If There's Life After This
Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters, storylines, et cetera. I'm just borrowing them for my story.

Awareness came slowly for the youngest Winchester as he finally regained consciousness. The first thing he felt was pain. It was like a damn battering ram was running repeatedly against the front of his skull. No, scratch that. It wasn't just in his head; the pain was fucking everywhere, and the worst was in his… in his ass? What the hell did that mean?

For a moment, he just lay there, trying to figure out where he was. I'm in a bed… Thing's pretty uncomfortable. Smells like disinfectant in here. Must be in a hospital… What happened this time?

The brunette opened his eyes, squinting as bright, fluorescent lights flooded them and made him have to shut them once more. Who the hell leaves the lights on that bright when a patient's sleeping? That was when someone's grip on his hand tightened, and he forced his eyes open again. He looked over to see a very pale and worn-looking version of his brother sitting at his bedside. His freckles stood out more starkly than normal on his face, and there were dark smudges under his bright, green eyes.

Sam peered at Dean and squeezed his hand back. "Hey," he croaked out with a small, lopsided smile.

Dean grinned, too, but it never reached his eyes. Some emotion that Sam couldn't name was swimming in his brother's eyes, and it unsettled him. The older boy's hand tightened on his, and Sam could feel the tension and worry coming off of him in waves. "How're you feeling, kiddo?" he asked, his voice tightly controlled. It reminded Sam of one of those guitar strings that had been pulled nearly to its breaking point.

"Like I got thrown into a wall and used as a punching bag by a very pissed off spirit. Is that what happened?" He didn't even want to broach the subject of how in the world the inside of his ass could be hurting. "And I've got the headache from hell, too…"

His brother turned his head away and ran a hand over his mouth, trying to stall for words. "It… wasn't a spirit, Sam. Something happened at school," he said hoarsely. Dean was looking anywhere now but at Sam. The more Dean delayed, the more convinced Sam became that he'd landed in a much worse pile of shit than they usually did.

"Dean, just tell me already…" he pleaded, taking the older boy's hand and squeezing it. "You're scaring me. It can't be that bad… Right?" Dean looked back at him and sighed, squeezing it back. Sam gave a weak smile of encouragement, though it didn't reach his eyes, and he was sure Dean could see his fear.

His older brother squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, fortifying breath. "Some guys… They were hurting your friend. Brian, right?" At the brunette's nod, he continued, obviously struggling to get the words out. "I had detention, so I was still at school when it happened. That kid was hurrying down the hallway with several teachers following him. I almost didn't…" he said, his voice breaking on the last couple of words. He stopped, trying to get himself under control again.

Sam tightened his hold on Dean's hand, feeling it shake in his own. He could imagine his brother was probably living on caffeine right now, and it definitely wasn't helping him get the bad news out. Dean was positively vibrating with nerves, and he looked about ready to jump out of his skin.

"I almost didn't go after them, Sammy. But Brian saw me and practically dragged me after him. God, if…" Dean paused and finally looked back at the scrawny, bruised boy lying in the bed. Sam couldn't remember when he'd looked away in the first place.

"If he hadn't been around, I don't even want to know what could have happened. He's the one who let the teachers know," the worried young man said, shaking his head. Sam didn't need to be in his brother's head to know what he was really saying: He's the one who saved you when it should have been me.

The younger boy's hazel eyes focused on his brother, watching and waiting. From the pain all over his body and the tension in the way Dean was holding himself, he knew the rest of the story wasn't good. Dean didn't disappoint.

"The teachers went to the locker room on a hunch, and… these assholes were raping you, taking goddamn turns…" his brother managed to get out, though Sam could tell how much it had cost him. If it was possible, Dean's face had lost even more color, and his freckles looked more like black dots sprinkled haphazardly over his face than anything else. And he was somehow shaking even more.

As for Sam, he was still, unmoving as the enormity of Dean's words washed over him. Right now, nothing of what Dean had said was ringing any bells in his memory. What the hell was going on? He should remember something that bad! Why couldn't he remember? And just how much time was missing?

Suddenly, it felt like someone had a huge band around his chest, constricting his breathing and crushing the life out of him. His heart felt like it wanted to leap straight out of his ribcage. Panic gripped him as he found himself unable to calm down, hardly able to breathe.

