Chapter Twelve
Sam took a deep, shaky breath and passed a hand over his eyes.
Dean suddenly regretted pressuring his brother.
"Maybe… maybe we can talk about this later," he suggested, "You still need some rest. Hey, I'll get you another Tylenol and you'll sleep like a-"
"N-No," Sam protested, "Y-You both should know."
Dean nodded, "Okay, Sammy, if that's what you want."
Sam nodded once and looked from Dean to John and back again.
Slowly, the eighteen-year old began to talk about the torture he'd experienced at Eli Flint's hand.
"At… at first he wouldn't give me much water or food," Sam began quietly, "Just enough so that I wouldn't starve."
Dean quickly looked up at John's expression and saw that their father was frowning, his brown eyes even darker than usual.
"Then he set up those lights… and the music," Sam continued, "So that I wouldn't be a-able to get m-much sleep."
"Music?" Dean asked, interrupting his brother.
"Yeah," the teen muttered, "I- I don't know how often he set it to play b-but I would barely be asleep and it'd s-start."
"Did he start…hurting you?" John asked hesitantly.
Sam shook his head, "N-Not a first."
"Keep going, Sammy," Dean encouraged solemnly.
After a long moment's pause, Sam spoke again.
"He kept trying to convince me to hunt and… and I wouldn't agree t-to give up school."
To Dean it seemed as though his brother's eyes glazed over as he spoke.
"He… I don't know what changed but he…" Sam spoke quieter and quieter so that Dean and John had to strain to hear, "One day he boiled the k-kettle and p-p-poured the water…"
Dean reached out and touched his brother's hand, trying to show his support.
"He b-burnt my face…" Sam said, raising his free hand to his left cheek, "…With a cigarette."
Dean saw what a toll this was taking on his brother; Sam's shoulders slumped, his eyes were glassy and his face was pale beneath the burns.
"That's enough for tonight," Dean said, speaking to both his father and brother, "Sam needs to sleep."
"Flint's dead, isn't he?" the teen asked, looking at his family members, "I heard a gunshot and… He killed himself, right?"
Dean nodded, "The coward's way out."
Instead of succumbing to the exhaustion he clearly felt, Sam turned his emerald eyes to his father.
"Why? Why couldn't you let me go to school? I wasn't going to abandon you."
John's expression darkened, "You wouldn't understand."
"Sam," Dean said, not wanting his brother to overtax himself.
"What wouldn't I understand?" Sam asked, his voice rising.
"Do you not care at all about finding the monster who killed your mother? Do you not care about getting revenge on the bastard who took her away from you? You didn't even get to meet her before she died!" John exclaimed, his dark expression now turning red.
"It wouldn't bring her back!" Sam replied, quickly becoming emotional.
John looked shocked at his youngest son's outburst and Dean quickly stood up between his father and brother.
"Out," Dean snarled, "Get out. Now."
John turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Dean sank back down on the bed and turned to his brother.
"Sammy-" he began but his sibling interrupted him.
"I… I thought he wanted me to go to school," Sam said, his voice shaking, "I th-thought he was ha-happy for me… proud of m-me… like you were."
Dean watched as tears overflowed the teen's eyes and began to flow down his face.
The twenty-two year old had nothing to say about John's behaviour. He could only shake his head, "I'm sorry, Sammy."
The eighteen-year old lowered his head.
"Why don't you go to sleep? You'll feel better in the morning," Dean suggested and Sam nodded, lying on his side with his brother's assistance.
SPN
John stomped away from his sons, anger turning his vision red.
Sam didn't know what he was talking about. He didn't understand why they needed to find the bastard who'd killed Mary and destroy it. Sam didn't understand… and John hoped he never would.
The father made his way into the cabin's small kitchen, pulling out the same chair his youngest son had so often been cuffed to as Flint badgered and tortured him, and sat down.
Raking a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, John sighed, thinking about his youngest son. He was the only one- besides one old psychic woman in Lawrence, Kansas- who knew why Mary had died that fateful night.
The monster who had invaded the Winchester home hadn't come for John's wife, no, she had just been collateral damage. His intended target had been the infant Sam.
