One Tape, So Many Lies
Set after 1.20 "Dead Man's Blood"
Dean Winchester rifled through his father's duffle bag. John had gone out for some beers after they'd killed the vampires, and Dean thought his duffle needed some clearing out. Some dirty laundry had gone into the dirty clothes bag, some knives got set aside along with a salt gun, a photo of the three Winchesters ten years ago—
Dean picked the photo up, looking at it. John sat on the hood of the Impala, smiling in pride at his two boys. A sixteen-year-old Dean sat to John's left, wielding a shotgun. He was already wearing John's old leather jacket, and the amulet that Sam had given him hung around his neck. To John's right sat a twelve-year-old Sam, also sporting a shotgun. Sam stared into the camera, face blank. Dean shook his head.
That kid never smiles for pictures…especially if it's with Dad.
One of these days, Dean was gonna get a picture of Sam smiling. The kid was way too uptight. He hardly ever smiled.
Dean put the picture on the bed next to the bag, digging further. His fingers touched something plastic, and he frowned. He grabbed a hold of it and pulled it out. It was a VHS tape that was unlabeled.
What would Dad be doing with a video tape?
Glancing at the door to the bedroom where Sam slept, Dean stood up.
Should I wake Sammy up?
Dean shook his head, quickly ruling that out.
Sam hasn't slept in a couple days.
Dean walked over to the television, turning it on. He spared a glance at the motel door to make sure his dad wasn't coming back. He popped the tape into the VCR and pressed play. Dean stepped back, staring at the screen. The image popped on, and Dean frowned in confusion. It was a homemade tape; he could tell because the person's hands were practically covering the camera lens. The sound of a door opening startled the hands' owner, who spun around. Dean cocked his head to the side as he saw a twelve-year-old him in the doorway.
"Dad, what are you doing in here?" Dean-on-the-tape asked with a frown.
"Oh, I'm just checking the salt lines," the owner—John—told him. "Make sure Sammy's safe." John shifted on his legs, flipping a pocket knife in his hand repeatedly.
Dean's eyes widened in realization. At the time, Dean had been too young to know what that quirk had meant. Now that Dean was older and more trained, he knew his father's tells and mannerisms. Dean had seen this particular one when John was talking to the authorities on a hunt or when he was planning a birthday surprise for one of them.
He's nervous…afraid he'll get caught…
Dean-on-the-tape nodded, accepting the obvious lie. "Well, I'm gonna work on my homework."
"Oh, yeah?" said John. "What do you have?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "Stupid essay. Teacher says we have to write about a family outing that we enjoyed. Can you imagine her reading mine?"
John laughed uneasily. "Yeah, I'll bet."
Dean went into the other room, leaving John in the bedroom.
Dean stared at the screen, remembering that day and how he had ended up writing a story about the three of them at the movies—he had been very detailed in the description of the werewolf movie. The teacher had told him he made it seem like he was actually in the movie. Sammy had come back from school not long after Dean began writing, looking tired.
As Dean watched, John left the room and about two minutes later, an eight-year-old Sam came into the bedroom, plopping his backpack onto the floor, closing the door and flopping onto the bed. Sam rolled over, facing the camera and closing his eyes. Dean waited for about five minutes before the bedroom door opened. Sam's eyes opened, wide and terrified, and he began trembling slightly.
Dean frowned as John entered the room, closing the door behind him. Sam slammed his eyes closed, breathing fast. John slowly approached the bed.
"It's okay, Sammy," John told him. "We don't have to worry about being quiet tonight. Dean's got his headphones on. You know him and his music."
At this, Sam's trembling grew worse. John stood over Sam, glaring at him.
"Look at me," John growled out. Sammy just trembled. John reached down and grabbed Sam's wrist, pulling him roughly off the bed. Sam yelped in pain as he hit the wall, sliding to the floor. John grabbed both of his wrists, pinning him to the wall. "You disobeyed a direct order, son. I said, look at me."
Sam locked wide eyes on his father as he clenched his fists in terror. John brought a fist up, hitting Sam across the face.
Dean's jaw dropped as he stared in horror at what was happening in front of him.
And I was just in the next room…
John pulled Sam to the bed, handcuffing him to the bedrail. John took his belt off and began using it as a whip, lashing it across Sam's belly. At each hit, Sam jerked on the mattress and cried out, tears falling down his face. Dean winced at each lash, flinching each time the belt came down. Red began welling up on Sam's shirt, staining it.
