Cracked Mirrors and Empty Doorways

by l0w3l

Sam quit hunting two years ago to live with his boyfriend. When Dean comes to visit, he has a difficult time covering up the dark secrets of their relationship. Dean wants to save him, but Sam isn't ready to be helped. Hurt/Comfort. Angst with a Happy Ending. Sam Whump. Brotherly love. No Wincest. Brief Destiel. TW: Domestic Assault and Rape

Summary: Sam quit hunting two years ago to live with his boyfriend. When Dean comes to visit, he has a difficult time covering up the dark secrets of their relationship. Dean wants to save him, but Sam isn't ready to be helped. Hurt/Comfort. Angst with a Happy Ending. Sam Whump. Brotherly love. No Wincest. Brief Destiel.

TW: Domestic Assault/Abuse/Violence, Rape, PTSD, (Mentioned) Abusive John Winchester

---

Sam was quite literally worried sick. Multiple times he found himself hunched over the toilet, dry heaving. The anxiety wasn't limited to his stomach; his chest was tight and his heartbeat palpable. It shouldn't be such a big deal - just a visit from his brother. But it wasn't that simple at all.

Sam was crouching on the bathroom counter with his face inches away from a cracked mirror, face screwed up in concentration. He picked up a little container, it was thin and cylindrical, full of a liquid that matched his skin tone flawlessly. He rhythmically applied it, covering his face with the concealer and paying close attention to his right eye. The swelling had gone down and the plum color was beginning to fade. He could do a near perfect job contouring the bruise but the swelling was a dead give-away.

Cycling steadily through the layers of make-up, he finished in a little over thirty minutes. He could have stayed in that bathroom much longer, fixating on the black eye, but he tore himself away with a stern reminder that his brother would be here within the hour and he had no time to spare. Sam scurried through the house to the bedroom and began dressing in the clothes he had laid out earlier: a long-sleeve flannel, a pair of blue jeans, and worn out boots. He dressed in the same hurried manner he had been in since the phone call.

There was no one in the world he wanted to see more than his big brother, but there was no one he wanted to hide his situation from more either. Dean wouldn't- couldn't possibly understand.

Sam realized he had stopped getting ready and was instead staring blankly into nothing, allowing his thoughts to consume him. He sighed deeply before continuing his preparation. There was only so much he could do. The broken mirror couldn't be repaired nor the doors put back on their hinges, but he could scrub the house and make it look as normal as possible. When he had finished, he ran a hand through his messy hair. Dean would be here any minute, but so would Mick.

Mick had been less than enthused about Dean's impromptu visit. Sam tried to soothe him as much as possible, telling him he had tried to say no and apologizing profusely.

The waiting was the hardest part. He fidgeted uncomfortably on the couch while frequently peering out the window, but somehow the knock managed to scare him anyways.

Sam walked to the front door, pausing for a beat to take a final deep breath.

He swung the cheap, dirty door open and there stood Dean in all his glory. He wore a huge, wolfish grin and before Sam could even greet him, he was being pulled into a bear hug.

When Dean pulled away, he examined Sam.

"Look at you, all grown up," he teased.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Still waiting on you to," he replied as Dean walked into the single-wide trailer.

Dean punched him on the arm playfully, but Sam automatically shrank back at the touch. He cursed himself for the involuntary tell when he saw Dean's eyes narrow before returning to his warm expression.

Dean looked almost entirely the same, right down to his signature leather jacket and plaid shirt. Only his hair was much shorter, like he had buzzed it off recently. He only had one duffle that he carried over his shoulder.

"Uh, this is the couch- it folds out," Sam indicated for Dean to put his bag down. Sam watched while he tossed the bag lazily beside the furniture and jumped comically on the couch into a lying position.

"I haven't heard back from you in a long time," Dean said, gazing up at Sam, "You were starting to worry me, kid," he sat up and stretched.

Sam looked down at his feet with embarrassment. His brother knew full well he had been blowing him off.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean stood up and moved forwards. Sam looked anxiously up to meet his gaze. Dean wore a serious expression but when Sam met his eyes he smiled, reaching out with a hand to cup Sam's cheek, "It's alright, Sammy."

Sam flashed a small smile.

Dean drew away and began sauntering towards the kitchen nook. "So what have you got to eat in this place anyways? I'm starving," Dean turned on heels and grinned at Sam, "Actually we should go out to eat! It's not all the time I get to see my little brother."

Sam felt a pang of guilt. "I'd have to see how Mick feels."

Dean shrugged. Sam knew he had never taken to Mick and the feeling was mutual. Mick had mentioned more than once his distaste for Dean with his brutish behavior and cocky attitude.

"He'll be here soon," Sam said, checking his watch.

Dean was leaning up against the kitchen counter and met Sam's eyes.

"So, do you know what you're after?" Sam asked, forcing away the silence.

"What?" Dean replied blankly

Sam raised an eyebrow. "The hunt?"

Dean nodded. "Not totally sure but it could be a shape-shifter. I need to get more intel. I've got some leads to follow tomorrow."

It had been about two years since Sam's last hunt. Sometimes it felt like months and sometimes it felt like decades. Today it was the latter. He tried to draw on his knowledge of the creatures but failed.

Dean spared him. "Nothing for you to worry about though. Anyways, where's the bathroom?"

Sam's heart fell in his chest. "First door on the right," he gestured to the hall. Each step Dean took down the hall sounded like a siren.

"Heyo, Sammy, quick question," Dean had reached the threshold, "where did all the doors go?"

Sam put a hand over his face. "We're in between doors right now," he tried to joke, but Dean looked quizzically back, "We are just remodeling some stuff."

Dean didn't reply, just went back to the bathroom. Sam panicked before remembering he had carefully packed away his face make-up. He sat himself down and stared at his clammy hands, trying his best to keep the bile from climbing up his throat.

Sam was shaken suddenly from his daydreaming by clicking in the door that had him jumping to his feet. A tall man wearing a stained white T-shirt and loose-fitting, black slacks opened the door.

"Mick," Sam said automatically.

"The door was unlocked," Mick stated with an edge to his voice.

"Dean just got here. I forgot to lock it after him, I guess. Sorry," Sam offered in a low voice.

"How many times do I have to tell you to lock the goddamn door?" he asked, not bothering to match Sam's hushed tone.

"I said I was sorry, Mick-"

Dean had re-appeared in the living room, standing between the middle of the pair. "Hey, Mickey."

Mick glowered at Dean. "It's Mick. It's always been Mick."

Dean tsked. "Right, right. Always forget that one."

Sam groaned to himself; he couldn't let the situation deteriorate this quickly. "Dean and I were talking about going out to eat tonight. What do you think?"

"I just got home, Sam," he sounded annoyed, but when he saw Dean's judgmental expression, he made a sour face, "but that sounds great, babe," he added in a saccharine voice.

Sam felt the sickness rising back up. "Great."

[some time later]

The restaurant was one of those aimed at having a family friendly look, featuring bottle caps, sports equipment, antique photographs, and not two consecutive inches of uncovered wall. Oldie hits played on the restaurant speakers and the soft lights created a laid-back atmosphere. However their party of three was stiff and out of place. Dean sat on one side of the booth, temporarily distracted by the menu that he hungrily surveyed, while Sam and Mick sat on the other. Sam was painfully aware of everything - where he was looking, how Mick was moving, the seconds between the server's presence.

Dean gazed up from his menu at Sam. "You know what you want?"

"Oh, yeah," Sam shifted in his seat. He could feel both of their eyes on him and was relieved by the server walking towards them.

"Hi, I'm Daniel. I'll be your server tonight," he recited, "Can I get you something to drink?"

"I'll take a chocolate shake and a Coke," Mick stared at Dean who was seemingly oblivious while he smiled kindly at the waiter, "Thanks."

"Get me an iced tea," Mick had a difficult time hiding the irritation in his voice.

Sam was glad to have someone else to look at. "Just water is fine," he flashed a weak smile.

"I'll be right back with those."

Sam knew that no matter how long Daniel took it would feel like ages with this tension.

"So," Mick began. Dean looked bored. "What is it exactly that brought you to Magnolia?"

"I travel all around for my work."

"Oh yeah, your work. Remind me what you do again," Mick bore holes in Dean.

"I'm a bathtub salesman," No one laughed.

"Dean's a P.I., you know that," Sam said. He immediately wanted to bite his tongue when Mick shot his venomous glare at Sam.

"Of course. What a crazy coincidence that you have a job in the same place Sam moved to."

"It's a bit of a commute from here, but it's worth it to see my bro," said Dean. Sam couldn't help but smile. Mick snorted and Sam immediately curled into himself and looked ashamedly down. The music in the background and the hum of the restaurant somehow couldn't stop the deafening quiet Sam sensed between them. It was a relief to see the waiter appear with a platter of drinks. He set them down methodically before withdrawing a little pencil and notepad from the apron tied around his waist. "What can I get for you?"

"I'll take the Hawaiian bacon burger, extra onions," Dean handed over the menu, adding, "Thank you."

"And for you?" Daniel addressed Mick this time.

"Steak, rare. And a chicken salad for him," Mick was as curt and sharp as always.

"Oka-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Dean perked up in his seat, "What are you doing? Why are you ordering for him? Why's he ordering for you?"

Sam could feel his face turning pink.

"It's none of your business," Mick snapped.

"You speak for him too?"

"Dean, it's not like that," Sam protested.

"What's it like then, Sam?" he pointed at Mick, "He can talk, you know. You don't need to do that for him."

Mick was on the edge of his seat, face bright red and looking like he was going to burst. Sam tried to soothe, reaching for his forearm. "Mick, please," he murmured. Mick shoved Sam away. He was on his feet in a second.

"Screw you!"

Dean didn't stand. Sam hadn't noticed when, but his brother no longer looked like he was about to yell and instead was frowning furtively. Mick paused for a beat, like he was waiting for Dean to respond and when he didn't, stormed away.

Daniel's mouth had fallen open. "I-I'll come back," he said while backing away.

"Fuck, Dean," Sam said, exasperated.

"What? Why are you mad at me?"

"You know how he gets. Why do you have to agitate him?"

"Are you kidding me? I don't agitate him. He agitates himself."

Sam rolled his eyes. "That's not true."

"Yes it is and you're kidding yourself pretending it's not."

"You don't even know him."

"I know enough," said Dean.

Sam felt blood rush to his head. "What does that mean? You never gave him a chance."

"What kind of chance do I need to give the guy who's beating on my little brother?"

Sam stared in shock at his older sibling.

"Yeah, I know. Of course I know. I should have come sooner. I'm so sorry, Sam," he took Sam's silence as an indication to continue, "Come back with me-"

"Seriously?" Sam barked, "I don't need to be rescued. I don't need your help."

"Why, Sammy?" his voice was pleading.

Sam could feel salty substance forming in his eyes, misting his vision. All of his anxieties were coming true.

"I love him."

"Sam-"

Sam slid down the booth and stood up. "Let's go home. I've got to calm my fiancé down." He slapped some money on the table and didn't wait to see Dean follow him.

[some time later]

It had long since turned dark outside. The bright lights in the house hurt Sam's eyes when he entered. Dean followed close behind in a huff. Sam tried to inconspicuously lock the door behind him, but Dean shot him an obvious look. Sam tried not to care as he pulled out the futon.

"I'm starving," Dean remarked.

Sam sighed. "Just give me a minute, alright."

He walked down the hall, through the doorway into their bedroom to find that Mick was already sitting on the bed, face buried in his phone.

"Babe," Sam climbed into the bed next to his boyfriend, "I'm sorry. Some people don't get our dynamic," he whispered.

Mick just continued messing with his phone.

"I'm going to make some food for my brother," he resigned.

Dean was waiting in the kitchen for Sam when he came out, inspecting the contents of the fridge.

"Just help yourself why don't you?"

Dean looked up. "I would if there was anything good."

