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phantismaFandom: Supernatural
Title: longer than the road that stretches out ahead
Pairing/Characters: Sam, Dean, Pastor Jim, John, Bobby, remembered prior John/Sam
Rating: NC-17 (for subject matter)
Word Count: 6178
Summary: Following Mother Mary Comes To Me Dean takes Sam to Pastor Jim, hoping they can somehow overcome
what has happened. Sam insists that he's fine, but Dean knows better. Bobby hunts John down, only to discover that maybe not every monster is evil through and through.
A/Ns & Warnings: This contains the memories and reactions to non-con and dub-con and father/son incest. This is not pleasant fic. Hopefully, its a start toward healing for the boys though. Purchased during the last Sweet Charity by tanpopo.
Dean stopped the Impala and looked at his brother. Asleep, his head lolling against the back of the seat, he looked so young, so vulnerable.
Sam snuffled and Dean looked away. Sam was young. And vulnerable. And Dean had let him down.
He rubbed his eyes, digging the heels of his hands in, in a vain attempt to burn away the image that had been playing in his mind for the last two days, hundreds of miles and all he could see was his father on top of Sam, the wig, the noises.
Dean opened the car door and stumbled away in the church parking lot, doubling over and throwing up for maybe the fifth time since that moment. He turned to look up at the church, familiar, if not comforting. They'd come here time and time again over the years, sometimes to help Pastor Jim, sometimes to get his help.
They'd never needed his help like this.
"Dean?"
He turned, wiping over his face as Pastor Jim came down the steps of the parish house. "Hi, sorry we didn't call."
"Everything okay?" Jim was getting close. Dean stepped in between him and the car, between him and Sam.
"No." Dean managed to keep the pain out of his voice. "Really not okay." He scrubbed over his face again. "I…didn't know where else to go. Can we…Sam and me, can we stay with you until I…while I figure out…"
Jim's hand was on his shoulder. "You boys are always welcome, you know that." Dean couldn't look up into his open, trusting face. "Your Daddy coming along?"
Dean shook his head, fighting to hold himself together. Jim's compassion was just melting all his walls though and Dean squeezed his eyes shut. Jim didn't push, just pulled Dean in, holding him and letting him fall against him.
After a few minutes, Dean drew a shuddering breath and stood back. "Can we get Sam inside and settled? I'll…I'll tell you what I can…after."
Jim nodded and Dean went back to the car, reaching in to touch Sam who had already started to stir. Sam's eyes were wild as he woke, his hand grabbing Dean while he sorted out where he was and that he was okay.
Sam shied away from Pastor Jim as they got out of the car, curling into Dean in a way that made his heart hurt. Jim seemed to read something into that, keeping his distance and following them inside. Dean took Sam up the stairs; into the spare room they had stayed in countless times.
"Please don't." Sam said, his voice plaintive and young. He sat on the bed, arms folded around his stomach, holding himself, his eyes on the floor.
Dean stood in the door. "Get some sleep Sam."
"Dean, please."
He crossed to the bed, his hand petting over Sam's hair, soothing it down. "I have to Sam…we can't…we need help."
Sam shook his head, rubbing his tear stained face over Dean's stomach. "Don't want it. I'm fine, Dean. I'm fine." He tilted his head back, eyes shining bright. "Please, just…tell him Dad's sick…or…just, please don't tell him."
Warm, wet tears slid down his cheeks as Dean kissed the top of Sam's head. "I…just get some sleep Sam. I have to go down and tell him something, okay? I'll be up in a bit."
Dean pulled the door closed behind him and leaned against it dragging air into protesting lungs. This was his fault, he should have seen it, should have known something wasn't right. He wiped his face and pushed the thoughts away. Right now he needed to concentrate on helping Sam, getting him through this…though he had to admit he didn't know if he could…or how anyone survived something like this.
He found Pastor Jim in the kitchen, a pot of coffee on, two mugs sitting on the table. Dean wanted something a hell of a lot stronger than coffee, but he sat, cradling the cup between his hands.
"You boys look rough." Jim observed, sitting himself. "Sam especially."
Dean nodded, swallowing around the knot of anguish lodged just behind his tonsils. "And your Dad isn't with you, so I assume this has something to do with him."
Dean nodded again, his hands tightening around the mug. The last time he'd seen his father it had been over the barrel of a gun. Dean had run him off, threatened to kill him.
"Is he okay?"
Dean inhaled sharply and looked up at Jim for the first time. Jim sat back, eyes skimming over Dean's face.
"No, he's anything but okay." Dean said finally. "He's…sick. Fucking sick in the head." He pulled his hands away from the coffee mug, rubbed the warm skin over his face. "He…I didn't know. God help me, how could I not know?" He pushed the chair back, pacing around the table. "How could I not…I should have stopped it."
"Dean, you aren't making sense. Come sit down and tell me what happened."
He shook his head, kept pacing as he remembered the strange sounds he'd heard from the living room, his father's voice groaning out the name of his dead wife, the whimpering sounds that he only recognized as Sam when he opened the bedroom door.
And when he opened that door--Dean stopped pacing and looked at Jim. "Dad." He had to swallow again and he crossed to the table and sat, his knee bouncing. "He…he…" He wasn't sure he could actually say it. Jim's hand touched his, squeezing lightly. "He ra…raped Sam."
“What the fuck!” Dean blinked rapidly, shaking his head as he realized what he was seeing.
Sam looked up at him, through a tumble of blond hair that sit skewed on his head, stunned…mouth open in horror. Dean's gun was in his hand, heavier than it should be, leveled over Sam's back at the man fucking his brother. He shoved at their father who pulled out as he came, his cock spewing come over Sam’s bare ass as he stumbled back, and Sam scrambled off the bed, reaching for Dean, eyes wide and filled with unshed tears.
“No…no…Dean…Dean…no…”
“What the fuck!” Dean scream echoed in the small room, the words spit at his father who was falling back against the wall, his face a mask of horror as he stared at Sam. Dean grabbed Sam and shoved him out the door.
“Dean, no…it’s done.” Sam was grabbing at Dean frantically, pulling at him.
“You sick…sick…fuck…” Dean’s hand was shaking, the gun wavering. He shoved Sam again. Shoved him into the living room. “Stay there.” He stalked back to face his father, dousing him with holy water and yelling "Christo" at him like he was some kind of fucking monster.
Jim's hand fell still on his, and Dean looked up. Jim looked like Dean had struck him. "He…what?"
Dean's stomach grumbled, and he'd probably throw up again if there was anything left in his stomach. "I walked in…he had Sam on the bed, wearing this…wig." Dean gestured at his head. "God, Sam didn't want me to tell you…he's…he keeps telling me he's fine and it was…over, and I don't know what to do, I don't know what to say…and it was Dad, he wasn't possessed or a shifter or…and I hit him and I kicked him and I made him leave, put a gun in his face and made him leave…I should have known…"
The tears burned down his face. Jim came around the table, squatting beside him, one hand still in his, the other rising up to caress his face, wiping at his tears. "You did the right thing, Dean. Coming here, telling me. Let me help you."
Dean didn't want to sleep, but he hadn't slept much more than a little dozing on the side of the road in days. He crawled into the second twin bed in the small room, his eyes watching Sam until he couldn't keep them open any longer.
The memory played out in his head as soon as he was asleep.
"Dean, wait…let me explain."
"I don't want an explanation, you sick fuck. Put your goddamn pants on." The gun wavered, and tears burned at the corner of his eyes.
"Dean…it isn't what you think."
"No? No, Dad? I think I just walked in on you fucking Sam. And you aren't possessed so that must mean you're just a fucking monster! You trained me to kill monsters." Dean wouldn't let himself think about what he'd seen, about what it meant, about how it could happen…this was his father and that was the only thing that kept Dean from shooting him on the spot.
His father had his pants on and Dean kicked a pair of shoes toward him. "Now get the fuck out." He shoved his father into the hall, the gun in his back.
