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phantismaFandom: Supernatural
Title: Mother Mary Comes to Me
Pairing/Characters: John/Sam, Dean (mentions of Bobby and Pastor Jim)
Rating: NC-17 (very, very NC-17)
WARNINGS: Non-con/dub-con/Father-Son incest. Under age (Sam is 13-14). This is NOT pretty fic, people.
Word Count: 8378
Summary: Pre-Series AU. Sam sometimes reminds John of his mother. When John sees more than a resemblance, he lets himself believe something that can't possibly be true. Sam pays the price.
A/Ns: This story ocurred to me late the other night, and festered. I thought, what if John was deluded and believed that Mary could manifest in Sam? Why my brain thinks these things, I'll never know. But being my brain, it didn't stop there. The whole story spun out in my head over the following 24 hours until I had no choice but to write it just to get it out of my head. This is sad and painful. Serious Sammy whumpage. Title shamelessly stolen from the Beatles.
Mother Mary Comes to Me
“You know, sometimes when I look at you, I could swear I see your mother looking through your eyes.”
Sam smiles when his father says it, because his father is happy, smiling. That doesn’t happen too much anymore. Dean is off doing whatever it was Dean did and it was just Sam and his Dad. That doesn’t happen too often either. Sam likes it too.
They aren’t doing much of anything, Sam’s working on homework and his father is scouring a newspaper, looking for work. It’s quiet. John’s hand lifts, cups to Sam’s cheek. “Right there.”
He’s thirteen, and starting to get tall. He’s already put on inches since his birthday. They’re in an actual house this time, with three different bedrooms and Sam doesn’t have to listen to Dean talk in his sleep about whatever girl or monster he’s chasing.
He’s gone a lot, working a job that lets him get some exercise, and out at night hustling pool or hanging out with guys his age. Sam really only ever sees him on the weekends.
The smile fades from his father’s face and he gives up the newspaper for the bottle of whiskey, wandering out to the back porch. It makes Sam sad sometimes, because when he drinks, he cries and talks to Sam’s mother, and Sam doesn’t know how to make it better.
It’s early, but Sam decides to call it a night, because in the morning he’s supposed to go down to fish with Jake and his brother. He doesn’t know how, but Dad said it would be a good thing to learn.
He hears Dean stumble in somewhere after midnight and gets up to pee, checking to make sure his big brother is okay. He’s mostly asleep when his father comes up the stairs, pausing at Dean’s door, then Sam’s.
Sam lifts his head, looks when his father doesn’t leave. “You okay, Dad?”
His father stumbles into the room. He’s been crying, Sam can see the wetness on his face, the red in his eyes. John nods, his big hand petting over Sam’s face. “I miss her.”
Sam doesn’t really know what to say to that. He just nods and touches his father’s hand. His father’s head lowers and his body shakes. He smells like whiskey and cigarettes and Sam doesn’t know what to do, so he slides over in the bed, just like Dean used to for him when he was scared and lonely. It takes a minute for his father to move, setting aside the bottle and shucking off his jeans to slide into bed beside Sam.
“It’s going to be okay, Dad.” Sam whispers, just like Dean used to for him. “I’m here.” Sam kisses his forehead, his nose and John’s breath hitches, his eyes open, narrow, searching Sam’s face. Sam smiles softly and turns, nestling back against his father. John’s arms fold around him and Sam drifts back toward sleep.
His father murmurs in his hair, his mother’s name and a slurred “I love you” that pulls Sam up, not quite awake. He feels his father’s hands, on his stomach, his hip. He feels something else too. Sam opens his eyes, but doesn’t move.
He keeps whispering and Sam isn’t sure he realizes anything he’s saying or doing. His hips move against Sam, and something slides between Sam’s thighs.
“Mary.” he murmurs. There’s a rush of heat and his hands in Sam’s hair, his lips on Sam’s head. “Sleep.”
Sam feels him leave the bed, listens to him leave the room, but still he doesn’t move. Eventually he sleeps again.
He wakes early, as he usually does. His thighs feel sticky and when he pulls back the sheet there’s white stuff dried on them. In a wave he remembers his father and realizes that his father had come in his bed, between his legs.
He’s ashamed, feels sorry for his father and he goes to shower before anyone can notice, pulls the sheets off the bed to wash before he head’s out to Jake’s house to go fishing with his father.
***********
It isn’t right, the way he feels jealous when Dean and their father go off on a hunt and leave Sam at home behind salted doors and windows. Dean gets to do the good stuff. All Sam gets is training.
He fights the only way he knows how, picking fights with Dean and working harder for Dad, at least until the hunt when their dad comes home but Dean doesn’t.
His shirt is bloody, his face scratched up and he’s been crying when he pulls in at half past three in the morning. He’s in Sam’s room, on his knees by the bed.
“Dad?” Sam’s voice is shaky as he reaches for the blood on his shirt.
“Dean’s hurt.”
Sam’s eyes are wide, his eyes tearing up. “Where is he?”
“Hospital.”
Sam sits up, brushes a hand over his father’s face. “Is he okay?”
“They don’t know.” His father’s crying, his arms wrapping around Sam, his face in Sam’s lap. They sit that way for a long time, and when he lifts his head, his teary eyes blink up at Sam, seeing something in his face that Sam doesn’t understand. “Mary…” He shakes his head and drags in air, pulls a hand over his face.
“Let me help you.” Sam says soft, his hands snagging on the end of the shirt and tugging it up. At first his father doesn’t seem to understand, then he moves so Sam can get it off him. “You should shower.” Sam slips out of bed and slides an arm around his father’s waist, turning him and guiding him toward the bathroom.
He stands dully while Sam starts the shower and it isn’t until Sam reaches for his zipper and is tugging down his jeans that he seems to wake up, holding Sam away while he takes the jeans off and climbs into the shower.
Sam leaves him, goes to the kitchen for the bottle of whiskey and a glass. He’s waiting with it when his father comes from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. He follows him to his bedroom and hands him the glass.
“You should get some sleep.” Sam says, watching him drink down the whiskey.
He nods, but he doesn’t lay down. His eyes meet Sam’s and that look is there again, that look that Sam doesn’t understand. He reaches for Sam, big hands firm on his waist, pulls him in close until his face is buried in Sam’s stomach. It feels weird, Sam’s stomach quivering with his breath, and Sam’s hands end up in his hair, stroking over it, soothing him.
When John does lay down, he brings Sam with him, holding Sam close, whispering his mother’s name.
***********
Dean’s going to be fine, but the hospital is keeping him a while, at least until Dad decides he’s better enough to bail. Sam’s already got them packed up and ready for when it happens, because it will.
It’s three days before Sam comes home from school to find his father all ready half way into the bottle. He thinks that maybe it’s better than the last few days, with the constant drilling and target practice, because Dean’s accident has his father scared. Sam leaves him on the couch and heads into the kitchen to make dinner.
It’s nearly ready when his father stumbles into the room, puts the bottle down and mutters an apology.
Sam turns and runs smack into him. His father’s hands catch his shoulders, tilt his face back. “So much like her.” He blinks, slow, as if his eyelids are heavy and then they close and he sighs.
Sam isn’t sure what to do, so he stands there, looking up at his father. He’s startled when his father leans in, down, his lips brushing Sam’s forehead, over his cheek. “Mary.”
His mouth is hot and strange as it closes over Sam’s, his kiss far too intimate and far too grown up and far too weird for Sam to do more than offer a muffled sound of surprise. The sound escapes, opening his lips just enough for a tongue that isn’t his to slide into his mouth and Sam jumps, tries to pull back.
“Missed you so much.” he murmurs, his arms folding around Sam and hugging him close.
Sam shakes his head, breathes, tries to think. Finally he pushes back. “Dad?” He wipes his mouth and chews on his lip while his father opens his eyes. “You okay?”
“Sam?” His father squints at him, looks a little lost. “What…?”
But Sam isn’t about to tell his father that he kissed his son like that. He points to the table. “Dinner’s ready.”
He shuffles to the table and sits, dragging his bowl of macaroni and cheese to him. “You’re a good kid, Sammy.”
They eat quietly and Sam thinks that maybe whatever this was has passed as he gets up to clear his dishes. The nearly empty bottle sits on the counter. Sam lifts it and suddenly his father is behind him, reaching around him for it.
“I know you don’t like it when I drink,” his father says, his empty hand sliding up Sam’s back.
“No…it’s fine.” Sam responds, afraid to move. His father’s voice is different, softer, and there’s a quality to it that he’s never heard before. He hears his father swallow, then the bottle is back on the counter. Heavy hands are on his shoulders, turning him, caressing him. His father’s eyes are bloodshot and searching his face, looking for something.
Sam still doesn’t understand, but those eyes light up, his lips tug up in a soft smile. “There you are.”
His hand caresses over Sam’s face, cupping his cheek, and his father’s face fills the world of his vision as he leans in to kiss him. Sam backs up to the counter, pressed against it by his father’s body. “Dad?” His voice is little more than a squeak and he finds himself wishing Dean were home, because this is a little too much for him.
“Shh…it’s okay,” he whispers, his breath hot on Sam’s face. “Mary, it’s okay.”
His lips closed over Sam’s, his eyes shut, his hands holding Sam’s head. Sam’s heart thunders in his chest, his brain stuck on an unending loop of disbelief and fear.
When his father’s hand leaves his face, Sam pushes away, ducks around him, grabs at his books. “I have homework.” He races through the house and into his room, shutting the door before throwing his books on the bed.
What in hell is happening?
Sam paces around the room, trying to shake it off. It was just that his dad was drunk. That’s all. Drunk and seeing things. Although Sam doesn’t really understand that. Seeing what? His mother? Sam shakes his head and breathes deep. It was the alcohol. He’d be better in the morning.
But even as Sam settles in to work on his math homework, a part of him doesn’t believe that. A part of him remembers the strange night not long ago when his father climbed into his bed and came between his legs.
He doesn’t leave his room until nearly midnight when he slips down the hall to the bathroom. His father’s in the living room, Sam can see the light from the television. Things seem to have settled down, so Sam slips back to his room, turns out the light and climbs into bed in his boxers. It shouldn’t be long before Dean’s ready to be sprung from the hospital, and then they’d hit the road before the hospital bills started rolling in.
Sam feels the hand first, warm against his back. The bed shifts and Sam lifts his head. “Dad?”