Sam walked behind him to the pantry. "Whatever. I'm hungry too. I'm fucking eating," he knew Dean was raising an eyebrow; Sam wasn't one to curse and there was an uncharacteristic edge to his voice. He came back with burger buns and a can of beans and together the brothers cooked a decent, if not plain, meal. Dean kept up light conversation, asking Sam about his work and how he lived in such a podunk town and offering his usual brotherly gibes. Sam was glad for the brief moment of ease. When they finished, Sam prepared a plate.

"One sec," Sam said as he headed towards the bedroom, "Hey, Mick," his voice was gentle and affectionate, but nervous, as if testing the waters. This time, Mick blessed Sam with a glance. "I made some food if you're hungry."

Mick accepted the plate and Sam was grateful, but the reassurance rapidly dissipated when Mick spat out, "Aren't you supposed to be on a diet?"

"I'm not eating," Sam answered. His stomach growled in protest. Realizing this attempt to regain his spot in Mick's good graces was futile, Sam retreated to the front room where Dean was inhaling his food. He passed his brother, opening the front door and trying hard to avoid eye contact, but his older brother was not one to let things go.

"Where are you going?" Dean interrupted Sam's departure. Sam cringed at the phrase; it was something Mick demanded to know often.

"Don't make a big deal about this," Sam said steadily, "I'm going out for a smoke."

"You smoke?" Dean was incredulous.

"Look, I didn't want you to find out, but I haven't had a cigarette in hours and you're both giving me stomach ulcers so I'm having a smoke if you like it or not."

Dean put up his hands in defeat. "Okay, calm down. I'll come with you."

Sam allowed Dean to join him on the dingy porch despite his hope to get a break from the stress of socialization. As Sam settled into one of the patio chairs, he withdrew a lighter and pack from his pocket, extracting a long, thin cigarette, placing it on his lips, and lighting it with a deep, thirsty inhale. The smoke filling his lungs felt like a breath expelling all the anxiety in his chest. For a moment he didn't even care about the judgmental looks Dean was flashing in his peripheral.

"So when did you start smoking?"

Sam took a minute to answer, still sucking smoke into his lungs. "About six months ago. Picked it up from Mick, then he finally quits after ten years," he shakes his head at the thought.

"Why do you smoke?"

Sam leaned his head back and looked at the stars. "You're making a big deal out of this. It just helps with stress. I'm going to stop soon."

"What are you so stressed about?" Dean pressed on.

"Just work."

"I thought you said work was good. Aren't you a pharmacist?"

"Just because I don't hunt monsters doesn't mean I can't be stressed," Sam countered.

Dean didn't reply, instead watched Sam closely with a tight frown and furrowed brow.

Sam sighed. "It's not what you think. He doesn't hit me. Really. I know how it looks, but we're both just in a tough place right now."

"What does that mean?"

Sam paused, unwilling to relinquish the answer, but eventually conceded. "Money's tight," he tried to sound convincing, but Dean sensed that it was only half the truth.

"That's not it though," Dean stated, blunt as ever.

This time Sam reacted with more than exasperation; his face contorted with pain and he looked away from his brother's prying eyes. "No… It's not. A few months ago Mick and I…" Dean allowed Sam to lapse into silence as he searched for words, "... We had some issues in our relationship. It's okay now - we worked it out."

Dean waited for more information to be offered up, but when it was not, he took the initiative to drive the conversation forward. "What kind of issues?"

"Don't hate Mick, okay? He felt terrible and we worked it out."

"Sam, what happened?" Dean growled.

"Nothing, he just slept with someone."

"How is that nothing? He cheated on you? Why are you still here?"

"Everyone has problems in their relationship. Really it helped us realize what we mean to each other."

"The guy sleeps around and you praise him? Are you kidding me?" He nearly shouted.

"I'm not praising him, I'm just saying we worked through it," Sam was looking anywhere but Dean's piercing stare.

"And you're marrying this guy? Why, Sammy?"

Sam looked sourly into the night. "You're going to have to get over this, Dean. I did, and he's my boyfriend. You don't have to like Mick - I know you don't. But you have to accept him. I'm going to spend the rest of my life with him so you're going to have to get used to it."

Dean retaliated instantly. "Why are there no doors in your house? Why is the mirror broken? Why are your drawers full of concealer? Why do you flinch when I touch you? Why do you let Mick walk on you and order for you and tell you what to do?" Dean exploded.

"You went through my drawers!"

"Oh please, Sam," he dismissed the protest, "Be honest with me. Does he hurt you?"

"No!" Sam cried, throwing the rest of his cigarette on the ground and smashing it down with his foot, he added, "I'm going to bed. Good night," before storming to his room without another glance at Dean.

[some time later]

Sam had fallen asleep beside Mick long ago. The late hours of the night were lit only by the glow of the alarm clock and the brief headlights of passing cars filtering through the window. Sam had been dreaming when he was roused by hands on his body. He faced away from Mick who was spooned behind him. He came to consciousness, feeling Mick's callous hands, one slid up his shirt and the other down his boxers.

"Mick," Sam whispered, "we can't. My brother's right down the hall."

Mick's fingers grazed the skin on Sam's thighs teasingly. "Then be quiet."

"Really, please. Not right now," Sam's voice was barely audible. Mick made no move to stop, but rather twisted Sam's nipple and cupped his dick. Sam felt himself hardening involuntarily. The electrifying touch stimulated his body.

"Mick," Sam pleaded.

"Come on, I'll forgive you for everything you did today if you're my good little boy."

Sam sighed and tried to relax his body. Mick withdrew his hand from Sam's shirt and held his fingers in front of Sam's mouth. "Suck," he ordered and Sam obeyed, taking his middle and index finger in his mouth and sucking and licking them. "Good boy," Mick murmured, and Sam couldn't help that his heart fluttered from the praise. Mick took his wet fingers and slid them down the back of Sam's boxers, feeling for his hole. He ran his fingers around at first, then slid the first finger in, pushing slowly and deeply as far as it would go. Sam gasped softly, weak to Mick's hands. He could feel Mick's erection against him as he dove another finger in. This time Sam's body bucked. He closed his eyes tight, allowing Mick to take over completely. Mick slid down Sam's underwear with his other hand before fondling his erection once more. The fingers swirled around inside of him, pressing against his sensitive spot. He tried hard to quiet his moans. When a third finger went in and Mick began playing with Sam's balls at the same time, he moaned loudly, before slapping a hand over his mouth. Mick chuckled behind him. Mick felt the precum on Sam's tip and wetted his fingers with it before drawing it to Sam's mouth, "Suck," he ordered again. Sam paused, unwilling but still desperate to settle the fight between them, he did as he was told and sucked Mick's fingers up and down, sliding his hot tongue around and between the fingers. "Oh my," Mick sounded pleased and Sam was glad. It was then that Mick momentarily drew away and the absence of his warmth ached, but just as quickly Mick had his body against Sam's again and he knew that Mick had retrieved the lube and was about to push into him. One strong hand held Sam's waist. He felt the tip pressing against his entrance, then pushing as Mick's dick entered him. Mick was big so he had to move painstakingly slowly at first. Each centimeter he pushed in lit up Sam's whole body with pleasure. It took a great effort to not gasp and moan out. When Mick was entirely inside of him, Sam's body bucked and twitched desperately. When Mick withdrew then pushed back in again he bit his lip until it bled. With greater speed and vigor each time, Mick shoved himself inside Sam. Little noises escaped Sam, but Mick only released deep moans in his lover's ear and a fuck that's good or Jesus, you're tight sprinkled in. Each praise was orgasmic in itself to Sam. There was never a time he felt more wanted by Mick then when they were having sex.

As Mick quickened his pace, he held Sam's hips in place, each penetration sounding with a slap against Sam's skin. Sam's eyes watered from the painful pleasure, feeling like he was about to explode when Mick pushed himself as deep as he could go in Sam and held him there. Sam could feel the warmth filling up inside him and he allowed himself to come too. Mick groaned happily as he pulled out of Sam for the last time. He receded to his side of the bed and closed his eyes to settle into rest. Sam felt the wave of shame coming for what had just taken place and hurried to the bathroom to clean himself up. When he finished he let himself melt to the floor and felt tears welling up in his eyes. The shame flooded him like a monsoon; he had violated some sort of respect for his brother by committing this act near his sleeping form and he had acquiesced to Mick yet again when he hadn't intended to. He hated himself for allowing it to happen, loathed every fiber of his being for the weak and pathetic nature he possessed now. He pulled his knees close to his chest, leaned against the wall, and wept, trying hard to mute the sobs wracking his body. He thought of how he had let his brother down: when he first quit hunting or moved in with Mick or never answered his calls. Just today, with the smoking and adultery admission. Sam allowed himself to ruminate in the pain, going over in his mind all the atrocities he had committed over the past two years. He had let his brother down just like he had let his dad down, and nowadays all he seemed to do was let Mick down. He remembered how happy they were together at first and lamented whatever he had done to ruin their happiness. Sam buried his face further into his knees so that he didn't notice the figure appearing in the doorway. He didn't detect the presence until a tender hand came to rest on his shoulder. Sam jumped back at the touch, shrinking down with his hands up in a pathetic attempt to protect himself. Embarrassment flooded Sam upon realizing what he had just done was in front of his brother.

"Sammy?"

Sam scrambled back up and wiped a hand across his face, a fruitless effort to hide his tears.

"I'm sorry," Sam whimpered, not even sure what he was apologizing for, but sincere nonetheless.

Dean just wrapped his arms around the frail boy in reply, his embrace a comfort that Sam had long since forgotten. The younger man folded into the touch, nuzzling his face into Dean's shoulder and wrapping his skinny arms around him. Sam allowed himself to cry there, in the safety of his big brother's arms, feeling safe and protected for the first time in years. When he finally drew back, he attempted again to wipe the tears and repeated his apology.

"Why are you sorry? What's going on?"

Sam trembled. "I don't want to lie to you, Dean."

"So don't."

Sam shook his head.

"Please."

"I wanted to call you. I really did. So badly. And I wanted to tell you, but I was ashamed," Sam began rambling, but his face turned suddenly darker and the small amount he had calmed down disappeared as he burst once again into furious tears.

"It's okay! I'm not mad. Just tell me what's going on," his voice was soft and calming.

Sam was pressed against his chest and he could feel the boy nodding. Sam knew Mick was a heavy sleeper, but was struck with fear that he would wake up and see this.

"Can we go outside?" Sam managed.

"Sure," Dean replied, waiting patiently for Sam to get to his feet.

Once on the porch, Sam lit up and was thankful for Dean not shooting him any reproachful looks. They sat in silence for a few minutes until Dean became fed up with waiting.

"I need you to tell me what's really happening here," his tone was totally calm and flat, but they both knew the statement was loaded.

Sam stifled another cry, and when he finally answered, his voice was tight and small. "Sometimes, when Mick and I fight, things get a little physical," he spoke deliberately, then slowly rolled up his sleeves. He displayed his arms for his brother to see. Dean's face dropped in horror at the sight: purple bruises covered his skin. They were swollen and the skin was broken in some places.

Dean released a guttural growl. "I'm gonna-"

"No," Sam interrupted, rescinding his arms, "No, please. Don't do this. Not right now. I don't want a big fight right now," if it weren't for the hollow echo of his words and the despondent look in his eyes, Dean would never have given in, Sam knew. His hands were tight fists and his face was dark with pure hatred, but somehow that pleading voice broke through and he remained still.

"What happened tonight?"

Sam surveyed Dean's expression. "What?"

"You were sobbing on the bathroom floor. Something must have happened," if Dean hadn't been sure, the sick look on Sam's face was a dead give away, "What happened?" He said seriously, in a tone that Sam couldn't deny.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't want to… but still…"

"What did he do to you?" Dean sounded murderous.

