so, chappy two...thanks for all the awesome reviews!! It mean so much to me. This story is very close to my heart as my parents were foster parents pretty much all my life and I've witness the cruelty people can inflict on children firsthand. Children should never have to suffer in silence. thanks again for reading!! bambers;)
Chapter Two
Dean entered the bedroom somewhere around midnight, and from the light shining in from the hallway, he saw his brother squirming around in bed. A sudden cry burst from Sam's lips as he desperately fought against his blankets. His little brother kicked and thrashed as if he were fighting for his life, and Dean's heart caught in his throat.
"Stop . . . please . . . don't," Sam cried out in his sleep as he continued to toss and turn.
"What the hell happened to you, Sammy," Dean murmured as he raked his fingers through his short scruffy hair. He thought to call his father, but without knowing what was the matter with Sam, Dean knew his father would think that at nineteen he was old enough to handle the situation himself.
With less confidence than he actually felt, Dean strode to Sam's bed and gently shook his brother awake. Sam instantly recoiled from his touch, pushing himself to the far corner of the bed as he pulled the blankets up to right under his chin.
"Hey, kiddo, you were havin' quite a nightmare."
Sam's eyes rounded as he frantically looked around the room. His wary gaze then settled on Dean, and he swallowed hard several times to catch his breath.
"You wanna talk about it, dude?" Dean asked as he cautiously took a seat beside his little brother.
"Was just a stupid nightmare." Sam rubbed the tears welling in his eyes with his thumb and index finger, and then shook his head. "It was nothin'."
"Was someone causing trouble with you in school?"
Again, Sam shook his head. "No, told you it was just a nightmare."
Dean scrubbed his hand across his face in frustration, a deep sigh escaping him as he tried to remain calm. "Whatever's the matter, Sammy, I can take care of it. You just gotta trust me."
Sam opened his mouth as if to say something, then quickly snapped it shut. Slowly he pushed himself into a sitting position, and Dean caught sight of the wince his brother was trying so desperately hard to conceal.
"Who hurt ya, Sam?"
"No one. Told ya that already." Sam turned his back on Dean, and hung his feet over the side of the bed.
"Been takin' care of you your whole life, Sammy, think I would know by now when you're in pain." To prove his point, Dean lightly pressed his fingertips against Sam's lower back, and Sam jerked away from him and leapt off the bed in an effort to escape Dean's touch.
"Told you not to touch me." Visibly trembling, Sam backed away toward the doorway.
Sam met Dean's gaze for the briefest of moments, and Dean could feel the warring emotions that played across his brother's face as if every single one of them was a solid punch to his gut. Tremors of fear the likes of which Dean had never experienced before raced through his entire body, leaving him more than just a little shaken. Whatever had happened to his brother was more than just a simple fight, and Dean was terrified he wouldn't be able to help his little brother.
"Please, Sam." Dean stood on shaky legs and cautiously headed toward his brother. He stopped abruptly when Sam backed even further away from him. In an attempt to halt Sam from retreating any further away, he held up his hands and lightly shook them in assurance that he wouldn't come any closer. "You gotta tell me what happened. Whatever it is, I swear I can fix it. Please, just tell me."
"No . . . you ca — there's nothing wrong with me." Sam spun around on his heel, and sprinted toward the bathroom.
Dean rushed after him, but the bathroom door slammed shut a split second before he made it there. Although he already knew it was useless, Dean jiggled the doorknob and found it was locked. Not even a moment later, he heard the shower faucet turn on. Sliding down the wall, Dean sat on the ground, drew up his legs and rested his forearms on them, not about to leave his spot until Sam came out of the bathroom.
While he waited, his mind churned over every possible reason why his brother would be acting the way he was at the moment. Yet the only thing that fit with Sam's current behavior was something that could never happen to his brother. That kind of thing just didn't happen to guys, especially if their last name was Winchester. Demons, monsters, fights, sure, but not that. No, there had to be another explaination. It had to be a fight. It just had to be.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Sam turned the water on full blast and climbed into the shower. His clothes clung to his lanky frame as steamy water washed over him. A single tear slipped down his cheek as his knees buckled and he slowly slid down the wall into a sitting position. He drew his legs close to his chest and hugged his arms around them.
