Day Four
Dean Winchester was torn between anger at and worry for his younger brother. As soon as he and John had finished at the graveyard, once the shovel and guns had been locked in the trunk he'd insisted they stop at the motel to grab their stuff and head out to California. John, perhaps sensing his eldest son's urgency, hadn't argued and quickly gathered his belongings from the room before checking out.
Dean insisted on driving first so John, sitting in the front passenger's side of his beloved Chevy Impala watched as the speedometer climbed higher and higher.
"Dean, you need to calm down," John advised.
He son glanced at him quickly before looking at the road again.
"I know you're scared but you won't do anyone any good if you get pulled over," John reminded him and reluctantly Dean lowered his speed.
"You think I'm crazy, don't you?" he asked John.
"Of course I don't think that," his father replied, "I think that maybe, you're just blowing things out of proportion."
Dean didn't say anything so John continued.
"You know you're brother's always done things his own way, always been headstrong," John reminded him.
"Sam," Dean suddenly growled, "His name is Sam."
John looked at Dean, confused, "What?"
Dean looked at him, "You haven't said his name since he left, or haven't you noticed? It's always 'your brother' now when you talk about Sam."
John stared at Dean, not sure how to reply.
"I know something isn't right," Dean continued, "Sam told me he'd keep in contact and for him to just stop texting… to not answer my calls, with no explanation… I just know he wouldn't do that."
John sighed but didn't reply. What could he say? He was sure his youngest son had a perfectly reasonable excuse as to why he wasn't talking to Dean anymore and that they were heading to California for nothing.
He knew that trouble somehow always seemed to find his youngest son but really, in college? How much trouble could Sam get into? Cheating on exams? Getting in fights with his roommate? Drinking too much? John shook his head and stared out the side window, telling himself that Dean was wrong and that Sam was fine.
SPN
Sam opened his eyes fearfully when the basement lights came on. Turning his head to look over his shoulder, he watched Magnus and the others coming down the stairs, the blue-eyed man smiling.
Sam looked away as Magnus approached; instead he stared at the wall in front of him.
"Congratulations," Magnus' voice spoke from behind Sam, "Congratulations."
Sam hunched his shoulders, trying to make himself smaller.
"You've passed the tests, completed the challenges, obeyed me and the other Brothers and now you will be rewarded," Magnus continued.
"Can we get out of these handcuffs now?" Terry's voice asked from beside Sam.
"Momentarily," Magnus replied, "We still have some last-minute chores before you are released."
Sam held his breath, waiting to hear what the blue-eyed man had planned for them next.
"You cannot go anywhere without first having something to eat," Magus told them.
Sam swallowed thickly at the thought of having to eat more old oatmeal. From the corner of his eye, he watched the Brothers step up to the other boys so they could feed them the moldy oatmeal. Magnus himself approached Sam, still smiling. He flinched when the blue-eyed man put a hand on his head.
"I trust that we will have no more problems?" Magnus asked, looking down at Sam.
The young man lowered his gaze; he shook his head.
"Excellent," the blue-eyed man crowed, patting Sam's head, "I'm happy that you've come to see the futility of fighting. Disobedience will only serve to make your life more miserable."
Sam said nothing but felt hot tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Magnus moved away from the young man to stand before the captives. None of the Brothers approached to feed Sam.
"Now that you have eaten," Magnus told the others, "It is time to get dressed."
Sam watched in silence as Magnus and the Brothers headed back upstairs, leaving the boys alone.
Terry turned his head to look at Sam, "Are you okay? Sam? Sam, are you all right?"
Sam refused to look at Terry or the others, keeping his gaze, as best he could, on the staircase.
The Brothers were not gone long when they returned, Magnus leading, followed close behind by Titus who was holding a pile of clothing in his arm that Sam recognized as the clothes he and the other boys had been wearing the night of the party. Magnus approached each in turn and unlocked his handcuffs. He stepped up to Sam but did not release him.
