FIC- Again
title: Again
pairing: none. Characters Sam, Dean, Bobby
rating: R for language, established relationship by implication
a/n: Followup to After the Wall
summary: Please go to my journal to read After the Wall before you read this, as it is a sequel to that story.
“Don’t do this to me, Dean. Please. Please! ”, Sam begged, tears in his eyes, holding on to his brother as tightly as he could.
And Christ, Dean didn’t want to, he really didn’t want to, but he’d done everything else he could think of. He’d tried riding it out, giving Sam time to rip himself apart for a while. He figured his brother was entitled to at least some kind of self-destructive behavior, he’d tried to be patient. But it only got worse. Two empty bottles of booze at the end of the day had turned into three, and then four. A gram of coke turned into a quarter of an ounce a day, with Sam bruised and reeking and refusing to explain how he got the money for the drugs. And the cuts…they started crossing over each other, getting deeper, ending up in more dangerous places.
“I’m so sorry, Sammy. I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t want to, please believe me baby”, Dean replied, trying so hard to hold back his own tears, carding his left hand gently through Sam’s hair. “This is the last thing I ever wanted to have to do, but you’ve got to get this shit out of you, it’s only going to get worse and I can’t watch it anymore, I just can’t, if I lose you again I’ll…”, Dean trailed off, not knowing how to even finish that sentence. “It’s going to be all right, I’ll take care of you, and I know taking care of you sometimes isn’t doing what you want me to do but it’s all I’ve got and I don’t…” Fuck, again, he can’t even finish his thought, so completely distraught by what had happened to Sam and by the only thing he knew to do about it. His tears were flowing freely now, no matter how hard he had tried not to let it happen.
Sam was shaking in Dean’s arms, terrified, overcome by the memories of the last times he had spent in the place where his brother was sending him. He begged him again and again, holding on tight but knowing deep inside that there was would be no respite, no changing Dean’s mind with pleas and tears and what his big brother always referred to as the “puppy dog eyes of doom”. Sam never wanted to admit that he gave Dean that look on purpose because he knew it had power over him, but at this point nothing he did was going to make a difference.
It wasn’t going to be the same this time. He would not be thrown physically around the room by the remnants of demons inside him, he would very likely not hallucinate that he was being physically tortured, because this was another kind of detox altogether. Unfortunately, sending Sam to an inpatient drug or alcohol treatment facility where they talked through the feelings and hoping that inspirational stories and psychological therapy would get him through to the other side of his addictions in a few months was just not an option. They didn’t have the money, the time, the luxury of doing things that way. The fight was not over. If they were going to find a way to survive their former friend and confidante’s newly developed God-complex, Sam had to get himself back. They’d still have to deal with how he’d handle his memories of the Cage, and Dean felt confident that they’d find a way to work through that.
For right now, though, it had been long enough. Dean had spent plenty of time drowning his sorrows in a bottle, but he’d never been incapacitated by an alcohol addiction, he’d never been addicted to any kind of drugs, other than that brief time in his early twenties when he’d picked up a nicotine habit. And he’d certainly not ever purposely hurt himself, badly, every fucking day for more than a month. He was more terrified of losing his baby boy to this than he’d ever been of losing him on a hunt.
“I’m sorry, baby, sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, please forgive me, I don’t know what else to do.”, Dean repeated over and over, moving back enough to try to kiss away the tears from Sam’s beautiful face. And finally, Sam lowered his head onto Dean’s chest, still sobbing but then looking up, almost out of breath from sobbing, straight on into his older brother’s eyes for the first time in weeks, unable to speak but nodding his assent and making sure he knew that he understood what Dean was doing.
Dean pulled Sam’s face to his, kissed him so gently and lovingly, because it was all he had now. With every bit of strength he could pull up, he took his arms from Sam’s face and shoulder, and moved backward just a step.
Sam looked straight on at Dean again one more time before the door to Bobby’s panic room closed in front of him, creating a physical barrier between him and the man he loved more than anything in the world. The sound of the lock turning was the loudest noise either of them had ever heard, they were both sure of that.
The heaviest steps Dean could remember taking in a long, long time were the steps he took back up the stairs into Bobby’s living space. Bobby knew better than to speak, he just stayed out of the way. As was his habit, Dean went straight into the kitchen. He looked at the beer in the fridge, then at the bottle of Jack on the counter.
He grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filled it with tap water, sat at the kitchen table and wondered how long it would take this time. Then he put his head down onto his crossed arms and let go, weeping without shame, and pushing back the urge to say a prayer.
pairing: none. Characters Sam, Dean, Bobby
rating: R for language, established relationship by implication
a/n: Followup to After the Wall
summary: Please go to my journal to read After the Wall before you read this, as it is a sequel to that story.
“Don’t do this to me, Dean. Please. Please! ”, Sam begged, tears in his eyes, holding on to his brother as tightly as he could.
And Christ, Dean didn’t want to, he really didn’t want to, but he’d done everything else he could think of. He’d tried riding it out, giving Sam time to rip himself apart for a while. He figured his brother was entitled to at least some kind of self-destructive behavior, he’d tried to be patient. But it only got worse. Two empty bottles of booze at the end of the day had turned into three, and then four. A gram of coke turned into a quarter of an ounce a day, with Sam bruised and reeking and refusing to explain how he got the money for the drugs. And the cuts…they started crossing over each other, getting deeper, ending up in more dangerous places.
“I’m so sorry, Sammy. I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t want to, please believe me baby”, Dean replied, trying so hard to hold back his own tears, carding his left hand gently through Sam’s hair. “This is the last thing I ever wanted to have to do, but you’ve got to get this shit out of you, it’s only going to get worse and I can’t watch it anymore, I just can’t, if I lose you again I’ll…”, Dean trailed off, not knowing how to even finish that sentence. “It’s going to be all right, I’ll take care of you, and I know taking care of you sometimes isn’t doing what you want me to do but it’s all I’ve got and I don’t…” Fuck, again, he can’t even finish his thought, so completely distraught by what had happened to Sam and by the only thing he knew to do about it. His tears were flowing freely now, no matter how hard he had tried not to let it happen.
Sam was shaking in Dean’s arms, terrified, overcome by the memories of the last times he had spent in the place where his brother was sending him. He begged him again and again, holding on tight but knowing deep inside that there was would be no respite, no changing Dean’s mind with pleas and tears and what his big brother always referred to as the “puppy dog eyes of doom”. Sam never wanted to admit that he gave Dean that look on purpose because he knew it had power over him, but at this point nothing he did was going to make a difference.
It wasn’t going to be the same this time. He would not be thrown physically around the room by the remnants of demons inside him, he would very likely not hallucinate that he was being physically tortured, because this was another kind of detox altogether. Unfortunately, sending Sam to an inpatient drug or alcohol treatment facility where they talked through the feelings and hoping that inspirational stories and psychological therapy would get him through to the other side of his addictions in a few months was just not an option. They didn’t have the money, the time, the luxury of doing things that way. The fight was not over. If they were going to find a way to survive their former friend and confidante’s newly developed God-complex, Sam had to get himself back. They’d still have to deal with how he’d handle his memories of the Cage, and Dean felt confident that they’d find a way to work through that.
For right now, though, it had been long enough. Dean had spent plenty of time drowning his sorrows in a bottle, but he’d never been incapacitated by an alcohol addiction, he’d never been addicted to any kind of drugs, other than that brief time in his early twenties when he’d picked up a nicotine habit. And he’d certainly not ever purposely hurt himself, badly, every fucking day for more than a month. He was more terrified of losing his baby boy to this than he’d ever been of losing him on a hunt.
“I’m sorry, baby, sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, please forgive me, I don’t know what else to do.”, Dean repeated over and over, moving back enough to try to kiss away the tears from Sam’s beautiful face. And finally, Sam lowered his head onto Dean’s chest, still sobbing but then looking up, almost out of breath from sobbing, straight on into his older brother’s eyes for the first time in weeks, unable to speak but nodding his assent and making sure he knew that he understood what Dean was doing.
Dean pulled Sam’s face to his, kissed him so gently and lovingly, because it was all he had now. With every bit of strength he could pull up, he took his arms from Sam’s face and shoulder, and moved backward just a step.
Sam looked straight on at Dean again one more time before the door to Bobby’s panic room closed in front of him, creating a physical barrier between him and the man he loved more than anything in the world. The sound of the lock turning was the loudest noise either of them had ever heard, they were both sure of that.
The heaviest steps Dean could remember taking in a long, long time were the steps he took back up the stairs into Bobby’s living space. Bobby knew better than to speak, he just stayed out of the way. As was his habit, Dean went straight into the kitchen. He looked at the beer in the fridge, then at the bottle of Jack on the counter.
He grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filled it with tap water, sat at the kitchen table and wondered how long it would take this time. Then he put his head down onto his crossed arms and let go, weeping without shame, and pushing back the urge to say a prayer.