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phantismaFandom: Supernatural
Title: Anguish
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17 (for thematic reasons)
Word Count: 3959
Summary: Broken!Verse, chapter 49 (Click here for Index of all chapters)
Summary: This is all Sam and Dean. This...is hard. It took all day to write. Dean struggles with the blank spots in his memory, and with the holes in what Sam is telling him, pushing Sam closer to the edge...and sliding closer to it himself.
A/Ns and Warnings: Very dark. Includes memory of torture and rape and very dark violence, threats of self-violence.
Dean was up early, showered and gone for coffee before Sam even started to rouse. He forced his mind to stay focused on the moment, because to contemplate the rest was too much. Three years. How does a person’s mind just up and decide to forget three years? Nearly four?
And Sammy, leaving…going away to school. Sammy with some girl. Sammy…raped.
Dean tossed down the money he’d taken from Sam’s wallet and snagged the two coffees, then headed back to the room. He couldn’t think about that. About the broken leg and the stitches and the fading bruises he’d seen on his brother’s back. It was something more than Sam was telling him.
He sighed and crossed the street to the motel. Sam was seriously spooked, and his father…had sounded strange. He hadn’t really slept much. He’d laid in bed and held on to Sam and tried to remember.
There was nothing. Just this wall. They went in and had dinner with Bobby and Robert. Robert was his usual asshole self. Brooding and irritable. Dean remembered he caught him staring at Sam a couple of times. Then, Dean and Sam had gone to bed. The next thing he remembered was feeling sick to his stomach and telling Sam to pull over.
Dean shook his head and stacked the coffee cups while he fished the room key out of his pocket. Sam was sitting up in bed, looking a little panicked. Dean held up the coffee. “Figured we could both use it.”
Sam nodded, but his expression was still kinda scared. Dean handed him his cup and went to sit at the table. “I’m…I’m thinking you should let me handle those stitches before we get going.” Dean said, though he had meant to say something else completely.
“Yeah…okay. Med kit’s in the bag.” Sam wasn’t looking at him and damn but it felt like his brother was trying to handle him.
“Come sit here, I’ll get it.”
The stitches could probably wait…but Dean had an ulterior motive. He wanted to see just how much damage there was. Sam slipped out of bed, adjusting his worn out boxers and limping to the chair. “Doc said to keep using the crutches.” Dean said softly as he went to get the med kit.
“I know.” Sam moved to straddle the chair and take his shirt off.
Dean sighed and unrolled the med kit. “Whose kit is this? There’s some serious shit in here.”
Sam glanced aside at it. “Dad’s…I think. Maybe Bobby’s. I figured we might need it…so I grabbed it when we…” He shook his head and sighed. “When we left.”
“Left where, Sam? Bobby’s?”
Sam shook his head and Dean rested a hand on the expanse of bare skin. “Christ.” Dean murmured. Sam’s back was a mess, and it was easy to tell it was worse not long before. Dean reached behind him and opened the curtain to let in the morning sun. “Fuck, Sam.”
Sam hung his head, but didn’t respond as Dean moved back to examine him. The bruising was fading, more greens and yellows than purple or blue…or black…though there were still black spots. “What did he do to you?” Dean whispered, closing his eyes.
“Dean…please.” Sam’s voice was throaty and thick.
“I’m sorry Sam. God, I’m so sorry.”
His fingers brushed over the stitched up cuts. “This isn’t Dad’s work.”
Sam’s head came up. “No? I…was…unconscious.”
Dean’s hand tightened into a fist and he shook his head. He grabbed the second chair and brought it around, straddling it with his face inches from Sam’s. “Damn it Sam. Just tell me. Just…” He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. “I look at your back and you tell me…you tell me some guy did this to you…but you’re fine…but every time I look at you I see something more…and this…this isn’t fine Sam.”
“Please…Dean….Let’s just go….we can…can talk after…when…when we’re alone.”
“Sam, we’re alone now.” Dean couldn’t understand. Sam wanted to run. Sam was running away…away from Dad. Dean cleared his throat, his hands lifting to Sam’s face, turning it so he could look in Sam’s eyes. “What are we running from?”
Sam didn’t answer, just tried to look away. “Sam…man, you gotta help me here. I’m drifting. I’ve got no…I’ve got nothing. I can’t do this without you giving me something.”
“Dean…you don’t need…just…it’s enough to know it was really, really bad….and you…you saved me.”
“No. It isn’t enough, Sam.” Dean stood up and paced away. “First you tell me I disappeared, and you found me. Then you tell me you were raped and I saved you.” Sam flinched as Dean’s voice raised. He was starting to get really angry with his little brother and genuinely scared for him. “And those marks on your back…those aren’t from some minor assault. Someone cut you. Those are cuts that are made to bleed Sam. To bleed and hurt. It’s torture. And if you don’t start talking…I’ll…I’ll knock you out and drag you back to Dad and make him tell me.”
Sam stood and came toward him, his hands out in a placating gesture. “Dean…shh…just…calm down.”
“Fuck you.”
“Okay. I’ll tell you. But…not here. Not right now. Tonight. Let today be…” He shook his head. “Please, just give me today?”
