If There's Life After This
Chapter One

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this series. That honor goes to Eric Kripke. Please don't sue me because you sure as hell won't get much.

Author's note: WINCEST, don't like, don't read! I have received a nasty and poorly written review from an anonymous reader, and I'd rather avoid idiots like these in the future. It isn't my fault people can't read warnings in a summary.

It was their third new school in just as many months. As Sam looked across the parking lot to the entrance of Jackson High School, he tried to make out something that might make this place different than the others, but from what he could see, everything looked the same. Sure, the buildings were different, varied in size, but the atmosphere wasn't. There were the same cliques, the same social hierarchies, and the same background into which he'd have to fade and become invisible. Sam Winchester, once he left this school and was no longer a blip on its radar, would be that small runt of a fourteen-year-old in the yearbook no one would remember.

Dean ruffled his kid brother's hair, making Sam furiously try to fix it and glare up at him. "You know we're gonna have to go in there sometime, right?" He paused and looked at the faded, old sign above the school's doors. "Not a good idea to stand out by being late our first day," he said, steering the younger boy towards the door. "Geez, this place is old as shit."

"I like it. It's historic. The school is nearly a century old. If you'd bothered to read up on this town at all, you would've known," Sam said with a smirk.

His big brother rolled his eyes and pushed Sam towards the door. "Get in there, geek boy. We have to do this sooner or later." Dean sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes, yawning.

Sam couldn't help but laugh. Dean was right, though. Delaying the inevitable wasn't going to do any good. So he matched his brother's lazy pace down through the parking lot and into the school. "Dad said this was a werewolf hunt. We don't have a lot of time to find it. I mean, the full moon isn't even a week away. Does he have any idea where it might be?" Sam asked.

"No, not yet. We'll need you on research for this one." When Sam just shook his head and scoffed, Dean smacked him lightly on the head. "Yeah, I know we always put you on research. But Dad already said you're not coming on the hunt. Bobby'll join us once we find it. Meet you at the Impala after class. Don't be late, bitch."

Sam rolled his eyes and the smallest of grins crossed his face as he said, "Whatever, jerk," and walked off to homeroom, reaching it just before the bell rang. Yeah, Dean was right about the place being pretty damn old. The place desperately needed some renovations, even if the rustic charm of the building might be compromised a little in the process. He wouldn't be surprised if there was an asbestos problem.

He chanced a look at all the other students who were already sitting down. Most of them were staring at him; some stifled snickers behind their hands, while others were less discreet. It was going to be a long day.

His thoughts were confirmed when he received his new schedule and saw that P.E. was the first class of the day. "Dammit," he swore under his breath. Yet another chance for a bunch of idiots to pick on his smaller physique and his clumsiness. But if his rapidly growing feet had anything to say about it, the height part was going to change soon. It sure would be nice if his body would finally decide to get the memo that he was fourteen now and should be going through puberty. Sure, he was strong from all of the training Dad made him and Dean undergo, but his small, scrawny frame didn't show it.

For now, though, maybe this group would actually have an original name to call him. On second thought, they probably wouldn't. If his homeroom was anything to judge by, the guys in his class were most likely just a bunch of stupid jocks. Laughing inwardly at their brainless insults would be entertainment enough.

"You got P.E. first, too? I think they're trying to kills us small fry," someone said from behind him, looking over his shoulder at his schedule. The hunter startled and looked up, shooting an annoyed stare until he saw the kid redden and look away with a muttered apology.

"Hey, uh, it's okay. I just, uh... Well, you surprised me," Sam said dumbly, looking down. The kid looked harmless enough. Definitely not a member of the popular crowd, judging by those horrible glasses and demeanor. "I'm Sam," he said, trying to make his face look a little friendlier.

"I'm Brian," the kid said with a big grin, like Sam had made his day. It wasn't all that different from the smile Dean could put on his face, that smile of elation that to at least one person, he wasn't invisible. To one person, he was worth something, maybe even everything.