“Sam…Sam…” His hand was out, reaching for Sam, who pulled back, looking down into the pool of vomit on the floor under him.
“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.”
Dean slammed the door shut and Sam doubled over, vomiting all over the carpet. Dean tucked the gun back in his belt, his hands sliding up over Sam's back. “God, Sam…I’m sorry. I'm so sorry." His mouth was moving, words pouring out of him, but they were empty, broken platitudes that he couldn't begin to understand as he focused on just keeping them moving.
Dean woke with a start, instantly on alert, his hand on the gun under his pillow. Sam wasn't in the room and panic nibbled Dean's heart as he climbed out of bed. "Sam?"
He opened the bedroom door, tiptoeing down the hall toward the bathroom. He could hear running water. Pastor Jim emerged from his bedroom, his bathrobe pulled tight around him as he yawned. "He's been in there a while."
Dean nodded and lowered the hand with the gun. "We drove…didn't stop."
"Why don't you get dressed. I'll start breakfast."
Jim headed for the stairs and Dean forced himself to go back into the bedroom when all he really wanted to do was make sure Sam was okay. He snorted as he pulled his bag up onto the bed. Okay. Sam wasn't okay. There was no way he was, not after…and it had been going on for a year.
Dean's anguish slowly burned and boiled over into rage again as he pulled out jeans and a t-shirt and his button down. A year. His father-no, that monster wasn't their father. He'd been touching Sam for a year that Sam would admit to. He was nearly dressed when the bedroom door opened and Sam came in, wrapped in towels, his hair wet and dripping.
"Oh, you're up." Sam sort of stood there at the door for a minute, like he was uncertain of himself.
"I'll be done in a minute." Dean offered, shrugging his t-shirt on.
"Yeah, whatever." Sam sat on the bed, made no move to uncover himself or get dressed.
"Jim's making breakfast."
"Not hungry."
"How can you not be hungry?" Dean snapped. He hadn't gotten Sam to eat much more than a few fries since they'd left.
Sam flinched and Dean closed his eyes, kicking himself. "I'm sorry. Sam…I just…you need to eat. You know that."
Sam didn't answer, his fingers playing with the zipper on his duffle bag. Dean stopped to pull on his boots and Sam sighed. "You told him, didn't you."
It wasn't a question. "Sam, you know I had to."
Sam shook his head, wet hair covering his face so Dean couldn't see him. "You know what they'll do. They'll hunt him down, Dean, like he's…like he's some kind of monster."
Dean didn't say what he was thinking. He knew Sam wouldn't hear him. "I'm not worried about him Sam. I'm worried about you."
"I had it under control. I ended it. It was over."
Dean shook his head. "I know you think that, and maybe it's true Sam, maybe he would have ended it, but that's not what I saw." He tried to keep his voice gentle, tried to not let his own pain into his tone…because no matter how he felt, no matter how betrayed and angry he felt, it didn't begin to compare with what his brother must be feeling.
"You never…" Sam looked up finally, looking young and scared. "You were never supposed to know. I didn't want you to."
"Sam…" Dean sat on his bed, his hand falling short of actually touching him. "God, I could have helped you. I could have stopped him."
Sam sort of shrugged, like it didn't matter. "You didn't see him…before I mean." Sam cleared his throat, his arms sliding around his stomach. "When I put on the wig, and the nightgown and he thought I was her…" Sam leaned forward, rocking slightly, his eyes unfocused and distant. "He really did, Dean. He really thought I was Mom. He talked…sometimes for hours. He was so happy. He cried."
Dean really didn't know what to say to that, so he sat there, looking at his hand on the blanket, trying to picture his father any other way than the way he'd found him. "He…he isn't…what he did was wrong, Sam." Dean finally said.
Sam sucked in a shuddering breath and nodded. "I know." He actually looked up at Dean then. "But I let him. I…knew it was wrong, and I let him do it anyway."
"It isn't your fault. You're just…you're the kid in this."
"I don't feel much like a kid." Sam said. Dean closed his eyes, burying the hurt.
"Get dressed, come down to breakfast. Please?" Dean asked as he stood.
Sam nodded. "Yeah, okay."
Dean's chest was tight and hurting as he descended the stairs. He rounded the corner into the kitchen to the smell of bacon and coffee and Jim with the phone to his ear. "Just keep me updated, Bobby. Thanks."
Jim put the phone on the counter and looked up at Dean.
Sam was right about that. They were already going after John. Dean had given them enough the night before to start looking from him…and truth was he probably hadn't run far, just to the nearest bottle of whiskey he could pour himself into.
Dean didn't say anything, just reached around the priest for the coffee pot. "Sam should be down in a little bit. He's getting dressed."
"Dean, I--"
Dean shook his head. "No, you're right. I don't need to know." He took his coffee to the table and sat. "Just…don't tell Sam."
"Don't tell Sam what?" Sam asked as he stopped in the doorway. He looked small and like he might bolt if anyone actually spoke to him, arms folded in around his stomach.
Jim smiled softly and nodded toward the pan. "I broke the yolks."
Sam looked like he knew that wasn't what the meant and for a minute Dean thought he might call them on it, then he sagged and slouched into a chair. "I'm not five, Dean."
"You still scream like a girl." His comeback lacked it's usual zip and the kitchen fell quiet after, none of them really looking at one another.
It wasn't until Jim put plates in front of them with eggs and bacon and toast that any of them spoke, and even then it was just Jim saying grace. Sam picked at his food, only putting anything in his mouth when Dean nudged him.
"I know Dean told you." Sam said suddenly without looking up. "And I know you want to help. But I'm okay."
"Sam--" Jim's hand on his arm stopped Dean.
"I know you think you're okay, Sam. But I'm hoping that you'll let me help you anyway." Jim's voice was quiet, his eyes on Sam.
Sam glanced aside at Dean, then up at Jim before returning his eyes to his plate. "Help how?"
Jim inhaled slowly and let the breath out even more slowly. "To begin with, we should have you checked out by a doctor."
Sam stiffened and Dean stood, pacing away from the table. "No, I said I was fine."
Jim waited until Sam looked up again. "I know what you've said Sam, but I saw the way you walked last night, I see how you're sitting now. I know you're hurting."
Dean turned, his eyes narrowing. Sam shifted, sitting back, and wincing. He hadn't seen it. Two days on the road and he hadn't seen. "Sam?"
Sam tried to shake it off, but now that Dean knew, he wasn't going to let go of it. "He's right, if you're still hurting now…he must have done something, you need to make sure you're okay."
"It's always hurt." Sam snapped and stood, trying hard to walk like everything is fine. "This is nothing."
Jim held Dean off and went to Sam himself. "I know, Sam. And I know that you love him, and don't want him to get into trouble, and I know that you're embarrassed and don't want anyone to know. But we have to worry about you right now, and making sure there's no permanent damage. I've already called a friend of mine. She's waiting for us. Will you come with me?"
Sam didn't actually say yes, but he didn't resist as Jim's hand on his arm drew him away either. Dean followed, out to the car, sliding behind the wheel as Jim and Sam climbed in back. Jim offered directions and in a few minutes they were parked outside a hospital.
The woman who emerged from what seemed to be a private office looked young and her smile was gentle. "You must be Sam." She held out her hand and Sam took it hesitantly. "Why don't you come on in and we'll get started."
Sam moved past her into the office and Dean moved to follow, but she held up her hand to stop him. "That's my brother."
"I appreciate that, but he's been through something humiliating enough. Do you think he needs you in here with him while he goes through this too?"
"It's my job to protect him."
She nodded, her eyes meeting his, both of her hands on his shoulders. "And you feel like you let him down, and you're overcompensating. Now, have a seat. Your brother is in good hands."
Dean growled as she shut the door in his face. Jim sat on one of the hard plastic chairs. "It might be a while, Son."
