Trust, Supernatrual, NC-17, Keeper!Verse

[phantisma]

Fandom: Supernatural, Keeper!Verse
Title: Trust
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, John, Dana
Rating: NC-17, for strong language and theme and non-graphic rape
Word Count: 7629
Summary: It's a few weeks before Christmas, a few weeks after Dana's 17th birthday, and Sam is ready to tell John and Dean about the darkest days of his former life.

A/Ns & Warnings: Warnings first: Child death, rape (though non-graphic), remembered abuse. Part of the arc of stories that starts with Captivus, then Blowback and Intervention and then Together.



“You two have fun tonight.” Dean said at the door as Dana and Scott were leaving.

“Home by midnight, promise.” Dana said, waving to Sam. She stopped and raised her eyebrows at him but Scott tugged her hand. She waved again before kissing her father’s cheek, frowning lightly and glancing at Sam again meaningfully.

Sam waved back but withdrew back into himself almost immediately. He was glad they were going out. He didn’t want her here. Not for this. Not for tonight.

“Hey, you’re awfully quiet tonight.” Dean said, leaning over the back of the couch to kiss him.

Sam smiled distractedly. “Just thinking.”

Dean frowned at him. “Do we need to talk?”

Sam captured his hand and kissed it. “Yes. But not yet. Okay?”

“Sam—“

“No, Dean. It’s okay. It’s…I’m waiting for Dad.”

“Dad?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I need…” He bit his lip and shook his head. “You’ll understand. He should be here soon.”

Dean’s phone was in his hand before Sam could stop him. “Hey. Where are you?” Dean nodded and headed for the front door. “Yeah, I see you.” He hung up the phone and turned back to Sam. He was entirely focused on Sam, and Sam had to look away from the intensity of that stare. “He’s almost here. Is this a beer conversation or a coffee conversation?”

Sam shivered and wouldn’t look up. “Whiskey, if we have it.”

Dean’s face was set grimly as he nodded and went wordlessly to the kitchen, emerging with a bottle of Jack Daniels and three glasses, just as John came through the door.

“Hey.”

Sam was starting to have second thoughts. He licked his lips and stood. “I’m gonna…bathroom. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Of course, the downstairs bathroom wasn’t exactly the best place to retreat to pull his head together. It was filled with memories of some of the worst agony of his life. But…that was what this was all about.

The last months had been about healing the pain of his life…which sounded so much easier than it was. The blowback from the spell had almost killed him, and Dean had insisted Sam stop hiding his past and start dealing with it. Since then, since the night Dean had gotten trapped in Sam’s nightmare, every day had started the same.

They talked.

For the first few weeks, Dean picked a topic…a memory he’d seen or something he knew a little about. It took a long time for Sam to stop fighting it, and some days he still did…some days he refused to talk about whatever Dean chose, and turned it to something else. As long as he was talking, Dean had let it go.

Sam ran some cold water to splash on his face. He knew Dean relayed some of the information to their father…not the emotions and Sam’s reactions…but the basic facts. John deserved to know. Needed to know what Sam was. He’d spent so long hiding.

They had danced around the biggest stuff…talked about some of the things that happened because of it…touched briefly on it…but Sam always steered them away. There was a big black space inside him he hadn’t looked into in years. Not since…He shook his head. Now it was time. Time to let that part of what might have been slip away.

And Sam could do that…because Dean said that he could.

He looked at himself in the mirror and tried to remember what he looked like when it happened….all those years ago…a lifetime. He took a deep breath and went back to the living room. John and Dean looked up at him and he tried to smile, failing miserably.

“Sam?” Waves of concern were roiling off Dean. He was on high alert, his eyes and mind searching for something to tell him what this was about.

He held up a hand. “I think….maybe…a drink is a good place to start.” He poured a little whiskey into each glass and handed them off before lifting his and downing it quickly. He closed his eyes as it burned into him, slipping down his throat and into his belly.

“I figured that Dad should be here for this…so you don’t have to repeat it, Dean.” He could feel Dean reaching for him mentally, but shook his head and kept the wall up. “I don’t know if I can do this if you’re in here,” he said out loud.

That made Dean sit up straighter, his mental touch more insistent. Sam shook his head. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.” Dean was up and at his side. They’d always done this with some form of mental link…either induced by Dana or by Sam, once he’d gotten accustomed to the idea of letting Dean into the dark places.

“Dean. Trust me, okay? I get it now. I get what you’ve been doing all these months…I’m okay…I just…I need to give you the basics first, before you see it.”

Sam opened up enough of a connection to show Dean his sincerity. Dean brushed a kiss over his cheek and went back to the couch to sit down.

Now that it came right down to it, he didn’t know where to start. “I was eighteen.” He licked his lips and closed his eyes, consciously stopped and steadied himself. The anguish that came with what he was about to say was as fresh and real to him as if it had been just days, and not years. “I was eighteen when Michael died.” Sam paused. It had been such a long time since he had uttered that name, such a very long time.

