Chapter 14: Losing My Religion

That's me in the corner
That's me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don't know if I can do it
Oh no I've said too much
I haven't said enough
I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

But that was just a dream
Try, cry, why try?
That was just a dream
Just a dream
Just a dream, dream

R.E.M. – Losing My Religion

Sam didn't come out of the bathroom for the rest of the day. If anyone called his father, so be it. He was too ashamed and humiliated to move away from the safety and anonymity of the small, stinky stall. It took him a long while to calm down enough to sit up straight without thinking he was going to be sick or faint. A couple of times, he considered leaving his stall and go back to class, pretend nothing had happened, but every time his fingers touched the handle, panic shot through his body and he had trouble breathing – and remaining standing – again. So he just sat it out, waited and counted the hours that crept by. He did some homework, listened to some conversations. He definitely was today's hot topic. That didn't surprise him, with the little – little? – stunt Peter Barcus had pulled. He wondered if it had been just his idea. Probably not. He guessed at least 5 persons must have been in on this. Maybe even more.

Sometime around lunch, he heard his name again. He wanted to block the conversation out, because he didn't think he could handle any more mean things being said about him. But these boys' voices sounded different, softer. Almost compassionate. He held his breath and pressed his ear against the wood.

"… -eriously, poor kid," boy n°1 sighed. The other one hummed in agreement.

"I feel sorry for him, you know," boy n°1 again, "What they did…"

A rustle, like someone shaking their head in disbelief.

"Have the teachers found out who did it yet?" boy n° 2 asked. A disapproving snort from n°1.

"Right… like they're even looking," probably an eye-roll, "You know how it works: they pretend nothing happens, until it really gets out of hand. And then they blame it on you… No, they're still hushing things up."

"He must feel awful," n°2 sighed. The sound of running water in the sink.

"You want to go to the kid and befriend him?" there was a lot of doubt in n°1's voice.

"Hell no," something dropped, a muffled curse, "But still… I really do feel bad for him."

"Feel bad for yourself," n°1 answered, "We went through the same hell. The kid will just have to man up until they find someone new to torture."

"I'm lucky you came to the school," n°2 softly laughed.

"Oh yeah," n°1 managed to sound amused, annoyed and angry at the same time, "You were lucky. They left you alone, but only because they moved on to me."

"Sorry," n°2 said softly.

"It's not you who should apologize," n°1 answered grimly, "Hey Pete, have you seen my-"

N°1 breathed in sharply as the door opened. There was a moment of tense silence.

"Frankenstein, Pete-dead-meat," the newcomer sneered, "How lovely to see you two losers."

Pete and Frank almost ran out of the bathroom and the newcomer laughed. Sam retracted his head from the cold wood. Only three more hours and he could go home. But he wouldn't be able to hide into the safety of the Impala. No. Because Dean – jerk, jerk, jerk, jerk, jerk! – had decided that his friends meant more to him than Sam. Sam balled his fists.

When he walked through the school later that day, long after the final bell had rang, he tried to ignore the stares and the whispers. It had taken him 10 minutes, just to convince himself to open the damn door and go home. His hands were shaking in his pockets and he could feel his eye spasm nervously. He wanted to slap his hand in front of it to hide it from the world, but instead he shook his head a little, so his hair would hide it.

That's why he didn't notice the teacher until he walked into her. He looked up in shock and held his breath, afraid it would be one of the bullies. When he made eye contact with the young woman, she blushed and looked away. She quickly jumped back, as if he'd burned her. Then she almost ran away from him, the high click-clack noises of her heels making his heart ache. Pete and Frank were right. The teachers didn't do anything about it. They tried to ignore it.

When he walked out on the parking lot, the vague hope he'd felt to see the Impala quickly left him. Of course Dean was gone. He'd told him so, hadn't he? He wondered if the Outcasts really were so much better than him. Probably, if Dean decided to trade him for them.

He was very silent that evening. He didn't talk to Dean and barely said a word to his father. When his father asked him what was wrong, he told him he was just tired. So his dad let him go to bed early and Dean and John moved to his dad's room, so Sam would be able to sleep. Only, he wasn't able to sleep. Even though he was really tired.

He listened to his father and Dean's voices from the room next door. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but he could hear Dean laughing. He sighed and rolled over. He tried to think about nice things, like having a mother and living in one place for his whole life and having really cool friends at school. He shook his head when those thoughts only managed to make him sad.

