Title: Sam and Emily

Author: nightrose_spn

Pairings: Sam/Dean, Sam/OMC

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 7000

Summary: Sam knows he deserves the pain for himself, but it would kill him if his boyfriend ever raised a hand to their daughter. AU.

Notes/Warnings: Based on herebutnotremembered's video. For pippenlove. Contains slash, wincest, angst, violence, language..

I wake up alone. My eyes dart around the room, terrified from the nightmare I'd been having. I can still see the flashes of the images.
Derek's face.
The bottle.
The outside of our house.
Me, inside, waiting.
Derek's face.
I'd woken with silent tears running down, hoping Dean would be there to offer comfort. He's not. Dean and Emily are gone. I can't find them—they aren't here. I pull my knees in to my chest and let another sob escape.
That's when the door to the motel room opens.
"Sammy?" Dean whispers, putting the bag of bagels and Emily down on the floor. "Are you okay?"
Emily's eyes are wide. She pulls on Dean's sleeve. He bends to her and she whispers something in his ear. I can't catch the words.
"You're right, Emily. I'll do it right now." He smiles at me. "Sam, Emily says I need to tell you something."
"What is it?"
"I was wrong to leave you here by yourself and I apologize for… what was it, sweetie?"
"For hurtin' his feelin's and makin' him sad!" Emily explains irately.
"For hurting your feelings and making you sad. I'm very, very sorry and I hope you forgive me." His words are quite sincere, even though he has a mocking expression, and his hand is in Emily's soft, dark hair.
"An' you haveta tell him you love him!" she adds, obviously frustrated. This is patently obvious, and she can't understand why Dean doesn't get it—after all, he's much, much bigger.
"I love you, Sammy," Dean parrots obediently. "And I got you breakfast."
I smile. I can't even help it, it's just an involuntary reaction, dimples splitting my cheeks, teeth showing. I can't remember the last time I smiled like this at anything but Emily. "Good. I'm hungry."
When Emily is suitably distracted by donuts (I never let her have them, but Dean and I have always had very different attitudes towards nutrition), Dean comes to sit right beside me. He speaks to me in a voice low enough that she can't hear. "Sammy, are you okay? I really am sorry. I thought you'd like to have something to eat, and Emily was getting restless."
"I'm fine."
"Bullshit." I smack his arm lightly for the swear in front of Emily, but I know she can't hear. "You had a nightmare, didn't you? You were crying when I came in."
"Yeah," I admit quietly. "I did."
"I won't leave again. Promise." He touches my cheek gently. "Sammy, we gotta figure out what we're gonna do from here on out."
"I think we should wait? Until Emily's sleeping," I suggest quietly. "It'll be easier then." I don't know what's going to happen, what he's going to say, what he wants of me.
"Okay." Then he grins. "Emily, wanna go to the park?"
She matches Dean's smile. I'd never noticed they were similar before. They have the same full lips, the same perfect teeth, and the same shining eyes.
"Can we, Daddy?" she asks. "iPlease?/i"
"Sure. But it'll be a different park than the one we usually go to." Her friends won't be there. She'll probably never see them again. I know it doesn't matter in the long run, that Billy and Harriet and Claire would have been forgotten by her tenth birthday anyway, but it isn't fair to rip my child away from everything she's ever known. I shake my head, shake those thoughts away. Derek would have hurt her, and I can't let that happen.
She claps her round little hands and smiles. "Yay! I like new places. We've seen a lot of new places in the last couple of days, Daddy."
"We sure have, sweetheart." Tentatively, I ask, "Is that okay? Things are changing, baby. I know it might be scary…"
"A little. But it's fun, too!" She's laughing, happy. I feel something inside me change, shift, and a little of the guilt I've had starts to melt away. Dean's hand comes down to my shoulder, still gently, always gently, and I relax into the touch. I start to feel like everything will come together. Like we will be able to build a new life together. Me and Dean and Emily.
"All right, sweetheart. Let me get this cleaned up." There is a huge mess of brown crumbs around where she'd eaten and a ring of chocolate surrounding her lips just beneath the milk moustache.
