Febuwhump Day 25: Muffled Screams. Sam tries to hide his abuse on a visit to Dean's.

Title: Muffled Screams

Sam was tired. He was so tired of this routine, the same thing day in and day out. A groundhog day of sorts. Every day he woke up miserable and depressed before he so much as opened his eyes. Those quiet moments before awareness crept in and Sam didn't remember where or who he was had evaporated and every waking moment he was fully, excruciatingly conscious of his shitty life.

Nick had once been kind, sweet, gentle, with only fleeting moments of violence, but now he was cruel and domineering with brief flashes of humanity. Sam didn't recognize him compared to the man he met a year ago. Still, it was those glimpses of the old Nick and the love that crushed Sam's heart that made him stay.

There were certain things that Sam, with his great sense of pride, thought would never happen to him, but with Nick, all of that came crashing down along with his sense of self. Nick had changed, but so had Sam. Previously undaunted, spirited Sam was now passive, permitting Nick to treat him however he saw fit. There was no single moment he could pinpoint as the time that everything changed. Rather, it happened gradually, over many months. He was the frog in the boiling pot. Sometimes he was even aware of this, but he preferred the denial. It was easier to live with, so he reminded himself that Nick didn't mean to hurt him and all the things he did, he did out of love.

Even on the days he found himself curled up on the bathroom floor gasping for air, or cornered with a busted lip and bloody nose, he still chose his love over his survival. It wasn't out of weakness. No, it was a great strength to throw away self preservation in the name of love. He faced his fears every night he went home to Nick or ducked beneath a plate hurled at his head.

Of course, Dean didn't know. Sam hadn't seen Dean in six months, since he moved states to live with Nick. At first, he visited, but after Nick gave up trying to keep the scratches and bruises from working their way up to his face, Sam stopped seeing his brother altogether, lest he discover the abuse.

But it was January now and every year without fail, Sam was there for Dean's birthday. After Sam insisted they see his brother (not wavering even after a well-aimed punch to his diaphragm), Nick acquiesced and they came to a tacit agreement that he would not leave any marks on Sam's face until after the visit.

The car ride was an anxious one, the air in the car heavy with anxiety, almost suffocating. Sam pulled down the mirror for the umpteenth time to examine his face for any unhealed bruises or cuts.

"You're fine, Sam. Will you calm down?" Nick complained.

Sam pushed the mirror back up to the ceiling. "I feel like I haven't seen Dean in ages."
"It's just for the day. We'll get through it."

Nick talked like Sam wanted to get it over with, but he had been looking forward to this reprieve months before it had been brought up. He missed the outside world, trapped in the confines of Nick's control.

They drove through the icy streets for another hour, Sam resisting multiple times reaching for the mirror again, and pulled up to Dean's single wide. This was his home base, although he generally spent most of his time traveling throughout the states.

Sam adjusted the sleeves on his shirt before knocking on the door. He was stiff with an uneasy aura, but Nick stood beside him casually, hands in his pockets and looking boredly around the neighborhood.

The second the door swung open, Dean was nearly dragging him inside. "Don't let the cold in," he pulled him by the arm and Sam had to fight back wincing. His brother had no idea there was a purple handprint beneath his hold from a week ago when Sam had tried to turn away from Nick while he was talking.

"Hi," Sam said sheepishly. They used to spend every waking moment together, but now Sam was nervous around his brother, unsure if his disguise of normalcy would be seen through.

"Sammy!" Dean engulfed him in a hug, "How ya been?" he pulled away and ruffled Sam's hair like they were kids again.

"Good!" Sam forced out, "Really good. What about you?"

"Can't complain. I mean, I could, but who would listen?" Dean said lightly.

"Not me," Sam replied.

"Yeah, exactly. Hey, Nick, how's it going with you?"

Nick shrugged, entirely uninterested in the whole exchange. "It's alright."

"Talkative as ever, huh?"
Sam punched Dean's arm, but he couldn't bring himself to use more force than a tap.

"What was that, a mosquito?" Dean pretended to look around for the bug.

"Happy birthday, old man!" Sam cheered, shoving a gift bag into Dean's hand.
"And here I thought I invited you for no reason. Let's see," Dean ripped out the tissue paper and tossed it carelessly to the floor.

Suddenly, Sam remembered how embarrassed he was with the gift. His preoccupation with his appearance had taken up the forefront of his mind so that he had entirely forgotten his cheesy present. "It's dumb. I didn't really know what to get you," he mumbled. Dean pulled out the picture frame and took a moment to absorb the photograph. "I found it when I was going through some old stuff," it was a faded image of their mother, holding hands with Dean and cradling baby Sam in her arms.