Dean wanted to shake him, to demand that he tell him everything right that minute, but Sam looked like he was ready to start crying and Dean wasn’t sure he could handle that. Slowly he nodded. “Sit down. Let me get those stitches out. Then we’ll head out.”
The first few hours on the road were quiet. Sam huddled into himself and tried to sit still. His back itched now that the stitches were out. He felt Dean’s eyes on him from time to time and kept his gaze pointed out the side window. The question in his eyes…the pity…the pain…it was more than Sam knew how to deal with.
“Hungry?” Dean asked as they neared Missoula.
Sam breathed in and nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”
“We’ll stop on the other side of Missoula.”
“Good.”
They were quiet again for a long time, then Dean looked at him and Sam knew he was going to ask something. “Is Dad okay?”
Not what he was expecting. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”
Dean shook his head. “He sounded…strange.”
“Strange?”
Dean nodded, scowling out the window. “Yeah. I was telling him I was worried about you and that you’re…well…he was more concerned about what I knew. And…he told me to do what you wanted me to do. And that’s not like him.”
Sam nodded and stared out the window. “Dad’s worried about you. Told me to take you away, told me to take care of you.”
“See. That’s just it. From what I can see here Sam, you’re the one who needs taking care of. I’m fine.”
“I know it seems that way Dean.” Sam picked at the frayed knee of his jeans.
Dean was frowning, his lips a fine, thin line of anger. “And we’re back to the wall.”
They moved around slower moving traffic and as the city started to thin out around them, Dean pulled them off the freeway and into a diner. He was out the door and into the building before Sam even got to his feet.
When Sam got into the diner Dean was already seated. “It must be incredibly frustrating.” Sam said as he sat down. “I can’t begin to know.”
“From where I’m sitting Sam, you know a hell of a lot more than I do.”
After they ordered Sam sat back to take a good hard look at Dean. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was still pale. “Did you sleep?”
Dean shook his head and Sam sighed. “Maybe I should drive when we leave.”
Dean’s only response was a dirty look. They were quiet then until the waitress came with their lunch. Half way through Sam felt sick and excused himself. He hobbled on the crutches into the bathroom and slammed into a stall, retching before he got all the way down.
He flushed and dug out his phone…but he only got his father’s voice mail. “Fuck. I can’t do this Dad. I can’t lie to him…and I can’t tell him…and fuck…when he remembers…” His voice trailed off and then another thought occurred to him. “What if…what if he never does remember?” He hung up the phone and got to his feet.
He was shaking as he moved out to the sink to wash up.
“Sam?”
Sam bent forward to splash water over his face to hide the tears as Dean came in the room. “Yeah.”
“You okay?”
He looked up. “Stomach…didn’t like the food…or something.”
“Yeah, or something. You never could keep a secret without losing your lunch Sam. You done?”
Sam nodded.
“Good. Let’s hit it.”
They were only an hour or so from Spokane when Dean reached from the steering wheel to grab Sam’s left hand, holding it up to look at. “What’s that?”
“It’s a ring.”
“Very funny.” Dean glanced back at the road, and angled Sam’s hand to catch the headlights of the car behind them. “You get married in my missing three years, Sammy?”
Sam pulled the hand back and snorted. “Last I knew marrying your brother is illegal. You gave it to me Dean.”
“I did? Why would I do something so…”
“Girly?” Sam asked. He chuckled. “Got down on one knee and everything Dean. It was very sweet.”
“I did not. You’re making that up.”
“Yeah, okay…not on one knee…but still you gave it to me…told me how much you loved me…it was all very sweet.”
“Hmmmph. Where’d I get it? It looks old.”
“You told me Dad gave it to you.”
Dean nodded. “Mom gave it to him.” He frowned, then looked at Sam. “I don’t know where that came from.”
Sam looked panicked for a moment, then looked away. “Must be a memory. That’s a good sign.”
“Then why does it scare you?”
Sam reached for his hand and held it. “Tonight Dean. Okay?”
Dean nodded again and lifted Sam’s hand to kiss. Sam smiled at him and for the moment Dean could pretend everything was okay.
“Hey, I talked to the owner and he’s got a cousin with cabins an hour or so from here. He’s got one that’s open. It’s small, but we don’t need much, right?”
Dean looked up from the bag of take out he was spreading on the table.
“What’s all this?”
Dean’s smile was sheepish. “Well…if we’re gonna spend the next however long out in the woods, I figured we deserved one good meal.”
Sam hobbled over. “These are all my favorites. What did you do, go to every restaurant in town?”
“Just a few. Stop fussing and sit.”
“What? No candlelight?”
“Don’t make me break your crutches Sammy.”
Sam chuckled and sat down. “So anyway, I told him we’d take it.”
“Okay. An hour you said?”
“Give or take. He says it’s pretty cold up there, snow on the ground still. We should stop, pick up some cold weather clothes. There’s a thrift store a few blocks down.”
Dean loaded up Sam’s paper plate and set it front of him, then handed him a seven up from the motel soda machine. “I hope your stomach’s better.”
“Yeah it is.”
“Good.”
Dean plopped into his chair and cracked open a beer. “Beer?” Sam asked, an eyebrow raised and a smirk on his lips. He couldn’t help but remember Dean’s last experience with a beer.
“Yeah. Problem?”
Sam chuckled and shook his head. “No…eat.”
“You eat.”
