Dean reveals something terrible that sends Sam's strange anger to new heights, but he must stay calm if he wishes to help his brother. Sam helps him in the only way he knows how - showing him he's loved. Can the brothers get through this, or are the hunters about to fall victim to their own minds and memories?
This is a prelude of sorts to an evil!Sam story that I am going to write. This story is designed to introduce you to the characters in this story, and such. Wincest will be in the story that follows this one, but there is only a small amount in this story – which can be seen as brotherly affection easily.
Warning: the following story contains Dean being abused, both mentally and physically, by John. If you don't like it, don't read it, please.
Disappearing Act
It happened too quick, much too quick. One moment they were arguing about which case they should take and the next Dean was sent reeling across the room. Intense anger burned inside of Sam, alongside some kind of fiery resentment towards Dean. Without even thinking about what he was doing, Sam stepped forwards to where Dean was holding his hurt jaw. Sam looked at Dean coldly and hit him again. And again. And again. And Dean wasn't fighting back – couldn't fight back. It was his brother. Dean's expression was so confused that it should have made Sam stop, but it didn't. Dean fell to the floor, instinctively trying to protect his head from Sam's blows. A strangled cry escaped his throat, which made Sam stop dead in his tracks.
Sam looked down at his brother, a sick feeling rising up from inside him. Sam didn't say anything, couldn't say anything. There were no words. Instead, Sam turned and left their motel room as quietly as possible. Leaving Dean hurt in more ways than one.
Once outside Sam jogged to the Impala, which was unlocked for a reason which Sam couldn't remember right now. It smelled stale inside the car, which only seemed to aggravate Sam more. He balled his hands into fists and slammed them against the dashboard. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. Goddamn! What was that? Sam directed his eyes towards his knuckles. They were faintly purple, and Sam felt guilt in his stomach, so much guilt, digesting alongside his dinner. He didn't know how much time he should give Dean to clean up, or whether he should give Dean any time at all. The longer he gives Dean alone, the larger the chance Dean will decide to do something irrational. He was like that, and what – what the fuck?
He just beat his goddamned brother up, of course he shouldn't give Dean time to make wrong decisions, he's gotta go back and apologise for his... for his freak out. That was all. Sam was just moody lately, the concept of peace had flown out the window, and Dean was doing nothing to help the situation. But it would be okay, Sam would go back and apologise for freaking out and Dean would forgive him – he'd forgive anything Sam does wrong – then everything would be normal again. Hell, it wasn't like Dean has never taken a swipe at Sam. Yeah.
Sam let out a shaky breath, willing himself to calm down. He climbed out of the car, the cool air bit at his skin as he walked back to their motel room. He stopped outside the door and shut his eyes for a moment, hoping Dean hadn't locked the door. He hadn't. Sam called out Dean's name as soon as he entered. The shower was running. Sam couldn't help but feel relieved – he wouldn't have to face Dean, not yet.
Sam sat on the end of Dean's bed and waited not so patiently for Dean to get out of the shower.
In the next room, free to break down as much as he wishes with the door closed, Dean sat on the floor, his knees bent up to his chest and his arms twisted tightly around them. He knew it wasn't like they'd never fought before, but this time it was different somehow. The look in Sam's eyes when he had glimpsed them told Dean everything single thing he ever needed to know. Sam looked so goddamn angry, and not just angry, it was like Sam really fucking hated him. And right then and there Dean kind of hated Sam, too. How dare he break down Dean's walls that took him so damn long to build? Dean slammed his head back against the bathroom wall. It wasn't that Dean resented the physical damage – he even sort of relished it. It wasn't enough to make him cry, he thought, but it was enough to set him on some path that wouldn't stop twisting and winding. Some path that takes him straight back down memory lane, only, it was more like a highway – all the cars, all the memories, moving way too fast.
There just wasn't enough left for him to hold onto anymore, to keep him sane. Dean stood shakily and stumbled over to the sink, resting either of his hands on the smooth porcelain sides. He rose his head to look at himself in the mirror. Sam had given him one attractive shiner, which swirled red and faint purple around his eye and up his forehead. Dean leaned forwards, putting his hand over the image of his broken face and kept trying not to think of what he couldn't think about – not until the lights were out and Sam was in bed, at the very least. Please wait until Sam is gone.
Dean sighed, trying not to glance at his mocking reflection as he strode over to the shower, twisting the faucet until no more water fell. He stepped back and ran a hand through his greasy hair; he'd have a shower tomorrow morning. Dean looked at Sam once he left the bathroom's sanctuary, only long enough to ask Sam to get the hell off his bed. Sam got up immediately and sat on his own bed, clearly in full apologetic mode.