His father’s body fills the bed next to him in the dark. His father’s breath grazes over his shoulder. His hand is on Sam’s back, under the sheet, low down, brushes the waistband of his boxers.
Lips press to his skin and Sam gasps. “Dad?”
“Need you so much.” John whispers over the skin on the back of Sam’s neck. It makes him shiver. That hand on his back sinks lower now, slipping under the boxers to caress warm and gentle over Sam’s ass.
“Dad, come on.” Sam tries to move, slide away, but he’s half trapped under his weight as he kisses over Sam’s back. Sam arches when his hand slides between his cheeks, brushing over his hole. “Dad!”
John only pushes him down a little more. “Easy…it’s okay…it’s okay, Mary.”
Sam shakes his head. “Don’t—“ His words die though when his father’s finger pushes into him. Sam pants and pushes to get away. This couldn’t be happening. “Miss you so much.” John’s body is moving, his free hand pushing at Sam’s boxers as his other hand pushed a second finger inside him.
“Dad!” Sam’s plaintive cry is lost to the pillow his face is pressing into as something decidedly not his father’s fingers presses in to him. His father is murmuring as his body pins Sam beneath him. Sam bucks, but John is heavy and drunk and whispering his mother’s name over and over.
Sam’s stomach is roiling and he’s going to be sick. He lifts his head from the pillow, gasping in air, hoping to keep it down. It hurts. It fucking hurts like fire and his face is wet with tears. Sam sobs as he finishes, falling against Sam before rolling off.
The room is quiet then, except for Sam crying into the pillow and his father’s breathing. It takes a minute for Sam to realize his father has passed out. He climbs to his feet shakily, backing away from the bed. His father’s snores echo in the room.
Sam’s stomach is twisting and he dashes for the bathroom, throwing up in the toilet. He flushes with a shaking hand and reaches tenderly for his ass. It’s hot and sore and his hand comes away wet. There’s come on his fingers, come that’s gone pink with blood. Sam rises up on trembling legs and starts the shower. He holds his ass open, hissing as the water rinses over him, washes the evidence away.
He wraps up in a robe when he steps out. It’s his father’s and its huge on him, but it’s comfortable and warm. His father is gone from his bed, but Sam can’t bring himself to return to it. He goes to Dean’s room, closes the door softly and climbs into his brother’s bed.
He doesn’t understand what just happened. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t. Couldn’t be.
Sam doesn’t sleep, not really, not until well after dawn. His father’s voice wakes him, rumbling through the hallway as he tramps down, talking on the phone. Sam shivers, looks around him, not entirely sure why he’s where he is.
Memory comes back to him in a flood and Sam draws in a shaky breath. He puts his feet on the floor and eases up. He’s sore, but it isn’t too bad. He walks to his room to dress, pausing to pull the sheets off the bed. He can smell his father on them and his stomach churns with the smell.
Sam shuffles into the kitchen and his father looks at him in surprise. “Call you back, Bobby.”
Sam doesn’t look at him, just goes about getting his breakfast. Maybe if he pretends nothing happened it would be okay.
“Sam? You all right?”
He stiffens, cereal in his hand, but doesn’t turn to face him. “I—yeah. Why?”
“It’s almost ten in the morning. Why aren’t you in school?”
Sam looks up at the clock, startled. “I—I wasn’t feeling good.”
John towers over him and Sam quivers. His big hand rises to his head, presses to his forehead. “Huh…no fever. You look flushed though.”
“I threw up.” Sam says dully.
“But you’re better now?”
Sam nods.
“Good. Come sit down.”
Sam goes, cereal forgotten in his hand. His father sits across from him, hands folded in front of him on the table. “I don’t know how much you remember.” He looks up, his eyes pinning Sam to his spot. “About last night, I mean.”
Sam feels his face flush. His father is going to talk about it. Like it’s normal or something. Sam breathes out slowly, sets the cereal on the table. “I—not much.” He lies. It’s easier to lie.
John nods, his own face red. “I wasn’t sure.” He rubs his hands over his face. “Your mother…she came to me last night.”
Sam can’t breathe. Can’t look away. His father’s face is earnest, open, loving. “She…she what?”
“It isn’t unheard of. Unusual, this long after she died, but…she…she manifested in you.”
Sam licks his lips and swallows. He’s pretty sure his father believes what he’s saying. “I—don’t know what to say.”
John nods, his hands sliding over the table to take Sam’s in his. “I know. I was scared at first, but she told me it was okay. She loves us, Sam.”
His father is losing his mind. That is clearly the only explanation. “Dad, I…” His eyes stray to the empty whiskey bottle.
His father nods. “I know. I was drunk. But I swear to you Sam. I saw her. She came to me.”
He wants to scream, to grab his father and shake him, make him realize what he’s done, but Sam can’t. Not when he sees the naked need in his father’s eyes, need for her. Need for everything he had with her. Everything he hasn’t had since she died. Sam slides to his feet, goes to his father, hugs him tightly. “I…I’m glad Dad.”
“I was worried we’d hurt you,” his father says softly. After a long moment, he sits back and looks up at Sam. “I’m going to see your brother. Want to come, since you’re home?”
Sam nods distractedly. “Is she…did she say…” He can’t get the words out.
He stands, his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Not for a while. It takes energy, you both need rest. She’ll come back when you’re both strong enough.”
***********
They don’t tell Dean about Mary, his father tells Sam that Dean wouldn’t understand, not yet. Sam is pretty sure that if he told Dean what happened, he’d kill their father.
Sam can’t do that, so he smiles while they talk and Dad tells Dean about a hunt in Mississippi and they decide Dean needs at least one more day in the hospital, though Sam thinks it’s mostly so that he can score with the hot nurse who gives him his sponge bath.
Two days later they drive out of town, leaving behind another school Sam never really adjusted too and a house Sam kinda liked, and the memories of what happened in it.
Dean’s not totally on his feet, but he’s well enough to give Sam a hard time about his hair and call him a girl when he protests the fast food Dad feeds them the next morning for breakfast.
It feels normal. And off kilter. Sam isn’t comfortable sitting between them, but he isn’t comfortable with either one of them alone either. Not for a few weeks anyway, when they settle down in a house where Dean gets the downstairs bedroom and Sam gets a room in the attic, and that leaves their father somewhere in the middle.
It’s sweltering in Mississipi in June and Sam sweats in his sleep in the muggy attic, but he feels safe there. Especially when Dad leaves them and goes off to hunt. Sam uses the time to read about spirits and manifestations. He’s pretty sure his father only saw what he wanted to because he was drunk, but maybe…
“Whatcha reading, squirt?” Dean asks as he flops into the chair and kicks his feet up on the coffee table, cracking open one of their father’s beers.
Sam responds by holding up the book, something he borrowed from Bobby a few weeks back when they passed by his place.
“Kinda thick for a kid, isn’t it?”
“I’m researching.” Sam responds, keeping his nose in the book.
“Researching what?”
“Just researching.”
Dean’s hand presses the book down and forces Sam to look at him. “You been weird since I got out of the hospital. What gives?”
Sam shakes his head. He’s not telling his brother that he thinks his father is off his rocker. “Nothing, I just want to help.”
Dean snorts and rocks back in the chair, flicking on the television. “No way Dad’s letting you help.”
They’re quiet for a while, then Sam looks up. “Dean, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” He takes a long drink from the beer and looks at Sam.
“Have you ever heard of a spirit manifesting through a person?”
“You mean like a demon?” Dean asks.
Sam shakes his head. “No, like a ghost. The spirit of a person, using another person.”
“Using a person for what?”
Sam shrugs. “Never mind.”
“No, tell me what you mean.”
Sam sighs and shuts the book. “Just something I was thinking about.”
“You got something going on in that geeky little head.”
Sam huffs and gets up to leave the room, but Dean catches his hand. “Is this about what happened to me?”
At least that Sam can answer honestly. “No…like I said, just trying to help.”
It’s two days before their father comes home and another whole day before Sam even sees him. He sleeps off his exhaustion and emerges from his room late in the afternoon.
Dean’s cooking dinner and Dad grins at Sam as he comes into the kitchen. “Want to go hunting with you’re old man?”
Dean turns from the stove to frown at his father. “You can’t be serious?”
He ruffles Sam’s hair. “Ghost two towns over. Nothing serious, I just need a second pair of hands to get the grave dug up.”
“I’ll come.” Dean says, putting the pot of soup on the table.
“Right, cause you’re up to digging.” He pulls out his chair and sits. “Sam can help. His big enough now.”
Sam isn’t sure he really wants to go, but his father seems proud to have him along, so Sam smiles and nods.
Dean frowns, but doesn’t argue.
The next morning Sam and his father drive away, leaving Dean on the porch, watching them go. They’re only in the car a little while before his father sighs. “So…it’s been a while.”
Sam nods cautiously. “I know.”
“I’m hoping it’s soon.” He glances at Sam, then the road, then back again. “You need to be ready.”
Sam hides the way his body tenses up by turning to look out the window. He can’t answer, can’t look at the hope in his father’s face.
“I’ve been reading. About manifestations.” Sam says softly a few miles down the road. He draws his feet up, wrapping his arms around his knees.
“That’s good, Sam.” He pats Sam’s knee. “It might make it easier next time if you know what’s happening.”
Sam doesn’t say anything else the rest of the way. He stares out the window and remembers how much it hurt the last time. He’d read about that too, but he doesn’t tell his father about that. Read about ways to make it hurt less. He doesn’t want it, but he’s afraid that won’t matter, so he’s ready. He has Vaseline in his bag.
He doesn’t tell his father that either.
The hunt is easy. His dad already knows where the body is buried. They check into a motel and wait for dark, scale the cemetery wall and take turns digging until they find the casket.
A simple salt and burn and they’re back out of the cemetery and stopping at the liquor store for a bottle of whiskey. The motel room is a little cold when they get back. Sam flops on the bed to watch television and ignore his father and the whiskey. He drifts off watching some inane sitcom with a really phony laugh track and wakes an hour or so later when his father’s weight makes the bed move.
Sam looks up through sleepy eyes. His father is petting down his back, whispering something Sam can’t quite hear. Sam moves to roll over, and John smiles at him, that look in his eyes. “Dad?”