"No- it's not like he raped me. I could have stopped it, I just didn't want to get into a big fight again. I'm sorry," he apologized for the umpteenth time.

"I'm gonna fuckin' shoot him," Dean stood up and started towards the car.

"No! No!" Sam grabbed Dean's arm, "Please stop, I'm just being dramatic! Please don't hurt him."

At this, Dean swiveled to look Sam in the eyes, "He say that to you? That you're dramatic? Is that why you let him use you? You believe everything he says?" Sam was shocked still by the cutting words. Dean pulled his arm away and headed for the Impala.

"I'll never forgive you if you hurt him," Sam shouted, coming back to his senses when he saw that Dean had opened the trunk and was locating his gun.

"I think I can live with that," Dean snorted.

"I swear to God, Dean, you'll have to kill me if you wanna get to him."

Dean laughed out loud at this and once again turned his attention to Sam. "What is wrong with you? Why are you with this prick? Seriously, Sam. I can't wrap my head around it. After everything we've been through and you let some guy toss you around?"

"You're throwing a tantrum over nothing. Christ. It's not like Dad didn't slap us around a bit."

"Yeah and you hated him."

"I didn't hate him."

"And punishing a kid's a lot different."

"Why?"

"Do you hear yourself?" Dean was livid.

"Just listen to me! I'm happy with him. Shit happens, I'm a grown man, I can deal with it."

"So why do you let it happen?"

"I told you, it's fine. It's just how we deal. I remember you and I roughing each other up."

"You've officially left the reservation," Dean threw up his hands, "You've lost it."

"Don't be like this," Sam begged.

Dean returned to his mission, grabbing his pistol and slamming the trunk closed.

"Dean, stop," Sam tried to stand in front of the storming figure, but he would not be moved from his war path.

Sam wasn't strong like he used to be; he had lost at least thirty pounds and never had the energy to work out. Knowing there was no way to overpower Dean, he hurried to get in front of him. Dean was already in the house so Sam had to sprint around him to reach Mick first. Sam ran to the room and jumped on the bed, protecting Mick with his own body. This roused a sleepy, confused Mick who yelped in fear. "Wha?" he slurred.

Dean reached the threshold and flicked on the light switch, illuminating the scene.

"Stop it, Dean! This isn't funny!" Sam choked out, beginning to cry.

"Am I laughing? Get out of the way, Sam."

Behind Sam, Mick was bewildered, but aware enough to be afraid and began trying to make himself as small as possible behind the shield of a human body.

"What's happening?" Mick cried.

"I'm gonna make you suffer for what you did to my brother," Dean had fire in his eyes.

"I never did anything to him! I swear!"

"Shut up," Dean snarled.

Sam was still pleading for Dean to stop, but it was as if he had completely tuned him out.

"I would never hurt Sam! I love him!" Tears were rolling down Mick's face.

"You're a liar and a bastard and I'm going to enjoy killing you."

Sam turned around and embraced Mick. Mick grasped him desperately back and they cried together.

He heard Dean cursing, but just continued to hold on to Mick for dear life.

"Sam, get up," when Sam made no move to react he ordered again, "Get up!"

"No," his little brother squeaked out.

"I'm so tired of this, Sam. I don't know what else I could say to you to make you wake up."

"Just leave, Dean!"

Dean made no move.

"Go!" Sam shouted, "I don't want you here."

"I'm not leaving."

"Then I'll call the cops," Sam retaliated.

"You know what, Sam? Have fun playing victim. This isn't my problem," and with that he left, stomping out the doorway with no door to slam.

[some time later]

Sam was beyond exhausted at work the next day and it showed. Eventually his boss forced him to leave, displeased with his lackluster performance and repeated mistakes.

Sam pulled out his cell and made the call to Mick, but he didn't reply. Sam sighed, knowing Mick was busy at work and might not get back for hours. Sam sent a quick text announcing his early departure and plan to take the bus. Mick would be upset if Sam didn't let him know where he was at all times. It used to bother him, but he had since learned privacy wasn't worth the fight.

Sam had only been home about five minutes and just turned on the shower when he heard a knock at the door. He shut off the shower and answered, revealing Dean, who looked a bit disheveled and a lot tired.

"What are you doing here?"

"What a warm welcome," Dean teased. Sam wasn't in the mood and didn't move to let Dean inside, "I'm sorry about last night."

"Oh?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Can we just talk?"

"You wanna talk?" Sam said in disbelief. His brother didn't really have the hang of talks; he preferred action.

"That's what I said," Dean deflected the snide comment.

"I don't really wanna talk, Dean," Sam answered honestly.

"Then let me talk," the sincerity in Dean's voice broke Sam's resolve and he stepped aside to let Dean in. Mick couldn't ever find out about this.

"Shouldn't you be on a hunt?" Dean was quiet, "Was there even a hunt?"

"Sam," Dean began, perching himself on the sofa. When Sam just stood watching suspiciously, Dean gestured to the seat beside him. Sam relented and sat beside his brother.

"I want you to come on a hunt with me."

"What?" Sam was taken aback.

"It's this werewolf den, I need back up."

"Dean, I know full well you have a dozen more capable people than me to call."

"Who's more capable than you?" Dean sounded offended on Sam's behalf.

"Uh, Dean, I'm not what I used to be," Sam was embarrassed to say it, especially when it was painfully clear.

"Come on, you'll feel better when you're back in action," Dean pressed.

Sam shook his head. "What are you talking about? You don't need me, you just want me to leave Mick."

"No, but a break could be good for you two."

Sam crossed his arms. "No. Mick would never approve," immediately he regretted the words when he saw how Dean's face twisted.

"I thought you could do what you want."

"I do! I don't want to go with you. I want to fix my relationship with Mick and not get mauled by werewolves."

"Just this one last hunt for old time's sake? I don't wanna leave things like this. And would I ever let you get mauled?" Sam was grateful to Dean for maintaining his composure, fully aware it was almost physically painful for Dean not to blow up at the thought of Mick.

"I don't know, Dean…" Sam had a hard time saying no to a begging Dean. And they hadn't spent time together in so long. Plus he wasn't looking forward to the punishment he was going to receive from Mick, but if Mick knew he was with Dean, he would never forgive him. Not after the scene he threw last night.

"No, no, I can't. You tried to kill Mick! I can't just let that go," Sam felt like he was trying to convince himself of this as much as Dean.

"Just take a break from this guy. Get away for a few days and see how you feel. How much more pissed can he get?"

Sam guffawed.

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing," Sam answered coyly.

"Well you have a different definition of 'nothing' than me apparently so what the fuck does that mean?"

"I can't have this fight again."

"So you mean him beating you then," Dean began.

"Dean!" Sam snapped, standing up off the sofa, "Just leave if you're gonna do this."

Dean jumped up to match Sam, "How can you put up with this? After everything we've been through, after dad-"

"Dad?" Sam exclaimed, "he practically taught me this."

"That's the second time you said something weird about Dad. What's this about?"

Sam rested his eyes for a moment, not saying anything.

"Dad spanked us, he didn't beat us," Dean defended.

"Speak for yourself," Sam's voice was hushed, but Dean heard.

"He… he beat you? But…" all the color had drained from Dean's face. The anger that caused a febrile energy to emanate from his being was extinguished and replaced with a hollowness. "When?"

Sam shrugged. "The first time I was seven or eight and he was drunk. I don't remember where you were - at Bobby's or at one of your little league games - and I hadn't cleaned up the kitchen. He slapped me in the face. Then he grabbed me and threw me on the floor and kicked me in the stomach. After that he spanked me until I bled. I begged him to stop and I was crying and he got sick of it so he put his hand around my throat until I couldn't breathe…" Sam looked far off.

He regretted saying anything when he saw the tears in Dean's eyes. "I'm sorry. I never should have told you. I just didn't want you to see him that way."

"Sam," Dean choked, "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"But I should have known. I should have been there. Why didn't I know?" The last question didn't seem pointed at Sam, but he answered anyways.

"I didn't want you to know. I kept it a secret. You can't blame yourself for that."

"That time I came home and your arm was all cut up, you said you fell on glass-"

"Dad. He got carried away. Broke a bottle on me."

"I want you to tell me everything, Sammy."

"Why? It's hurting you. It's all in the past now anyways, it doesn't matter anymore."

"It's not in the past, it's happening right now."

"I don't blame him, Dean. He did what he had to do. I resented it for a long time, but being with Mick, it's like I can make sense of our relationship. He does what he does because he cares. Just like Dad did. You said so yourself. He did his best. And I wasn't always easy."

"I can't believe you're saying this right now. If I had known, Sam, everything would be different. We would have left. I would've protected you."

"No, Dean. That's why I didn't tell you. You were happy. I didn't want to ruin that."

Tears were fully rolling down Dean's face now.

"Does anyone else know?"

Sam nodded. "Only Mick."

Dean looked nauseous. "Did he do anything else to you?" Sam fell silent, "Sammy?"

Sam relinquished, finding it hard to lie to Dean anymore. "Yes," he squeaked out, "It started when I was fourteen," he gathered his breath, forcing himself to continue, "On my fourteenth birthday actually. It was a school day so he took you to school, but he told me I could stay home. Which, you know, was crazy for John. He let me drink with him. I got really dizzy and he took me to his room… we… he did things to me and I froze. I didn't even fight him off. He told me if I told you, you would never believe me. That you wouldn't forgive me and you would hate me for it. He said that you would leave and disown me. I know it was dumb, but I couldn't bring myself to tell you. I wanted to. I knew you would save me, Dean. I knew you would stop anything bad happening to me, but he got in my head. I was terrified you would be disgusted with me… like you are now, with Mick."

"I'm not disgusted with you. I shouldn't have… I would never leave you like that. I'm angry with myself. I can't believe all these years," he noticed the look on Sam's face, "Of course I do believe you though," he reached a hand for Sam's shoulder. Sam fell into Dean's touch, and Dean embraced him, arms wrapping protectively around the younger man who had broken into tears. "Shh, it's okay," Dean murmured. He felt Sam shake his head against his chest. "Come with me, Sam. You don't have to stay anymore."

"I built a life here. I don't wanna live on the road again. I have a job and a fiancé and a future."

"I know you weren't destined for life on the road, that's okay. We don't have to. And you'll meet someone else."

Sam hugged himself. "I love Mick."

"I know, but Sam," Dean stared at him and Sam was struck by the sadness in his green eyes, "please."

[some time later]

Sam couldn't help but stare at the phone screen, each second that Mick didn't reply dragged on.

Mick, I am leaving for a few days. I need a break. Call me when you get this. I love you.

It had been forty-five minutes since he had sent the message and still no answer.

"Dean," Sam began to panic, "turn around."

"Huh?" Dean was caught off guard from the sudden break of silence they had been sitting through in the car since Dean had stopped trying to get Sam to talk more than a half hour ago.

"We have to go back. Mick's gonna kill me. Please, turn around," Dean looked at his brother, seated in the passenger side of the impala.

"Chill out, Sammy," Dean sounded unconcerned.

"Stop it with the 'Sammy.' I'm serious, I need to go home."

"Just calm down, okay? It'll be fine, breathe."

"I can breathe, Dean!" Dean's eyes filled with surprise when Sam's voice was twice as loud as his own, "I just need to go home before Mick loses his shit."

"You're scared of him," Dean said darkly.

"I'm not scared; this was just a bad idea. You can't blame him for being upset about last night."

Dean gave a pained laugh, "I can blame him for a lot of shit."

"Eventually the car's going to stop and I'm going to get out and walk home if I have to. So just take me please."

Dean became fed up, twisting in his chair to face Sam and pointed an accusatory finger. "I'm not taking you back to that psychopath," he growled.

Sam sighed and laid back in his seat, resigned to the beating he would get whenever Dean finally took him home. It would be miserable for a while, but things would be back to normal in a week or two. Hopefully.

Sam rested his head on his chin and stared out the window at the trees whipping by in front of a dreary sky. "Where are we even going?"