"If you'll please find your clothing and dress," Magnus told the boys and they hurried to the pile of clothes and began digging it through it for their belongings.
Sam dared to look up at Magnus. Without much conviction, he tugged at the handcuffs still chaining him to the wall.
"In only a few minutes your friends will leave here," Magnus told him, his blue eyes sparkling, "And my job will be complete."
"You however," Magnus continued, reaching out to put a hand out to cup Sam's cheek, "Shall remain here for a time yet."
Sam turned his head away. The blue-eyed man moved his hand, gripping the hair at the side of Sam's head tightly.
"Don't be like that," Magnus chided, whispering in Sam's ear, "You only have yourself to blame."
Magnus released his hold on Sam and straightened up, tilting his head at the others who had found and donned their clothing.
"Brother Darius," Magnus said, "If you'll collect Sam's belongings for later."
Sam turned his head as far as he could but Magnus ushered the other boys toward the staircase and out of his line of sight. Sam listened to their footfalls as they climbed the staircase until the light was turned out and the door closed, leaving him alone and in darkness.
Sam hung his head, eyes closed. He wanted his brother; he needed his brother. Even though it was absurd, he wished Dean were with him, to comfort him and tell him everything was going to be okay. The thought that he would never see his brother again was just too devastating to fathom.
"Dean," Sam whimpered, as though he could summon his sibling simply by saying his name, "Dean… Please… Please… Dean…"
SPN
"Do you know where Sam is staying?" John asked his son, now driving the Impala as the crossed the city limits and entered Palo Alto, California.
"Branner Hall," Dean replied. He had taken his phone out and was texting his brother… or trying to. Every time he sent a text he received a 'delivery failed' message:
Sam, we're in Palo Alto. We're coming to Stanford. Text me as soon as you see this!
And:
What's wrong with your phone?
Then:
You know what, call me. CALL ME!
Finally:
I swear to God I am going to kick your ass.
Sighing in frustration, Dean stared out the window as they drove closer and closer to the university. He was restless, anxious. He could hardly sit still for the adrenaline already coursing through his veins. He knew his Dad didn't think Sam was in trouble, that he thought Sam was just ignoring them now that he was some college-boy but Dean didn't buy it. Sam had been so excited to tell him about his roommate and that stupid party they were going to at the beginning of the week and now… nothing. The line had gone completely dead and that concerned Dean. He was sure his brother would have bored him will all the crap going on in his classes but no, there was only silence, no mater how many times Dean called or texted.
John and Dean had decided to check Sam's student residence first and see if he was there- or if he wasn't maybe someone who knew where to find him- before splitting up and spreading out their search. Dean had found a map of the campus online and printed it so they wouldn't have to drive around aimlessly. He looked up now as they drove onto the university grounds, students walking down the sidewalks, heading to class or whatever, even this early in the morning; it was just after eight AM.
"Turn right here," Dean told John, glancing at the map.
John did as his son instructed before peering at him curiously.
"What?" Dean asked, looking up.
"Do you… I mean," John cleared his throat and paused as Dean spoke again, "Turn left."
"Did you ever think about going to college?" John asked his eldest son.
Dean stared at him, "No, at least not for a long time."
"So you did want to go, at one point?" John asked.
Dean shrugged, "Keep going straight."
"When I was a kid," he admitted, "I wanted to be a firefighter."
John looked at his son, shocked, "You never told me that."
"It was a long time ago," Dean told him, "It doesn't matter now. I'm a hunter."
John didn't know what to say and Dean didn't speak either. He looked up from his map, "There it is. Branner Hall."
John peered out the windshield to see the large, white, Mission-style building looming ahead of them.
"Did Sam ever tell you what room he was in or anything?" John asked as he found the parking lot for the residence and pulled into an empty space.
Dean shook his head, folding up the map and shoving it into his pocket.
"Do you know how we're going to find his room?" Dean asked and John pulled the key from the Impala's ignition.
