AN: Hello Everyone, thank you for all the amazing reviews you guys make me so motivated to get you these chapters as soon as possible! A bit thank you to my amazing beta reader SupernaturalNova1981 your insight is appreciated!

Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter, your reviews do matter!

Sam woke in the late morning, Dean's bed lay empty, the sheets and covers made with military precision. Sam slipped out of his own bed, not bothering to straighten it up. He normally craved the freedom that Bobby's house gave but now the air felt heavy, suffocating as under his Dad's intense control. He straightened his clothes, not caring to change into fresh ones, and slipped his knife into his pocket, it was small, but it made him feel protected.

He made his way to the kitchen and spotted the plate of eggs and cup of coffee sitting untouched on the old dining room table. They were cold but Sam didn't mind, he was starving! He didn't realize how hungry he was until he saw the food. Without hesitation he sat down and began eating, but as soon as the food hit his tongue he gagged, spilling the food back onto his plate. His stomach grumbled in protest, but the thought of eating was not even remotely inviting. He settled for the coffee and sipped it, cold but still strong and enough to keep his stomach satisfied for now. Hearing the door hinges creak and the heavy footsteps Sam turned to see Bobby coming inside, hands covered in motor oil.

"I see you're up." Bobby gave a nod towards the food. "Not hungry?"

Sam shrugged. "Where's Dean?"

"He went to town, looks like you and your dad switched bags so he's getting some basic supplies for you both, didn't want to leave you, had to practically shove him out the door, that kid can be a bit overbearing huh?"

"Say that again." Sam let out a sigh. "He can be worse than Dad sometimes." Sam felt a chill gather in his stomach at the thought of his father, the memory of his Dad's cold fury bearing into him. If Dean looked at him that way-

No

Push it away

"Worse than ya dad? I can't imaging Dean being nearly as strict as that old coot, with all his 'yes sirs' and 'I don't want excuses'" Bobby let out a cold laugh but Sam was lost

"Say it again." Mr SImmons leaned over, cupping Sam's chin and turning his bowed head up to look at him.

"Yes Sir." Sam whispered, shuddering to turn away from the piercing gaze.

Hot breath on his neck as the older man kissed him, nibbling against his soft skin, biting harder and making his way up. A deep kiss over his lips, Sam struggled to pull away but the hand on his chin kept him in place. Tongue and taste and Sam felt like he was drowning, being dragged deeper and deeper into a dark abyss that never ended.

He couldn't breath

"You okay boy?" Bobby was in front of him, leaning over, eyebrows furrowed with concern. "Look like ya saw a ghost."

"Air." Sam gasped, clenching his fists so tight the nails dug in. "I just need some air." He was off his chair and out the door before Bobby could say anything, slipping between the piles of junk cars like a rat in a maze.

"Sam!"

In the distance he could hear Bobby yelling after him, but he would make up with Bobby later. He just had to get away, just for a bit just a second so he could freaking breathe because evey second he spent in that house was suffocating him. He didn't belong there, in such a hopeful place.

Bobby would find out

Dean would find out

They would hate him, just like his Dad.

Sam ran, weaving in and out of the maze, trying desperately to get away until he could no longer see the house through the rubble, cars stacked on cars creating an unstable barrier. Scanning the yard for shelter he tried the door of a rusty old Toyota Corolla, upon opening he slipped inside, avoiding the junk that littered the interior. It smelled heavy of cigar smoke and mildew but he didn't mind, he crawled into the back seat and curled in on himself, closing his eyes tight and letting the silence surround him like a blanket.

You're ok

Just breath

"I'll be gentle"

Sam clenched his hands, nails digging into his skin, the feeling of the phantom hands slipping over his arms, the breath on his neck, the sweet sickening smell swallowing him.

"You're Special Sammy."

"Stop." Sam whispered to the darkness. "Please."

"I love you." hands roamed down his back, tracing his spine

"No." His body trembled

"No what?" a hand clenched his jaw, another at his throat.

"No Si-" Sam stopped, couldn't finish, his throat refused to function. He closed his eyes tight, bracing for punishment.

light flooded upon him and a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder along with a soft voice.

"I'm sorry." Sam whispered, curling tighter.