Dean only growled more, stomping to the chairs and throwing himself into one. "I belong in there with him."
"No, you don't." Jim disagreed. Dean glared at him. "She's right about what you're feeling though, and it's understandable."
"Don't." Dean said, crossing his arms and slouching down further. "Don't pastor me, Jim. I'm not the one who got raped by his lunatic father who thought his dead wife had come back to him."
"No, you're the big brother who didn't know it was happening and is kicking his own ass from here to Biloxi with guilt for not knowing and not stopping it." Jim's hand fell on his shoulder. "It's natural to feel that way, Dean."
"Nothing about this is natural." Dean muttered, getting up to pace. "How could he do this?"
Jim leaned back in the seat and crossed his arms. "We won't know that until we find him."
Dean didn't slow his pacing, but he hadn't meant his father. Or rather, not just his father. Sam had let him. Sam knew it was wrong, Sam didn't stop him, didn't fight back. Sam let it happen.
"Unless you're blaming your brother for this." Jim said softly. That stopped Dean cold, shaking his head. "It isn't Sam's fault, Dean, no matter what he might tell you."
Dean's entire body is clenched up tight, his hands in fists. "He said he let it happen, that he let Dad…" He didn't blame Sam. He didn't. And yet, he didn't understand. "Why didn't he tell me? Why didn't he tell someone?"
Jim was standing now, standing and close. "I'm guessing because he was protecting you."
Dean shook his head, staring at the door. "It's my job to protect him." And a fucking great job he was doing of it so far.
"And you did, Dean. You got him out of there as soon as you knew."
"It's not enough." Dean said tightly, blinking his suddenly burning eyes. "Not anything damn near enough."
"It's going to have to be." Jim said. "Sam is going to need you."
As if on cue, the door burst open and Sam flew at them grabbing Dean and burying his face in Dean's chest. Hot tears soaked Dean's shirt as the doctor appeared at the door, calling Jim closer. Dean wrapped his arms around his brother and held on, not sure what else he could do.
After a few minutes Jim rejoined them, a hand brushing over Sam's head. "I suggest we take this somewhere a little more private." Jim said softly, gesturing down the hall.
Dean kept Sam close as they walked, despite the awkward angles and stumbling steps. "You okay?" he whispered as they neared the car.
Sam snuffled and rubbed his nose and nodded. "Yeah." Sam sat up front with him as they headed back to the church, in the middle of the bench seat like when they were little.
When they got back to the parish house, Sam excused himself to go upstairs. Dean turned on Jim. "So?"
Jim waited until they heard the bedroom door close. "As I suspected, he's a little torn up, but it's healing." Jim rubbed his chin with one hand. "She gave him an ointment to use to make it feel better, but it's going to take some time. She suggested counseling."
Dean had expected that. "Yeah, he won't like it though."
"For both of you."
Dean frowned and turned back. "What?"
"It might make it easier for him, if you lead by example."
"I'm not…I don't need…" Dean shook his head. "Just no." He paced away and back again. "No. No."
He was saved from any further argument by the phone. Jim crossed to the table and answered. Dean could tell it was Bobby just by the way Jim turned away and lowered his voice. He hung up and pulled his hand through his graying hair with a heavy sigh.
"Did he find him?"
Jim didn't have to answer, the taut line of his body, the worry on his face was enough. "Where?"
"Hospital." Jim said, dropping into the chair.
Dean hadn't expected that. "Why?"
"Not sure. Started as a bar fight, but then he collapsed and went into convulsions. Doctors are still running tests."
Guilt stabbed at his stomach, but he pushed it away, after what his father did, Dean had no need of feeling guilty for leaving him behind. "What's Bobby going to do?"
"Right now, he's waiting to see what the diagnosis is."
"That's easy, he's fucked up in the head by this damn obsession of his. What else could it be?" He didn't want it to be anything else, didn't want to feel guilty, to feel sympathy for the man. He wanted to hate him.
"He's still your father." Jim said wearily.
"No." Dean moved to the stairs. "He stopped being that the very first time he touched Sam."
Dean woke to the feeling of Sam poking at him, and opened one eye. "Let me sleep with you." Sam sounded sleepy and uncertain and Dean might have argued about the bed being too small for two of them except for the look on Sam's face.
He moved until his ass was hanging at the edge of the bed, and held up the blankets for Sam to slide in with him. Sam shifted and turned and curled up small, like he used to when he was little and afraid of the dark.
Dean lowered the blanket and curled around him protectively. Sam's hand pulled Dean's arm closer and Dean closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. "I didn't know." Sam said softly after a few minutes.
"What?" Dean tightens his hold just a little and Sam curls in tighter.
"When it started, I didn't know what was going on. He was drunk, and sad and crying. I just wanted to make it better."
"Sam…" Dean wasn't sure why Sam was talking now, when it had been days he and Jim had been trying to get him to talk.
Sam rolled onto his back, looking up at Dean with scared, young eyes. "He came into my bed and he held me and he cried. He cried Mom's name. It was like he didn't even see me there."
Dean didn't want to hear it, didn't want to know the sordid, awful details, but he wouldn't have stopped Sam from talking, not for anything. "I don't think he knew what he was doing…and I didn't…he just…sort of moved and then he…" Sam lowered his eyes. "It wasn't like he did anything to me, not really. He was…it wasn't anything…that first time…it wasn't like." Sam closed his eyes and swallowed. "It wasn't rape, Dean. He didn't even touch me there."
Dean lowered his head onto Sam's shoulder, his eyes closed. Sam's hand came up into Dean's hair, combing through it gently. "He was so sad." Sam's hands stilled and Dean lifted his head. "I don't think he meant it to happen. I think he really believed that it was…Mom."
"That doesn't make it right, Sam." Dean said softly, laying back beside his brother.
"I think something's wrong with him." Sam sat up, rolling his eyes. "I mean, more than the obvious. If you'd seen him those nights, when…when he thought I was her…"
Dean hesitated to ask, but this is as open as Sam has been about this. "Sammy, can you…when?"
Sam shrugged a little. "You were in the hospital. Dad…he worked me hard those first few days, then one day I came home and he was drinking instead of waiting with training stuff. He kissed me." Sam's hand brushed over his lips, his eyes distant and hazy. "In the kitchen, called me Mary. I went to my room and hid. He drank."
Sam laid back, his eyes closing, his face scrunching up. "It hurt. That first time. I didn't understand and he…" Suddenly Sam curled up, rolling toward Dean, his hands fisting in Dean's t-shirt and holding on so very tight that Dean thought the material was going to rip. Sam's body shook as he sobbed silently against Dean. "Why? Why did he do it Dean?"
Dean was shaking himself, filled with rage and guilt and anguish, but he clung to Sam, held him close. "I don't know Sammy. I don't know."
Dean didn't ask about their father. Most of the time when he thought about him, Dean still wanted to put a bullet in his brain. It was Sam who finally asked, one night a few weeks after they'd ended up at Jim's place.
He just put his fork down and asked. "Is he still alive?"
Jim wiped his face and glanced at Dean. "Your father?"
Sam nodded. "I know Bobby went to find him."
"He's alive." Jim said. "He's had a rough time, and he's still in the hospital, but he's alive."
Dean glowered at him. "He's still in the hospital?"
"You weren't ready to hear it." Jim offered as he stood to clear the plates.
"Still not." Dean responded, one hand brushing over Sam's. "Whatever his problems, they're his and not ours."
"Dean, he's still Dad." Sam said, a note of anger in his voice.
"No, Sam. He's not."
Sam ignored him, pulled his hand away and under the table. "Is he…okay?"
Jim turned at the sink, leaning back against the counter, his eyes completely on Sam as though Dean weren't there. "We're not sure yet. Physically he seems to be out of the woods. The surgery went well."
"Surgery?" Dean crossed his arms and paced. He really didn't want to know. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to hate the man for what he'd done.