“He was a year older, he was…the closest thing I had to a brother then. He was the one who helped me…after the…thing when I was 16.” Sam shivered. It made it sound so trivial, not like he was talking about an incident that had nearly killed him and left him terribly disfigured. “When I got back to school…he helped me get around, helped me get my work done. He helped me figure out how to…get some control…”

“He’s the one who helped you with the ritual that you did…the one that gave you the glamour.” Dean said and Sam nodded.

“Yes. Looking back, I realize he wasn’t a good guy, but then, neither was I.” He held his hand up before Dean could begin his protest. “I think we’re past denying that I was one evil son of a bitch, Dean.”

John snorted and poured more whiskey for each of them. “So you were eighteen and this guy was killed…go on son.”

Sam made a face. It was really not something he wanted to be talking about. Not at all. “Michael, he was working for…honestly, I’m not sure. But the whole community was talking about this knife…this blade…the one we used to kill Asmodai.”

He sipped at his whiskey, welcoming the warmth. “Michael took the job of getting the blade from Hank Hallins. I was with him when he was possessed. It was…Andras called him a brother…I’d warned Michael…had a bad feeling…something wasn’t right…Hank knew he was coming.” Sam shivered, remembering the phone call from Michael. Remembered the look on his face when Sam found him in that alley.

“I loved him.” Sam said quietly into the silence of the room. “I didn’t realize it at the time…but I did. He was all I had. He died in my arms, the blade killed the demon and Michael bled to death.” His hand was shaking as he raised his glass to down the rest of the whiskey. “I have never before or since felt that kind of rage.”

He didn’t look up as he set his glass on the coffee table. “If my powers had been loose, Boston wouldn’t exist.” He closed his eyes, feeling a vague remnant of that pain and rage. He closed it off again quickly. It wouldn’t help him through this. “I wanted revenge. I wanted blood.”

This was the heart of it. The start of a cascade of events that had followed him long after he had come to be with Dean and Dana and John. He’d set up a careful list of memories, specific images…in a set order. Walled it up and made it so nothing else would get in. He took a few deep breathes to steady his resolve and opened his eyes, grabbing first Dean, then his father with those eyes. “I’m ready to show you….if you’re ready to see.”

For the first time since they’d started this sharing thing he saw a flicker of doubt in Dean’s eyes, but it was gone quickly. This was big and they both recognized it. “How do you want to do this?” John asked and Sam nodded to the couch.

“Sit with Dean. I’ll need to be touching you to keep a solid connection…since we don’t have a rapport like Dean and I do.”

John heaved himself up and out of the chair, sinking to a seat beside Dean. Sam concentrated on them, ignoring the growing pit of panic in his stomach. Once he did this…once they knew…some part of him still believed they’d hate him…send him away…but it was a smaller part now than it had been months before.

Dean was right. This thing still ate at him all these years later…it formed the basis of his self-hatred…and until he faced it, until he accepted it, he’d never escape it.

Sam paced a little in front of them, working up the courage to do it. Dean’s mind glazed over his, gentle, comforting. Sam opened to it a little, let Dean in, let his love fill him up until he felt the weight lift. So proud of you. Sam could still feel the concern, but it was outweighed by the sheer force of Dean’s affection.

“Okay…” He went to one knee on the floor between them, one hand taking Dean’s, the other taking John’s. “I’m going to keep this pretty controlled.” He was looking at John, but the words were mostly for Dean. “I have a series of things to show you. I’m going to take you through them quickly…and…we can…talk…after.”

John nodded, then glanced at Dean. Dean squinted at Sam, as if trying to determine how concerned he should be. Sam squeezed his hand, then closed his eyes. He rubbed lightly against Dean, then opened the connection up, then reached out for John. He heard John gasp as he recognized Sam, as Sam pulled him in and John only hesitated slightly before he followed Sam, through metaphorical corridors up to a door.

Through that door lay Sam’s darkest secrets. Inside that room the darkness of his soul was hidden…and once he opened that door, they would know, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Sam pushed it open, and ushered them inside.

It was a small space, confined to keep everything contained. Darkness swirled around their feet, coalescing into figures that rose and fell and faded back into the smoky mist. The walls moved from blood red to maroon and black and back again. Everything was in movement around them. Dean clung to Sam, turning as he caught a sound like laughter.

Focus Dean.

Sam held them close and faced them into a forming figure. It rose up out of the ground and everything shifted. Suddenly Sam was gone from between them, inhabiting the memory as the figure became solid…became a man, tall, blond…staggering back into Sam’s arms.

”Michael!” Sam’s hands tried to staunch the wound, tears streaming down his face. “No!”

“Get ‘em for me, eh Sammy? Get them for this.”