When he heard the door open later that evening, he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He didn't want to talk to Dean. Dean was no longer on his side. He listened to his brother movements in the bathroom and traced his steps around the room. His bed creaked when he lay down and he sighed. Sam wanted to sigh as well.

Dean mumbled something and Sam could feel him staring at him. But he didn't open his eyes. He didn't need Dean to tell him how much of a loser he was. Surely, Dean must have seen the cute little pamphlets they had made at school. But as long as Dean didn't start about it, he wasn't going to bring it up. It was humiliating enough as it was. What if Dean had told dad?

Oh God… what if Dean had told dad?

His breath hitched at the thought and he restlessly kicked his covers off. His breath sped up a little and he rolled on his stomach, trying to hide his face in his pillow. Was that what Dean and dad had been laughing about? Had they been making fun of him?

Tears welled up in his eyes, but he pressed his face harder in his pillow so they wouldn't escape. He didn't want to cry. Not with Dean right next to him. Dean already thought he was a weak loser anyway. Why else would he trade him for other people?

He wished he was more like Dean. Strong and brave and kind.

Well, not that kind lately. But that must be teenage hormones. And the fact that Sam was a big crybaby loser who didn't deserve Dean to be kind to him. He'd be embarrassed too if he had a little brother like himself.

He could hear his breath shaking and wondered if Dean could hear it too. He hoped Dean couldn't hear it. Please, don't let Dean hear it.

Eventually, Sam heard Dean fall asleep. He pushed himself up a little to look at his big brother and sighed again. He wanted to reach out and touch him. Dean would be able to ground him, to keep him from spinning out of control and going crazy. But he couldn't do that. Dean would break his hand if he tried to touch him in his sleep. He'd once almost broken dad's fingers when he had been ill and dad had been trying to feel his forehead for a fever. It had been an accident, of course. Dad had startled him.

He lay back down and stared at the ceiling. Maybe he should pray. Pastor Jim had taught him to pray and had told him stories about God. When he was younger and he was lonely or sad or didn't know what to do and Dean hadn't been there to guide him, he used to press his small hands together and talk to the God high in the clouds. He'd never told Dean and he hadn't done it in a long time. He wondered if God had repudiated him as well. Like Dean had. But Pastor Jim had told him that God would never do that to anyone. He had believed the same thing about Dean once.

He knitted his fingers together and closed his eyes, breathing out slowly. He waited, his mind coming up blank. He didn't know what to say. Didn't know what to do.

I'm lost.

He opened his eyes again and looked up at the ceiling. His eyes were burning again.

Please help me.

I don't know what to do.

I'm scared.

He was shaking again. He wanted to pull the covers over him again, but didn't want to lose the connection he was making, didn't want to move.

Dean.

A tear escaped his eye and slowly rolled into his hair. He sniffed.

I'm scared Dean.

I need you.

Another tear fell, faster.

I'm sorry I can't be more like you Dean.

He could feel sobs building up, tried to silence them. If Dean woke up…

I need help.

I'm lost.

Please.

Please help me.

Dean groaned in his sleep and rolled over. He had to be more silent! Had to finish the moment.

Please don't stop loving me.

Please don't hate me.

Amen.

It wasn't until he unwrapped his fingers and pulled his blankets over him again that he realized that his little prayer hadn't been so much directed to God, but to Dean. It wouldn't hurt if God had heard it too though. Maybe He could help him a little. Maybe He still loved him.

He didn't feel warm and overly loved though. He felt cold and lonely and miserable. His prayers used to make him feel better.

He brushed his tears away and looked at the alarm clock. It was three in the morning. Four more hours and he would have to get out of his bed. Then he would have to go back to school and face the teachers and the students and Dean. Dean and his friends who all thought he was just a burden.

Dean thought he was nothing more than a burden.

When had that happened? Had it always been like that? Had he just never noticed before?

Around 5.30 in the morning, Sam gave up. He wouldn't be able to fall asleep anymore, so why bother staying in bed? Lying in bed just made him feel more depressed. He had to do something. Anything. He tiptoed to the bathroom and took a long shower. Only a couple more hours until he had to go back to school.

He almost slipped and fell when he furiously shook his head and his arms flew up in a helpless way. He wanted to scream. Don't think about school. He had to go anyway, so don't think about it. Just let it happen.

He ate maybe two spoonfuls of breakfast cereals. He wasn't hungry. Hadn't been for a long time now. A dull headache was throbbing behind his eyes, caused by the lack of sleep. When his father came to wake them, Sam saw the surprise in his eyes when he found Sam at the kitchen table, researching. He cocked his eyebrow and Sam shrugged.