Dean collapsed on top of his bed, it was entirely to hot for the covers, he decided. But that's probably just because I'm still wearing dad's jacket. He felt sick to the stomach as his mind sent him back to what he was furiously trying not to think of.
"Dean?" asked Sam hesitantly, his voice cracking through Dean's thoughts like a whip.
"What?" Dean snapped, moving closer to the wall and further away from Sam.
"I'm sorry," he sighed, "I get so worked up lately, I didn't mean to take it out on you..."
"S'fine, I've had worse. Lots worse. You gotta work on throwing punches Sam, barely felt a thing," muttered Dean, shutting his eyes. He was still desperately trying not to think of it.
Sam noticed Dean wasn't wet, and Sam also noticed Dean not using his nickname, and it kind of hurt. "Dean..."
"Sam... just shut up, okay? Worlds not gonna end just 'cause you lost it for a minute. Now, you can buy me breakfast tomorrow... and lunch, and we'll call it even, yeah?"
Sam allowed himself a small smile. "Jerk."
"Yeah," Dean muttered to himself, "something like that." Dean shut his eyes and ignored the worry radiating off Sam. It was Dean's turn just to be left alone with his thoughts. Dean heard Sam get up and walk into the bathroom, and Dean couldn't control his mind any longer.
xXx
Dean never liked it when his father was like this. Never. He could always tell when it was going to happen before it did, and it gave Dean enough time to run to whatever room he and Sam were sharing at the time and lock the door, and he would always apologise to Sam in his mind whilst he did it.
It mainly happened when his father was drunk. Sometimes Dean would try to hide, but it only made his dad angry, and motel rooms just weren't equipped with many hiding places. John would take Dean into his room – and Dean would always feel a little relieved as he walked past Sam's room. His dad always slurred his words when he was like this. He'd tell Dean how attractive he looked and how nice he would look broken. Dean would cry and his father would slap him and tell him to shut the hell up. Dean almost always did.
First in their sick routine, his father liked to make sure Dean was thoroughly bruised. Dean would always imagine it was Sam hurting him during that, half because Sam was the only one Dean trusted through and through, and half because Sam had reason to. But it wasn't Sam, it was his own father. And no matter how young Dean was at the time, he knew it was wrong it for his father to despise him in this way.
He would always apologise afterwards of course, then he'd make Dean feel... good. Good in a bad kind of way. Dean would bite his lip and try to push his father away, but his father was too big. Then, afterwards, after it was all done his father would remind him who looked after the family, and that Dean must never breathe a word of this to Sam – as if he would – because John doesn't need two fucked up sons because, you liked it, didn't you? You're filthy, Dean. Filthy. Get out of my sight, now.
Dean would slink out of the room, tears streaming down his face, and he wouldn't bother wiping them away, because Sam would surely be asleep. It was only sometimes that Sam was awake and his eyes, much too old for his years, would study Dean gravely and ask him in his little-kid voice if Dean wanted to sleep with Sam in his bed. He didn't, he was dirty – he wouldn't taint Sam.
It went on for a long time, until Sam got too perceptive and begun fighting with his dad about why Dean was always trying to hide the fact he was crying at night. Dean was always small, not short, but small, and when Sam heard his muffled cries at night, it made Dean that much smaller in Sam's eyes. He only ever cried at night., however. During the day he would spend his time trying to make it up to Sam and his dad.
Around that time, or maybe before then, their father started asking them, Dean in particular, to call him sir – acknowledge him as something other than a parental figure.
'Yes, sir,' seemed the only thing Dean could say those days. Sir.
xXx
"Dean? Dean are you okay?" asked Sam, shaking his brother's pale, sweaty body. Dean woke beneath him and looked up at him with cloudy eyes.
"No, no! Get off me! Sir – dad! Get off me! Please!" Dean shouted miserably, before his voice lowered to a whisper. "Please, I-I'll do anything you want, just don't hurt me tonight. Not tonight. Tomorrow night, okay? T-tomorrow night."
If Sam wasn't worried before, he was now. "Dean, wake up, it's me – Sam," Sam shook his brother again. Dean's cloudy eyes focused on him, becoming clear after a few seconds. Dean inhaled deeply before pushing Sam off him and darting into the bathroom. Sam could hear his retching, and followed quickly after.
He stood beside Dean, motionless with fright, as his brother coughed up blood. Dean fell back once he had stopped, still coughing, and looked at Sam blearily as he flushed the toilet. Sam knelt down beside him and rubbed his back lightly, Dean pulled away from the touch almost instantly.
"Dontouchme," he said, before catching the surprise on Sam's face. Dean forced himself to laugh. It sounded bitter, cynical. "Not-not now," he clarified quickly, "I must s-smell pretty bad, w-we can hug later, princess."
Sam glared at him. "Don't insult my intelligence please, Dean."