Sam’s head tilted back and he screamed, then everything shifted. Sam was still on his knees, and Dean recognized the room as the temple room where they’d killed the demon Asmodai. Dean could feel the rage exploding out of Sam as he cast his spell…summoning a demon, Dean realized. He stumbled forward.

Vaguely he felt his father behind him…but it was Sam that he was drawn to…until he was Sam.

Power flowed through him…the words of the summoning flowing off his tongue as easily as his own name…then it was there…Black and forbidding, laughing as it formed and Sam sat back, then stood.

”Samuel.”

“Michael is dead.”

“As is my brother.”

“I want revenge.”

The demon circled him, examining him. “What do you seek in calling me here?”

“The strength to take my vengeance.” Sam replied.

“You understand the price you will pay?”

Sam nodded tightly. “You inhabit me and we kill them, then I must serve your needs.”

“You will be mine whenever I have need of you…to do whatever I deem necessary.”

Sam nodded again. “I’m ready.”

Dean got the impression the thing was smiling, grinning as it began moving faster in circles around him.

“Let me in and we will deal with them together, Sam. Your enemies will be my enemies and my enemies yours. We will wreak damnation on them together.”

Sam’s arms spread open wide, a sick smile on his face. “Come then Andras, and fill me, honor me with your touch. Give me the strength to deal death to those who have killed those I love.”


Dean gasped as he felt it, as Sam opened his mouth and inhaled, welcoming the demon into his body, felt the presence fill him, the murderous rage growing within him, strength unlike anything he’d ever felt flowing through him.

It was…intoxicating and unbelievable and more words he couldn’t begin to associate. Then the room was spinning again and Dean was in another place…deep inside Sam…it was dark and horrifying and there was a voice begging for it to be over.

His eyes opened and there was blood…everywhere…Sam was no longer controlling his body. A man was bound to a wall, bleeding from his nose and mouth…even his eyes bled. Sam held a small girl by the throat.

”Thought you could hide her from us, did you?” Sam’s voice, but not, slithered over the man, even as Sam leaned in close and licked the blood from his face. “Pretty little Tabitha…you took her from her mommy and you brought her here…didn’t you Hank? Did you think she could use the knife?”

Hank shook, his eyes filled with pleading. “She did…didn’t she? That boy…the other one they sent, he’s dead, isn’t he?”

Sam’s body reverberated with fury and the girl gurgled, her little hands pulling on his. “I have what I came for, Hank.” Sam held up the knife and then tucked it through his belt. “You’re only alive to watch them suffer and die…Sam likes it when you bleed for him…likes the little girl too…thinks maybe she’d make a good pet…”

Dean could feel Sam’s revulsion, and something else…the pleasure…the demon’s pleasure. It filled Sam’s mind with visions of what he could do to the girl…what he wanted Sam to do to the girl…It was sickening…the way it manipulated Sam’s body…made him think he wanted it…that he could want such a thing.

“Please.”

At first Dean wasn’t sure whose voice it was, then Sam’s face turned, and the little girl’s eyes looked up into his…so mature for her age, pleading with Sam to kill her…to let it be over. Dean could almost hear her thoughts.

Then, Sam’s hand was squeezing….and the girl’s head lolled to the side. Sam dropped her as Hank screamed and Sam stumbled backward. The demon was laughing, though it was Sam’s voice, then it was spewing out of him, leaving Sam gasping for air, clutching at a throat gone raw.

Hank was begging, pleading. Sam growled, anger boiling up inside him…anger at himself, at Andras, at this man who had killed his Michael. He stooped to retrieve a wickedly curved blade and stalked toward Hank Hallins. A slice across the belly, a hack down to remove his genitals, and one down each side of his face and Sam turned away.

Suddenly Dean felt himself pushed up and out of Sam…and he was standing in the scene, his father beside him, and Sam turned to them. “This is what I needed you to see. I did this. Freely. I chose this. It took him over an hour to die.”

Sam crossed to a woman, roughly the same age as Hank.

“Marcia Hallins. Killed her first. She never saw me coming.” Sam rolled her over to show the grisly line of the wound across her throat. “Marcus and Harry. They were only 12. Cousins.”

Dean could smell the blood, the gore. It clung to Sam’s hands. He came close to them, anguish dripping from him along with the blood. “You have to understand, this is why I came here. Andras may have been inside me…may have given me power…but this…I chose this.”

“Sam.” Dean reached for him, but Sam pulled away, moved to stand amid the blood and bodies.

“No, Dean. I need you to see. I need you to not make excuses. Andras didn’t do this. He only made it possible.”

John reached for Dean, physically and mentally. He was pale and woozy. “Sam…Dad…it’s too much… too fast.”

“Shit.” Sam was back at their side instantly, the blood and gore gone…faded into the swirling black mist. “Okay…I’ve got you.”

