Against the Current

by Visionairy

AN: Final chapter – thanks for reading!

Chapter 5

Low voices, and a persistent tugging on his ankle brought Sam around. He groaned and tried to sit up until he realized that his wrists and ankles were tethered. Still groggy, he opened his eyes to slits, and squinted at his surroundings. He could make out Cas stepping away from him, just as Dean moved in closer. Recognition of where he was, was quickly followed with pain as it awakened every raw nerve ending. He screwed his eyes shut again. Taking a deep breath, he held it while he tried to get a handle on himself. So, back in the panic room. At least he'd made it that far. Slowly, he blew out the air through his clenched teeth.

A cool cloth was wiped across his forehead, and then down the sides of his neck. Sam opened his eyes to confirm that it was his brother standing there with him. Dean. Or was it? Shit. "Are you," he grit out through a dry throat, "you?"

"It's me, Sammy." Dean rinsed out the cloth and then gently lifted Sam's head to cool the back of his neck. "Are you, you know, you?"

"Barely." Sam's face was creased in pain.

Dean reached down to grab a plastic water bottle off the floor. Apparently he'd been planning ahead since this one came with a straw attached. Sam wasn't sure if he was touched or angry they'd planned for this, but it did make drinking while lying down a lot easier. When he was done, Dean strapped it to the side of the bed, and ran a tube up to lay on the pillow near his head. Sam just turned his face away and tried to curl in on himself. The pain and need was growing by the minute. "Dean," he ground out, "You really need to go now."

Dean, instead, dropped down to sit next to his brother on the bed, "Yeah I know, in a minute. But first Sam, we have to talk."

Sam's cuffs rattled as he tried to move his arm, "Better talk fast."

Dean rested the cool cloth gently across Sam's forehead, "Okay – while you've been sleeping, I've been thinking." He paused for a minute to make sure he had Sam's full attention. "We need to make a deal."

Sam gave a tight laugh, "Yeah, that's just what we need - a deal." He couldn't have loaded more sarcasm in his tone if he'd tried.

Dean swatted him on the leg, "Not that kind of deal you moron."

Sam responded by jerking at the cuffs holding his legs, and Dean knew the time to reach the rational side of his brother was almost past. "Look, you promise me you'll hang in through all this crap – the pain, the cravings, the nightmares, the hallucinations – all of it. All the way through," he tapped Sam's cheek to make sure he had his attention, "Okay?"

Sam forced his eyes open and zeroed in on his brother's. "Yeah?" he growled, "… and you?"

Dean looked uncomfortable, like he was in almost as much pain as his brother, "I will try …" he hesitated, then dropped his head to stare at his hands. When he paused too long, Sam nudged him with his elbow to go on.

Dean scrubbed his hand down his face, then looked directly at his brother, "Once this …," he gestured around the room, "… is over, I will try to find a way..." Pausing again, Dean shifted on the bed and let out a breath. Dean looked like he was still struggling with his side of the bargain. Now he definitely had Sam's full attention. "Look Sam, what I'm trying to say is that we need to believe that we will beat those sons of bitches. And I'm not talking about us just preventing each other from becoming homicidal meat puppets. We gotta know that we'll find a way to save everyone - the whole enchilada." He squeezed Sam's forearm, "And I promise you that I will believe that we can."

"Hope, Dean?" Sam actually smiled for a moment before his leg spasmed and he was jerked back by the cuffs. He took a minute to still himself before facing back up to his brother. Sam's eyes bore directly into his as if the whole world was down to this, "Even after this," Sam shook the cuff on his arm, "… you really believe we can win?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders, "You work on your part, and I'll work on mine."

Sam suddenly glanced over to his right and tracked something only his mind could see. Then he blinked a couple of times and focused back on his brother, "Trying to prove Famine wrong? 'Cause I thought we already had that settled."

Dean stood up indignantly and grabbed the bowl of water off the floor, "You really are a pansy, you know that?"

Sam's raspy laugh broke off into a cry as another muscle seized. Dean rubbed at his shin until it stopped, then he moved around to pick up a bucket and move it close to the bed. Sam was staring back into the shadows on his right. Dean shook his shoulder, "Well, are you in?"

As Sam slowly swiveled his head back to focus on his brother, he managed to squeeze out his last coherent words for the next three days. "Deal," he ground out through clenched teeth, "Now, quick Dean. Go."

-----

Dean tilted the whiskey bottle up to his mouth and let the warm liquid run down his throat. Sam's screams were tearing him apart. It should've been easier for him this time. He'd been here before - he knew some of what to expect, but it didn't help. It didn't help at all. In fact, as he'd feared, it was so much worse this time. Every entreaty, every cry, every sound that echoed out of that friggin' cell, was amplified and ricocheted around in Dean's head.

Last time, and hell, he knew it was warped, but last time a part of him felt Sam deserved what he got.

Dean acknowledged that, in some ways, he had believed that Sam had earned the pain he'd felt. He'd brought the agony and delusions upon himself. After all, he'd followed a demon and betrayed his brother. And as much as he hated to see Sam fight his way through it, a part of him felt some vindication at the same time.

This time, though, this time was different. Now, after all the hard fought efforts to find common ground again, they were reconnecting. They had both talked – and listened. They both understood each other better. Both had gained hard-earned perspective. Dean had talked with Sam, had understood, not necessarily agreed, but had understood what Sam had gone through – why he'd chosen some of the decisions he'd made. Sam, through addiction-free eyes, saw both his and Dean's actions in a different light. He was particularly grateful one drunken night when Dean once again trusted him enough to reveal some more fragments of what he had experienced down below. And Dean was surprised to find out that it really did help.