I stand up and start to clean up around her. I wipe the area down thoroughly. I'm then abruptly reminded of how I used to have to do this to every surface in the house. If there was a crumb anywhere, Derek would fly into a rage, even if it were one of the rare nights that he was completely sober. My hands shake as I lift the wet paper napkin off the table.
"Sammy? You okay?"
Emily explains, in a confidential whisper, "Daddy gets scared sometimes."
Before I can get my emotions back under control, Dean has run over to me and is holding me tight to his chest. He doesn't say a word, just hugs me close, keeping me pressed against him until the trembling subsides. Then he carefully pries the napkin from my hand, throws it away, and washes Emily's dishes.
Emily looks up at me. "Is Dean your Daddy?" she asks.
"No. He's my…" I bite my lip, unsure of whether to tell her. Then I decide that our little girl will have enough lies in her life. She can figure it out when she's old enough. "He's my big brother."
"Oh. I just thought, 'cause he takes care of you. Like you take care of me." She takes my hand in hers, barely managing to make it around two of my fingers.
"Well, brothers take care of each other just like parents and children sometimes," Dean says from his place behind the counter.
"And from now on, me and Dean are both going to be taking care of you, little one," I add, pressing a fingertip to the end of her nose. She giggles. "C'mon. Let's get your shoes on."
As I'm bending to fasten her shoes, Dean says softly, "You mean that, Sammy?" I'm distracted by pink laces so I'm not sure what he means. "I really get to help take care of her?"
"If you want to," I answer simply.
His answer is just as straightforward. "I do."
Emily interrupts, chirping happily. "Then we can be a family, like for real! That's how Hannah's family is. She has two daddies and they love each other and they love her." She interrupts her own rant with a tentative question. "De-de, do you love me?"
He grins. "'course, sweetheart." Dean and I each take one of her hands, swinging her up in the air. She laughs as we carry her to the Impala, pink shoes dangling loose in the air. Our little girl.
The thought melts my heart.
Emily keeps up a steady stream of babble the entire way to the park. "It'll be lots and lots of fun for us to go to a new park. And this time Daddy won't have to sit by himself on the bench like he usually does because it's usually all mommies at the park. He can talk to De-de. And that'll be fun. And when I'm not playing with anyone else you can both come play with me! I hope there's a slide. And swings. Lots of swings. There's always bigger kids on the swings at home and they never share nice. One of them made me cry once. But Daddy was there."
"I'd've kicked some six-year-old ass," Dean mutters, and I smack his shoulder. "Crap. I mean I'd've kicked some six-year-old butt."
I roll my eyes. "I was criticizing the idea of a grown man beating up a child, not your word choice."
"Hey. No one gets to make my little girl cry. Isn't that right, Emily?'
Emily shoots me an overly angelic grin and nods. "Daddy gave me a hug, though. Maybe Daddy does the hugging and De-de does the butt-kicking."
Dean laughs so hard at that we nearly have to pull over.
We find a small park a few miles down side streets, in a small suburban neighborhood. There are three mothers with Starbucks cups standing in a circle, and a grey-haired woman on a bench. Emily gives us a moment's acknowledgement with her goodbye wave before dashing off to try out the swings. There's a red-headed boy on the swing beside her, and I can see her flirting outrageously with him as she swings back and forth.
I smile. The air is cool, a slight breeze blowing, and the sky is perfectly clear. I can't remember the last time I was this happy—if only I could believe it's all real.
Just as I have that thought, Dean tangles his strong fingers with mine. I hear a low, deep voice rumble in my ear. "This okay, baby boy?" Gentle, reassuring, and strong at the same time. My big brother.
I nod and squeeze his hand once.
If I didn't know better, I'd swear that kid was laughing at us.
Dean smiles and strikes up a conversation about nothing, one of his biggest talents. We wind up talking about movies for the whole morning. Emily loves to go to the theater. For a kid, she has ridiculously good taste. She doesn't like the awful new cartoon movies, so we go to the Triplex nearby that has weekly showings of classic Disney movies on the big screen.
"When you were her age, you used to love Toy Story. You made me watch that damn movie so many times…" he sighs. "I think I still have it memorized."
"Huh. Emily's favorite is The Little Mermaid."
"Dude."
"What?"
"That movie is way too sketchy for a four-year-old. There's all these half-naked chicks, and…"
I laugh. "Dean, she's four. She wouldn't know what was going on if it was hardcore porn."