Sam got them turned around, and brought them up and out quickly. John fell back against the back of the couch, his eyes closed. Dean reached a hand for him, warm skin against the back of his cold neck. “He’s freezing.”

“Pushed too hard. Let’s lay him down.”

Dean heaved up, while Sam turned John so that his head was on the couch. Dean lifted his legs and Sam brushed a hand over John’s forehead. “Hey…Dad? Can you hear me?”

“Sam?”

Sam smiled in relief. “Yeah. You okay?”

John blinked, then focused on Sam. John didn’t respond with words, just reached out and pulled his son close, hugging him as tight as he could manage from the awkward position.

“Um…Dad…Sam kinda needs to breathe.” Dean said softly, and John reluctantly let go. Sam sat back, his eyes dropping.

“I’m sorry. I was so caught up in what I needed, I forgot to pay attention to you, Dad. I’m used to dealing Dean and Dana …who know how to let me know when I’m…over the line.”

John cleared his throat and shook his head. “No. I’m fine. Just…not used to it.”

Sam nodded. “I know. And that was…intense. More than I usually share with Dean even, intense wise. Even Dana doesn’t quite get that…except for…you know…when she did…only, that was worse. Uncontrolled.” He was rambling. He looked up at Dean as if for guidance.

Dean nodded and pointed to the bottle of Jack. “Ready for a little drink, Dad?” Dean asked. He helped John sit up and took the glass from Sam when he handed it over.

“There was more,” John said, after downing the two fingers of Jack.

Sam shook his head. “Another time.” He stifled a yawn.

“I can handle it Sam. Now that I know what to expect.”

Sam shook his head. “It gets worse, Dad. We don’t have to do it now. It’s enough.”

“Give it to Dean then.” John said. Dean took Sam’s hand and raised it to his lips.

“It’s okay Sam. We can do it another time.”

“I thought you were the one who wanted him to do this.” John said.

“I do.” Dean downed his own shot of the alcohol. “The truth is, I wasn’t far behind you.” His voice was soft, and he saw Sam cringe. Dean hated himself for it. He reached for Sam, pulled him into his arms, hauling him up off the floor and into his lap. “I love you Sammy. I do. More than anything. Nothing changes that.” He poured as much of himself into Sam as he could, wanting him to feel the truth of that.

It rattled you.

Dean wrapped himself around Sam. “I’m not going to lie Sam. It did—does rattle me. It’s intense…and I’ve never felt that…power before. But it changes nothing.”

“It gets worse.”

“So you said.” Dean pressed a kiss to Sam’s forehead, then guided him to lay his head on Dean’s shoulder. It was awkward…fucking uncomfortable…but he needed Sam there. John reached over and took Sam’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. I’m so proud of you though…you know that?

Dean felt Sam relax, maybe for the first time all evening. Maybe it wasn’t everything…but it was more than he’d cajoled out of Sam all together since they’d started this thing. John handed Sam a drink and he started to refuse, but Dean took the glass and held it up to his brother’s mouth, like he was a child. Sam rolled his eyes, but drank it down.

Dean was about to say something about getting him up to bed before he passed out, when the door burst open and Dana burst in, covered in snow. “Guys…you have room for a reason.” Dana said, shrugging out of her coat.

“I thought you were going to the Christmas skating thing with Scott.” Dean said, shifting Sam, who was suddenly much closer to sleep than he had been.

“We got snowed out. It’s coming down pretty heavy out there. What’s up?”

“Nothing for you to worry yourself over.” John said, moving to get up off the couch, then reaching to help Sam up.

“Is Sam okay?” Dana asked, coming closer, then her eyes widened and she looked directly at John. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. To both.” John answered, hefting Sam’s weight up.

Which of course meant the answer was no, to both. Dean squinted up at his father, trying to determine how bad it was. “Dana, wait down here. Let us get Sam settled in.”

Not for the first time, Dean wished he had Sam or Dana’s ability to get past the thick heads around him. His father’s face was a mask of concentration as they maneuvered Sam up the stairs and into bed. Dean moved to pull off his shoes and pants, then pulled a blanket up over him.

“Downstairs.” Dean said when his father looked like he was going to just stand there, watching Sam.

John looked up, as if surprised by Dean’s voice, by the fact that he wasn’t alone. “Yeah. Right.”

Dean bent to kiss Sam’s forehead. Love you. Always.

“Dana, block Sam off. He can’t hear this.” Dean said as he hit the bottom of the stairs. John was sitting dully on the chair, Dana behind him, rubbing his shoulders.

Dana’s eyes went wide, but she nodded. He felt it, the wall that went up over his head, cutting him off from the feeling of Sam. She squinted at him. “He’s not going to sleep for long. He’s not done with whatever it is you guys were doing.”

Dean nodded and rounded on his father. “Sam was showing us memories. Really bad memories. He had to stop because Dad was having trouble.”

