Winchester Apologetics
By Maygin
Summary: "Thoughts could leave deeper scarring than almost anything else." –Madame Pomfrey. Young Winchesters story from Dean's POV.
The Blah-Blah Section: Well, I had some very eager readers who requested this chapter be posted tonight, and as I too am an avid and obsessed fanfiction reader… I'm more than a little willing to oblige them. …translation: when ya'll get excited, I get excited!!! So thank you for your reviews because they make my days all happy and gaga! …whatever that means. Okay, one more chapter to go after this :)
Winchester Apologetics
Chapter 10
So we took Sammy back to the hospital that morning to have him- checked out… just to make sure. The last thing the kid needed was some kind of STD on top of everything else. Dad had pretty much clammed up; he didn't ask questions. I gave him the barest account just so he had a good understanding of what went down and then he went real quiet. He helped me get Sam into the car and then kept a supportive hand on the kid's back or knee or shoulder the whole time we waited at the hospital. But he didn't really say anything. Who could blame him? I still don't have a clue as to what could've been said to make things better. Not that Sammy would've heard a word of it; he had practically shut down a few minutes before Dad got there. It had been really creepy; to have gone from a hysterical, emotional wreck to this hebetudinous – Sammy taught me that word – silent, emotionless animatron that just stared into nothing. He'd follow direct orders like, walk or sit or lay down… but other than that, he just zoned.
He'd checked out fine. Doctor said he'd probably be a little sore and gave us two prescriptions. One for pain and the other was an anti-depressant; apparently the doctor had assumed Sammy hadn't been completely consensual and that's why he was practically unresponsive. Now normally we don't fill out prescriptions unless their pain prescriptions and we really need them… just one more way for the authorities to track us. We pick and choose which drugs we really need; so I hadn't expected to fill the anti-depressant, but Dad made sure I did. He even gave me real cash to do it… like he felt he needed to contribute honestly to Sam's recovery… like he wanted to make sure everything that could be done to help repair this situation was being done.
We got home around seven in the morning so I took Captain Indifferent upstairs and put him to bed. Then I made a quick run to the local 'Mystic' shop and stocked up on a few odds and ends. Dad had left an hour or so later to go research some leads on the northern end of town and I finally got comfortable on the couch and took a much needed nap. Catherine Zeta Jones had just slid her hands beneath my jacket when a quiet knock sounded from the front door. People always interrupt me when dreams start getting good. So in my grumpy haze I remembered to slide my knife into the back of my jeans and then opened the door.
Shocked wouldn't quiet describe my expression when I opened the door. There on our front doorstep stood Jacen. I wanted to be furious… I was furious; but I knew deep down the kid was just as much a victim to this whole messed up situation as Sam had been. And he really did look pretty miserable. His clothes were somewhat rumpled and his hair disheveled. His eyes and cheeks were slightly red, from hours of crying no doubt. He looked a little lost and scared to be standing there in front of me. Again, this whole escapade would've been a hell of lot less complicated if Jacen had never come into the picture – but it wasn't his fault. And I felt sorry for him. Not only had he lost his… friend several weeks back, but now his new… friend, who reminded him a lot of Ryan for reasons he couldn't explain, had freaked out on him after they- shared- what was obviously something very special to him. They were only in their teens for cryin out loud!
So I stopped myself from slamming the door in his face and tried to keep my face expressionless. He shifted around on his feet for a moment, looking everywhere but at me.
"I uh… I thought you might want this." He held up my leather jacket as sort of a peace offering. I took it; checking the pocket to make sure my cell phone was safely tucked inside. I gave a small, sympathetic nod of thanks. He swallowed then and started awkwardly rubbing his hands on his jeans, sneaking small glances behind me and looking completely lost and miserable.
"You can't see him," I had said quietly. That just wasn't gonna happen.
He seemed to deflate slightly, but gave a small nod of understanding. He ran a hand over his messy hair and gave me this pleading, brokenhearted look. "Could you just… tell him I'm sorry?" A few tears slipped down his face. "I never meant to hurt him."
Again, I gave a small nod, knowing full well I wouldn't. At least not for a while… not until Sammy was ready to talk about it. But Jacen seemed to accept that. He awkwardly backed up and gave a small, pathetic little wave before turning around completely and walking away from the Winchester household.
I remember letting out a deep sigh before slowly and quietly closing the door and looking at the stairs behind me, trying to decide if I should go check on Sammy. I had decided against waking him up though, only to turn back toward the couch and find him already standing there at the front, living room window; staring blankly through the laced curtain at the retreating figure. I paused a moment, wondering if maybe he needed that… needed that understanding that it was over. When Jacen had finally disappeared from sight, I waited for Sam. Waited for him to say something, to move… react in some form. He didn't though. He just continued to stare through the old-lady curtains.
So I quietly and un-intrusively as I could, stood beside him; doing my own little bit of staring out the window.
"I hurt him."
"Not your fault." I did my best to match his quiet tone and yet still sound firm. This was something he needed to understand; and oddly enough, something I've been trying to drill into his head ever since. We didn't look at each other; just continued staring out the window like it was a completely different world just beyond that single pane of glass.
"A part of me wants to run after him." He'd said that somewhat hesitantly, as if what he said might risk the chance of exiling himself from us. I had expected this; Sam would never be alone in his head ever again. Ryan Filche's thoughts and feelings were forever imprinted on Sam's mind; integrated into his own. It was confusing as hell and not something I'd wish on anyone.
"And the other part?"
Sammy looked a little sick, swallowing something down. "The other part wants to run the other way… wants to know what the hell's wrong with me?" I kept expecting some tears to surface or some kind of emotion to present itself; instead I just got this stoic representation of Sam. A tired, emotionally abused and damaged Sam. "I can't do this Dean," he'd whispered.
