Comment fic: I Cannot Save You, I Can't Even Save Myself

[mamapranayama]

Title: I Cannot Save You, I Can't Even Save Myself
Author: mamapranayama
Genre: Gen, hurt/comfort, horror, angst
Word Count: 2500
Rating: R
Summary: My Bloody Valentine AU: The demons sent to Sam while he was handcuffed to the sink can't get to him and his hunger for their blood drives him to go to extreme measures.

Sorry, this is unbeta'd  ...

Written for khakigrrl 's prompt at the Anything Goes: SPN Hellatus Comment-fic Meme:Slight change to My Bloody Valentine. Instead of just handcuffing Sam and pushing an armoir in front of the bathroom door, Dean also puts a devil's trap on the door and a salt line around the armoir to seal off the door. The demons still arrive, but they have to figure out how to get rid of the salt line and get through the devil's trap to get to Sam. In the meantime, Sam can smell them and it pushes him to crazy extremes, like all the other affected people. He tears up his wrists, breaks a few bones in his hands/wrists, and badly dislocates a thumb before he can slip off one of the cuffs. He also hurts a knee trying to kick down the door before hurting his arm and shoulder flinging his body against the door before he can get the heavy armoir out of the way. Everything else proceeds as canon, but Sam can't exactly go to a hospital when he's detoxing.

I Cannot Save You, I Can’t Even Save Myself

He could hear their hearts beating.

The moment they crashed into the room he could almost taste the blood that pumped and coursed through their veins and he wanted it so bad …

 But they were just outside the bathroom door, unable to get past the devil’s trap Dean had drawn in front of the door after he handcuffed Sam to the pipes under the sink, but Sam could fucking feel them just standing there, basting in sulfur and in the over-powering aroma of raw power that his body craved.

No … I don’t want it … I don’t want it …

No … he didn’t want it. He needed it ... he needed it more than air and they were just fucking standing out there, just out of reach and it was getting harder and harder to breathe.

One of the demons spoke up, its voice loud and pulsing painfully in Sam’s ears even through the door, “C’mon, Sammy … we know you’re in there. All you gotta do is come out and play … we’ll wait for ya.”

Sam closed his eyes while electric bolts of want and desire prodded his muscles until they shook uncontrollably. They couldn’t get in no matter what they tried; Sam just needed to hold on … fight it.

Can’t … too much … the smell ...

Each breath was getting harder and harder to take in as the animalistic need to get his hands on the demons, tear their throats open, and drink in that vileness until it ground his sanity into a pulverized mash. He tugged at his restraints, unable to fight the soul-wrenching hunger as it flooded all rationality and drowned it until it died a painful and agonizing death.

He pulled, desperate now, certain he would die from thirst if he didn’t drink soon. And like a man lost in the desert and suddenly handed a cool glass of ice water, he couldn’t resist any further and instinct took over and somewhere along the way, Sam was lost.

The skin of his wrists chaffed along the steel of the cuffs, breaking open as he stood and leveraged his entire body weight against the restraints. He felt nothing but desire even as shoulder gave up its attempt to stay where it belonged within its socket.  His hands slick with blood was just what he wanted as it lubricated his bonds and he was getting closer and closer to freeing himself. With his right hand, he squeezed the fingers of his left, bringing his pinky and thumb in towards his palm – he just needed to make his hand as small as his wrist then he could slip out of the cuffs.

 Adrenaline fueled strength coursed through his arm muscles as he clenched his grip on the hand, ground his teeth together and squeezed. The thin bones of his hand strained under the pressure, his thumb removing itself from its proper place until a loud snap echoed across the tiled walls of the bathroom. Again, there was no pain, only want and desire as he pulled his now narrower hand through the blood soaked and slippery cuff.

Finally free, there was only one barrier standing between him and the promise of power and strength running through the vessels of the demons waiting for him. The door swung in easily, but his way was blocked by a heavy piece of furniture, but it wasn’t going to stop him.

His dislocated shoulder wedged itself back into place with a sickening pop as he slammed it against the armoire with all of his weight and strength. While he could feel the joint crunch and scrape against bone and cartilage, it held little of his attention when compared to the scent of blood and sulfur searing his nostrils, flooding his senses.

One final, desperation soaked push had the armoire blocking the door falling over with a resounding crash. The demons took a slightly startled step back as Sam emerged from the bathroom at full tilt, slamming into the first body in his path and knocking it to the ground. He straddled his prey, clawing at the meaty flesh on its neck with his fingernails until blood spurted forth from the destroyed artery in a fountain of red spray.

His teeth took over from there, tearing further into the demon’s sinew and muscles as the flavor of iron coated his tongue and filled his mouth, sliding down his parched and needy throat. His vision greyed, as vast and visceral power was stoked into an explosion of flames. He felt it surge through every muscle, awakening a strength he hadn’t felt in so very long and that he welcomed with every fiber of his soul.

He felt rather than saw the other demon move towards the door, apparently deciding that his desire to live outweighed his desire to serve his master. Sam merely lifted his hand and sent the thing flying into the wall, pinning it there.

