Luv Ya like I love my pet fish Fluffy!!!!!!
P.S.- I don't have a pet fish!!! =O
Once again, I have no beta. Sorry for the inconvenience. hope u like it!!!!!
Not super lengthy but hopefully it'll do.
ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
For what seemed like days, Sam had watched them, all standing over him as they talked amongst themselves, only offering Sam an occasional glance. It seemed like even more days when, at long last, they all headed to the door, leaving Sam on the bathroom floor. Dean sent Sam a quick glance of reassurance. He had managed to convince Sam's parents into a temporary leave; hell, he nearly threw them out of the door as a good farewell. Not that Sam wasn't grateful, of course.
Dean shut the door behind him as he ran long, slim fingers through his short hair. He looked more than a little exhausted, and it sure as hell showed. Sam further inspected the way Dean's upper lip seemed to be twitching furiously. Was it out of anger? Sam couldn't be sure, as for the fact he didn't feel the need to ask. Dean thrust his hands into his pockets, locking his eyes onto a ball of lint located at his feet. He seemed to have headed to a place far from here, far from everything. A place where fairies danced in the moonlight and sang beautiful tunes, soothing all human pain. A place where no pain could enter, a place so profound not even Satan himself could corrupt. A place Sam would gladly join.
Sadly, however, he couldn't hide from the truth, nor could Dean, or anyone else for that matter. This was his life, and there was nothing, nothing, that could let him forget that. After all, it was all that existed for him. This, right here, was all he had ever known, all he had ever grown accustomed to.
Based on Sam's observations over the past couple of years, a lot of people tend to enjoy the little phrase "Life goes on". Sam, on the other hand, likes to shove that quote up people's asses and tell them to fuck off. If you have been through something so traumatic, so devastating, how could you possibly live your life like it never happened? More often than not, that trauma and that devastation will swallow you whole, leaving you as nothing but a living corpse, if not a dead one. Instead of trying to force it into the back of your mind, forget about it, and move on, you should confront it, come to terms with it. Sam has, on more than one occasion. Finally, he has come to terms on what the rest of his life will be like. All the torturous nights, or the painful mornings that follow, he's aware of it all. He will never get away from his parents. Even if he did, they would look for him, find him. Because, as long as they're still alive, he will never be safe. They will always be the constant in his life, the people he will always expect to be with him every day until they, or he, croak.
Dean turned his head to the side, locking onto Sam. He manuevered around the randomly-placed furniture in the living room as he made his way over to Sam; he looked slightly reluctant, Sam noted, but it was overcome by the powerful urge to actually help.
Sam watched as Dean stopped at the entrance to the bathroom, a small, extremely depressed smile on his face. Whether Dean was possibly trying to solace Sam or himself, he wasn't sure. If he was, though, it sure as hell didn't work, but Sam went along, offering a small, more believable smile than the older man's. Dean's widened a fraction of an inch, probably a little relieved to see Sam actually responding.
Dean walked over to Sam, keeping each step controlled and balanced. Mold seemed to be gathering on the far left corner of the room, so Dean strayed to the right side of Sam, plopped himself onto the hard surface beside Sam.
Sam could almost sense what Dean seemed to be doing, subconsciously or other. Everything he did or said seemed to be emphasized, as if making sure the reason for every movement was made known in Sam's eyes, every idea accented with an exclamation mark. Sam was beginning to believe Dean not only knew his parents were no good, but also that he knew what they did to him.
In all truth, Sam didn't know how to take that. Did he want Dean to know everything yet? Was his idea to tell Dean everything still a reasonable decision? Even now, after everything that's happened? Sam liked to think so. If he managed to rid himself of his parents, Dean and John were the only people he would go to. Only people he could go to They would have to realize the kind of person they would find underneath his persona and incognito identity. They would find him disgusting, no doubt, but he knew he had to tell them. Sam needed them to know what they were getting themselves into to be around him.
"You okay, little guy?"
Dean's voice was soft, nearly inaudible for Sam to hear. His voice was laced with worry, coated with utter concern, something Sam has only experienced an iota amount of times in his lifetime; especially directed at him.
"I'm fine." Sam's voice cracked, much to his dismay. In Sam's eyes, it proved just how weak he really was. Why was he like this? Was he born weak, or made weak? Whatever the correct answer was, it didn't matter now. It was his burden to deal with, now and forever.
"You wanna talk about it?"
It seemed like such a simple question, with an answer just as simple. Just one word, and a new topic would arise. But they both knew it wouldn't be anything like it, not really. With lack of a better word, it would be hell. Hell for Sam to explain, and nearly as hellish, or as hellish, for Dean to listen.
It soothed Sam to know it would be painful for Dean, too. Not that he wanted to hurt him, never. Not physically, mentally, spiritually, or emotionally. He would never want such a thing. But the fact that Dean was pained because of Sam's pain was nonetheless comforting. To know he wasn't going through it alone, to know someone was right there by him. The whole fucking time.