His hand touches Sam’s face, his thumb brushing over his cheeks. “Missed you.”
Sam’s already shaking. He nods slowly, breathing loudly through his nose. “Brought you something.” John reaches to his bag on the other bed and a satin nightgown emerges. It’s white and shiny in the light of only the TV. “Will you wear it for me?”
Sam takes the nightgown as he sits up. “Yeah…just…give me a minute.” He grabs his own bag and takes the nightgown into the bathroom. He gets himself naked before he looks at himself in the mirror. He should put his clothes back on and leave. Just walk out the door. Call someone. Maybe Bobby.
Maybe this is something…more than just crazy. Maybe there was really something wrong with his dad.
“Mary?”
Sam huffs and opens his bag. “Just….just give me a minute.”
The Vaseline is thick and slick and Sam can’t look at his reflection as he reaches behind himself and rubs it over his hole. Holding his breath, he pushes a finger inside himself. “Fuck.” Even that little hurt. Sam breathes out and pulls out a little more of the goop, then pushes it up inside him.
He wipes his hands on the towel and slips the gown on. It’s long, brushing the floor. It looks wrong and disturbing, so Sam turns out the light and opens the door. His father turns, in nothing now but his boxers, his smile spreading.
“You’re so beautiful.”
Sam can’t imagine what it is his father is seeing as he crosses the room to take Sam’s hands, drawing him to the bed. Sam shakes, swallows, but instead of touching him, John pulls him to sit against him, his arm around Sam. He’s talking, telling him all about Dean and Sam, the boys. His hand makes slow circles on Sam’s hip, his breath moves Sam’s hair. Sam hopes maybe this will be it.
Maybe.
Eventually his words slow, and his lips press down into Sam’s hair. “Mary… god… Mary…I miss you so much.”
Sam’s surprised to hear himself whisper, “I know.” His hand pets over John’s. Kisses move down, over his forehead, cheeks, to his lips. His father’s eyes are shut tight, his lips sliding against Sam’s until Sam opens for him, then his tongue is in Sam’s mouth, pressing against his. John’s hands roam down his sides as he moves down on the bed, his body moving against the comforter, rubbing against Sam.
He kisses down Sam’s body and slowly rolls him onto his stomach. Sam’s body clenches defensively as John slides the slick fabric up, exposing Sam’s ass. His lips touch skin and Sam jumps. “Easy…” John murmurs and Sam grabs at the pillow under his head, scrunching it up under him. He bites into the pillow as John’s finger sinks into him, thicker than his own.
John makes some sound Sam can’t determine. “Good thinking.” His lips move over Sam’s ass, down his thighs while his fingers move in and out of him. All too soon his father is moving and his cock is there, pushing into him.
Sam presses his face into the pillow as he yells, hoping the pillow muffles it enough. Tears leak past tightly squeezed eyes. The bed rocks, his body pressed into it by the weight of his father. “Fuck.” It still hurts, burns, stretches. He blinks and tries to breathe. “Finish already,” he whispers into the head board.
John grunts and thrusts and falls onto him. Sam can feel the come inside him as he slips out, but instead of passing out, he pulls Sam to him, spooning around him and holding him. His hands pet down over Sam’s body. “Stay with me….just a little longer…”
Sam pants and nods while John settles, murmuring. When his deep breathing and gentle snores tell Sam he’s finally asleep, Sam slips from the bed. In the bathroom, he loses his dinner into the toilet, then pulls the negligee off him. His father’s come stains the back of it.
He drops it to the floor and climbs in the shower, once more washing away the evidence that his father had used him. There isn’t as much blood this time, but there’s more come.
He cries, sobbing until he throws up again and the water has run cold.
Sam towels off and put his boxers back on, tiptoeing through the room and stuffing the soiled nightgown into the bottom of his bag before he crawls into the empty bed, turning so he couldn’t see the sleeping hulk of his father.
His dad is sitting beside him, a cold cloth wiping over Sam’s face when he wakes. Sam starts, pulls back. His father smiles. “Thank you.”
Sam swallows and looks away.
“You okay?”
Sam nods haphazardly and he pats Sam’s knee. “Good. We should get on the road.” His father gets up and finishes stuffing things into his bag. “You want to shower before we go?”
Sam sits up, wincing as his ass protests. “I showered last night—um—after…”
He nods. “Your mother was beautiful last night.” Sam doesn’t have an answer to that, so he just gets up and pulls on his jeans. “You did good, last night Sam.”
Sam isn’t sure if he means the hunt, or the other, so he just nods.
“Your stomach okay?”
“Little queasy.” In fact, if he thinks too much about it, about what he did, he might throw up again.
“To be expected,” he says, and Sam thinks maybe this is more fucked up than even he realized. “We can skip breakfast, just head home?”
Sam nods. “Yeah, okay.” He fingers the slip of the gown he can feel as he shoves his gun into his bag. He’d put it on willingly, fed his father’s delusion. Maybe Sam was just as crazy.
Dad’s hand falls on his shoulder and Sam gathers up his bag, follows him out to the car. The ride home is quiet until they hit the outskirts of the town they’re squatting in. “I still think maybe the time isn’t right for your brother.”
Sam thinks the time may never be right for his brother to know about this. “Yeah. I know.”
***********
The summer’s nearly over and they’re leaving Mississippi in the morning. Dad’s bought a new truck, passing the Impala into Dean’s hands. He has reasons beyond Dean wanting the car.
“Keep it under a hundred,” he says as he passes the keys into Dean’s itching hands. “No getting pulled over.”
Dean rolls his eyes and snatches the keys with a grin. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Sam riding with me?”
His hand is on Sam’s shoulder and Sam knows, just knows. “We’ll catch up. Meet you at Jim’s place, okay?”
“Yeah? You sure?” But all Dean can think about is the car, Sam can see that.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Sam and I are going to scout out a place in Oklahoma on the way. We need to be in a place when school starts.”
Dean barely says goodbye as he’s out the door. And Dad sighs. “Last night here. Want pizza?”
“Sure. I’m gonna go finish packing.”
Sam climbs the stairs to his room slowly. He figures it’s been a while and the sending Dean ahead has to mean it’s going to happen tonight. He flicks on the light.
There’s a box on his bed. It has a note on it. A note in his father’s handwriting. Sam lifts it. “For Mary.”
In the box is a wig. It’s blond and long and Sam lifts it slowly. He stares at it for a long time before he puts it back into the box. His stomach does a slow churn as he turns to finish his packing, emptying his duffle bag so he can shove all his clothes into it. He’d forgotten the nightgown. He lifts it from where it’s fallen on the bed.
It’s stiff in the place where his father’s come had dried to it. He should have washed it. Sam sets it beside the wig and packs, setting his duffle by the stairs when his father calls him down for food.
They make small talk about the place Dad wants to check out for their next semester, some town in Oklahoma that’s in the middle of some mystic something or other and Sam’s upcoming school year. It’s nice. Normal.
He starts drinking about half way through the pizza, his eyes flicking to Sam’s, watching. Waiting. “Tonight?” John asks as Sam clears the table. There’s hope in the single word. Hope and a certain fear.
Sam nods. “I think maybe.”
His father smiles and Sam does too, echoing the expression, though he isn’t happy. Not really. He’s scared. Terrified of what is going to happen. When the pizza is gone and the napkins and paper plates thrown away, Sam stands waiting, not sure what to do.
His father drinks, lifting the bottle to pour again and again. Sam sighs. “I’ll go…um…” But he doesn’t know what to say, so he just goes. Up the stairs, into the attic room where he feels safe, to do something that makes him feel anything but safe.
He pulls off his clothes, stands naked in front of the dresser. The dresser is empty of everything except the Vaseline. Sam knows he has to do better this time. If he did it right, his father’s thrusting shouldn’t tear him inside like it had before.
He’s grateful that there’s no mirror over the dresser as he leans forward and uses two fingers to smear himself with the greasy ointment, slowly pressing them inside himself. He gasps and pushes past the resistance, works his fingers in and out. He can feel himself loosening, opening. It has to be better than before. Sam isn’t sure how much of this he can handle if it hurts like that every time.
He shakes his head, because, really? He hasn’t thought that far ahead. He tries not to think about it much at all except when he has no choice. Like now. Sam manages three fingers and that’s about all he can cope with, so he stops and turns to the bed. He pulls the nightgown on first. It’s uncomfortable where the stiff material rubs against his ass, but he ignores that and reaches for the wig.
He settles it on his head and he has to hold his arms around his stomach for a minute, just to keep from vomiting up the pizza that’s rolling around in his stomach.
He feels ridiculous and ashamed, his face hot as he goes to the stairs. He can hear his father pacing and almost retreats back into the safety of his room. But he knows it won’t be a safe place for long, not if his father is convinced that his mother had come.
Sam takes a deep breath and stumbles down the last few stairs. John is standing in the door to his bedroom in his underwear and he smiles, tears in his eyes. “Mary.”
He’s shaking as John takes his hand and draws him into the bedroom. “You’re cold.”
“I’m fine.” Sam’s voice is barely a whisper.
“I was afraid you weren’t coming.” John guides him to the bed, like the last time, sitting with his back to the headboard, and pulling Sam in to lean against him. “I have so much to tell you.”
Sam doesn’t really hear most of what his father says, he’s too worried about what comes after the talking. “Sam’s really smart, Mary. Like you. He’s been so good about this. I wish he could see you. I wish they could both see you.”
Sam stiffens and lifts up, shaking his head as he turns to him. “No. They can’t.”
The soft expression on his face fades a little. “I…I know.”
Sam licks his lips. His brother can’t ever know. “John.” His voice squeaks a little and Sam swallows. “Dean especially. He can’t know. He wouldn’t understand.”
John is nodding, reaching for him, pulling him in to kiss. Sam can taste the pizza, the whiskey. He doesn’t stiffen up as much as the last time, letting his mouth open with the first swipe of his tongue. The books all said it was easier if you relaxed.
Sam lays down, on his back. John slides over him, his hands pulling on the gown as his lips roam over Sam’s face. “So beautiful.”
Sam spreads his legs, making room for him between them. John’s hands roam up his legs, bending his knees and pushing them up. His cock touches Sam’s ass and he does his best not to tense up.
John’s cock is way bigger than his own fingers and Sam groans as he presses in. “Need you so much.” John whispers as he slides out and pushes back in. It hurts…not as much as before, but Sam’s body is slicked in sweat, his teeth clenching as John fills him.
