The Pit, Chapter One, The Incident
Sam always loved his brother. But not until recently did he discover to what ends that love would need to go. This is the story of how the two came to terms with themselves and learned to be human with each other.
Contains some Wincest, but maybe more in the future?
Wrote this while listening to RENT…. Interesting mix….
I don't own anything, by the way.
It'd been a rough day. Dean walked in the front door and made a beeline for the fridge, grabbing the first of many beers he was going to drink.
Sam, never approving of his brother's timely and binge-like drinking habits, scoffed as he saw Dean chug half the contents of the bottle in four gulps. He went into the bathroom and started washing off the vampire blood from his face and arms, wondering at the dark red streaks swirl in the bowl and then disappear down the drain.
As Sam finished, Dean was already on his third bottle, and watching porn with a southern valley girl in it on the motel TV. Dean never showed any more sublimity when it came to porn, especially when he was drunk. And Dean was almost there, which was concerning, considering the effects of alcohol had began losing their potency after such abuse.
After unpacking his necessary supplies for the night, Sam made some soup for dinner and went back into his room to do some research on his laptop. Another silent night with Dean.
Ever since his resurrection from Hell, Dean had been on the fritz; reclusive, distant, forlorn, but most of all, drunk. Of course, drinking had been a large part of their lives ever since Mom had died, but the sheer volume of Dean's nightly sprees was concerning. He knew he'd never be able to understand Dean's ordeal in the pits of Lucifer's Domain.
An hour later, Dean finally went to go clean up after the messy night, Sam watched him stumble past the bedroom door on the way to the shower. He missed his brother. He was dead inside when he was taken, but now that he was back, Sam wasn't sure if Dean was ready to cope with hunting so soon again, let alone simple everyday life. At least he learned that today's hunting was a mistake.
Sam looked at a newspaper article from a town called Frontsworth. Apparently, there were children disappearing in the area. Then another article from Apple, where there were strange noises coming from the sewer system, along with a recent death of the manager of the waste plant that services the town. God, there must've been thirty articles that could use some attention on their part. Sam was just so tired. He didn't know where to start. This was the hardest part for him: triage, deciding who needs the most help and how fast they need it. Just as he decided to talk to Dean about the missing children, Sam heard a loud thump come from the bathroom.
Sam shouted, "Dean, you alright?"
No reply.
"Dean?"
Still nothing.
Sam got out of bed, stalking through the door of the bedroom and around the corner to find the bathroom door closed, but unlocked.
Sam cracked the door open and peeked inside.
"Dean, you good in—"
Sam looked at the floor to see his brother's leg lying still on the floor.
Sam burst into the room, squeaking out Dean's name as he did. Sam found Dean laying across the floor, entirely naked, and sobbing like a scared little boy. Blatantly ignoring his brother's privacy, Sam crouched down next to his brother.
"Jesus, Dean! What in the Hell is—"
At the word 'Hell' Dean flinched, sobbing just a bit more than before.
"Dean what's wrong?" Sam asked, kneeling next to his brother. Dean looked up at him, tears streaming down his face, and a gash on his forehead.
Sam blanked for a second. It was not the first time he'd seen his brother cry, but this was the first time Sam saw the complete despair, the utter helplessness you see in a desperate, wild animal about to have its throat slit open. Sam saw a battle for life.
He didn't even realize the deep cut on Dean's forehead until he came out of his trance.
"Dean! Get up to the sink. I'll clean you up."
As Sam picked his brother up and dragged him the two steps it took to get to the bathroom sink, he heard Dean whimper unintelligible words, only catching a few here and there.
"Help…do…seeing…him…you."
Yet the next two words were perfectly clear under the weak voice of this broken Dean.
"I'm sorry."
"Dean, you've got nothing to be sorry about. Here, get closer." Sam was trying to blot Dean's cut with Hydrogen Peroxide, but he kept pulling away from the stinging pain. After cleaning it to satisfaction, he pulled out a vial of Liquid-Aid. After a few minutes of silence, Sam continued.