Dean didn't respond, instead he rubbed his face and stood, swaying slightly. "I'm gonna go back to bed, I'm fine, okay."
Sam stood, too. His eyes locked with Dean's. "Do you, uh, want to sleep with me in my bed? If you're having nightmares..."
Dean's eyes widened and he whipped around and coughed up some blood into the sink. Sam was behind him, rubbing his back. "Go away," Dean muttered.
"Tell me what's wrong, you were saying stuff about dad – that he hurt you? What's going on, Dean?" demanded Sam, swiftly ignoring Dean's request.
Dean closed his eyes for a moment. "Get. The hell. Out. Now," he hissed.
Sam's eyebrows furrowed and he opened his mouth, but thought better of it. He gave Dean a look, a you're-going-to-tell-me-everything-even-if-I-have-to-rip-it-out-of-you look and slunk out of the room, leaving Dean alone with his head throbbing and his blood staining the sink. Dean ran the tap, washed out his mouth and rubbed the blood off the porcelain before joining Sam back out where their beds were. Sam was sitting on his, looking at Dean expectantly. Dean surprised him by walking over and sitting close beside him.
"I need to know," said Sam, "need to know... need to understand what's wrong... what you were talking about?" Anger flared inside Sam when Dean shook his head. Sam tried to get it under control. "Why?" he growled.
"Because," Dean snapped, "it's not for you to know!"
"I think it is!" yelled Sam, hitting his hand loudly against the wall. His chest was heaving.
Dean jumped before turning and glaring at Sam. His gaze softened and he lowered his gaze. "You're not dad," Dean muttered, mostly to himself, "no, I know you're not dad..."
Sam looked at him strangely, and felt his anger erupt once again as Dean stood up and laid down on his bed. "Not for you to know," Dean repeated firmly.
"Tell me," Sam hissed.
"If I told you you'd hate me as much as I hate myself," sighed Dean, pulling his – dad's – jacket off and throwing it to the floor, as though disgusted by it. He pulled the covers up over himself.
"What?" whispered Sam. "I could never hate you, Dean..."
"No," Dean said, "but dad could."
"I'm not following you," murmured Sam, he stood up, and sat down onto Dean's bed, beside his still brother.
"Good," said Dean, "anyway, I told you I don't want to talk about it."
Sam scowled. "Stop treating me like a kid here, Dean. I've grown up – I hunt monsters for a goddamn living, any innocence you're trying to protect is long gone!" Dean didn't respond. Sam rolled his eyes, knowing he wasn't going to get anywhere tonight. "Fine," muttered Sam, switching back to his own bed, "fine, whatever."
Sam slept restlessly that night, his mind conjuring up thousands of images of what Dean could be hiding from him. Dean. Sam rolled over quickly to look at Dean. He was thrashing around in his sleep. Sam frowned darkly. He was pretty sure their fight the night before had been what's hurting Dean. Maybe it had unhinged a memory and, well, if that's the case, Sam may not be able to protect Dean from his mind, but if Sam got Dean to talk to him it might help him forget.
Sam looked back over at Dean as he heard his brother stretching. "Good dreams?" muttered Sam darkly. Dean was silent, making Sam feel a little bad.
"Yeah,"Dean finally said, "fine. Chicks in bikinis. C'mon, lets get goin', didn't you say there was somethin' for us in Louisiana?"
Sam felt guilty as he looked over at Dean, whose bruising was starting to look bad. He suddenly wished he'd just agreed with Dean that they should hunt the thing Dean wanted to hunt in Indiana. "Tell me," said Sam.
Dean looked up. "No."
Sam narrowed his eyes. "Will you ever tell me?"
Dean faltered, his eyes glazing over. "I-," he begun, before he started coughing violently. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth once he was done. Sam sat beside him and put an arm around Dean's shoulders. This time it took longer before Dean shook it off. He looked up at Sam with half-closed eyes. "No, I'm not going to tell you, besides... you already know. You've just forgotten, I, uh-"
"Dean..." But Dean stood and walked into the bathroom.
Sam sighed and leaned back against the headboard. "Sam," called Dean, over the noise of the shower.
"Yeah?" replied Sam, his heart rate increading with worry.
"Start getting ready to leave, yeah? We'll get goin' to Lousiana after I've had a shower."
Sam's eyebrows creased. "I thought you wanted to go to Indiana," he called back.
"Doesn't matter," replied Dean. Then why the hell did we get into a big fight about it, hey, Dean? Sam shook his head and left the room to wait for Dean in the car.
Dean frowned at Sam waiting in the passenger seat with the window down as he exited the motel room, subconsiously playing with the keys to the room in his hand. He stopped outside the car. Sam looked up at him in confusion. "You aren't gonna get in?" he asked, putting his hand up like a visor over his eyes to shield them from the sun. Sam frowned when Dean shook his head.