"Just follow my lead," his father told him, "And keep your phone in your pocket."
John exited the vehicle and stretched. They had been driving all night without rest and he was exhausted and sore. Sometimes he tended to forget he wasn't as young as he used to be. Unzipping his jacket against the warmth of the morning, but leaving it on, John pocketed his car keys and approached the residence, Dean following beside him.
John stepped through the door held open for him by a young woman with curly blonde hair and barely noticed the interior of the building as he approached the front desk. Dean, standing beside him, took a moment to eye the clean, bright lobby that somehow looked both professional and welcoming.
"Can I help you?" a young man of Asian descent sitting behind the desk asked the Winchesters.
"Yes," John smiled at the young man, "We're here to visit my son, Samuel Winchester, but-"
John paused and chuckled, "He forgot to tell us which dorm was his and his brother didn't bring his phone with him, did you Dean?"
Dean looked at John, looked at the student behind the desk and shrugged.
"Okay," the boy behind the desk nodded, "His name is Samuel Winchester?"
"That's right. He's expecting us," John told him. The boy peered at the computer behind the desk, typed on the keys and then looked up at them.
"He's on the second floor," he told them, "Room forty-two."
"Thanks so much," John smiled and, taking hold of Dean's arm, began steering him towards the elevators.
"That was incredibly easy," Dean muttered to his father.
John shrugged and pressed the button to summon the elevator. Once the lift opened, expelling a giggling group of freshmen girls, the Winchesters stepped inside and headed up to the second floor.
Dean pulled his phone from his pocket to check it and saw that he had still received no text messages or missed calls from Sam.
"What do we do if he's not there?" Dean asked.
The elevator came to a halt, shaking slightly and opened onto a long hallway. John and Dean stepped out and glanced around; trying to figure out the direction they wanted to go in.
"Then we start asking questions," John started down the hall, "Start looking around."
Dean nodded, hoping that they would not have to do that.
They reached room number two-twelve and paused. John reached out and rapped his knuckles against the wooden door loudly. They waited for a minute before John pulled out his wallet, slipping a fake ID from the slot and pressed it into the narrow space between the door and the doorjamb.
Dean casually leaned against the wall, blocking what John was doing from view should anyone come down the hallway.
It didn't take long before John had the door unlocked and had swung it open. Quickly he and Dean slipped inside and closed the door tightly.
John turned around and peered around the room, recognizing none of the items sitting out as belonging to his youngest son.
"I think this is Sam's roommate's stuff," Dean told his father and crossed the room to a second wooden door, pushing it open cautiously.
This room was empty but for the furniture. Dean glanced around and opened a drawer, revealing a collection of his brother's t-shirts.
"I found Sam's stuff," Dean called to John, "But it doesn't look like any of its been touched since he put it away."
John was looking through the items that belonged to Sam's roommate.
"I don't think Sam's been here in a few days," Dean added. John looked up to see Dean had his brother's duffle bag and was opening drawers and cupboards, the closet, to shove Sam's belongings inside.
John looked down and opened the top drawer of the computer desk, frowning at a black piece of paper with silver writing on it. Reaching in, he lifted the thick card paper and read the words printed on it.
"This must be what Sam was telling you about," John commented.
"What?" Dean asked. He had gathered all his brother's possessions and approached John, looking at the paper in his hands, "What's that?"
"An invite to a fraternity called Beta Theta Upsilon," John replied and showed him.
"That was the name of the fraternity Sam was at," Dean told his Dad.
"Did Sam tell you when he got back?" John asked.
Dean frowned, "I don't… No, he didn't. He wanted to leave but he didn't want to go without his roommate."
Glancing down at the paper in his father's hand, Dean saw an address written at the bottom.
"You think some fraternity jerks have something to do with Sam not answering his phone?" Now Dean was the one who sounded skeptical.