"Dean, I'm the one who should be sorry. I haven't been there like I should have for you, after what happened. I just don't know what to do. You need to talk to me so I can help you through this."
"I kn-know," Dean said. He was starting to recover from his crying spasms, but his voice was still quivering.
"It's just…everytime I tr-ry to talk about it…i-YIT takes over me. I hate it so-YO much Sammy…."
"Dean, you're gonna have to come to terms with it soon. You can't keep livin' like this. Here, put on some clothes and we'll talk some more in the room."
Dean looked down, realizing he was still buck-naked.
"'Kay. I'll be there in just a second."
Sam walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him, and into the bedroom. He put away the laptop, realizing that the most important case right now was his brother. He needed to get to the bottom of Dean's torment and anguish. Otherwise, he was going to lose the brother he once knew; the one with the hardness of a rock and the steadfastness of a tree. The always rough-and-tough, but ambitious, goal-minded Dean.
Dean walked into the bedroom wearing only his boxers, and got under the comforter of his bed.
"So…" Sam didn't know where to start. He wanted so much to just delve into it, right then and there; but he knew his brother wasn't ready for that yet.
There was silence for a minute, and then Sam came up with a safe, but good question.
"So Dean, what can you tell me?"
"I can tell you that I really don't want to talk about it."
Well that backfired.
"That's not going to work Dean. You need the help. Either by me or some paranormal shrink, and I think you'd prefer me over the latter."
More silence.
"What happened when you first…well, got there?"
A pause, and then an answer, "I can barely remember the beginning. It feels like lifetimes ago, Sammy. All I really remember is pain. It's like...your entire body is being attacked every moment by everything that hurts, all at once. And there was no light, I couldn't see anything…. Anything at all. Just black."
"What's the first thing you remember?"
"I remember Alastair looking at my intestines. He loved to come by every day and do anything he wanted while I–I couldn't move."
Dean opened up. He knew what he had to say, otherwise his brother would just keep dogging him. Plus he knew he needed help, as little as he wanted to admit it.
Dean told Sam about all the things Alastair did to him, almost coming to tears with a few of the more gruesome things he did. Sam almost became sick. He couldn't imagine the things his brother went through more than once each day, each second.
Then came the brainwashing. Alastair loved taking hold of Dean's mind and twisting his thoughts, making him think unspeakable things. Things that pained Dean to the core, things that Dean still had trouble determining whether or not it really happened like that. Sam noticed Alastair chose things no one else would know about except Dean himself, making him useless in trying to straighten the few issues out. These were things that Sam would never be able to help with; these Dean had to deal with on his own. The last insecurity came as a surprise to Sam.
"…and then Alastair told me that you hated me…wanted me dead so you could be the one taking all the credit for everything…that you never loved me."
Sam loved his brother; he would die for Dean, a trait he tried to exploit, but backfired, ending in this broken little boy of a brother.
"Dean, you know that's not true. I love you. You're my brother. Why wouldn't I love you?"
"I know, I know. Alastair just got in my mind and showed me things. Things that I know now are not true. But I just hated him for saying it and me for believing it.
"You believed him?"
"I didn't have much choice. He had complete control of me. I couldn't do anything without his permission. If he wanted to, he could force me to hurt myself. He loved doing that…."
After that the conversation fizzled out. Sam looked out the window and recognized the utter darkness of the latest time of night, 3:00am. The clock behind Dean proved is assumptions, 3:07.
"I think we should get to bed. It's late. We'll talk more in the morning, alright?"
Dean nodded. Sam could make out the faint line of circles underneath his puffy eyes. Dean was tired, but he had to get this out there. He knew Dean would be better in the morning.
Sam got up to turn off the light, shivering as his skin hit the cold air of the room. He must've turned the heater off for some God-awful reason.
As Sam slid back under the warm covers in the dark room, he witnessed one of the most helpless moments of Dean's life.
"Do you love me, Sam?"
"Yes. I love you Dean. Good night."
"'Night."