Blue Skies From Rain Part 4 - Chapter 18

[lovesrain44]

 

They pulled Sam from the damp green lawn, away from Dean, still curled on the grass, mouth bleeding, his hand outstretched. Reaching for Sam. Eyes wide, trying to lift his head, trying to find Sam. Sam knew that, and tried to dig in his heels to stop being pulled away, from being sucked into the building. Away from Dean. He couldn’t see the faces of the orderlies who yanked and twisted, he could only see Dean’s face and how white he’d been under the sweat and anger, his surprise that Sam would hurt him.

“Dean,” he called, struggling, screaming, his throat on fire. “Dean. Dean.”

Maybe Dean’d been mad about Sam taking liberties, pulling down Dean’s boxers and taking Dean into his mouth. Dean had twitched and tried to pull away, but Sam had insisted and sucked Dean’s cock until Dean had exploded into Sam’s mouth, and that should have felt good. But after, Dean had turned his head away. Just a little. Which meant that he’d actually hated it and now he wanted them to stop. He wanted to be away from Sam.

“No,” he said, throat closing, making him inarticulate. He turned his attention to the orderlies. “No, please, no. I’m sorry. I screwed up, I didn’t mean to hurt him. Okay? Okay?” But he was babbling and they weren’t paying any mind and when they got to the door, someone was there with a needle and some keys. Sam knew those keys, knew how they jangled, how they banged together like silver pennies striking dull cement. The orderlies dragged him inside.

“No,” Sam said. His voice rose. Pleading. “No, don’t. Please, don’t—” The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as they swiped his arm with something cold, and he realized it was taking three men to hold him still for the injection. If he could just twitch a little harder to the right—he could get back to the outside. Back to Dean. He shifted his muscles hard, and felt the jag of pain along his left arm.

“Damnit,” said one of them, low. “He’s broken the fucking needle off.”

Sam could smell it, the fluid seeping out of the syringe, like cinnamon and acid rolled into one, something that could be sweet, but had been rushed and heated up and had gotten angry—

The syringe clattered as someone threw it to the floor.

“He’s going to spin. I’ll get the razor.”

Sam was looking right at the orderly as he said this, a man with a thin moustache, and he didn’t look at Sam with hate or disgust. He wasn’t even mildly angry. Just bored and distracted by his plans for the evening or the weekend. Sam could see it. He didn’t care about Sam at all. If Greer had been there, he would have looked right at Sam and called him by name and told him to hold still while he got the razor and cut out the broken needle. If Dean had been there, he would have clasped Sam’s face, and maybe kissed him, whispering into his mouth, telling him to be good, this wouldn’t hurt—

“Fuck you,” said Sam. Screamed it. “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.”

He got shoved against the wall, his head knocking hard against the cinderblock. Three pairs of hands held him there, and a thigh braced against his. The thin moustache orderly who didn’t even look at Sam was right in front of him. There was another swipe of something cold.

“That’s gotta go in the chart,” said someone.

“Yeah,” said thin moustache orderly. “When we’re done, you get to write it up for not being freaking fast enough.”

“You’re the one that couldn’t hold him tight enough.”

“Could we just please—” said the other orderly.

There was a cool hand on his arm, and Sam could feel fingers circling his bicep, and he looked down to see a thumb pressing into the muscle, where there was a small, purple patch. Oblong. Growing. He was sweating and he knew it would slip, and his feet began to slide, and what if they cut him deep enough to bleed? What if he bled out, like his mom had? What if he died and they never told Dean?

He tried struggling, he had to get to Dean to tell him he wasn’t dead. But he felt something shoving hard against his foot, like a runner’s block, keeping him there, and he leaned into the wall. Hot all over, wanting to feel cool, their room was so cool, him and Dean in the dark, Dean’s soft hands, and his mouth curving into a small smile against Sam’s neck. He wanted to be there. Not here. Not with the razor flashing silver for a second before thin moustache guy pushed it down, into Sam’s skin, and a second later he felt it, nerves screaming, like he was being ripped open by it, and the orderly was going to keep going.

“Hold him still,” said thin moustache guy. He flicked the razor to the left and Sam felt it as he hit the tip of the needle. Really felt it, the hard metal bit that felt huge and the razor, hitting it, like a hammer, a huge hammer. The orderly flicked it again.

“Get me those thin pliers,” he said, “and who’s got the antiseptic?”

The orderly swiped his arm and Sam couldn’t stop looking because all of him was focused there on that spot, the purple blotch growing beneath his skin as the orderly dug the pliers in and the bright red blood welling up, greasy and thin. Slipping down his arm. He could see it splatting on the floor.

With one large, hard tug, the orderly yanked with the pliers. Sam could see something very small glinting in the teeth of the pliers and the orderly looked around, raising his eyebrows for his pals to see how good he was. How fast. Sam spit at him.

The thin moustache orderly wiped the side of his face, barely damp, and jerked his head to the side.

“Christ, who’s got that sedative?”

They wiped Sam’s right arm and shot him full of something to keep him calm, and Sam made himself hold still for that because he didn’t want to go through the cutting and the slicing again. And he was tired, tired of fighting and screaming, and where was Dean? His left arm got cleaned and bandaged while the swimmy feeling oozed through his system. The stuff was fast. He’d almost forgotten that, it was fast and it was cold and it made him feel like he was dying.

“Get him down there, I’ll go do the paperwork. You guys up for the game on Saturday?”

It made him want to cry. Before, it hadn’t mattered, every day had been like this, with a certain kind of orderly who didn’t care, who was only doing his job. Hands on him, objective and calm, voices giving orders, more hands making him take his pills. Strapping him down. Wiping his face and giving him water after. That had been the way it had been, that was all. You just had to bear it.