Upon visiting Missouri Moseley a few weeks after his wife's untimely death, John had found out the truth about Mary's killer and what he wanted with their son.
Even though both Sam and Dean had been in the room with them as Missouri told John what had really happened the night of November second, the youngest Winchester had been fast asleep in his father's arms and Dean had been too young to truly understand what the adults were talking about- a large plate of sugar cookies and cartoons on the television also helped to distract the four-year old as well.
Missouri hadn't been able to tell John everything, but she'd been able to tell him enough.
The monster that had murdered John's wife had been a demon, a very powerful one, something the father had until a little over four weeks ago didn't believe existed.
Holding the infant Sam in her arms, Missouri had been able to tell John that the monster, the demon had infected the baby with its blood. The psychic could sense the evil pulsing through the child's veins along with his human blood.
John, horrified at the revelation, had demanded to know what he could do, how he could fix his son.
Missouri, still cradling the baby, had shaken her head and told John that there was nothing he could do, nothing anyone could do.
They didn't know why Sam had been chosen or for what purpose.
Missouri's words floated back to the hunter as he sat at the kitchen table, as clear as though she were sitting right in front of him:
I can't tell you how the demon blood's gonna affect your boy. All I can do is advise you to raise the child to be good but keep a close eye on him. I don't want to be all doom and gloom but that demon blood may be trouble some day. Then again… the child may surprise you.
Missouri hadn't wanted to give John all bad news but unfortunately, that was all the hunter could think about. He had kept this secret for seventeen years, the only Winchester who knew what exactly was running through his youngest son's veins.
John had tried to raise Sam- and Dean- to have character, to be courageous, loyal, determined, and strong.
And to tell the truth, the hunter had no red flags warning him that his youngest son might be giving in to the demon blood running through his veins. Sure, once Sam hit puberty, it seemed as though he wanted to argue and butt heads with John about everything but the father had been exactly the same way with his mother when he'd been that age.
With Sam close by, John was able to watch him, to watch out for him but when he'd announced his intended to move thousands of miles away for college, the hunter had panicked. If Sam was in California, at Stanford, John couldn't keep an eye on him, something might happen to him, either as a result of the monsters that prowled the darkness or the demon blood.
If his youngest son insisted on staying so far away, John wouldn't be able to protect him, or, God forbid, stop him if he needed to do so.
John had tried to drive the desire to help innocent people into both his sons, especially Sam, in the hopes of creating a sense of compassion that would override the darkness in his boy. The father feared that if Sam stopped hunting, stopped saving people and destroying monsters, that it would unleash the monster within him.
But there was no way the eldest Winchester could tell all of this to his boys. They wouldn't understand and John had no idea how they would react to the news.
John had never intended for Sam to get hurt. He'd just wanted Flint to talk with Sam, convince him in a way that he as the teen's father couldn't, that hunting was worthwhile and needed to be done, that although it was often a thankless job, it was more important to the eighteen-year old than he knew.
The eldest Winchester looked up as Dean stepped into the kitchen.
"You thinking about what you did to Sammy?" his eldest son asked coldly.
John stared blankly at his son.
Dean sneered, "You've been sitting out here for two hours."
The hunter's eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't known that much time had passed since he'd left his sons alone. He didn't speak to Dean as the young man began to search through the kitchen cupboards.
After a few minutes, the twenty-two year old had a saucer on the counter and was shaking a box of soda crackers over it.
"How's Sammy doing?" John asked cautiously.
Dean answered without turning around, "He's asleep."
"That for him?" John spoke again, indicating the crackers.
"He needs to eat something," Dean answered curtly.
Peering into the cupboards again, the young hunter found a can of vegetable soup with alphabet noodles. Opening the can with a hand-held opener found in one of the drawers, Dean dumped the soup into a pot from a lower cupboard and set it on the stove, turning up the gas.
"How much longer do you want to stay?" John asked.
"If Sammy's fever's still under control," Dean began, staring at the soup instead of his father, "I'd like to get out of here tomorrow morning."
