Okay everyone, here we go. The darkness is creeping up now...
I want honest opinions on this chapter because I feel like I brought up a lot of different issues and it's kind of overwhelming. I hope to tie it all together before the end but right now it just feels like a lot of disconnected threads, so let me know if I'm throwing too much at you at once.
Alright, a couple things: there are mentions of child abuse and a very mild sex scene in this chapter. I kept it all as innocent as I possibly could, as smut is really not my forte and it would have been totally weird in this scenario.
But fair warning if that is a problem for you. Don't read if it is! I understand.
Okay...without further ado... chapter 4! My longest chapter yet!
Sam doesn't even see Olive until the next week.
She's heading into the bookstore just as he's walking towards it and he catches a glimpse of her as she steps inside. He follows, trying not to run in his haste to get inside and see her again.
When he walks up to the desk, he's greeted by Frank's surly face. Sam isn't sure whether Frank is displeased that he's back to distract Olive or whether he's perfectly neutral, as surly seems to be Frank's default expression.
"Hey, Frank." Sam's practically breathless "is..." he starts to ask and Frank cuts him off.
"She's in the back, kid. Calm down, she'll be out in a minute."
A few minutes later Olive comes out, pulling her long hair back with a scrunchie. She looks half-shocked to see Sam standing there and he can't quite understand why.
"Hi, Olive. Long time no see." He blurts out then silently curses himself for his trite greeting. A girl like Olive needs a vibrant conversationalist he thinks, how is he gonna hang on to her if he loses the ability to form intelligible sentences.
"What's up, Sam?" She smiles but its not that same smile that he'd kissed into place over a week ago. It's strained and tired, and doesn't quite meet her eyes. Sam notices that her clothes seem wrinkled, like she's been sleeping in them. She's as beautiful as ever but there's a tired weight behind her eyes. It's an expression Sam recognizes, he's seen it before in the eyes of Dean and his dad.
His mood plummets instantly "Is everything ok?" he asks.
"Fine, just tired." She responds too quickly and the smile that leaps across her face is worse than tears.
"Ok..." he says hesitantly "Well I just came by to...see you, I guess" He says it shyly, it's the first time he's come into this bookstore with no pretense, but given their last encounter, he doesn't feel like the ruse is necessary any longer. It feels good to admit it. "I came to see you." He says it again more confidently and he's smiling now.
Her response is cold "I have to work, Sam. I can't really talk right now."
"Oh, ok I didn't mean to bother..." "I just have a lot to catch up on right now, I haven't worked in awhile and Frank doesn't do much around here." She goes for a little halfhearted humor and Sam can tell she's trying and failing to lighten the mood.
"Well, I guess I'll see you around." He starts to walk towards the door, then turns around "Can we get together soon, maybe later tonight?"
"I would like that, I'm just busy right now. I've gotta get back home right after work." She won't look at him.
"Ok, no problem" He's trying to act casual but he feels a knot of something hard and cold in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't have a lot of experience with polite rejection but it feels like that's what's going on now. "Well, let me know." He walks to the door his mind racing with thoughts of what he did wrong. Maybe she didn't enjoy their kiss as much as he thought, maybe he was too quiet, maybe he wasn't smart enough for her or not her type and she had just been too polite to tell him.
He makes it about 10 feet from the store before he hears pounding feet behind him. He turns around and she's running after him, her heavy sandals making a loud slapping against the pavement. She catches his hand and for one trembling, aching moment he thinks she's gonna kiss him again, but she just turns his hand palm up and slips a piece of folded paper into his grasp.
The look she give him is desperate, pleading. He knows that face all to well, he's seen it-hell he's felt it-more times than he can count.
Olive is afraid.
"Olive...what...? He starts to ask, but she turns around without a word and runs back to the bookstore.
Sam is standing there in shock long after she's disappeared. He shakes himself out of his stupor after a second and remembers the paper in his hand. He unfolds it and reads the short message in her neat, straight, cursive handwriting. "Meet me at the falls. 7 pm."
His heart skips a beat, he has so many questions. Namely what is she afraid of? But also why can't they spend time in public all of a sudden? Why couldn't she just tell him where to meet her out loud? His life of monsters and nightmares leads his thoughts in a direction that most people's would not stray and he worries that she's in some sort of trouble, maybe someone or something is threatening her. He realizes he knows barely anything about her-not even her last name.
He's still standing there in the sun, holding the note when Dean comes sauntering up behind him a couple minutes later.
"What ya got, Sammy?" Dean snags the note out of Sam's hands before he can stop him.