Now he’d known Dean, felt Dean. Kissed Dean. Sleeping or awake, Dean had been there. And with Dean had come a different sort of orderly, orderlies whose names he knew. Greer, with his calm gaze or Rubio, quiet but attentive. And even Neland. Pissed off but very aware, and very devoted to his towels. They were real people. Like people might be outside of the hospital that Sam had not known of before, but now was going to lose.

As they dragged him to the Treatment room, Sam kept up a stream of words, words that he thought would convince them not to do this, not to hurt him, not to take him away from his Dean, But no one listened. With efficient hands, they took off all his clothes, took off everything, leaving him naked in the bright glare of the overhead bulb, while one of the orderlies set up the table and the hose. Sam shivered as they went about their business, and someone came over with a cupful of pills and Sam backed away. All the way to the smooth brick walls, his bare skin twitching at the cold, pressing hard, wanting to melt into the pale green color and away. To the other side, where there was only grey and no hurting.

“Sam, you need to take these.”

Sam wrapped his arms around himself and looked at what the orderly was holding. There were four pills, like from before. Before Dean had told him to stop taking them, and which Sam had done, each day feeling more like himself, more normal, level. Calm. Yes, the blue man was still there and the vampires and all of it. But in a distant way, he could think about those any time he wanted. But why bother with that, when Dean was there in front of him, and so nice and brave, and looking at Sam?

Sam shook his head. His hair fell in his eyes. He pressed his mouth shut tight.

“Damnit, Sam, I get off in five minutes, now will you just take these?”

Someone pulled on Sam’s arm and his bare feet slipped on the slanted floor, and he landed hard on his backside on the cement. He felt the drain with the edges of his toes and curled away from it, up against the wall, tucking his knees in tight. His fists hurt from hitting Dean, and maybe there was a bruise on his arm from where Dean had grabbed at him to get him to stop.

He couldn’t take the pills because Dean had said not to. Dean had said that would make him feel better to stop and it had. Dean said no pills, therefore, no pills. Not ever. Not even one, even if Dean was mad at him now.

The two orderlies stood over him, looking at him. Sam shivered and held on tighter to his knees.

“This is unbelievable,” said one.

“At least he’s not peeing or shitting himself,” said the other one.

“Yet,” said the first one. “The day is still young. Anyway, he’s fucking hung like a bear, look.”

The second orderly laughed a bit, which echoed against the walls and punched into Sam’s ears. Sam cringed against the wall, thinking that they couldn’t touch him because everything he was belonged to Dean.

“Yeah, no kidding,” said the orderly. “Alright, I’ll get the tube.”

At first Sam didn’t know what they meant, but when the orderly brought it over, he remembered. There was a long tube. At one end it was narrow, the end blunted, and at the other end was a cone so they could put pills or water in or whatever they needed to get inside the patient. Sam clamped his mouth shut and looked away. Maybe if he didn’t see it, it wouldn’t be there.

“Where’s the smaller tube? That’ll never go through his nose.”

“Couldn’t find it; this is the mouth one.”

The orderly sighed. “Mouth it is, then.”

The orderlies jumped on him, slamming into him with their combined weight, and Sam went down, his head banging hard on the cement floor, the drain only inches away from his nose. He could smell the sour smell of the drain, the old water laying in the bottom, shit, urine, maybe a mouse nest or two.

Shuddering he tried to pull back, but one of the orderlies was clamping on his nose with hard fingers and after a second of trying not to, his lungs were screaming for air, and even though he tried to think of Dean, tried not to think of anything else, he had to breathe. His mouth opened and they shoved a piece of plastic in along the side of his mouth, grating like it was made of rough iron, hurting, and then he tasted blood as it oozed back along his tongue.

“Fuck it,” he heard. “I don’t want this to be—get the lube. No sense making it worse.”

Sam’s whole body was going numb now, his head swimming above the floor like it wasn’t being held down. But he could feel it, everything, the orderly’s fingers as they pressed against his lips, pressing them further open, the dusty smell of new plastic, the slick of the lube, the taste of the rubber, the feel of it along the side of his throat as they pushed.

“You sure he’s not going to choke?”

“No, the shot relaxes him, and it’ll work, but—here, hold this.”

There was a slight pressure as the tube was pushed down his throat. The orderlies went slow, but he almost wished they would just shove it and get it over with. But no, like the slide of a snake, it was insidious, filling him up from inside, pressing against his throat till he almost couldn’t breathe around it. Almost. He felt the thin, shivery stream of air that he was still getting. And then he heard the clatter of pills as they came down the tube, the gurgle of water following, his stomach expanding as the water hit it, and the stir of acid as his gut roiled in surprise.

“Take it out and hold his mouth closed, fast. Otherwise, he’ll puke.”

The tube was whipped out of him so fast it burned, and Sam’s eyes prickled. He couldn’t quite cry, couldn’t wrench up his face hard enough, couldn’t do anything but flop on the floor as he watched their feet.

They stood up, they moved to the table, they did things. He heard the hose being turned on, and felt hands on his arms and legs as they lifted him to the table. Felt the weight of the sheet as it was wrapped tightly around him. It became white, all white as his stomach punched him from the inside, as his lungs felt like they were being crushed as they streamed the water all over him. It felt like they were packing him in ice. He could only feel the cold. He couldn’t even see. He heard the click of the lights go out, but couldn’t tell the difference between that and before. It was all the same. White. White. White.

Deanless white.

Chapter 19

Blue Skies From Rain Master Fic Post