Sam could feel Dean’s eyes watching him as he ate, knew he was waiting…and any minute he was going to make Sam keep his promise. He decided that maybe it was better to do this at his own pace. He wiped his mouth, pushed his plate away.
He’d thought about it all night. Dean would know if he was lying or holding back. The best he could hope for was to keep the whole thing focused on himself. “Okay. Where do you want me to start?”
Dean looked at him for a long minute. “I’d like to say with the part where you left…but I figure maybe you’re right and I need to remember stuff myself. So why don’t we start with what happened to you.”
Sam nodded and licked his lips. “Okay. I told you I was raped. That’s…part of the truth.” He closed his eyes, because he couldn’t say these things if he had to watch Dean react to it. “I—Robert…Bobby’s son. He…kidnapped me from Bobby’s place. Took me someplace. D-drugged me.”
He heard Dean moving, shifting. Sam turned so he was facing away from Dean. “He…wasn’t alone. There were…others…and…they…hurt me. Beat me. They…t-took turns.”
Sam bit his tongue to hold back the wave of fear and memory. He just wanted to get through this. “He said he loved me…wanted me to be with him…He…was nice…gentle…not like the others…it made me feel filthy, Dean….when he…he kissed me…”
Dean’s voice was ice. “How many?”
Sam shook, wiping away the tears. “I don’t know….I was…drugged and in the dark and…it was….I couldn’t keep track.”
“How long?”
Sam hated the way his voice trembled. He wrapped his arms around himself and leaned forward. “F-four d-days.” Sam sniffed, pushed the memory away…”And then…you came for me…you…saved me.”
Dean’s hand was on his head. Sam wanted to just lean into his touch. Dean’s lips pressed against the crown of his head, then Dean was sliding to his knees in front of Sam.
“God Sam…I…Come here.” Dean’s arms folded around him and Sam collapsed into his arms, onto his knees, and as Dean rocked him, Sam buried his face in his brother’s neck and let the tears come. “I’m so sorry Sam.”
Dean’s kisses were tender, over his forehead and eyes, kissing away the tears, moving slowly down to Sam’s lips. At first it didn’t register, but as he pulled away, Sam’s eyes opened. He moved to follow Dean’s lips, but Dean shook his head. “It’s okay Dean.”
“No…you’re hurting and vulnerable and I’m not going to take advantage of that.”
Sam closed his eyes. It was so comforting to relax and let Dean be his big brother…to let go of everything else…to forget…”Let’s get that splint off and get you cleaned up.” Dean said softly, pushing Sam until he realized what Dean wanted and shifted back into the chair.
Dean handed him his crutches and headed for the bathroom. “I’ll start a bath.”
“Shower.” Sam countered. “Tub’s too small.”
“Tub’s fine Sam, you’re just huge.”
Sam followed slowly, taking his time. Steam had already started to fill the room when he got there, and Dean nodded before reaching to help Sam undress. “This okay?”
Sam nodded, lifting his arm to get the t-shirt off. “We don’t seem to have much in the way of clean clothes.” Dean said as he set Sam’s crutches aside and Sam started on his pants. “We’ll have to do laundry tomorrow.”
“I’m gonna need to just buy new pants.” Sam countered, holding a hand to Dean’s shoulder as balanced himself to drop his jeans and boxers.
Dean’s sharp intake of breath made Sam freeze. His fingers traced the “J” carved on Sam’s chest. Sam covered it and shook his head. “It…he…you cut his dick off.”
Dean’s eyes met his, a dark fury burning in them, his jaw tightly clenched. “Good. I hope I choked him with it.”
Dean woke in a cold sweat just before daylight, chasing some elusive dream out of the night, knowing he was just missing something. He sat up, scrubbing at his sweaty face. He’d dreamed of Sam, tied up and broken. Of words Sam whispered…words that made him feel desperate and beaten…but he couldn’t find them.
He sighed. He felt sticky from the sweat. Sam would want to get started fairly early, so Dean decided that he should shower now, gather their clothes and find a laundry.
In the bathroom, he stared at himself for a minute, at the dark sunken eyes, the white face…stubble that really needed shaving. Maybe a few weeks of down time was what they needed. Maybe some quiet days with no research to do, no hunting…maybe Sam could start to move past this…although, how anyone could move past an experience like that, he wasn’t sure.
“Where the fuck were you, Winchester?” He asked his reflection in the mirror. Not that he expected an answer. He peeled off his shirt and started the shower. The pressure wasn’t much, but the heat was good and as he turned back, the mirror was already starting to steam up. His eyes caught on something and his hand shook a little as he wiped away the steam.
One finger of his other hand traced over the scar tissue. It was healed, older than Sam’s…but it was the same.
The mirror steamed over again and Dean shook his head. He was imagining things. He finished stripping and stepped into the shower, determine to put it out of his mind. But as he washed, his fingers kept returning to the spot, tracing over the “J”.
By the time he’d turned off the water and stepped out, his mind was churning over the possibilities. Sam said their father was hunting the men who’d hurt him. Men. Not demons. Not monsters. Men.
Men who use knives and weapons to inflict pain. Men who do the unspeakable things like what had happened to Sam. Men who made him disappear. Men who marked his skin. Men who marked Sam’s skin.