"Hey!" He tries to snatch it back but Dean's too fast, keeping it just out of his reach. He holds it up and tries to read it while diving out of Sam's way.
"Give it back, Dean. It's none of your business!"
Dean's laughing "I wouldn't even care except you're trying so hard to hide it." "Oops! Almost! So close, Sammy!" Dean's taunting Sam, he keeps getting close and Dean keeps sliding and slipping out of his way at the last instant. It's like that awful game, monkey in the middle that the kids at school used to 'play' with him before he hit his growth spurt, tossing around his backpack or lunchbox while he jumped to catch it. Except he's not in the middle, it's just Dean and he's not a short, little boy anymore.
He tackles Dean suddenly, all 6 feet of growing teenager hitting him like a ton of bricks. He throws Dean off balance and he slams back against the pavement. He lands hard, his back and forearms scraping on the rough surface.
"Give that to me."
"Or what?" Dean's still got the paper balled up in his fist and he's protecting it, a look of anger mingling with the fading humor.
"Or this."
Dean rocks back as Sam's fist connects with his jaw and before he can stop recover, he's got the note back.
"Goddammit, Sam!" He throws Sam off of him and stays there, laying on the sidewalk in shock. "That hurt! What the hell is your problem anyway? You're gonna beat me up over a fucking piece of paper."
Sam's voice is hard and angry. "Just leave it alone. Go bother someone else." Sam gets up and stalks off back to the motel, leaving Dean bruised and scraped and confused.
Dean comes back a little while later, bringing a paper bag of take-out for their lunch.
Sam's sitting on his bed reading and he doesn't even look up when Dean sets his food down on the bedside table for him.
Dean goes to the bathroom and when he comes back out, he's changed out of his scuffed up clothes. Sam tries not to look at the purple bruise on his brother's jaw, tries to shove down the guilt that's spreading through him. He can't believe he'd lost it to such an extent over Dean just being Dean. He should be used to his brother's questions by now.
He knows that it's just a manifestation of his brother's concern for him that makes him try to peel away at every layer of his life. It didn't used to bother him so much, but some part of him just wishes that he could keep Olive to himself, just for a little while longer. He's felt the brush of a soft, new life, of a better world on his horizon, one not so full of fear and loss. He's brushed against a peaceful future, tasted it in the words and on the lips of this beautiful new girl who's come to him. Dean is everything to him but he's also the side of himself that he's kept close, far away from Olive, and he feels like if this fragile, new world collides with his hunting life, any hope of a brighter future will explode on impact.
"Sam." Dean has walked over beside the bed and he's standing in front of Sam holding out a cup of soda to him like a peace offering. "I'm sorry." He says after a long moment.
Sam squints up at Dean half expecting to get kicked or punched or otherwise paid back. He doesn't understand what Dean could possibly be apologizing for since Sam is the one who attacked *him* earlier.
He looks at the bruise on Dean's jaw again, can't seem to keep his guilty eyes off it, and at the scrapes on his big brother's elbows. Dean gets hurt enough without him adding to his pain.
Sam takes the drink from Dean, these thoughts must flicker across his face, because Dean continues and he seems to have read Sam's mind.
"You deserve to have your secrets, Sam. If this chi..." He stops himself when Sam starts to glare at him "If this *girl* is so special to you then I'm sure you'll bring her around when you feel like it." Dean goes and sits down on his bed and Sam is stunned.
"Thank you...?" He says in disbelief.
"I take it that love note, or whatever that was you were so protective of, must be a good sign. You gonna meet her again soon?" Dean throws his hands up in a mock, defensive gesture "I'm not prying. Don't worry. Can't have you coming at me again."
Sam thinks this is probably the most mature thing he's ever heard his big brother say as long as he's known him. For Dean that was like an honest to god, perfect dad, Full-House worthy speech and he knows he should apologize.
But he doesn't.
He just can't bring himself to say the words at the moment. Dean doesn't deserve to be treated this way and Sam hates himself, but he sits in silence, disinterestedly chewing on some fries and staring at the TV.
Dean's turned on a Bonanza rerun and he's pretending to be wrapped up in whatever contrived drama the Cartwrights are going on about.
Sam sighs inaudibly, he can tell by Dean's face that he's hurt by his lack of a response. Not many people could pick it out, but you don't spend nearly every waking moment with someone for over 15 years and not learn a thing or two about their micro-expressions.
Dean is brooding in the least broody way possible, eating his cheeseburger with that customary last meal enthusiasm that is his big brother's trademark. But he's not laughing at anything on the show, not making any snide comments about the plot or the poor acting or the ancient looking women with huge hair and orange makeup that are supposed to be considered hot. In essence, he's not being himself.
