his head.
He gets Sam out of his jacket and pushes him down carefully onto the mattress. He covers him with blankets and turns the small lamp on in the corner of the room.
He sits down on the camping bed that’s beside Sam’s in the darkness, and he pulls one of the books that he keeps beneath Sam’s bed. He opens up Malleus Daemonum, flicking through it, before putting it back and pulling out another one. It’s something he started doing before they knew who the silver liquid was from, and he’s still curious, still wants to know what it is and make sure someone isn’t dicking with them.
Sam continues to whimper and Dean watches him in the dim light, the book open on his lap, the words blurring together. He runs a hand over his eyes and lets out a slow breath. “Patience,” he mutters to himself.
He wants Sam to be the same brother from before, and watching him get lost inside his head day after day is enough to tear and shred Dean’s heartstrings, because this isn’t something he can protect Sam against. But god, is he trying.
It’s not long before the door opens and Bobby walks in, holding a bowl in one hand, and walks over to Dean.
“What are you trying to find?” he asks, voice tired, and places the bowel of steaming noodles by Dean’s feet. “There’s not gonna be anything in that book to help Sam. The vials ain’t enough?”
“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean says absently, nodding to the food. After a moment, he says, “We still don’t know who’s giving them to him.”
“We know it’s an angel,” Bobby says. “There isn’t gonna be anything in those demonology books. You know most of them inside out anyway.” He glances down at the pile of books and sighs. “I need the book of secrets, so hand it over, son.”
Dean shuts the book shut and passes De Miraculis Occultis Naturae Libri over to him, and shoves the others back underneath the bed.
“This is your brother, Dean. This is just how he is.”
“I know,” Dean says quietly, watching as he sleeps.
“Find me if you need anything,” Bobby says. “And eat your food.”
He turns around and walks back out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Dean takes the bowl, picks up the fork, and watches Sam’s uneasy sleep as he eats.
***
Sometimes there were chains. They weren’t tangible things, but wrapped around him like hot acid, which used to burn and erode his skin and muscles and bone.
It was a game.
One limb burnt, two limbs burnt, and Sam is disappearing. Lucifer poured it over his legs, watched as they slowly melted into a pile of lumpy, red mess, with chunks of sharp bone.
Sometimes there were hooks. They didn’t just go through his skin, but his ribs too, and Lucifer would increase the pressure, just a little, bit by bit, until his body would burst and his organs would fly into the light.
And then Lucifer would put him back together, cradle him in his grace and whisper to him for hours.
“You’re mine, Sam. You’re mine. I can hear Dean pray, Sam. Can’t you hear him?”
Lucifer once told him that he never lied, that he never had the need to. Why lie when the truth was enough to hurt him?
He didn’t always play by the same rules in the cage. But he always played, and Sam always lost.
He can hear the thump thump thump of his own heart, the bright light of Michael’s grace, the chilling slice of Lucifer’s touch--
“Sam?”
--and the electricity that spreads through him is like a fire that ravages everything, makes him forget everything, and he doesn’t know who he is anymore, only that he’s Lucifer’s and this is where he belongs--
“Sam!”
He jumps, and now he’s staring into green eyes and they’re frowning and Sam can breathe easy.
“Dean.”
Dean nods at him, and slowly he smiles. “Breakfast’s up, Sammy. Eggs and toast.”
Sam slips out of bed and follows Dean into the kitchen, can smell the fresh breakfast food and it makes him think of mornings like this from a long time ago, and the thought almost makes him smile.
He sits down next to Bobby at the table and Dean slides a plate in front of him, before sitting opposite with his own plate.
“You sleep well, Sam?” Bobby asks as he scans the newspaper in his lap, black pen in hand. Sam watches as he circles some text and then Bobby looks up at him, waiting.
“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I slept okay.”
“Dude, you slept like a baby,” Dean says, and shoves a spoonful of scrambled egg into his mouth. “Didn’t hear a peep.”
“Good,” Bobby says, and goes back to the newspaper. “Guess that medicine is working then.”
Dean gives Bobby a sideways glance and Bobby matches it, and raises his eyebrows. Dean narrows his eyes and Bobby shakes his head before going back to the newspaper, and Sam feels uncomfortable, not quite sure what he’s missing.
“Yeah, about that,” Sam says, thinking back to the smooth, silvery liquid. “What is it?”
Dean puts down his fork and finishes eating, chewing slowly. Bobby watches him and Dean spares another glance at him before turning back to Sam.
“Okay, don’t freak.”
“What?” Sam asks, feeling his pulse racket up by a few extra beats.
Dean stands up and walks over to the kitchen counter, and Sam watches him as he goes. Bobby puts down his newspaper and takes a gulp of his coffee, peering at them over his mug.
“This,” Dean says, placing the vial on the table, “is what has been helping you.”
Sam picks it up and rolls it between his fingers. It’s not something he’s ever seen before and it has a slight glow to it that makes Sam feel uncomfortable. He puts it on the table and sits back.
“Where did you get it?”
Dean shares a look with Bobby and Sam feels something stir in his gut. “Dean?” he asks. “Who gives you this?”
“We don’t know,” Dean says, sitting down in front of him and putting his hands on the table. “It just sort of... turned up one day. I tried it to make sure it wouldn’t hurt you. And, Jesus, Sam, I don’t know if you remember that first week...”
Sam looks down, and puts his hands in his lap. He pinches the skin on the back of his hand, just to make sure. He’s out. It’s okay.
Bobby clears his throat and Dean glances at him. “Well, anyway. We don’t know who exactly, or why they’re doing it, or even what it is, but it’s... It’s an angel.”
Sam looks up at Dean but the news doesn’t surprise him. He’s not sure why. He looks back down at the vial and picks it up again. He’s seen grace, he’s been enveloped in it, and felt it tear him apart. But this is weaker than that, different. It’s laced with something purer, and something darker all at once. It tastes like comfort. It tastes like guilt. It feels like warm, summer days and sadness.
“Sam? You okay?”
He looks back up at him and then nods. “Yeah, yeah, I’m. I’m okay.”
“Well, good,” Dean says, staring at him like he doesn’t believe a word that’s coming out of Sam’s mouth. “Do you want to have some?”
He looks down at the vial in his hand, and it looks small and fragile in his palm. Sam trusts Dean, he does, and he knows Dean wouldn’t hurt him. “Okay,” he says. “If you think it’s okay I will.”
Dean nods to the vial in Sam’s hand and says, “Well it’s yours to chug then, Sammy.”
Sam removes the stopper, takes a deep breath, and swallows it down.
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