He sank to a seat on the toilet. No. No way. He’d remember. That…that was something he’d remember.
Right? Dean shook his head. Closed his eyes. He had to remember something. Anything. Somebody doesn’t carve a letter into your chest and you just forget.
He growled in frustration and bolted from the bathroom. Sam sat up as he burst into the room. “Dean?”
“What aren’t you telling me, Sam?” Dean stalked to the bed, pointing to his chest. “What the fuck don’t I remember?”
“Dean, calm down.”
“Stop telling me to calm down Sam. This…who did this?”
“Dean—“
“Who?”
Sam lowered his eyes. “His name was James. I—I’m not even sure if that was his first name or…last.”
“And why?”
“Dean…I can’t.”
“You better. I swear Sam…its there…its like…behind a door and I can’t pick the damn lock.”
Sam took a deep breath. “Dean…obviously it was too much, and your mind blocked it out. Somewhere inside you know you need time. Give yourself the time, okay?”
“Are you lying to me, Sam?”
Sam swallowed, but his eyes rose to meet Dean’s. “No…Dean.”
“Fuck!” Dean ripped the blankets from the bed, throwing them to the ground. “Fuck! I hate this.”
Sam nodded and got up slowly. “I know. But if we’re patient…”
“Patience is not one of my virtues, Sam.” Dean put his hands on his hips and stalked to the door. It didn’t help to be angry with Sam…especially not when he looked so scared. “Well…I have so few.” Dean shook his head, knowing the joke would fall flat.
“But you’re pretty.” Sam said, his own delivery even flatter.
“Get dressed. Let’s…go find this cabin of yours.”
It didn’t take long to find. They stopped at the thrift shop and found coats and even a pair of boots for Dean, some clothes. As they left, Dean tossed Sam the keys. “I’m not feeling too good. You drive.”
Sam was concerned, but didn’t say anything, just put the bags in the trunk and got them back on the road.
The cabin was barely that. Up a one lane gravel drive, three miles or more off anything that could be considered a road, it was one room built from logs and mortar, with a wood floor that was laid over a dirt foundation. It had one window and a pot belly stove, with a small amount of wood beside it.
Dean was quiet, withdrawn. Sam carried in their groceries and Dean the rest of their things. Neither of them spoke as they set about securing themselves and starting a fire in the stove.
Dean laid down on the double bed as Sam fed wood into the stove. Sam came to sit next to him. “You okay?”
He shook his head. “I…don’t know, Sammy.”
“Are you remembering things?”
Dean’s face was twisted up, like he was in pain. “Flashes…faces…nothing makes sense.”
Sam kissed him. “Don’t try so hard, Dean. When you’re ready, it will come.”
“Promise?”
Sam smiled. “We need to bring in more wood. There’s a pile outside.”
“You should let me…gimp leg and all.”
Sam shook his head. “No. You lay here. I can do this on one crutch.”
He slipped on his coat and went out to the pile. There were patches of snow on the ground and a cold rain just started falling. It would take a few trips, but he could get enough wood up to the door to keep them warm through the night. Dean could help with more the next day.
Three armfuls later, Sam pushed the door open, propping it with a log while he dragged the wood inside.
He finished and let the door closed, turning to find Dean sitting on the edge of the bed. “Dean?” Sam’s breath caught in his throat.
Dean’s eyes rested on the gun in his hand. “You lied to me.”
Sam shook his head. “No…no…Dean.” He remembered. Sam knew somehow.
Dean’s voice was low, and something in his tone scared Sam. He took a few steps closer and stopped. “I was there first. I was there…and they…I was thinking this morning…how does someone deal with…that….how does someone ever…go back…?” He sort of smiled, the gun rising. He cradled it in both hands. “But you don’t…do you Sammy? There’s no going back…”
“Dean…come on…you’re scaring me. Give me the gun.”
He started to hold it out, then snapped it up, pointing it and Sam and Sam recoiled. “Why lie Sam? Tell me I’m okay? Tell me it wasn’t my fault? I fucking gave you to him. I washed their come off of you and put you on your knees for him…and told you how to be a good fucking slave!”
The gun moved under Dean’s chin. Sam held up both hands. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He inched forward. “No…you don’t get to Dean. Not after all of this. No.”
Sam limped forward, crutch forgotten. Slowly. He could see Dean was crying now. “See…Dean…if you…if you wanna go…you have to take me too.” His throat was tight as he slid to his knees, his leg screaming in pain as he put weight on it to crawl closer.
Dean’s chest was heaving, his finger tight against the trigger. “Me first this time.” Sam whispered, both hands closing around Dean’s. Ever so slowly, he pulled the gun down, pushing the barrel against his chest. “Cause I told you I can’t do this without you. If you’re going to do it…do me first. Make the pain stop, Dean.”
“Sam.” Dean’s voice was a growl…half warning, half anguish. “My beautiful Sam.” He tried to pull the gun back, but Sam held on.
“You’re not leaving without me, Dean. You die, I die. I lived without you for three and a half years. I won’t do it again. I can’t.”
Sam lifted tear filled eyes to his brother’s. There was anguish there…unlike any Sam had ever seen. He wasn’t sure Dean wouldn’t pull the trigger. He wasn’t sure he didn’t want him to. Maybe in the end, it was the only way to fix what was wrong.