"Your father had a pretty sizeable tumor in his brain, and it caused delusions and aggressive behavior."
Sam swallowed and looked up at Dean, all big eyes and looking so young it was hard to believe he was going to be 15 soon. "No Sam." Dean said, knowing his brother was going to demand they go see him.
"We have to, Dean." Sam said.
"No, we don't."
"Does he know?" Sam asked. "What happened?"
Jim shook his head. "He has a lot of memory gaps. He's asked for you both a few times. He says he knows he did something wrong, but he doesn't know what. He knows Dean threatened to kill him for it."
"Bobby's still with him?" Sam wasn't going to let it go.
"Yes, Bobby's there."
"I want to see him."
"I want to see him." Dean didn't. Dean didn't want Sam to. What their father did was unforgivable. Evil. He was a monster.
Dean paced the hallway outside the room where John Winchester waited. Sam had stopped in the men's room down the hall. He was nervous and shaking and as far as Dean was concerned that was further proof he wasn't ready for this.
But Sam was as stubborn and obsessive as their father and he wasn't going to back down. Dean could be just as stubborn though and there was no way he was letting his brother go near him alone.
Sam emerged from the bathroom, his hair a little damp around the edges like he'd washed his face. "You okay?"
Sam nodded. "I threw up."
Dean exhaled and pulled Sam away from the door. "We don't have to do this. We never have to see him again, Sam. Never."
There were tears in Sam's eyes, but he blinked them away. "No, everything I did was to try to help him. He needs us, Dean."
Dean put his hands on Sam's shoulders and shook him a little. "Do you hear what you're saying, Sam?"
"He didn't do it on purpose." Sam's voice was quiet, but solid. "I'm going in, are you coming?"
Dean clenched his jaw and thought about refusing, about dragging Sam physically out of the hospital and back to the car. But he knew Sam well enough to know that was only going to postpone the inevitable. Sam would just find a way to get here without him, and Dean wasn't going to let that happen.
"Fine. But he doesn't touch you. And you stay close. And we're not staying long."
Sam nodded his agreement and Dean turned for the door. Bobby had already told them what to expect, but that didn't ready Dean for what he found when he pushed open the door.
His father sat on the bed, his head wrapped in white bandages, his face cleanly shaved and pale. He seemed…smaller than Dean remembered, and the smile that lit his face at the sight of Sam and Dean was strange to see, out of place. It made Dean want to hit him.
Dean swallowed and nodded tightly. "Dean. Sam. You came."
Sam fidgeted next to him, not quite as sure as he'd been moments before. "Dad." His voice cracked and their father's smile dimmed.
"I wasn't sure you would." He looked away, his hands wringing, then lifting to rub at his head. "I know…I mean, I don't really…but Bobby said…" He shook his head. "He said I hurt you."
Sam nodded, his eyes wide. "Yeah, you did." Sam's hand gripped Dean's wrist and Dean couldn't helped the way his hands tightened into fists.
John rubbed his face. "Are you…" He looked like he might be sick. "Are you okay?"
"No, he's not okay." Dean said darkly. Sam's hand tightened around his wrist.
"I'm fine, Dad." Sam said. He shuffled forward and Dean moved with him.
"I can't remember." John shifted on the bed. "I know I was having these…headaches, and drinking…and I know we moved…but there are all these…black holes. The doctor doesn't know if it'll ever come back."
"Maybe it's better that way." Sam said, moving still closer. Dean lifted his other hand to stop him. "He's not going to hurt me."
"You promised." Dean said, his tone cold, his eyes on Sam not on his father.
"Dean?"
John was looking at him now though, looking for forgiveness, for acceptance. Dean shook his head. "No." He didn't like the way his whole insides trembled with anger. "No. You don't get to—" He bit off his words, his eyes flashing up at his father. "Not after what I saw you do."
His face seemed paler, his eyes wide like Sam's. "Bobby told me it was bad…you know I'd never hurt you boys."
"And yet, you did." Dean reigned in his fury as Sam's hand tightened. "You've seen him, let's go."
"No." Sam let go of him. "It wasn't his fault. You can go if you want. I'm staying."
"Like hell you are." Dean grabbed his shoulder and Sam pulled back, stumbling back against the bed.
Dean saw it the minute their father's hand touched him, saw Sam's face dissolve into a mask of fear and anguish. Sam jerked forward and away from him, into Dean, turning them until he could get around him and bolt into the hallway.
"Sam!" John called after him, but Dean scowled, putting himself between and his brother's disappearing back. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
"Not good enough." Dean growled, crossing the few steps and taking a certain pleasure in the way his father shrank away from him. "You don't get to touch him. Ever."
He started to follow Sam, but stopped when his father's voice called his name, cracking. Dean stopped, but didn't turn around. "What did I do?"
Dean stared out into the hall where Sam sat all huddled into himself, probably feeling guilty that he'd reacted that way when he was the one pushing this whole thing. Dean took a deep breath. They'd told them not to tell their father. That he was fragile. That it could damage his recovery.
Right at that moment, Dean didn't care. He drew himself up, shut the door and turned to face the man that had raised him, the man who had taught him to hunt evil. "You want to know what you did, Dad? Fine. Let's start with your goddamn obsession with that demon, dragging us around the country, dragging Sammy around from town to town when all he wanted was something normal. The training, the hunting, the ghost and demons and werewolves. When all the time the real monster was living with us."
Dean moved toward the bed. "You were deluded long before that fucking tumor was in your head. Hell, maybe it's all been delusion. Maybe all of it. I don't know."
John held his fiery gaze. "Tell me what I did to Sam."
"You raped him." Dean said it cold and hard and simple. Just like that. He watched his father shake his head, watched what little color he had drain from his face. "You dressed him up in a fucking wig and nightgown and called him by Mom's name and you fucked him. You told him that Mom was inside him, that she wanted that, that it was good. And he went along with it because he thought he was helping you. He thought you would get better. He never told anyone." Dean was leaning over him now, spitting the words at him. "For a year. A goddamn fucking year you did it to him, until I walked in on you and held a gun to your head and told you to get the fuck out."
John broke the stare, deflated against the bed, his face wet with tears, his hands quivering as he tried to reach for Dean. "I should have put a bullet in your head."
John gasped for air, doubling over as Dean stepped back. "You won't see us again. Do yourself a favor. Don't come looking."
Dean opened the door, pulling himself back from the edge of his anger as Sam stood. "It's okay, Sam. Let's go."
Sam stared at their father's door for a long minute, then nodded. He followed Dean out to the car. They were on the road for nearly twenty minutes before Dean spoke. "You okay?"
Sam pulled his knees up, feet on the dashboard. "Yeah. I think so. I needed to know…if I could…"
"And now?"
"You were right Dean. Can it be just you and me? Can we do that?"
Dean glanced at him and nodded. "No more hunting, Sam. No more running. Where do you want to go?"
Sam inhaled deeply and stared at the road ahead of them. "Just drive for now. Let's just get lost."
"Yeah, Sammy. We can do that."
Dean slipped on a pair of sunglasses and flipped on the radio. The Beatles poured out of the speakers, a little more mellow than Dean wanted, but the song fit the moment and he let it play.
Two of us riding nowhere
Spending someone's
Hard earned pay
Two of us Sunday driving
Not arriving
On our way back home
We're on our way home
We're on our way home
We're going home
Two of us sending postcards
Writing letters
On my wall
You and me burning matches
Lifting latches
On our way back home
We're on our way home
We're on our way home
We're going home
You and I have memories
Longer than the road that stretches out ahead
Two of us wearing raincoats
Standing so low
In the sun
You and me chasing paper
Getting nowhere
On our way back home
We're on our way home
We're on our way home
We're going home
You and I have memories
Longer than the road that stretches out ahead
Two of us wearing raincoats
Standing so low
In the sun
You and me chasing paper
Getting nowhere
On our way back home
We're on our way home
We're on our way home
We're going home
We're going home
Better believe it
Title: longer than the road that stretches out ahead
Pairing/Characters: Sam, Dean, Pastor Jim, John, Bobby, remembered prior John/Sam
Rating: NC-17 (for subject matter)
Word Count: 6178
Summary: Following Mother Mary Comes To Me Dean takes Sam to Pastor Jim, hoping they can somehow overcome
what has happened. Sam insists that he's fine, but Dean knows better. Bobby hunts John down, only to discover that maybe not every monster is evil through and through.
