Sam watched silently as Dean and his father came back into their recently rented seedy motel room, each heaving a long sigh as they set their bags down in the corner of the room. They looked tired, but they looked invigorated at the same time, as if what they had accomplished—so conveniently without Sam—had lifted a weight from their already overburdened shoulders.
They avoided Sam's now intent gaze, and he took the time to scrutinize them more closely, looking for hidden injuries. Sam heaved a sigh of relief when he didn't find any, but almost wanted to suck in that breath when he more closely inspected Dean's outer jacket.
The jacket that was being conveniently hidden from Sam's sight.
Sam whirled his head to John disbelievingly and, before the older man was able to conceal it, he noticed the small red, mysterious blotches smeared along the material.
Sam said nothing as Dean sat down, wordlessly plopping beside him on the sofa. Sam shifted in his seat, away from Dean, and the older boy acted like he didn't notice.
Sam cleared his throat lightly. "So…everything okay?"
Dean continued to admire the poor painting of the walls. He nodded, feigning nonchalance. "Yep."
Sam nodded, discreetly eyeing the bloodstains on his family's clothing. How could they expect to hide it from him? Did they really think he was that stupid?
Sam looked away, hiding the tear that fell down his cheek. He had trusted Larry, let the guy fuck him for god only knows how long, so of fucking course they thought he was that stupid.
Sam hastily wiped away the lone tear before turning to his father. "What?"
John shuffled on his feet, hands deep in his pockets. He looked remorseful and guilty.
Sam watched him incredulously, almost excited knowing they would admit to him their harsh deed. They wouldn't lie to him about something so important, how could he have been so foolish? They had murdered a man, maybe not innocent, but still human. Of course Sam deserved to know.
John licked his lips, eyes glued to the floor. "I wanted to, uhh…I wanted to apologize to you for my, uh, behavior."
Sam raised an eyebrow, confused. "What?"
"I realize I was being an ass to you before about the…the," John cleared his throat. "Rape kit, but I shouldn't have been, son. I understand why you chose not to get it, so…" John nodded awkwardly. "Yeah."
Sam's mouth opened to speak, to respond, to do something, but he couldn't seem to do it. His lips were opening, but nothing was coming out.
He had been expecting a justification from his father, not an apology. An apology that was unwarranted, no doubt.
Sam shifted, trying to act polite. He didn't think it worked. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."
John nodded again, unsure of what to do now.
Sam stood, saving his father from further embarrassment. He shouldn't have to deal with such an idiotic son. "I'm going to bed."
Dean took a questioning glance out the window, noticing the sun hadn't even begun to set. He turned back to his kid brother, watching him with both confusion and overwhelming concern. "Hey, Sammy, are you okay? You seem a bit…" He paused. "Off."
Sam kept his head down and back turned, away from his father and brother. "What would make you think that?" he questioned, quiet and dull.
Dean shifted in his seat, throwing a concerned glance at John, which the older man returned, before turning to look again at Sam's back. "I dunno, I guess you just seem a bit...disappointed or something. Sad, I guess." His eyes darkened. "Did something happen, Sammy? Did somebody come and try to talk to you while we were gone?" Dean had been fending off news reporters for months, and not so nicely either. His eyebrows curled to an angry "V" as his thoughts took another, darker turn. "Did somebody try something on you?"
Sam snorted quietly. "Why do you assume it's a stranger that hurt me?" he murmured, not even sure his family heard it before walking to his bed and sliding under the thin sheets, hoping he'd drown in them.
It was in the news not long after the occurrence. Sam was eating cereal at their small kitchen counter while Dean cooked up eggs he would later unsuccessfully try and force Sam to eat. John was looking at the newspaper, flipping disinterestedly through the pages before taking a sip of his steaming coffee.
Sam's eyes turned to the news reporter on the screen.
"Larry Foreman, the motel manager just recently deemed innocent in a rape case against Sam Corvan, has been found dead in the local County Courthouse, his body mutilated almost beyond recognition. Michael Hathorne, son of the prestigious Lionel Hathorne, was found alongside Foreman, just as disfigured. The culprits have yet to be determined, but police are doing everything they can to get an ID to these unknown slaughterers. Only time will tell."