After about fifteen minutes, during which he and Brian slipped into a comfortable conversation about everything from school subjects to classic novels and mythology, they were dismissed. Sam slowly made his way to the locker rooms to change. As he lifted his overly large shirt (a hand-me-down from Dean) over his head, a pair of eyes settled on the shaggy-haired boy, roaming up and down across his torso appreciatively. He could feel the wandering eyes ogling his thin frame, but when he turned around, no one was looking in his direction.

The rest of the day passed by without incident, and the floppy-haired boy stood out by the Impala, waiting. The second-hand circled the face of his watch ten times before Dean finally showed.

"I thought you said not to be late, Dean. It counts for you, too, you know," Sam said with a whiny edge to his voice as Dean unlocked the car and climbed in. "I want to get out of here just as much as you do. What were you doing, anyway? Chatting up some girl again?" Hell, as gorgeous as his brother was with his dirty blonde hair, piercing green eyes, and adorable freckles, he'd probably already gotten to at least first base with someone today.

"Gotta at least check out the chicks, Sammy. Don't see why you don't do the same thing once in a while," the older boy said as Sam got into the car and buckled himself up.

"What's the point? We'll only be here long enough to take care of the job, like always." The skinny shrimp of a teenager just shook his head and rested his head on the window. Maybe if their lives didn't require them live like nomads, he'd be able to get into an actual relationship.

It would also help if he found girls even remotely attractive. Hell, he wouldn't mind being attracted to guys. At least he wouldn't have a forbidden, sick crush on his big brother that he could never pursue.

He could imagine how well that would pan out if he ever told Dean. And if Dad found out… he would have every right to disown him. I'm already the reason Mom's dead, and he tells me often enough how bad I am at hunting. He doesn't need another reason to hate me.

Or knock him around, which he'd been doing for the last few years or so, since he was old enough to take part in the hunt. The second of November was always the worst, when his father would come back to the hotel they were holed up in with whiskey on his breath and come at him, blows intent on causing pain and injury with perfect precision. Sure, Sam had been taught by the best, but he was no match for someone as big as John. Soon enough, the fight would always end with the youngest Winchester unconscious on the floor.

The first time it had happened had been on the tenth anniversary of Mary's death, the mother he couldn't even remember. He had woken on the bed a few hours later with Dad's hand carding through his soft fringe, the sheer gentleness of it all but screaming his remorse. Everything had hurt. Several ice packs were positioned strategically over his worst injuries, along with bandages and a splint. Neither of them had said anything, though the silence was anything but comfortable. His father's guilty expression was enough of an apology for a young, forgiving Sam.

Thankfully, Dean had been laid up in the hospital after a particularly vicious encounter with a wendigo after their most recent hunt, so he never saw the injuries. And Sam was good enough at pretending that everything was fine that he was able to head off his brother's concerns easily. All it took was a few lies about a bogus poltergeist hunt where Sam hadn't been quick enough to come out unscathed to explain away the bruises and soreness.

It didn't stop Dean from watching his brother a little more closely, eyes calculating and suspicious. Sam was uncomfortable under that stare. God, had it been hard not to let anything on.

After that, John was a lot more careful where and how hard he hit his youngest child. He was always drunk to the gills when he let himself go, but he never, ever let himself lose complete control again. And Sam would never tell because, deep down, he knew he deserved it. So he let his father hurt him, rarely even putting up a fight, and his older brother still was in the dark after four long years due to no small amount of luck, deception, and suspicion on Dean's part.

Although the family business was sufficiently dangerous to explain away any marks Dean ever saw, Sam could tell his brother
thought something was off. Sure, they were both covered in scars, and bruises were just a part of the job, but the timing wasn't random enough for something to not be wrong. Sam wouldn't cave, though. He couldn't deprive Dean of that perfect image of the father he idolized.

"Sam? Sammy! We're back at the motel, runt. Come on and get out of the car," Dean said, waving his hand in front of his brother's face. Sam grabbed it and shook his head in annoyance as he climbed out, muttering a few choice curses under his breath about older siblings.

"Dude, I was trying to get your attention for, like, five minutes in there. You okay?" Dean looked at him with obvious concern, but the younger boy averted his face, letting his hair cover the eyes he knew would betray him.