And now – just when they were getting back into their groove, Famine had come along – just as they were on the brink of being 'Sam and Dean' again.

They just couldn't catch a break. Just when Sam had to believe in himself more than ever, he believed in himself even less. And this time when he heard Sam screaming for him in there, and Cas telling him that Sam just needed to get the blood out of his system, he just couldn't – could not bear to hear it any more. He wouldn't leave, but he needed to get some air.

***

Seven full days passed, an entire week, before Sam was ready to come above ground.

Three whole days were spent in triage: protecting, reacting, cleaning -- listening to his brother scream his throat raw, and not being able to soothe him. Cas stuck around through all that, ready to protect Dean when he went in to adjust the padding around his cuffs so Sam didn't cut off his circulation from fighting too hard, to make sure he didn't choke on his own vomit, and to try to talk his brother out of his own personal hell. Dean wanted nothing more than to take his pain away, but nothing worked.

Two more days were spent with Sam recovering – recovering control of his emotions, muscle strength, and psyche. Those were tough days – when Sam knew what was going on, but still couldn't control or hide his emotional reactions to anything or anyone, and still unable to coordinate abused muscles enough to get anywhere on his own. The cuffs were off, but tremors constantly ran through his limbs, and his eyes were still, at times, wild and unfocussed. Cas announced that he had to continue his search, but Dean was sure he was leaving them alone together so Sam wouldn't be too humiliated by it all. Despite his cluelessness about personal space, he got this right. Cas had done all he could, and only his brother could help Sam now.

The next whole day was spent in silence, alone, when Sam couldn't – wouldn't talk with anyone. Didn't want anyone near him. He retreated to a far wall any time Dean came near, and just folded up and tuned him out if Dean insisted. After an hour of trying to get Sam to respond, Dean left the room but propped the door open, and sat outside the door with his legs clearly in sight. During this time, Dean tried to work on his end of the deal. If Sam was going to get through it, Dean owed this to him.

One more day was spent with Dean, once again, allowed back in the room. Leaning quietly at the open door at first, Dean gradually moved closer into Sam's space, talking quietly and reminiscing, encouraging. And finally, after a whole week, finally Sam started talking again.

But the confidence to walk out that door – that didn't happen till the eighth day. Dean woke up to find his brother staring at the open door – the one he had pointedly propped wide open two days before.

Dean wasn't sure if it was just time, their conversations, or the desperate need of a shower that finally drove his brother out the door and hesitantly up the steps to find Bobby waiting for him there.

"Bobby." Sam's voice was barely there, but he reached out to grasp the hand of the older hunter.

Bobby clasped Sam's hand with both of his. "Damn glad to see you boy. Was getting ready to charge you rent."

"Yeah," Sam ducked his head. "I'm really sorry – Bobby, I can't tell you how much I …"

"Sam, …stop. We're not going to run this through again. Dean already filled me in on what happened, both to you and that angel friend of yours. Now quit making your part in it more than it was." Bobby rolled back to allow the both boys to pass, "The only thing you have to do for me now, is take a shower. You stink, boy."

"Yeah," Sam glanced back at his brother who, for someone who had been complaining so forcefully about the issue, was following awfully close behind, "So I've been told."

"Come on skunk-boy," Dean shoved at his shoulder to move him along, "Wash up, make yourself presentable. Then we can eat."

Dinner was a quiet affair, with most of the conversation going between Dean and Bobby, with Sam only answering questions that were specifically directed to him. After dinner, though, Bobby opened up the bottle he'd promised, and when Sam hesitated, Dean poured a glass and handed it to him anyway. "Drink, Sam. Don't piss off ol' Doc Singer." He poked him with his elbow, "How often does he come up with the good stuff, anyway?"

Sitting on the couch, Sam closed his eyes and let the warm liquid burn down his throat. By the third glass, it really didn't hurt anymore, and by the fourth, he began to join in when Bobby revisited the sordid highlights of the summer Dean turned sixteen. Sam smiled, the warmth flowing through him now having nothing to do with the alcohol.

The logs had all but burned out in the fireplace. Bobby had headed off to bed, and only the light left from the embers remained. It had been a relatively peaceful evening, with Sam relaxing more as the night wore on. Dean watched as Sam's eyes slid closed, sinking back into the cushions of Bobby's old couch.

Dean released a long breath and smiled. Sam had made it, wasn't all the way there yet, but he had fought with everything he had, and had definitely seen his way back to the other side. Dean's chest tightened, God, he loved his brother. And it was then that he truly believed that Famine had been full of shit. Because if pain could be used to prove that he could still feel, and was not completely dead on the inside - then it only made sense that hope, and love, could be used to prove that he was truly alive.

Sam had, in the end, denied what Famine demanded of him, and Dean, in the end, had proven the horseman wrong as well. Despite all they'd done to each other over the past year, it was what they meant to each other that made all the difference. And now it was up to Dean to fulfill his side of the deal.

Sitting on the floor outside that damn panic room on the sixth day, Dean had realized something. As he watched his brother fight for his sanity, Dean found himself believing that it would get be better. He realized now that somehow he had found hope. And if they were both alive, and they were friggin' Winchesters, they would find a way to win in the end. And damn it, if he didn't really believe it.

Right here, right now though, Dean decided the most difficult challenge was directly ahead of him. Pushing himself to his feet, Dean shook his brother's arm, "Come on Sasquatch, time for a real bed. Let's go."

-The End –

So how do you think it was overall?