Dean seized his brother in a tight hug and whispered soothing words in his ear as he threaded calloused fingers through soft, dark locks. "Shh, Sammy... You have to calm down. You're going to hurt yourself, and the doc already had a hard enough time patching you up the first time," he said, hardly able to keep the panicked tone out of his own voice. "Let's not go through another surgery now, okay?"

Sam's breaths slowly became deeper and longer, and his heart slowed, but tears still poured from those eyes, eyes full of pain. "S-Sorry... No more surgery... Don't want more pain. Don't wanna..." The injured boy trailed off, schooling his face into a more neutral expression. Dean didn't need another reason to worry.

"Sam? What aren't you telling me?" his big brother asked in a no-nonsense tone, and Sam began to squirm under Dean's probing gaze.

The small, skinny teen looked down and wrapped his arms around his knees in a futile attempt to disappear. Seconds later, Dean's fingers lifted his chin and made him look into his eyes. "Sam, what is it? I need to know."

Like a skittish colt, he pulled away again and tried to assume his previous position. "I… I can't remember…!" he squeaked out. For a moment, the silence between them was almost tangible. "I can't remember any of it! The last thing I remember is getting out of detention to meet up with Brian, Dean!" Sam exclaimed, his eyes wide with fear and confusion.

Sam's breaths were coming in uncontrolled gasps, and his heart-rate was skyrocketing again. Dean's eyes darted to the monitor keeping tabs on his brother's vitals, and he gently lowered the kid back to the bed, all the while rubbing soothing circles up and down his arms.

"Come on… Calm down, Sammy. Shh…" Dean whispered, his voice soft, something Sam almost never heard from his gruff brother. "You took some nasty hits to the head. The doc said this might happen. For now, you should sleep, okay? You need it, and it'll make you feel better. Plus, when you're up to it, we're hauling ass out of this town. Dad wasn't happy about leaving the hunt, but we're leaving it to someone else so you can heal and all."

The older Winchester plastered on the best grin he could for his brother and gently mussed his hair. "Just rest. I'll still be around when you wake up." Sam nodded, hair falling into his puppy-like eyes like it always did, and Dean's voice easily lulled him back into slumber.

It wasn't until Dean was sure his little brother was out for the count that he let the tears threatening to leave his eyes fall.

With the extent of Sam's injuries, including a few nasty breaks to the ribs that had caused internal bleeding, not to mention the damage the rape, itself, caused, the Winchesters were stuck. They had no choice but to stay as long as they could without risking their fraudulent insurance being found out.

After nearly a week in the hospital, they were all getting restless. When Sam's body had finally healed enough that it would be safe for him to travel past state lines in the Impala, John was busy packing up their things still at their dilapidated apartment. While Sam and Dean were getting the stuff they'd brought to the hospital together, a quick knock at the door made them turn around.

The brothers' breath caught in their throats when they saw Brian standing in the doorway. His face was a whole mixture of emotions, but worry and guilt seemed to be at the forefront. An awkward silence permeated the room for a few moments until the sandy-haired boy said, "I, uh… I heard you were leaving today."

Sam was sitting up on the bed and got up slowly, grimacing and holding his side. He ignored Dean's disapproving and worried gaze and kept his eyes on Brian. "Yeah, we are. My dad and brother think it's best and safer," he replied, looking a little solemn. "I, uh, really should thank you. If you hadn't gotten the teachers' attention and let Dean know, I might not have made it. There was some internal bleeding."

Brian looked down, suddenly finding the floor absolutely fascinating. "I'm really sorry. I'm the one who got you involved in this whole mess to begin with." He sighed and shook his head. "You stood up for me, and it almost got you killed."

Despite all the confusion it caused, Sam suddenly felt very grateful that he couldn't remember any of the assault. Everything had come to light with Brian's account of what had happened and how Sam had taken the hit for him, along with what the teachers and Dean saw. But as for any emotions, even any memories, he still drew a complete blank past the point where he was walking down the hall to meet Brian.

Of course, with his head injury, that made sense. The time frame of where his recollection stopped was within reason, regarding the symptoms of a concussion. It was uncertain what and if he'd ever remember the violent assault.

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault I apparently decided to jump into a fight I couldn't win, you know," the young hunter said with a humorless grin. He could feel Dean's eyes on him, and he sighed. "Sorry, I wish we could talk longer, but we really need to get going."