"As I recall, you didn't."
"You were eight when I was four!"
"And that's plenty old enough to take a healthy interest in sex. The motel was always in Dad's name, and he never noticed." Dean shoots me his patented grin. There's a hint of mocking and a little bit of devilish delight in his own naughtiness, but he looks so brightly happy that you almost have to believe he isn't up to no good.
"You are an evil, evil person," I mutter.
"Like you never did it."
"I can honestly say I didn't."
Dean's eyes widen. "I have failed as a brother."
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
I bite my lip. iWhat the hell is wrong with you, you little bitch? Can't even do this, and it's all you're good for. Didn't I just tell you to get on your fucking knees, Sam?/i In my head, Derek takes another swig from the beer bottle.
"Sammy? Oh, God, Sam, talk to me. You okay?"
"I…" I can't even tell him. "I'm sorry. I just…"
"C'mere." He pulls me by our joined hands into his arms. "You don't have to be sorry. Just… you wanna tell me what that was?"
"No."
"Okay." He holds me close. "Okay."
Emily bounds over, hair blowing in the wind. "Hungry," she declares, oblivious to the moment she's interrupting, and Dean chuckles.
"Well, can't have the princess hungry. We can go get burgers for lunch."
I sigh. "Dean, you're going to make my kid obese."
"Live a little, wouldya? Besides, I picked your food out and you're just fine."
I roll my eyes at him and he grins back at me. Emily claps her hands. "I want burgers!"
That settles the matter. I've been voted down.
Dean orders some monstrosity with bacon and cheese for himself. I get Emily the smallest Kid's Meal, and a grilled chicken sandwich for myself. She is beyond delighted to have French fries, since I'm usually pretty strict about the kind of food I let Emily have.
She regales us with the life story of her new friends over lunch, which is eaten at the plastic booths bolted to the floor. "Daddy, De-de, there's something I have to tell you," she finally declares as Dean's wrinkling up the empty papers and wiping off the table.
I look down at my feet, worried.
She lowers her voice to the most conspiratorial of voices and says, "I've got a iboyfriend/i."
"So do I," Dean whispers in response. I find that an insignificant reaction.
"She's four years old! Emily, you can't have a boyfriend."
She pouts out her lower lip. "You can't stop me. Me 'n Will love each other and we got married itwice/i already so there ha!"
I close my eyes in a sudden burst of despair. Fantastic. Well, at least she can't be impregnated at four.
"De-de thinks it's okay, doesn't he?"
"Sure I do, baby girl." I shift away from him, hurt by his betrayal. "As long as you don't kiss him or anything."
She wrinkles her nose. "iEw./i That's disgusting, De-de."
Dean gives me a satisfied smile and I blush, pulling back into my space at Dean's shoulder.
Emily spends the afternoon drawing happily on a pad of paper. She makes the endearing stick-figure families that I remember from my own (dysfunctional) childhood, clearly labeled with the names of each of us in this run-down motel room. Emily doesn't notice her shabby surroundings, she's too entranced in her coloring. Fortunately, I'd thought to pack her drawing supplies.
Dean and I play along with her. She asks us to do the writing, and we end up spending the minutes before dinner teaching her how to write our names beside her own. I'm just showing her how to shape the "e"s in Dean's name when he announces, "Dinner's ready!"
I honestly hadn't noticed he'd gotten up to cook, I was so entranced in teaching my daughter. I feel a flash of guilt. Dean doesn't have to do this for us. My own problem. Dean shouldn't have to take care of us.
"Mac and cheese. I had some in my duffel for an emergency meal if I couldn't find an appropriate crappy diner."
It tastes just like it did when I was four. Fake and packaged and filling and good. I eat the whole bowl. Emily just picks at hers. "Not hungry."
"You sure, sweetie?" Dean asks.
"She ate a lot at lunch," I point out. "More than she usually does. I'll take hers."
"You always were a slut for my mac and cheese, Sammy."
Emily looks up from her half-empty bowl. "What's a slut?"
Dean hisses another swear under his breath. "Sorry, Emily. De-de has a little problem with saying words he's not supposed to, and that's one of them. Don't repeat it, okay?"
She nods solemnly.