Dean remembered trying to clean the blood off that shirt.
"Oh, he was trying to clean the crossbow. Must've hit the trigger."
John put the belt on the floor, deciding to favor his fists. Dean's hand flew to his mouth as John pounded into his youngest son, hitting his stomach, gut, groin and face. Dean's brain screamed at him to shut it off, smash the television and burn the tape, but he was completely frozen in shock and horror.
John sat down on the bed next to Sam, and that's when the tears began flowing freely down Sam's face.
What could he possibly do that's worse than this?
John tore at Sam's pants, pulling them down to his ankles.
Dean's legs collapsed under him, and he fell to the floor, despair swallowing him.
No…no, not this…Anything but this…
As John climbed onto Sam's waist, Dean's heart cried out, and he lunged forward, turning the TV off. He pulled the tape out of the VCR and flung it onto the couch.
All this time…he was…
Despair, sorrow, guilt, rage and horror all fought for domination in Dean's head, leaving him time to ponder the whole thing. All the excuses his father had ever made for Sam's injuries…
"Bruised his tailbone…"
"Fight at school…"
"Ghost wailed on him good last night…"
"Been fooling around in the weapons' cash again…"
"Tripped and fell halfway down the stairs today…"
"Went tree climbing today and fell down, shoving a branch into his foot…"
Dean's head swam as he looked back on the conversations he'd had with Sam this past year…
"I swore I was done hunting…for good."
"So, what are you gonna do? You're just gonna live some normal, apple-pie life?"
"No, not normal…safe."
"No. I'm not like you. This is not gonna be my life."
"Well, Dad never treated you like that. You were perfect. He was all over my case."
"I respected him. But no matter what I did, it was never good enough."
"Because you're following Dad's orders like a good little soldier? 'Cause you always do what he says without question? Are you that desperate for his approval?"
"I don't understand the blind faith you have in the man. I mean, it's like you don't even question him."
And Sam was right…Dean didn't question his father. He'd always just went along with John's excuses and lies. This explained so much. Why Sam didn't like Dean listening to his music at full blast, why Sam hated being called Sammy—John had always called him that, why Sam insisted on getting away to college at the first chance he got, why Sam insisted on going back for that law school interview instead of going with Dean. It all made perfect sense now.
Dean looked over at the door that separated him from his brother. All these years, Sam had been abused by their father…and Dean had been completely blind to the whole thing. How could he have been so stupid?
Dean climbed to his feet, grabbed the video tape, and approached the door, easing it open. He looked over at his brother as he slept on the bed, sprawled out under the blankets. Dean closed the door and placed the tape next to the nightstand, sitting on the mattress next to Sam. He placed a hand on Sam's shoulder to gently shake him awake. However, at the slight contact, Sam jolted awake, eyes wide. Dean threw his hands up in front of him.
"Whoa, easy, Sam," Dean assured him. "It's me."
Sam relaxed as he looked up at Dean's face. "Dean…what are you doing in here?" He looked around warily. "Is Dad here?"
"No," said Dean. He hated to tell Sam this, certain it would freak him out. "He's, uh…at a bar."
Sam froze slightly, eyes darting back and forth, and breathing quickening. "Oh, well…that's…great. It's been a long hunt…We all need a little…a little break…He's…that's…great."
"Sam, it's okay," Dean comforted him, laying a hand on his brother's shoulder. A tear formed in the corner of his eye. "I know."
Sam looked up at him, frowning. "Know what?"
"Everything," Dean told him. "I know about what Dad did to you."
Sam's eyes widened. "What Dad did?"
"The beatings...the abuse…physical…mental…sexual," said Dean. Sam turned his head away, closing his eyes and grimacing in anguish. "Sam…I have to hear it from you…Did he really do all that?"
Sam squeezed his eyelids together tightly, starting to sob. Slowly, he nodded and began trembling. Tears fell down Dean's face.
"Oh, Sam," said Dean. "What he was doing—"
"Was?" Sam whispered softly. Dean looked down at him in confusion. Sam looked up at Dean, tears in his eyes. "Is."
Sam lowered the blankets and lifted his shirt up to reveal fresh, new bruises and lacerations on his ribs, much like those of Max Miller. Dean put his head in his hand, sobbing.