“He needs to finish, or it’ll get bad again.” Dana said.

“Yeah, I get that. Dad?”

John blinked and looked up. “Yeah…”

“You need to get it under control Dad. He can’t see you like this again. He needs you to be okay, he needs you to forgive him for what you saw.”

John swallowed hard and lowered his head in his hands. “I know Dean. I know.”

“Do you?” Dean perched on the coffee table and grabbed his father’s hands. “More importantly, can you?”

John’s eyes closed and he spent a few minutes just breathing. “It…I had an idea…but that…I’ve never seen…felt…God Dean.”

Dean rubbed his hands along the back of his father’s. “I know. It took a lot for him to do this, Dad. You have no idea. This is it. This is the core of it all. He can’t forgive himself until he knows that we can forgive him.”

“Oh my god.” Dana sank to one knee beside the chair. “The possession. He showed you…all those people…that little girl.”

“He said there was more. That it’s worse.” Dean said, looking at his daughter.

She nodded. “There is.” She shuddered. “I didn’t think…he keeps this so…deep. No wonder he was acting so strange earlier.”

“Dad?”

John pulled a hand free to run over his face. “Yeah, I’m trying Dean.”

Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek. “We have to let him get through whatever it is he thinks is worse than this.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Okay, look. I don’t know how much you got pulled into that, but I was inside Sam. He thinks he wanted that. He thinks it was his choice, you heard him say that. But inside? The part of him not under the demon’s control? He didn’t want that…he was begging for Andras to end it. He doesn’t realize how much of his conscious memory was manipulated by the demon.”

John nodded slowly. Dana’s hand slid over his and Dean’s. “Papa, the reason this is so hard for Sam is because of what he believes about that time, not necessarily what he actually did or didn’t do.” She licked her lips. “He believes he is responsible for everything Andras did because he invited the demon into him. But he didn’t know what Andras would demand. He didn’t know that Andras would make him feel…pleasure doing those things. Part of that disgusted him even then, but it still felt good.”

“And I think that’s the core here. The pleasure. It’s something he still feels. Sense memory is a funny thing, you know?” Dean said, sitting back. “When he has those nightmares, even through the terror and anguish, there’s a measure of pleasure.”

John squinted at him. “Are you telling me he gets aroused when he dreams these things?”

Dean met his eyes squarely. “Sometimes, yes.”

John sighed deeply, then stood. “I need…some air. I’ll be outside.”

Dean reached for the bottle of Jack and poured himself a little, then looked up at Dana. “I need you to do something. Something I’ve never asked you before.”

Dana straightened up, her green eyes meeting his as she nodded. “Anything, Dad. You know that.”

Dean licked his lips. “Read Papa.”

She started. “What?”

“I need to know he’s okay, Dana.”

“Without his permission?”

“Without his knowing, if you can manage it.”

She ran a hand through her hair. “But, it’s Papa.” She stood up and paced a little. “I mean…I’ve never…not once. Okay…I’ve put my thoughts in there…couple of times…but I’ve never…”

“I know, honey, I know. But I can’t let Sam near him if he can’t get past this. Sam couldn’t handle the rejection right now. Not when he came to us and gave this to us. He’s trusting that we’ll keep our word…that there’s nothing that’s too big.”

Dana sighed and nodded slowly. “Yeah. Okay. Just…give me space.”

“I’ll go check on Sam.”

Dana watched him go, then settled onto the couch. Read Papa. Like it was just that easy. Well…it was…except that it was Papa. She tried to settle herself, so that her touch was soft…unnoticeable. At first blush, he was calming down. Putting off vibes that she always associated with him. That wasn’t enough though. With a slow exhale, she moved past the surface.

Images from Sam’s mind played on endless repeat and she could almost see her Papa stalking in circles around them, trying to find a way in…a way to just accept it and move on.

She remembered how that felt. She remembered how she couldn’t shut them off…couldn’t keep them buried…and they just flowed over her for hours. She let a slow warmth build, so slow he wouldn’t recognize it as not his own. Then she approached the bundle of memories. Somewhere in there was the Sam who was afraid…who was terrified by what he’d let into the world. She had to help her Papa find him.

There. It was a brief moment, more a feeling than an action. She held on to it, waiting for him to notice…praying he noticed what she was holding on to and not notice her.

She felt the warmth flooding him, felt the love for the scared young man inside. She withdrew slowly, but not before she felt something she didn’t expect. Like a lingering caress of his hand down her back, Dana felt him touch her.

The door opened as she opened her eyes. John held up his hand before she could begin apologizing. “It’s okay Dana. I’m okay.”

She nodded. “Dad…he…asked me to.”

John nodded and crossed the room to sit beside her. “I figured. It’s okay. Really.”

“Really, really?”

He smiled, though it was a little strained. “Really, really. This is important, to both of them.”