"Do you want to drive?" asked Dean. Sam looked at him sceptically, before realising Dean was serious. Something's definitely wrong,I know that, Sam decided, but it's really wrong if Dean wants me to drive his car. "Yeah or no?" asked Dean impatiently, breaking Sam's thoughts.
"Yeah. Yeah, okay, thanks," said Sam, sliding open the door and climbing out. He put his hand on Dean's shoulder briefly and gave him a concerned look. Dean didn't look back, instead he brushed Sam's hand away and climbed into Sam's vacated seat. Sam sighed and walked around to the driver's seat, kicking a bottle on his way.
Sam glared at Dean once he was in the car, but the expression faltered when he saw Dean looking out the window with cloudy, watery eyes. "You have tears in your eyes, Dean," said Sam, more out of awe than anything else. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen his brother look so naked.
Dean looked over at Sam and forced a smile onto his face. "Tears of joy, Sammy, tears of joy," he said, without skipping a beat. He gave Sam a pat on the leg, before pulling away and looking out the window again.
Sam opened his mouth. Closed it. He sighed. "Dean, what's wrong?"
Dean looked over at him and for a second Sam was sure Dean was going to tell him. Instead, he smirked. "I dont know... but it's probably your fault."
Sam huffed and turned back to face the road. "I'm gonna sleep for awhile, okay?" said Dean, "make sure you don't crash the car. And don't pick up any hitchhikers." Sam didn't reply.
"You can pick where we go for lunch, I don't care."
"If you're trying to make me feel better, Dean, it's not working," insisted Sam, as he pulled out of the parking lot.
"Aww Sammy-cakes, I'm sorry, I forgot that it's that time of the month for you." Sam willed himself not to smile, but the muscles around the edges of his lips didn't get the full message, and Dean noticed.
"You're a jerk," said Sam. He wasn't going to get anything out of Dean at the moment.
"And you're a bitch," said Dean, "at least I'm cute."
Sam shook his head, smiling.
xXx
It was one of those nights when Sam was awake, but tonight he was more awake than usual. He's getting older, Dean thought. Sam was already eleven and it kind of scared Dean that his little brother had caught up to him size-wise, at least he still couldn't understand most of Dean's jokes.
"G-go back to sleep, Sammy," whispered Dean into the darkness, cringing when he let out a big sob.
"Dean? What's wrong?" whispered Sam,"Why are you crying? Are you hurt?" Sam climbed out of his bed as Dean collapsed into his, trying to shield his face from his brother.
"I'm fine," snapped Dean, "Q-quit talkin' and go b-back to sleep." Stop choking on your words.
"I haven't slept at all," Sam announced with a hint of pride in his voice, "Been kept awake by sounds in the other room."
"Sounds?" mumbled Dean, faking a yawn. "You must be hearin' things, Sammy. Get 'cha school nurse to check your ears on Monday."
Sam narrowed his eyes. "Don't try and shit me, Dean – what was hurting you? Why did you shut the door earlier? You know I like the light."
Dean sat up. "Wash your mouth out, Sam," he said.
Sam rolled his eyes. "You said much worse when you were a kid, I remember."
Wrong, Sammy, I've never been a kid. "Did not," challenged Dean.
"Did, too."
"Whatever. Go to sleep," hissed Dean, laying back down and facing away from Sam. His tears started flowing again. Dean jumped when he felt Sam climb into his bed and wrap his arms around Dean's middle. Dean was surprised again at how big Sam was getting, the kid was gonna be a basketball player.
"Sam, get off me," protested Dean weakly, squeezing his eyes closed.
"Nope. Not until you've stopped crying," bargained Sam.
"I'm not crying."
"What's with the tears, then?" asked Sam, rolling his eyes.
"Tears of joy, Sammy, tears of joy." Dean sniffled.
"Uh-huh, yeah," Sam rolled his eyes again.
"Don't you 'uh-huh, yeah' me," scolded Dean playfully. Sam was about to respond when the door creaked open.
"Sam, get in your own bed," said their father, "...not enough room for the both of you in one bed and you wanna get a good night's sleep, right?"
Sam bit back a retort about it not being his bed, not really, and left Dean reluctantly. "'Night," said their father, "Dean, I'll talk to you later." Dean flushed as their father – sir – closed the door.
"Dean –"
"Goodnight, Sam," said Dean firmly. Sam opened his mouth briefly, but didn't reply. Dean waited for Sam's steady breaths that told him the boy was asleep until Dean fell apart.