Title: Anguish
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17 (for thematic reasons)
Word Count: 3959
Summary: Broken!Verse, chapter 49 (Click here for Index of all chapters)
Summary: This is all Sam and Dean. This...is hard. It took all day to write. Dean struggles with the blank spots in his memory, and with the holes in what Sam is telling him, pushing Sam closer to the edge...and sliding closer to it himself.
A/Ns and Warnings: Very dark. Includes memory of torture and rape and very dark violence, threats of self-violence.
Dean was up early, showered and gone for coffee before Sam even started to rouse. He forced his mind to stay focused on the moment, because to contemplate the rest was too much. Three years. How does a person’s mind just up and decide to forget three years? Nearly four?
And Sammy, leaving…going away to school. Sammy with some girl. Sammy…raped.
Dean tossed down the money he’d taken from Sam’s wallet and snagged the two coffees, then headed back to the room. He couldn’t think about that. About the broken leg and the stitches and the fading bruises he’d seen on his brother’s back. It was something more than Sam was telling him.
He sighed and crossed the street to the motel. Sam was seriously spooked, and his father…had sounded strange. He hadn’t really slept much. He’d laid in bed and held on to Sam and tried to remember.
There was nothing. Just this wall. They went in and had dinner with Bobby and Robert. Robert was his usual asshole self. Brooding and irritable. Dean remembered he caught him staring at Sam a couple of times. Then, Dean and Sam had gone to bed. The next thing he remembered was feeling sick to his stomach and telling Sam to pull over.
Dean shook his head and stacked the coffee cups while he fished the room key out of his pocket. Sam was sitting up in bed, looking a little panicked. Dean held up the coffee. “Figured we could both use it.”
Sam nodded, but his expression was still kinda scared. Dean handed him his cup and went to sit at the table. “I’m…I’m thinking you should let me handle those stitches before we get going.” Dean said, though he had meant to say something else completely.
“Yeah…okay. Med kit’s in the bag.” Sam wasn’t looking at him and damn but it felt like his brother was trying to handle him.
“Come sit here, I’ll get it.”
The stitches could probably wait…but Dean had an ulterior motive. He wanted to see just how much damage there was. Sam slipped out of bed, adjusting his worn out boxers and limping to the chair. “Doc said to keep using the crutches.” Dean said softly as he went to get the med kit.
“I know.” Sam moved to straddle the chair and take his shirt off.
Dean sighed and unrolled the med kit. “Whose kit is this? There’s some serious shit in here.”
Sam glanced aside at it. “Dad’s…I think. Maybe Bobby’s. I figured we might need it…so I grabbed it when we…” He shook his head and sighed. “When we left.”
“Left where, Sam? Bobby’s?”
Sam shook his head and Dean rested a hand on the expanse of bare skin. “Christ.” Dean murmured. Sam’s back was a mess, and it was easy to tell it was worse not long before. Dean reached behind him and opened the curtain to let in the morning sun. “Fuck, Sam.”
Sam hung his head, but didn’t respond as Dean moved back to examine him. The bruising was fading, more greens and yellows than purple or blue…or black…though there were still black spots. “What did he do to you?” Dean whispered, closing his eyes.
“Dean…please.” Sam’s voice was throaty and thick.
“I’m sorry Sam. God, I’m so sorry.”
His fingers brushed over the stitched up cuts. “This isn’t Dad’s work.”
Sam’s head came up. “No? I…was…unconscious.”
Dean’s hand tightened into a fist and he shook his head. He grabbed the second chair and brought it around, straddling it with his face inches from Sam’s. “Damn it Sam. Just tell me. Just…” He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. “I look at your back and you tell me…you tell me some guy did this to you…but you’re fine…but every time I look at you I see something more…and this…this isn’t fine Sam.”
“Please…Dean….Let’s just go….we can…can talk after…when…when we’re alone.”
“Sam, we’re alone now.” Dean couldn’t understand. Sam wanted to run. Sam was running away…away from Dad. Dean cleared his throat, his hands lifting to Sam’s face, turning it so he could look in Sam’s eyes. “What are we running from?”
Sam didn’t answer, just tried to look away. “Sam…man, you gotta help me here. I’m drifting. I’ve got no…I’ve got nothing. I can’t do this without you giving me something.”
“Dean…you don’t need…just…it’s enough to know it was really, really bad….and you…you saved me.”
“No. It isn’t enough, Sam.” Dean stood up and paced away. “First you tell me I disappeared, and you found me. Then you tell me you were raped and I saved you.” Sam flinched as Dean’s voice raised. He was starting to get really angry with his little brother and genuinely scared for him. “And those marks on your back…those aren’t from some minor assault. Someone cut you. Those are cuts that are made to bleed Sam. To bleed and hurt. It’s torture. And if you don’t start talking…I’ll…I’ll knock you out and drag you back to Dad and make him tell me.”
Sam stood and came toward him, his hands out in a placating gesture. “Dean…shh…just…calm down.”
“Fuck you.”
“Okay. I’ll tell you. But…not here. Not right now. Tonight. Let today be…” He shook his head. “Please, just give me today?”
Dean wanted to shake him, to demand that he tell him everything right that minute, but Sam looked like he was ready to start crying and Dean wasn’t sure he could handle that. Slowly he nodded. “Sit down. Let me get those stitches out. Then we’ll head out.”