John nodded even though his son couldn't see him and didn't speak again to his eldest.
Dean stood tensely, hands gripping the front of the oven.
"You got rid of Flint," he ground out.
"Yeah," John answered, "Couldn't leave him in here like that."
"Gave him a hunter's funeral?"
John nodded before answering, "He was still a hunter, even after what he did to Sam."
The father saw his son's knuckles go white against the enamel finish on the front of the oven.
"Burning the body prevents animals from finding it, as well," John reminded his son, "And the dead from coming back."
"Yeah," Dean said, sarcasm strong in his voice, "That's the last thing Sammy needs right now."
John didn't rise to Dean's bait, as he may have if it had been his youngest who had spoken.
Once the soup was boiling, Dean poured a small amount into a bowl, gathering up the saucer and crackers and snatching a spoon from a drawer before leaving the kitchen without another word.
SPN
Dean wanted to let his brother sleep longer but he knew Sam needed to eat.
Entering the bedroom quietly, Dean set the bowl of soup and saucer of crackers down beside the door before approaching the bed.
"Sammy, wake up man," he murmured and gently touched his brother's hand.
The teen blinked and rolled his eyes upwards.
"I brought you something to eat," Dean told him and Sam sat up slowly.
"Is Dad still here?"
Dean nodded before turning to gather the food he had brought his sibling. Taking the saucer and bowl over to Sam, the older Winchester sat down on the edge of the bed.
"You got it?" Dean asked and Sam nodded, carefully taking the bowl in his hands.
For a long moment Dean watched as his brother stared down at the soup before he spoke again.
"Too hot?"
Sam nodded.
Dean took the bowl and handed him the saucer of soda crackers instead.
"Why don't you have some of these while the soup cools?" Dean suggested and Sam began eating the crackers.
While Sam made short work of the crackers, Dean stirred the soup around, gently blowing on it to help it cool faster, just as he used to do when Sammy had been little.
"Are you feeling better?" Dean asked as his sibling ate.
"Yeah," the teen muttered.
"I want to check out those blisters again," Dean told him, "Make sure they're not getting worse."
Sam didn't respond.
"How long are we staying here?"
Dean met his brother's gaze, "I'd like to get out of here tomorrow in the a.m. if you're feeling up to a car ride."
Sam nodded, "I don't want to stay here anymore."
"We won't go far," the twenty-two year old assured him, "First bit of civilization we see, we'll stop."
Sam had finished the soda crackers so Dean handed him the bowl of vegetable soup, taking the saucer from the teen.
"What's going to happen after?" the eighteen-year old asked and Dean frowned at the question.
"What do you mean?" the young man asked.
"When we leave… what's going to happen to… to me?"
Dean frowned, "All you have to do is focus on getting better, Sammy. Don't worry about anything else."
Sam spooned some soup up and ate it, suddenly quiet.
"What," the older brother hesitated, "What do you want to do?"
Flint had been hired by their father to push Sam back into hunting, to write college off as a frivolous dream, and Dean wanted to know at that moment, if the bastard had actually managed to wheedle his way into his brother's head.
The eighteen-year old didn't answer right away.
"Sam," Dean said, "What do you want to do?"
"I'm full," the teen ignored the question and offered the mostly-full bowl of soup to Dean.
"Sammy," the twenty-two year old said but the younger sibling refused to answer.
"I'm kind of tired, Dean," he muttered and laid down on his side.
The older brother remained where he was, holding the saucer and bowl, at a loss for words.
Sighing, Dean stood and left the room, returning to the kitchen to dump the soup into the sink without rinsing the noodles or veggies down the drain and set the saucer and bowl on the counter unceremoniously.
He barely noticed that John was no longer in the cabin anymore.
Author's Note:
Thanks to WRATH77, Lennelle, SamDeanLover28, whatnosheep, ktdog1, FIGHTTHEFAIRIES, Trucklady53, Sad-Blue-Eyed-Angel 2010, StyxxsOmega, Jenjoremy, Serenity Winchester, babyreaper and Guests for reviewing.
Please leave a review, constant readers, and I will try and update again ASAP.