"Yes you can." I'd never been so certain in my life and I'd made sure he could hear that certainty in my voice too. "Come here."
I lightly tugged on his shirt sleeve and he slowly followed me to the kitchen table. I sat him down and then grabbed one of the bags from my supply run from the counter and took the seat across from him. I remember watching him for a moment, trying to judge if I was doing the right thing or not. He watched me back; dull, hazel eyes masking the dark labyrinth of confusion.
My little brother had been damaged. Permanently so. All I could do was try and help put some of the pieces back into some form of semblance.
So I reached into the crumpled, paper bag and pulled out a small book. I had looked at it a moment, weighing it in my hand before laying it on the table and sliding it across to Sammy. He too stared at it a moment and then slowly fingered a corner of the hard-cover book. He lifted the corner to glance at the inner pages; they were blank.
Sam let the book fall closed again and then started fingering it again, like he couldn't quite figure out how he should feel about it. "What is it?"
"It's a journal."
I laugh at it now, but at that time nothing was funny; Sam's eyes flickered up to me with this blank expression… but nowadays would clearly read as – you're dumb.
"It's a diary."
I gave him a half-assed scowl and lightly smacked his hand away where he was fingering the clearly imprinted letters D-I-A-R-Y along the side binding. "It's the same thing… besides they didn't have anything that said journal on it like Dad's. Just deal."
"Okay."
…Not exactly the response I was going for, so I thought maybe I would do a little more explaining. "The point is… I know your heads a mess right now; trying to figure out which thoughts are yours and which are Filche's. So…" I don't know why, but I was seriously scared of presenting my plan… I was totally in unknown territory, dangling myself out there vulnerably and seeing if Sam would take the bait. Because again… I don't do chick-flick stuff well; but this had been the best thing I could think of at the time. "Look Sam- I know you… okay? I almost know you better than you know yourself. So…whenever you come across a thought or feeling you're not sure is yours or Filche's," I flipped the front cover open revealing the first blank page and tapped it, "just write it down… put it under my pillow… I'll read it and then let you know if it's yours or his." I'll never forget those seconds of waiting for Sammy's response… what if he thought it was stupid and totally called me out on it for being such a girl? "Completely off limits okay– we'll never bring it up except for in here." I had tapped the book again to make that point clear. The longer he just stared at me though with those wide hazel eyes unnerved me; to the point where I couldn't really help my mouth. "I'll even respond in complete sentences and use punctuation like you keep hounding me to do… what do you say huh?"
He just stared at me another moment and then this sheen of wetness started filling Sammy's wide-eyes and I knew I'd done the right thing. And it was the best feeling in the world. He was openly trying very hard at that point to keep his tears in check; pressing his lips together and swallowing hard, staring down at the journal. I gave a small nod of approval; and yeah, maybe I had to do a little swallowing down of a few emotions myself…what- I'm not dead. So I pulled a pen from my back pocket and held it out for him.
He kind of stared at it for a second, he stared a lot after the Pariah incident, before slowly reaching forward and accepting it. I pushed my chair back from the table and left him alone with his and Filche's thoughts. The next step was Sam's.
After that I went back into the living room, grabbed my cell phone from my jacket, called Dad and let him know we needed to move on from Washington. Get away.
Get Sam away.
Dad didn't even question it; he just said okay and told me to start packing up our stuff. He said he'd be home in a couple hours and then we'd head southeast; maybe visit Father Jim. So we did. Sam didn't object either, but his feelings of leaving a certain someone behind made it into the journal. I wrote in all caps at the bottom of the journal entry - NOT YOU.
This was going to work.
It had been a start anyways.
And then a not more than a week after leaving Seattle he shot up. Went from a comfortable (for me anyways) 5'9" to an ungodly 6'4". Personal theory on that one? I think somewhere in the depths of Sam's crazy head he just couldn't handle being vulnerable in any fashion. And for some reason his mind figured as long as he was shorter than Jacen and half the rest of the male population, he was vulnerable. So in a matter of three weeks he grew five inches… which is just not natural. Dad and I had been a little worried; even took him to a doctor at one point. That and he filled out, muscle-wise; he started eating about as much as I do and he took his workout sessions way more seriously than he probably should have. He took every AP class he could get his grubby hands on at whatever school he was currently attending. At the time I had thought it was because he didn't want to be found vulnerable on the intellectual side either. The downside to his goal of becoming impenetrable was that his independence streak went from manageable to fanatical. He questioned everything and yet talked less. He'd argue like hell but never really said anything. He kind of bottled things up which was just… not Sammy. Over the next couple years, he still wrote in the journal and would show it to me every once in a while when the confusion just got to be too much; but overall Sam had become a brooding, quiet, angry teenager who was desperately seeking approval and yet fighting to get away from that need at the same time.
Suffice to say, the Sam I met at Stanford was way different from the Sam that had left our apartment two years earlier under that stupid ultimatum. And I know I have a certain blond, blue-eyed beauty to thank for that. Jessica really broke Sammy free of his downward spiral. You could see it in the way Sam looked at her; like she was his saving grace… the angel that had pulled him from the drowning waters.
I owe her a lot.
And it's essentially why I'm writing this. So others will know just what kind of person she was and how special she was. She gave me back my brother… pulled him from his own personal fire and helped him get rid of his dark side. After everything that had happed to Sam those two weeks… Jessica Moore was the only person in the entire world who had been able to truly reach deep down inside him and bring back to the surface that which was wholly Sam. And as Sam is the most important thing in my life… that makes her a very special person in my book.
TBC…
( tear - I'm a sucka for corny mush like this - sorry)