"I'm fine," Sam replied, brushing past Dean, his eyes to the ground as he walked to the door and pulled out his key to the motel. No, he wasn't fine, hadn't been for a long time. But he couldn't tell his brother without being grilled about it. And in the process of a long line of exhausting questions, at least one of his two secrets would come out because, in the end, he could
never refuse his brother anything.

But delaying the inevitable? He could do that.

When he entered their room, he found a note lying conspicuously on the bed with his father's unmistakable scrawl on it:

DON'T FORGET TO CHECK THE SALT LINES EVERY TIME YOU COME IN AND WHEN YOU LEAVE. USE THE TERRAIN AROUND HERE FOR YOUR RUNNING, AND SEE IF YOU CAN PICK UP THE SPEED. 30 MIN SPARRING TIME EVERY DAY (DEAN, I WILL FIND OUT IF YOU GO EASY ON YOUR BROTHER). CLEAN AND CHECK ALL THE WEAPONS EVERY NIGHT.

AND DEAN, LEAVE SOME FOOD FOR YOUR BROTHER. MAKE SURE HE EATS MORE THAN THAT RABBIT FOOD HE KEEPS GETTING. DON'T LET HIM SLACK ON HIS TRAINING TO DO SCHOOLWORK.

Sam picked it up and read through it, rolling his eyes, then handed it to Dean. "Not sure why he finds the need to give us these instructions whenever we come to a new town. We know the drill by now," he said as he changed into his training gear. "Does he think we'll forget to maintain the salt lines or something? And I don't eat rabbit food. I just don't eat all that greasy junk you do."

Dean finished reading and started putting on his own training clothes. "Well, we did forget that time back in Santa Ana, and that spirit's dead sister attacked us, remember?" He smirked at his brother and punched his arm. "And you do eat freaking rabbit food. Only veggies I like are on my burgers. Seriously, though, he's just trying to protect us."

Yeah, and throwing us right into the middle of it all with him accomplishes that so well. "Let's just get the routine over with so I can research and do my homework, okay?" With that, Sam was out the door, waiting for his sibling so they could start their run. Dean followed, worry plastered on his face, but he didn't say a word as they started stretching. Still, that didn't stop Dean from watching him with suspicious eyes periodically during their training. Sam did his best to keep his face expressionless, but if he knew his brother, Dean wasn't buying it.

Over the next few days, Sam and Dean didn't see John much. He stopped in to sleep, but that was only in the wee hours of the night, long after his boys had gone to bed. When they heard the lock turning, their eyes would pop open, and their hands instantly grabbed for their weapons until they realized it was just Dad. John would move to his bed and crash, and the boys both fell asleep again easily enough after that, even if Sam was a classic cover-hog and tended to stretch out like he was the only one on the bed.

School was uneventful most of the time, at least for Sam. He was able to keep himself from standing out, like they had to do. Bullies still found him, but he could usually give them the slip. Staying quiet and keeping out of the way were invaluable skills in warding off anyone who might give him trouble.

The only problem was Chase. Just… everything about him gave him the creeps. The boy was tall and muscular with dark hair and wolfish, black eyes that frightened him. Most of all, it was the way he stared at him sometimes, especially in the locker room, that made him uneasy. As they changed, he could feel predatory eyes on him, looking him up and down like he was a piece of meat. The thought had never really occurred to the small, skinny teen that he was attractive, but this certainly wasn't the way he wanted to find out.

The worst thing was that whenever he turned around to scowl at the boy, Chase would just smirk at him and continue his unnerving stare. So Sam had taken to getting in and out of there as fast as he could before and after each gym class.

Thankfully, he didn't have any other classes with Chase, who was sixteen and still in ninth-grade remedial classes. For most of the day, Sam was safe.

Otherwise, it was life as usual for the Winchesters. Dad had gotten a lead on the werewolf, and he and Dean were planning to check it out, come nightfall. When they woke that morning, Dad had informed them of that night's reconnaissance plans and that Sam would be staying home.

"Make sure you keep the salt lines intact, and keep your silver knife and your gun near you. You've already loaded it with silver bullets, right?"