The first few hours on the road were quiet. Sam huddled into himself and tried to sit still. His back itched now that the stitches were out. He felt Dean’s eyes on him from time to time and kept his gaze pointed out the side window. The question in his eyes…the pity…the pain…it was more than Sam knew how to deal with.
“Hungry?” Dean asked as they neared Missoula.
Sam breathed in and nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”
“We’ll stop on the other side of Missoula.”
“Good.”
They were quiet again for a long time, then Dean looked at him and Sam knew he was going to ask something. “Is Dad okay?”
Not what he was expecting. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”
Dean shook his head. “He sounded…strange.”
“Strange?”
Dean nodded, scowling out the window. “Yeah. I was telling him I was worried about you and that you’re…well…he was more concerned about what I knew. And…he told me to do what you wanted me to do. And that’s not like him.”
Sam nodded and stared out the window. “Dad’s worried about you. Told me to take you away, told me to take care of you.”
“See. That’s just it. From what I can see here Sam, you’re the one who needs taking care of. I’m fine.”
“I know it seems that way Dean.” Sam picked at the frayed knee of his jeans.
Dean was frowning, his lips a fine, thin line of anger. “And we’re back to the wall.”
They moved around slower moving traffic and as the city started to thin out around them, Dean pulled them off the freeway and into a diner. He was out the door and into the building before Sam even got to his feet.
When Sam got into the diner Dean was already seated. “It must be incredibly frustrating.” Sam said as he sat down. “I can’t begin to know.”
“From where I’m sitting Sam, you know a hell of a lot more than I do.”
After they ordered Sam sat back to take a good hard look at Dean. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was still pale. “Did you sleep?”
Dean shook his head and Sam sighed. “Maybe I should drive when we leave.”
Dean’s only response was a dirty look. They were quiet then until the waitress came with their lunch. Half way through Sam felt sick and excused himself. He hobbled on the crutches into the bathroom and slammed into a stall, retching before he got all the way down.
He flushed and dug out his phone…but he only got his father’s voice mail. “Fuck. I can’t do this Dad. I can’t lie to him…and I can’t tell him…and fuck…when he remembers…” His voice trailed off and then another thought occurred to him. “What if…what if he never does remember?” He hung up the phone and got to his feet.
He was shaking as he moved out to the sink to wash up.
“Sam?”
Sam bent forward to splash water over his face to hide the tears as Dean came in the room. “Yeah.”
“You okay?”
He looked up. “Stomach…didn’t like the food…or something.”
“Yeah, or something. You never could keep a secret without losing your lunch Sam. You done?”
Sam nodded.
“Good. Let’s hit it.”
They were only an hour or so from Spokane when Dean reached from the steering wheel to grab Sam’s left hand, holding it up to look at. “What’s that?”
“It’s a ring.”
“Very funny.” Dean glanced back at the road, and angled Sam’s hand to catch the headlights of the car behind them. “You get married in my missing three years, Sammy?”
Sam pulled the hand back and snorted. “Last I knew marrying your brother is illegal. You gave it to me Dean.”
“I did? Why would I do something so…”
“Girly?” Sam asked. He chuckled. “Got down on one knee and everything Dean. It was very sweet.”
“I did not. You’re making that up.”
“Yeah, okay…not on one knee…but still you gave it to me…told me how much you loved me…it was all very sweet.”
“Hmmmph. Where’d I get it? It looks old.”
“You told me Dad gave it to you.”
Dean nodded. “Mom gave it to him.” He frowned, then looked at Sam. “I don’t know where that came from.”
Sam looked panicked for a moment, then looked away. “Must be a memory. That’s a good sign.”
“Then why does it scare you?”
Sam reached for his hand and held it. “Tonight Dean. Okay?”
Dean nodded again and lifted Sam’s hand to kiss. Sam smiled at him and for the moment Dean could pretend everything was okay.
“Hey, I talked to the owner and he’s got a cousin with cabins an hour or so from here. He’s got one that’s open. It’s small, but we don’t need much, right?”
Dean looked up from the bag of take out he was spreading on the table.
“What’s all this?”
Dean’s smile was sheepish. “Well…if we’re gonna spend the next however long out in the woods, I figured we deserved one good meal.”
Sam hobbled over. “These are all my favorites. What did you do, go to every restaurant in town?”
“Just a few. Stop fussing and sit.”
“What? No candlelight?”
“Don’t make me break your crutches Sammy.”
Sam chuckled and sat down. “So anyway, I told him we’d take it.”
“Okay. An hour you said?”
“Give or take. He says it’s pretty cold up there, snow on the ground still. We should stop, pick up some cold weather clothes. There’s a thrift store a few blocks down.”
Dean loaded up Sam’s paper plate and set it front of him, then handed him a seven up from the motel soda machine. “I hope your stomach’s better.”
“Yeah it is.”
“Good.”
Dean plopped into his chair and cracked open a beer. “Beer?” Sam asked, an eyebrow raised and a smirk on his lips. He couldn’t help but remember Dean’s last experience with a beer.
“Yeah. Problem?”
Sam chuckled and shook his head. “No…eat.”
“You eat.”
