Title: Here Comes a Cold
Rating: M (For adult themes and language)
Summary: Sam goes out into a blizzard to get food after Dean and him have a fight. After Sam meets a group of guys who want to do more to him than beat him up he realizes his nightmare is only beginning. Really an excuse for hurt, confused, frozen and scared Sammy with plenty of protective Dean. Beware- adult themes.
Disclaimer: Disclaimers are horribly redundant. I obviously own nothing that has to do with Supernatural and make no money off of this!
A/N: Again I'm sorry for the horrendously slow updates. The other day I was over on SPN Story Finders and someone posted this fic in response to someone's search and mentioned that it was unfortunately a work in progress. So I felt like a jerk and decided to update! I will try my best to update in a timely manner. Just started college so a lot is going on! There won't be anything else for at least a week, finals are coming up but after that is winter break so lots of writing time!
Much love to all of you who continue to read or review this story. Here we go!
The call was not the fearful one he had heard so many times before from his pained brother. This call was one of need, of trust. Suddenly and miraculously Sam needed his brother in this moment and nothing could stop Dean from throwing himself at his brothers side.
In seconds the older Winchester was beside him hovering as close as he could without touching him. The pile of books laid pathetically around his crumbled figure like rubble after an explosion. Dean watched as his brother blinked harshly, desperate to see anything that was around him but with no success. His mind did not feel safe enough yet.
"Sammy I'm right here." Dean placed his hand dangerously close to Sam's clenched fist, "Can I help you up?"
The question hung thickly in the air until Sam spat out a, "No!"
Sam continued with his internal struggle. His limbs a mess on the floor he roughly pressed his cheek down onto the cold wooden floor and grasped at the grooves in the floor panels as if he was trying to sink into the ground, disappear or melt away. He shut his eyes tight as rivers seeped down his face and his lips quivered, trying to hold in words.
Dean wanted to look back at Bobby but knew he had no answers. Sam had just reacted to Bobby as if his touch caused agony, so clearly he was no longer the person Sam needed. Dean got up and walked around to face his brother who'd turned his face away and crouched down low beside him. He took a couple deep breaths, unsure if he was making a wise choice but then whispered, "What do you need me to do Sammy? It's me, Dean."
There was no response just more tears and heavy breathing and attempts to disappear.
"Please say something. You're safe now. Nothing bad will ever happen to you again I promise. You just need to trust me." Dean whispered, more unsure of himself than ever before. Was he helping his brother or was he just making it worse?
Sam slowly opened his unseeing eyes and whispered, " 'm all confused. My eyes aren't..." Sam motioned to his eyes with limp fingers, "doing anything."
Dean nodded and said, "I understand Sammy, but it's me. We're in Bobby's house, he's here too and you're body is healing. We just don't want you to hurt yourself more lying on the floor like this."
Sam made a sudden movement in an attempt to rise but fell back down harshly. He cried out, his healing ribs taking an unnecessary beating. He took a few calming breaths before he responded, " I want it to be y-you. But you could be lying, you could just want m-me to believe it is so I-" he cut off abruptly his breathing more rushed and his tears turning into hysterics. Dean wanted more than anything to touch his brother's shoulder to pull him into his arms and will the fear away from him but he couldn't and it killed. Dean instead resorted to the usually shushes and soothing nonsense words. Sam responded slightly and the quakes that plagued his body slowed.
The room sat still for a few minutes. Sam was clearly not capable of saying anything and Dean's constant litany of "you're safe" and "not lying Sammy" had brought the tension in the room to a comfortable level. Bobby has excused himself from the room but hung just outside hoping to give the brothers some privacy but still be available should anything go wrong. Dean stayed stubbornly at his brother's side sure now more than ever that he would not give up and he would not move until Sam felt safe around him.
"I think it's you." Sam whispered. His words dropped out like he'd been practicing them in his head for days, hopeful that he would get to use them. He moved his hand from its seemingly glued position to the floor and reach out toward his brother.