The pain eases, if not the sense of being too full, and Sam’s eyes open. His father’s face is slack, his mouth open, his head back as he moves. Sam blinks back the tears, because they don’t help and with his face up his father might see them and think Sam knew.
John grunts and shifts his grip, his speed increasing just before he comes. Sam gasps for air and rolls to his side, letting him fall in behind him like before. They spoon together and for a while neither of them move or speak.
When he does, John’s voice is soft. “Mary?”
Sam shifts his head, rubbing the fake hair over his father’s chest in response. “What is it like? Out there?”
Sam’s heart skips and he has to take a breath to answer. “I…can’t say.”
John’s hand slides down his arm, over his hip. “Why…why did it take so long for you to come to me?”
Sam catches his hand, holds it for a second. “Sam…” He swallows. “Sam wasn’t ready.”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“Will you stay?”
“You know…I can’t.” Sam’s voice quavers and he’s sure his father is going to realize it isn’t his mother talking to him, but John just kisses his neck, pulls him closer.
“For now?”
Sam nods agreement, closing his eyes. John is quiet then, holding him close. Sam isn’t sure how long they lay there, but just as he’s beginning to think it’s over, John moves and it’s obvious that it isn’t.
Sam squeezes his eyes shut as his cock hardens and shifts and slides into him. And maybe it didn’t hurt as much as last time, but he’s already sore and John’s cock seems bigger somehow this second time. He’s slow, rocking their bodies together, whispering in Sam’s ear about how much he loves Mary and Sam’s stomach is sick…sick because he isn’t Mary and this is so wrong and it hurts…it fucking hurts and he wants to cry out, wants to scream and beg his father not to do this anymore, but he can’t…he can only lay there and pretend and let John finish.
When it’s over, Sam leaves him sleeping, goes to the bathroom for his throw-up and shower ritual. The sight in the mirror stops him. Blond hair all askew on his head, the white satin wrinkled. Tears burn over his face as he pulls the wig off and drops it, followed by the gown. The tears mix with the hot water as he turns the shower on full blast, his skin burning like his ass does, turning red in seconds.
He doesn’t wash, just stands there under the water, crying. His stomach is violent, crashing around inside him until he is kneeling beside the toilet again, dripping wet and vomiting until there isn’t anything left. Even then he waits, his stomach convulsing until it too hurts, joining the symphony of pain in his body.
He crawls out of the bathroom and up into his attic, crawls into bed because he can’t stand, can only curl around himself and cry himself to sleep.
Daylight is flooding in through his window when he wakes up, and his first thought is panic because they were supposed to leave at first light. His second thought is worse as he hears the creak on the stairs.
“Sam?”
He rolls over and tries to sit up, but his stomach muscles are tight and it hurts and he groans, gasps. Fuck, he hurts all over and he can’t sit up, can’t do more than whimper as his father sits on the side of the bed, his big hand sliding over Sam’s forehead. “Hey, you okay?”
Sam shakes his head, but that only makes it worse. He’s sure he’d be throwing up if he’d left anything of substance in his stomach. “I brought you some water.” His father cracks the bottle and holds it to Sam’s mouth. He sips at it, then lays back. His father’s hand strokes over his forehead, smoothing his unruly hair. Sam wants to turn away, hide, but his father’s face is so tender, so concerned.
He’s sweaty and shaky and it still fucking hurts, but he sits up, smiles for his father. “I…I was sick.”
His Dad nods. “I heard you. How’s it feel now?”
“Better.” Sam nods because he knows his father needs him to be okay. “My stomach muscles are sore.”
He hands Sam the bottle of water. “Drink this. You need to rehydrate. I’ll make you some toast.”
“What about Oklahoma?”
His father stops at the top of the stairs. “We’ll leave when you’re ready.”
***********
His father is attentive all the way to Oklahoma, stopping whenever Sam looks even a little queasy that whole first day. By the time it’s getting dark, Sam is mostly feeling better, though his ass hurts and sitting in the car all afternoon hasn’t helped it any.
They never actually make it to Jim’s, finding a small house in the outskirts of the town his Dad is interested in. Dean’s off helping Bobby with a hunt, so it doesn’t really matter.
The place isn’t as nice, and there’s only two bedrooms, so he’s back to sharing with Dean, but really, Sam doesn’t mind that as much as he used to. He knew nothing would happen with Dean in the same room.
Only Dean isn’t. Not yet.
It’s only been two weeks, and Sam can already see his father looking at him, wondering, waiting. Sam tries to ignore it, because he’s not sure he can handle another night like that, another day so sick he can’t move.
And maybe that should be getting better instead of worse, but it isn’t.
His father’s a third of the way into a bottle when it occurs to Sam that he can make it stop. He gets up from the couch and goes to his room, closing the door. He can tell his father it has to stop. He shakes his head. Mary can tell him it has to stop.
His dad would listen to her. Sam licks his lips and paces the room, trying to bring himself to pull out the wig and nightgown. He kneels by the bed, pulls out the bag he’s got them hidden in. Once more. He would put them on and tell his father it had to stop.
He strips fast, digs out the Vaseline to warm himself up, but he does it fast, wanting it to just be over. He puts the wig on his head and nods to himself before opening the door.
John looks up at him from his place on the couch. Sam steps out, moves slowly out to him.
“Mary?”
Sam nods slowly, goes to sit with him. John’s kiss is tender and Sam let’s himself melt into it, sitting on John’s knees, holding his face. “We can’t keep doing this.” Sam whispers.
John trembles. “I need you.”
“Sam…the boys need you.”
“Don’t leave me.”
Sam kisses him, touches his face to make him open his eyes. “We can’t keep doing this to Sam.” John nods slowly, tears rolling out of his eyes. “This has to be the last time.”
He slides to his feet, taking John’s hands and drawing him away, toward the bedroom. One last time. Sam can do this one last time.
“John.” He hesitates once they’re in the room. John’s hands on his hips, his mouth kissing over Sam’s shoulders. “Last time.”
“Last time.” He echoes the words as Sam lays on the bed, face down. His zipper is loud and it seems to echo around them as John moves behind him. Sam grabs a pillow, shoves it under his face as hands slide over his thighs, up to his ass. He bites into the pillow as John enters him, screaming silently at the burn, the stretch. His muscles protest, and his eyes leak tears, but he holds his breath because it will all be over…just as soon as John is done.
The bed creaks and groans and rocks under them as John fucks into him and Sam holds on…just holds on through the pain and humiliation. It’s almost over…almost…and John is moaning, grunting…and Sam can’t hold in the cry of pain as his thrusting goes deeper and harder.
“What the fuck!”
Sam looks up, through the tumble of blond hair, stunned…not as stunned as Dean though, who has his gun out, shoving at their father who is pulling out now, his cock spewing come over Sam’s ass as he stumbles back, and Sam scrambles off the bed, reaching for his brother.
“No…no…Dean…Dean…no…”
“What the fuck!” Dean’s screaming, spitting his words as his father falls back against the wall, his face a mask of horror as he stares at Sam, at Dean, grabbing Sam and shoving him out the door.
“Dean, no…it’s done.” Sam’s grabbing at Dean frantically, pulling at him.
“You sick…sick…fuck…” Dean’s hand is shaking, the gun wavering. He shoves Sam. Shoves him into the living room. “Stay there.” He stalks back to the room and Sam can hear him screaming at their father. The words aren’t making sense and Sam is shaking, gasping, throwing up on the floor of the living room.
“Sam…Sam…” Their father comes stumbling down the hall, Dean’s gun in his back.
“No!” Dean shoved him at the door. “Not a word. Get the fuck out or so help me, I’ll put a fucking bullet in your brain.”
The door slams shut and Sam doubles over again, vomiting all over the carpet. Dean’s hands touch him, slide over his back. “God, Sam…I’m sorry.”
Sam shakes his head and the wig falls off, falls into the pool of vomit on the floor and Sam can’t bring himself to talk. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Dean’s gentle, starts a shower, helps Sam out of the nightgown, and into the shower.
When the water’s gone cold, Sam gets out, wraps in a towel. Dean’s waiting in the bedroom with two beds, Sam’s bag on the bed. “Are you…I…” He shakes his head. “Holy fuck, Sammy. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t want you to.” Sam says softly. He reaches for the bag, pulls out sweats and a t-shirt.
“Did he.” Dean’s eyes close. “Are you hurt?”
Sam licks his lips, shakes his head. “It’s okay.”
“No Sam, it isn’t. It so isn’t okay.”
***********
They drive all night and most of the next day. They don’t really talk. Sam cries softly into his knees, hopes Dean doesn’t notice.
When they stop, they’re in the middle of nowhere. Dean stops the engine, but doesn’t get out.
“It was over.” Sam says softly. “I made him promise.”
Dean’s eyes close, his face pained. “Sam…how long?”
Sam looks at him. “He thought I was her.”
“He what?”
“Mom. He thought she came to him through me.”
Dean’s hands cover his face. “How long?” It’s muffled, but Sam can hear him.
“Almost a year.” He’s ashamed that he let it happen, that he didn’t tell someone. That he let his father believe he was his Mary. “But, it wasn’t…all the time. Only…” But he doesn’t really want to count.
Dean’s shoulders quake and Sam realizes his brother is crying. He can’t remember the last time he saw Dean cry. He reaches out to touch Dean’s arm and Dean inhales deep, raising his head. “He…he’s sick, Sam. You know that, right? You know Mom wouldn’t ever want…that.”
“I know.” And he does know. He’s known all along. Which only makes what he did worse. Maybe he’s sick too. “I wanted him to be happy.”
“I’m going to make sure he never hurts you again.” Dean sniffles. “We’ll go to Pastor Jim’s. He’ll…he’ll know what to do.”
Dean turns the engine over and pulls them back on the road. Sam’s tired of the silence, so he reaches over to turn the radio on. The Beatles pour out of the speakers, and the words burn in his ears the way his tears burn on his skin.
When I find myself in times of trouble,
mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness
she is standing right in front of me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.
And when the broken hearted people
living in the world agree,
there will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted
there is still a chance that they will see,
there will be an answer. let it be.
Let it be, let it be, .....
And when the night is cloudy,
there is still a light, that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music,
mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be, .....