Dean stared at the image for long enough to make Sam uncomfortable before replying, "Thank you," his voice was deep and Sam was taken aback by the seriousness in his tone, but his brother quickly shook it off, not one for sentimentality, "It's not stupid. I'm hanging it up right now," he walked to a wall and placed it on a nail protruding from the wallpaper.

"You shouldn't have random nails sticking out of your walls," Sam reprimanded.

"You have to admit it's convenient. Anyways, I'm making dinner. Nick, why don't you sit down," he gestured to the table on the side of the living room. The place was too small for there to be a separate dining and living area. Nick made a grunt of agreement and shuffled towards the table. "C'mon," Dean ordered and Sam followed him through a door into the cramped kitchen, not made to be occupied by two people at once.

"What are you making?" Sam asked, noticing the oven was already on, warming the small area. It smelled like butter and chicken and Sam didn't realize how hungry he was until this moment. He rarely ate nowadays, the constant anxiety of living with Nick kept his twisted stomach from ever feeling empty.

"Casserole."
"You always could cook," Sam recalled.

Dean sorted through the pantry and pulled out a bag of apples. He passed them to Sam. "Chop these. Cutting board's in that drawer."
"'Kay," Sam didn't mind following the instructions. In fact, he was an expert at taking direction now.

"I never see you anymore," Dean said soberly. Sam was surprised at the gravelly tone and looked over his shoulder to see his brother with his arms crossed, leaning against the fridge.

"You do live a state away."

"You still used to come to see me. And all the times I've been in town you were busy."
"Well, work's crazy and when you just pop in, I can't plan anything," Sam was sweating now and he wished he could say it was just from the warmth of the oven. When Dean said nothing, he sighed, "I'm sorry," I'll make time. I'll try to see you more often. I'll make it up to you. He couldn't say anything he wanted to say because it would all be a lie. It was frankly a miracle that Nick had gone cold turkey with the attacks to his face and Sam didn't suspect he would have such luck any time soon.

"Is something going on?"

Sam stiffened, then quickly tried to relax, hoping Dean hadn't caught on to the reaction. He focused on keeping his voice calm, "What do you mean?" he asked innocently. He was glad he could focus on slicing the apples instead of having to look Dean in the face when he lied.

"I mean something's off. Whenever we talk, you seem nervous or upset. You don't tell me anything anymore," his tone became gentle, "I'm worried about you."

"I- I don't know what you're talking about. Everything's fine," just keep your hands steady, Sam. Don't let your voice break. He doesn't know anything yet.

"Sammy. Look at me."

Sam slowly put the knife down and turned to face his brother.

"Be honest with me, is there something you need to tell me?" he looked deeply into Sam's eyes.

Lying to Dean's face, when all he wanted was to help, fighting through his fear of intimacy to look out for his little brother, it felt deeply wrong. All it would take was one little 'yes' and it would be over. Dean would never let Sam be abused and the daily traumas would come to a grinding halt. Just spit it out. Just say it, damnit.

"No," Sam said as earnestly as he was able.

…

After a long evening of Sam and Dean chatting amiably and laughing at old memories, Dean periodically glancing fondly at the picture on the wall when he spoke of their childhood, it was time to sleep. Dean retired to his room and Sam and Nick took the pull out couch.

"Why can't we get a room somewhere?" Nick grumbled.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, "Just this one night."

Nick shot him a filthy look. The day was pushing his limits and Sam knew his faux kindness was wearing thin, despite the fact he made little effort to appear warm to Dean. Even the simple act of not berating or threatening Sam could only be maintained for so long.

Sam let out a contented sigh as he settled on the mattress. Even though he could feel the hard springs under his back and there was a draft in the air, he felt more peace here than he had in months in his own soft bed.

He was starting to drift off, lying on his back, when a hand gripped his waist. It pressed against a healing bruise and Sam grimaced. "Not here," Sam said, uncharacteristically confident in the safety of his brother's trailer. Any other day, he would never refuse Nick.

"I spent all fucking day doing exactly what you wanted. This is the least you can do," Nick said venomously. He sat up and grabbed Sam's legs, hands in the crevices beneath his knees and pushed them up to position himself below Sam.

"Nick," Sam hissed and tried to squirm away from his grasp, "What if he wakes up?"

"I don't give a shit," he awkwardly pulled off Sam's pajama pants and boxers as Sam struggled against him.

"Nick!" Sam protested in a furious whisper.

Nick leaned in, lowering his own sweatpants to reveal his hard dick.

"You don't even have lube! What the fuck are you doing?" for all the times Nick had taken Sam against his will, it had never been dry. He began to struggle harder when Nick reached for him and wrapped his hands around Sam's throat, surely leaving a mark.

