The Best Gift
Sequel to 'A gift for a man'. After his time with the psycho-witch, Sam is having problems living with his family. Dean blames himself for what he did for Sam. John is drowning in self-hate. Rated R for wincest, underage, references for past non-con and torture, and probably more…
The bar was dark enough to hide, but loud. It was his luck that there was such a big birthday crowd in such a small town. No one was bothering him right now, but considering the number of times he had heard the 'bottoms up!' cry, soon there would be a fight. That many young men and that much tequila would never make a peaceful combination.
John tried to silence the background noise and buried himself in his thoughts; the bars were his study area after all. However, the problem with him having no solution was not the background noise; John was clueless on what to do, zilch. Considering the time and effort he had spent on searching for his little boy, it was incredibly annoying that he was at complete loss on how to deal with him, now that he had finally found him. Of course he had known that it was not going to be easy, he was not stupid. Damn! he had tried to be patient. He had given Sam his time and space. He had taken a break from hunting the yellow eyed son of a bitch and stayed in one place to spend some time with his boy, to bond with Sammy. He had tried to remind the kid that they were family, but to no avail. Sam was still afraid of John. Afraid was quite an underestimation actually, the kid was terrified. John knew his son's fear was not personal; he knew that the reason behind it was Sam's horrifying experiences with men at his father's age. He knew it, and the knowledge was constantly carving his heart with a blunt knife. He was a horrible father and even a worse husband; betraying Mary's trust, letting the child she had guarded with her life be taken by monsters.
At the beginning, John had blamed Dean. It was much easier on his conscience that it was his older son's deed that made Sam so timid around his family. It made sense. Dean had exploited Sammy, used him and treated him like those fucking bastards and now, the kid was expecting the same treatment from the other members of the family too. Dean's remorse had made it even easier to put all the blame on the boy. Penitence had landed like a visible burden on his young shoulders when he had learned the truth about the sweet ass he had been eagerly pounding. He could not even get angry at his father for hiding the truth about Sam for years. There had been no shock or happiness in those eyes for finding his dead brother; only the angst and the overwhelming shame. He had pleaded forgiveness from Sammy with silent tears again and again, and could not even look at his brother's face after that.
John had told his oldest to keep his distance from Sammy; definitely not to touch him, not to stay alone with him, not to be at the same room with him…. He had hoped that seeing all the precautions John was taking, Sam might trust his father, might believe that John would never allow anything like that ever happen to Sam again. However, it had not worked. He needed to sit in a bar to see the shit strait. Needed to get some time-out from his problems: one traumatized and one self-condemned boys, one loud and persistent conscience. He might not deserve one, but he needed a God damn break. They had been holed up in this small town for almost a month and John missed the burning relaxation offered by his old friend Jack.
God, his Sammy…. the brown eyes too big for his cute face, nervously looking around, always on alert for something bad to happen… His sweet, little boy. Those bastards took that lively, happy kid and turned him into this trapped, fidgety gazelle. Fucking Seville and his fucking customers! He got another large sip from his whiskey. Fuck them all, he would get to them eventually and made them pay for what they had done. But for now, he had arranged his family a nice, comfy cabin outside of the town; a good one hour away from any crowd that might scare his youngest. It calmed Sam a little, but it was damn hard on John. He could not connect his youngest for obvious reasons and Dean… Dean was avoiding him, his face was always down with shame whenever faced his father. John knew he was too harsh on the boy, he knew it was his responsibility to give Dean some break, help him a little. But, every time he had decided to do so, he had seen another small twitch on Sam and anger –although mostly towards himself- was replacing all the other feelings.
The worst part of living an hour away from the civilization was restocking their pantry. At first, John had not even thought about it as a problem, he had taken Sam with him to the grocery shopping. It had been a really bad idea. Sam managed to turn himself into a tiny, little ball in the car during the whole trip. The boy was so tense that John thought he might explode in any second. They had to cut the trip short before Sam shatter his teeth by the sheer force of grinding them. The next time, John had sent Dean to town and stayed at the cabin with Sam. It was not any better. Sam turned himself into that dense, tight ball again and squeezed into the corner of his bed, shaking until Dean arrived.
This time, he had left both his sons in the cabin, warning Dean not to get too close to his brother. Not that the boy had any intentions of doing it, but John had needed to give the order; just like he had needed to make this stop. He was drowning in despair and needed to relax even if for a little while. He asked the barmaid for another one, one last, before he went back to his broken sons. The barmaid was what you could call a big girl. Her curves were round, heavy breasts were pouring from her shirt and she had a very pretty face. John gave her a half smile when she flirtatiously filled his glass. She replied with a generous display of her breasts, a cleavage big enough to bury his face together with his problems. For his defense, John really tried to stop himself staring at them like a freaking teenage boy. Damn! She was gorgeous, and it had been a while; but his plan was going back to his boys after his third whiskey. However, when he finished it, the girl gave her another warm smile, filled his glass again 'on the house' and told him that she was going to be free in an hour. Her hands were soft, her smile was sincere and she had those full lips that John was sure going to feel like heaven around his cock. The image of the girl blowing him while John's hands squeezing those fleshy, beautiful breasts did it for him. He stayed; drank few beers, played a little pool, and gave the girl one hell of a kiss when they left the bar for her place. Her lips were softer than John had hoped. She was soft overall, pliant and wanton.