Dean told me to wait for him . . . told me he would pick me up after school. Another tear snaked a trail down Sam's face and was lost as it mingle with the water dripping from his shaggy bangs. Laying his head on folded arms, Sam tilted it to the side so he could see the door. If I had waited . . . If I hadn't . . . I must've done something wrong. . . .
If Dean ever finds out . . . Oh God, what the hell will he think of me? He trembled as tears began to fall in earnest. Winchesters' don't let this kind of thing happen to them . . . it would've never happened to Dean.
Scattered thoughts tumbled around inside Sam's head as the water continued to shower down on him. A deep masculine voice rang repeatedly in his ears, saying things he couldn't stomach hearing, and he pressed his fingertips into his ears, hoping to drown out the sound of it. Back and forth, he rocked against the shower wall as he muttered under his breath, but the voice only grew louder.
You're almost too pretty to be a boy . . . .
Sam cringed and shied away, feeling as if someone had just trailed rough calloused fingers down his jawline. He grabbed the cleaning brush off the ledge, lathered it with soap and furiously scrubbed his face until his cheeks burned, but he couldn't make the dirty feeling of being touched go away.
Almost too pretty to be a boy . . . .
"No . . . it's not true." Sam vehemently shook his head as he whipped the brush at the shower wall.The sturdy plastic shower frame cracked as the wooden handle smack hard against it, and then the brush fell into the tub with a loud clatter.
"Sammy," Dean called out as he pounded on the door, and startled by the sound Sam flinched "You okay?"
Sam stared at the jagged crack now splitting apart the wall, and fleeting wondered if there was any way to fix it or was it damaged beyond repair. Even if the rest of the wall appeared in good condition otherwise, that one single fissure would eventually rot out whatever lied beneath until there was nothing left. It was ruined. There was no fixing it.
"Sam, answer me," Dean banged even harder on the door when Sam failed to respond. "So help me God, I'll freakin' bust this damn door down."
"M'okay," Sam finally muttered, knowing his brother would make good on his threat if he didn't respond. "Jus' dropped the shampoo bottle."
He trailed his finger down the sharpen edges of the splintered plastic, and was terrified of what his father and brother would think when they found out it was irreparably broken. They might pretend like it didn't matter, but he knew he would see the accusation and condemnation in their eyes.
With that thought still echoing through his mind, Sam turned off the water and climbed out of the tub. Not bothering to grab a towel off the rack, he made his way over to the door, and dropped to the ground beside it. Sam pressed his ear up to the wooden surface, and listened for any sounds coming from outside. Although he couldn't hear anything, he was fairly certain Dean was still sitting on the other side.
"Dean, you there?"
"Yeah, little brother, I'm here," Dean immediately responded.
Although the words were softly spoken and meant to be reassuring, Sam took no comfortable in them. And even though the door separated them, Dean was too close. Sam flinched as he felt his skin crawl in revulsion, and pushed himself away from the door.
"Can we . . . ." Sam's voice trailed off as he thought of what he wanted to say or more precisely how he wanted to say what he was thinking. "Is it alright if we just sit here an' not talk . . . Cause I really don't wanna talk right now."
Dean was silent for a moment, and Sam could just imagine the stark look of concern on his older brother's face at the unusual request.
"Yeah, Sammy, we can do that." Dean lightly brushed against the door, and with his heart catching in his throat, Sam backed further away. "I'm not plannin' on going anywhere. So take all the time you need."
"Sorry, Dean." Another involuntary shiver of repulsion coursed through Sam's body, and he slid a little further away from the door. Laying on the cold tile floor in his sodden clothes, Sam curled up in a tight ball. He closed his eyes, and consciously tried to will the violent images to disappear, and slowly he began to drift off to a fitful sleep.