A/Ns & Warnings: This contains the memories and reactions to non-con and dub-con and father/son incest. This is not pleasant fic. Hopefully, its a start toward healing for the boys though. Purchased during the last Sweet Charity by tanpopo.
Dean stopped the Impala and looked at his brother. Asleep, his head lolling against the back of the seat, he looked so young, so vulnerable.
Sam snuffled and Dean looked away. Sam was young. And vulnerable. And Dean had let him down.
He rubbed his eyes, digging the heels of his hands in, in a vain attempt to burn away the image that had been playing in his mind for the last two days, hundreds of miles and all he could see was his father on top of Sam, the wig, the noises.
Dean opened the car door and stumbled away in the church parking lot, doubling over and throwing up for maybe the fifth time since that moment. He turned to look up at the church, familiar, if not comforting. They'd come here time and time again over the years, sometimes to help Pastor Jim, sometimes to get his help.
They'd never needed his help like this.
"Dean?"
He turned, wiping over his face as Pastor Jim came down the steps of the parish house. "Hi, sorry we didn't call."
"Everything okay?" Jim was getting close. Dean stepped in between him and the car, between him and Sam.
"No." Dean managed to keep the pain out of his voice. "Really not okay." He scrubbed over his face again. "I…didn't know where else to go. Can we…Sam and me, can we stay with you until I…while I figure out…"
Jim's hand was on his shoulder. "You boys are always welcome, you know that." Dean couldn't look up into his open, trusting face. "Your Daddy coming along?"
Dean shook his head, fighting to hold himself together. Jim's compassion was just melting all his walls though and Dean squeezed his eyes shut. Jim didn't push, just pulled Dean in, holding him and letting him fall against him.
After a few minutes, Dean drew a shuddering breath and stood back. "Can we get Sam inside and settled? I'll…I'll tell you what I can…after."
Jim nodded and Dean went back to the car, reaching in to touch Sam who had already started to stir. Sam's eyes were wild as he woke, his hand grabbing Dean while he sorted out where he was and that he was okay.
Sam shied away from Pastor Jim as they got out of the car, curling into Dean in a way that made his heart hurt. Jim seemed to read something into that, keeping his distance and following them inside. Dean took Sam up the stairs; into the spare room they had stayed in countless times.
"Please don't." Sam said, his voice plaintive and young. He sat on the bed, arms folded around his stomach, holding himself, his eyes on the floor.
Dean stood in the door. "Get some sleep Sam."
"Dean, please."
He crossed to the bed, his hand petting over Sam's hair, soothing it down. "I have to Sam…we can't…we need help."
Sam shook his head, rubbing his tear stained face over Dean's stomach. "Don't want it. I'm fine, Dean. I'm fine." He tilted his head back, eyes shining bright. "Please, just…tell him Dad's sick…or…just, please don't tell him."
Warm, wet tears slid down his cheeks as Dean kissed the top of Sam's head. "I…just get some sleep Sam. I have to go down and tell him something, okay? I'll be up in a bit."
Dean pulled the door closed behind him and leaned against it dragging air into protesting lungs. This was his fault, he should have seen it, should have known something wasn't right. He wiped his face and pushed the thoughts away. Right now he needed to concentrate on helping Sam, getting him through this…though he had to admit he didn't know if he could…or how anyone survived something like this.
He found Pastor Jim in the kitchen, a pot of coffee on, two mugs sitting on the table. Dean wanted something a hell of a lot stronger than coffee, but he sat, cradling the cup between his hands.
"You boys look rough." Jim observed, sitting himself. "Sam especially."
Dean nodded, swallowing around the knot of anguish lodged just behind his tonsils. "And your Dad isn't with you, so I assume this has something to do with him."
Dean nodded again, his hands tightening around the mug. The last time he'd seen his father it had been over the barrel of a gun. Dean had run him off, threatened to kill him.
"Is he okay?"
Dean inhaled sharply and looked up at Jim for the first time. Jim sat back, eyes skimming over Dean's face.
"No, he's anything but okay." Dean said finally. "He's…sick. Fucking sick in the head." He pulled his hands away from the coffee mug, rubbed the warm skin over his face. "He…I didn't know. God help me, how could I not know?" He pushed the chair back, pacing around the table. "How could I not…I should have stopped it."
"Dean, you aren't making sense. Come sit down and tell me what happened."
He shook his head, kept pacing as he remembered the strange sounds he'd heard from the living room, his father's voice groaning out the name of his dead wife, the whimpering sounds that he only recognized as Sam when he opened the bedroom door.
And when he opened that door--Dean stopped pacing and looked at Jim. "Dad." He had to swallow again and he crossed to the table and sat, his knee bouncing. "He…he…" He wasn't sure he could actually say it. Jim's hand touched his, squeezing lightly. "He ra…raped Sam."
“What the fuck!” Dean blinked rapidly, shaking his head as he realized what he was seeing.
Sam looked up at him, through a tumble of blond hair that sit skewed on his head, stunned…mouth open in horror. Dean's gun was in his hand, heavier than it should be, leveled over Sam's back at the man fucking his brother. He shoved at their father who pulled out as he came, his cock spewing come over Sam’s bare ass as he stumbled back, and Sam scrambled off the bed, reaching for Dean, eyes wide and filled with unshed tears.
“No…no…Dean…Dean…no…”
“What the fuck!” Dean scream echoed in the small room, the words spit at his father who was falling back against the wall, his face a mask of horror as he stared at Sam. Dean grabbed Sam and shoved him out the door.
“Dean, no…it’s done.” Sam was grabbing at Dean frantically, pulling at him.
“You sick…sick…fuck…” Dean’s hand was shaking, the gun wavering. He shoved Sam again. Shoved him into the living room. “Stay there.” He stalked back to face his father, dousing him with holy water and yelling "Christo" at him like he was some kind of fucking monster.
Jim's hand fell still on his, and Dean looked up. Jim looked like Dean had struck him. "He…what?"
Dean's stomach grumbled, and he'd probably throw up again if there was anything left in his stomach. "I walked in…he had Sam on the bed, wearing this…wig." Dean gestured at his head. "God, Sam didn't want me to tell you…he's…he keeps telling me he's fine and it was…over, and I don't know what to do, I don't know what to say…and it was Dad, he wasn't possessed or a shifter or…and I hit him and I kicked him and I made him leave, put a gun in his face and made him leave…I should have known…"
The tears burned down his face. Jim came around the table, squatting beside him, one hand still in his, the other rising up to caress his face, wiping at his tears. "You did the right thing, Dean. Coming here, telling me. Let me help you."
Dean didn't want to sleep, but he hadn't slept much more than a little dozing on the side of the road in days. He crawled into the second twin bed in the small room, his eyes watching Sam until he couldn't keep them open any longer.
The memory played out in his head as soon as he was asleep.
"Dean, wait…let me explain."
"I don't want an explanation, you sick fuck. Put your goddamn pants on." The gun wavered, and tears burned at the corner of his eyes.
"Dean…it isn't what you think."
"No? No, Dad? I think I just walked in on you fucking Sam. And you aren't possessed so that must mean you're just a fucking monster! You trained me to kill monsters." Dean wouldn't let himself think about what he'd seen, about what it meant, about how it could happen…this was his father and that was the only thing that kept Dean from shooting him on the spot.
His father had his pants on and Dean kicked a pair of shoes toward him. "Now get the fuck out." He shoved his father into the hall, the gun in his back.