Sam let his mouth leave the demon’s flesh for only long enough to glare at the trapped demon squirming under the hold his mind, “I’ll get to you in a minute, wait your turn.” Sam stated with cold fury that he would have never recognized in his own voice had his conscious been aware of what he was doing.

But that Sam was gone now.

All that was left was an animal that needed to feed.

OOOOOO

He didn’t really have any clue how he got there.

One minute he recalled telling Dean to lock him down tight before his desire for blood overpowered him and the next he was standing in some diner, his fist shaking and falling to his side while Famine slumped dead in his wheelchair before him.

All around him bodies littered the floor and Dean was standing there, a shocked and terrified expression on his face that revealed to Sam exactly what he must have done. He touched his face, it was wet with blood and some of it was seeping into his mouth, but how much was his and how much was demon, he couldn’t say.

He spit out the blood and panted … his heart pounding wildly in his chest – too fast. His knees found the floor as every muscle gave up trying to support his weight while pain, guilt, and overwhelming shame radiated from chest.

He shivered as the power he had been burning with fled out of him in waves and he hung his head.

God … what have I done?

From the corner of his vision, Sam saw a pair of boots cautiously approach then hesitate for a moment before closing the gap between them.

Dean … he was afraid of him.

He should be. I’m afraid of myself …

Sam felt a tentative hand touch his shoulder and he couldn’t help but jerk away as an electric jolt of pain slammed into him and rocketed through his entire arm down to his bloody fingertips. He lifted his bloody hand, pieces of skin were buried under his nails and the offensive appendage had begun to swell. He cowered from Dean’s touch, not wanting any comfort, “Don’t –“

“Sam …”

 “You’re bleeding.”

“S’not bad.”

“Yes, it is. Look, I need to get you patched up.” Sam saw the blood dripping steadily from his wrist above his purpling hand and onto the floor, but it didn’t really register as anything of consequence, not when he could feel himself slipping again, not when he could sense that animal inside of him scratching to get out, his body already missing the power it had been given as withdrawal began to set in and his desire for more blood crept up from his core.

 “No … you need to lock me up again.” He lifted his eyes and met Dean’s devastated expression.

I did that to him.

“Sam … c’mon.” Dean turned his eyes away and ripped the off his jacket, removing his outer shirt, ripping off a long swath of fabric, and wrapping it around Sam’s bleeding wrist. He tied it into a tight knot before Sam could snatch his injured hand back and cradle it against his tightening chest.

“Dean … I can’t stop this. You need to lock me in at Bobby’s right the hell NOW!”

“Sam is right, Dean.” Cas stated as he pulled the ring from Famine’s wizened, dead finger and pocketed it. “The withdrawal has already begun, has it not, Sam?”

Sam nodded shakily, sweat beading on his forehead. He felt dizzy and lightheaded and nausea was doing a hell of a job competing against the pain in his arm and hand for dominance.

“Can’t you do anything?” Dean asked the dour-faced angel.

“I’m afraid that my encounter with Famine had left me drained. I can take us back to Bobby’s, but Sam will have to heal on his own.”

“D-Do it.” Sam stuttered, “I can’t control this … I – I don’t want to …” Suddenly a pan flew across the room and whizzed over their heads, “please … Cas … hurry.” Sam pleaded just as more plates and utensils became airborne.

Sam felt a touch to his forehead and everything went white.

OOOOOOO

A ray of sunlight struck Sam in the face, broken up every now and then by the steady whirl of the fan blade above him that served to provide only a meager amount of fresh air into the iron-clad room.

He ran an unsteady hand across his clammy face, but for the first time in days, he felt clarity seeping into his pain-filled head.

A jug of water sat on the table next to the cot and he realized suddenly how thirsty he was. He rolled onto his side, forgetting how much it would hurt to put any weight onto his sore and abused shoulder. He winced at the renewed pain and sat up the rest of the way quickly, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed before grasping the edge of the table when a wave of dizziness threatened to topple him over.

A metallic click and the loud whine of the heavy, iron door reverberated across the room. Sam turned to see Dean standing in the doorway.

“Hey …” Dean spoke, maintaining his stance.

“Hey.” Sam returned weakly.

“How’re feelin’?”

“Crappy. But I’ll live.”

“Is it safe to come in?” Dean asked, a hint of hesitancy in his voice.

Sam looked down at his feet. Dean was still afraid of him and he couldn’t blame him, but he could feel that whatever power had come over him thanks to the demon blood was gone now and all that was left was his hollowed-out insides, “Yeah …”

Dean didn’t say anything, he just walked over to Sam and grabbed the pitcher of water, pouring a glass and handing it to Sam. Sam reached out with his good hand and grabbed the glass tight, afraid that the tremors that lingered in his hand might send it crashing to the floor.

Sam drank the water greedily while Dean took a seat at the end of the cot, just far enough away that Sam couldn’t touch him.

Swallowing his last gulp of water, Sam placed the glass back on the table. Silence echoed across the bare walls.

Sam cradled his injured hand to his chest as it began to throb painfully in steady tandem to his heartbeat.