Sam was awake listening to every second of it.
xXx
"Dean? Dean!" Dean let out a cry of surprise as Sam jolted gum awake. He looked around blearily, blinking slowly until he got his bearings. Lousiana. Road. Drive. Impala. Right. Dean gave Sam a lofty grin, feeling it fall off his face when he caught a glimpse of Sam's strangely solemn expression. He was vaguely aware of a soft throbbing in his arm, but Sam was more important.
"Did you run over a cat, again?" asked Dean, rubbing his arm absently.
"Dreaming about those girls in bikinis again, Dean? They must be pretty unattractive for you to be talking in your sleep like that," challenged Sam.
Oh fuck. I talk in my sleep? Oh fuck, oh fuck. "I – what?"
Sam's hard gaze softened and he reached out and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dad hurt you, Dean? Lots?"
Dean's eyes widened. "I... I had a dream something bit me, dad had to hurt me to clean it," mumbled Dean.
"That doesn't explain everything else you said," said Sam.
"Like what?" Dean pushed Sam's hand away.
"I like having the upper hand, Dean, but I'll give you a chance to tell me yourself – consciously – and if you still won't tell me, I'll just listen to your dreams."
Dean turned away, resting his head on the window. Sam was lying, he hadn't dreamt about Dad hurting him before. "I won't let anything hurt you anymore," whispered Sam, so quietly that Dean thought he'd imagined it. The hand that reached out and rubbed his arm tenderly told otherwise. Dean pretended he hadn't heard. He could protect himself.
"You just woke me up because I was talking in my sleep? So you could gloat?" asked Dean, annoyed. "Couldn't you have waited until I woke up myself?"
Sam shook his head and slowed the car down, eventually pulling over. "Why are we stopping, Sammy?" demanded Dean. "Talk to me!"
Sam looked up into Dean's eyes for a moment before looking down at the arm Dean was absently rubbing. "No, I didn't wake you up to gloat... you were hurting yourself," said Sam, pointing at Dean's arm. Dean looked down, his left hand was gripping his arm tightly, he slowly let go so he could look at his arm. He frowned at the marks, clearly where his fingernails had dug into his skin. There was a purple tinge appearing around the marks.
"That's why I woke you up," said Sam.
Dean looked up, covering his underarm with his hand again. "Why'd you stop the car?"
Sam looked at him sadly... apologetically, he started the car again and tried to ignore the wistful look Dean was sending the country that slid past them. "It won't hurt as much..." mumbled Sam, keeping his eyes fixed on the road, "If you told me... yourself. Willingly. It wouldn't hurt so much"
Dean sighed. "Sammy, you can't possibly know that," he said, and leaned forwards. Dean rummaged through his cassettes until he found a good, loud one. He shoved it into the cassette player with contempt, and shut his eyes as the loud music left only a small amount of room for thoughts.
Sam sighed and tried to block out the noise while he drove. He wished Dean would talk to him. Sam wasn't afraid of anything Dean could possibly say to him – and it was obviously about their father, and – Sam gulped. From what Dean's dreams had said, their father had hurt Dean. Badly. Sam felt the sudden anger that had been accosting him lately leap into his throat, and at that moment he wanted nothing more than to hunt down their father in Hell and make him pay for Dean's hurt. Sam shook his thoughts away, and his anger walked off as quickly as it had come. Sam glanced over at Dean, who was looking out the window – not seeing the landscape, but lost somewhere in his memory and misery. Sam reached over and squeezed the back of Dean's neck. Dean jumped and looked over at him.
"Hmm?" asked Dean, looking as though he might throw up. Sam pulled his hand away reluctantly.
"Nothing," sighed Sam. It was always nothing. "I'm just trying to help you, Dean."
Dean looked over, his eyebrows raised sceptically. "How?" he asked, "By making me talk about things I don't want to? Make me think about the worst memories of my life and then share them with you like we're at a goddamn tea party so they can be your hurt, too? Are you that desperate to have something in common?" Dean turned back to the window.
Sam furrowed his eyebrows, choosing only to really hear one of Dean's questions. "To have something in common?" repeated Sam.
Dean looked back over at him. "Yeah... what, haven't you noticed?"
Sam narrowed his eyes, outraged. "What? Hunting monsters, being brothers, having much of the same memories, being the only person each of us can truly love, that's not having much in common?"
Dean snickered. "Sam, you are too gay. Seriously? The only person each of us can truly love? That's not just cheese, that's blue cheese."
"I think you're avoiding my question," said Sam, gripping the steering wheel tightly to stop himself from hitting Dean.
"What I meant, Sam, is that we are nothing alike... I – agh! I don't just sit here with you and talk about my thoughts – what I meant was is our personalities, I guess, we're totally different... anyway, even if you were like me, I think I'd end up going insane. Just forget it."
Sam and Dean didn't speak to each other again until it was dark. They had crossed the border into Lousiana, and Sam had seen a sign advertising a motel a few wmiles back. Dean was muttering darkly in his sleep – a mixture of strangled cries and profanity.