[some time later]

When Dean could no longer control his irritation with Sam's sodden silence, they pulled over to a roadside diner.

"Can you get me an iced tea?" Sam finally spoke as they made their way to the porch entrance.

"Where are you going?"

Sam indicated to a pack of cigarettes he was retrieving from a jacket pocket.

"You know that's gross," Dean said roughly.

Sam just sighed in response. Dean glowered then stomped into the building, letting the door slam behind him. It was an hour in and already they were at each other's throats. Sam knew Dean was angry because he couldn't fathom everything that had taken place in the last twenty-four hours. This was exactly why Dean was never supposed to find out about Mick; he would never understand how Sam could stay. Sam became frustrated with himself for letting the words sting him despite knowing all this, but the cigarette helped ease the burn. He was about to put it out and join Dean when his phone rang. He felt his heart leap in his chest but when he pulled his phone out and saw the ID, it wasn't a number Sam knew, although he did recognize the Magnolia area code. Apprehensive, he pressed the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hello, this is Magnolia Center Hospital, I'm calling to speak with Sam Wells," a confident feminine voice sounded.

Sam froze. "I'm Sam," he managed.

"I'm calling because Michael Kenney was hospitalized today and you are his emergency contact," she said.

"What happened? Is he okay?" his chest constricted so he could hardly breathe, even through huge gasping inhales.

"Michael is currently in the intensive care unit," she said curtly, like Sam wasn't interested in the details, "Can you come down to fill out some insurance paperwork?"

"Paperwork?" Sam cried, "Is he going to be okay? Is he going to-"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wells, that is all the information I can give you."

Sam cursed. "I'm coming," he hung up the phone and rushed inside, locating Dean at a booth. He ran to the table and slammed his hands down. "Dean, we have to leave!"

Dean startled a bit at Sam's sudden appearance and accompanying outburst. "Are you on this again?"

"Mick's in the hospital- we have to go! Dean, please, come on," Sam tugged on him childishly in his haste. Not without protest, Dean acquiesced.

"Can you please hurry up?" Sam was beyond exasperated. He felt only a small amount of relief when they were finally driving.

"What happened?" Dean asked.

Sam was shaking his leg with feverish energy. "They wouldn't tell me anything," he paused, "I'm scared, Dean."

Dean said nothing, just letting the words settle.

Sam's head was on a swivel, looking every which way, clearly tormented. "Calm down," he offered uselessly after several minutes.

"He could be dead!" Sam glared at Dean, but as he turned his head back to the passenger seat window, a deep red color caught his eye: Dean's knuckles. The gears revolved in his head, the connection made in a matter of seconds. "You did this," his voice was even and awed, but then he burst out in a scream, "What did you do to him? What did you fucking do?"

"I didn't do anything."

"Bullshit! You beat him!" Sam looked like he could choke Dean.

"I didn't do anything he didn't deserve," Dean relinquished in an ominous tone.

"I told you I wouldn't forgive you if you did this. You're a menace. You're a goddamn monster."

Dean had never heard Sam swear this much, let alone the violence in his voice.

"Me? He's been doing this to you for God knows how long, and I give him a taste of his own medicine one time and he couldn't handle it. He's fine - doesn't need a hospital. He's just being dramatic," although these words fired Sam up with a righteous fury, there was a miniscule relief in Dean's claim that Mick would be okay.

"Dean," this time it was Sam who spoke deeply, the calm demeanor he suddenly converted to sent chills up Dean's spine, "I am going to go to the hospital with you, because I need to get to my fiancé that you put there," Dean nearly rolled his eyes at the emphasis on 'fiancé'; Sam didn't even have a ring and his older brother could see that Mick wasn't planning on marrying Sam, but rather stringing him along, "and then I don't ever wanna see you again."

"You're choosing him over your own brother. That's fucked. There's something seriously wrong with you."

Sam was silent. For the remainder of the trip, he only glowered out the window, watching those repetitious trees and ugly sky.

Upon arriving at the hospital, Sam banged the Impala door hard behind him and Dean in turn sped away barely after it shut, wheels screeching from rubber burning on the cement. Sam didn't bother looking back because he was already racing towards the emergency room doors and to the front desk. A woman in her mid-forties with brown hair and glasses was posted there.

"My fiancé is in the ICU, please, I need to see him, where is he? His name is Michael Kenney."

The woman gave him an irritated look, taking her time to reply to the frantic Sam. "If you'd take a seat, the doctor will be with you in a minute."

Sam wanted to protest, but bit his tongue and sat down in one of the waiting room chairs in a pool of his own anxiety. His heart pounded through his chest and he tried to do his best not to think of all the terrible hospital visits he had had in his life. He knuckled the arms of the unforgiving wood-backed seat.

He didn't have to wait long for a voice to make him jump up in surprise. "Doctor," Sam looked nonplussed.

"Are you Samuel Wells?" asked the man in a white coat. He had deep brown hair and tawny skin, but it made Sam shift on his feet to notice they appeared to be about the same age.

"Yes," Sam's voice was small and tight in contrast to his frantic aura.

"Nice to meet you," he stuck out his hand for Sam to shake, to which he obliged, but could hardly contain his irritation at the delay, "I'm Dr. Rosetti. Michael was assaulted and a civilian called it in, but the man left before the police arrived. Michael suffered significant injuries; he experienced internal bleeding of the abdomen and we had to operate," Sam looked about ready to explode with impatience, "We stopped the bleeding. He's going to be alright, but we have to keep an eye on it for a few days."

Sam let out a deep sigh of relief and felt the knot in his chest loosen.

"He received seventeen lateral stitches and five on his forehead. He needs rest and will need to use a cane for the first week."

"Oh my god," Sam breathed, "Can I please see him?"

"He will be asleep for several more hours, but you are welcome to. He's on the third floor - room 340."

"Thank you, Doctor," Sam said sincerely before sprinting to find Mick.

The elevator ride felt like an eternity and Sam could have kicked himself for not taking the stairs, but at long last, the doors slid open and Sam was out in a flash.

315.

No! Godamnit! Sam cursed internally. He raced across the hall to an opposite set of doors.

330.

So close.

332.

334.

338.

340!

Sam burst through the door to a sight that made his stomach turn. Mick lay on a white hospital bed, contrasting the palette of blues and purples on his face and arms.

"Jesus Christ," Sam was awed. He moved towards the vulnerable looking young man. "Mick," Sam reached out and took a hand in his own, feeling the slack of fragility. Tears welled in Sam's eyes. He was astounded that Dean could do such a thing. Even for him, this was sadistic. Sam regretted these past couple of days. He recounted everything that went wrong and realized something - it had all been his fault.

On some level, he had known that Dean didn't have a hunt here, that he was making it up to come and judge Sam's life, and that he should have never even picked up the call, let alone allowed it. And then he hadn't been able to extinguish the situation at the diner, followed by another failure of allowing Dean to see the cracks in Mick and his relationship, then sobbing in the bathroom like a child, and finishing it off with telling Dean about everything.

And the text. He had forgotten all about it in the heat of the moment. Mick must not have seen it yet; maybe there was a chance he could hide it.

Sam sat for a long time at Mick's side, pressing his face against the covers in despair, not daring to put any pressure on Mick's feeble body.

When a nurse opened the door, Sam realized he had been drifting off to sleep. He picked himself up, feeling a bit embarrassed at his exhausted state.

"Hi, darlin'," an older woman smiled sweetly at Sam.

"Hey," Sam returned.

"I'm just here to check his fluids, don't mind me."

Sam could barely hear her as he was becoming wound up once more at the prospect of Mick seeing the text message. "Where's his stuff?" Sam blurted out.

"Oh," she seemed a bit startled, "I can bring that to you."

Sam didn't have it in him to give her a 'thank you'. He wanted to cry with relief.

She attended to her duties with Mick while Sam radiated frantic anxiety nearby. When she finished, one eternity later to Sam, she disappeared out the door.

It took her twenty whole minutes to get back and Sam was sure his heart would pound out of his chest. His hands shook as he accepted the objects, just a wallet and phone that now had a shattered screen. Sam grimaced and grabbed the bottom of his shirt to wipe off the bits of loose glass. It miraculously turned on. There was no consolation like deleting that text off Mick's phone. A weight was lifted off his shoulders.

Sam began to weep.

[some time later]

Mick woke up a few times, but was so out of it that he hardly took notice of Sam. Sam only left to relieve himself and retrieve some coffee.

When Mick did wake up, Sam was resting in his chair, eyes closed, but unable to sleep.

"Sam?" A quiet groggy voice queried.

Sam's eyes shot open. "Mick!" he cried, jumping to his feet and rushing to the infirm man's side, "I was so scared. Are you okay, baby?"

"Your brother," he grunted.

"I know, I'm so sorry. I'm never talking to him again, I swear. I can't believe he did this."

"Really? because I can," Mick looked bitter.

Sam stared at the floor. He didn't see Mick's face drop in fear and then transform into a sickly sweet smile. "It's okay, Sam. It's just you and me."

Sam looked up, agog. "Really?"

"I love you, Sammy," Sam cringed imperceptibly.

"I love you too."

"Now get me some fucking pain killers."

Sam obeyed.

[some time later]

The days dragged by in the hospital. The first consisted of Mick falling in and out of sleep, only really interested in getting morphine for the pain and going back to sleep when he was up. The second day was as long as the first, except Mick was more aware, enough to complain the entire day. Sam gladly listened though, simply relieved Mick was alive. When the nurses came in to help him practice walking he cried out in pain. The third day, he was hobbling around much better, although still painted with bruises all over his body. On the fourth day, he was discharged.

Sam was struck by Mick's behavior these past few days. Aside from his crankiness, which was not at all unusual for him, and especially warranted today, Mick was much less harsh than Sam expected. He had been sure that Mick would blame him for his brother's actions, but somehow their relationship became more stable. Or at least, Sam hoped so.

Upon arriving home, Sam cared for Mick, assisting him to the bed, making him food, helping him to the bathroom and so on. It was evening when he heard a knock at the door.

Sam peered through the peephole and his jaw nearly dropped at the familiar face before him.

He opened the door slowly, careful not to rouse Mick.

"Cas!" Sam gave him a half smile, "Looks like you learned how to use a door, huh?"

Cas looked puzzled. "I've always known how to operate doors."

"You wouldn't know it," Sam teased the clueless angel, "Look, Cas, I know you're here for Dean and I don't wanna hear it," he emphasized by putting a hand up, as if to say stop.

"It is true Dean shared with me your situation. I'm not here for him, I'm here for you," Sam couldn't resist an eyeroll.

"I don't need you telling me how to live my life."

"I don't want to do that," Cas's guileless expression tugged at Sam's heart and he gave in.

"You can't come inside, I'm sorry, but we can sit on the porch."

Together they settled into the plastic chairs and Sam gladly lit up, silent and reluctant to initiate the conversation.

"Do you need me to heal you?" Cas broke the quiet.

Sam took a drag before replying. "No," all the bruises were cleared up by now, but Sam didn't offer up that information, just looked out into the woods.

"Dean shouldn't have done what he did," Cas began. Sam snorted. "but he is devastated that you are cutting him off."

"Oh please. I know him and right now he doesn't give a shit."

Cas frowned. "He's been drinking quite a lot and he talks about you often. It's beginning to concern me."

"You're concerned for him? He's not the one who got the absolute shit knocked out of him. He should feel bad."

"Dean wants what's best for you," Cas supplied.

"This may be a shock to you, but I don't give a shit what he wants. That ended when he assaulted Mick."

"I could heal Mick," Cas seemed to brighten at the idea.

"No, you can't. That doesn't make everything better and besides how would I even explain that to him?" Sam was full of bitterness.

"He doesn't know?" Cas tilted his head.

"Why would he?" Sam was defensive

Cas didn't answer.