"Couldn't sleep," he mumbled and went back to work. Well, that wasn't a lie, was it?

He could convince himself that he wouldn't have to go to school, until they were in the car. He told himself Dean was driving them to Uncle Bobby, or Pastor Jim. Maybe they were going somewhere case-related. It wasn't until they were halfway between the motel and the school that it hit him with a vengeance. He was going to school. He was going to have to face everyone. And he was alone.

His heart was beating loudly and painfully in his chest and he could hear himself staring to pant, unable to slow down his fast breathing. He felt dizzy and everything swam in front of him, pulsating like a heartbeat, growing bigger and faster. Thick saliva pooled in his mouth and his stomach churned.

There was nowhere he could run, nowhere he could hide. He would have to go to school and he would have to sit in class, knowing that everyone – everyone! – had seen the flyers. He bonked his head against the window, without fully realizing he was doing so. His stomach roiled again and his hand flew to his mouth. It wavered halfway, not wanting to alert Dean, and he pressed his knuckles against his chin.

But he wouldn't be able to hide this. He wasn't going to make it to the school and if he didn't ask Dean to pull over, he was going to hurl all over the car. And he didn't want to be the one to tell his father that he had ruined the upholstery. So he had no choice, he had to tell Dean.

"Pull over," he choked out. Dean's head snapped in his direction and he opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it when he saw the state Sam was in. He quickly pulled over and Sam threw the door open, launching himself out of the car and into the fresh air. He retched and spluttered and almost cried. But most importantly, he didn't feel Dean's hand on his back. There were no soothing circles, no kind words. Nothing.

Dean was sitting rigidly in the driver's seat, staring in front of him. He didn't know what to do, didn't know if his brother still wanted him around. Apparently the kid was even keeping secrets that he didn't know about. He had not told his awesome big brother Dean, but all the other children at school knew all the details. I mean, he didn't know a thing, but the others knew enough to spread freaking pamphlets about it. Why would Sam agree to that anyway?

But maybe Sam hadn't agreed to it.

Then still, he was keeping secrets. And no matter how you looked at it, he hadn't told Dean a thing, which meant he didn't trust Dean anymore. Didn't need him anymore. He didn't want to be a pain in his little brother's ass by constantly hovering over him and not letting him grow up. Dad had warned him that if he kept smothering Sam, he'd turn out hating him. His teenage years were important and rebellious. He had to let Sam go his own path.

When Sam climbed back in the car, pale and sweating, leaning heavily against his seat, Dean didn't ask if he was okay. Because obviously, he wasn't. He wondered if he had to drive back and make sure Sam stayed in bed and had a bucket and warm soup nearby. If he was coming down with something and would be reduced to a feverish, shivering mess, Dean would be allowed to mother hen his little brother. Should he ask him if he was good enough to go to school? Maybe he should.

"You good?" it came out snappier than he had intended. He could see Sam swallowing and heard him take in a deep breath.

"Fine," Sam sounded a little hoarse. He cleared his throat. Okay then, Dean thought. Sam would tell him if he wasn't fine, wouldn't he? Sure he would.

When Dean finally pulled into the parking lot of their school, he jumped out of the car and away from the awkward silent treatment Sam was giving him. He waved at his friends and smiled, feeling relieved. Sam took too long getting out of the car. What was wrong with the kid anyway?

"Get out, Sam," he sighed. He didn't have time for this. He wanted to go to the Outcasts and feel welcome and loved again. He wanted to wallow in that feeling, making it last forever. Sam did as he was told and walked away from him, eyes cast at the ground under his feet. Dean didn't notice how pale Sam looked. How young and terrified he looked.

Sam was able to lay low until lunch. He hadn't locked himself up in the bathroom for once, needing the fresh air and the thought that he would be able to run away from this school if he really wanted to. It gave him a weird sense of power over the whole situation, the thought that he could leave it all behind, whenever he wanted to.

The teachers had ignored him completely. Those kids from yesterday had been right, Sam realized. The children were worse than ever.

"Hey Lose-Chester!" Gary yelled when he was crossing the grass field towards the pond. Sam froze and he felt his eyes grow comically large. They darted around, looking for a way out. But there was no way out. It seemed like everyone was closing in on him, excited to see what was going to happen next.

