"No."
Sam, whose face had been turned away from his brother, spun a little too quickly to look back at world titled for a quick moment before it rightened again. The word was uttered in the upmost amount of confidence and it exuded strength and no backing down. And damn, did it not shock the youngest sibling after the minutes of heavy silence.
"No," Dean repeated calmly. "I won't be leaving you, Sam. I belong right here and I know you know it, too. I belong with you, you with me and I should have never left. I know there's going to be a lot to fix, but you're stuck with me from now on. I love you and I'm not giving up on you, even if you have given up on yourself and me. I'll help carry your weight little brother because that is what older brothers do. You just rest, Sammy. I'll take care of everything else."
And Sam sobbed. He broke and kept breaking, even as Dr. Wilson walked into the room and even as nurses checked in on the loud, chocking sounds, and even as Dean soothed him. Sam broke and broke and broke.
And Dean kept his promise to his young brother. Dean carried weights Sam couldn't through the evils that came with hunting those werewolves. When Sam's body gave up on him through raging fevers and an infected liver, Dean was there through it all. He barely left his brother's side and it was peaceful for Sam. Even when he hallucinated that he was 15 again and Dean had left him, he felt a calming presence near him as he cried for his sibling. Even when he went under surgery to replace his almost dead liver, he felt Dean near under the anesthetic. And slowly, he felt Dean's love wrap him in it's warm blanket.
But, even with Dean near him supplying the strength he didn't have for himself, he refused to forget what had happened. He held himself back from opening up about his father and what had happened within the six years that Dean was absent for.
"What happened when I left," Dean asked once while Sam fiddled with his computer. Hunts were still out there and he knew that he was close to being released. Dean had prevented him from signing AMA forms, so all he could do was research for possible hunts. But as his older brother asked the question, he froze. What was he going to say?
"Uhm," he began, licking his suddenly dry lips. "Nothing much, I guess. We continued hunting, I dropped school." He shrugged and continued typing into the search bar.
"Nothing much, Sam? You loved school," Dean recalled all the times little Sammy racing home to complete his homework before his dad would rip him away on a hunt. And nothing much? No. Dean knew his brother was lying, he felt the lie go over his head and he gently grasped Sam's computer, shutting it as Sam withdrew his fingers. He could see a sheen of sweat decorate his siblings forehead and he could see his hands shake. "What happened, Sam? Other than that."
Sam had never felt such a fear palpitate in him like this, not even when his dad was angry or when a djinn decided to hunt him down. This? This was new and it scared him. He couldn't tell Dean that his father, his brothers hero, wasn't what he thought. Sam considered himself an orphan, but Dean didn't. His father was still a father. "N-nothing, Dean."
"Why are you lying to me," Dean continued, but his voice hardened. His brother would tell him what happened and based on his reaction, it was something serious.
"I'm not," Sam looked him straight in the eye, barely concealing his fear. Dean, of course, saw it, and calmed his building anger.
"Sam, you know you can tell me anything," he grabbed Sam's still bandage wrapped hand. "I'm not going to leave again. I'm here with you and it's going to be ok. Not even a wnegio can separate us," he joked, but Sam was far from that. At the thought of a wnegio, he was caught up in a painful and somewhat recent memory.
Sam was exhausted. The hunt had turned from awful to fucked up faster than you could say wendigo. The damn thing had a perfect night, hiding amongst the patter of rainfall and flashes of lightning, the rolling of thunder masking any noise it might have made. Both John and Sam were injured from a run in with a mud slide from the torrential weather, but John refused to go back to the motel. They had to kill the fucker tonight. The both of them had made their way to the suspected cave, but soon amongst the storm and random luck, the wendigo got the drop on them and took John.
Sam raced against time, ignoring the sharp pangs of pain in his knee and ankle and the pulling of skin at too deep wounds. He couldn't let his Dad die. Against all odds, Sam made it just in time and lit the fucker up, grabbed John, and settled them back into the Blue Bird room. He had just finished patching his father on the only bed, who surprisingly wasn't too banged up, when John grabbed ahold of Sam tight.