Sam took a final hit of his cigarette and rubbed the butt into a nearby ashtray. "I gotta go, Cas. It was good to see you," he stood up and disappeared into the house in a matter of seconds. Cas sat for a minute, contemplating the series of events that had just taken place.

[some time later]

Sam doted on Mick constantly, but it came to an end when he received a notice from his boss to come back or be replaced, in different words.

The couple laid in bed together, Sam with his head in a book and Mick scrolling through something on his phone. Sam had stopped reading a while ago; he was instead trying to gather the courage to tell Mick about going back to work.

Sam cleared his throat. "Mick… I, uh, gotta go back to work tomorrow. I'm sorry."

Mick regarded Sam, brown eyes boring through the shaggy-haired man. "You're going to leave me when I'm like this?"

Sam bit his lip. "My boss told me if I don't make my shift tomorrow, they're going to let me go."

"You're choosing your job over me?" Mick clarified.

"Well, you can't work right now and we have rent to pay-"

"I think you should quit," Mick interrupted.

"You think I should quit?" Sam echoed.

Mick straightened. "I can borrow some money from my mom. We can get by for a while, then I'll go back to work."
"What will I do?" Sam regretted the question as soon as he saw the venom on Mick's face. There was tension in the silence, before Sam relented. "Okay," arguing would get them nowhere. He could always get another job when Mick's anger from the incident abated. It was easier to go along with what he wanted. "I'll put in my two-weeks tomorrow."

Mick's lips tightened. "You just don't want to help me."
"That's not true. If I quit out of nowhere, I won't be able to get hired anywhere else."

"All you care about is yourself," he spit.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry."

He texted his manager the same night, letting him know he couldn't come back. When Sam was sitting alone on the porch, staring out into the expanse populated with pines and a long stretch of road, he felt distinctly alone. Their trailer stood in a rural area. Although Mick was only a few yards away in the house, it felt like he lived on a different plane of reality. Their vibrations didn't match up. Things would be out of whack for a while, until they could move past what had happened, but for right now, all he had was a boyfriend that resented him, a brother he had pushed away, and this lonely plot of land.

[some time later]

The days stretched on, each longer than the last. Sam read more than he had since he was a kid. He became enraptured in sci-fi and fantasy books, but when they began to toe reality, he would put them down and shove it out of his mind. He preferred the distraction of other worlds and these authors knew nothing of the supernatural experience that existed in this one.

It was day five when he bustled in the kitchen, feeling faint and woozy from the lack of food, but resisting nonetheless as he prepared a meal for Mick. Now that they spent all their time together, it was even harder to find time to eat. Mick insisted on his diet, claiming that Sam had put on weight whenever he had a nibble of food. He said it was best for Sam, that he had been an unhealthy weight and this was what he needed. Sam was too fatigued to argue.

His phone sang from his pocket. It caught him off guard and he nearly dropped the plate he was carrying. Since Dean had ended things and he no longer worked, there was no reason for anyone to call him. Sam set the food down and pulled out his phone. As soon as he saw the caller ID that read 'Dean', he rejected the call, but Mick had already noticed from his spot on the couch.

"Who was that?"

Sam exhaled deeply, unable to lie. "Dean, but I just sent it to voicemail."

"You didn't block him?"

Sam continued with the meal preparation. "No."

"Why not?" growled Mick.

"It won't stop him from calling. He has a million phones."

"I want you to block him right now."

Sam stood still. "If I block him, he might come to the house."

"I've been thinking about that," Mick said coolly, "I'm going to get a restraining order."

"You're going to what?" Sam spun around, his mouth falling open.

"What are you so surprised about? You don't think I should get a restraining order after he tried to kill me?"

Sam held back his denial that Dean had attempted murder. If Dean had wanted him dead, he would be dead, but that didn't make anything better.

"I want to see you block him," Mick ordered.

When Sam didn't move, his voice turned sharp. "Now."

Sam stamped over to him and angrily showed him the screen as he clicked the block button. "Happy?" he snapped.

"Ecstatic," Mick spat back.

Sam tried to return to the kitchen when Mick gripped his forearm. Sam looked back and saw the rancor etched into his features. Mick grabbed with his other hand, squeezed, and twisted the skin. Sam gasped out and tried to pull away, but it only served to pull at his skin more. Mick yanked him close so that he nearly lost his balance. His snarling face was inches from Sam's. "Don't talk to me like that again."
"I'm sorry," Sam said in a pleading tone.

Mick shoved him away and released. Sam finished fixing up a plate and smoked away his appetite on the front porch. No tears fell from his eyes; he felt empty, blank, emotionless.

[some time later]

It was one week before Mick returned to work. There were no beatings during his period of convalescence. Sam allowed himself to get his hopes up that things could be different. Mick was bitter and resentful, but Sam could manage the verbal castigations and small aggressions like slaps or shoves.

He had long shifts, starting at eleven in the morning and ending anywhere from nine to midnight. He blamed Sam for the poverty, but Sam never pointed out that it was Mick who ordered him to quit.

Dean started calling from different numbers. Sam blocked them each time, but it ripped his heart apart a little more every time he clicked that button. Sam couldn't bear to listen to the messages he left, so they piled up in his inbox. Sometimes days would pass without a call, then weeks, and Sam was sure Dean had severed ties completely when he would get another.

When he ran out of books to read, he shot a text to Mick: I'm going to the library. It took an hour to walk to town and another thirty through the city to get to the library. Including the time he spent browsing, he would not be gone more than four hours, tops. Plenty of time before Mick got home and he had to make dinner.

As he pulled on his coat, his phone rang. It was Mick. He answered, but before he could say 'hello,' Mick was barking on the other end, "You're not going anywhere without me."
"What? Why?"

"I know you're going to see your brother," he hissed.

Sam shook his head, shocked. "I'm not. I just want to get some new books."

"Don't you dare leave the house."

Sam ripped the phone away from his ear and hovered his finger over 'End Call', but was unable to press it. "Sam? Sam! Sam!" he heard Mick shouting.

"Yeah! Yes, okay, I'm not going."

"You better not."
"I said I wasn't."

"Whatever," Mick ended the call.

Sam held up his phone, clutched tightly in his hand, and poised to throw it across the room. His hand shook, but instead he sighed, his shoulders fell as he lowered his arm. If he destroyed his phone, Mick would go ballistic.

It was true he could go to the library without Mick finding out, but he would see the new books Sam had, and he had a sinking feeling Mick would appear home any minute to catch him walking along the roadside. There was no way to win, so he stalked to the kitchen and slammed the cabinets open and closed as he made himself a sandwich. If he couldn't so much as walk to the library, he was going to eat, goddamnit.

He inhaled the food, threw his plate in the sink, and fell onto the couch. It was only two and Mick wouldn't be back for ages so he permitted himself to fall asleep.

He woke up to yelling. He shot upright and searched with wide eyes for the perpetrator. Mick was in front of him, red-faced and bellowing things Sam couldn't comprehend in his drowsy state.

"Mick, what's wrong?"

"You're a fucking piece of shit, you know that? I work all day and you laze around. I'm sick of it. You didn't make me anything to eat, you sleep all day and sneak out while I'm gone, and I thought you were supposed to be on a goddamn diet!"

"I didn't sneak out-" Sam attempted to object when Mick took a step forward, pulled back his arm, and slapped his hand across Sam's face. He gasped out in pain. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam cried, climbing to his feet. Sam was 6'4", but Mick was just as tall and much stronger, even after the assault, since Sam had been starving for months.

"I'm sick of it," Mick shoved him back and Sam fell back onto the couch. Mick towered over him. "You're acting crazy," Sam said, but Mick was already on top of him, breathing on his face. His breath reeked of alcohol. "You're drunk."

"You're going to regret this, Sam," he said darkly. Sam held up his hands to fend off the oncoming attack, but it didn't come. He peered through his fingers. Mick was still staring, bloodthirsty.

"Turn around."
"No, not like this."

"Turn around," his tone left no room for protest. He stepped backwards, allowing Sam to move.

Sam closed his eyes and nodded, slowly turning around and leaning over the couch. Mick yanked his pants and boxers down, then slapped him hard on the ass. This hadn't happened since he was a kid. He thought it would never happen again. Humiliation filled every part of him.

Mick spanked him again and again until his skin opened, then parted his ass cheeks. Sam knew what was coming. He could try to run. It was possible in Mick's liquored up state that he could get out the door faster, but Mick had the car keys and he very well might mow him down right on the country road. He could try to fight him off, but that would only result in worse things to come.

All he could do was pretend there was some dignity in silently accepting his punishment.

Mick shoved into him, ramming his full member inside. Sam yelped at the fiery pain. Mick was big and he was completely dry. It was ravaging, like being torn apart. He gripped the couch and did his best not to cry as Mick shoved in and out and blood dripped down his legs.

"You're going to learn," Mick grunted.

Sam wanted to argue, wanted to shout Learn what? I didn't do anything! He wanted to be indignant and furious, fully aware of the unfairness of the situation and refusing to let his spirit die. He wanted to maintain that sangfroid that Dean had in all situations, no matter how dire. But when it was over, and Mick pushed him so that his face fell into the cushions and his weak legs crumpled to the wood floor, he only felt powerless and empty. He didn't even have the energy to be angry. He crawled onto the couch and curled into a ball, unable to sleep through the night.

[some time later]

Sam walked listlessly about the house for the next few weeks. He performed the routines: wake up, cook for Mick, clean while he was gone, stare unseeingly at the same page of a book, try to sleep but be unable, watch the phone when Dean called, block the number, stare out the window, make dinner for Mick, let Mick scream, hit him, or fuck him, and sleep poorly, not at all, or riddled with nightmares. All throughout, he smoked. He went through a pack a day, and then two packs. For some reason, Mick never complained about the smoking. He reprimanded Sam for eating a single bite, but the non stop cigarettes were a nonissue. Sam didn't understand it, but was grateful for the one luxury he was permitted.

He daydreamed about all sorts of things: what it would be like to kill himself, or be killed by Mick, how he would wait for Mick to leave for work and just walk into the distance, never looking back, picking up the phone and calling Dean. But nothing came of any of it. He felt like he didn't exist at all.

Sam was shaken from his static mind by the ringing on his phone. It was eleven-thirty. Earlier than Dean usually called. He checked his phone and saw the ID read 'Bobby'. For the first time in a long time, he felt his heart quicken in his chest. He felt almost real for a second. He slid open the call.

"Bobby," Sam's voice came out flat despite the excitement.

"Hey, Sam. It's been a long time," his familiar gruff voice stirred affection inside Sam.

"No kidding. How are you?"

"You know, same as always."

"Kicking ass and taking names?" Sam joked.

Bobby laughed heartily. "Think I'm a little too old for that. How are you, Son?"

As soon as he said it, Sam's mood sunk. "You talked to Dean," Sam stated.

Bobby was quiet for a moment. "Your brother's worried about you."

Sam sighed. "Tell him not to."

"Why don't you tell him yourself?"

Sam gripped the phone tightly. "I can't."

"You can't," Bobby repeated, "Why not?"

"I just can't. I have to go. It was good to hear from you."
"Wait-" he heard Bobby still speaking as he hung up the phone.

Sam buried his head in his hands. He wanted to curl into a ball and cease existing, but all he could do was sit there. His phone dinged in his hand and he thought it might be Dean for a moment before he saw that it was from Mick.

He clicked open the message and read.

yea i'll see you after work. dont worry abt sam he has no idea lmao

Time froze. Sam's heart paused, then took off at a tremendous pace. This could not be happening again. After everything he put up with.

"God fucking damnit," he said, "FUCK YOU," he shouted into the empty room. He stormed onto the porch and lit up a cigarette, stomping and pacing on the rotting wood floor. He glared at the text, wondering if Mick would even notice who he had sent it to.

Sam opened his voicemails and listened, breaking some unspoken rule between him and Mick to never hear Dean's voice again.