But Sam didn't shake Dean awake until they'd pulled into the motel and Sam had gotten a key. Together, they walked to room twenty-seven. Sam noticed Dean trembling slighty along the way and frowned.
Inside, Dean pushed his way in first and claimed the bed he liked best, collapsing onto it and shutting his eyes. He opened them again quickly. "Do you want to come pick up something to eat with me?" asked Sam, not liking the idea of leaving Dean alone.
"Nuh. Don't bother getting' me anythin'. Not hungry."
"Are you sure?" asked Sam, scowling at his brother's limp form.
"Nope, I just like sayin' the opposite of what I want for the hell of it. Of course I'm sure," mumbled Dean, whose eyes were closed once again.
Sam left reluctantly, debating whether he should get Dean something anyway.
xXx
Dean was sitting on his bed when Sam got home, his knees were pulled up to his chest and skin was a delicate shade of white. His arms were wrapped around his body, looking suspiciously like they were holding him together. Sam dumped his food on the table and walked over to Dean.
"You okay, Dean?" asked Sam, trying to keep from flinching when the sight of his distraught brother tore some memory from his subconsious. But the memory was intangible and Sam couldn't quite recollect it. He very nearly yelled out in frustration.
"I'm fine, go eat your tofu or your cabbage soup or whatever gross thing you bought yourself this time," said Dean without lifting his head.
Sam smiled dispite himself. "I just got a salad... and a pie for you, in case – "
"I'm not hungry, Sammy," said Dean. Sam felt the anger rising inside of him, but instead of acting on it, Sam wrinkled his nose and focused on the fact Dean smelled like sick.
Sam nodded. "Okay, whatever, but it's here if – "
"I don't want it."
Sam huffed, his anger swirling around again. "Fine, Dean. Fine. But when you're hungry later don't come crying to me."
"You can count on it," said Dean. Sam strode back to the table to eat his salad, and to try and remember that memory. He thought he almost had it when Dean jumped up and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
"Dean? Dean, are you okay?" asked Sam, jumping up, "Do you need some help?" Sam received the sound of the bathroom door locking in response, followed by a retching sound.
Sam ate his dinner slowly as he heard the shower turn on. This has gone on long enough. He knew how much Dean was hurting – well, not exactly, but he had a pretty good idea. Sam feared that Dean knew he was bluffing about knowing everything. If only Sam could just remember. Their fight. That's what set it off. It was about Dad hurting Dean. Sam snorted. He'd fought with his father whenever Dean had gotten hurt when they hunted. But what if... what if it didn't have anything to do with hunting? What if... oh. Oh. Fuck.
xXx
"What's wrong with Dean, Dad?" Sam asked angrily after his brother had once again snuck into their room crying. This time, however, Sam feared his brother had a broken wrist.
"Go back to bed, Sam – and leave your brother alone," ordered his father calmly.
"You! You're doing it to him, aren't you!? You're the one hurting him!" screamed Sam, anger spilling into his heart and eyes until he was sure that he was seeing red. "Why!"
Sam's gaze hardened when he saw tears forming in his father's eyes. "His fault... it's his... should be dead – he's worthless! Nothing!" yelled his father. Sam flinched at his words.
"How can you say that?" demanded Sam. "He has never been anything but a good son!"
"Because he's afraid! He's a coward! He... he's too much... like him! Sick, depraved – enjoys it! Enjoys his punishments! Should be dead! I'll kill him!"
Sam felt tears running down his cheeks, he wiped them away quickly. "I don't understand... how can you hate your own son so much that... that you want to kill him?"
His father scoffed and reached for his beer. Sam cringed as the fluid ran down his Dad's neck. "Go to bed, Sammy," commanded his father before turning around and shouting, "Dean! Dean, get your ass in here in here or you'll have a broken ankle to go with that wrist of yours!"
Sam bit his lip and left his father's room quickly. He passed Dean in the hall. He just looked so tired and used. "Dean," whispered Sam, but he couldn't find the rest of the words. Dean just walked past him, his head hung.
xXx
Sam opened his eyes slowly, wiping the tears brimming in them away angrily as he did so. Dean. He was... he was – Sam looked up as Dean walked out of the bathroom, his hair was wet and he was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing the last few days.
"Dean," Sam cried, standing up and running over to his brother.
Dean's head snapped up dazedly. "Sam – Sammy, are you okay?"
Sam let out a chuckle and wrapped his strong arms around his perplexed brother. "I'm fine, Dean, I'm fine," whispered Sam, "But you aren't. Dad hurt you so, so bad... in more ways than one."
Dean went rigid in his brother's arms. "Sam..." he warned.