The sigh Dean exhaled felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. The force with which his happiness came was dangerous, especially since they still had so far to go. But he let it go, because he needed to. He took his brother's hand in his and felt the inevitable flinch but then trust afterward. Dean slowly and carefully helped his brother to his feet and although he wanted nothing more than to pull him into a bear hug he resisted. Instead he led him back to his place on the couch. Sam sunk into the worn leather inhaling the comforting scent of Bobby's home – like books and gunpowder.
Sam quickly tensed though, he wrapped himself in his long arms and stared straight down at his lap, straining his eyes to see something, anything. He faintly heard Dean asking him if he could look him over and make sure he hadn't been hurt anymore. Somehow Sam nodded but it didn't register. He wanted more than anything to believe it as Dean and he had no reason not to. This person was not harming him in anyway. He sounded like Dean, the warm and kind presence felt like a brother but his brain, his brain kept on with the second guess's and the what if's.
And whenever he convinced himself he was safe, that the man who did this to him was far, far away-
"I think you know, now shut your goddamn mouth."
"Your gonna like this, Sammy. You're noting gonna be able to ignore me now."
And then it would all go to shit.
"You look ok Sammy. I'm sorry, I just wanted to be sure."
Sam wanted to see Dean's face, to know that he was safe but he was shut out, in the dark.
"Thank-" Sam quickly stopped and shuddered, a bad feeling suddenly running through him. He breathed and repeated, "Thanks."
Dean smiled and whispered "Sure." He sat with Sam until he'd fallen asleep there, neither of them saying a word to the other. Once Sam was in a world of dreams—or nightmares, Dean couldn't tell—he slipped out of the room and then outside.
Bobby watched from the window as Dean kicked and punched everything in his path before throwing himself in the dirt, tears surely falling.
For the next week not much changed. Sam now believed he was in Bobby's house with Dean but he couldn't stop feeling fear in his presence. Every time they could not avoid physical contact and the chance touch occurred Sam flinched so visibly it seemed he was trying to throw himself away from him. Dean was constantly, patiently at his side. Helping him around, ensuring he was well fed and hydrated and constantly fussing over his healing ribs and wounds. The accidental cut on Sam's cheek glared at Dean constantly, always reminding him that his brother had attempted to take his own life, and that the world Sam was in right now required a lot more fixing.
"Dean, have you thought about taking your brother to see a shrink?"
Dean stopped suddenly on his stride out of the kitchen. The coffee mug in his hand and the fourth one in that short day shook slightly so he set it down. He had enough messes to clean.
He cleared his throat and without even turning to face Bobby responded, "Sammy don't want to see anybody. And he's got me."
Bobby had been doing dishes, one of the many things he had added to a list of hobbies he'd taken up since Dean and Sam had come to stay. The repetitive washing of dishes, organizing of bookshelves, and repainting of old furniture kept him in the house, close to the boys. But it also kept him from following Dean's example and destroying anything he could in his path. The anger he felt for this situation outdid most of the anger he'd felt in his life only surpassed by the loathing he'd felt for himself after the death of his wife.
Bobby walked forward, his hand suddenly on Dean's shoulder, "Son, you know this is a lot-"
But he was stopped by his hand being slapped for away and Dean rounding on him so fast he prepared to block Dean's punch. But Dean instead spat, "It's a lot but I've got to do it, Bobby. Me. I fucked this up I finish it." His voice was low, clearly fearful that Sam would hear and wake. Sam took to sleeping all day now but Dean didn't like to question it, "Ain't no body that can talk to Sam. Ain't no body who can fix this but me."
"You're doing your best Dean but hell… We don't know what we're doing and we have to make sure we do everything for Sam that we can!" Bobby knew this conversation would go nowhere. He knew that a Winchester would never speak to a goddamned shrink but he needed to try. He needed to suggest something instead of existing in this silent world where no one did a thing. Where everyone sat in the misery of their lives. Where he washed clean dishes and painted over paint and put books that were alphabetized in chronological order.
Dean was visibly shaking. The words were few but they sent bullets through him because they exposed him. He did not know what he was doing and he didn't know how to fix his brother but he had to. Dean had to save Sam like he always had.
"Forget it." Bobby muttered, "Stop drinking so much damned coffee." And he turned back to the dishes.