Sam sighed heavily as he started getting ready for school. "Dad, we're dealing with a werewolf. I'd have to be an idiot not to load the thing with silver bullets," he said before pouring himself some cereal. "Don't use all the hot water, jerk! Leave some for me!" Dean's reply was muffled by the sound of water running, but he was sure it contained the word "bitch" somewhere.

"Don't use that tone with me, Sam," John said. "It's going to be dangerous enough with just me, Dean, and Bobby hunting that thing. I don't want to have to worry about you, too."

The young boy relented with a nod and resumed eating. Fifteen minutes later, Sam and Dean were in the Impala and on their way for another long school day.

When Dean got out of the car, a girl had already sauntered her way to the car and started talking with him, her hand trailing over his well-developed chest. Sam shook his head with disgust. The girls were practically throwing themselves at his brother, and Dean couldn't seem to get enough of it. But none of those girls would be there after this hunt. Dean would never be able to share anything of substance about his life with any of them. He knew that the way he desired and loved his brother was wrong, but the only one who really understood him, protected him, and made him feel like he was special was Dean. And he was the one person he could never have.

The younger Winchester turned around and walked off toward the school entrance. He never saw his brother's eyes trailing him, letting down their cool, confident façade to reveal confusion in their seemingly endless, green depths.

As Sam went to class, he could feel eyes on him, the same ones that had been following him for days. Too bad that he had to go to gym first and couldn't lose the asshole. It was more than obvious that Chase had it out for him somehow. But why was he waiting? He already bullied some of the other students in his class. He couldn't help the feeling of unease that came over him when he entered the locker room and started changing. Those eyes never stopped watching him, even when he turned around to walk out when he was done dressing. It never ceased to both amaze and frighten him that someone would be so
bold and brazen about watching him.

Coach Wentworth, a rather short and stocky man with graying hair and next to no tolerance for bullshit, blew his whistle, and everyone who was still lingering in the locker rooms ran out and lined up. The cantankerous physical education teacher looked like he was in a fairly good mood, but even on the best of days, you could find yourself slapped with a detention if you weren't careful.

Sam stood beside Brian, the one person at this godforsaken school whom he could possibly consider a friend. Brian was short and small for his age, too, and after a few more classes together, they discovered that they shared a lot of interests. Hell, the kid even had his freckly nose buried in Nordic mythology practically all the time. After Sam's first few days at Jackson High School, they had struck a casual enough friendship, though he knew not to get too close. They'd be out of here as soon as the werewolf case was closed. Nothing good would come from getting attached.

"So, I see you all decided to get here on time today," the coach said, eying his students and smirking. "We're doing track today. Endurance testing."

A resounding moan echoed through the gym, but Sam stayed silent. "Moaning isn't gonna get you out of it, so get going!" Wentworth led the way to the door leading outside and to the track, then blew his whistle and left his students with ringing ears as they began to run. "And don't stop until you can't run or jog anymore! Try to stay at the same pace the whole time!"

For the youngest Winchester, the drill wasn't anything unusual. As much as he'd hated running at first, it seemed to be the best way for him to get out his own head for a while and just be. He didn't have to pretend while he was running. He didn't have to think. The sensations, the sounds, the sights around him... Those were the only things that entered his mind while he
ran.

Needless to say, he loved it. His endurance was solid, even better than Dean's. He easily paced himself as he ran and was the last to stop moving. The brunette bent over, resting his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. Coach Wentworth watched Sam recover from the long run, at a loss for words. Poor guy had obviously never seen the results of John Winchester's special brand of training before.

Brian was watching him, too, but his expression was more akin to awe. He was still out of breath, despite being one of the first to have to stop. The kid walked to Sam and said, "Where'd you learn to run like that? You should join track or cross-country!"

"Nah, I don't think that's a good idea. My family moves around a lot. I probably won't be around more than a few months at the most," Sam said, ducking his head. His brown locks obscured his eyes from view. "Besides, I've got a lot on my plate already with my classes." Getting on a team meant getting involved in something, in a group, and that wasn't something he could afford. He couldn't plant any roots here, not when he had to leave, either way.