"Sam? Can you hear me?" The voice asked, another hand slipping around his frame.

Sam opened his eyes, staring up at the kind face of Bobby Singer. "What are you doing here?" Sam said dumbly, looking around in confusion.

"Well sorry son but you can't get rid of me that easy." Bobby lifted the small figure out of the car with a gruff. "You ain't light boy, but you ain't heavy as ya need be." He lectured, closing the door and heading towards the house. "You keep me young making me track you like that, lucky I'm the best danged hunter this side of the continent."

Sam looked back at the car in a daze, every step they took the phantom hands faded, leaving just the secure hold of Bobby's safe grip. "I can walk." He said, struggling to prove his point. "I'm not a baby."

Bobby put him down, but kept a firm eye on him.

They made their way back to the house in silence, Sam glancing over his shoulder back at the car every so often. It had felt so real. He had sworn it was real.

Bobby opened up the door and Sam slipped inside, starting to head up to his room but was stopped by the older man's gruff voice. "Sit down." wordlessly Sam obliged, sitting down on the old couch in the living room, a knot of dread forming in his stomach.

Bobby busied himself in the kitchen for a bit, and returned with two steaming cups of coffee, he handed one to Sam who took it, warming his frigid fingers with the ceramic. Bobby settled into the old recliner with his own cup, sipping the liquid. They sat in silence until the knot began to untangle just a bit. If Bobby was going to throw him out, he would have done it Sam told himself.

"Your brother used to do that." Bobby finally spoke, leaning back in his old recliner.

"Do what?"

"Run away" Bobby's words were quiet yet firm. "Hide away in the junk cars, used to take us hours to find him, it's why I got pretty good at tracking through that pile, though I am a bit rusty. Took me a bit to get to ya."

"Why?" Dean was so adamant about loyalty, Sam couldn't imagine him running from anyone.

Bobby shrugged. "Who knows. He did it a lot after ya mum died, and gradually less so. I think when things got too much he just had to escape."

Sam nodded, sipping on his own liquid. "I guess it was hard, with the fire." Sam spoke, he hadn't really thought about what Dean had been through, that seemed selfish now, but Dean never acted in a way that made Sam think he could be anything except fearless.

"That, and he had to watch his dad become a different person. The guy who used to make pancakes and catch the ball became so infused with grief and revenge it went from 'Daddy' to 'Yes Sir.' in months, no one can blame the kid for having a hard time coping." Bobby let out a sigh that held years of tension. "I did my best, but I wish-" Bobby broke off into silence

"Do you think Dean still feels like that?" Sam asked quietly

"I suppose, everyone does from time to time, but now he has something that keeps him from running." Bobby gave a reassuring smile. "He's got a kid brother he can't leave no matter how scary things get."

Sam nodded, he gazed into his cup, sloshing the liquid gently back and forth.

"Sam, can I ask you something?" Bobby leaned forward, eyes serious.

Sam placed his cup down and looked up nervously, he nodded. He could do this

"Does this all have something to do with that mark on your neck?'' The voice was gentle, but it resonated throughout him like a hurricane washing any pretenses of safety away.

What mark?

Did he know something?

Sam's thoughts were frantic, a hand flew up to his neck, fingers brushing tender flesh.

Hot breath, a rough nibble. Sam whimpered in pain

Sam was out of his chair, scaling the steps to the bathroom and slamming the door, within seconds. He stared into the mirror, his own frantic eyes meeting his gaze.

A dark purple mark, the size of a thumbprint stood out like a beacon on his flesh.

He hadn't noticed

How could he not have noticed?

He was so oblivious so fucking oblivious it was right there the proof of all his failures. Without hesitation Sam stripped off his shirt, scanning his pale skin. Dozens of signs lay on him, dark nibbles, scratch marks, all leading down to two massive purple and blue handprints at his hips. He barely made it to the toilet before heaving, there wasn't much to get up, coffee having been all he had consumed that day. He knelt, gasping for breath, hands clutching the sides of the porcelain so tight his knuckles shone white.

The soft knock at the door drew his attention.

Bobby knew

He had to know

Sam covered his head, curling against a wall, fingers digging into his hair. There was no escape. There wasn't even a window, nowhere Sam could go.

Bobby knew and it was all over.