"Look, I know we left things in a bad place, but I really wanna talk to you. Just, call me back, okay?"

"I get that you're still pissed, but you can't just ignore me forever. I swear to God, I will call you every day if I have to."

"Sam… I guess you're not going to pick up, so I'll just say this. I hope you're listening to these at least. I miss my little brother. I don't like seeing what he's done to you. I don't understand you anymore, but I want to. I'm sorry I hurt Mick. Not because I care about him, but I care about you. I shouldn't have done that. You know I'm not really good with words or whatever, but please call me."

"You're getting a fucking restraining order? Are you kidding me? I'm done. I hope you're happy."

"I… It's been a long day. Some freaks got the jump on me. My partner… Shit happens, I guess. I wish I could talk to you about it. Cas is busy with angel crap. I got a bit banged up and I got spoiled with him practically healing paper cuts. God, I'm tired. I haven't slept yet. It's not like you even pick up, but I'm sorry I didn't call for the past few days. I told you I'd call you every day and I meant it. The rest doesn't matter. I think I'm gonna pass out. Call you tomorrow."

"I don't know how much longer I can do this. If you don't want me to be your brother, maybe I don't care anymore. I know who you picked. I'm out here getting massacred and you're ignoring my goddamn calls. What do I care? You know what? Fuck you, Sam."

"Ah… I'm sorry about the last message I left. Ignore that. I get pissy without Cas around, I guess. I try not to think about you 'cause when I do all I can think about is what he's doing to you. And I want to stop it, I really want to rip the fucker's head off, but I know you'd never forgive me. I wish I could just forget you like you forgot me."

"..."

The messages came to an end and Sam was in tears. He wiped at his cheeks, but more continued falling. "I'm sorry," he murmured. When he looked at the screen, he saw there were a number of texts that his cell had not warned him of, all from Mick.

its not what u think

answer me

u better believe me

text me back

where r u?

srsly

r u ignoring me rn?

im coming home

Sam flexed his hands. This was the end, the finale. After years of abuse, he was putting a stop to it. The veil had been lifted; he didn't need Mick. He had never needed Mick and looking back, it was hard to believe that he had let it get this far. It was like he was living in a dream and was only just waking up now.

He strode back into the house and to their shared bedroom, pulling a bag out of the closet and throwing all of his belongings in it. He was almost finished when there was the sound of a car pulling into the drive.

His hands shook as he finished packing, but he refused to stop. The front door slammed open and heavy footsteps pounded on the floor. "Sam!" Mick yelled, "Sam!"

Sam could hear him approaching the bedroom so he zipped the bag and stood to face him.

Mick eyed him, focus flicking from him to the bag at his feet. "What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving," he said simply.

"You're overreacting. I told you it's not what you think."

"It doesn't matter."

"What the hell do you mean it doesn't matter?" Mick neared him.

"I'm over living like this. I'm tired of being your prisoner. I'm leaving."

"You're not leaving," Mick growled. Sam fought the urge to step backwards when Mick encroached his personal space.

"Yes I am," Sam replied evenly.

Mick seized his arm and Sam tried to rip away, but his grip was vice-like. "I won't let you."

"You don't control me anymore," he struggled under Mick's hold. Mick pushed him hard and his back slammed against the wall. He saw the punch coming and tried to block it with his free hand, but it was too late and the fist plunged against his cheek bone. "Gah!" Sam groaned and squirmed.

He didn't see the oncoming attack when he was sucker punched in the gut. He curled over, unable to pull any air into his lungs and would have crumpled to the floor if it weren't for Mick holding him up by the arm. Mick watched with a sadistic smile as Sam gasped for air until he was finally able to breathe again and panted like a dog. "Get off of me!" he tried to shove Mick back, but he stood firm.

"I'll never let you leave," Mick said. Sam's blood ran cold. With newfound energy, Sam pulled his arm free and tried to side-step Mick, but he hit him once more in the face. This time it bust his lip open and blood spilled into his mouth and onto his chin.

"Mick, stop!" Sam cried like it would strike some humanity in him. Mick landed a blow on his chest then abdomen until Sam fell to the floor. He tried to push himself up, but Mick was already there, kicking him in the ribs. He tried to hold his arms around his torso to soften the blows, but his shoe crunched the bones in Sam's hands. The barrage of assaults came to a stop and Sam peered through his good eye to find out why. Mick was hunched by his face and for a moment they stared into each other's eyes and everything fell still, save the pulsing of aches in his body. Then Mick gripped his hair and ripped him upwards. Sam shouted unintelligibly as Mick dragged him to the bed and threw him on top of the mattress. Sam tried to push himself up to crawl away, but Mick sat on his stomach.

Sam looked into Mick's eyes and saw there was nothing there. He was hollow, a shell of a person. There was no appealing to his empathy. Mick was going to kill him and he would never feel a second of remorse. Begging was futile.

Mick reached for Sam, wrapped his hands around his throat, and squeezed, like his Dad had done so many years ago. Sam opened his mouth for air or to scream, but all he could do was gape breathlessly. He tried to hit and kick Mick, but his body was weak and broken and as the air left his body, he felt himself drifting to unconsciousness as a bell pealed in his ear like a siren. Then the name popped into his head.

Cas, Sam pleaded, Cas, please help me. I need you. Cas. Cas. Cas…

His eyelids were heavy, but then the ringing softened, he was able to breathe again, and the pressure of Mick on his chest was released. Sam opened his eyes and saw Cas stood beside the bed and Mick had been thrown to the other side of the room, slumped on the floor.

Cas's jaw was set, his lips pulled back in a grimace, and his eyes flickered with fury. He glared at Mick's still body with that terrifying look of righteous rage.

"Cas," Sam tried to speak, but was only able to make a croaking sound. It was enough to get Cas's attention.

His face became gentle as he looked at Sam and his features grew tender with compassion. He bent over and pressed his fingers to Sam's forehead. A wave of relief washed over Sam and his body stopped throbbing. He took a deep inhale that wasn't pained from a ravaged chest.

"Sam," Cas said in his deep, serious voice, "I heard you call me. Are you okay?"

Sam shakily sat up and Cas tried to help. "I am now."

Cas regarded him with sorrow.

"Where is Dean? Can I see him?" Does he want to see me? Sam didn't dare ask the last question for fear of the answer.

"He is in Kentucky. We can go to him. Are you ready?"

Sam nodded. Cas touched him once more and the world flashed white before they landed in what appeared to be a cabin. Sam nearly lost his balance, but Cas caught him before he could fall over. His head was light and just as the world had gone white, it turned momentarily black.

"Sammy!" Dean said. Sam spun around to see his brother racing towards him. He stepped backwards and winced in preparation for the oncoming punch.

When it didn't come, he opened his eyes slowly to see Dean standing still in front of him. "Dean?"

"I'm not gonna hurt you."

Sam's face felt warm. It would have been fair to do so, considering how Sam had treated Dean for the past two years and some odd months. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm sorry for everything," the apologies flooded out of Sam, pent up for so long. It was a massive weight lifted from him. "I should have listened to you. I should have picked up your calls. I was an idiot. I-" Sam felt light-headed again and wavered.

"Sit down before you fall over," he helped Sam to a nearby chair.

Sam glanced around and saw that they were in a living room with a connected kitchen. He was in an armchair set beside a sofa, facing a fireplace. To the opposite side of the room was a kitchen featuring an old-timey stove.

"What is this place?"

Dean shifted his weight. "It's just some old place Bobby knew about."

Sam continued to view the room with awe. "Where are we? What are you hunting?"

"Up in the mountains. It's not important right now. What happened to you?"

Malaise set in Sam's chest. He was again isolated from society, somewhere that screams could not be heard.

"Sam," Dean snapped his fingers in front of his face.

Sam's body became stiff and alert.

"What happened?" Dean reminded him of the question.

Dean and Cas stared at him, waiting for an answer, but when it didn't come, they exchanged looks.

"I'm really hungry," Sam broke the silence.

Dean huffed. "I can make something. We don't have a lot up here though. How's a grilled cheese sound?"

Sam regarded his brother, anticipating a cruel remark about how he shouldn't eat so much and a retraction of the offer as it was only a spiteful joke, but Dean remained serious. "Good," said Sam.

The room was quiet except for the sounds of Dean rummaging in the kitchen and cooking on the stove.

Sam hugged himself and leaned forward in the chair. The cabin was poorly insulated and Sam's lean body wasn't able to retain heat like it used to.

"Get the fire started, why don't you," Dean ordered Cas. Sam realized his brother was watching him from the kitchen and he straightened up, aware of how pathetic and broken he must look huddled over. Cas stood and bent over the fire, dousing it with liquid from a can, picking up some matches on the mantel-place, tossing one in, and prodding at the flames with a poker. Sam watched curiously and wondered how long the two had lived there that Cas had become an expert on starting a fire when he usually seemed highly unfamiliar with the workings of the human world.

Dean finished cooking and brought the sandwich and a glass of milk to Sam. He accepted and picked at the sandwich while Dean settled beside Cas on the sofa. The pair watched as he nibbled, but he quickly became full before he could eat the entire meal. "Thanks," Sam said when he finished.

"You look sick," Dean observed.

"I'm not sick, I'm just tired. Is there somewhere I can sleep?" Sam felt guilty to impose, but truthfully he hadn't slept well in weeks and after the events of the day, all he wanted to do was pass out.

"There's a spare room. I can set it up for you."

"You don't have to do that."

"Stop acting like that," Dean said with irritation.

Sam shrank in his seat. He waited patiently as Dean disappeared through a door.

"You should talk to your brother," Cas said after a few minutes.

Sam stared at the fire, watching flames grow and shrink. "Not right now."

Dean returned and led Sam to the room. It was small, taken up by the large bed, dresser, and full-length mirror.

Dean said nothing as he showed Sam to the room, but when Sam perched himself on the bed, he paused in the doorway. "Don't think you're going to get out of talking about this," he shut the door and Sam heard his footsteps growing softer as he walked away.

It felt strange having a bedroom door shut. It had been over a year since Mick had taken the door off their hinges in a retaliation to Sam locking himself in the bathroom to get away from the abuse. He had slammed his weight against the door and kicked in the lock until he could get to Sam and punched the mirror so that it shattered and stray shards cut through Sam's skin. He still had a scar from one of the larger pieces that had struck his forearm.

He crawled under the blankets. Dean had piled multiple duvets and sheets on it for Sam's borderline emaciated body. He curled beneath the covers and clutched a pillow against his chest, doing his best to fall asleep, but failing like he did most nights, resigning to staring at the deep brown cedar walls. He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he felt suffocated from the closed door and stood to crack it open.

There were voices coming from the other room. They sounded hushed and weighty so he tip-toed down the hall and pressed his ear against the door that led to the living room, just able to make out the words.

"He looks half dead," Dean said.

"I was able to heal his wounds, but I cannot fix everything."
"What wounds?"
A beat of silence. "I think Sam wants to tell you himself."

Dean scoffed. "He doesn't want to tell me anything. He can barely look at me. Do you know how long I spent calling him? What fucking wounds, Cas?" Sam cringed at the threatening tone.

"He was being attacked. He had already suffered multiple injuries: several fractured bones in his face, open cuts on his lip, cracked ribs, and broken bones in his left hand. A piece of bone had pierced his lung. There were also older injuries: bruises and scratches all over his body."

"Jesus Christ."

"When I arrived Mick was choking him. He was nearly dead. If it had been any later-"

"I'm going to kill him."

"You can't," said Cas.

"Why the hell not?" Dean raised his voice.

"I already did."

Sam covered his mouth with his hand. He hated Mick, he knew that he deserved to die, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn't immediately shake his love for him. There was a twinge of grief that he wished he could deny.
"You killed him?" Dean sounded caught off guard.

"I wouldn't have done it if I knew you wanted to."