Brian nodded, but he didn't get any more words out before the coach blew his whistle. The class trudged inside, heading to their respective locker rooms, and Sam changed back into his normal attire after a very quick shower while trying to ignore the creepy eyes he knew were staring at him. Sam and his friend left at the same time, a couple of minutes after Chase, just to be safe.

"See you, Sam," Brian said as he walked off to go to his next class. Sam watched his absurdly nerdy friend walk off with a small smile on his face. Yeah, he was definitely the only person he'd miss when he had to leave.

The boy halted in his steps and turned around. "Hey, Sam? We have to get started on that history project soon. Wanna meet after school today?"

"Yeah, do you think your place would be okay? We're still getting things moved around. The place is still full of boxes," Sam said as he started following Brian.

"That'll work. I'll meet you after school, then." The short boy then walked off, leaving Sam to his thoughts. He'd have to be careful and not become too close to Brian during this project. I can't have that extending outside of here, though. Especially not at our apartment, if you can call that shack we live in an apartment.

As usual, the day passed pretty quickly, even though he'd had to stay half an hour late for detention because he hadn't finished his work due to research Dad had piled on him at the last minute. Honestly, Sam was just relieved to go. He just had this bad feeling about this school, this place in general. Dad seemed to be close to wrapping this case up soon, thankfully. He didn't know how much longer he could stand Chase's menacing gaze.

As the young hunter walked to the front of the building to meet Brian, he knew he was going to have to apologize for making the kid wait. As he made his way down the hall, he heard a loud bang that sounded a lot like a body colliding with metal.

His heartbeat increasing rapidly, Sam increased his pace and ran to the source of the noise, finding Chase and three other guys holding Brian up against a locker as they used him for a punching bag.

The young brunette shook his head angrily, and with his blood boiling, he marched to them and used the strength most didn't suspect he had to pull them off his friend. "Leave him alone," he said with ice and venom in his tone.

Chase looked at him and just smirked down at him. "Or what? You'll tell your big brother, shrimp? I could put that cocky sonuvabitch in his place, right under me, before he knew what hit him."

Sam could feel his blood run cold as his brain absorbed Chase's words. "You leave Dean out of this!" he yelled, tackling Chase to the ground and landing a solid punch to the bully's nose. After that first hit, he was pummeling the guy, letting his fists fly with frightening ferocity. Before he could cause too much damage, someone was pulling him off the ringleader with difficulty and trying to hold him still. The other two slammed him up against the lockers and bombarded him with punches and kicks while the first guy held him in place.

"Run, Brian!" he called. "Don't look back!"

The kid ran off, stumbling and unable to keep himself from chancing a glance back at his friend. No, keep going, you idiot! I can only keep them distracted for so long!

He didn't have much more time to linger on his desperate thoughts because after one more punch, Sam knew no more.

When Sam came to, the first thing that he was aware of was pain. It assaulted his senses and only served to increase his confusion. Where am I…? What the hell happened?

Everything became clear again as soon as he saw Chase and his little circus of bullies looming over him. He was in the locker room, and with a glance around the room, he could see his only exit was blocked. Shit. All of them outweighed him by at least fifty pounds, and there were four overgrown blockheads against one of him. This wasn't going to end well.

Dean wouldn't be coming to his rescue, either. Sam suddenly found himself intensely regretting telling his brother to go home without him today so he could work with Brian on that history project.

"Look who's up," Chase said with a dangerous leer, moving his head to look at one of the guys who'd pummeled Sam into oblivion earlier. "You, Jack. Hold him down. Don't want him getting away. He's gonna pay for earlier," he said as he turned back to Sam, watching his prey.

Once Jack's bulky frame was holding him to the bench on which he was trapped, Chase leaned in close, letting his breath caress the soft skin of Sam's cheek. The hunter struggled uselessly, increasing his efforts when Chase laid a hand with mock gentleness on his jaw-line.