Sam wheezed, only shallow gasps of air entering his lungs, fighting as best he could while being choked.

It was when Nick's tip entered him that Sam cried out, feeling like he was being torn open. Nick paused, letting go of his throat and Sam thought it might be over, but then his face was smothered as a pillow was pressed over him, and Nick shoved in deeper.

Sam screamed like he hadn't screamed in years, but the pillow caught the sound, muffling him almost entirely. He couldn't take in any air now and as he grew fainter and his limbs grew weaker, it was all he could do to stay awake.

This is how I die. Being ripped open by a man who hates me in my brother's living room. Definitely not what I expected.

Just as the last flickers of consciousness were about to leave him, everything stopped. Nick pulled out of him and the pillow removed from his face. Sam desperately pulled in oxygen.

He blinked as he adjusted to his surroundings. It took a moment for his eyesight and hearing to return and his brain to presume functionality.

Dean was stradling Nick on the floor, fists flying as he beat in his face. Nick was yelling, pleas escaping between strikes, but Dean did not let up, even when the man went limp and his head fell to the side.

"Dean!" it occurred to Sam to step in, "Stop! You're gonna kill him," it wasn't that Sam cared for Nick's safety, but he didn't want Dean to take a life. He jumped off the bed and grabbed onto his brother's hand before it could swing down. Dean pushed him back without thinking, accidentally hitting Sam in the stomach and sending him to the ground. His brother sputtering from the accidental assault is what pulled Dean back into rationality.

"Sammy!" he forgot Nick's quite-possibly-dead body and rushed to Sam's side.

"It's okay," Sam coughed. The gut punch he could take, but the pain in his asshole still radiated through his entire body and he was aware that blood was trickling down his naked legs.

"I'm sorry," he still sounded frantic as he helped Sam up and hurried to the bed to retrieve his nightclothes.

"Thanks," Sam accepted them and wiggled them on, not yet ready to stand up. His legs were weak and he didn't want to stress his body any further. His hand ghosted the forming bruise on his throat.

"Sam…" Dean sounded heartbroken. He sat beside his little brother.

Sam wasn't ready for the questions, so he spoke first, "Is he dead?" it was strange that he felt no sadness. He asked merely out of curiosity. Something about being around Dean snapped him out of the trance he had been in with Nick.

Dean glanced back, hardly registering the form on the floor. "Dunno."

"I-" Sam flinched at a sudden, sharp pain shooting through his asshole.

Dean reached for him, but stopped, his hand hovering in the air, as if he didn't know how to touch Sam anymore. I'm tainted. This was why Dean was never meant to find out.

"I'm sorry," Dean said again, voice heavy with the weight of the words.

"I told you it's okay. I'm kind of used to getting hit," Sam admitted. There was no reason to hide it anymore.

Dean curled his hands and pressed them hard against the floor. "No. I should have known. I could have done something. Last time I saw you, you had this bruise on your face. You said you fell into something. Damnit, I'm so stupid. For a second I thought, 'what if.' Why didn't I know?"

Dean's vulnerability was starting to break Sam down. He didn't like seeing his brother in this state, especially knowing he was the one that caused it. He couldn't look at Dean anymore and turned to study the wall. "I didn't want you to know."

"But-"

"Please, Dean, can we forget about this?" Sam asked, knowing full well he would never forget, even after the deep purple-green scars all over his body faded and the burning pain where Nick entered him subsided, it would always be with him in his broken mind.

"No way. Why would you…" Dean seemed to think better of what he was going to say.

"Why would I let this happen? Because I'm pathetic. Is that what you want me to say?" Sam blinked away tears, "I'm weak and I'm lonely and I didn't know what else to do. I'm a coward. That's what you're thinking, right?"

"No!" Dean burst out, "Can you please look at me?" Sam didn't move to meet his brother's eyes, "I couldn't keep you safe."

"I didn't want you to," Sam said softly, the righteous anger leaking out of him, "It was my way of making up for the things I've done, I think. Sometimes I wanted him to do it. Like I needed to be punished."
"What have you done that's so bad?"

Sam shook his head, unable to verbalize his sins without breaking into tears. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean scooted closer and rested his hand on top of Sam's. "You don't need to be."

All the beatings, the strangulations, the beratings, Sam could feel the overwhelming pressure of them weighing down on him. He had been alone, afraid, for so long. Time passed slower with Nick, days counted in the moments between abuses. He thought of all the instances he bit back confessions in his phone conversations to Dean and realized how pointless it had been now. His eyes fell on the photograph of them on the wall and tears slid down his face. He turned to Dean and buried his head in Dean's chest. Dean embraced him, arms closing around him and clutching him tightly, and allowed Sam to weep into his arms. All the shame broke free with the salty tears.