“I know it’s hard.” Dana said gently. “Seeing him like that…and what’s coming is too.” She touched his cheek, chill from the outdoors. “Can I make it easier for you?”

His eyes met hers, the question clear in them. She nodded. “What came next…it’s different…and he hates himself more for it…it hurts in a totally different way. To you and Dad…I mean, if it were anyone but Sam…” She shivered and shook her head. “Okay…so…” She hesitated. She didn’t want to be the one holding on to her Papa when he saw those things…but maybe…if she could keep him distanced, he could react now, and not then…maybe that would make it easier for him to give Sam what he needed most.

“Maybe I could…set you up.” Dana said finally. “I can buffer you….show you some of it before you go up there, and then, hold back the stuff you don’t want Sam to see.”

“You could do that?”

She bit her lip and nodded. “Wish I could for both of you. But Dad’s used to seeing stuff…you’re not. He’s better at pushing stuff behind barriers where Sam can’t see.”

“Not exactly kosher though, is it?”

Dana shrugged. “Depends on who you ask. If you ask me, it saves you some pain, it’s worth it to me.”


Dean slid into bed beside Sam, his body lying along his left side, his mind reaching across the tiny distance. Sam was waking slowly, rubbing a thought across Dean’s mental fingers as he opened his eyes. “Hey. You let me sleep.”

“You looked like you needed it. Only about a half hour though.”

“Where’s Dad?”

“Downstairs with Dana. He’s okay.”

“You sure? I should have started with something smaller…he…it was too much.”

Dean kissed him, quick and light. “He’s fine, Sam. I’m fine. You…are really fine.” He kissed him again, lingering a little longer.

Sam shifted a little, and Dean sensed discomfort and anxiety. “Don’t, Sam. Don’t regret it. You…amazed me tonight.”

He sank into the pillow and captured Dean’s hand. I want to be happy. He kissed over the pads of Dean’s fingers and smiled almost shyly. “I want to be worthy of this.” Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Sam shook his head. “This trust you have in us. If I can’t give you the same, I’m not worthy of having you here in my life. I want to be able to give you that.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Sam. I want you. Just you, just like you are.”

Sam nodded. “I know. This is for me, Dean. I finally realized what it is you’ve been trying to get me to understand. I was ready to face it. I am ready. I just…need you to let me.”

“You are maybe the bravest man I know.” Dean said softly.

Sam looked up at him with an expression that said very clearly that Dean was dangerously close to chick-flick. Dean smiled as he moved in to kiss him, his tongue sliding into the warm cavern that was Sam’s mouth. “And the prettiest.”

“Not pretty.” Sam protested, but couldn’t say more as Dean’s mouth pressed over his again.

A throat was cleared at the door and Sam and Dean looked up. John and Dana stood there, watching. “What, we’re in our own room.” Dean said to the look on Dana’s face.

“Yeah. With the door wide open.”

“If you boys are done, maybe we can finish what we started?”

Sam sat up and Dean groaned. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

John shook his head. “I just needed a little time, Sam. If you’re still willing to share this with me, I’m ready.”

“We’re ready.” Dana added, coming to sit at the end of the bed.

“Dana, honey…I don’t think Sam needs—“

“Not leaving.” Dana said, cutting her father off. “It’s not like I don’t know. I’ve had these memories in my head for the last four years.”

Sam shook his head. “It’s okay Dean.” He sighed. “We’re family. If we’re going to do this…” He lifted Dean’s hand back to his lips and kissed over it, “…we might as well do it together.”

Dana grinned and settled in, beckoning John to join her. When he was settled, Dean turned to look at Sam. He could see him focusing, putting things in order. Still, when he spoke, it startled Dean.

“After Tabitha and Hank…things with my…family…were strained. I was working for the same demons they were, and he didn’t get to abuse me as much. I was due to start at Stanford that fall. But the summer…I traveled. I worked. Andras came and went, as he chose or as the job required. It got bad.” Sam opened his eyes and reached for Dean, his mind slipping warm and strong around him, drawing him in to the space outside that same door.

Dana and John were there then too. Sam seemed incredibly centered. “Tabitha was like me. She’d been stolen from her mother. Incredibly gifted, as was her mother.”

The door opened and they moved through it, into the misty, smoky swirls of time and memory. Sam moved away from them, into the center of the images appearing out of the mist. The room was dark, dominated by a bed. On that bed a woman was sprawled, naked. Sam stood near her, and Dean could tell just by looking at him that Andras was possessing him. He was smoking a cigarette, his back to the woman.

”Rest my dear. Sammy’s just a teenager, he has the balls to go again in about ten minutes.”

“Fuck you.”

The smile on Sam’s face was disgusting as he turned, the hand not holding the cigarette stroking over his naked body. “I think those honors belong to you.” He moved closer, his finger dragging through the blood and come oozing from her body. “Over and over…until I get what I want.”