"No. Not Sam. I remember, Dean. I remember it all."
"Let go of me," said Dean, his voice cracking.
"No, I – "
"Let. Go," spat Dean, struggling against Sam's grip. Sam bit his lip and reluctantly pulled away from Dean. Sam flinched as Dean spun around and punched a hole in the wall.
Sam put a shaky hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dean – Dean, stop. Stop, please – Dean, it'll be – "
"It'll be what, Sam? Okay? Will it all be okay? Will Sammy kiss it better and lah-dee-frickin'-dah, everything will be wonderful? No, I don't think so," said Dean hoarsely, turning to look at Sam. Sam tried not to flinch at the agony he saw in Dean's eyes.
"No," said Sam simply, fierce anger peircing him, "It's not gonna be okay – at least, not yet. Dean, just talk to me. Please. Just speak to me – please, Dean. Please."
Dean's lip trembled. He heard the desperation in Sam's voice and at that point there was nothing he wouldn't deny his little brother. He looked Sam right in the eye and, without warning, Dean wrapped his arms around Sam and buried his face in his brother's chest. Sam closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Dean again, holding his brother against him tightly. They stood like that for awhile, before Dean pulled away and laid down on his bed. Sam went and laid beside him without asking. Love, Sam thought, Dean needs love. Dean didn't complain when Sam pulled his brother against him again. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, and Sam did the same. Dean relished the feeling of warmth and safety and home in his brother's arms.
"Dad didn't just hurt you," whispered Sam. He hated to break their moment, but he had to know.
"I – he..." Dean shut his eyes, he didn't want to say the words.
"Dean..." Sam whispered, "Please, look at me."
Dean opened his eyes and looked at Sam blearily. "He... he hurt me... he," Dean swallowed, "He raped me, Sammy."
Sam swore he just heard an angel scream.
Rage sliced through Sam like a knife, cutting him up sharply and quickly from the inside out. But Sam was distracted from his fierce desire to kill something when Dean started crying. Not just a few teardrops, but full-fledged crying. "I-I'm so s-sorry, S-Sammy – please d-don't leave m-me. Not a-again. Don't l-leave me," sobbed Dean into Sam's chest. Sam shook with anger.
"Never," he swore, his words cutting into Dean, "I'll never leave you... again, Dean. So long as you're here and you're alive – you're mine a-and – I'll kill anyone who ever touches you again."
Dean nodded fiercly and didn't even try to crack a joke. "Please..." he whispered again, moving his head slightly so he could hear Sam's heartbeat. Sam savoured every fucking moment.
Eventually, Dean's breathing slowed and his tears stopped. He sighed. "I'd be so lost without you, Sammy," he whispered. He didn't mention how bad that made him feel – how selfish that made him feel. That he wanted Sam all to himself, and knowing that he'd get what he wanted. Dean wanted to hate Sam for how much he needed him.
"Thank you," said Sam quietly, his heart rate increasing the tiniest bit.
No, that's not right. Sam shouldn't be thanking him – Dean should be thanking Sam, and so much more. Dean didn't deserve Sam's thanks, didn't understand why he was receiving it. "For what, Sammy?" whispered Dean, closing his eyes.
"For telling me the truth... I know it was hard... and there is also so much more we need to talk about, Dean."
"Yeah," sighed Dean, "I know... just wait, though, until I realise what I'm doing and think up some witty remark to get out of this mess and go back to dealing with this in my head."
Sam scowled. "It's not gonna work, now you've told me," he said.
"I doubt it would've even if I hadn't," sighed Dean, "but that's probably why I told you anyway, just to make sure... " What the hell are you saying? This isn't you, damn it. Dean's eyes widened and he quickly tore away from Sam's chest, as much as it pained him to do so.
"Dean, what's wrong?" asked Sam, cringing at the look in Dean's eyes. Dean was putting up his defences. "Dean," whispered Sam – and there was a strange tone to his voice which made Dean stop. "Dean, don't hide, please, didn't it feel good to talk and cry it out?"
Dean flinched. "Sam... I – you sound like a chick, you know that?"
Sam shook his head in disbelief, anger surfacing and stabbing into all his vital organs. "Dean, seriously, you can't just pretend anymore. I'm through with pretending – through with you pretending. It's just not gonna work on me anymore, big brother."
Dean closed his eyes and sat up on the bed. "Sammy..."
"No, let me talk to you, Dean," said Sam angrily, sitting up aswell, "Since you've decided you want to fight – "
"What? I didn't decide that I want to fight, for God's sake – "
"Shut up," Sam snapped, "Look, Dean, I'm not going to deny the fact that Dad saved your life in hospital – I'll always be grateful for that, but what I need explained is the blind devotion you always had for him... what the fuck? The more he hurt you, the more you'd try... the more you still do, what's wrong with you?"