"Lose-Chester!" Gary yelled again, closer this time. Sam turned around slowly. If he couldn't flee…

He was almost turned around, when Gary's fat hand connected with his shoulder and pushed him backwards. Sam stumbled and lost his footing, falling to the floor. Not having slept and barely having eating in a few days was taking its toll on his body. He scraped his hands and remained on the floor for a few seconds. Someone cheered, Gary sneered.

"Looooose- Chester," he laughed and kicked Sam in his ribs. What happened next, happened so fast that Sam wouldn't be able to retell it later. He saw red and he heard an animalistic growl, not realizing that it was him who was screaming. He pushed himself up from the ground and threw himself at Gary. The kid's eyes grew big and he stumbled when Sam's fist connected with his nose. He was a trained hunter, he could take bastards like Gary.

Sam was still screaming as he slammed his elbow in Gary's kidneys and his knee into his groin. That was when he felt someone grab him from behind. Sam spun around and threw his fist at the newcomer, but the guy was bigger than him and grabbed his skinny arm, twisting it around his back. He groaned in pain when he twisted it a little too far and fought with all his might, kicking backwards in an attempt to break his attacker's legs. Someone else grabbed his other arm, and he wasn't able to do much other than squirm. They dragged him backwards and he lost his balance. Only their strong arms kept him upright.

He saw Gary coming at him again, having recovered a little from Sam's knee. The look in Gary's eyes was murderous and Sam saw stars when the meaty fist connected with his temple. For a moment, all sound fell away, but then it came back, louder than ever. People were screaming, cheering. Gary was growling. One of the boys who were holding him upright was laughing a deep, booming laugh. Gary hit his ribs, hard, and Sam could hear his breath whoosh out of him. He was gasping and tried doubling over, but that was impossible with the two jocks holding him up. He could handle Gary, but he couldn't handle two guys holding him up and a third pounding in on him. More fists and shoes landed on his body and somewhere during the assault the two let him go and he fell to the floor. More people joined into the kicking fest and Sam curled in on himself. It was to no avail anyway. He wouldn't be able to win this fight. Not without backup. Not if these were just normal, mean kids that he couldn't shoot.

He closed his eyes and let it happen.

Dean had been sitting at the pond with his friends, laughing and talking, when he noticed the commotion. He was halfway getting up, when Amy grabbed his wrist and pulled him down again.

"Let it be," she said.

"What's going on?" Dean asked.

"They're probably just beating someone up," Paco shrugged and sighed, "Again."

"Shouldn't we… you know… step in or something?" Dean felt the urge to go up there and play hero, save the kid who was the victim.

"It's no use," Alexis said softly, "They beat up kids all the time."

"Where are the teachers when that happens?"

"They don't bother anymore," Daniel looked disapproving.

"They don't bother anymore…" Dean repeated softly, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I don't know if you've noticed," Amy said, touching a fading bruise on her arm briefly, "But this is not a very nice community."

"What do you mean?"

"The murders? I'm not surprised that's happening," Amy breathed out slowly, "Kids get bullied here. Like, really, seriously, go-kill-yourself-bullied. If you don't have someone on your side here, you're dead meat. And if you're new or a little weird or just basically not average, no one will choose your side. We stick together, because none of us are average, but I guess you noticed that already." She gave him a weak smile.

"This is not a nice town, Dean," Alexis confirmed, "This town will kill you, if you're not careful."

"Like it killed those girls?" Dean asked softly. The others shrugged. They looked at the cheering crowd again. They were slowly departing again, leaving one kid lying on the floor.

"And no one does a thing about it?" he asked again, incredulously. They shook their heads.

"No," Paco said and he touched a small scar Dean hadn't noticed before, "Because if you do, you're next."

Not the perfect song for the chapter, but I've always liked that song ^^ REM was actually the first band I was a fan of :) The first CD I ever bought with my own money was their Best Of album ^^

Okay, quick question... so I have academic English this year and we were seeing rethoric on monday and there was this word 'Hyperbole' and my teacher and I sort of disagree on how to pronounce it ^^ (not that I told her that of course ^^ ) So, I'd say HY-per-bowl (because that sounds a lot like the Dutch pronounciation ^^) and she says hy-PER-bo-lee ... I fear that she's right - because she IS the teacher - but still... I like to think that I'm right... ;) But since there are a few native English speakers among my readers, I wondered if you could help me out :)

And I got so many reviews for the last chapter! You guys really are amazing :D

See you next sunday :)

- Lune x