“What? What do you want?” She tried to pull away, but it was obvious the demon was holding her down.

Sam cocked his head. “To replace your daughter, of course. Sammy here killed her before I could take her some place and wrest her power from her. So it’s only fair I make him make me a new one, don’t you think?”

The scene shifted…Dean swallowed hard. Somehow, he knew days, even weeks had passed. Sam was putting on his jacket.

”Now, Janet. I’m going to leave you. You take care of that little bundle we put inside you, okay? Sammy will come around in about 9 months to collect it.”

He leaned forward, kissed her obscenely.

”Don’t even think about trying to abort it. I’ve made sure that if you try, it will kill you too.”

The images dissolved into mists and Sam stepped out of the memory, back toward them. He was somber, quiet and still intensely focused. “I didn’t choose this. Not directly. But I knew that Andras had something he wanted from me. Knew it before I ever invited him in. I knew the cost.” He hung his head and closed his eyes. “I raped her, repeatedly…over the course of three weeks. When we left her, she was pregnant.”

He let that sink in, turned away. The scene shifted, images rising from the smoke. Janet in a hospital room, holding an infant son. Sam was suddenly there, at her side. He wasn’t possessed, but looked nearly as though he was. In fact, he reminded Dean of the Sam he’d known when they were first together…dark, dangerous.

”Give me the boy.”

“No. You don’t have to do this.” Janet’s face was filled with pleading. She clutched the infant closer.

“It’s my son.” Sam’s large hands reached forward, wresting the child from her. She started to scream and he backhanded her, hard. Then he was leaning in, licking her face. “We had some fun, didn’t we? Want some more? Maybe now that we’re done with the baby making you can suck my cock?’

She was shaking and her hands tried to get to the baby, her mouth choking around whimpers. “You’re going to make me kill you, aren’t you? Fine. Have it your way.”

There was a knife, a slicing motion, and her mewling stopped as blood oozed up out of her open neck. Sam pocketed the knife, blood and all, and cooed at the baby as he left the room.

The images melted and no one moved. Dean was vaguely aware that Dana was holding John, in more ways than one. He reached for Sam, but Sam didn’t come. Slowly, he turned around, still holding the infant. “I named him Michael. Michael Allen Winchester. He’s my son.” Sam’s eyes rose slowly to Dean’s, they were dark, pained.

The focus was fraying, Dean could see it. “But they didn’t let me keep him. I gave him to a family like the one that raised me. One of the surrogates.”

The infant disappeared. Sam turned away again. “I didn’t see him again…not for a long time. Not that I didn’t try. He would have been four when we met. Seven when I promised to stay.”

Sam hung his head. “It wasn’t until Kansas City. Twelve years later. It was a chance meeting. I was doing…a job…had to deal with some shady folks. He was with one of them. There to make sure I didn’t cheat them. I knew it the moment I saw him.”

The mist swirled up and around him, pulling him away. The boy was tall, dusty brown hair that had seen a lot of sun, and glittering blue-green eyes that told stories twelve year old eyes shouldn’t even know.

“He didn’t know me…but he knew I wasn’t one of them.”

Something changed and Dean was inside Sam again, a strange voice in his head…an endless litany, helpme-saveme-helpme. Somehow Sam managed to bargain, completed his deal, then flicked his eyes over the boy. “How much for the kid?”

The smarmy man who was handing Sam money laughed. “Boy’s not for sale.”

“Come on, there’s a price for everything. I could use a kid like that.”

“You want him, you fight for him like everyone.”

“Fight?”

“Yeah, fight. Got a tourney coming up. The kid’s the prize.”

“What’s the buy in?”

“Twice what you got in your hand.”

“Rules?”

“Don’t die.”

Once again the room transformed and they were surrounded by people. Sam was on his back in a ring of beaten earth, a vampire latching onto his neck. Dean could feel his fingers fumble with a lighter, felt the fight to get a foot up between them. Then the vampire was ablaze and gone and Sam was left on the floor alone. The kid was there, kneeling beside him.

“Lie still. I can help.”

Sam’s body trembled with far more than just his injuries. “Not here, we have to go, before someone changes their mind. Help me up.”

The kid was twelve…maybe thirteen…which would have put it right around the time Dana was 9…and the two day trip that had turned into four and Sam came home banged up with a story about a mugging…but with no boy.

The room shifted and they were outside. Sam was leaning heavily on Michael. Just as they reached a car and Sam was fumbling for his keys, a man with black, blown out eyes approached, chuckling.

”Well, well, Samuel. You don’t disappoint, do you?”

Sam stiffened and turned. “Back the fuck off Andras. I won, far and square. I’ve jumped through all of your fucking hoops. The boy is mine.”

“As I recall he is also part mine.”