The girl, Leslie was her name, was good, she was freaking awesome. It had been a while John had such a sweet company. She was a little bit young for his age, but way too willing; God, was she willing. John gave it her good, pounded her to the soft mattress, her long blonde hair swirling around his fingers. She kept praying and swearing, and he drank her whimpers, her moans. Her hands were pulling his head into her neck and John was sure he was giving her a very bad case of stubble burn. Hey, she was asking for it.
John wanted to get his breath together and leave after that amazing fuck, but before he could attempt to get up, she went down on him. Those fucking cock-sucker lips! John could not refuse another run. When everything was over, they were both tired. Leslie slept on his chest, softly sucking his fingers while John was waiting her to sleep deep enough so that he could leave without waking her.
When he opened his eyes, it was 2am! He had spent more than 12 hours away from his boys, without letting them know or checking them. He left the sleeping girl and drove like a maniac to reach the cabin.
XXX
No more Billy, he was Sam. That's what John said. John said that he was his father too. The first time he had said those words, Sam had tried to play along as he had learnt so well. He had knelt before John and placed his head to the guy's knees. John was OK at the beginning with the gesture until he heard Sam asking his daddy to punish him. Not so OK after that. For a while, Sam thought he was just not getting the game he was supposed to play and he tried different scenarios he could think of, offered different pleasures. They all ended with John stopping him with a really sad voice, 'No, Sammy, please. You don't have to this ever again. You hear me, son. Never…' And after each time, John was scolding Dean, probably thinking Sam could not hear them, 'You see what you did? You see your BROTHER's reaction to his family… ' At the beginning, Sam had thought John was angry at Dean because the young hunter had pampered Sam; but after a week he finally had gotten that it was not the case.
He really did get that John was not asking for sex. The guy was not scolding Dean for pampering Sam, but because Dean had fucked his brother. Sam understood that John was not going to ask it from him and he should be happy with that. He was eating well, nobody was torturing him, and John had promised him that Seville was never going to find him. Sam should have been happy and relaxed, but he did not. Everything he knew on how to survive was taken from him. He did not know what to do. He had no idea how to behave around these people. What were the right things to do? What were the things that deserve the punishment? And what would be the fucking punishment, when he was surely going to get? Sam could not spend another day not knowing it, whatever it was it could not be worse than not knowing.
Even though John had done nothing to him, Sam was afraid of the guy. He could not forget the eyes staring at him from those holes while he had been making love to Dean. Something with those eyes made his bones shiver. Whenever John looked at him, Sam thought he was going to see it again, the cold, yellow tint in those brown eyes. He was going to see it and his life was going to turn into hell again. He knew it did not make any sense, but fear seldom did.
Sam tried to control his fear, at least not to show it to John because he missed Dean. He hoped that if he behaved not-skittish around the guy, John would not keep Dean at bay any more. He really wanted to be close to Dean again, to feel safe and secure. Although the hunter was much bigger and definitely a lot stronger than Dean, Sam felt safer with him; with his brother, that's what John had told him. He had said Dean was his older brother and it was wrong –oh, so bad, dirty, wrong- that Dean had slept with him. John had told him that it was never, ever going to happen again, and he expected Sam to be happy for that. Growing up in a house full of whores without a family, the 'brotherhood' did not make any affect on Sam. He loved some of the boys he had been living with. Seville had called them brothers too and they had always touched each other the 'bad' way, as John put it. So, no; the brother thing did not have that effect on Sam.
Seeing how angry John was at Dean for what they had done, Sam could only imagine how furious the hunter would be if he ever learned how Sam was feeling for his brother. He could not stop those feelings though. He did miss Dean. He missed his smile, his bright eyes, the delicious smell, the perfect taste… he missed the warmness, softness and peace in those strong arms… the soothing sound of the heartbeat, the hands between his hair, the touch of those plush lips on his forehead…
Dean did not touch him anymore, he did not even look at him and he was always sad. So sad… Whenever Sam caught those green eyes, there was so much pain in them that Sam felt he could drown in it. He wanted to reach out and clean that pain from those brilliant eyes... but, he could not; he did not want John to get angry and punish him. He did not want to see the man's eyes turn into those scary yellow again. He knew, he knew that there was no such thing as yellow eyes, but… God! He was so scared.
Over the time, Sam had found out that he could remember Dean. Small memory patches, hard to differentiate from his dreams, but still he did remember, kept remembering more and more. One picture from here, another from there: The green, loving eyes looking at him, a chubby and bossy kid feeding him, playing with him, hugging him. He remembered those adorable lips giving him raspberries, tickling his jowl. He remembered waking up to Dean's arms, snuggling with him to sleep, asking him to kiss it better. Strangely, he could not remember John at all. However hard he tried, his first memory of the guy was still him talking to Seville, giving Sam that icy smirk.
