O Christmas Tree
NOTES: I don't like to demonize John Winchester more than is reasonable. On the other hand, the reasons not to villainize him just barely outweigh the potential for this type of behavior, so I took advantage of the possibility. Just like about fifty trillion other fanfiction writers. Never thought I'd become one of them, but hey, never thought I'd write fanfiction either. Well. I did. I just hoped I wouldn't. Too late to be redeemed.
WARNING: This story contains themes of sexual assault.
DISCLAIMER: The material upon which the following story is based is the intellectual property of the CW network.
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The refugees had spent too many years without any kind of celebration, so there was no real contention when Charlie proposed getting a Christmas tree for the bunker. Bobby was the only one who rolled his eyes, but Sam couldn't imagine that he wasn't just a little bit pleased by the idea. His suspicions were confirmed when he agreed to go with Charlie to the Christmas tree farm to find just the right one.
There was nothing quite like watching Gabriel straining to get the star on top.
"It's not gonna work," Sam said. "You're goblin-sized."
"You're dumb," Gabriel grunted. He seemed to be feeling more like himself lately, although his grace was nowhere near as strong as it should be by this time. Sam suspected it was due to Gabriel's refusal to sleep for fear of what he would dream, as well as his avoidance of food because it reminded him of those times prior to the stitching of his mouth when Asmodeus would force-feed him something unspeakably horrific. In truth, that had been the only benefit of the twine.
Still, it was much more fun for Sam to watch Gabriel try to get the star up without being able to revert to his angelic powers.
"I can do it," Sam pointed out.
"Or you could shut up," Gabriel grumbled.
"Get a stool, Gabe."
"Thanks, but my pride is more important than your assessment, Simon Cowell."
Sam walked over, plucked the star out of Gabriel's hand, and settled it onto the top branch.
Gabriel glared at him. "I did not ask for your help."
"It was getting too sad to watch."
Footsteps sounded behind Sam and he turned to see Castiel walking into the room. He looked at the tree pensively, as if he had never seen one before.
"It will die," he said finally.
"Yeah," Sam replied. "We celebrate a holiday about life by killing plants and putting a bunch of hooks into their corpses."
"I don't think I want to talk about this anymore."
Sam bit his lip, examining the tree. It appeared slightly crooked. "Lemme fix that," he said, stepping nearer to get a closer look.
That was when the aroma of pine crept into his nose and throat. It was a good smell, a pleasant smell. A smell that should have calmed him and given him a sense of the good times to come - even if Dean wasn't there to celebrate with him. He, Sam reminded himself bitterly, would be forced to spend the holiday as a sadistic archangel. It seemed a strange theme for Christmastime.
But the scent didn't have the expected effect on Sam. Instead, it wrenched him backwards, years and years backwards, into a memory that hadn't broken into his mind for a long time.
His breathing thickened as he tried to step away from the Christmas tree and found that he couldn't, that he was frozen in place.
He shook his head, trying to draw himself out of this entirely unexpected moment of feeling lost, feeling tight, feeling as if he was drowning - even as he knew he could swim, except that he was paralyzed. He'd been the victim of more than one paralytic spell before, and this felt no different. It occurred to him that Rowena could be up something, and yet this - this memory - this could not have come from her.
"Sam."
Cas. Castiel. Surely Sam could push himself into a response.
He found that he was unable to answer him. Unable to move. He felt something like embarrassment underneath the strange pressure that had come on so abruptly, and yet it wasn't enough to compel him into proper breath, proper motion, proper thought.
"Gabriel," said Castiel, "Help me get him onto the couch."
Sam felt hands on either of his arms and, reflexively, he jerked away. It wasn't even as if he was truly frightened. Not when there was no reason to be. He was reminded of Gabriel's violent responses to any physical contact in the first few weeks of his recovery. Surely he hadn't sunk that low.
"Sam." Cas again. "Can you hear me? Are you sick? Are you hurt?"
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. If he could at least move his eyes, perhaps the rest of him was not quite as immobile as he had thought. He told himself to lift his hand. He did, and looked down at it.
The movement got him to relax, and no sooner had his muscles loosened than he began to shake, heart screaming against his ribcage with enough force to turn his stomach.
"Sam."
"Cas," Sam croaked. He turned his eyes to Gabriel, who stood next to Castiel, staring at Sam in horror and confusion.
"What was that, Sam?" Castiel asked in a low voice. He sounded calm, calm enough that Sam felt like it was safe to touch him again. He reached out, brushing his fingertips against the collar of Castiel's coat. Real. He was real. And yet why, Sam wondered, would there have ever been a question of whether Cas was real? It was as though his instincts and his understanding were entirely separate in that moment, and the distance made him dizzy.
"Come sit," Cas said quietly. He guided Sam to the couch, and Gabriel took a seat on Sam's other side. He didn't move at all, and Sam knew he must understand all too well the dangers of touch.
