Disclaimer – Not my boys, just my story
Chapter 4
Sam sat slouched in a crappy diner in town. The booths were plastic and slouching wasn't the most comfortable position, but he didn't move. A waitress had brought a cup of coffee over to him half an hour ago, but he hadn't touched it, only stared at the cup sitting on the scratched Formica table. The window next to him displayed the world of happy families and sunlight and laughing that he had never known before Stanford, and he watched, jealous and wanting. A man walked by across the road, holding the hand of a little girl with a mess of long blonde curls. As Sam watched, the father picked up his daughter, and she laughed in delight as he settled her on his shoulders. Sam looked back at the coffee.
He knew that by walking out, he was giving up. Giving up on his childhood dream of being a proper family, giving up on the ongoing battle with his father that he thought he ended when he left for Stanford, giving up on Dean. Giving up on Dean was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, and he'd already done it once before. But he couldn't keep going like he was, the fighting had taken so much out of him. So he had given in to his father, and he hated himself for it already.
He had never wanted to ask Dean to choose. He couldn't hurt his brother that way. He wasn't sure he could stand the pain of losing his brother that. So he tried to tell himself it was for the best. Dean would be fine without him, he had John to watch out for him now, and he would be fine without Dean. Except the ache in his chest seemed to disagree.
He was in love with his brother. He had known it from the first time they kissed, fierce and vicious and so right it had been like an electric current linking, raw energy shooting through his nervous system. It had been a different kind of love to what he felt for Jess, more primal, more necessary. He had never been able to tell Dean though, it was as much a secret as that other thing. Because it was wrong and twisted in his head with his fathers threats and warnings of You'll get Dean killed. But he had wanted to, desperately, on those nights when they were lying twined together, sweaty and exhausted, languidly kissing and stroking and caressing, revelling in the heat their two bodies had produced.
He reached for his cold coffee, his shoulder jolting with sparks of fire. His hoody was coated with dried blood on one side and there were spots of new blood soaking through the fabric of his t-shirt every time he moved. The waitress had looked like she wasn't sure whether to phone an ambulance or the police when he had walked in the diner, but after reassuring her he was ok and not a serial killer, she had let the subject drop. Now he wasn't so sure an ambulance was such a bad idea. The stitches his father had so carefully sewn into his skin had probably ripped, and Sam had a momentary worry that he would start spurting blood all over the diner. It would fit the day he was having so far. He sat up to try and ease the stiffness.
"Looks like you need new stitches, bro." Sam's head swung round. Dean stood next to him, a shitlicker grin on his face, hands in his pockets.
"Dean?" Sam couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Didn't want to hope that Dean had come after him, disobeying the order their father had almost certainly given. But Dean was solid and real, sliding into the seat opposite his and imitating his slouch so their knees touched under the table. The grin didn't fade from his face, but it never quite reached his eyes. They sat in silence, staring at each other over the table until Sam dropped his head. His hair covered his face and he hoped Dean couldn't see the confusion and anxiety warring within him. He wanted to ask, but he couldn't bring himself to find out if Dean was just here to say goodbye.
Dean had driven round the shithole of a town twice before he stopped to check the dubious bars and diners it offered. The third one he tried was almost empty and Dean was about ready to scream in frustration when he saw Sam sitting in the back. Relief poured through him like water, and he ignored the waitress approaching and strode toward his brother. Sam didn't see him, remaining fixated on the full cup of coffee the fingers of his good hand were idly toying with. He looked pale and drawn, and Dean noted the fresh blood darkening his t-shirt. Briefly he wondered at the type of people living in the town. If they ignored a man wandering round looking like an extra in a slasher movie then maybe they deserved the poltergeist problem. He bit down on his worry as he reached Sam's side, pasting on a grin that stretched just a bit too tight. Sam still didn't notice him, and the despondency on his face told Dean that he was lost in his own head, thinking too-deep thoughts and most probably placing yet more blame upon himself. Well that has to stop, right now.
His comment on Sam's shoulder had Sam's attention in a snap, but now with the focus of his brother entirely on him, Dean forgot what he was going to say. He wanted desperately to just wrap his arms around Sam, hold him close and never let him go. Instead he settled for sitting down opposite Sam in the booth, sliding one of his legs between Sam's so he could have some contact, no matter how small. Sam didn't say anything, just stared like he wasn't quite sure if Dean was really there or not. When he looked down, trying to conceal his face, the grin Dean had been holding onto so forcefully slipped away too. He couldn't ignore this, couldn't pretend everything was alright when his baby brother looked so broken. He had to know.
"Sam." Sam looked up, and Dean tried to find the words that had deserted him again. But apparently Sam knew what he was asking anyway.
"It wasn't a regular thing. Just, sometimes, after dad had had too much to drink…" Sam's voice was steady, like he had been practising this before. "You were out, or asleep. He didn't want you to see." The words tore into Dean. He felt like he had just been flayed alive, the confirmation laying to rest the last wishful hope that he had misunderstood somehow.
"Why didn't you tell me?" The most important job he had ever had, protecting his brother, his Sammy, and he hadn't been able to stop one of the worst violations imaginable. Instead he had allowed Sam to be used as an outlet for their father's grief, in fact had unknowingly created opportunities for it. And Sam had never given any indication that something was wrong. Apparently he was a lot better at hiding things
Dean gave him credit for.
"I didn't…" And now Sam's voice frayed. "I didn't want you to have to know. You had already lost one parent. I didn't want to ask you to give up the other."
"Sam…" Dean's dismay broke through the self blame that was already setting in as he realised what Sam was saying. But Sam stood up suddenly, breaking their connection.
"My shoulder's still bleeding. Did you bring the car?" Dean swallowed, allowing Sam to change the subject. He'd never been any good at expressing his feelings.
