Question for you all who've subscribed or whatever: when I edit a chapter after posting it, do you get another email? 'Cause that would be obnoxious.
Also, I'd love to know what you think of the direction the story is going. :)
xxxxxxx
The night was cool. Stars winked above, their edges hazy. Jess was packing up with her mom, and the brothers had climbed to the roof to give them some privacy.
Sam leaned against the guardrail. "Hey, Dean. You remember your twenty-first birthday?"
Dean scratched his neck absently. "Sure, Sam. Why?"
Sam studied the sky. "It was the first time I really thought about you, you know, after I left."
"Gee thanks, Sam."
"You know that's not what I mean." He sighed. "It was tough, ok? I hooked my way out to Atlanta. Knew I'd have to get someplace warm. Got in the school system there."
A star fell overhead. "Wasn't long before they figured out what I did. Didn't matter; they couldn't do anything unless they caught me at it. But it didn't exactly make me friend material."
Dean watched him silently.
"Anyway, it was tough. I couldn't think about you, Dean, not and keep going. It was too much. But that night, your birthday, I sat on my roof with a bottle of whiskey and let myself remember. Thought you were there at one point."
Dean closed his eyes. "Saw you sometimes, too, Sammy."
Sam's throat tightened, and he struggled to continue. "I thought about that letter, really thought about it, about why John had me write it. That's when I figured it out. What he saw, I mean. But I never guessed you'd still feel that way."
"Yeah, Sammy, I know. But I do." Dean rubbed his palms together. "I remember that birthday. John didn't, of course. Never really did holidays after you left. I waited til he passed out and got myself drunk in the parking lot."
They sat there awhile, unwilling to break the silence. On the street below, someone laughed.
Dean spoke first. "Sammy?"
"Yeah?"
"I know you don't want to, but I need you to tell me what happened in San Francisco. I need to know."
Sam was quiet a long time. "Car pulled up while I was working. I recognized the guy that jumped out so I grabbed my knife. But he had three more with him, one with a gun. And I lost the knife."
Dean felt his pulse quicken.
"He handcuffed me to a pipe, cut off my clothes. First they took turns...you know." He closed his eyes. "Then he carved me up. Think he said something about making me his, but it was hazy. I was pretty out of it by that point."
He looked to Dean, expecting a response, but Dean said nothing. "Anyway, I woke up sometime after that. Not sure how long I was out. The handcuffs were gone, and my bag was still there. Found my knife a little ways down the alley. I dug some clean clothes from my bag and called Gabe." He shrugged as if that was it.
"Why didn't you call me?" Dean's voice was quiet.
Sam gazed ahead. "I thought if you knew what I was, you'd leave."
"Not gonna leave."
"I know."
Dean thought a moment, his stomach tense. "Wait, you said you recognized him?"
Another shrug.
"Sammy, hang on a minute. You know the creep that did this to you?"
Sam clenched his jaw tight.
Dean's anger rose. "What the hell, Sam?" He leaned over and grabbed Sam's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Tell me."
Nothing.
"Sam Winchester, you fucking tell me. Now."
"Let me go, Dean." He sounded petulant.
Dean let him go, and Sam stalked away. Dean stood, shaking. "What the hell is wrong with you? Some dude you know rapes you and slices you open and what? You're gonna do nothing? Why? You think it doesn't matter, that you deserved it? Sammy, whatever crap you're thinking right now, just stop."
Sam whirled to face Dean, fists clenched. "I'm not an idiot, Dean. Nobody deserves that."
"Then why the fuck won't you tell me?" He knew he was yelling, knew he should stop. But his mind was dark with rage and screaming adrenaline. He had to know.
Sam flinched at Dean's anger, wilting a little. The air felt thick in his throat. "Because it doesn't matter, Dean." He closed his eyes against his brother's towering fury. "You haven't lived this. You don't know. I can call the cops, sure. Report him. You know what's gonna happen? Nada. No one gives a fuck about a messed-up hooker. And even if they found him, what then? Yeah, I know who he is. Still doesn't matter. It's my word against his."
Something in Dean's silence caught Sam's heart. He looked to his brother, and suddenly his anger was gone.
Dean was crying. He was staring at Sam, wide-eyed, ragged sobs wracking his body.
Sam didn't know what to do. Dean was the strong one, the protector. But now he was crying, broken and afraid. Sam had made him cry. He trembled, hesitant, then pulled his brother close. "Dean, hey, it's ok. I'm here, and I'm ok. It's all over." His hand went to Dean's back, patting awkwardly.
After awhile, Dean pulled away and returned to his spot by the guardrail. Sam followed.
"Sammy?" Dean's voice was hoarse.
"Yeah, Dean?"
"Will you please just tell me? I won't do anything unless you want me to."
Sam had never heard his brother so timid, so scared, and it broke his resolve. "The guy from the bar," he said simply. "The one Crowley threw out."