Dean looked at Sam, his eyes wide, revealing so much hurt and something else. The something else in Dean's eyes was the main thing that shone through to Sam. But his eyes only distracted Sam for a moment. Sam couldn't believe his own words – not that they were actually his words, they weren't really, they were his anger's words, the anger that was getting entirely too out of hand.
"Oh," said Sam, his anger evaporating to be replaced with shame, "You just wanted him to love you..."
Dean looked scandalised. "Hey, don't put words into my mouth, alright? I obeyed him because it was the right thing to do, because if I didn't we wouldn't survive."
Sam sighed, and leaned over to Dean, pulling him into a hug. Dean struggled slightly at first, but didn't say anything. Dean, I'm sorry... it's just that, I can't... I can't control this anger I keep getting, Dean, and knowing Dad hurt you, and that you had to keep your hurt to yourself all this time, it's making it so much worse – it's getting to the point where I just get so angry all the time... said the hug, even if Dean didn't know it.
Dean pushed Sam away. "Anyway, enough talking about me... I, uh, I just want a break from my thoughts for awhile. I'm gonna go sleep."
"Dean, we never talk about you..." said Sam, a little too harshly. Dean noticed.
"I think this makes up for all of it... and are you alright?" Dean pushed Sam back.
"I'm fine, I've just been irritated lately, it's no problem, okay?"
"Oh, right, you're going through menopause, sorry, I forgot."
Sam did his best to ignore his anger at Dean's remark, but he couldn't hold it all back. "Fuck you," he growled, his voice so menacing that Dean moved backwards on pure instinct.
Dean held up his hands. "Sorry..." he muttered, and climbed off the bed.
"Where are you going?" demanded Sam, willing his anger to fade.
"I'm going to sleep in this bed," said Dean quietly, gesturing to the other bed before laying down on it.
"Why? Why won't you sleep with me?"
"Because I don't want to," said Dean. Because I don't want you to hear me talk in my sleep.
Dean jumped as Sam loomed above him a few seconds later. "Why?" he demanded. Dean swallowed, his eyebrows creasing as he looked up into Sam's face, his younger brother's outrage was clear.
"Uh... you feeling okay there, Sammy?"
"I'm fine, I just don't want you to be alone when I know you're still so torn apart," said Sam, trying to make his voice even.
Dean narrowed his eyes. He knew it, now Sam thought he was weak. "Ever heard the phrase 'dude, you're suffocating me, back off'? Because it kinda applies to this situation." Sam ignored him and climbed into the double bed beside Dean regardless.
"Fine," growled Dean, "Fine. Just don't take up all the room."
Sam ignored him, biting his lip. He let out a sigh when he had calmed down again. Something wasn't right... he wasn't feeling himself. It was like his visions, he can't control them just like he can't control his rage. And Dean was caught in the middle of it. Dean. Sam groaned. His brother was fragile at the moment, and the best Sam could do was throw insults at him? Some brother you are.
Sam sighed and closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around his brother's now limp form. I don't know how much longer I can hold on Dean, sometime this madness is gonna burst forwards and I don't know how you'll be able to help... because you can't kill me. You can't.
xXx
Dean woke slowly the next morning, not feeling alarmed when he felt that Sam wasn't beside him. The lack of Sam in the other bed, however, could be a cause for alarm. Dean reached out for his favourite knife on the bedside table, clutching it tightly in his shaky hands. "Sam?" Dean called out, "Sammy, you there?"
Dean climbed out of the bed, his teeth tearing at his lip as he walked around their motel room. Sam was definitely not here. Dean walked through to the kitchenette, Sam's duffel bag was gone. Dean felt relieved – he's probably out putting our stuff in the car. Dean walked to the door, frowing at the creak it made as it opened. His car was not there. Dean ran out of the room, turning around in the parking lot. One, two, three, four cars he counted. And his was not one of them. Sam had run off with his car. Sam was gone.
"N-No," Dean cried out. He whipped around and ran back inside, grabbing his phone off the table in the kitchenette and dialing the number he knew off by heart.
It dialed. Sam didn't pick up. "Hey this is Sam, I'm on a road trip with my brother Dean, please call back later, or, if it's urgent, leave a message after the beep..."
Dean just stood there. He couldn't believe it. Could not fucking believe it. After everything he told Sam... everything he revealed. Sam was up and gone. Goddamn, of course Sam would leave, now he knew how disgusting Dean truly was. Fine, okay, Dean couldn't blame him for that. But Dean was alone again. Everything he ever had was gone. Mum, Dad, Sam, even his damned car. All taken. Dean collapsed onto the floor.
"But you promised..." he whispered into the phone, "Sammy... Sammy, why?"