"Even if they aren't, they may know something that could help," John explained his thinking, "It's as good as any place to start."
Dena nodded, slipping the strap of his brother's bag over his shoulder. John put the invite into his pocket and exited the dorm, remembering to close the door behind him.
The Winchesters quietly and quickly walked down the hallway, both wondering if the youngest member of their family was in more danger than they had initially thought.
They rode the elevator down to the first floor, saying nothing but, as they were passing the front desk, John paused, "Can you tell me anything about the fraternity Beta Theta Upsilon?"
The young man who had helped them earlier looked up, his brow furrowed, "What was that?"
"Beta Theta Upsilon," John repeated.
"I don't think we have a fraternity on campus by that name," the young man told him.
Dean's blood suddenly ran cold in his veins. He reached out and grabbed his father's arm, "C'mon Dad."
John stepped away from the desk and Dean could see by the look on his face that he was thinking the same thing: something was very, very wrong and whatever it was, the fraternity was a part of it.
Dean urged himself not to run to the Impala as soon as he was outside. He climbed into the passenger's side and tossed his brother's duffle onto the floor of the backseat.
"What do you think?" Dean asked as John turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking space.
"I think we have to get to that frat house as quickly as possible," John growled. He pressed his foot down on the gas too hard and the Impala jerked out of the parking lot, nearly colliding with a convertible full of boys around Dean's age who swore at the hunter and gave him the middle finger as they drove past.
Dean didn't know what kind of trouble his brother had gotten himself into but he agreed with his father that having an invite to a fraternity that, for all intents and purposes was not affiliated with Stanford was extremely suspicious. Didn't fraternities and sororities have a set of rules to operate? He didn't think anyone could start a frat house without the college knowing.
Dean glanced at his father. John's expression was set, his knuckles white where they gripped the steering wheel.
Don't worry Sammy, Dean thought, we're coming to get you.
SPN
Sam stared into the darkness, his heart pounding in his chest, his breathing too shallow, too fast. Tears squeezed out from Sam's eyes and dripped down his face. He was trapped, unable to escape and now utterly alone among enemies. A feeling of claustrophobia descended and Sam whimpered, terrified and helpless.
W
Sam lifted his head, his eyes scanning the dark fearfully at the sound of footfalls moving rapidly across the floor above, followed by a heavy crash. Fear clutched at the young man's heart. Magnus was back and was going to hurt him again. A sob escaped the young man and he quickly looked away when the door at the top of the stairs opened.
SPN
John parked the Impala several doors down from the supposed fraternity house. He had driven past it slowly, attempting to look like someone searching for an address, to get the first look at what he and Dean would be up against.
The house itself seemed quite innocuous. It had a large front porch with a bench swing, flowerbeds in the front yard in need of water, a lawn that had gone weeks without being mown. There was one vehicle in the driveway; a silver van the type soccer moms were fond of.
"What do you think?" Dean asked as they parked the car down the street.
"We'll grab guns," John told him, "Just to be on the safe side, something small, and make sure the place empty before we go in."
"What if it's not empty?" Dean asked, his hand on the passenger's side door handle.
"Depending on how many are in there," John told him, "We can go in now. But wait for my signal. Don't do anything until I say so."
Dean nodded and opened the door. He met John at the rear of the car as his father lifted the lid of the trunk and, looking around to make sure no one was watching, the hidden bottom to reveal their cache of weapons. He quickly passed Dean a handgun before grabbing one for himself, checking it was loaded, before slipping it into the waistband of his jeans, at the back so his jacket covered it.
Closing the trunk, John glanced at his eldest son, "Okay, let's go."
They headed down the sidewalk, moving slowly, casually so as not to draw attention to themselves they approached the fraternity house. John motioned to Dean to go around the back while he took the front.