“Sam…Sam…” His hand was out, reaching for Sam, who pulled back, looking down into the pool of vomit on the floor under him.
“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.”
Dean slammed the door shut and Sam doubled over, vomiting all over the carpet. Dean tucked the gun back in his belt, his hands sliding up over Sam's back. “God, Sam…I’m sorry. I'm so sorry." His mouth was moving, words pouring out of him, but they were empty, broken platitudes that he couldn't begin to understand as he focused on just keeping them moving.
Dean woke with a start, instantly on alert, his hand on the gun under his pillow. Sam wasn't in the room and panic nibbled Dean's heart as he climbed out of bed. "Sam?"
He opened the bedroom door, tiptoeing down the hall toward the bathroom. He could hear running water. Pastor Jim emerged from his bedroom, his bathrobe pulled tight around him as he yawned. "He's been in there a while."
Dean nodded and lowered the hand with the gun. "We drove…didn't stop."
"Why don't you get dressed. I'll start breakfast."
Jim headed for the stairs and Dean forced himself to go back into the bedroom when all he really wanted to do was make sure Sam was okay. He snorted as he pulled his bag up onto the bed. Okay. Sam wasn't okay. There was no way he was, not after…and it had been going on for a year.
Dean's anguish slowly burned and boiled over into rage again as he pulled out jeans and a t-shirt and his button down. A year. His father-no, that monster wasn't their father. He'd been touching Sam for a year that Sam would admit to. He was nearly dressed when the bedroom door opened and Sam came in, wrapped in towels, his hair wet and dripping.
"Oh, you're up." Sam sort of stood there at the door for a minute, like he was uncertain of himself.
"I'll be done in a minute." Dean offered, shrugging his t-shirt on.
"Yeah, whatever." Sam sat on the bed, made no move to uncover himself or get dressed.
"Jim's making breakfast."
"Not hungry."
"How can you not be hungry?" Dean snapped. He hadn't gotten Sam to eat much more than a few fries since they'd left.
Sam flinched and Dean closed his eyes, kicking himself. "I'm sorry. Sam…I just…you need to eat. You know that."
Sam didn't answer, his fingers playing with the zipper on his duffle bag. Dean stopped to pull on his boots and Sam sighed. "You told him, didn't you."
It wasn't a question. "Sam, you know I had to."
Sam shook his head, wet hair covering his face so Dean couldn't see him. "You know what they'll do. They'll hunt him down, Dean, like he's…like he's some kind of monster."
Dean didn't say what he was thinking. He knew Sam wouldn't hear him. "I'm not worried about him Sam. I'm worried about you."
"I had it under control. I ended it. It was over."
Dean shook his head. "I know you think that, and maybe it's true Sam, maybe he would have ended it, but that's not what I saw." He tried to keep his voice gentle, tried to not let his own pain into his tone…because no matter how he felt, no matter how betrayed and angry he felt, it didn't begin to compare with what his brother must be feeling.
"You never…" Sam looked up finally, looking young and scared. "You were never supposed to know. I didn't want you to."
"Sam…" Dean sat on his bed, his hand falling short of actually touching him. "God, I could have helped you. I could have stopped him."
Sam sort of shrugged, like it didn't matter. "You didn't see him…before I mean." Sam cleared his throat, his arms sliding around his stomach. "When I put on the wig, and the nightgown and he thought I was her…" Sam leaned forward, rocking slightly, his eyes unfocused and distant. "He really did, Dean. He really thought I was Mom. He talked…sometimes for hours. He was so happy. He cried."
Dean really didn't know what to say to that, so he sat there, looking at his hand on the blanket, trying to picture his father any other way than the way he'd found him. "He…he isn't…what he did was wrong, Sam." Dean finally said.
Sam sucked in a shuddering breath and nodded. "I know." He actually looked up at Dean then. "But I let him. I…knew it was wrong, and I let him do it anyway."
"It isn't your fault. You're just…you're the kid in this."
"I don't feel much like a kid." Sam said. Dean closed his eyes, burying the hurt.
"Get dressed, come down to breakfast. Please?" Dean asked as he stood.
Sam nodded. "Yeah, okay."
Dean's chest was tight and hurting as he descended the stairs. He rounded the corner into the kitchen to the smell of bacon and coffee and Jim with the phone to his ear. "Just keep me updated, Bobby. Thanks."
Jim put the phone on the counter and looked up at Dean.
Sam was right about that. They were already going after John. Dean had given them enough the night before to start looking from him…and truth was he probably hadn't run far, just to the nearest bottle of whiskey he could pour himself into.
Dean didn't say anything, just reached around the priest for the coffee pot. "Sam should be down in a little bit. He's getting dressed."
"Dean, I--"
Dean shook his head. "No, you're right. I don't need to know." He took his coffee to the table and sat. "Just…don't tell Sam."
"Don't tell Sam what?" Sam asked as he stopped in the doorway. He looked small and like he might bolt if anyone actually spoke to him, arms folded in around his stomach.
Jim smiled softly and nodded toward the pan. "I broke the yolks."
Sam looked like he knew that wasn't what the meant and for a minute Dean thought he might call them on it, then he sagged and slouched into a chair. "I'm not five, Dean."
"You still scream like a girl." His comeback lacked it's usual zip and the kitchen fell quiet after, none of them really looking at one another.
It wasn't until Jim put plates in front of them with eggs and bacon and toast that any of them spoke, and even then it was just Jim saying grace. Sam picked at his food, only putting anything in his mouth when Dean nudged him.
"I know Dean told you." Sam said suddenly without looking up. "And I know you want to help. But I'm okay."
"Sam--" Jim's hand on his arm stopped Dean.
"I know you think you're okay, Sam. But I'm hoping that you'll let me help you anyway." Jim's voice was quiet, his eyes on Sam.
Sam glanced aside at Dean, then up at Jim before returning his eyes to his plate. "Help how?"
Jim inhaled slowly and let the breath out even more slowly. "To begin with, we should have you checked out by a doctor."
Sam stiffened and Dean stood, pacing away from the table. "No, I said I was fine."
Jim waited until Sam looked up again. "I know what you've said Sam, but I saw the way you walked last night, I see how you're sitting now. I know you're hurting."
Dean turned, his eyes narrowing. Sam shifted, sitting back, and wincing. He hadn't seen it. Two days on the road and he hadn't seen. "Sam?"
Sam tried to shake it off, but now that Dean knew, he wasn't going to let go of it. "He's right, if you're still hurting now…he must have done something, you need to make sure you're okay."
"It's always hurt." Sam snapped and stood, trying hard to walk like everything is fine. "This is nothing."
Jim held Dean off and went to Sam himself. "I know, Sam. And I know that you love him, and don't want him to get into trouble, and I know that you're embarrassed and don't want anyone to know. But we have to worry about you right now, and making sure there's no permanent damage. I've already called a friend of mine. She's waiting for us. Will you come with me?"
Sam didn't actually say yes, but he didn't resist as Jim's hand on his arm drew him away either. Dean followed, out to the car, sliding behind the wheel as Jim and Sam climbed in back. Jim offered directions and in a few minutes they were parked outside a hospital.
The woman who emerged from what seemed to be a private office looked young and her smile was gentle. "You must be Sam." She held out her hand and Sam took it hesitantly. "Why don't you come on in and we'll get started."
Sam moved past her into the office and Dean moved to follow, but she held up her hand to stop him. "That's my brother."
"I appreciate that, but he's been through something humiliating enough. Do you think he needs you in here with him while he goes through this too?"
"It's my job to protect him."
She nodded, her eyes meeting his, both of her hands on his shoulders. "And you feel like you let him down, and you're overcompensating. Now, have a seat. Your brother is in good hands."
Dean growled as she shut the door in his face. Jim sat on one of the hard plastic chairs. "It might be a while, Son."
Dean only growled more, stomping to the chairs and throwing himself into one. "I belong in there with him."