"Whatever, it doesn't matter now. I should have done it years ago. If I had, none of this would be happening."

"This isn't your fault."

"You don't understand. It's my job to protect him and I left him with that monster. Now look at him, he jumps at the slightest noise. A gust of wind could knock him over. What if he's never the same?"

Shame filled Sam. Dean would never see him the same way. He may never be the same again.

"Sam is strong. He will recover."

A heavy silence set in. He heard movement and scurried back to his room. He threw himself into the bed and tossed the covers over his head, ruminating in the words he had overheard.

[some time later]

Sam didn't realize he had fallen asleep until there was a knock at the door. He shot upright and fear like adrenaline rushed through him before he remembered where he was.

The door creaked open and he saw Dean peering at him. "Hey. We're going to scope some things out for the hunt. You gonna be okay here?"

"Yeah," Sam yawned.

"You should eat something. Want me to bring anything back?"

"Cigarettes. Menthols."

Dean made a face, but replied, "Okay. We'll be back before dark."

You don't have to dote on me. Can we please go back to normal? Sam wanted to say, but he only nodded. "See you later."

"And there's some clothes in the dresser you can borrow."

"Thanks."

Dean left and Sam was alone to reflect on all the things he didn't want to think about. He reached into his pocket to pull out his phone, but found that he had left it at the trailer. He could ask Cas to take him back later. He felt dried blood crusted on his pants and decided to change into a fresh pair of clothes: jeans, a T-shirt, and jacket. He roamed numbly around the cabin, looking through the bathroom drawers, kitchen cabinets, and hall closets. He didn't dare violate Dean's privacy by entering his bedroom.

When he heard his stomach rumbling, he decided it was time to cook something. Sifting through the pantry, he found a box of spaghetti and a jar of marinara. He cooked and plated the food and sat down at the breakfast bar. As he tried to eat, he found himself nauseated. "Damnit," he bitterly shoved the bowl across the counter and it fell to the floor, shattering. No matter how hungry he was, he could barely eat a thing. The numbness faded, replaced with indignation. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. He didn't deserve to starve because he couldn't stomach more than three bites. He didn't deserve to feel ashamed for his lean figure. He didn't deserve to be simultaneously patronized and resented.

"God damnit," he banged his hands on the counter. He stormed out the front door and slammed it behind him, wincing at the sound.

The cabin was surrounded by trees, except for a dirt road that wound down the mountain. He kicked a rock, but found no satisfaction in it. He stomped over to a tree and used all his strength to punch it. It only served to tear the skin on his knuckles open. He kicked and punched and slapped until he had no energy left, then slumped down on the grassy floor. "This sucks," he said to himself.

With his energy sapped, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

[some time later]

There was a hand on Sam's shoulder and he automatically huddled and held his arms defensively over his head. Mick would be angry that he had fallen asleep and it wasn't uncommon to be woken up with a slap or punch. He had been careful not to fall asleep before Mick got home, but some days he was so sleep-deprived he couldn't keep his eyes open.

Sam opened his eyes a fracture and saw that instead of the inflamed face of Mick, it was Dean regarding him with furrowed brows. "Sammy, it's okay. It's me."

Sam lowered his hands. "Sorry," he muttered, "I forgot…"

Dean gently grabbed him by the arm and helped heave him to his feet. The sun was setting, casting the world in sepia tones. Dean had completed his promise to be back before dark.

No one spoke as they walked to the cabin. Sam remembered the broken bowl on the floor and flushed when they walked in and Dean raised an eyebrow at the ceramic pieces that had flown in all directions. "I'm sorry. I'll clean it up," Sam said.

"It's fine. Cas'll get it."

Cas looked unfazed by Dean volunteering him. He headed towards the closet and withdrew a broom and dustpan. Sam sighed, shoulders falling, and resigned to the shame.

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"I just dropped it. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. Did you eat?"

"Yes. You don't have to look after me like a child."

Dean flashed him a filthy look. "Apparently I do," he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and threw them carelessly at Sam. They fell to the floor and Sam had to bend down to pick them up. He stalked to the fireplace and grabbed the matches, then stormed outside. He leaned against the wall as he urgently unwrapped the pack and lit one. After smoking constantly, an entire day without nicotine had his cravings at an all time high. He slid down the wall and sat on the dirt.

He could smell his own body odor. He would ask Cas where he could shower; he didn't think he could handle talking to Dean right now. Besides, he could convince Cas to take him back to the trailer.

On cue, the front door opened and the angel stepped outside.

"Hello, Sam."

"Hey, Cas," he blew out a puff of smoke, "Dean send you?"

Cas frowned. "Dean is having a difficult time navigating the situation, but he is trying."

The words sapped the bitterness from him. He relaxed his tense shoulders and took another drag. "I know," for several minutes they listened to the sound of rustling leaves and birds calling in the distance, "I left my phone back at the trailer. Can we go get it?"

Cas contemplated this. "I'm not sure how Dean will feel about it. I can retrieve it for you."

"I don't need to ask permission from Dean for everything," Sam said, knowing Dean would never give that permission, "I don't know where I left it, I'll have to look myself."

"Very well."

Sam stood. "Let's go."

Cas nodded, stepped closer to Sam, resting a hand on his shoulder, and the world flashed.

They stood at the foot of the bed in the bedroom that Cas had zapped them out of the previous day. Sam looked at the space where Mick had attacked him. His eyes traveled to the bed where the blankets were ruffled from the struggle. Finally he allowed himself to focus on the other side of the room, where Mick's slumped body lay. He was limp, his back pressed against the wall, and head hanging lifelessly. Sam stepped toward him, but was stopped by a hold on his shoulder.

Cas's face was steeped with concern. "It's okay," Sam promised, peeling off the hand.

He took deliberate steps towards the corpse. When he reached Mick, he crouched beside him. He cupped his chin and raised it so that he could look into his eyes. They were still open, but empty of the blazing rage that Sam had last seen in them. His head lolled to the side and fell again. Sam gulped and fought back unwelcome tears.

He took a deep breath and stood, purposely ignoring Cas's gaze. He searched through the covers, in the bag that had been forgotten in the corner, and beneath the bed when he spotted it. It must have been kicked there in the tumult. He squeezed his arm under the bed frame and retrieved it. The screen was cracked. He pressed the button to turn it on, but no light flickered.

Sam jumped when a phone rang, but quickly realized it was Cas's.

"Dean," Cas said.

Sam froze, but shook himself and walked to his bag. He thought about the concealer he had left in the bathroom and it felt peculiar to leave, but he did not go to get it.

"Sam needed to get his phone- It- Please-" Cas pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen, "We should go back."

"Yeah, I'm ready," Sam picked up the bag.

They teleported and appeared in the cabin. The first thing Sam saw was a tomato-red Dean.

"You have to be kidding me," he tore in, not waiting a moment, "What were you thinking?" he pointed a finger at Cas.

"Don't yell at Cas. I asked him to."

Dean switched his focus to Sam. "You're acting like a bratty kid, you know that?"

Sam glowered back. "I'm sick of people telling me what to do," he matched Dean's volume.

Dean looked taken aback, but soon recovered. "Don't compare me to him!"

"Then stop trying to control me. I'm fine, okay?" Sam shouted and stalked by Dean back to the guest room. He didn't close the door behind him and with Dean nearly shouting, he could hear his end of the conversation taking place in the living room.

"I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do for him."

Cas spoke, but Sam was unable to make anything out.

"Apparently it's not enough. He's blaming me for this."

Cas's voice rumbled.

"He's like an ungrateful kid again. It's going to drive me insane."

Quiet while Cas responded.

"Who's side are you on, anyways?"

A pause.

"Yeah, well maybe I can't help him if he doesn't want to be helped."

Again, an answer Sam couldn't hear.

"No… Of course not," Dean's voice was softer than before, "Fuck. I just need a minute."

Dean's voice became lower and Sam could no longer hear what he was saying.

Sam wiped his eyes. The remote location, the raised voice, the violent anger. It wouldn't be longer before the physicality started. That was how it had gone with Mick. Sam and Dean had fought before, but he was weak now; if Dean decided to hurt him, there would be no fighting back. Sam didn't want to be at someone's mercy anymore. It might have seemed there were few other options, but if it meant he were homeless or a thief, he would accept that.

He had dropped the bag in the living room during the row. All he had to do was walk in and announce his departure. Since Cas was there, it would stop things from escalating too far. The more time that passed, the less likely he was to be allowed to leave. Sam sat up in bed and looked into the mirror. I can do this. He took a deep breath and swung his legs over the side.

Before he could place a foot on the floor, there was a knock at the door. Because it wasn't closed all the way, it swung open from the taps. Dean was frowning in the threshold.

"Hey," there was no venom in his voice.

Sam watched him wordlessly.

"Can I come in?"

Sam nodded with apprehension. Cas wasn't here to protect him. Sometimes it was easier to say yes rather than say no and have his refusal disregarded.

Dean sighed heavily and walked to the bed, sitting beside Sam. "Look, Sammy. I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have yelled, I know that. I mean, after everything you've been through, that's the last thing you need. I'm not great at being sensitive or having talks like you are. But I want to be, for you. And I shouldn't have tried to tell you what to do, but I worry about you. I-"

"Dean, I'm leaving."

"What?" he watched Dean's face as he processed the information. Shock transformed into anger.

Sam saw Dean begin to move and he flinched, shutting his eyes and tightening his body. He steeled himself, opening his eyes and bracing for whatever was to come.

Dean was only staring at him with an open mouth, the outrage drained from his face. "I don't want to do it all over again. I won't. So hit me if you're going to. It doesn't matter," Sam said.

"You're leaving because you think I'm going to beat you?"

"You can't keep me here forever."

Dean searched Sam's face. Dean's features appeared steeped in sorrow. The anxiety of preparation for oncoming punishments stewed in Sam's stomach, but he refused to back down.

"I… I'm never going to hurt you."
"How do I know that?" Sam countered.

"I'm not him."

"I've seen how it happens. Yelling, isolating. You're already starting to hate me. You'll be happier when I'm gone too."

"I could never hate you. You're my brother. I love you."

It was a strange thing to hear from Dean and Sam was unsure how to feel.

"You can go, if you want to. I won't stop you. Hell, I'll drive you if you want me to. But I'm never going to hit you. If you stay, I won't tell you what to do. I'll get you your own car and you can leave whenever you want. I don't know how I can make you believe me, but I'll prove it to you over time."
The words clutched at Sam's heart. They were convincing; he did want to stay. There was nothing out there in the world for him. At the end of the day, what he really wanted was to be with his brother. Dean had protected him hundreds of times over. Sam wondered how he had forgotten that.

"I don't want to burden you," he said softly.

Dean wore a sad smile. "I want you here. I want to help you. I get frustrated when I can't fix things right away, but that's my own problem and I'm not gonna expect you to be perfectly happy. I know it's going to take a while for things to change, and maybe it'll always be different, but that's alright."

"I guess I'm kinda messed up now," Sam admitted.

"'Cause I'm so put together? We're all messed up, Sam. I don't expect you to talk about things right away, but I'm here if you want to."

Sam played with his hands. "Okay."

"Okay like okay you're going to stay?"

"Yeah," he smiled shyly, "Thank you, Dean."

"No problem," he grinned.

[some time later]

Dean set up a table in the breakfast nook. It was cheap, the type that folded open, surrounded by a few plastic chairs.

Sam ate his soup across from Dean and Cas. Dean wolfed down a burger while Cas flipped through a tome. Sam could see diagrams and images of monsters between massive pages of miniscule text.

Dean had left to pick up the food earlier, offering for Sam to accompany him. When Sam declined, he asked what he would like to eat. It took several minutes for him to decide, caught off guard by being allowed to choose out his own meal. He settled on soup, in hopes that he would be able to stomach more of it.

"What are you looking for, Cas?" Sam asked.