"Damn. Skin feels so much softer than I thought it'd be…" Jack's large hands pinned him down with considerable weight, making it impossible for the boy to get away as Chase fixed him with a primal stare and leaned in. Chapped lips collided with Sam's in a rough kiss that was anything but pleasant. Sam, try as he might, couldn't pull away with Chase's filthy paws on his face, but he still had his survival instincts. As soon as the sick pervert pulled away, he started screaming at the top of his lungs. Maybe Wentworth was around somewhere and would hear the noise.

"Put a gag on him, you idiots!" one of them yelled, though Sam couldn't tell who it was. Before he knew it, some fabric that smelled and tasted absolutely vile (a sock, maybe?) was stuffed in his mouth and tied tightly around his head, and nothing but muffled sounds of protest and fright escaped him now. As Chase looked down at him, he threw a desperate kick that landed in the guy's gut. All that got him was a somewhat satisfying grunt of pain, a blow to his side, and someone practically sitting on his long legs. He was pretty sure he heard a loud crack when a fist hit his ribs, and the pain momentarily took his breath away.

I'm not getting out of here, Sam thought hopelessly as each escape option was forcibly taken from him, one by one.

His stalker looked at him hungrily and whispered, "Now, I take what I want. And I've wanted you since I saw your sweet ass that first day." Chase leaned over him and unbuckled Sam's belt, pulling down the boy's pants none-too-gently. His boxers came off next, and that was when tears began leaking down his scared, pale face in rivulets. The older boy, whom Sam regarded more as a monster than anything else now, quickly removed his own clothing, and that was when the touches came.

Almost every loathsome sensation jarred his side and caused excruciating pain in his ribs. It was sheer torture, and Chase used any way he could to prolong it. Even after he was reduced to pleading and whimpers for them to stop, Sam couldn't stop his body from responding positively to the unwanted touches. He couldn't deny his own involuntary arousal, and it made him sick. Shame filled him to the core, both for letting this happen to him at all and for his body's traitorous reaction. God, he was so pathetic. No wonder his Dad hated him. Dean should, too, for that matter, and he didn't understand why the brother he hero-worshipped didn't feel the same.

It took a long time, but eventually, everything just became a blur tinged with blood, sweat, and countless tears. All his mind could do now was shut down, unable to take in the rest, but he could feel it all, every horrible sensation. He could hear the all the downright nasty things his attackers said to him, but nothing really stuck, at least not in his conscious mind. All of it was still there, though, burned somewhere deep inside his core, maybe even his soul.

Yes, every gruesome detail would definitely come back to haunt him later.

Sam had no idea how much time passed before he was roused from his hastily built mental sanctuary by a loud CRASH that resounded through the room. Everything was still hazy, but he could make out Dean's face, which was set in a fierce and livid expression. There were others, too. Maybe it was Wentworth and several other teachers…

In all the confusion that followed, all he could really focus on was Dean.

Dean, who knocked out one of the bullies who'd dared to lay hands on his precious little brother.

Dean, who pulled the gag off of him and pulled him carefully into his arms, trying his best to shield him from the rest of the world.

In the end, it was always Dean; it had always been Dean. He was the one who protected him, the one Sam loved more than anything. But Dean would never want him, especially not after this. How could he even look at him now, let alone stand to touch him?

Still, he couldn't stop clinging to Dean, couldn't stop holding onto the man who was the very glue that was holding him together. "It's alright, Sammy," whispered his protector gently in his ear, his voice hoarse and about to break. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

While guarded in the soothing embrace of his big brother, Sam didn't notice all that was going on around him, and before he knew it, even more people entered the room. They surrounded him and Dean, and Sam watched dejectedly as the paramedics forcibly pulled his brother from him.

He whimpered quietly, reaching for Dean with a trembling hand. No! Dean, don't leave me! The terrified boy's mind screamed as the medics assessed him with care. They poked and prodded him, asking him questions he couldn't even begin to answer if his life depended on it. He began to thrash about, struggling blindly with everything in him to get to Dean, but he was several feet out of reach. "Let me go! Dean! Please!" he shouted, tears blurring his vision once more as he felt himself lose any semblance of control he had left.

Sam no longer understood anything that was going on around him. Voices were distorted, and his vision started to go black around the edges, finally fading away into nothing as the powerful sedative the EMTs injected into his arm did its intended job.