Sam was surprised when he found that his throat was tight, double-knotted, strangling him. He swallowed and made a second attempt to breathe more deeply.
"What's going on, Sam?" Castiel pressed.
Sam shook his head. "I'm not … I'm not sure. I don't know what just happened. It was like I … something made me remember a …" He rubbed his temples, trying to pull himself together enough to decide whether to elaborate. "I think I'm okay. I think … I was just reminded of something for a second. Kind of took me by surprise."
"What were you thinking about?"
"I don't - it was something I thought I'd forgotten. Cas, I don't really wanna get into it."
"Sam." This time it wasn't Cas, but Gabriel. "Come on. It's okay. You know it's just us. What was that whole spiel you gave me about not trying to keep everything to yourself? Something about how it's supposed to mess you up real bad? Don't be a hypocrite, Sammy. I'd hate to lose my faith in you."
Sam considered Gabriel's words. The truth was, he had insisted that Gabriel not choke himself with pain that was safe to express.
"Guys," said Sam. Neither of them responded, apparently waiting for him to continue.
Sam closed his eyes. "Look. I had this thing."
"A bad thing," Castiel clarified.
"I - yeah. Bad thing. But a one-time thing." Sam thought he may be incorrect about that, but bit his lip until it hurt to fight off any more recollections. "It's just - I went on a - listen," he added desperately, "Don't tell Dean about any of this, yeah?"
Castiel looked worried. "Not if you don't want us to."
Sam turned to Gabriel.
"Like I need an excuse to have a heart-to-heart with your brother," Gabriel quipped.
Sam tried to fight down a sudden surge of nausea, and, when he was sure he wasn't going to be sick then and there, went on. "I must've been - I don't know - thirteen. We had this case somewhere out in North Dakota, I think it was. Some guy had been slaughtered with a saw at a big Christmas tree farm, and of course people were dying, having their limbs torn off one by one, vengeful spirit and all that - par for the course." Only a Winchester, Sam observed, would be comforted by diverting from the subject at hand to the petty details of a bloodbath. "So we went there a little after Christmas had already come and gone. So it was empty. Nobody around. And …"
The other two waited, and when Sam didn't speak, Castiel asked, "Did it hurt you? The spirit?"
Sam shook his head, tempted to respond with "I wish it had" but not wanting any further questions before he could finish. So he went on, even as the sick feeling reemerged in his throat. "We split up. Dean went one way and Dad and I took off together - since I was so young, I guess." He shivered. If Cas or Gabriel noticed, they pretended not to. "We were alone; Dean was far away, you know? And no one else was around. And … I guess he thought it was a good time and place to, uh …"
Sam stopped and cast a desperate look at Gabriel, who had only a few days prior confided in Sam about his own experiences in Hell. Something told him Gabriel would recognize just what it would do to Sam to have to keep going - that perhaps Gabriel would allow him to end the story there.
Gabriel's eyes widened in terror. And then Sam felt stupid as he realized that it was totally unreasonable to expect that Gabriel would be able to hear any of this without regressing himself.
"Sorry, Gabe," Sam whispered.
Gabriel furrowed his brow. "It's not that," he said. "I'm fine. Really. I just - didn't know, that's all."
"I don't think about it." Sam's voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat. "It doesn't bother me. It hasn't for a long time. It's just - it was the Christmas tree. I was a little caught off guard or something."
"Then we should leave the room," Castiel said gently, putting his hand on Sam's shoulder. This time the touch was a relief, not a threat. Impulsively Sam reached up to seize the hand on his shoulder and squeeze it, reveling in its warmth.
Castiel's face fell. "Sam." He leaned over and took Sam in his arms, pressing the two of them close for such a long time that Sam began to feel a little calmer, except that he was afraid to let go.
Castiel held on. It was only when Sam heard something from his other side that he hesitantly drew away and turned back to Gabriel.
"Gabriel!" Sam shifted towards him, alarmed. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to - "
"No, it's okay, Sam - it's all okay." Gabriel fought to keep his expression steady even as his eyes swam with tears. "You didn't do anything. Don't worry about me, all right?"
"I'm so sorry, Gabe."
"Shut up, Sam."
"No, I - "
"I'll hit you."
"Gabriel - "
"And the lord said, 'Sam Winchester, thou shalt not open thy mouth, lest I dispel my sexiest archangel's righteous anger unto thy stubborn ass.'"
"All right, all right." Sam, feeling suddenly worn out, leaned back against Castiel.
"I think we should go into another room," said Cas.
Sam didn't want to move, but Cas was right. Being in here wasn't going to help anything. "Okay."
They supported him from either side until they were sure he would have no trouble making an exit. Even then, Cas kept one hand between his shoulder blades until they reached the door, where Sam looked back at the Christmas tree and decided it would look better with an angel instead of a star.
...
The angst is strong with this one. Thanks for humoring me by joining the Feels Club.
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