Title: Stonewall

Author: VFCGurl

Beta(s): Panini999 and XxMrsXDeanXWinchesterxX

Summary: (Full Summary) Three months have passed since Sam and Dean's abduction. Bobby and Dean have noticed that Sam's mental state isn't right and begin to get worried. He's tense, jumpy, quiet, and has mood swings- not the little brother Dean used to know. Just as they start to believe Sam's getting better, something dramatic happens. Something too much for Sam to handle. Something that just might push him over the edge…

DISCLAIMER: Seriously? If I owned Supernatural, would I really have time to write this?

Author's Note: If you read 'Gone', the prequel to this, then you'll know my writing style. I try to really go inside the character's head, put them directly in the situation I'm writing about, and try to make magic happen. Yes, I'm not perfect and I can guarantee you'll find errors in my stories, but just stick with me because the full effect is something you don't want to miss. Anyway, thanks so much for the readers who continued on to this story. And thank you to the new ones who are just discovering it. The only thing I will ask is to review and tell me you're thoughts. It doesn't have to be long; just let me know how the story's going so far. For those who don't know, in this story, Sam's 16 and Dean's 20.

Oh yeah, in this story there will be present text that looks like 'this' and past text (flashbacks/memories) that will be written like 'this'. Just a head's up.

Oh, you might want to check out the prequel to this, called Gone, but there's a little recap in the beginning of this chapter, so just read on if you wanna :]

Enough of my babbling. Settle in, buckle your seatbelt, and hold on. This is gonna be a bumpy ride…

STONEWALL; Chapter One.

"In this world

I lock out all my worries and my fears

In my room,

Do my dreaming and my scheming

Lie awake and pray

Laugh at yesterday"

- In my room; The Beach Boys

They say that everything happens for a reason. In a respect, that may be true. But if you've been through what Dean and Sam have been through, maybe you'll rethink that expression. What could possibly be the reason that John abused Sam in every way possible? What could possibly be the reason that when Dean finally finds out about his father's 'activities' and takes Sam away, that they get into a car accident? Leaving Sam, who was sick from the start, even more vulnerable than he was to begin with. What could possibly be the reason that Sam and Dean get kidnapped shortly after that? Yes, kidnapped, by a psycho sixty year old woman and her two robot-like sons who obey her every wish and command. Is there a reason for her trying to keep Sam for herself, torturing him, probably doing things that Dean could never image or want to think about? Then, just when they got in touch with Bobby and thought they were saved, John comes back into the picture and he's more horrible than ever. He blames Dean for abusing Sam, and almost gets Sam placed with Social Services. Is there a reason for that? But Sam's home now. Physically, that is. Mentally? Well, that's still pending. But do you see? Not everything happens for a reason. Just ask Sam and Dean Winchester.


"Hey, wake up. C'mon, Sam. You know the drill," Dean calls to his sleeping younger brother. On the nightstand next to Sam's temporary bed at Bobby's house are four bottles of pills. One's for the pain in his shoulder and his head for the six stitches he had put in; the other's for the swelling he had in his skull, the other's for his ribs, and the other one's strictly to make him sleep when he can't or is in too much pain. All of the pills except for the one for his head makes him drowsy, so he sleeps most of the say. He wakes up every once in a while, pretty much disoriented, and has a nonsense conversation with either Bobby or Dean. Depending who's closer. Then, usually in the middle of a sentence, he falls back into a dreamless unconsciousness of painkillers and tranquilizers.

Sam stirs in his bed. Turning his head to Dean. His hand comes up a little, like he's reaching for Dean's voice.

"Sam, come on," Dean presses. He shakes Sam's shoulder. Soon enough, his eyes flutter open, cloudy and glazed. He pulls in a lungful of air and lets it out slowly as his vision tries to clear and his pupils adjust to the low light coming from across the room. Without speaking, Dean puts both hands under Sam's arms and pushes him up until his shoulder blades are resting on the headboard adjacent to him. Sam's head bows for a second, resting on his collar bone, but he soon picks it up again. Pressing it to the headboard behind him.

Dean takes the slightly cool bottle of water and hands to Sam who grips it loosely. Next, Dean takes out two pills. They're about the size of a pinky fingernail but they're white and chalky. Those are for the pain in his stomach from his healing ribs. Dean drops the pills into Sam's sweaty palm and taps the bottom of his hand.

"Pop and swallow, Sam."

Grunting a small remark of unwillingness, Sam plops the pain medication in his mouth and chases down with water. Even though his eyes are half-closed, he can feel Dean eyeing him. Watching his every move.