Sam doesn't know what to say, so he just sits in silence beside his brother.
6 o clock rolls around and Sam is already primping.
He's in the bathroom for about 30 minutes.
Sam's not exactly growing a full beard at 15, but he shaves what little stubble he has using Dean's razor, of course, and then he starts in on his hair.
His hair is shaggy, not as long he sometimes wears it but long enough that it takes some serious fuss to make it look...well like he didn't spend any time on it. He's got a few choice hair care products inside his duffel bag, nothing too expensive, he can't afford top-shelf, not that he wouldn't like to.
He thinks while he styles his hair; thinks about Olive, of course. He feels like she deserves some sort of gift, something that he can give her to cheer her up from whatever is bothering her. He can't exactly go buy her flowers, he doesn't have time, and anyway he doesn't think that flowers are enough of a gift. He wants to give her something meaningful. After a minute he has an idea. He thinks it's perfect and the thought doesn't really progress from there, he just knows he has to give it to her.
After he's mussed and molded his hair to perfection, he zips the products back up securely, no way is he gonna let Dean catch a glimpse of the tiny salon in his possession.
He gets dressed, deciding on a plain, dark blue t-shirt and a pair of washed out jeans and sneakers. Nothing too fancy-he's gonna be hiking after all.
He comes out in a puff of steam and cologne and throws his bag back down beside his bed.
Dean glances up from the tv and squints his eyes. "Hey...is that *my* cologne I smell?"
"Probably." Sam mutters
"Wow so you beat me up, don't accept my heartfelt apology, use every drop of hot water, even though I have a date to get ready for too, ya know, AND you use my cologne?!"
And your razor, Sam thinks to himself.
Dean is shaking his head but something in his expression doesn't match his words. He doesn't look as angry as he should, in fact he looks...almost...proud? Yeah, that's it. "Have a good time tonight, Sam. I hope Olive's worth it."
"She is, Dean." Sam smiles a tiny bit, just a twitch at the corners of his mouth.
Sam goes back over to the bag that he's set beside his bed and starts rummaging through it. He pulls out a small velvet bag from the zipper pouch in the side and slips it into his pocket.
When he looks up, he sees Dean watching him.
His expression transformed from one of begrudging pride to dawning horror. "What is that, Sam?"
Sam shakes his head "It's nothing." He mumbles, slipping it into his jeans pocket.
"Are you sure it's nothing, Sammy? Because it looked a lot like Mom's locket."
Sam gets up and grabs a flannel from the back of the chair near the door and tries to ignore Dean.
"Sammy." Dean has gotten off the bed now, the TV playing forgotten in the background and he looks for all the world like a concerned dad. "What are you thinking here, man? That's mom's necklace. I know you think a lot of this girl but you don't know her that well yet." Dean is shaking slightly, he looks genuinely afraid and unsure how to handle this situation. "You don't know what you're doing, Sam."
He should be yelling, Sam would expect him to be yelling-but he's not. He's barely speaking above a whisper but it feels more threatening than if he were shouting at him.
"We don't have a lot of her stuff and you can't risk giving this away."
"It's mine. Dad gave it to me to do what I want with, and I'm giving it to Olive." Sam backs up, clutching the flannel and not taking his eyes off Dean. "Dean...what...?"
Dean crosses the room in a couple strides and Sam tries to make it to the door, but Dean grabs him and pins him against the wall before he can get to the handle.
Sammy might be tall but Dean is still stronger and he's got an arm planted firmly on Sam's chest, holding him there like he's still a child.
"You can't do this, Sam. You can beat me up, call me names, do whatever you want to me, but I'm not letting you throw away one of the last memories we have of mom."
Sam's chest is heaving and he won't meet Dean's eyes.
He knows he's being stupid, knows deep down that Dean is right, but he doesn't have anything else to give her and he feels he has to bring her something. He can't lose this relationship because it's the only thing he's had that's made him feel human in a long time.
"Stop it!" He shouts, shoving against Dean as hard as he can, but he just comes forward a bit and then Dean slams him against the wall again. He can feel the hard plaster digging into his back, feel Dean's arm bruising into his chest.
What he says next he regrets for a long, long time. It's the most cutting thing he can think to say and it makes his vision swim a bit when the words pass his lips.
"I'm not your kid, Dean. You can't protect me anymore. You never could protect me. You're not my dad."
The words have the desired effect. Dean sags like all the strength in his body has been sucked out by that awful phrase.