Title: Mother Mary Comes to Me
Pairing/Characters: John/Sam, Dean (mentions of Bobby and Pastor Jim)
Rating: NC-17 (very, very NC-17)
WARNINGS: Non-con/dub-con/Father-Son incest. Under age (Sam is 13-14). This is NOT pretty fic, people.
Word Count: 8378
Summary: Pre-Series AU. Sam sometimes reminds John of his mother. When John sees more than a resemblance, he lets himself believe something that can't possibly be true. Sam pays the price.
A/Ns: This story ocurred to me late the other night, and festered. I thought, what if John was deluded and believed that Mary could manifest in Sam? Why my brain thinks these things, I'll never know. But being my brain, it didn't stop there. The whole story spun out in my head over the following 24 hours until I had no choice but to write it just to get it out of my head. This is sad and painful. Serious Sammy whumpage. Title shamelessly stolen from the Beatles.
Mother Mary Comes to Me
“You know, sometimes when I look at you, I could swear I see your mother looking through your eyes.”
Sam smiles when his father says it, because his father is happy, smiling. That doesn’t happen too much anymore. Dean is off doing whatever it was Dean did and it was just Sam and his Dad. That doesn’t happen too often either. Sam likes it too.
They aren’t doing much of anything, Sam’s working on homework and his father is scouring a newspaper, looking for work. It’s quiet. John’s hand lifts, cups to Sam’s cheek. “Right there.”
He’s thirteen, and starting to get tall. He’s already put on inches since his birthday. They’re in an actual house this time, with three different bedrooms and Sam doesn’t have to listen to Dean talk in his sleep about whatever girl or monster he’s chasing.
He’s gone a lot, working a job that lets him get some exercise, and out at night hustling pool or hanging out with guys his age. Sam really only ever sees him on the weekends.
The smile fades from his father’s face and he gives up the newspaper for the bottle of whiskey, wandering out to the back porch. It makes Sam sad sometimes, because when he drinks, he cries and talks to Sam’s mother, and Sam doesn’t know how to make it better.
It’s early, but Sam decides to call it a night, because in the morning he’s supposed to go down to fish with Jake and his brother. He doesn’t know how, but Dad said it would be a good thing to learn.
He hears Dean stumble in somewhere after midnight and gets up to pee, checking to make sure his big brother is okay. He’s mostly asleep when his father comes up the stairs, pausing at Dean’s door, then Sam’s.
Sam lifts his head, looks when his father doesn’t leave. “You okay, Dad?”
His father stumbles into the room. He’s been crying, Sam can see the wetness on his face, the red in his eyes. John nods, his big hand petting over Sam’s face. “I miss her.”
Sam doesn’t really know what to say to that. He just nods and touches his father’s hand. His father’s head lowers and his body shakes. He smells like whiskey and cigarettes and Sam doesn’t know what to do, so he slides over in the bed, just like Dean used to for him when he was scared and lonely. It takes a minute for his father to move, setting aside the bottle and shucking off his jeans to slide into bed beside Sam.
“It’s going to be okay, Dad.” Sam whispers, just like Dean used to for him. “I’m here.” Sam kisses his forehead, his nose and John’s breath hitches, his eyes open, narrow, searching Sam’s face. Sam smiles softly and turns, nestling back against his father. John’s arms fold around him and Sam drifts back toward sleep.
His father murmurs in his hair, his mother’s name and a slurred “I love you” that pulls Sam up, not quite awake. He feels his father’s hands, on his stomach, his hip. He feels something else too. Sam opens his eyes, but doesn’t move.
He keeps whispering and Sam isn’t sure he realizes anything he’s saying or doing. His hips move against Sam, and something slides between Sam’s thighs.
“Mary.” he murmurs. There’s a rush of heat and his hands in Sam’s hair, his lips on Sam’s head. “Sleep.”
Sam feels him leave the bed, listens to him leave the room, but still he doesn’t move. Eventually he sleeps again.
He wakes early, as he usually does. His thighs feel sticky and when he pulls back the sheet there’s white stuff dried on them. In a wave he remembers his father and realizes that his father had come in his bed, between his legs.
He’s ashamed, feels sorry for his father and he goes to shower before anyone can notice, pulls the sheets off the bed to wash before he head’s out to Jake’s house to go fishing with his father.
***********
It isn’t right, the way he feels jealous when Dean and their father go off on a hunt and leave Sam at home behind salted doors and windows. Dean gets to do the good stuff. All Sam gets is training.
He fights the only way he knows how, picking fights with Dean and working harder for Dad, at least until the hunt when their dad comes home but Dean doesn’t.
His shirt is bloody, his face scratched up and he’s been crying when he pulls in at half past three in the morning. He’s in Sam’s room, on his knees by the bed.
“Dad?” Sam’s voice is shaky as he reaches for the blood on his shirt.
“Dean’s hurt.”
Sam’s eyes are wide, his eyes tearing up. “Where is he?”
“Hospital.”
Sam sits up, brushes a hand over his father’s face. “Is he okay?”
“They don’t know.” His father’s crying, his arms wrapping around Sam, his face in Sam’s lap. They sit that way for a long time, and when he lifts his head, his teary eyes blink up at Sam, seeing something in his face that Sam doesn’t understand. “Mary…” He shakes his head and drags in air, pulls a hand over his face.
“Let me help you.” Sam says soft, his hands snagging on the end of the shirt and tugging it up. At first his father doesn’t seem to understand, then he moves so Sam can get it off him. “You should shower.” Sam slips out of bed and slides an arm around his father’s waist, turning him and guiding him toward the bathroom.
He stands dully while Sam starts the shower and it isn’t until Sam reaches for his zipper and is tugging down his jeans that he seems to wake up, holding Sam away while he takes the jeans off and climbs into the shower.
Sam leaves him, goes to the kitchen for the bottle of whiskey and a glass. He’s waiting with it when his father comes from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. He follows him to his bedroom and hands him the glass.
“You should get some sleep.” Sam says, watching him drink down the whiskey.
He nods, but he doesn’t lay down. His eyes meet Sam’s and that look is there again, that look that Sam doesn’t understand. He reaches for Sam, big hands firm on his waist, pulls him in close until his face is buried in Sam’s stomach. It feels weird, Sam’s stomach quivering with his breath, and Sam’s hands end up in his hair, stroking over it, soothing him.
When John does lay down, he brings Sam with him, holding Sam close, whispering his mother’s name.
***********
Dean’s going to be fine, but the hospital is keeping him a while, at least until Dad decides he’s better enough to bail. Sam’s already got them packed up and ready for when it happens, because it will.
It’s three days before Sam comes home from school to find his father all ready half way into the bottle. He thinks that maybe it’s better than the last few days, with the constant drilling and target practice, because Dean’s accident has his father scared. Sam leaves him on the couch and heads into the kitchen to make dinner.
It’s nearly ready when his father stumbles into the room, puts the bottle down and mutters an apology.
Sam turns and runs smack into him. His father’s hands catch his shoulders, tilt his face back. “So much like her.” He blinks, slow, as if his eyelids are heavy and then they close and he sighs.
Sam isn’t sure what to do, so he stands there, looking up at his father. He’s startled when his father leans in, down, his lips brushing Sam’s forehead, over his cheek. “Mary.”
His mouth is hot and strange as it closes over Sam’s, his kiss far too intimate and far too grown up and far too weird for Sam to do more than offer a muffled sound of surprise. The sound escapes, opening his lips just enough for a tongue that isn’t his to slide into his mouth and Sam jumps, tries to pull back.
“Missed you so much.” he murmurs, his arms folding around Sam and hugging him close.
Sam shakes his head, breathes, tries to think. Finally he pushes back. “Dad?” He wipes his mouth and chews on his lip while his father opens his eyes. “You okay?”
“Sam?” His father squints at him, looks a little lost. “What…?”
But Sam isn’t about to tell his father that he kissed his son like that. He points to the table. “Dinner’s ready.”
He shuffles to the table and sits, dragging his bowl of macaroni and cheese to him. “You’re a good kid, Sammy.”
They eat quietly and Sam thinks that maybe whatever this was has passed as he gets up to clear his dishes. The nearly empty bottle sits on the counter. Sam lifts it and suddenly his father is behind him, reaching around him for it.
“I know you don’t like it when I drink,” his father says, his empty hand sliding up Sam’s back.
“No…it’s fine.” Sam responds, afraid to move. His father’s voice is different, softer, and there’s a quality to it that he’s never heard before. He hears his father swallow, then the bottle is back on the counter. Heavy hands are on his shoulders, turning him, caressing him. His father’s eyes are bloodshot and searching his face, looking for something.
Sam still doesn’t understand, but those eyes light up, his lips tug up in a soft smile. “There you are.”
His hand caresses over Sam’s face, cupping his cheek, and his father’s face fills the world of his vision as he leans in to kiss him. Sam backs up to the counter, pressed against it by his father’s body. “Dad?” His voice is little more than a squeak and he finds himself wishing Dean were home, because this is a little too much for him.
“Shh…it’s okay,” he whispers, his breath hot on Sam’s face. “Mary, it’s okay.”
His lips closed over Sam’s, his eyes shut, his hands holding Sam’s head. Sam’s heart thunders in his chest, his brain stuck on an unending loop of disbelief and fear.
When his father’s hand leaves his face, Sam pushes away, ducks around him, grabs at his books. “I have homework.” He races through the house and into his room, shutting the door before throwing his books on the bed.
What in hell is happening?
Sam paces around the room, trying to shake it off. It was just that his dad was drunk. That’s all. Drunk and seeing things. Although Sam doesn’t really understand that. Seeing what? His mother? Sam shakes his head and breathes deep. It was the alcohol. He’d be better in the morning.
But even as Sam settles in to work on his math homework, a part of him doesn’t believe that. A part of him remembers the strange night not long ago when his father climbed into his bed and came between his legs.
He doesn’t leave his room until nearly midnight when he slips down the hall to the bathroom. His father’s in the living room, Sam can see the light from the television. Things seem to have settled down, so Sam slips back to his room, turns out the light and climbs into bed in his boxers. It shouldn’t be long before Dean’s ready to be sprung from the hospital, and then they’d hit the road before the hospital bills started rolling in.
Sam feels the hand first, warm against his back. The bed shifts and Sam lifts his head. “Dad?”