Crouched so as not to be seen by anyone looking through the windows, John climbed the porch and peered inside the house. The first window offered a view of a living room, a rather mundane-looking area that didn't look suspicious in the slightest, in fact, in John's opinion, it looked as though it had come from a magazine. The other thing John noticed about the living room was that it was empty; no one was inside. He crossed the front door and peered into the next window that looked into a bedroom, again, decorated as though for a photo shoot.
He carefully continued around the porch before sliding underneath the railing and met Dean around back.
"See anyone?" Dean asked and John shook his head.
"There was one guy in the kitchen, sitting at an island," Dean told him.
"Anything else?" John asked. They could easily take out one man.
"There was a bathroom and a bedroom but that was it. They were empty," Dean told him.
"What do you think?" John asked, "Take a chance?"
Dean looked at his father and took a deep breath.
"Something about this place doesn't feel right," he replied, "It all looks a little too perfect inside."
John nodded, "I noticed that too."
"You think it's just a front for something?" Dean asked.
"Could be," John replied, "Won't know until we go inside."
"Gun?" Dean asked.
"Keep it close," John advised, "But don't use it unless necessary. We may need to talk to this guy."
He turned to the back entrance, which consisted of an aluminum and mesh outer door and a heavier, but wooden inside door. John carefully opened the screen door and Dean grabbed hold of it. Instead of a card this time, John pulled out a piece of thin metal that could have once been a paper clip, fitted it into the keyhole on the wooden door and jiggled it around, listening quietly for the locking mechanism to click. It took longer than the dorm room but in the end, John was able to unlock the door. He put the slim piece of metal back in his pocket and gently pushed the door open. He turned to Dean and put a finger to his lips.
He took one step inside, his boot finding pristine linoleum that looked as though it had never been walked on, and then a second step inside and paused, listening.
He could hear nothing. The house was utterly quiet. He motioned for Dean to follow him as he moved further into the house.
Dean closed both doors after himself, moving slowly and quietly so they wouldn't make a sound, before following his father, his heart hammering in his chest.
John passed the bedroom and bathroom Dean had mentioned and then continued on until he stood just beside the open kitchen doorway. Quietly, he glanced through the doorway and there was a person sitting with his back to them.
John turned to Dean and motioned for him to stay where he was. Dean nodded and watched as his father rushed across the kitchen and grabbed the man, surprising him and dragging him off his chair to turn him around and slam his back into the edge of the island.
"Where's my son!" John growled, nose inches from the other man's face, "Sam Winchester, where is he?"
Dean stared at his Dad. He hadn't expected for John to go into full on papa bear mode on the guy. He shrugged, whatever.
The man didn't speak, didn't even open his mouth but his eyes twitched, darting quickly to the left, towards what looked like a pantry, before focusing on John again.
"Dean," John called his son's name and nodded in the direction of the pantry.
"If you're trying to trick us…" John growled at the man and he shook his head, "I am not."
Dean approached the door cautiously; reaching out he gripped the handle and swung the door open quickly to reveal… another door.
"What's going on here?" John shoved the man down harder against the island, making him wince in pain, "The door… leads to a… basement…"
The interior door was secured but the key was on a chain hanging from the doorknob. Dean unlocked the door but didn't open it. He looked back at John.
John raised a fist and punched the man in the face, letting him fall to the floor where he struck his head and lay unmoving.
Dean turned to the door and eased it open, carefully, slowly. There, just as the man had said, was a wooden staircase that appeared to lead into a dark cellar or basement.
Dean looked back at John. His father motioned to him to go forward.
"Aren't you coming?" he asked.
John shook his head, "I'll stay here in case this asshole wakes up or if anyone else shows up."
Dean nodded and lifted his hand to the switch that turned on the basement lights. Dean walked carefully, the steps creaked and groaned and squeaked with every step as though they would collapse under his weight. Before he could see the basement proper, a foul stench wafted up towards the hunter, forcing him to put his sleeve across his nose, his eyes watering. Looking down, he saw that the floor of the basement was unfinished, just hard-packed dirt.