"I'm so sorry, Sam," said Dean. Dean put his hands on Sam's shoulders and pulled his broken little brother into his arms. "I promise I will never let him touch you again. We'll go…just the two of us. He'll never find us."
"Dean…I'm scared…" Sam whispered, tears falling freely as he clung to his brother.
"I'm here, Sam," said Dean, holding Sam as the sobs came. "I'm not leaving."
The bedroom door opened suddenly, and Sam jumped in Dean's arms. Dean turned his head to see John enter the room, clearly drunk. Sam began trembling as he drew his knees up towards his chest, pulling the blankets further towards him.
"What's going on here?" John demanded.
Rage filled Dean as he stood to face John. His face snarling, he bent and picked up the tape on the floor. "You might want to think about keeping your duffle where no one can get to it." Dean tossed the video tape at John's chest, glaring at him.
John looked down at the tape and back up at Dean. "Well, well, you finally figured it out. Took you long enough."
"You sadistic, evil bastard," Dean flung at his father. No, not his father. This monster named John Winchester wasn't worthy of being their father. "How dare you."
"How dare I?" said John. "You're my sons. I'll do with you whatever I damn well please."
"You're not getting near my brother ever again," snarled Dean. "I'll make sure of it."
Dean charged at John, raising his fist, but John blocked the attack. He flung Dean into the wall, hitting his head against the plaster. Dean went to the floor, his head swimming.
John turned towards Sam, who was trembling, crying and staring. John walked towards Sam as he sat frozen on the bed. John wrapped his hand behind Sam's neck, immobilizing his head.
"Look at me," John growled. Sam didn't dare disobey a direct order. He knew what became of disobedience. "You dirty, demonic son of a bitch. You had to go squeal to your brother."
"No…" Sam stuttered. "I didn't…I—"
"Liar!" John yelled. "How else would he have found that tape! You told him! You disobeyed!"
"No!" Sam cried, tears falling down his face. "I swear I didn't! I didn't know he—"
"You know what this means," John growled out.
He took hold of Sam's ankles, pulling him down the bed until he lay flat. Sam struggled for a moment before John pinned Sam to the mattress, holding his wrists down. As Sam sank into his despair, John grabbed his face and stared into those wide, terrified brown eyes. As John raised his fist to begin the beating, a body collided with his, and they both went tumbling to the floor.
Sam curled over onto his side, bringing his legs up as far as they would go towards his chest. He hugged his middle, digging his head into the pillow.
Dean punched John over and over, showing no mercy. After all, John hadn't shown any mercy, and Sam was just an innocent bystander. John, on the other hand, was all kinds of guilty. As John slumped on the floor, unconscious, Dean stood up and looked over at his brother. He climbed onto the bed, gently placing a hand on Sam's shoulder.
"Sam, it's me," Dean said as he touched him, afraid Sam would scare easily. "Sam, I got him. He won't hurt you ever again."
Dean lay down beside his brother, turning him over. Sam turned the rest of the way and buried his face in Dean's chest. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam as his brother cried. As Sam's sobs subsided, Dean pulled him up, sitting on the bed.
"Come on," Dean told him. "Let's get out of here."
Dean pulled Sam towards him, lifting his brother off the bed and carrying him out to the Impala. He set Sam in the passenger seat and quickly darted back inside for their duffels, throwing them into the backseat. He climbed into the driver's seat and peeled out of the parking lot and away from this nightmare.
Dean looked over at his brother. "Sam, can I ask you something?" He saw Sam nod slightly. "If this is what was going on...why did you come back with me to find him?"
Sam hesitated before looking at Dean. "Because Jessica died...I knew Dad was the best...If anyone could find Jessica's killer...it'd be him. I'd hoped he'd grown out of it, but...no such luck."
Dean shook his head. "Well, we don't have to worry about him anymore. It's just the two of us now. He'll hunt the demon, and we'll just keep away from him. You'll see. We'll be okay now."
Sam smiled as Dean looked at him, comforted by his big brother's promise. Unseen by Sam, Dean slipped his camera phone out and snapped a quick picture of the slight happiness on Sam's face. Even if it was because of tragic circumstances, Dean finally had a picture of his Sammy when he was smiling, something he would always cherish.