"Or else De-de will get in ivery/i big trouble," I add firmly.
Dean darts a worried glance at me. Well, it won't hurt him to learn to watch his mouth a little.
After the food is gone, Emily having been coaxed to finish her portion, we put Emily to bed on the couch. She's little, she fits easily. All three of us on the king-sized bed had been a little tight last night. I squash any thoughts of sleeping in my brother's arms. I know he won't want that again.
Dean offers to sing her a lullaby while I clean up, and I agree. I can hear his low, sweet voice from across the room.
Who the hell sings Metallica to a four-year-old as a lullaby? Still, I can't help but smile.
Beyond everything else, I'd missed Dean, my big brother, with his dirty mouth and his constant quiet singing and the mac and cheese I loved more than anything else when I was a kid.
I pile up the three plastic bowls that I was carrying in my own suitcase and Dean's silverware—we have so few possessions, and most of them are stolen. The bowls are from the kitchen I shared with Jess, and Dean's silverware came from a diner when I was nine and he was thirteen.
I turn the water up all the way hot, stopping up the sink. There's a cake of soap. I rub it between my hands until there's enough to make bubbles. I dip the first fork in, trying not to think. I'm trying to just do the menial task and not think about all the times that Derek would rifle through the cupboards, one eyebrow raised, searching everything for the smallest spot. Trying not to remember all the times he found some flaw, and all the times he beat me near-senseless for them.
Too late.
I finish my task, ignoring the tears falling down into the water, adding salt to the mix.
"She's asleep," Dean says, and then sees that I'm crying. "Sammy? Sam, are you okay?"
"I… I… My… Derek used to… It was my job to do the dishes and… if I didn't do it right…"
Before I can finish, he hugs me close. "Shh. You don't have to tell me, Sammy. You don't have to say it." He takes a slow, deep breath… I can feel it. "He'd hit you, wouldn't he? He beat you."
I can't give confirmation, but Dean takes his answer from my silence.
"Shh, baby. I know it's hard. I'm here, okay, I'm here for you…"
Dean holds me close to him until the tears dry on my face.
"Sorry, Dean…" I whisper into his jacket.
"Don't, Sam. You don't have to apologize to me, baby. You have every right to be scared. Just know that I'm here for you."
I keep my head on his shoulder. "Thank you," I reply.
"'s my job."
Slowly, my heart sinking into my churning stomach, I say, "Dean… I know you think that… because I'm your brother, you have to. But you don't. You don't have to give up your life for me, and you certainly don't have to… y'know. Sleep with me. I don't… I don't… I don't want you to, to do anything you don't want to…"
"Sammy, look at me?" he says gently. Immediately, my eyes snap to his face. He's smiling at me, a look in his eyes that makes something in me melt. "It's my job to take care of you. It is. And that's what I love best in the whole world. Taking care of you, of my baby brother. It makes me happy. It's what I want. I want to take care of you." He reaches out carefully and traces the line of my jaw. "I always wanted a family, Sammy. I used to dream about it, you and me settling down somewhere and adopting some kids. If… if you'll let me, I'd like to do that now. I can find a place. I can look after Emily, if you want to go back to school. We can put down some roots. I'll stop hunting."
Before I can protest, he adds, "That's what I want. More than anything in the world. And I want… Sammy, damnit, I've wanted you for so long. Since you were eleven years old. I thought… thought I could never tell you. Thought you'd hate me."
It's an out-of-character moment for Dean, to share his feelings this way, but somehow I don't doubt he's telling the truth. "That's what I thought, too," I say.
"Bet that asshole telling you didn't make it any easier." Dean purses his lips. "Sam, what's that guy's last name?"
"Huh? Oh. Derek Tennant."
"And his address?"
"Why do you need to know?" I ask.
"So I can kill him." Dean states it with such matter-of-factness, like he's telling me he has to run to the grocery store.
"Dean, you can't kill him."
"Why the hell not?"
"Because! You can't just…"
"He ihit/i you, Sammy! He abused you. You're hurting, right now, because of him. I think I have every right to kill him!"
I sigh. "Dean, please don't go kill him. You'll end up with a murder record."
"Fine. Can I go beat up on him some?"
I roll my eyes. "Sure. Consider it a birthday present for the past four years."
He grins. "You're the best."