Sam could feel Dean’s eyes watching him as he ate, knew he was waiting…and any minute he was going to make Sam keep his promise. He decided that maybe it was better to do this at his own pace. He wiped his mouth, pushed his plate away.
He’d thought about it all night. Dean would know if he was lying or holding back. The best he could hope for was to keep the whole thing focused on himself. “Okay. Where do you want me to start?”
Dean looked at him for a long minute. “I’d like to say with the part where you left…but I figure maybe you’re right and I need to remember stuff myself. So why don’t we start with what happened to you.”
Sam nodded and licked his lips. “Okay. I told you I was raped. That’s…part of the truth.” He closed his eyes, because he couldn’t say these things if he had to watch Dean react to it. “I—Robert…Bobby’s son. He…kidnapped me from Bobby’s place. Took me someplace. D-drugged me.”
He heard Dean moving, shifting. Sam turned so he was facing away from Dean. “He…wasn’t alone. There were…others…and…they…hurt me. Beat me. They…t-took turns.”
Sam bit his tongue to hold back the wave of fear and memory. He just wanted to get through this. “He said he loved me…wanted me to be with him…He…was nice…gentle…not like the others…it made me feel filthy, Dean….when he…he kissed me…”
Dean’s voice was ice. “How many?”
Sam shook, wiping away the tears. “I don’t know….I was…drugged and in the dark and…it was….I couldn’t keep track.”
“How long?”
Sam hated the way his voice trembled. He wrapped his arms around himself and leaned forward. “F-four d-days.” Sam sniffed, pushed the memory away…”And then…you came for me…you…saved me.”
Dean’s hand was on his head. Sam wanted to just lean into his touch. Dean’s lips pressed against the crown of his head, then Dean was sliding to his knees in front of Sam.
“God Sam…I…Come here.” Dean’s arms folded around him and Sam collapsed into his arms, onto his knees, and as Dean rocked him, Sam buried his face in his brother’s neck and let the tears come. “I’m so sorry Sam.”
Dean’s kisses were tender, over his forehead and eyes, kissing away the tears, moving slowly down to Sam’s lips. At first it didn’t register, but as he pulled away, Sam’s eyes opened. He moved to follow Dean’s lips, but Dean shook his head. “It’s okay Dean.”
“No…you’re hurting and vulnerable and I’m not going to take advantage of that.”
Sam closed his eyes. It was so comforting to relax and let Dean be his big brother…to let go of everything else…to forget…”Let’s get that splint off and get you cleaned up.” Dean said softly, pushing Sam until he realized what Dean wanted and shifted back into the chair.
Dean handed him his crutches and headed for the bathroom. “I’ll start a bath.”
“Shower.” Sam countered. “Tub’s too small.”
“Tub’s fine Sam, you’re just huge.”
Sam followed slowly, taking his time. Steam had already started to fill the room when he got there, and Dean nodded before reaching to help Sam undress. “This okay?”
Sam nodded, lifting his arm to get the t-shirt off. “We don’t seem to have much in the way of clean clothes.” Dean said as he set Sam’s crutches aside and Sam started on his pants. “We’ll have to do laundry tomorrow.”
“I’m gonna need to just buy new pants.” Sam countered, holding a hand to Dean’s shoulder as balanced himself to drop his jeans and boxers.
Dean’s sharp intake of breath made Sam freeze. His fingers traced the “J” carved on Sam’s chest. Sam covered it and shook his head. “It…he…you cut his dick off.”
Dean’s eyes met his, a dark fury burning in them, his jaw tightly clenched. “Good. I hope I choked him with it.”
Dean woke in a cold sweat just before daylight, chasing some elusive dream out of the night, knowing he was just missing something. He sat up, scrubbing at his sweaty face. He’d dreamed of Sam, tied up and broken. Of words Sam whispered…words that made him feel desperate and beaten…but he couldn’t find them.
He sighed. He felt sticky from the sweat. Sam would want to get started fairly early, so Dean decided that he should shower now, gather their clothes and find a laundry.
In the bathroom, he stared at himself for a minute, at the dark sunken eyes, the white face…stubble that really needed shaving. Maybe a few weeks of down time was what they needed. Maybe some quiet days with no research to do, no hunting…maybe Sam could start to move past this…although, how anyone could move past an experience like that, he wasn’t sure.
“Where the fuck were you, Winchester?” He asked his reflection in the mirror. Not that he expected an answer. He peeled off his shirt and started the shower. The pressure wasn’t much, but the heat was good and as he turned back, the mirror was already starting to steam up. His eyes caught on something and his hand shook a little as he wiped away the steam.
One finger of his other hand traced over the scar tissue. It was healed, older than Sam’s…but it was the same.
The mirror steamed over again and Dean shook his head. He was imagining things. He finished stripping and stepped into the shower, determine to put it out of his mind. But as he washed, his fingers kept returning to the spot, tracing over the “J”.
By the time he’d turned off the water and stepped out, his mind was churning over the possibilities. Sam said their father was hunting the men who’d hurt him. Men. Not demons. Not monsters. Men.
Men who use knives and weapons to inflict pain. Men who do the unspeakable things like what had happened to Sam. Men who made him disappear. Men who marked his skin. Men who marked Sam’s skin.