John was away now. Dean was in the other room; he never got close to Sam when John was away. Sam spent most of the day lying down on his bed and reading the books Dean had gotten for him. Sam knew it was Dean who bought them, although John had given them to Sam. When John had gone to the town, he had brought food and drinks. The books, though, had showed up when Dean had gone shopping. That day had been a really bad one for Sam, when Dean was away. Generally, even if he could not see Dean, he always knew that the young hunter was somewhere in or around the cabin. For some stupid reason Sam felt that if John tried to hurt him, Dean would have stopped the guy. But, when Dean left for the town, there was no one; he was all alone with John for hours. The guy did not hurt him that day, but Sam could breathe only after Dean got back. He had been so tensed that he could not even manage to thank Dean for those precious gifts.
It was really late; Sam could hear the soft breathing noise coming from the next door. Dean was sleeping. If Sam knew for sure that John would not show up at the worst possible point, he would long have crawled into Dean's bed and seek some comfort between his arms. But, he did not want to get caught by the man. He did not want to sleep alone either, because he knew how scared he would be when John entered into the room while he was sleeping. He was sleepy tough, and damn, he had to go to the bathroom; but it was dark. The freaking lamp had burnt out in the middle of the night; Sam had no idea how to fix it. Of course, he could walk five steps to the bathroom, five freaking steps and have the light. He could relieve himself, keep the light on and could read more until John arrived… He had forced himself more than once to do so. Maybe ten times he tried to drop his feet to the ground, but immediately collected them back under his legs before they could touch the floor. Many nights on dark playgrounds or with freaking blindfolds had that effect; dark did not bode well with Sam. It was not like that he had not suffered under bright lights. He had, maybe more so. But, the thing with the dark… the unknown, the waiting, knowing that the other person could see you… No, no… He could wait. John would arrive soon anyways, he would turn on the lights and Sam would go to the bathroom.
He did not realize that he had fallen asleep while waiting, but he knew he was dreaming, a nightmare actually, again. He was with one of the tricks, the old guy with the chocolate cigars. His head heavy with the smell of burned flesh, the pain in his groin was pushing him toward unconsciousness. 'Please, sir; not again… I'll do it, sir; just gimme a minute, I'll cum… Please...' And suddenly, there he was, John with yellow eyes. He was not doing anything, only watching, but Sam felt like his gaze was drilling holes into his brain, coloring his small body with that sickish yellow. The absolute terror; the paralyzing, suffocating fear. He knew it was a nightmare; he tried to wake up, 'wake up, wake up, wake up…'
"Sammy wake up!" John tried one more time, touching softly the shivering kid's shoulder. Sam was obviously having a nightmare, shaking, whimpering, and crying very quietly in his sleep.
When John tried the third time, a little bit louder, Sam finally opened his horror filled eyes. He was awake, but now he was shaking more, crying harder and his pink lips were drawn to a white line whimpering barely audible 'Please's.
"Sammy, it's OK. It was only a nightmare."
But it was obviously not OK. Sam scrawled back in the bed as if his father's hand scolded him. John could only hear a soft 'No' before realizing the wetness slowly growing under his youngest son.
"Sam. Sammy. It's OK, son. No big deal." John tried to comfort him. "Let's get you to the bathroom, OK?" He reached for Sam's hand to help him up.
"No… No! Noo! NOO! DEE! DEEEEEE!"
Dean was in the room in that second. John had no idea how the boy drew the shut-gun in such a short time, but he was facing right at the barrel now.
"Dad?"
"It's OK Dean. Sam had an accident." He turned back to Sam again. "It's OK Sammy, it's OK. Things happen."
But Sam crawled back even more. His wet eyes were as big as saucers and jumping between his father and brother.
"Dad." Dean got closer to his father, leaving the shut-gun at the side of the bed. "Let me handle this, sir." He, then, whispered into his father's ears. "I think it's the smell… scaring him."
It hit John like a fist in his guts. What the fuck was he thinking? Coming into his traumatized son's room at this God forsaken hour? Reeking alcohol and sex? Waking him from a fucking nightmare? Fuck! He was the stupidest prick ever! Sam probably –yeah, right probably, who are you kidding Winchester, fucking DEFINITELY- had had so many bad experiences with men smelling just like John: Whisky breath and dried spunk. Fuck! Fuck!
"I'll…. I'll be… next door. Call me if need anything." He went to the other room, leaving his shaking son with his older brother. The brother that John had been sure Sam was afraid of too. Apparently it was not the case. The kid had called for him like he had always done so, many years ago. Sam asked his brother's help. Even if the reason behind Sam's request for help was breaking his heart, John was actually happy that Sam at least trusted someone in the family. At least, Sam had his big brother.
TBC…