Nothing mattered

Bobby would tell Dean and Dean would leave him, they would all leave him, they would all hate him and he couldn't even blame them.

He hated himself

His hand slipped to the ground, falling to his lap where he felt it.

Reaching into his pocket he drew out the blade. A hunting knife given to him by Dean. He unsheathed it, twisting the metal so it shone in the dim lamp.

With wobbly legs he stood and held the blade to this thoat, eyes shut tight as tears streamed down his face.

Another knock, so soft, so gentle. "Sam?" Bobby's calm voice. "I'm coming in."

Letting out a strangled sob Sam lowered the blade, the edge leaving a small indent on his throat. He couldn't, not here, not in Bobby's house. He wouldn't leave his family to clean up his own mistakes

Not anymore.

Bobby entered, upon seeing the knife he put his hands up in surrender. "I'm not going to hurt you son."

'Son' like Sam deserved to be called that. He dropped the knife, it hit the ground with a soft clang. Sam held up his hands in defeat, tears streaming down his face. "Sorry." He whispered. "I'm sorry Uncle Bobby."

Bobby took in the boy, eyes tracing down his body before landing on the handprints at the boys waist. His eyes widened, mouth parting in a soft 'o'

He knows

He knows how disgusting I am

There's no way he wants me now.

Sam bowed his head, shutting his eyes so tight he saw white spots dance before him.

Bobby looked at the boy, kneeling before him, arms covering himself, fingers digging into his skin as he trembled. Bobby slowly walked forward, closing the door with a soft 'click'. He lowered himself to the ground, back against the door. "It's okay" He breathed, giving a smile. "You're okay now son. I promise."

Sam stood there, staring at the older man who now sat on the floor in front of him, such kindness and love radiating off him. Sam let the acceptance of his words wash over him like cool water. He hesitated, only for a moment, but when Bobby held out his hands, whatever will-power he had left slipped away and Sam buried himself into the older man's embrace.. If it was an act, or a cruel joke, he didn't care because even if it was a lie he clung to Bobby, sobbing with enough force his breath came out as strangled gasps.

He cried

He cried for what felt like hours, snot and tears and sobs and strangled coughing overwhelming him.

Bobby stayed with him, holding him tighter than he could ever remember anyone holding him. He held him, rubbed his back, and whispered that everything was okay. And even if that wasn't true, even if Sam knew it could never be true, it was nice to hear. It was nice to think that Bobby hadn't given up. Even if it was just for a little bit, until Bobby figured out what a disgusting freak he was, Sam let himself believe the lie because it was the last chance he would get to feeling like someone accepted him. Like Bobby had forgiven, and still cared about him. That thought was enough to bring a new batch of tears to surface because Bobby's response was such a stark contrast from his own fathers.

But his father had seen the truth

His father hadn't just seen the evidence of Sam's sins. He had seen Sam in the shameful act.

Bobby didn't know what Sam did. Didn't know that Sam chose to do it. Didn't know that Sam was never going to be okay because Sam was the one who willingly ruined everything.

"Don't tell Dean." Sam breathed, clutching even tighter. "Please, please, please." He begged, fear pumping through him.

"Shhh" Bobby murmured, holding him close. "I won't, I won't do anything you don't want. You can tell him when you're ready."

Sam shook his head frantically, breaths coming in sharp hiccups "I can't, he can't ever know, please."

"Okay." Bobby nodded. "Okay, I'll never tell. It's okay."

And those words reminded Sam so much of Dean, how Dean had always been there. There was no way he could lose that. He nodded in response, trying to control his breathing. "Thank you." he whispered, and pulled away, arm coming up to wipe at his eyes.

Bobby let the contact end wordlessly, grabbing a towel for Sam to clean himself up with. "Anytime buddy." He said gently. "You need me, need to talk, you know where to find me."

Sam nodded, embrasement flooding him at the realization that he had just sobbed like a baby in Bobby's ams. If Bobby was embarrassed however, he didn't show it.

"Now how about we get some supper ready? I'm sure that brother of yours will be starving when he comes back."

Supper? Surprised, Sam slipped down the stairs to look out the window and sure enough the sun was just finishing it's descent, the sky coated with the dark reds and purples.

Where was Dean?