Sam pushes against him again and this time it's easy to shove his big brother off.
He storms out, slamming the door and leaving Dean for the second time that day, stunned and confused.
Sam trudges resolutely up the path to the falls, wiping at his eyes every now and then. There must be a lot of dust in the air, as his eyes don't seem to stop watering and his throat is raw and irritated.
The hike lasts longer than he remembers. He treks up a path that takes a slow, steady climb towards the crest of the tiny mountain that's more like a small hill in comparison with the ridges you can see outlined through the trees. There's a steep drop off on the right side, that tumbles down into an empty canyon and a dense woods on the either side.
When he finally gets to the top, he's out of breath from walking so fast and it's ten after 7.
The break in the trees at the crest of the hill leads to the exquisite waterfall that earned the town it's name; it's a glimmering rush of foam and froth that thunders into a clear pool of freshwater.
He doesn't see her at first, she's sitting down against a tree in a secluded corner of the path, looking out at the falls and he almost walks right by her.
"Sam? Hey!" Her small voice raises up at the end and he turns around and she's waiting for him, her long skirt spread out around her legs, and a quiet look of something desperate on her face.
"Hi." He feels a rush of excitement at the site of her, but it's twinged with anxiety at whatever ghost is haunting her expression.
"Hi." She replies quietly.
Sam sits down beside her, close but not yet touching. "How are you?" He asks simply, and she tries to smile but it comes out watery and thin.
"I'm not that great." She says after a minute.
Sam feels his heart clench and he doesn't quite know what to do. "What's wrong?" He puts a hand on her arm lightly, not knowing if he should touch her right then, but not able to help himself.
Olive takes a deep breath and tries to control her voice "Oh, Sam...It's...I just...I can't tell you."
"Of course you can. Olive, you can tell me anything."
"Not this." She wraps her arms around her legs, moving out of Sam's grasp and lays her head against her knees, turning her face away from Sam's gaze.
"If I tell you this...he might hurt you."
Sam feels suddenly cold, a chill of fear and anger stirring at the fluid in his spine. "Who?" He asks and his voice is deadly.
She shakes her head and leans forward more and her white top drifts a little up her back. Sam's eyes fall on her smooth golden-tan skin, and then he sees something. Up the middle of her back he eyes the edge of a dark, purple bruise, standing out like a warning against her pretty flesh. The chill that was a whisper turns into a scream and he can't breath suddenly.
"Olive..."
Realizing what he's seen, she changes positions hurriedly and tries to pull her shirt back down. But it's too late.
"Who did this to you? You said 'he'...was it...your dad?" Sam searches her eyes and the look of shame and fear tells him all he needs to know.
"I'll kill him." Sam's voice chokes over the words and Olive takes his hands in hers.
"Thanks, Sam. But you can't do anything about it." She shakes her head sadly. "You can't do anything but you can be here with me."
He hugs her then, or she hugs him, he doesn't even know who initiates the embrace but suddenly they're holding on to each other.
Sam's so angry and frustrated at the world. He's furious that anyone could hurt her, and he feels so helpless. He's pissed at life, how nothing can ever be simple, how so much pain has to surround everything he's ever known. He sniffs quietly and she hugs him a little tighter. He's holding onto her for dear life and he doesn't know why he's crying and she's comforting *him*-that seems backwards.
The sound of the falls and the voices of blackbirds echo throughout the peaceful grove. Over Olive's shoulder Sam watches the last of the fading sunlight playing against the water through the trees, making a sundog stand out on the clear pool below. It's a brutal paradox that so much hurt and so much beauty can coexist in the world.
After a moment Olive pulls back and sits against the tree again, looking slightly embarrassed at her sudden display of vulnerability.
Sam reaches into his pocket and pulls out his mother's locket, holding the little black, velvet pouch in his closed fist.
"Pick a hand." He smiles, putting out both of his fists in front of Olive.
"What is this?" She smiles at Sam and looks more genuinely than happy than she has all day.
"Pick a hand, you'll see." He repeats himself, smiling back at her.
She points to his left hand and he opens it to show her it's empty. She points to his right hand and he puts his hands behind his back and switches it to the other one.
"Damn, wrong again. You really have terrible luck, Olive." He teases, showing her his empty right hand.
"Hmm, I wonder how you did that..." She rolls her eyes "You did that so subtly, you should be a magician." Her tone drips with sarcasm.
"Well, try again!" He says with a smirk.
"You know, I feel like maybe this game is rigged." She points to his left hand again and he takes pity on her and opens it, holding out the little pouch.