There was no answer. They sat for awhile in the heavy darkness, lost in their separate thoughts. Sam leaned against Dean's shoulder.
"Dean?"
"Hm."
Sam struggled to put his thought into words. "I know you have questions. About my life, I mean. I was gone a long time."
"Yeah, you were."
"You can ask, if you want. Anything. I want you to know, it's just...Guess I don't know where to start."
It was a long while before Dean spoke. "Did you have anyone? Anyone watching out for you?"
The question surprised Sam. "Yeah, guess I did. When I hitched to Atlanta, a couple guys gave me rides without asking for anything. One even gave me some cash."
He paused, remembering. "There was a lady in Atlanta who'd sometimes catch me on my way home from school. Never said anything, just shoved a bag of groceries in my hand and left. And Jess was pretty cool about it. I told her right off. Thought it was something a roommate should know. And Crowley, of course.
"But Gabe was the first who didn't care. Didn't look at me like I was trash or...or worse, like I needed his pity. He'd help me out when I asked for it, but he never pushed. I know he's weird, Dean, but he's a good guy."
A ghost of a smile played at the corners of Dean's mouth. "I'm glad, Sammy."
They sat for awhile, counting the stars, content in their shared silence.
xxxxxxx
The next afternoon they split up. Sam was working the bar, and Dean was job-hunting.
Dean wasn't happy to be leaving Sam, but he needed work. There was a repair shop in town that specialized in older cars, and they were hiring. It sounded perfect.
He flicked on the wipers against the drizzling rain. Sam was with Crowley. He'd be ok.
xxxxxxx
Water dripped from the roof as he huddled beneath the overhang, gazing in the bar window. Blake smiled to himself. Hot damn, that boy is beautiful. He watched the shaggy hair dance around surprisingly delicate features as the boy moved, fixing drinks and laughing with customers. That laugh. He threw his head back when he laughed, exposing his vulnerable throat, as if he were just begging begging so pretty for someone to claim him. Blake's smile grew. He knew just the man for the job.
He sauntered inside, eyes sharp for the Scottish bouncer. Didn't seem to be there. He looked over to the bar and met the boy's hazel eyes, slanted like a fox's, begging to be owned.
The boy gasped and dropped a glass. The shatter was loud in the relative quiet. Scotty came then, shoving Blake outside. He said something, but Blake didn't listen. He hadn't planned to drink anyway. Just wanted to remind pretty boy he was still there.
xxxxxxx
Sam was shaking. Someone was tugging on his arm, saying something. Crowley? He couldn't hear, couldn't speak. His mind was empty of all but panic. He didn't know why. The wall loomed invitingly, and he leaned against it, sinking to the floor, huddling against himself in the safety of the corner.
xxxxxxx
Dean grinned as he climbed into the Impala. The interview had gone well, and the owner seemed cool. Mike, an older man with sprawling tattoos, had given him the job right off, told him to start next week. This could work, Dean thought, pleased.
His phone rang, number unknown. He answered it cheerfully, excitement still bubbling in his chest. "Dean Winchester here."
"Squirrel, it's Crowley."
Excitement shifted swiftly to anxiety. "What's wrong? Where's Sam?"
"Young Samuel is here and unharmed. No need for panic. He seems, however, a little spooked. You might want to come."
The line cut off. Tires screeched as he pulled from the parking lot. Hang on, Sammy. I'm coming.
xxxxxxx
Dean charged into the bar, eyes wild. The few customers milling around sensed his rage and shied away. His heart thudded in time with his brain's insistent chant. Sam Sam Sam
He spotted Crowley hovering over something in the corner. Sam? "Sammy!"
Dean was there in seconds, shoving Crowley aside. He knelt and grabbed Sam's hands as they scrabbled at his chest. "Sammy? What is it? What happened?"
Sam didn't answer. He just looked at Dean, eyes wide and glassy, mouth slightly open. His breath came sharp and quick.
Dean turned to Crowley. "What the hell happened to him?"
Crowley's face was brooding. "I'm not entirely sure. He seemed cheery, not his usual peevish self at all. Then that penthouse moron waltzed in. I tossed him on his ear before he got to Sam, of course. But Sammy here collapsed."
Dean moved until he was inches from Crowley's face. "If that bastard steps foot in here again," he breathed, "Shoot him."
He turned back to Sam, replacing his fury with uneasy concern. Sammy needs you. "Hey, Sammy, it's me. I got you."
Sam looked at him, lost. "He was here, Dean."
The childish whisper twisted knife-like in Dean's gut. "I know, Sammy. But he's gone now. You're ok. C'mon. Let's get you home."
xxxxxxx
Dean called Mike to say he'd need a few more weeks. Then he called Bobby to see who they knew that could identify the man in the security footage he'd gotten off Crowley.
His baby brother was huddled in bed, whimpering softly. Someone had taken Sam's strength and shattered it. Dean's resolve grew, unable to regret his broken promise. He was going to find that son of a bitch if it killed him.
The hunt was on.