Dean takes a seat on the bed with Sam, he clears his throat. Reaching over for the tall aqua colored bottle of pills, Dean asks, "How's the head?"


Dean frowns. "That bad, huh?"

Sam shrugs and nods at the same time. His breath his rugged and somewhat labored. Something wasn't right and Dean knew it. Maybe it was a side effect from all the medication? If anything got worse, Dean would be sure to take Sam back to the hospital.

"Well," Dean sang, popping open the bottle of pills." It's a good thing we got this then. Should wash the headache away like magic."

Dean reaches for Sam's hand and puts another pill in his hand. Handing Sam the water bottle again, he stands. Without question, statement, or argue, Sam puts the slightly larger pill in his mouth and swallows it with a mouthful of water. When finished, he puts the bottle back on the nightstand and rests his head back on the headboard.

Suddenly, he feels something touch his brow, move up a little, and rest on his forehead under his bangs.

"Damn, Sammy. You're practically an E-Z Bake Oven," Dean exclaims, feeling the heat radiating off his brother.

Sam smirks depressingly. "Tell me about it."

Quickly, Dean's eyes scan the room and then fix on the bathroom. He shrugs. "There's Tylenol in the bathroom."

Audibly, Sam grunts at the sound of more pills for him to take.

Dean sighs. "Well what else do you wanna do, Sam?" he asks rhetorically. "We can't have your fever that high. We have to bring it down or it's back to Sammy's Magic Hospital for you."

Sam rolls his eyes, knowing Dean's right. "Yeah, yeah," he mumbles, already feeling his medication shutting down his body. He felt as if he could literally hear the sleep calling him.

Within seconds, Dean back with the small blue tablet in his palm. "Here."

Sam lets out an aggravated yawn before placing the pill in his mouth and then swallowing it.

"Ugh, I feel like a drug addict, Dean," he complains, dropping the now empty water bottle on the floor. Sam wipes the sweat that's beginning to form from his fever off his forehead and sighs. He watches as Dean puts the Tylenol, and the four other bottles of pills back into the bathroom. Seconds later, he returns, pulling up a chair next to Sam's bed.

"You're not a drug addict."

Sam's lazy eyes fall to the floor. "You sure? Because all these pills are making me feel like one. Or maybe a lab rat."

Rubbing his tired eyes, Dean says, "You're doing good. You know that, right? I'm proud of you"

Sam shrugs his exhausted shoulders. "Well that makes one of us," he slurs. Beginning to get more tired by the minute.

"You can't be so hard on yourself."

Dean could see Sam's eyes roll. "Why not?"

Dean sits forward. "'Cause there's no point in beating yourself up for something you had no control over. That's why!"

Sam looks over at his brother, surprised at his sudden yelling, but too weak to show it in his facial expression. Pushing the covers off his lower body, Sam runs his hand through his hair. He felt as if he could tell Dean the exact same thing right now. Sam knows how guilty Dean felt and still feels about all that happened. He thinks that some way, somehow, he could've saved Sam from all of it.

"'M sorry, Dean."

Dean doesn't know what to say. Dean's the one who yelled, he should be the one apologizing, but he isn't.

Dean cricks his neck. "Listen Sam. I know this is hard for you. It's hard for me, too. But we just gotta keep going, okay? Everything will be alright." Dean cracks his knuckles. "And I really am proud of you."

The sound of Sam's heavy breathing lets Dean know he was already sleep. He didn't hear one word Dean said.


Sam walked into his house, dropped his book-bag on the ground next to the couch and walked farther into his unusually dark house. The television was off in the living room and so were all the lights. All of the blinds were let down and the curtains were closed. Noticing the unusualness in the house, Sam cautiously looked side to side, wondering if everything was alright. The house was dead quiet. Too quiet.

"Dad? Dean?"

Sam stepped from the hardwood floors that covered the Living Room, to the black and white tile floor that was on the kitchen. Everything was closed in there, too. The only thing that was on was the microwave that flash the time whenever the minute changed.

Pulling open the refrigerator door, Sam took a bottle of water from the door shelf. Resting his arm on top of the door, he twisted the cap off and pushed the bottle to his lips, taking a refreshing drink. Even though the temperature had dropped about 15 degrees since noon, the summer heat was still almost too much to bare. Good thing school will be over in three weeks, then Sam won't have to worry about the heat as much.

Feeling an awkward presence behind him, Sam spins on his heel and turns around.

His Dad's standing there with an expressionless look on his face, studying Sam.

Sam grips his heart for a second, feeling his heart rate speed up.

"Jesus, Dad," he laughs. Patting his father's shoulder. "I didn't hear you coming. You're a pretty good spy, if I have to say so myself."