Sam continued watching the screen blankly, and if the reporter was saying anything of great importance Sam didn't have a damn clue. How far did Dean and his father go? How goddamn mutilated could Larry and Hathorne have been?
Doing this only took away his family's humanity.
Sam ducked his head and rubbed a hand against his forehead, completely avoiding any looks his family may or may not be shooting him. Sam wasn't innocent, wasn't pure, whatever. But Dean and John still were, in a small sense, at least. Sure, they've been killing things nearly all their life, but it's for a good cause and it's one of the few constants in their lives besides each other. Brutal, straightforward murder of another human? No, that was something entirely different, and Sam didn't like the prospect one bit. What if it affects Dean and John's view on life completely? What if they see the blood on their hands when they've already been washed clean? What if they look at another male and immediately find self-conceived malice in their eyes? Would they kill them, too?
Sam shook his head against his palm. No, his brother and father weren't murderers. They were good, genuine people with a slightly screwed to hell moral compass focused almost solely around the Winchester family and it's survival. Sam appreciated it, he did, but sometimes his family was willing to give up too much for something or someone so insignificant.
A hand landed on Sam's shoulder, and he jumped out of his chair, swirling around to find Dean with his hands up, eyes instantly wide regret and worry.
Sam, the fright already melting into hot anger, took a step forward. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me you two killed them?" Sam pursed his lips. "DYou think I didn't deserve to know?"
Dean shook his head back and forth in rapid succession, guilt eating away at him. "No, Sammy, no, you deserved to know, I swear. You deserve so much. Dad and I made a mistake and we should've told you. We realize that now."
Sam nodded. "Yeah, you realize that now."
Dean licked his lips, keeping his eyes on Sam the entire time. "We're so sorry, Sammy. We just…we didn't know if it'd just hurt you more. We wanted to tell you so bad, make you realize you never have to worry about those bastards ever again, but…" Dean shook his head, shrugging helplessly. "We just couldn't."
Sam's mouth quivered, and his tight fists trembled at his sides. His voice shook. "Do you realize what you've done? You murdered someone."
Dean nodded vigorously, taking a step toward Sam. "Yes, to protect you, Sammy. You don't have to deal with those bastards ever again. They can't hurt you anymore."
"They're always hurting me, goddamn it," Sam cried out. "But that doesn't matter. You killed two humans. That doesn't just go away. It'll haunt you, and you'll realize you can never be rid of the very people you tried to destroy." Sam's voice shook harder. "As long as you're alive, they'll be right there, watching you." Sam paused. "The same way they watch me."
Tears formed in Dean's eyes as his voice trembled, his entire body quaking in pain. "Wh-What are do you mean?"
"I can't stop thinking about him…Larry. He's always there in my head, taunting me, torturing me. Fucking me." Sam shook his head, tears in his eyes. "And he won't go away."
Tears trailed endlessly down Dean's cheeks, the liquid blinding him and making everything hazy and blurred. He shook his head in denial, refusing to believe his brother could be so broken.
Before he could speak, Sam spoke up. "He'll never go away. He'll always be there. Every day I'll watch helplessly as a different scene plays out. I'm always a spectator to my own demise, and I can't stop it."
Dean sobbed into his hand as he watched helplessly during Sam's discussion. He wanted so bad to reach out to his baby brother, pull him into a crushing hug and wash away all his pain with a soft touch. But Sam was hurting, hurting from violating hands, nonconsensual in their pursuit as they endlessly defiled and degraded him. How would Sam react if Dean tried to touch him?
Dean stayed where he stood, trying his best to smother the sobs that kept erupting from deep in his chest. "Sammy…Sammy, it'll go away, I promise. With time you'll get better." Time will mend what I cannot.
Sam shook his head, still locked in his own thoughts. "There's no stopping him."
Dean walked forward until he was standing in front of Sam, close enough that, if he reached, he could ruffle the kid's hair and pull him into a hug. "Sam, please, listen to me. This won't last forever. Sure, you can't forget, it was too traumatic for that. But it'll begin to recede; the harsh memories will fade, and they won't be so vivid. You're going to heal, Sammy, and I'm going to make sure of it."
