Creative Writing: Deadly Addiction

The dark motel room made it hard to tell for sure, but Sam could hear a deep, steady breathing coming from the other bed- his brother was definitely asleep.

Sam waited five more minutes, just to be certain, before sitting up and pulling off the sheets. His head spun a little, the room floating around him in dizzy circles, and the pounding in his skull was almost unbearable. Worse of all, he was thirsty. For something strong, stronger than whiskey.

Sam stood up unsteadily and stumbled to the door, trying to stay quiet. He grabbed his jacket and stepped outside. The cold night air bit into his nose and cheeks, and he tugged the jacket tighter. There was a vending machine up the sidewalk a ways. Good. He walked to it, face looking extra pale in the glow and soft hum of the machine. With shaking hands he put a dollar in the slot and selected a coke.

It was gone in a second. But it didn't even curb the thirst. It just made it worse. Sam leaned against the vending machine for support as the dizziness came back in a rush and pulled out his phone. He dialed, hung up, then re-dialed the number he knew he should never call. Not ever. But he had to.

He pressed the phone to his hear, wincing as the ringing reverberated painfully around his head. Come on...come on...pick up.

"Hello," came a soft female voice.

"It's Sam. I need you to meet me at the Throwback Motel on Second Street. You're in town right?" His voice was insistent, his tone urgent.

"What do you want, sweetheart?"

"Cathy, I'm thirsty for it. I need it. Now."

There was a pause. "Very well, darling. I'll be there in five minutes. Will you last that long?"

"Just get here," Sam growled. He hung up and shoved the ...

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...g his arms over his head and spreading his feet apart. The older brother made his way around the bed, buckling Sam's ankles and wrists tightly down with leather bands.

Dean walked back to the door, shutting and locking it tightly. He knew that within hours Sam would be screaming for someone to let him out. It was the demon blood that tormented him so, and it needed to be removed.

Dean lingered at the door, listening at the sounds of struggle already begin. He knew Sam was in there, tugging at his restraints like a wild animal, bombarded with horrid hallucinations that would seem to never go away.

But there were more urgent matters to think about. There was an apocalypse looming overhead and they would need to be on the top of their game. Even if they didn't win, they would die trying. Still one question remained...would Sam be trustworthy?