His father’s body fills the bed next to him in the dark. His father’s breath grazes over his shoulder. His hand is on Sam’s back, under the sheet, low down, brushes the waistband of his boxers.
Lips press to his skin and Sam gasps. “Dad?”
“Need you so much.” John whispers over the skin on the back of Sam’s neck. It makes him shiver. That hand on his back sinks lower now, slipping under the boxers to caress warm and gentle over Sam’s ass.
“Dad, come on.” Sam tries to move, slide away, but he’s half trapped under his weight as he kisses over Sam’s back. Sam arches when his hand slides between his cheeks, brushing over his hole. “Dad!”
John only pushes him down a little more. “Easy…it’s okay…it’s okay, Mary.”
Sam shakes his head. “Don’t—“ His words die though when his father’s finger pushes into him. Sam pants and pushes to get away. This couldn’t be happening. “Miss you so much.” John’s body is moving, his free hand pushing at Sam’s boxers as his other hand pushed a second finger inside him.
“Dad!” Sam’s plaintive cry is lost to the pillow his face is pressing into as something decidedly not his father’s fingers presses in to him. His father is murmuring as his body pins Sam beneath him. Sam bucks, but John is heavy and drunk and whispering his mother’s name over and over.
Sam’s stomach is roiling and he’s going to be sick. He lifts his head from the pillow, gasping in air, hoping to keep it down. It hurts. It fucking hurts like fire and his face is wet with tears. Sam sobs as he finishes, falling against Sam before rolling off.
The room is quiet then, except for Sam crying into the pillow and his father’s breathing. It takes a minute for Sam to realize his father has passed out. He climbs to his feet shakily, backing away from the bed. His father’s snores echo in the room.
Sam’s stomach is twisting and he dashes for the bathroom, throwing up in the toilet. He flushes with a shaking hand and reaches tenderly for his ass. It’s hot and sore and his hand comes away wet. There’s come on his fingers, come that’s gone pink with blood. Sam rises up on trembling legs and starts the shower. He holds his ass open, hissing as the water rinses over him, washes the evidence away.
He wraps up in a robe when he steps out. It’s his father’s and its huge on him, but it’s comfortable and warm. His father is gone from his bed, but Sam can’t bring himself to return to it. He goes to Dean’s room, closes the door softly and climbs into his brother’s bed.
He doesn’t understand what just happened. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t. Couldn’t be.
Sam doesn’t sleep, not really, not until well after dawn. His father’s voice wakes him, rumbling through the hallway as he tramps down, talking on the phone. Sam shivers, looks around him, not entirely sure why he’s where he is.
Memory comes back to him in a flood and Sam draws in a shaky breath. He puts his feet on the floor and eases up. He’s sore, but it isn’t too bad. He walks to his room to dress, pausing to pull the sheets off the bed. He can smell his father on them and his stomach churns with the smell.
Sam shuffles into the kitchen and his father looks at him in surprise. “Call you back, Bobby.”
Sam doesn’t look at him, just goes about getting his breakfast. Maybe if he pretends nothing happened it would be okay.
“Sam? You all right?”
He stiffens, cereal in his hand, but doesn’t turn to face him. “I—yeah. Why?”
“It’s almost ten in the morning. Why aren’t you in school?”
Sam looks up at the clock, startled. “I—I wasn’t feeling good.”
John towers over him and Sam quivers. His big hand rises to his head, presses to his forehead. “Huh…no fever. You look flushed though.”
“I threw up.” Sam says dully.
“But you’re better now?”
Sam nods.
“Good. Come sit down.”
Sam goes, cereal forgotten in his hand. His father sits across from him, hands folded in front of him on the table. “I don’t know how much you remember.” He looks up, his eyes pinning Sam to his spot. “About last night, I mean.”
Sam feels his face flush. His father is going to talk about it. Like it’s normal or something. Sam breathes out slowly, sets the cereal on the table. “I—not much.” He lies. It’s easier to lie.
John nods, his own face red. “I wasn’t sure.” He rubs his hands over his face. “Your mother…she came to me last night.”
Sam can’t breathe. Can’t look away. His father’s face is earnest, open, loving. “She…she what?”
“It isn’t unheard of. Unusual, this long after she died, but…she…she manifested in you.”
Sam licks his lips and swallows. He’s pretty sure his father believes what he’s saying. “I—don’t know what to say.”
John nods, his hands sliding over the table to take Sam’s in his. “I know. I was scared at first, but she told me it was okay. She loves us, Sam.”
His father is losing his mind. That is clearly the only explanation. “Dad, I…” His eyes stray to the empty whiskey bottle.
His father nods. “I know. I was drunk. But I swear to you Sam. I saw her. She came to me.”
He wants to scream, to grab his father and shake him, make him realize what he’s done, but Sam can’t. Not when he sees the naked need in his father’s eyes, need for her. Need for everything he had with her. Everything he hasn’t had since she died. Sam slides to his feet, goes to his father, hugs him tightly. “I…I’m glad Dad.”
“I was worried we’d hurt you,” his father says softly. After a long moment, he sits back and looks up at Sam. “I’m going to see your brother. Want to come, since you’re home?”
Sam nods distractedly. “Is she…did she say…” He can’t get the words out.
He stands, his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Not for a while. It takes energy, you both need rest. She’ll come back when you’re both strong enough.”
***********
They don’t tell Dean about Mary, his father tells Sam that Dean wouldn’t understand, not yet. Sam is pretty sure that if he told Dean what happened, he’d kill their father.
Sam can’t do that, so he smiles while they talk and Dad tells Dean about a hunt in Mississippi and they decide Dean needs at least one more day in the hospital, though Sam thinks it’s mostly so that he can score with the hot nurse who gives him his sponge bath.
Two days later they drive out of town, leaving behind another school Sam never really adjusted too and a house Sam kinda liked, and the memories of what happened in it.
Dean’s not totally on his feet, but he’s well enough to give Sam a hard time about his hair and call him a girl when he protests the fast food Dad feeds them the next morning for breakfast.
It feels normal. And off kilter. Sam isn’t comfortable sitting between them, but he isn’t comfortable with either one of them alone either. Not for a few weeks anyway, when they settle down in a house where Dean gets the downstairs bedroom and Sam gets a room in the attic, and that leaves their father somewhere in the middle.
It’s sweltering in Mississipi in June and Sam sweats in his sleep in the muggy attic, but he feels safe there. Especially when Dad leaves them and goes off to hunt. Sam uses the time to read about spirits and manifestations. He’s pretty sure his father only saw what he wanted to because he was drunk, but maybe…
“Whatcha reading, squirt?” Dean asks as he flops into the chair and kicks his feet up on the coffee table, cracking open one of their father’s beers.
Sam responds by holding up the book, something he borrowed from Bobby a few weeks back when they passed by his place.
“Kinda thick for a kid, isn’t it?”
“I’m researching.” Sam responds, keeping his nose in the book.
“Researching what?”
“Just researching.”
Dean’s hand presses the book down and forces Sam to look at him. “You been weird since I got out of the hospital. What gives?”
Sam shakes his head. He’s not telling his brother that he thinks his father is off his rocker. “Nothing, I just want to help.”
Dean snorts and rocks back in the chair, flicking on the television. “No way Dad’s letting you help.”
They’re quiet for a while, then Sam looks up. “Dean, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” He takes a long drink from the beer and looks at Sam.
“Have you ever heard of a spirit manifesting through a person?”
“You mean like a demon?” Dean asks.
Sam shakes his head. “No, like a ghost. The spirit of a person, using another person.”
“Using a person for what?”
Sam shrugs. “Never mind.”
“No, tell me what you mean.”
Sam sighs and shuts the book. “Just something I was thinking about.”
“You got something going on in that geeky little head.”
Sam huffs and gets up to leave the room, but Dean catches his hand. “Is this about what happened to me?”
At least that Sam can answer honestly. “No…like I said, just trying to help.”
It’s two days before their father comes home and another whole day before Sam even sees him. He sleeps off his exhaustion and emerges from his room late in the afternoon.
Dean’s cooking dinner and Dad grins at Sam as he comes into the kitchen. “Want to go hunting with you’re old man?”
Dean turns from the stove to frown at his father. “You can’t be serious?”
He ruffles Sam’s hair. “Ghost two towns over. Nothing serious, I just need a second pair of hands to get the grave dug up.”
“I’ll come.” Dean says, putting the pot of soup on the table.
“Right, cause you’re up to digging.” He pulls out his chair and sits. “Sam can help. His big enough now.”
Sam isn’t sure he really wants to go, but his father seems proud to have him along, so Sam smiles and nods.
Dean frowns, but doesn’t argue.
The next morning Sam and his father drive away, leaving Dean on the porch, watching them go. They’re only in the car a little while before his father sighs. “So…it’s been a while.”
Sam nods cautiously. “I know.”
“I’m hoping it’s soon.” He glances at Sam, then the road, then back again. “You need to be ready.”
Sam hides the way his body tenses up by turning to look out the window. He can’t answer, can’t look at the hope in his father’s face.
“I’ve been reading. About manifestations.” Sam says softly a few miles down the road. He draws his feet up, wrapping his arms around his knees.
“That’s good, Sam.” He pats Sam’s knee. “It might make it easier next time if you know what’s happening.”
Sam doesn’t say anything else the rest of the way. He stares out the window and remembers how much it hurt the last time. He’d read about that too, but he doesn’t tell his father about that. Read about ways to make it hurt less. He doesn’t want it, but he’s afraid that won’t matter, so he’s ready. He has Vaseline in his bag.
He doesn’t tell his father that either.
The hunt is easy. His dad already knows where the body is buried. They check into a motel and wait for dark, scale the cemetery wall and take turns digging until they find the casket.
A simple salt and burn and they’re back out of the cemetery and stopping at the liquor store for a bottle of whiskey. The motel room is a little cold when they get back. Sam flops on the bed to watch television and ignore his father and the whiskey. He drifts off watching some inane sitcom with a really phony laugh track and wakes an hour or so later when his father’s weight makes the bed move.
Sam looks up through sleepy eyes. His father is petting down his back, whispering something Sam can’t quite hear. Sam moves to roll over, and John smiles at him, that look in his eyes. “Dad?”
His hand touches Sam’s face, his thumb brushing over his cheeks. “Missed you.”