He sank to a seat on the toilet. No. No way. He’d remember. That…that was something he’d remember.
Right? Dean shook his head. Closed his eyes. He had to remember something. Anything. Somebody doesn’t carve a letter into your chest and you just forget.
He growled in frustration and bolted from the bathroom. Sam sat up as he burst into the room. “Dean?”
“What aren’t you telling me, Sam?” Dean stalked to the bed, pointing to his chest. “What the fuck don’t I remember?”
“Dean, calm down.”
“Stop telling me to calm down Sam. This…who did this?”
“Dean—“
“Who?”
Sam lowered his eyes. “His name was James. I—I’m not even sure if that was his first name or…last.”
“And why?”
“Dean…I can’t.”
“You better. I swear Sam…its there…its like…behind a door and I can’t pick the damn lock.”
Sam took a deep breath. “Dean…obviously it was too much, and your mind blocked it out. Somewhere inside you know you need time. Give yourself the time, okay?”
“Are you lying to me, Sam?”
Sam swallowed, but his eyes rose to meet Dean’s. “No…Dean.”
“Fuck!” Dean ripped the blankets from the bed, throwing them to the ground. “Fuck! I hate this.”
Sam nodded and got up slowly. “I know. But if we’re patient…”
“Patience is not one of my virtues, Sam.” Dean put his hands on his hips and stalked to the door. It didn’t help to be angry with Sam…especially not when he looked so scared. “Well…I have so few.” Dean shook his head, knowing the joke would fall flat.
“But you’re pretty.” Sam said, his own delivery even flatter.
“Get dressed. Let’s…go find this cabin of yours.”
It didn’t take long to find. They stopped at the thrift shop and found coats and even a pair of boots for Dean, some clothes. As they left, Dean tossed Sam the keys. “I’m not feeling too good. You drive.”
Sam was concerned, but didn’t say anything, just put the bags in the trunk and got them back on the road.
The cabin was barely that. Up a one lane gravel drive, three miles or more off anything that could be considered a road, it was one room built from logs and mortar, with a wood floor that was laid over a dirt foundation. It had one window and a pot belly stove, with a small amount of wood beside it.
Dean was quiet, withdrawn. Sam carried in their groceries and Dean the rest of their things. Neither of them spoke as they set about securing themselves and starting a fire in the stove.
Dean laid down on the double bed as Sam fed wood into the stove. Sam came to sit next to him. “You okay?”
He shook his head. “I…don’t know, Sammy.”
“Are you remembering things?”
Dean’s face was twisted up, like he was in pain. “Flashes…faces…nothing makes sense.”
Sam kissed him. “Don’t try so hard, Dean. When you’re ready, it will come.”
“Promise?”
Sam smiled. “We need to bring in more wood. There’s a pile outside.”
“You should let me…gimp leg and all.”
Sam shook his head. “No. You lay here. I can do this on one crutch.”
He slipped on his coat and went out to the pile. There were patches of snow on the ground and a cold rain just started falling. It would take a few trips, but he could get enough wood up to the door to keep them warm through the night. Dean could help with more the next day.
Three armfuls later, Sam pushed the door open, propping it with a log while he dragged the wood inside.
He finished and let the door closed, turning to find Dean sitting on the edge of the bed. “Dean?” Sam’s breath caught in his throat.
Dean’s eyes rested on the gun in his hand. “You lied to me.”
Sam shook his head. “No…no…Dean.” He remembered. Sam knew somehow.
Dean’s voice was low, and something in his tone scared Sam. He took a few steps closer and stopped. “I was there first. I was there…and they…I was thinking this morning…how does someone deal with…that….how does someone ever…go back…?” He sort of smiled, the gun rising. He cradled it in both hands. “But you don’t…do you Sammy? There’s no going back…”
“Dean…come on…you’re scaring me. Give me the gun.”
He started to hold it out, then snapped it up, pointing it and Sam and Sam recoiled. “Why lie Sam? Tell me I’m okay? Tell me it wasn’t my fault? I fucking gave you to him. I washed their come off of you and put you on your knees for him…and told you how to be a good fucking slave!”
The gun moved under Dean’s chin. Sam held up both hands. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He inched forward. “No…you don’t get to Dean. Not after all of this. No.”
Sam limped forward, crutch forgotten. Slowly. He could see Dean was crying now. “See…Dean…if you…if you wanna go…you have to take me too.” His throat was tight as he slid to his knees, his leg screaming in pain as he put weight on it to crawl closer.
Dean’s chest was heaving, his finger tight against the trigger. “Me first this time.” Sam whispered, both hands closing around Dean’s. Ever so slowly, he pulled the gun down, pushing the barrel against his chest. “Cause I told you I can’t do this without you. If you’re going to do it…do me first. Make the pain stop, Dean.”
“Sam.” Dean’s voice was a growl…half warning, half anguish. “My beautiful Sam.” He tried to pull the gun back, but Sam held on.
“You’re not leaving without me, Dean. You die, I die. I lived without you for three and a half years. I won’t do it again. I can’t.”
Sam lifted tear filled eyes to his brother’s. There was anguish there…unlike any Sam had ever seen. He wasn’t sure Dean wouldn’t pull the trigger. He wasn’t sure he didn’t want him to. Maybe in the end, it was the only way to fix what was wrong.