She takes it from him, her long fingers lingering on his palm, and opens it carefully, tugging delicately at the gathered top.
She pulls out the pretty, little locket and smiles again. "Oh, Sam it's beautiful."
Holding it up by the fragile, silver chain, she undoes the clasp, wrapping it around her neck, and fumbles to latch it from behind.
"Let me help you." Sam offers eagerly.
She turns around and pulls her mass of hair off her neck to give Sam access.
He clips it easily, then freezes when he sees more bruises scattered about her shoulders. He puts a hand over the places like he can make them disappear with a touch and she flinches back.
For a moment the heaviness in the air had lifted but now it's back, thick and suffocating.
Olive brushes Sam's hand away and turns back around to look at him, dark brown eyes meeting his hazel-green ones. "It's ok, Sam. I'm ok. I just have to last a little longer and then I can go off to college and he won't be able to hurt me anymore."
Sam clenches his jaw and his expression is seething. "He will never ever hurt you again. I meant it when I said I'll kill him."
"This isn't your problem, Sam." Olive reaches up and brushes a lock of hair out of Sam's eyes. "But I love that you care so much." She leans up and kisses him for the fourth time ever. This kiss is desperate, aching, she puts her hand on the back of his neck and Sam feels like he can taste the sadness coming off her, the fear and betrayal.
He deepens the kiss, trying to give to her all the gentleness and happiness that she's already been denied in her short life-like he can heal all her wounds inside and out with that one simple gesture.
They stay wrapped up in each other for a long time, kissing each other slowly; exploring this newfound sensation. Soon they're laying down side by side; their bodies are cushioned on the bed of soft pine needles from the towering trees and he's running his hand up and down along her side while she plays with his hair.
The thick trees provide a shelter like a ceiling of soft green that filters the dappled light of the setting sun and makes spotted shadows fall across their tangled-up bodies.
She sits up after awhile-pulling back. She's flushed slightly and her soft mouth looks swollen from his kisses.
Sam is in awe of the amount of trust in her eyes as she slowly lifts her shirt over her head.
He gasps and the warmth that was spreading through him is replaced by a feeling of horror at the mess of purple and green bruises littering her pretty torso.
He covers his mouth with his hand and she reaches up and pulls it towards her.
"I need to feel something gentle. I need to remember how it feels to be touched by hands that don't want to hurt me." She whispers the sentence like she's somehow ashamed and places his hand, palm down, fingers splayed, lays it against her smooth stomach.
Sam doesn't breathe, doesn't move for a long moment, he just looks at her and wonders how he got lucky enough to meet this beautiful, troubled girl.
"How could anyone hurt you? How...how could..." He doesn't finish his thought, doesn't even know what he was going to say, just brushes his hand gently over her abdomen, tracing circles along her skin. Then he bends down and kisses each bruise, not like a simple kiss can make this better, but it's all he can think to do.
As the sun sets fully behind the trees he brushes against her and they lean into each other, the fading light hiding them as they lose themselves in touches, soothing invisible wounds with soft hands and wordless gestures.
It's after dark when they walk hand in hand down the path.
When it's time to part ways Sam finds he can't let her leave.
"I'm afraid to let you go back there." He whispers, clinging to her hand, trying to keep himself from panicking.
"It'll be ok. He's probably passed out at this point." She says it confidently but there's a numb fear in her face that makes Sam hold onto her hand even tighter.
"You can stay with me and my brother. Please? Just stay with us." He's pleading but she just shakes her head.
"Dean won't mind, you can just hide away with us and your dad will never know."
She keeps shaking her head, "Sam I have a little sister and my mom would lose her mind if I disappeared like that. I can't just leave them alone with him."
Olive doesn't say it but Sam can read between the lines that she's the buffer, absorbing the blows that would fall on her sister or mother. She walks away a couple steps, still holding his hand, their fingers pulling away slightly.
"Olive...please call me. If you even get a hint that he's gonna hurt you, you call me right away." Sam's trembling a little and trying not to let it show.
"I will. I promise." Olive is determined, she pulls her hand out of Sam's grasp and starts to walk off.
"Olive?" He calls out to her "Olive...I love you."
He can't see her face but he sees her turn around.
"Oh, Sam" she says "Don't do that." Then she turns and disappears into the dark.
What did you think?
Please try and forgive Sammy, I know he was pretty awful in this chapter but he's young and in love and therefore not responsible for his actions.
I feel really bad for Dean after what Sam said but I promise I will give him a proper apology in upcoming chapters.
Sam will learn his lesson too. Though it's gonna be a rough lesson.
Thanks for reading!!