Sam’s already shaking. He nods slowly, breathing loudly through his nose. “Brought you something.” John reaches to his bag on the other bed and a satin nightgown emerges. It’s white and shiny in the light of only the TV. “Will you wear it for me?”
Sam takes the nightgown as he sits up. “Yeah…just…give me a minute.” He grabs his own bag and takes the nightgown into the bathroom. He gets himself naked before he looks at himself in the mirror. He should put his clothes back on and leave. Just walk out the door. Call someone. Maybe Bobby.
Maybe this is something…more than just crazy. Maybe there was really something wrong with his dad.
“Mary?”
Sam huffs and opens his bag. “Just….just give me a minute.”
The Vaseline is thick and slick and Sam can’t look at his reflection as he reaches behind himself and rubs it over his hole. Holding his breath, he pushes a finger inside himself. “Fuck.” Even that little hurt. Sam breathes out and pulls out a little more of the goop, then pushes it up inside him.
He wipes his hands on the towel and slips the gown on. It’s long, brushing the floor. It looks wrong and disturbing, so Sam turns out the light and opens the door. His father turns, in nothing now but his boxers, his smile spreading.
“You’re so beautiful.”
Sam can’t imagine what it is his father is seeing as he crosses the room to take Sam’s hands, drawing him to the bed. Sam shakes, swallows, but instead of touching him, John pulls him to sit against him, his arm around Sam. He’s talking, telling him all about Dean and Sam, the boys. His hand makes slow circles on Sam’s hip, his breath moves Sam’s hair. Sam hopes maybe this will be it.
Maybe.
Eventually his words slow, and his lips press down into Sam’s hair. “Mary… god… Mary…I miss you so much.”
Sam’s surprised to hear himself whisper, “I know.” His hand pets over John’s. Kisses move down, over his forehead, cheeks, to his lips. His father’s eyes are shut tight, his lips sliding against Sam’s until Sam opens for him, then his tongue is in Sam’s mouth, pressing against his. John’s hands roam down his sides as he moves down on the bed, his body moving against the comforter, rubbing against Sam.
He kisses down Sam’s body and slowly rolls him onto his stomach. Sam’s body clenches defensively as John slides the slick fabric up, exposing Sam’s ass. His lips touch skin and Sam jumps. “Easy…” John murmurs and Sam grabs at the pillow under his head, scrunching it up under him. He bites into the pillow as John’s finger sinks into him, thicker than his own.
John makes some sound Sam can’t determine. “Good thinking.” His lips move over Sam’s ass, down his thighs while his fingers move in and out of him. All too soon his father is moving and his cock is there, pushing into him.
Sam presses his face into the pillow as he yells, hoping the pillow muffles it enough. Tears leak past tightly squeezed eyes. The bed rocks, his body pressed into it by the weight of his father. “Fuck.” It still hurts, burns, stretches. He blinks and tries to breathe. “Finish already,” he whispers into the head board.
John grunts and thrusts and falls onto him. Sam can feel the come inside him as he slips out, but instead of passing out, he pulls Sam to him, spooning around him and holding him. His hands pet down over Sam’s body. “Stay with me….just a little longer…”
Sam pants and nods while John settles, murmuring. When his deep breathing and gentle snores tell Sam he’s finally asleep, Sam slips from the bed. In the bathroom, he loses his dinner into the toilet, then pulls the negligee off him. His father’s come stains the back of it.
He drops it to the floor and climbs in the shower, once more washing away the evidence that his father had used him. There isn’t as much blood this time, but there’s more come.
He cries, sobbing until he throws up again and the water has run cold.
Sam towels off and put his boxers back on, tiptoeing through the room and stuffing the soiled nightgown into the bottom of his bag before he crawls into the empty bed, turning so he couldn’t see the sleeping hulk of his father.
His dad is sitting beside him, a cold cloth wiping over Sam’s face when he wakes. Sam starts, pulls back. His father smiles. “Thank you.”
Sam swallows and looks away.
“You okay?”
Sam nods haphazardly and he pats Sam’s knee. “Good. We should get on the road.” His father gets up and finishes stuffing things into his bag. “You want to shower before we go?”
Sam sits up, wincing as his ass protests. “I showered last night—um—after…”
He nods. “Your mother was beautiful last night.” Sam doesn’t have an answer to that, so he just gets up and pulls on his jeans. “You did good, last night Sam.”
Sam isn’t sure if he means the hunt, or the other, so he just nods.
“Your stomach okay?”
“Little queasy.” In fact, if he thinks too much about it, about what he did, he might throw up again.
“To be expected,” he says, and Sam thinks maybe this is more fucked up than even he realized. “We can skip breakfast, just head home?”
Sam nods. “Yeah, okay.” He fingers the slip of the gown he can feel as he shoves his gun into his bag. He’d put it on willingly, fed his father’s delusion. Maybe Sam was just as crazy.
Dad’s hand falls on his shoulder and Sam gathers up his bag, follows him out to the car. The ride home is quiet until they hit the outskirts of the town they’re squatting in. “I still think maybe the time isn’t right for your brother.”
Sam thinks the time may never be right for his brother to know about this. “Yeah. I know.”
***********
The summer’s nearly over and they’re leaving Mississippi in the morning. Dad’s bought a new truck, passing the Impala into Dean’s hands. He has reasons beyond Dean wanting the car.
“Keep it under a hundred,” he says as he passes the keys into Dean’s itching hands. “No getting pulled over.”
Dean rolls his eyes and snatches the keys with a grin. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Sam riding with me?”
His hand is on Sam’s shoulder and Sam knows, just knows. “We’ll catch up. Meet you at Jim’s place, okay?”
“Yeah? You sure?” But all Dean can think about is the car, Sam can see that.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Sam and I are going to scout out a place in Oklahoma on the way. We need to be in a place when school starts.”
Dean barely says goodbye as he’s out the door. And Dad sighs. “Last night here. Want pizza?”
“Sure. I’m gonna go finish packing.”
Sam climbs the stairs to his room slowly. He figures it’s been a while and the sending Dean ahead has to mean it’s going to happen tonight. He flicks on the light.
There’s a box on his bed. It has a note on it. A note in his father’s handwriting. Sam lifts it. “For Mary.”
In the box is a wig. It’s blond and long and Sam lifts it slowly. He stares at it for a long time before he puts it back into the box. His stomach does a slow churn as he turns to finish his packing, emptying his duffle bag so he can shove all his clothes into it. He’d forgotten the nightgown. He lifts it from where it’s fallen on the bed.
It’s stiff in the place where his father’s come had dried to it. He should have washed it. Sam sets it beside the wig and packs, setting his duffle by the stairs when his father calls him down for food.
They make small talk about the place Dad wants to check out for their next semester, some town in Oklahoma that’s in the middle of some mystic something or other and Sam’s upcoming school year. It’s nice. Normal.
He starts drinking about half way through the pizza, his eyes flicking to Sam’s, watching. Waiting. “Tonight?” John asks as Sam clears the table. There’s hope in the single word. Hope and a certain fear.
Sam nods. “I think maybe.”
His father smiles and Sam does too, echoing the expression, though he isn’t happy. Not really. He’s scared. Terrified of what is going to happen. When the pizza is gone and the napkins and paper plates thrown away, Sam stands waiting, not sure what to do.
His father drinks, lifting the bottle to pour again and again. Sam sighs. “I’ll go…um…” But he doesn’t know what to say, so he just goes. Up the stairs, into the attic room where he feels safe, to do something that makes him feel anything but safe.
He pulls off his clothes, stands naked in front of the dresser. The dresser is empty of everything except the Vaseline. Sam knows he has to do better this time. If he did it right, his father’s thrusting shouldn’t tear him inside like it had before.
He’s grateful that there’s no mirror over the dresser as he leans forward and uses two fingers to smear himself with the greasy ointment, slowly pressing them inside himself. He gasps and pushes past the resistance, works his fingers in and out. He can feel himself loosening, opening. It has to be better than before. Sam isn’t sure how much of this he can handle if it hurts like that every time.
He shakes his head, because, really? He hasn’t thought that far ahead. He tries not to think about it much at all except when he has no choice. Like now. Sam manages three fingers and that’s about all he can cope with, so he stops and turns to the bed. He pulls the nightgown on first. It’s uncomfortable where the stiff material rubs against his ass, but he ignores that and reaches for the wig.
He settles it on his head and he has to hold his arms around his stomach for a minute, just to keep from vomiting up the pizza that’s rolling around in his stomach.
He feels ridiculous and ashamed, his face hot as he goes to the stairs. He can hear his father pacing and almost retreats back into the safety of his room. But he knows it won’t be a safe place for long, not if his father is convinced that his mother had come.
Sam takes a deep breath and stumbles down the last few stairs. John is standing in the door to his bedroom in his underwear and he smiles, tears in his eyes. “Mary.”
He’s shaking as John takes his hand and draws him into the bedroom. “You’re cold.”
“I’m fine.” Sam’s voice is barely a whisper.
“I was afraid you weren’t coming.” John guides him to the bed, like the last time, sitting with his back to the headboard, and pulling Sam in to lean against him. “I have so much to tell you.”
Sam doesn’t really hear most of what his father says, he’s too worried about what comes after the talking. “Sam’s really smart, Mary. Like you. He’s been so good about this. I wish he could see you. I wish they could both see you.”
Sam stiffens and lifts up, shaking his head as he turns to him. “No. They can’t.”
The soft expression on his face fades a little. “I…I know.”
Sam licks his lips. His brother can’t ever know. “John.” His voice squeaks a little and Sam swallows. “Dean especially. He can’t know. He wouldn’t understand.”
John is nodding, reaching for him, pulling him in to kiss. Sam can taste the pizza, the whiskey. He doesn’t stiffen up as much as the last time, letting his mouth open with the first swipe of his tongue. The books all said it was easier if you relaxed.
Sam lays down, on his back. John slides over him, his hands pulling on the gown as his lips roam over Sam’s face. “So beautiful.”
Sam spreads his legs, making room for him between them. John’s hands roam up his legs, bending his knees and pushing them up. His cock touches Sam’s ass and he does his best not to tense up.
John’s cock is way bigger than his own fingers and Sam groans as he presses in. “Need you so much.” John whispers as he slides out and pushes back in. It hurts…not as much as before, but Sam’s body is slicked in sweat, his teeth clenching as John fills him.