“We should get someone to look at that.” Dean stated as he pointed at Sam’s hand.

Sam shrugged, too tired to respond with more than that and too caught up the mix of shame and despondency washing over him. He hadn’t fought hard enough to resist Famine and the pain he was feeling now wasn’t nearly enough to serve as punishment for his failure.

“Why don’t you at least let me look at it.” Dean offered, scootching closer a fraction. Sam fought the urge to move away – he didn’t want Dean to feel like fixing Sam was his responsibility and he didn’t want him to feel any kind of guilt about what he did – that was all on him. And what Famine had told Dean -- about his being dead inside – he didn’t want his brother to ever believe that was true because of what Sam had done.

“It’s fine.”

“It looks like a swollen beach ball – jeez … if your fingers get any more sausage-like, they’ll only be good for grilling and putting in a bun. So, just give me your damned hand, Sam.”

Sam sighed and let Dean approach as he held out his hand for his brother to inspect. Dean was gentle as he poked and prodded, carefully unwrapping the hasty bandage around Sam’s wrist that he had placed there to stop the bleeding. Sam’s skin was ragged and raw under the fabric, but it no longer bled.

“I don’t think you’ll need any stiches at least, but that hand needs to be set – we need a doctor to do that.”

Dean kept his gaze on Sam’s hand, avoiding his eyes. Sam looked away as well while his throat tightened like a vice. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat, but the lump refused to back down.

“I’m so  … I’m sorry, Dean …”

“Me too.”

“Don’t … don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself.” Sam shook his head, “I tried, man … I couldn’t fight it. It was my fault … I wasn’t strong enough.”

Dean looked up, “Dude, Famine had an angel eating fistfuls of raw meat and a whole town binging until their stomachs exploded. You couldn’t help it. And you did resist him – you could have torn up those demons and sucked ‘em dry, but you exorcised them instead and you killed a freaking horseman …”

Dean let his words hang over their heads like a shroud only widening a chasm that pointed out just how far apart he and his brother were from each other. Sam drank two demons dry, killed a horseman with his mind, and Sam knew that to Dean, he had to look like he was on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump into Satan’s waiting arms. His brother was on the brink of giving up and Sam couldn’t let that happen.

  Silence again took over until Dean stood up. He grasped the elbow of Sam’s good arm and started to haul him up. Sam wavered a little, but managed to stay upright until he was steady on his feet, “C’mon … let’s get you cleaned up. You stink like a sewer. Then we’ll get you to a doctor and fix that hand.”

Dean let go and started heading for the exit, “You coming?”

Sam sighed, frozen in place, his exhaustion allowing desperation to seep into his voice, “You uh … you know that Famine was wrong, right? What he said to you … you can’t let it get to you, okay? I’m not done fighting and you can’t be either or we’re both screwed and we might as well call up Lucifer and Michael right now and get this over with.”

Dean paused, his face blank, “I haven’t given up, Sam.” he responded hollowly.

Sam felt his heart sink into his stomach. He saw the truth written all over his brother’s carefully crafted expression and that truth hurt more than any physical pain he could ever experience.

The End

Comments

[ephemerall.livejournal.com]

LOVE. You tear up my heart so beautifully! I miss talking to you!

[mamapranayama.livejournal.com]

Hey girl ... how's it going? I miss you too.

[monicawoe.livejournal.com]

That was an awesome read. I will say I yelled at Dean quite a bit for not putting down a devil's trap in the ep, but you're story here is likely what would have happened if he had!

[mamapranayama.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much for reading, glad you liked it!!!! :)

[hillz-85.livejournal.com]

This. Was. Amazing!

I really loved your descriptions here, and my heart broke for both brothers, for Sam through most of the story, and then for Dean at the end...

I always wanted to see Sam in the panic room and the aftermath of that episode, and this something like what I'd have loved to have seen!

[mamapranayama.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much. I'm thrilled you liked it! :)

[harrigan.livejournal.com]

Perfect fill for that prompt!

[mamapranayama.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much for reading!!!! :)

[khakigrrl.livejournal.com]

*nom nom* Yummy.

I totally ripped into and devoured this fic the second I saw your notice in my inbox. I love it! Oh, the uncontrollable hunger that takes Sam over is fantastically described and the after effects. Poor hurt Sam. Poor despairing, scared Dean. I wonder what it was like from his perspective.

School paper first of course, but please? I want to see gore covered out of his mind with hunger Sam barging in and then somehow recovering some self-control to protect Dean and take down the horseman. Oh, and hurt Sammy, especially when he's out of it, is so much Mrs touchy from Dean's POV. ;-)

[mamapranayama.livejournal.com]

Hmmmm ... you give me food for thought. I may have to write from Dean's POV as well...
Thanks again for a great prompt and I am so thrilled you liked it! :)

[dont-hate-me01.livejournal.com]

Great fic, felt so sorry for both of the boys!

[mamapranayama.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much!!! :)

[mentholpixie.livejournal.com]

Lovely work. Poor Sammy

[mamapranayama.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much for reading this!!!! :)