Dean, unsure of what he would find at the bottom, lifted his gaze, taking in the stone walls of the windowless basement, the ceiling with crisscrossing two-by-fours, before forcing himself to look.
The first thing he noticed was the row of metal rings hanging from the wall, several of which had open handcuffs dangling from them. The next thing Dean noticed was that there was a figure, hunched over, hands held slightly overhead, faced the wall.
"S-Sam?" Dean called, his blood seeming to freeze in his veins, "Sammy?"
Slowly the figure moved and peered over its shoulder. Sam Winchester's hazel eyes peered out at Dean from a battered and bloodied face.
"D-D'n?" the younger brother whimpered, tears welling up in his eyes.
"Sammy," Dean's feet propelled him forward and suddenly he was at his brother's side. Shrugging off his leather jacket, Dean put it over his brother's shoulders before he did anything else.
"Give me a second, Sammy, I'll get you out of these," Dean murmured before looking back towards the staircase.
"DAD!"
"Dean?" John's voice called in response.
"GET DOWN HERE!"
"D'n," Sam whimpered, his tears leaving streaks down his grimy cheeks.
"I know, Sammy," Dean raised his hand and laid it on Sam's head.
"Did you find-" John's voice came from the staircase as he came downstairs, stopping when he caught sight of the scene before him.
"I need your lock pick," Dean told him.
"Sam," John said, shocked. Glancing down he patted his jacket until he found the pick and handed it to his eldest son, unable to take his eyes from his youngest.
John crouched on Sam's other side. He reached out a hand to his son, unsure what of what he wanted to do, when he caught sight of a flash of colour on his son's arm. John grabbed hold of Sam's arm, causing his son to flinch and try to pull away but the father's grip was too strong. Carefully, John turned Sam's arm so his left forearm was showing. There, inked into the skin just below the crook of his elbow, was a series of six numbers.
John released Sam's arm and sat back, "Bastards."
With a metallic click, Dean unlocked one of the handcuffs from around his brother's wrists, careful not to hurt him.
"We're almost done, Sammy," Dean murmured, then, "What is it Dad?"
"Look at his arm," John said and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.
"Huh?" Dean, still fiddling with the other cuff, looked down at his brother's arm.
"These are bad people," John told him. Dean looked up sharply, green eyes fearful.
With a second metal click, the other cuff opened and Dean took it off his brother's wrist, tossing it to one side. Slowly Sam lowered his arms before crossing them over himself.
John stood, "We need to leave now, before they come back."
He slipped his arms out of his jacket and bent down to tie it around his youngest son's waist, the best he could do at the moment to cover his nakedness.
Dean looked up at his father, "What do you mean, Dad? There was only one guy!"
"There will be more where he came from," John told him as he bent down and grabbed Sam under the armpit.
"Get his other arm, Dean," John instructed and Dean did as he was asked.
Sam whimpered as he was pulled into an upright position. He reached out, one hand against the wall, as his legs started to buckle.
"C'mon Sammy," Dean encouraged, "Stand up, man."
Sam cried out as Dean pulled him up again. Dean looked at John, scared that he was hurting his brother.
"He's probably just getting the circulation back in his legs, Dean," John explained, "If he's been down here since the party."
Dean's eyes widened in shock.
"We can't wait," John told him, "We need to get out of here as soon as possible."
"But Sammy-" Dean began but John interrupted him, "If we don't get him out of here, Dean, a little pins and needles are going to be the least of his worries."
Dean, though still not sure what exactly was going on, gritted his teeth as he and his father helped Sam turn around. Sam staggered, whimpering with pain, leaning heavily against them for support.
"C'mon Sammy, c'mon you can do it," Dean found himself speaking under his breath, "Just a little further, yeah, just a bit further."
Painfully slow, they crossed the basement, Sam gradually able to support himself more and more. He was still weak though, so John and Dean walked with him, pushing him more like, as they climbed the staircase.