Sam watched Dean with a nameless expression Dean couldn't remember ever seeing on Sam's soft face, his eyes wide and glazed. Sam's bottom lip began to tremble, and a small, unexpected sob spewed from Sam's mouth. His face crinkled with an emotion so big and so vast Dean couldn't do anything but stand there perplexed as Sam came to stand directly in front of him, no more than an inch apart. Not a moment later and Sam was wrapping his arms around Dean's neck and resting his head on his broad shoulder.
"Thank you," Sam whispered lightly in Dean's ear, and Dean seemed to wake up and reanimate himself in his body, throwing his arms around Sam's slim waist and pulling him closer to his chest. Dean sobbed into Sam's hair, one hand coming to pet the strands lovingly.
"You're welcome, Sammy. God, you're so damn welcome," he cried. Sam may be hurt, broken even, but that didn't mean Dean couldn't stitch him back together. He was there when little Sammy was first born, and he was there for him now, too.
4 Days Later
Sam shifted uncomfortably on the small bed, quietly maneuvering to keep from awaking Dean and his father. He plopped his head back onto his hard, square pillow, shifting again to find comfort.
He lied there for over an hour, just sitting and staring at the darkness in front of him. There was nothing he could do to make himself fall asleep.
But he didn't really want to either.
There were too many ways his mind could hurt himself if he slept.
He sighed lightly, stopping short when he heard Dean shift beside him. He snorted, mumbling something under his breath. Had Sam woken him?
Dean's voice was getting more high-pitched, almost as though he were frightened or traumatized, and Sam turned over to face his brother. Dean's eyes were squeezed shut, and his body arched off the bed, his arms flailing at his sides.
Sam shook him, roughly pushing at the older man's shoulder. "Dean? Dean, wake up."
Dean snorted into his pillow, groaning at the increasing pressure on his shoulder. A moment later, and his eyes flew up, his torso lifting off the bed, his eyes looking around the room, wide-eyed.
"Wh-what?" he whispered, hoarse.
"You had a nightmare."
Dean blinked, turning around to see Sam sit up beside him, watching him with uncertain eyes. Dean tried for a smile, the lingering dreams of him slashing down with a bloody knife shadowing any genuine happiness he could've had. Thankfully, the darkness concealed the majority of his tremors, the sweat pouring down his face as the remnants of the nightmare remained remnants evermore. Sam was right. This was killing him.
Dean gulped as Sam meticulously watched Dean's facial expressions in the little light offered him. He absently wondered what Sam was seeing.
Sam sighed lightly. "It'll get better soon."
Dean nodded. "I know."
"It's hard to kill a person in cold blood without having any repercussions."
"I know." Dean sniffed, looking ahead of him, staring at the faint outline of a lamp. "But I don't regret my decision. The good of my actions infinitely outweigh the bad."
Sam remained silent, and Dean found him to be a reassuring presence. Larry and Hathorne's death were still heavy on his soul, but Sam was getting him through it, helping Dean just as much as Dean helps him, if not more. Dean shut his eyes, putting his forefinger and thumb on the corners of his nose. His brother had been through so much. Dean shouldn't be complaining at all. He wasn't the one repeatedly violated for months with no family to come save him; it should be Dean doing the comforting, not Sam.
Dean felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and he looked to see Sam looking back at him, a small smile lightening his features.
"Don't be so self-loathing. You've done nothing wrong."
Dean nodded before shaking his head. "I know, Sammy, I know, but…" He put his head in his hands. "You've been through so much, and here I am having the damn nightmare."
Sam said nothing for a moment, the hand still on Dean's shoulder. "Maybe months of abuse makes a person a bit more immune to things like nightmares." Sam received no reaction from Dean, and he sighed. "
2 Months Later
"I…I think I'm ready."
Dean looked up from his magazine, his inquisitive green eyes landing on Sam's nervous, almost ashamed look, his stance stiff and rigid, as if expecting a blow.