"No, you don't." Jim disagreed. Dean glared at him. "She's right about what you're feeling though, and it's understandable."
"Don't." Dean said, crossing his arms and slouching down further. "Don't pastor me, Jim. I'm not the one who got raped by his lunatic father who thought his dead wife had come back to him."
"No, you're the big brother who didn't know it was happening and is kicking his own ass from here to Biloxi with guilt for not knowing and not stopping it." Jim's hand fell on his shoulder. "It's natural to feel that way, Dean."
"Nothing about this is natural." Dean muttered, getting up to pace. "How could he do this?"
Jim leaned back in the seat and crossed his arms. "We won't know that until we find him."
Dean didn't slow his pacing, but he hadn't meant his father. Or rather, not just his father. Sam had let him. Sam knew it was wrong, Sam didn't stop him, didn't fight back. Sam let it happen.
"Unless you're blaming your brother for this." Jim said softly. That stopped Dean cold, shaking his head. "It isn't Sam's fault, Dean, no matter what he might tell you."
Dean's entire body is clenched up tight, his hands in fists. "He said he let it happen, that he let Dad…" He didn't blame Sam. He didn't. And yet, he didn't understand. "Why didn't he tell me? Why didn't he tell someone?"
Jim was standing now, standing and close. "I'm guessing because he was protecting you."
Dean shook his head, staring at the door. "It's my job to protect him." And a fucking great job he was doing of it so far.
"And you did, Dean. You got him out of there as soon as you knew."
"It's not enough." Dean said tightly, blinking his suddenly burning eyes. "Not anything damn near enough."
"It's going to have to be." Jim said. "Sam is going to need you."
As if on cue, the door burst open and Sam flew at them grabbing Dean and burying his face in Dean's chest. Hot tears soaked Dean's shirt as the doctor appeared at the door, calling Jim closer. Dean wrapped his arms around his brother and held on, not sure what else he could do.
After a few minutes Jim rejoined them, a hand brushing over Sam's head. "I suggest we take this somewhere a little more private." Jim said softly, gesturing down the hall.
Dean kept Sam close as they walked, despite the awkward angles and stumbling steps. "You okay?" he whispered as they neared the car.
Sam snuffled and rubbed his nose and nodded. "Yeah." Sam sat up front with him as they headed back to the church, in the middle of the bench seat like when they were little.
When they got back to the parish house, Sam excused himself to go upstairs. Dean turned on Jim. "So?"
Jim waited until they heard the bedroom door close. "As I suspected, he's a little torn up, but it's healing." Jim rubbed his chin with one hand. "She gave him an ointment to use to make it feel better, but it's going to take some time. She suggested counseling."
Dean had expected that. "Yeah, he won't like it though."
"For both of you."
Dean frowned and turned back. "What?"
"It might make it easier for him, if you lead by example."
"I'm not…I don't need…" Dean shook his head. "Just no." He paced away and back again. "No. No."
He was saved from any further argument by the phone. Jim crossed to the table and answered. Dean could tell it was Bobby just by the way Jim turned away and lowered his voice. He hung up and pulled his hand through his graying hair with a heavy sigh.
"Did he find him?"
Jim didn't have to answer, the taut line of his body, the worry on his face was enough. "Where?"
"Hospital." Jim said, dropping into the chair.
Dean hadn't expected that. "Why?"
"Not sure. Started as a bar fight, but then he collapsed and went into convulsions. Doctors are still running tests."
Guilt stabbed at his stomach, but he pushed it away, after what his father did, Dean had no need of feeling guilty for leaving him behind. "What's Bobby going to do?"
"Right now, he's waiting to see what the diagnosis is."
"That's easy, he's fucked up in the head by this damn obsession of his. What else could it be?" He didn't want it to be anything else, didn't want to feel guilty, to feel sympathy for the man. He wanted to hate him.
"He's still your father." Jim said wearily.
"No." Dean moved to the stairs. "He stopped being that the very first time he touched Sam."
Dean woke to the feeling of Sam poking at him, and opened one eye. "Let me sleep with you." Sam sounded sleepy and uncertain and Dean might have argued about the bed being too small for two of them except for the look on Sam's face.
He moved until his ass was hanging at the edge of the bed, and held up the blankets for Sam to slide in with him. Sam shifted and turned and curled up small, like he used to when he was little and afraid of the dark.
Dean lowered the blanket and curled around him protectively. Sam's hand pulled Dean's arm closer and Dean closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. "I didn't know." Sam said softly after a few minutes.
"What?" Dean tightens his hold just a little and Sam curls in tighter.
"When it started, I didn't know what was going on. He was drunk, and sad and crying. I just wanted to make it better."
"Sam…" Dean wasn't sure why Sam was talking now, when it had been days he and Jim had been trying to get him to talk.
Sam rolled onto his back, looking up at Dean with scared, young eyes. "He came into my bed and he held me and he cried. He cried Mom's name. It was like he didn't even see me there."
Dean didn't want to hear it, didn't want to know the sordid, awful details, but he wouldn't have stopped Sam from talking, not for anything. "I don't think he knew what he was doing…and I didn't…he just…sort of moved and then he…" Sam lowered his eyes. "It wasn't like he did anything to me, not really. He was…it wasn't anything…that first time…it wasn't like." Sam closed his eyes and swallowed. "It wasn't rape, Dean. He didn't even touch me there."
Dean lowered his head onto Sam's shoulder, his eyes closed. Sam's hand came up into Dean's hair, combing through it gently. "He was so sad." Sam's hands stilled and Dean lifted his head. "I don't think he meant it to happen. I think he really believed that it was…Mom."
"That doesn't make it right, Sam." Dean said softly, laying back beside his brother.
"I think something's wrong with him." Sam sat up, rolling his eyes. "I mean, more than the obvious. If you'd seen him those nights, when…when he thought I was her…"
Dean hesitated to ask, but this is as open as Sam has been about this. "Sammy, can you…when?"
Sam shrugged a little. "You were in the hospital. Dad…he worked me hard those first few days, then one day I came home and he was drinking instead of waiting with training stuff. He kissed me." Sam's hand brushed over his lips, his eyes distant and hazy. "In the kitchen, called me Mary. I went to my room and hid. He drank."
Sam laid back, his eyes closing, his face scrunching up. "It hurt. That first time. I didn't understand and he…" Suddenly Sam curled up, rolling toward Dean, his hands fisting in Dean's t-shirt and holding on so very tight that Dean thought the material was going to rip. Sam's body shook as he sobbed silently against Dean. "Why? Why did he do it Dean?"
Dean was shaking himself, filled with rage and guilt and anguish, but he clung to Sam, held him close. "I don't know Sammy. I don't know."
Dean didn't ask about their father. Most of the time when he thought about him, Dean still wanted to put a bullet in his brain. It was Sam who finally asked, one night a few weeks after they'd ended up at Jim's place.
He just put his fork down and asked. "Is he still alive?"
Jim wiped his face and glanced at Dean. "Your father?"
Sam nodded. "I know Bobby went to find him."
"He's alive." Jim said. "He's had a rough time, and he's still in the hospital, but he's alive."
Dean glowered at him. "He's still in the hospital?"
"You weren't ready to hear it." Jim offered as he stood to clear the plates.
"Still not." Dean responded, one hand brushing over Sam's. "Whatever his problems, they're his and not ours."
"Dean, he's still Dad." Sam said, a note of anger in his voice.
"No, Sam. He's not."
Sam ignored him, pulled his hand away and under the table. "Is he…okay?"
Jim turned at the sink, leaning back against the counter, his eyes completely on Sam as though Dean weren't there. "We're not sure yet. Physically he seems to be out of the woods. The surgery went well."
"Surgery?" Dean crossed his arms and paced. He really didn't want to know. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to hate the man for what he'd done.
"Your father had a pretty sizeable tumor in his brain, and it caused delusions and aggressive behavior."