"I'm not sure. Whatever is causing these attacks is leaving few clues. I was hoping there would be something that would spark an idea."

Sam wasn't sure what attacks he was referring to. Dean and Cas had neglected to share any information regarding the current hunt with him. He assumed it was because they thought he couldn't handle it.

"The attacks are happening around here?" Sam wracked his brain for monsters specific to the state.

"No, in Duluth."

"Duluth? Why are you staying here then?" Although Cas could easily transport them wherever they needed to be in less than a second, it was customary to hole up in the town they were investigating.

"We live here," Cas said.

"You live here? Both of you?" Cas didn't need to sleep or eat. He was usually absent. Sam didn't know what he did when he wasn't around, but he always assumed he was busy with Heaven. But now he spent all his time here, enough that he considered it home?

"Yes," Cas replied.

"For how long?"

"Six months," Dean answered before Cas could.

"Six months, two weeks, and five days," Cas corrected.

"Yeah," Dean set down his half eaten burger, "We live here together," his face was serious.

"Okay," Sam was unsure what else to say.

"Cas and I, we're, well, we're dating, I guess," his face was stony. Cas continued flipping through his book, unconcerned with the honest conversation unfolding in front of him.

"Oh, that's good," Sam offered.

"You don't sound surprised."

"I didn't know, but now that you say it, it makes sense. You guys always had a special connection. I'm happy for you."

"Right," Dean relaxed and returned to his food.

Dean did seem happier when he was with Cas. Cas helped Dean have a purpose outside of endlessly hunting monsters and Dean helped Cas find his human side.

After they finished eating, Sam stepped outside for a smoke. He pulled out his last cigarette. Dean had brought back the pack only yesterday and now he would have to ask for more. He held the minty smoke in his mouth and did his best to enjoy the taste, but the anxiety wasn't eased.

The front door to the cabin opened and Dean stepped out. He nodded to Sam. "Gotta chop some wood," he informed him.

"Need help?" they both knew that Sam was too weak to be of any real assistance, but he offered anyway.

"Nah, I'm good."

Dean passed Sam to walk to the back of the cabin, when Sam blurted out, "Can I go to the library?" Dean halted, "I can walk there myself, you don't have to drive me. I left my books back at the trailer, I could get them, but it might be a crime scene by now."

"Sure, Sam. One of us can take you, if you want. You don't have to ask permission."

It wasn't a particularly poignant thing to say, but Sam's chest tightened. "It feels weird not to."

Dean stepped towards Sam. "He made you ask to go anywhere?"

"Yeah. I wasn't allowed to go alone either. He'd say I was going out to meet you."

"Bastard," Dean scowled.

Sam bit his lip, contemplating asking Dean to escort him, but ultimately decided against it. "There's one other thing. I need more cigarettes. I know they're expensive, but I can get a job soon-"

Dean put up a hand. "It's fine. Cas can get money easy. You can work if you want to, but don't worry about it, alright?"

Sam swallowed and nodded.

[some time later]

It had been too late the previous day to go to the library, so he settled for reading one of the supernatural books Dean had laying around. He started thinking about hunting again, if that was part of his life that he missed, but it made him feel squeamish and lost, so he put it to the side in his mind.

He slept poorly again, writhing beneath the blankets all night. Morning light was seeping through the curtains when he finally fell into unconsciousness.

When he woke up, he swung open the curtains and realized it was late afternoon. He had finally managed to sleep for an extended period of time. He rubbed his eyes and stretched, then dressed and meandered into the kitchen.

Dean was lying on the couch, his feet propped up on one of the arms and a hand resting behind his head as he read something on his phone.

He sat up when he heard the door open. "Hey!"

"Hi," Sam replied, "What's up?"

"Come outside," he hopped up, "I wanna show you something."

Sam followed Dean through the front door and into the bright sunlight of a cloudless day. Beside the classic Impala sat a new car, a slick, silver coupe with a rag top. "Do you like it?" Dean asked, clearly excited.

"Wow. It's really nice," Sam walked towards the car and ran his hand along the hood. It was flawless, not a scratch or dent on it. "Where did you get it?"

"Don't worry about it," Dean waved away the question, "Catch," he tossed a key and Sam caught it, "You can go to the library now."

"I won't be able to get a library card."

"So? Just take some books and bring 'em back, what's the difference?"

Sam smiled. "Thank you, Dean. Really."

Dean strolled back to the cabin and glanced back proudly. Sam wondered if it was hard for him to steal. He opened the driver side door and climbed in. The leather seats were warm from the sunshine. He turned on the engine and listened to the rumble. It had been a long time since he had driven himself anywhere.

Sam pulled his phone from his pocket and entered the destination before driving down the winding road between masses of trees. He drove down country roads lined with tall, white fences that kept cattle and horses from wandering free.

When he reached the library, he parked his car near the back of the lot. He didn't let go of the wheel as he stared at the building. He was sweating despite the cold air pulsing through the vents. "What are you worried about?" he muttered.

He forced himself to leave the car and took calculated steps towards the building. He reached the door and took a steady breath, raising a shaky hand to the handle. It was heavy and swung open slowly. The library smelled earthy and familiar.

He stood still, gazing around the room, at the shelves and computers, at the people who sat at tables and the woman stationed behind her desk. He attempted to suck down air, but his breathing felt shallow. There was a pressure on his chest and a knot in his stomach. The more he tried to even his breathing, the harder it became to get any oxygen in his lungs.

A person was walking right at him and he started fully hyperventilating. They were closing in. He stepped backwards and hit his back against the glass door. They were only feet away from him now.

"Excuse me," the person said, barely looking at him.

"O-of course," they just wanted to get by. Sam could have slapped himself. He opened the door and rushed back to the car, jumping inside. He punched the steering wheel, eliciting a honk that made him start. "Damnit," What's wrong with me?

He sat there, studying the library, watching the people who ambled in and out. They seemed calm, unconcerned. Why couldn't he be like that?

He started up the car and sped recklessly back to the cabin. All he could hope was that Dean wouldn't notice that he hadn't brought anything back with him.

He parked in the drive and leaned back in the seat, forcing himself to relax. Lower his shoulders, release the tension in all his muscles, breathe evenly. But it didn't work; the anxiety still mercilessly squeezed his chest.

The door to the cabin opened and Dean stepped out, squinting in the light, then recognition spread across his features when he spotted Sam. He made his way to the car and opened the passenger side door, leaning over.

"What'd you get?" he asked casually.

Sam fixed his gaze on the wooden panels of the home and said nothing. The corners of Dean's lips turned down. He settled beside Sam. "What's up?"

"I didn't get anything," he admitted.

"Why not?" Sam felt Dean's eyes on him. "Sam?" he said when Sam didn't answer.

"I freaked out, okay? I just-" he pinched the bridge of his nose, "Mick wouldn't let me walk down a fucking aisle by myself. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"It's okay. It's not a big deal. Cas and I'll go with you. I've been meaning to-" he stopped when he saw Sam bury his face in his hands, "Hey, c'mon. Talk to me."

Sam sighed and pulled his hands away, running them through his hair. "It's pathetic, Dean. When we hunted, I went through so much bullshit, but I was never like this. Even after Dad, I managed. I'm like some teenage girl. I don't know. I want to go back to normal, but what if I'm never the same again?" it all spilled out of him, all the deep fears and dark thoughts, the things that he never meant to say out loud.

Dean silently considered this for a moment. "Maybe it's better for you, processing it. All the stuff we went through, we pushed it down. And that's hunting life, but it doesn't make it right or normal. It's definitely not healthy."

Sam looked at Dean, searching for any sign of disgust or irritation, but he only looked steadily back at Sam.

"Why won't you tell me what happened?" Dean asked softly.

Sam thought back to the first conversation he overheard. "Cas already told you."

"Cas didn't know all of it. And I want to hear it from you."

Sam heaved a sigh. "Okay…" he thought back to when it all started. There was so much more than the fight that initiated the assault. Sam knew Dean was asking not only for himself, but for Sam, to allow him to finally admit the things that had happened to him. "Things were good when we first moved in together. For a couple months, things were really good. I don't know what changed, but we started fighting a lot. It always seemed like my fault. At first, it was yelling and screaming. I could handle that. I didn't like it, but I figured we could work through it. He got controlling. He wanted to know where I was and what I was doing. It pissed me off at first. Eventually I gave up because what's the difference? I wasn't doing anything secret. The fights weren't worth it. We got in a fight one day and I went over to my coworker's house. We were friends and I didn't want to come home and deal with him. I texted him and told him I'd be late and turned off my phone. When I got home, he was losing it. He'd done things before, just slapping or shoving me. But that day it got serious. He just kept hitting me, over and over. I fought back, but I didn't want to hurt him. I locked myself in the bathroom, but he broke in. He smashed the mirror and I got cut up," Sam unconsciously ran a hand over his arm, "After that, he took all the doors out. It's stupid, but I was scared, I guess. I thought about leaving, I really did, but he said he was sorry and I believed it. For a while, things were okay again," Sam stared out into the sky, "Then I found out he was seeing someone else. He said he'd stop, that he was sorry, all of it. Things had been so good, I just," he glanced over and realized Dean's hands were balled into fists and his jaw was tight with anger, "I should stop."
"No, keep going. I'm fine," Dean relaxed his hands and placed them at his sides.

Sam contemplated ending the conversation there, but now that he had started, it all was flooding out uncontrollably. "Anyways, things were like they had been at the start. He was nice and tried to make up for it. But it didn't stick. He stopped letting me eat until I was starving. I was tired all the time, but I could barely sleep. I was shitty at work, but I think my manager felt bad for me. Mick would throw things and call me a piece of shit and whatever else. The worst thing was when he almost drowned me in the sink," his eyes misted and he swiped at the tears forming, "I don't know what was wrong with me that I didn't leave. After you put him in the hospital, he had me quit my job. I almost never left the house and never by myself. He'd beat the crap out of me if he caught me sleeping during the day.

"Before, it wasn't like everything was consensual," Sam blushed and inspected the pattern of leather on the dashboard, "but it wasn't violent until then. Even though he'd almost killed me, that was the worst.

"The day I came here, he sent me a text that was for someone else and I found out he was cheating again. I was done. I packed up my shit, but he ended up driving home and caught me. If it weren't for Cas, he would've killed me," he allowed a second to pass, "I listened to your messages. I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't know if you'd want to see me again or not. I should have listened to you," he laughed humorlessly, "You get why it's pathetic now?"

"No," Dean's voice was stern, "It's not. I'm so sorry, Sammy. I should have been there for you. I should've known putting him in the hospital would only make things worse. Those messages, forget about that. I was never mad at you. I was pissed at myself for letting it happen," Dean lowered his head in shame. Sam didn't intend to make him feel guilty for what happened, but he realized that he had.

"It's my fault," Sam said.

"No, it's not your fault. It's that asshole. I wish I could... " he looked at his hands darkly, then his face softened and he turned back to Sam, "All that matter is that you're here and it's over. If it takes time, then it takes time. But I'm here for you. Cas is too."

Sam was quiet. He reflected on his brother's words, watching his face, then switching his attention to the cabin framed with lush, green pines. It was a peace that he hadn't felt in a long time. It was safety and assurance. He smiled, sad but earnest. There were possibilities here, things that had been impossible only a couple days ago. Cas and Dean were his family, this place was a home, there was hope in the trees, in the warm sunbeams, in the earthly wood of the cabin. He saw himself on the couch, laughing with Dean while Cas looked confused. He saw them stepping out of the front door and climbing in the Impala, going out to eat at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. He saw his brother beside him, walking through the forest while they got lost in conversation.

"Thank you," said Sam.

Dean placed a hand on his shoulder and he didn't flinch away. "We're gonna make it through this."

"I know."

END

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A/N: Hooooboy. This is the first story I've posted that I'm seriously really happy with. I hope that you liked it and if you read all the way here, thank you so much!