"Yes, please" Sam croaked out.
The words sunk in, and Dean turned all his attention on Sam, not that it wasn't already there. He stiffened some, but otherwise kept up all his composure, all his defenses stayed tall. Sam took a deep breath.
"When you found me on the side of the road, it hadn't been because I'd escaped from some kidnapper. I had run away from home, from my parents. I hadn't known what else to do, where else to go. So I just ran." Sam had to stop to keep up his defenses. He had to do this, there were no other options. "It all started when I was about 10, the verbal abuse. They would always yell at me. I didn't know why, hell, I never knew why. I had to have done something,though, right? Why else would they do that?
"Then, one night, they told me to go to their room, that they would meet me there in a few minutes. That they had to get 'ready'. I was eleven or twelve and I didn't know what the hell to do. I had never been allowed in their room and I didn't know why it had changed all of a sudden."
Sam paused to take another deep breath. He felt vulnerable, weak. It felt as though he were made of plastic, the smallest hit could send him tumbling downward. This was harder than he thought, which was saying a lot because he knew it would be hell on fucking earth. He felt a salty tear run down his cheek as all the memories of his past assaulted him. He brought his hand up to his face to wipe it off hastily. He felt the reassuring presence Dean exuded and it appeased Sam slightly. Dean was no longer looking at him, he was just staring off into space, into some faraway land Sam couldn't get to. Sam liked the idea of how Dean acted as though he weren't completely engulfed by Sam's story, like it wasn't taking a huge toll on him. He was giving Sam the space he needed to finish the story on his own, but yet was always there whenever Sam needed a shoulder.
"I went into their room and sat on the bed. What else was I supposed to do? They came in a few minutes later. My mom was holding a piece of rope and my dad had the tape. That was when I knew something was seriously wrong. I jumped off the bed. My parents blocked the door, so I went for the window. I ran as fast as I could remember. But it wasn't fast enough. Not fucking fast enough. They snatched me by the waist and threw me onto the bed."
Several more tears streamed down his face as he strained himself to finish. "They started kissing me. On my lips, my chest, everywhere. Family doesn't do stuff like that. By then, I was screaming loud as hell. I was fighting so fucking hard, but even I knew when I battle was lost. My mother grabbed my arms and threw them behind my back, then tied them together. After she tied up my legs, my father had thrown a piece of tape on my mouth."
Sam's waterfalls were becoming more frequent, at least one tear per cheek. How he was holding it together so well he didn't know, but he that, by the end, he would be dead as hell. He didn't look over to see Dean's reaction. He didn't want to, he didn't want to see that look of pure disgust all over his face.
"My mother grabbed a pair of scissors and ripped off my shirt. My dad went for my jeans, but I wouldn't let him, couldn't let him. He grabbed the scissor from my mother and threw them into my knee. He took it out, then put it in that same knee, again. He told me if I moved one more time he would do the other." Sam wiped a big, fat tear from his cheek. "I didn't move for the rest of the night."
Sam's bridge burst, all his life tumbling to an end. He cried. His heart hurt so fucking bad and, for once, it was his own fault. For some unbelievable reason, it was worth it. Dean's strong arms embraced Sam welcomingly, a protective coating around Sam's frail body. He had had many hugs in the past but never, never, had they felt like this. This one felt warm, passionate, not rough or possessive. It felt like home.
Sam placed his head in the crook of Dean's shoulder as he held him tightly against his chest, as if afraid to let him go. Sam felt something wet drip onto his shoulder. He looked up curiously at Dean, bewildered. Tears were falling down Dean's face freely, dripping down his chin and onto Sam's shirt. Sam's heart nearly burst with joy; even at a time such as this, when all the hate and rejection was turned toward him, he couldn't help but feel the comfort and utter happiness of the moment. Dean cared, and not for all the wrong reasons. He didn't want him as his own, to replace himself for his parents; no, he was treating him with the respect any human deserved. Though Sam didn't put himself in that category, he accepted it with pleasure. He threw his arms around Dean and hugged the shit out of him. Not because he had to. Not because it was expected of him.
Because he wanted to.
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You can't BEGIN to comprehend how sorry I am!!! It's been so !%$ long since I've updated and I'm terribly sorry!! I hope this chapter was better than the last because, unfortunately, it seems the previous chapter wasn't loved by everyone. I appreciate all the constructive critiscm and/or praise from any readers! Thanks for all the insight I got for Chapter 9 and I hope I get lots of positive ones for this one!!!
And no I'm not done with this story. I've got a good bit to go and am enjoying it all!! My one question is if there should actually be a sequel for "Kill For You". I've been trying to decide and have no idea what to do. In other words....HELP ME OUT!! AHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ALL CRITISCM, PRAISE, QUESTIONS, DOUBTS, ETC. ARE ACCEPTED!! I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW WHERE YOU STAND =)
HOPE U ENJOYED IT!!!!!!!!