Once in the kitchen, John checked to see if the man he had left was still knocked out- he was- before cautiously releasing his hold on his youngest son.
"I'm going to bring the car," he said, "You bring your brother."
Dean nodded and wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders. He watched as Sam's gaze followed John as he left the house by the back door and disappeared.
"He'll be right back, Sammy," Dean assured him, "C'mon, lets get you the hell out of here."
Sam walked with Dean to the back door, laying his head against Dean's shoulder.
"You can rest once we're in the car," Dean told him, feeling a lump in his throat, wondering what Sam had gone through in the past few days.
They stepped into the backyard, the younger brother squinting in the bright sunlight. Dean carefully guided his barefoot sibling around the side of the house and saw the Impala park on the sidewalk, idling.
John was glancing around as though he expected to be suddenly attacked but visibly calmed when Dean opened the rear passenger's side door for his brother. Dean smiled when he saw John had put some blankets from the trunk into the back. Sam crawled onto the bench seat, opened a blanket and covered himself with it and sat, facing the front. Dean climbed onto the seat beside his brother, Sam leaning against him and gripped his shirt with one hand as though he never wanted to let go. Sam peered up at his brother through wet, red-rimmed eyes.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured to his brother as John pulled away from the house, "It's going to be okay now."
Dean looked at their father when Sam closed his eyes, wondering if his sibling really was asleep or if he was just resting.
"We need to stop somewhere and get Sam cleaned up, check his wounds, get him some clothes," Dean told John.
"I'd like to get out of here before we stop anywhere," John told his eldest son.
Dean looked at his father, "What do you think happened back there?"
John's hands tightened on the steering wheel and the speedometer inched higher.
"Dad?" Dean asked again, "Do you know what happened?"
"I don't know for certain," John admitted, "But I think your brother got caught up with a group of human traffickers."
"What?" Dean exclaimed sharply.
"They abduct people and-" John began; only to be interrupted, "I know what that means. I just… how? They're in the middle of California, just blocks away from a prestigious college… you'd think someone would notice."
John just shook his head. Dean glanced down at his brother, now having a chance to take in his appearance.
Sam's hair was tangled and unwashed and he needed to shave. There was a healing gash on his forehead, surrounded by a purple bruise and the right side of his face was badly scraped. One of his eyes was puffy, as though it had been swollen but was going down, and there was a dark bruise on his cheekbone. His lips were dry and cracked and pale.
Dean shifted his position slightly, jostling his brother. Sam opened his eyes and looked up at him.
"What did they do to you, Sammy?" Dean whispered.
W
As John had insisted, they left Palo Alto before they stopped. The Winchesters pulled into a small gas station on the side of the highway, John pulling right up to the restrooms around the back of the small cinderblock building.
"I'll get the key," John said and exited the vehicle. Dean looked around but the gas station was deserted- drivers preferring to stop at the larger, chain gas stations instead of a no-name one- and smiled encouragingly at his brother.
Sam was still leaning heavily against him, still wearing Dean's jacket draped over his shoulders, John's jacket around his waist, a blanket wrapped around him.
"We'll get you cleaned up, Sammy," Dean told him. Sam tightened his fist in Dean's shirt.
John opened the rear passenger's side door and passed Dean the key to the men's room.
"I'll grab his duffle and the First Aid Kit," John told Dean and walked to the rear of the car.
Dean gently eased Sam's hand from his shirt, slid out of the vehicle and then walked around to open the door for his brother, "C'mon Sammy."
Holding the blanket at his throat with one hand, the younger Winchester reached out to take his brother's offered hand. Dean led his brother to the restroom and unlocked the door, peering inside, revealing only a single room with a sink, urinal, and toilet. John followed behind them and passed Dean the First Aid Kit. The restroom wasn't the cleanest, much to Dean's irritation, the cement floor was covered in hundreds of questionable stains, the tiled walks littered with graffiti, the fluorescent light flickered treacherously, flies clearly visible inside the cover, the mirror over the sink spotted and cracked. The entire room had an overwhelming stench of lemon-scented urinal cake and piss.