Sam swallowed and looked up at Dean, all big eyes and looking so young it was hard to believe he was going to be 15 soon. "No Sam." Dean said, knowing his brother was going to demand they go see him.
"We have to, Dean." Sam said.
"No, we don't."
"Does he know?" Sam asked. "What happened?"
Jim shook his head. "He has a lot of memory gaps. He's asked for you both a few times. He says he knows he did something wrong, but he doesn't know what. He knows Dean threatened to kill him for it."
"Bobby's still with him?" Sam wasn't going to let it go.
"Yes, Bobby's there."
"I want to see him."
"I want to see him." Dean didn't. Dean didn't want Sam to. What their father did was unforgivable. Evil. He was a monster.
Dean paced the hallway outside the room where John Winchester waited. Sam had stopped in the men's room down the hall. He was nervous and shaking and as far as Dean was concerned that was further proof he wasn't ready for this.
But Sam was as stubborn and obsessive as their father and he wasn't going to back down. Dean could be just as stubborn though and there was no way he was letting his brother go near him alone.
Sam emerged from the bathroom, his hair a little damp around the edges like he'd washed his face. "You okay?"
Sam nodded. "I threw up."
Dean exhaled and pulled Sam away from the door. "We don't have to do this. We never have to see him again, Sam. Never."
There were tears in Sam's eyes, but he blinked them away. "No, everything I did was to try to help him. He needs us, Dean."
Dean put his hands on Sam's shoulders and shook him a little. "Do you hear what you're saying, Sam?"
"He didn't do it on purpose." Sam's voice was quiet, but solid. "I'm going in, are you coming?"
Dean clenched his jaw and thought about refusing, about dragging Sam physically out of the hospital and back to the car. But he knew Sam well enough to know that was only going to postpone the inevitable. Sam would just find a way to get here without him, and Dean wasn't going to let that happen.
"Fine. But he doesn't touch you. And you stay close. And we're not staying long."
Sam nodded his agreement and Dean turned for the door. Bobby had already told them what to expect, but that didn't ready Dean for what he found when he pushed open the door.
His father sat on the bed, his head wrapped in white bandages, his face cleanly shaved and pale. He seemed…smaller than Dean remembered, and the smile that lit his face at the sight of Sam and Dean was strange to see, out of place. It made Dean want to hit him.
Dean swallowed and nodded tightly. "Dean. Sam. You came."
Sam fidgeted next to him, not quite as sure as he'd been moments before. "Dad." His voice cracked and their father's smile dimmed.
"I wasn't sure you would." He looked away, his hands wringing, then lifting to rub at his head. "I know…I mean, I don't really…but Bobby said…" He shook his head. "He said I hurt you."
Sam nodded, his eyes wide. "Yeah, you did." Sam's hand gripped Dean's wrist and Dean couldn't helped the way his hands tightened into fists.
John rubbed his face. "Are you…" He looked like he might be sick. "Are you okay?"
"No, he's not okay." Dean said darkly. Sam's hand tightened around his wrist.
"I'm fine, Dad." Sam said. He shuffled forward and Dean moved with him.
"I can't remember." John shifted on the bed. "I know I was having these…headaches, and drinking…and I know we moved…but there are all these…black holes. The doctor doesn't know if it'll ever come back."
"Maybe it's better that way." Sam said, moving still closer. Dean lifted his other hand to stop him. "He's not going to hurt me."
"You promised." Dean said, his tone cold, his eyes on Sam not on his father.
"Dean?"
John was looking at him now though, looking for forgiveness, for acceptance. Dean shook his head. "No." He didn't like the way his whole insides trembled with anger. "No. You don't get to—" He bit off his words, his eyes flashing up at his father. "Not after what I saw you do."
His face seemed paler, his eyes wide like Sam's. "Bobby told me it was bad…you know I'd never hurt you boys."
"And yet, you did." Dean reigned in his fury as Sam's hand tightened. "You've seen him, let's go."
"No." Sam let go of him. "It wasn't his fault. You can go if you want. I'm staying."
"Like hell you are." Dean grabbed his shoulder and Sam pulled back, stumbling back against the bed.
Dean saw it the minute their father's hand touched him, saw Sam's face dissolve into a mask of fear and anguish. Sam jerked forward and away from him, into Dean, turning them until he could get around him and bolt into the hallway.
"Sam!" John called after him, but Dean scowled, putting himself between and his brother's disappearing back. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
"Not good enough." Dean growled, crossing the few steps and taking a certain pleasure in the way his father shrank away from him. "You don't get to touch him. Ever."
He started to follow Sam, but stopped when his father's voice called his name, cracking. Dean stopped, but didn't turn around. "What did I do?"
Dean stared out into the hall where Sam sat all huddled into himself, probably feeling guilty that he'd reacted that way when he was the one pushing this whole thing. Dean took a deep breath. They'd told them not to tell their father. That he was fragile. That it could damage his recovery.
Right at that moment, Dean didn't care. He drew himself up, shut the door and turned to face the man that had raised him, the man who had taught him to hunt evil. "You want to know what you did, Dad? Fine. Let's start with your goddamn obsession with that demon, dragging us around the country, dragging Sammy around from town to town when all he wanted was something normal. The training, the hunting, the ghost and demons and werewolves. When all the time the real monster was living with us."
Dean moved toward the bed. "You were deluded long before that fucking tumor was in your head. Hell, maybe it's all been delusion. Maybe all of it. I don't know."
John held his fiery gaze. "Tell me what I did to Sam."
"You raped him." Dean said it cold and hard and simple. Just like that. He watched his father shake his head, watched what little color he had drain from his face. "You dressed him up in a fucking wig and nightgown and called him by Mom's name and you fucked him. You told him that Mom was inside him, that she wanted that, that it was good. And he went along with it because he thought he was helping you. He thought you would get better. He never told anyone." Dean was leaning over him now, spitting the words at him. "For a year. A goddamn fucking year you did it to him, until I walked in on you and held a gun to your head and told you to get the fuck out."
John broke the stare, deflated against the bed, his face wet with tears, his hands quivering as he tried to reach for Dean. "I should have put a bullet in your head."
John gasped for air, doubling over as Dean stepped back. "You won't see us again. Do yourself a favor. Don't come looking."
Dean opened the door, pulling himself back from the edge of his anger as Sam stood. "It's okay, Sam. Let's go."
Sam stared at their father's door for a long minute, then nodded. He followed Dean out to the car. They were on the road for nearly twenty minutes before Dean spoke. "You okay?"
Sam pulled his knees up, feet on the dashboard. "Yeah. I think so. I needed to know…if I could…"
"And now?"
"You were right Dean. Can it be just you and me? Can we do that?"
Dean glanced at him and nodded. "No more hunting, Sam. No more running. Where do you want to go?"
Sam inhaled deeply and stared at the road ahead of them. "Just drive for now. Let's just get lost."
"Yeah, Sammy. We can do that."
Dean slipped on a pair of sunglasses and flipped on the radio. The Beatles poured out of the speakers, a little more mellow than Dean wanted, but the song fit the moment and he let it play.
Two of us riding nowhere
Spending someone's
Hard earned pay
Two of us Sunday driving
Not arriving
On our way back home
We're on our way home
We're on our way home
We're going home
Two of us sending postcards
Writing letters
On my wall
You and me burning matches
Lifting latches
On our way back home
We're on our way home
We're on our way home
We're going home
You and I have memories
Longer than the road that stretches out ahead
Two of us wearing raincoats
Standing so low
In the sun
You and me chasing paper
Getting nowhere
On our way back home
We're on our way home
We're on our way home
We're going home
You and I have memories
Longer than the road that stretches out ahead
Two of us wearing raincoats
Standing so low
In the sun
You and me chasing paper
Getting nowhere
On our way back home
We're on our way home
We're on our way home
We're going home
We're going home
Better believe it