"You son of a bitch," the words spoken were low and level, not wavering in anger. This was a much worse taste of the bitterness inside John. "You stupid son of a bitch. You let him get the drop on me, you wanted me gone."
"N-no, sir. I swe-," Sam stuttered, pain radiating in his shoulders from John's stupid, strong strength. The idea wasn't logical, but Sam knew his dad was past that as anger bristled.
"No," John growled, clamping even harder onto the young man's shoulders. "I think you did. I think you wanted me to die tonight. And you know what? You failed." The sudden drop of weight from Sam's shoulders shocked him enough that Sam didn't see the fist come down upon him. It went on for what seemed forever, before Sam was quickly turned over, his shirt torn from his too skinny body, and pinned.
"No! No, not that, please not that," Sam screeched and begged, fearing the worst from this monster he called a father. This made John pause before he let out a deep, chilling chuckle.
"Oh," Sam could hear the sneer in John's voice. "Oh, Sam. Sammy boy. Even if I wanted to, you're too dirty and worthless. I wouldn't taint myself with you. But this? I can do this." It wasn't foreshadowed, so when a knife dug into the sinew of Sam's muscle and skin and ligaments and bones, it shocked the hell out of him. Then the pain began.
John went slow, carving into his boy's back with a precision that surgeons trained for. He knew that the path he took was one that wouldn't fatally injure the kid, but would mark him for life and show him pain that John could inflict. It took long time and Sam's screams had died long before he was finished, but he made sure he was awake the entire time. So, by the time John climbed off Sam, the motel was a mess. Blood dripped over his back onto orange carpet and bruises were already purpling onto his already messed up skin. Sam knew exactly what John had carved into his back, he felt every single slice of the knife, and he cried silently. Marked. John had marked him, owning him like he would own an animal. That's when Sam knew John was no longer his father, just a man he had been cursed with.
"Sammy!" He was jerked back into the present by Dean's calls and jerkily scooted back. He felt wet tears and his shaking body, his lungs were working overtime to keep up with his breathing. "Sam, it's ok. You're ok. Keep with me," Dean was panicked. He had never seen Sam so scared in his life. Even when Sam could feel death creeping on him, Sam wasn't terrified. No, this was beyond anything he could comprehend.
"Don't, don't, don't," Sam muttered, shutting his eyes and shaking, still somewhat lost within the past. The scar flared on his shoulder and he found it amazing that the doctors hadn't brought it up or that Dean had yet to find out about it. "Stop, please. No."
"Calm down, Sammy. No one's going to hurt you," Dean grabbed Sam's hands and gently pulled them from his face. "I'm here."
"Dean, I need Dean," Sam breathed erratically and he couldn't understand what was happening. He wasn't supposed to be here any more, he wasn't supposed to be with John.
And like he had so many weeks ago, Sam broke. He broke down as memories came flooding in and slipped past his lips to listening ears.
John pressing against his windpipe, his hands bruising and unforgiving after letting a chupacabra get away.
John raining hell upon Sam because a kid looked like Dean and they both got their hopes up that they had found him.
John snapping Sam's ribs after a particular rough night in hustling pool.
John sneaking Sam out of a hospital while he was still unconscious with a concussion he barely survived.
Worthless.
"You are nothing, Sam."
Bait.
"No wonder Dean left us. Who would love you?"
An abomination.
Not a son, but rather an animal.
Branded.
Un-loved.
He had nothing and was nothing.
Alone.
I really have it out for Sam, huh? All the happy feels are coming and an appearance from angry, protective Bobby. In this story, Bobby knows that John didn't treat Sam the best, but not the extent to physical abuse. I haven't really thought about adding John, but I think with the amount of support behind this story, I will include him in later chapters. So, for me and you, that means that this story has officially gotten longer! Thank you and I hoped you enjoyed this chapter. xoxo K. :)