Dean's mind was immediately on alert, watching Sam's every movement and facial expression. "Ready for what, Sammy?"
Sam shuffled restlessly from one foot to another, looking everywhere but at Dean. "I'm ready to…um…t-talk about…him." He paused, making himself say it. "Larry."
Dean's eyes went bug-eyed, and he immediately scooted over in his spot on the less-than-average loveseat as he threw the magazine aimlessly across the room, patting a hand on the vacant and newly available seat.
Sam sat down hesitantly, curling one leg beneath his body as he sat beside his brother. There was a thin sheen of sweat dripping down the back of his neck, and he wiped at it distractedly. This conversation had gone through his head so many thousands of times, but for the life of him he couldn't remember one scenario on how he wanted to begin. How lame was he?
"At first, I had thought he was just being overly curious," Sam said, deciding the beginning was as good a start as any. "He was looking at one of my books, and h-he, he was really interested in the idea that the protagonist got…raped." Sam swallowed, keeping his gaze on the wall. "After I had had enough, I packed up my stuff, planning to hitchhike my way to you and Dad, see what was going on." Sam shrugged. "But Larry was standing right outside my door, didn't let me leave. I r-ran, ran as fast as I fucking could, but…" Sam stopped, rubbing his palm against his watery eye. "He shot me in the leg. I don't know how I couldn't see the damn gun before. He must have had it the entire time. How could I not have seen it?"
Dean shook his head, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I don't know, Sammy."
"The first day," Sam said continued as if he hadn't heard him, shaking his head in lingering horror. "Oh god, it was probably the worst." He sniffled. "I woke up tied to the bed, I had no idea where I was. I didn't…I didn't even know what was going to happen to me. I didn't know he'd…" Sam caught his breath, breathing deeply. "He…he fucked me…a lot." He sniffed, wondering if Dean would leave him when he was done. "I, I didn't want it, I really didn't, I swear."
Dean spoke, brokenhearted, "I believe you."
"And it lasted so long. I don't remember a time before that I ever felt so much…pain. It was excruciating. I…I remember hoping, begging for death to find me, to rescue me from that torture." Sam continued staring blankly, lost in a nightmare he couldn't escape from. "It didn't, of course. I didn't deserve a reprieve, after all. All the pain afflicted upon me was pain well-deserved."
Dean shook his head. "No, Sammy, that's not true."
"I remember actually fucking him, too, sticking my dick in his ass. I think that was his favorite part." Sam shook his head. "And I remember getting aroused." He looked at Dean, self-hatred and loathing evident in his eyes. "How disgusting must I be?"
Dean cried silently. "You're not disgusting Sammy, I swear you're not. Larry took advantage of you, and your body reacted the only way it could. It wasn't your fault, Sammy, you couldn't have done anything to prevent it."
"And he'd whisper things in my ear. All the time. Sordid, degrading things that did nothing but linger inside of me, festering in such a magnificent degree I could do nothing but sit and listen. He'd tell me how sexy I looked all spread out for him, tell me what he was planning to do to me. And he did it, all of it." Sam wiped a hand across his nose absently. He snorted. "At least the bastard was honest."
Dean gulped. "Sammy…"
Sam stopped having that eerie stare, seeming to have finally noticed Dean and his surroundings. He turned to Dean, smiling lightly, sadly. "I know it sounds bad, like I'll never get over this, but…" Sam shrugged, his smile widening a little. "I'll be okay someday. I promise."
Dean smiled, and he felt it crack as a sob rushed through him. He threw an arm over Sam's shoulder and gently pressed him to lie against his chest, the other hand lightly petting the kid's hair. Sam allowed it, resting his head peacefully against Dean as the older man whispered soft reassurances. He knew Sam would get better. After all, he wasn't just a Winchester, he was fighter. Sam's been to hell, has stayed alive this long, and now has to keep on living a little more. It's not fair, and it's not right, but Sam is going to keep on living through the agonizing shame of his past.
But, this time, he won't be doing it alone.
Well, there it is. What do you think? Sequel?
Hope it was satisfactory to everyone. Until next time.