After his exchange with Bobby Dean drank another cup and headed to his brother. Asleep again, his chest rose and fell steadily now and that comforted Dean. His body was well on the road to recovery. His mind was lost somewhere else.
He walked in carefully but, of course, brushed the side of a shelf just enough for some meaningless knick-knack to fall and echo with a clank.
Sam shot up immediately, the noise burning his ears. Dean was quick to his side apologizing and explaining and Sam just breathed. The in's and out's soothed with his words and in a few minutes he was muttering, " 'm fine, Dean. Fine."
They sat silent and motionless for a time, Sam hugging himself and Dean staring at him, trying to read him. Dean raised his hands to his temples and finally said, "Sammy…" he paused and waited for his brother to acknowledge him, "If you want to talk about what's going on in that head of yours, I'm here. Whenever you need, whatever you need to say. You tell me ok?"
Sam only hugged himself tighter at first. He breathed harder and rocked back and forth the proposition messing with his head.
"Sammy please," Dean urged, "Just one thing. Anything small."
Sam calmed slightly but the rocking didn't stop. He continued the movements as though he were in an ocean where the waves came and went. He liked imagining himself in a warm ocean, alone and safe forever. Where no one could get him…
"I know it's you." Sam whispered and Dean listened intently. He wouldn't say a word until his brother's words were out.
"I know it's you, but I didn't before." The rocking slowing, "I thought I was back there in that place and that I was being tricked," He hugged himself tighter and let out a dark chuckle, "and I thought it was too good to be true."
Dean wanted now more than ever for his brother to see, to be validated but his eyes remained unfocused and lax in their sockets.
"And I feel stupid, Dean. I feel dumb and confused. Right now and most of the time I know that I'm safe. But I need to remind myself that, it's something I need to remember.
"That noise before," he shook, "it reminded me of that gun shot and of a fist hitting my head and of-" Sam stopped. The words wouldn't come out.
They sat again in silence for a while before Sam whispered, "The point is all of it's jumbled right now and the only thing on repeat in my head is that night. Always."
Tears were falling in big drops from his face now but he remained expressionless, numb. The tears were merely a physical reaction but something was not reaching his heart. The pain was kept far away from there.
"And I can see nothing else. Nothing else is real to me but what I did."
With his final words Dean's composure crumbled to nothing. All that time he listened as the painful words exited his brother's mouth although he wanted to scream to kill and torture the man who did this to his baby brother. Making him numb and fearful and lost.
What he did.
"What do you mean what you did?" Dean asked loudly.
Sam blinked. He moved his legs up to his chest making himself into a protected ball before whispering, "nothing,"
Sam barely got the word out before Dean repeated his question, "What do you mean what you did?" Dean asked louder, harsher.
The rocking was picking up, the hugging and the breathing and all this things Sam did now to stop himself from jumping out of his skin and hiding in a small hole. Only when Dean repeated again and again did he say, "Don't make me Dean, please."
Dean's emotions were a hurricane in his head. He quickly left his brothers side now oblivious to his hysterics and only consumed in the thought of finding Mike and killing him. And while part of his head was screaming at him, yelling with all the fervor it could muster that he was hurting his brother right now, cruelly, he could not hold back his fury.
"P-please…" Sam whimpered.
Dean was inches from him in second, his hands grasping either of his shoulders tightly and now Sam was squirming and begging horribly, but Dean didn't listen instead he yelled, "None of it was your fault Sam. What happened was not your fault. You are safe. I am fixing this, I am. I am making you better!"
Sam didn't hear he just kept whispering, "Please… please don't t-touch… please… don't yell… Dean… I need Dean… p-please get him…"
And Dean backed away looking at his hands and they felt like their were stained with blood. Bobby stood in the doorway a knowing look on his face, which he himself despised.
Dean inched to his brother, "Sammy no… Sammy I am so sorry… please stop… It's ok Sammy I just…"
But Sam was lost in his mantra, lost on a course back to the numbness of sleep. The safety of being somewhere else.
And Bobby was right. Dean had no clue what the fuck he was doing.
A/N: Thank you for reading. Any feedback is appreciated!