The man’s hand struck out, closing it around Michael’s throat. His eyes fluttered closed as if he were savoring something.

“Oh, he’s got power, Samuel….we made him strong…the three of us.”

“We didn’t do anything Andras. Back the fuck off.”

“Oh…Mikey, your Daddy’s getting all territorial. I thought that was the mother’s job…oh, that’s right…he killed her.”

Michael looked at Sam. “You killed my mother?”

Dean felt himself shoved back, out of Sam as a new kind of pain grew in his stomach.

“It was a long time ago. I was different. I came to get you.”

Sam was shaking again. Dean tried to get closer, get back inside, but Sam held him away.

”Michael…I can help you. All you have to do is invite me in.”

“No…Michael. Come with me. I…you have family…an uncle…a grandfather….a cousin. Me.”

“Invite me, Michael…we can take vengeance on everyone who’s ever wronged you…the people who abused you…the one who gave you away to them.”

Sam lunged forward but Michael was already saying the words and the man opened his mouth, spewing out the black, inkiness of Andras. It swirled above them for a moment, then swooped down, enveloping Michael before invading into him.

“NO!”

Sam’s hand closed around Michael’s wrist, pulling him forward just as a shot rang out and Michael’s face froze. Andras came flying out of him before even getting fully inside. Michael fell forward, fell into Sam. Sam looked around them, trying to find the shooter.

The gun in his hand seemed out of place with the collar at his neck under his sports jacket, or it would have if Dean didn’t recognize the face.

“What did you do?” Sam asked.

“I’m pretty sure I saved your life, son.”

Sam shook his head, dragging Michael into his lap.

“Michael, look at me. Look at me.”

Michael’s face was slack, his eyes unfocused. Blood bloomed over his white shirt.

“What…what did you hit him with?”

“Blessed iron round. Was aiming at the demon that was still outside him, but he moved.” He squatted opposite Sam. “He’s dead, son.”

Sam shook his head, a tear slipping loose. “No…no…I was going to save him. I was going to redeem it all…make it okay…make it…he can’t be dead.”

Jim Murphy stood. “You should get out of here before the cops show up. Get yourself cleaned up.”

Everything faded but Sam and Michael. Sam looked up, tear stains on both cheeks though he wasn’t crying anymore. “I was going to bring him home to us…give him a life…and instead, I got him killed.”

There was silence then, even as Dana wrapped herself around all three of them and brought them out. For a long minute no one moved. Then John did, pulling Sam across the bed and into his lap, the same way Sam had been holding Michael. Sam took a deep breath, one that shuddered and turned quickly into a sob when John just held on…not moving, just holding Sam in his arms.

John’s eyes sought out Dana’s and she nodded. It felt odd, and Sam stiffened in surprise. Just want to show you something. His hands stroked Sam’s hair as Sam settled enough and John pulled up an image from the memories Sam had shared…a moment…here, Sam…here…

John felt it all over again…the fear, the anguish, the disgust…as Sam’s knife sliced open the Hallins boys…He cut through the demon’s emotions and turned Sam into his own…the screaming he did, the retching when it was all done.

Demons lie, Sammy…they lie…it wasn’t you. It was never you. He just wanted you to believe it was…so he could control you…change you…it’s not who you are.

Sam’s body heaved in dry sobs, burying his face into his father’s shoulder, even as Dana brought her father into the loop, filling him in as she did.

Dean reached for Sam’s hand and wrapped his fingers around it. Dana’s head came to rest on John’s other shoulder, her hand soothing over Sam’s leg, her tears hot as they splashed onto John’s arm. Dean’s eyes were wet too as they reached John’s.

“We’ll bring him home, Sam.” John whispered, his voice gruff with tears. “We’ll find him and bring him home…bury him with Mary.”

Sam only cried harder at the words, pulling Dean in close. “I’m sorry Dean. Never could tell you….hurt too much.”

Dean smiled through his tears and pressed a kiss to Sam’s cheek. “Love you. Always. Maybe more now than ever.”

“We should let Sam sleep.” John said as Sam sat up and yawned, wiping at his tear streaked face.

Dean brushed hair out of Sam’s face and nodded. “Yeah…it’s been a hard day.”

Sam caught Dean’s hand. “Stay with me?”

Dean nodded as John and Dana stood. “Yeah, okay.”

The grief was still there on the surface, a pain that Dean couldn’t believe he’d never noticed before. Dana and John hugged Sam good night and left the room. “Lay down.” Dean said softly, turning so he could lay beside him, their bodies close, but not quite touching except for the hand that Sam held. “I really do love you, Sam.” Dean said gently. “And I’d give anything to make it all better for you. Tell me what you need.”

You.

Dean smiled. “You have me.”

Sam nodded, stifling another yawn. I know. He lifted their joined hands. This…the trust you have in us. That’s what I need.

Dean leaned in and kissed him. “Always.”