The pain eases, if not the sense of being too full, and Sam’s eyes open. His father’s face is slack, his mouth open, his head back as he moves. Sam blinks back the tears, because they don’t help and with his face up his father might see them and think Sam knew.
John grunts and shifts his grip, his speed increasing just before he comes. Sam gasps for air and rolls to his side, letting him fall in behind him like before. They spoon together and for a while neither of them move or speak.
When he does, John’s voice is soft. “Mary?”
Sam shifts his head, rubbing the fake hair over his father’s chest in response. “What is it like? Out there?”
Sam’s heart skips and he has to take a breath to answer. “I…can’t say.”
John’s hand slides down his arm, over his hip. “Why…why did it take so long for you to come to me?”
Sam catches his hand, holds it for a second. “Sam…” He swallows. “Sam wasn’t ready.”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“Will you stay?”
“You know…I can’t.” Sam’s voice quavers and he’s sure his father is going to realize it isn’t his mother talking to him, but John just kisses his neck, pulls him closer.
“For now?”
Sam nods agreement, closing his eyes. John is quiet then, holding him close. Sam isn’t sure how long they lay there, but just as he’s beginning to think it’s over, John moves and it’s obvious that it isn’t.
Sam squeezes his eyes shut as his cock hardens and shifts and slides into him. And maybe it didn’t hurt as much as last time, but he’s already sore and John’s cock seems bigger somehow this second time. He’s slow, rocking their bodies together, whispering in Sam’s ear about how much he loves Mary and Sam’s stomach is sick…sick because he isn’t Mary and this is so wrong and it hurts…it fucking hurts and he wants to cry out, wants to scream and beg his father not to do this anymore, but he can’t…he can only lay there and pretend and let John finish.
When it’s over, Sam leaves him sleeping, goes to the bathroom for his throw-up and shower ritual. The sight in the mirror stops him. Blond hair all askew on his head, the white satin wrinkled. Tears burn over his face as he pulls the wig off and drops it, followed by the gown. The tears mix with the hot water as he turns the shower on full blast, his skin burning like his ass does, turning red in seconds.
He doesn’t wash, just stands there under the water, crying. His stomach is violent, crashing around inside him until he is kneeling beside the toilet again, dripping wet and vomiting until there isn’t anything left. Even then he waits, his stomach convulsing until it too hurts, joining the symphony of pain in his body.
He crawls out of the bathroom and up into his attic, crawls into bed because he can’t stand, can only curl around himself and cry himself to sleep.
Daylight is flooding in through his window when he wakes up, and his first thought is panic because they were supposed to leave at first light. His second thought is worse as he hears the creak on the stairs.
“Sam?”
He rolls over and tries to sit up, but his stomach muscles are tight and it hurts and he groans, gasps. Fuck, he hurts all over and he can’t sit up, can’t do more than whimper as his father sits on the side of the bed, his big hand sliding over Sam’s forehead. “Hey, you okay?”
Sam shakes his head, but that only makes it worse. He’s sure he’d be throwing up if he’d left anything of substance in his stomach. “I brought you some water.” His father cracks the bottle and holds it to Sam’s mouth. He sips at it, then lays back. His father’s hand strokes over his forehead, smoothing his unruly hair. Sam wants to turn away, hide, but his father’s face is so tender, so concerned.
He’s sweaty and shaky and it still fucking hurts, but he sits up, smiles for his father. “I…I was sick.”
His Dad nods. “I heard you. How’s it feel now?”
“Better.” Sam nods because he knows his father needs him to be okay. “My stomach muscles are sore.”
He hands Sam the bottle of water. “Drink this. You need to rehydrate. I’ll make you some toast.”
“What about Oklahoma?”
His father stops at the top of the stairs. “We’ll leave when you’re ready.”
***********
His father is attentive all the way to Oklahoma, stopping whenever Sam looks even a little queasy that whole first day. By the time it’s getting dark, Sam is mostly feeling better, though his ass hurts and sitting in the car all afternoon hasn’t helped it any.
They never actually make it to Jim’s, finding a small house in the outskirts of the town his Dad is interested in. Dean’s off helping Bobby with a hunt, so it doesn’t really matter.
The place isn’t as nice, and there’s only two bedrooms, so he’s back to sharing with Dean, but really, Sam doesn’t mind that as much as he used to. He knew nothing would happen with Dean in the same room.
Only Dean isn’t. Not yet.
It’s only been two weeks, and Sam can already see his father looking at him, wondering, waiting. Sam tries to ignore it, because he’s not sure he can handle another night like that, another day so sick he can’t move.
And maybe that should be getting better instead of worse, but it isn’t.
His father’s a third of the way into a bottle when it occurs to Sam that he can make it stop. He gets up from the couch and goes to his room, closing the door. He can tell his father it has to stop. He shakes his head. Mary can tell him it has to stop.
His dad would listen to her. Sam licks his lips and paces the room, trying to bring himself to pull out the wig and nightgown. He kneels by the bed, pulls out the bag he’s got them hidden in. Once more. He would put them on and tell his father it had to stop.
He strips fast, digs out the Vaseline to warm himself up, but he does it fast, wanting it to just be over. He puts the wig on his head and nods to himself before opening the door.
John looks up at him from his place on the couch. Sam steps out, moves slowly out to him.
“Mary?”
Sam nods slowly, goes to sit with him. John’s kiss is tender and Sam let’s himself melt into it, sitting on John’s knees, holding his face. “We can’t keep doing this.” Sam whispers.
John trembles. “I need you.”
“Sam…the boys need you.”
“Don’t leave me.”
Sam kisses him, touches his face to make him open his eyes. “We can’t keep doing this to Sam.” John nods slowly, tears rolling out of his eyes. “This has to be the last time.”
He slides to his feet, taking John’s hands and drawing him away, toward the bedroom. One last time. Sam can do this one last time.
“John.” He hesitates once they’re in the room. John’s hands on his hips, his mouth kissing over Sam’s shoulders. “Last time.”
“Last time.” He echoes the words as Sam lays on the bed, face down. His zipper is loud and it seems to echo around them as John moves behind him. Sam grabs a pillow, shoves it under his face as hands slide over his thighs, up to his ass. He bites into the pillow as John enters him, screaming silently at the burn, the stretch. His muscles protest, and his eyes leak tears, but he holds his breath because it will all be over…just as soon as John is done.
The bed creaks and groans and rocks under them as John fucks into him and Sam holds on…just holds on through the pain and humiliation. It’s almost over…almost…and John is moaning, grunting…and Sam can’t hold in the cry of pain as his thrusting goes deeper and harder.
“What the fuck!”
Sam looks up, through the tumble of blond hair, stunned…not as stunned as Dean though, who has his gun out, shoving at their father who is pulling out now, his cock spewing come over Sam’s ass as he stumbles back, and Sam scrambles off the bed, reaching for his brother.
“No…no…Dean…Dean…no…”
“What the fuck!” Dean’s screaming, spitting his words as his father falls back against the wall, his face a mask of horror as he stares at Sam, at Dean, grabbing Sam and shoving him out the door.
“Dean, no…it’s done.” Sam’s grabbing at Dean frantically, pulling at him.
“You sick…sick…fuck…” Dean’s hand is shaking, the gun wavering. He shoves Sam. Shoves him into the living room. “Stay there.” He stalks back to the room and Sam can hear him screaming at their father. The words aren’t making sense and Sam is shaking, gasping, throwing up on the floor of the living room.
“Sam…Sam…” Their father comes stumbling down the hall, Dean’s gun in his back.
“No!” Dean shoved him at the door. “Not a word. Get the fuck out or so help me, I’ll put a fucking bullet in your brain.”
The door slams shut and Sam doubles over again, vomiting all over the carpet. Dean’s hands touch him, slide over his back. “God, Sam…I’m sorry.”
Sam shakes his head and the wig falls off, falls into the pool of vomit on the floor and Sam can’t bring himself to talk. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Dean’s gentle, starts a shower, helps Sam out of the nightgown, and into the shower.
When the water’s gone cold, Sam gets out, wraps in a towel. Dean’s waiting in the bedroom with two beds, Sam’s bag on the bed. “Are you…I…” He shakes his head. “Holy fuck, Sammy. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t want you to.” Sam says softly. He reaches for the bag, pulls out sweats and a t-shirt.
“Did he.” Dean’s eyes close. “Are you hurt?”
Sam licks his lips, shakes his head. “It’s okay.”
“No Sam, it isn’t. It so isn’t okay.”
***********
They drive all night and most of the next day. They don’t really talk. Sam cries softly into his knees, hopes Dean doesn’t notice.
When they stop, they’re in the middle of nowhere. Dean stops the engine, but doesn’t get out.
“It was over.” Sam says softly. “I made him promise.”
Dean’s eyes close, his face pained. “Sam…how long?”
Sam looks at him. “He thought I was her.”
“He what?”
“Mom. He thought she came to him through me.”
Dean’s hands cover his face. “How long?” It’s muffled, but Sam can hear him.
“Almost a year.” He’s ashamed that he let it happen, that he didn’t tell someone. That he let his father believe he was his Mary. “But, it wasn’t…all the time. Only…” But he doesn’t really want to count.
Dean’s shoulders quake and Sam realizes his brother is crying. He can’t remember the last time he saw Dean cry. He reaches out to touch Dean’s arm and Dean inhales deep, raising his head. “He…he’s sick, Sam. You know that, right? You know Mom wouldn’t ever want…that.”
“I know.” And he does know. He’s known all along. Which only makes what he did worse. Maybe he’s sick too. “I wanted him to be happy.”
“I’m going to make sure he never hurts you again.” Dean sniffles. “We’ll go to Pastor Jim’s. He’ll…he’ll know what to do.”
Dean turns the engine over and pulls them back on the road. Sam’s tired of the silence, so he reaches over to turn the radio on. The Beatles pour out of the speakers, and the words burn in his ears the way his tears burn on his skin.
When I find myself in times of trouble,
mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness
she is standing right in front of me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.
And when the broken hearted people
living in the world agree,
there will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted
there is still a chance that they will see,
there will be an answer. let it be.
Let it be, let it be, .....
And when the night is cloudy,
there is still a light, that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music,
mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be, .....
