“Then explain the baggie with the orange and white pills,” Dean had demanded. His voice was low but full of fury.
All he could do was look at Dean. His mind worked at trying to find a way around this. He shook his head. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really, Sam?” Dean had asked as he held up the baggie. The one he had bought only hours ago. Or had it been the other day? He was having trouble keeping track of things like that. “I found you out cold. How much did you take? Why did you take this crap?” Dean had asked. He sounded so hurt and disappointed.
“Needed it. Needed to stay sharp,” Sam breathed out.
“No, that’s just an excuse,” Dean shot back at him.
And then Dean was on him, wrestling him down on the bed. Before he knew it he was handcuffed to the metal headboard of one of the beds. “Come on Dean, really?” Sam asked as he yanked his wrist, clanking metal against metal and scraping his skin. “Let me out of these.” When Dean just shook his head no at him, he felt his anger bubble up to the surface. “Let me go! You can’t do this to me! YOU SON OF A BITCH!”
“Yeah, I know I am,” Dean responded quietly.
Sam went quiet as he looked around the cabin. The one off the grid, miles away from anyone else. He saw the stockpile of wood by the fireplace and the ample amount of canned goods spilling out from the cabinets, lining the counter. Dean had planned this. Dean had tricked him into coming here. “You . . . you played me,” Sam said in an even tone. “There’s nothing haunting these woods.” his voice had a defiant edge to it. He was going to kill Dean when he got loose.
Dean smiled at his brother, happy to see that Sam still had some of his brain cells firing in the drug induced haze. “Good, your mind’s not totally mush. Still got a couple of working brain cells. Still hope for you, yet” Dean taunted.
“Fuck you! I hate you!”
Dean shrugged at him. “I’d rather you hate me and still be alive, then OD and I have to bury your ass. By the way, cold turkey detox is gonna be a bitch,” Dean said as he climbed onto the other bed.
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carisma_sensei
Fill Little Helper P 2
Date: 2018-11-03 12:43 am (UTC)All he could do was look at Dean. His mind worked at trying to find a way around this. He shook his head. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really, Sam?” Dean had asked as he held up the baggie. The one he had bought only hours ago. Or had it been the other day? He was having trouble keeping track of things like that. “I found you out cold. How much did you take? Why did you take this crap?” Dean had asked. He sounded so hurt and disappointed.
“Needed it. Needed to stay sharp,” Sam breathed out.
“No, that’s just an excuse,” Dean shot back at him.
And then Dean was on him, wrestling him down on the bed. Before he knew it he was handcuffed to the metal headboard of one of the beds. “Come on Dean, really?” Sam asked as he yanked his wrist, clanking metal against metal and scraping his skin. “Let me out of these.” When Dean just shook his head no at him, he felt his anger bubble up to the surface. “Let me go! You can’t do this to me! YOU SON OF A BITCH!”
“Yeah, I know I am,” Dean responded quietly.
Sam went quiet as he looked around the cabin. The one off the grid, miles away from anyone else. He saw the stockpile of wood by the fireplace and the ample amount of canned goods spilling out from the cabinets, lining the counter. Dean had planned this. Dean had tricked him into coming here. “You . . . you played me,” Sam said in an even tone. “There’s nothing haunting these woods.” his voice had a defiant edge to it. He was going to kill Dean when he got loose.
Dean smiled at his brother, happy to see that Sam still had some of his brain cells firing in the drug induced haze. “Good, your mind’s not totally mush. Still got a couple of working brain cells. Still hope for you, yet” Dean taunted.
“Fuck you! I hate you!”
Dean shrugged at him. “I’d rather you hate me and still be alive, then OD and I have to bury your ass. By the way, cold turkey detox is gonna be a bitch,” Dean said as he climbed onto the other bed.