Brian nodded, gave them both a quick wave, and left the room with a falsely cheerful "See you around" that they all knew was no more than a pipe dream. In all likelihood, they'd never cross paths again. And really, that was just fine with Sam.

About half an hour later, a nurse was getting Sam transferred safely into the required wheelchair so that he could be officially discharged, even if they were leaving against medical advice. As Dean pushed him out towards the entrance, he was wearing a perfect bitch-face, mumbling under his breath about the injustice of it all and how it didn't make a damned bit of sense to put him in a wheelchair and force him to sit on his butt when it was still healing. If the nurse heard anything, she gave no indication, but his brother's snickers were unmistakable.

When they reached the car, and Dean opened the back door, Sam could see the nest of pillows and comforters that were clearly taken from that furnished apartment they'd rented. He couldn't help but be appreciative of the thought Dean had put into it all. John had vacated his fully loaded truck and kept protective eyes on his youngest child as his oldest gently deposited him in the car. Now that the nurse had gone, Sam was a lot more vocal about not wanting to be assisted.

"I can do it myself, Dean! I'm not a baby," he argued while struggling to get out of his brother's grip.

"Sammy, if you'd walked down here, you could rip your stitches, even inside. I don't wanna hear one more word about it," the freckled blonde said, fixing brightly green eyes on his charge with an expression that left no room for argument. Sam glared, but he rolled his eyes and fell silent, letting Dean manhandle him into the car. That didn't mean his best bitch-face was still plastered on.

After getting settled in the car, he couldn't help admitting to himself that the setup was great. It would make the journey out of Virginia a hell of a lot more comfortable. On the best of days, riding in the Impala was bumpy, but he was used to it, at least. It felt like home.

As he felt the car start, the younger boy couldn't help letting the rumble lull him to a peaceful sleep that let him escape from the fear of the unknown, of what he couldn't recall.

Sam slept the entire ride to some small town in Kentucky, where they stopped at yet another dump of a motel for the night. Dean carried Sam from the car to the motel room, rousing him and eliciting more protests that he could get to the room on his own. His whining went ignored as the older boy deposited his kid brother on the bed farthest from the door and sat down on the foot of the mattress.

John sat down on his bed and picked up the old rotary phone, dialing the number for the nearest Chinese place. Only a few places actually had the ancient instruments of telecommunication anymore, but they'd encountered a few on their travels. "Hey, I need three orders of pork-fried rice and an order of dumplings," he said, pausing to listen to the other end of the line. "Yeah, I'll be there in five." Another pause. "No, I don't mind waiting."

Hanging up the phone, the Winchester patriarch said, "I should be back in less than thirty minutes. Dean, get the place protected. You know the drill." He broke off as he caught a glimpse of his youngest watching him from his half-sitting, half-lying position. Apparently, Dean had already set up the pillows and everything for Sam during his short phone call.

The blonde nodded and got up, though he cast a reluctant look at the smaller boy on the bed. But he didn't question his father's command, like the good little soldier he'd always been. John walked to the bed and ran his fingers through the soft, dark waves of his youngest child's hair. The very last and most precious gift his wife ever gave him. The child she'd given her very life to protect. And they'd almost lost him...

"Don't give Dean any trouble, and I better not hear a thing about you trying to walk around. I'll be back soon, and we'll have something other than hospital food for the first time in a while," he said, ruffling the too-long fringe before he finally let go and walked out the door, a whole host of emotions on his haggard face.

Once their father shut the door, Dean set to work on the salt lines, covering all surfaces that might allow the slightest possibility for any kind of evil to slip inside. He did his work methodically, glancing at Sam every once in a while until he was done. After the last line was laid, he sat down on the bed. Sam's eyes fluttered open, and he blinked up at the freckled face above him. Had he actually fallen asleep?

"Sammy, um, I know it's been… rough and that it hasn't been long since…" he said, pausing awkwardly, trying to figure out what to say.

"Dean, I don't remember, and I think I'd rather it stay that way. I don't want to talk about it." With that, he rolled over so his brother couldn't see his face or the tears he was trying to hold back. He could feel Dean's eyes burning into the back of his head, and he could imagine the hurt expression on his face. But Sam couldn't bear the thought of looking at his big brother and seeing the pity and the guilt in his eyes that he knew would be there. Not when he knew he was disgusting and defiled now. Nothing but used, damaged goods.

Within a few minutes, the brunette was in the depths of fitful sleep as Dean watched him with concern marring his features.