Sam tries to walk past his Dad back into the Living Room, but John's hand comes up to his chest and pushes him back into the open refrigerator.

"Dad? What're you-"

"What time is it?" John asks. His voice is scruffy and cold.

Sam's eyebrows come together in confusion.

Letting his eyes dart over to the flashing microwave on the other side of his room he sees it read 6:21 p.m.

Sam swallows hard; his throat suddenly dry again.

"Uh...it's 6:21, Dad. Where's Dean?" Sam stammers directly after.

John twitches his nose at Sam's response. He grabs a bigger handful of Sam's shirt.

"Didn't I tell you to come straight home, Samuel?"

Samuel? What the hell?

Sam looks down at John's gripping hand, then up at John's ice cold eyes, then back down at his hand.

"Well?" John yells. He slams his hand down on the freezer, coming centimeters from hitting Sam. Instinctively, Sam turns away.

"Y-yeah," Sam answers. His face still turned away from his father.

John reaches over a little and grabs hold of Sam's hair.

"Yeah?" he questions. Hot whiskey breath washes over Sam's face causing him to cough. "Is that how you talk to your father? Answer correctly!" John demands.

Sam sniffles, fighting the pain surging through his skull.

"Yes. Yes, sir," he corrects himself.

John smiles an evil smile and forcefully pushed Sam's head against the freezer. Sam bites his lip when his head comes in contact with the door.

"Now, I know I'm not the smartest guy in the world; but can you tell me why you're walking in this house at 6:21 when school lets out at 2:15. 2:30 at the latest?"

Sam lifts his hand and tugs at his father's hand.

"I had a make-up test, Dad. I told you that this morning,' Sam replies in a shaky voice.

John looks from left to right, then makes his eyes meet Sam's. "Huh," was his only reply.

Sam licks his lips and finds his voice again. "Dad," he says softly. "You've been drinking. How about we-"

He's cut off by John's heavy hand coming across his face. Reacting, Sam covers his mouth with one hand and pushes his father back a few steps with another.


This time an upper-cut lands right in the center of Sam's stomach, causing him to double over. With the pain increasing, Sam's hand lets go of the water bottle and watches as it lands on the tile floor and splashes all over John's sneakers.

He could literally feel his heart skip a beat when he peers back up and sees the look on his father's face.

"Dad," the younger Winchester says in a soft voice. "Dad, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

John didn't answer, but he let Sam know 'sorry' wasn't good enough.

For about fifteen minutes Sam was flung around the kitchen like a rag-doll. He clipped his ribs on edges of countertops and tables. He got small cuts on his hands from falling over and over again. Bruises on is midsection began to form from his father's forceful kicks and punches. And just when Sam though it couldn't get any worse... it stopped.

John stopped.

Sam didn't dare to lift his head though, afraid that it might cause his father to spring into action again. He heard footsteps. They were getting further and further away. Then they stopped abruptly. Sam could sense John turning around and looking back at him.

"Clean this mess up," John commands before walking out the room and up the stairs.

Leaving Sam on the ground, wondering what on Earth he did wrong.


Dean leaves Sam's room after a few minutes of watching him sleep. Closing the door gently, Dean walks into the Living Room as soon as Bobby comes in through the front door. He's holding a stack of mail, thick enough to be a VHS. He flips through them with a hard look on his face. Ah, yes. Bills.

"Hey Bobby," Dean greets, taking a seat on the dark brown couch.

Bobby looks up briefly before looking back down at the mail . "Hey Dean."

Dean eyes the objects in Bobby's hand. "What'cha got there?"

"Bills...bills...more bills...sports magazine...bills...oh," Bobby suddenly stops. He holds a manila envelope in his hands, reading over it carefully.

Dean makes a face, growing curious. "What's that?"

At first Bobby ignores him, rereading the front of the letter.

"Bobby," Dean calls out, standing up and walking over to Bobby.

"It's a letter," Bobby responds.

Dean smiles sarcastically. "Well unholy blonde cheerleader, Batman. I think you're right."

Bobby gives him a quick look. "Smart-ass."

"Well who's it from, Bobby? I'm dying here."

Bobby clears his throat. "It's from the state jail," Bobby informs. "It's your Dad."

Dean could feel his jaw drop. He hadn't heard from his Dad in months and truly hoped to keep it that way.

Bobby opened the letter and scanned it quickly.

Dean shrugs. "Well what does he want?"

Handing the letter to Dean, Bobby shakes his head. Almost as if he's in shock or something. Very quickly, Dean reads it and soon feels the letter drop out of his hands.

He swallowed hard, unable to think straight. "I don't believe it,"Dean says. "He's getting out of jail."

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