Dean took the blanket from his brother and laid it across the toilet seat before having Sam sit down, he didn't want his sibling to catch anything from this place after everything he'd been through.
John remained at a distance, leaning against the closed door, arms folded across his chest.
"Okay, Sammy," Dean knelt down and opened the First Aid Kit, taking out the bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a cotton ball and some bandages.
Carefully, gently, Dean wiped the blood away from Sam's face before dabbing the wound on his brow with peroxide. He hissed in sympathy when the wound began bleeding again, a crimson rivulet running down Sam's nose.
"Sorry," Dean murmured and quickly wiped away the blood. He applied a piece of gauze before moving on.
John pushed himself away from the door, "I'll be back."
Dean didn't even look in his direction as his father left the restroom.
"Okay Sammy, let's see your wrists," Dean murmured and once again began the process of cleaning and bandaging.
"I need my jacket back, buddy," Dean told his brother and lifted his coat from Sam's shoulders.
His brother hunched himself and Dean saw more bruises and scrapes on his sibling's back but nothing that needed immediate attention.
"Let's get you dressed, okay?" Dean asked his brother, gripping his hands and pulling him into a standing position. He grabbed some clothes from his brother's duffle bag- a pair of boxers, sweatpants and a t-shirt. Dean set the pants and shirt on the edge of the sink and held the underwear out to his brother. Sam took a step back from him. Surprised at his sibling's behaviour, Dean looked up, meeting his brother's gaze, Sam's eyes fearful and uncertain.
"Sammy, you gotta get dressed," he encouraged, shaking his hand holding the boxers a little, "You don't have anything I haven't seen before."
Sam looked away from him.
"What's wrong?" Dean asked, his heart twinging with a sudden anxiety, "Why don't you want to get dressed?"
Sam didn't answer but continued to look away from him, backing up until he was standing against the wall.
"Sammy?" Dean said again, "What's wrong, man?"
He took a step towards his brother and Sam slid away from him.
"Sam, c'mon, you have to get dressed," Dean stopped where he was, not wanting to upset his sibling. He continued to hold the pair of boxers out like some sort of strange peace offering.
"Sammy? Are you okay?" Dean asked. Sam looked up at him, his eyes wet.
"Sam," Dean felt a lump in his throat, "What's wrong? Please, tell me. You can tell me."
Sam looked at him, his expression torn.
"D'n," he whimpered.
Dean took a step forward, Sam didn't move. He took another step and another step, until he was standing in front of his sibling.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean assured him, even though it did not feel in the least bit okay, "C'mon, lets get you dressed."
Sam reached out and quickly grabbed the underwear from his brother's hand and bent so he could put his foot through the leg hole.
"Sam, take Dad's jacket off," Dean reached out and pulled on the sleeve, yanking the knot free. The jacket slid to the floor and Sam swayed, unbalanced. Dean reached out and grabbed his brother's arm by the elbow, tightly, making his sibling wince.
"Can I he-" Dean began, reaching out to his brother but stopped short when he caught sight of dried blood on the back of his brother's thighs.
Looking up, his green eyes met Sam's hazel ones and saw a deep shame in his brother's expression.
"Sam," Dean whispered. His brain struggled to process what he was seeing, fighting to instinct to put two-and-two together.
"You're hurt," Dean said and, with one hand still on his brother's elbow, drew Sam away from the wall, "Let me see."
Sam tried to pull away from Dean's grip, shaking his head.
"D'n," he whimpered.
"Sammy," Dean murmured, "Please, I gotta make sure you're okay."
Sam shook his head again and wrapped his free arm around his middle.
"Sam," Dean said, releasing his brother's arm to reach out and cup his sibling's face in his hands, "Please, I have to know."
His brother lowered his gaze and sucked in a shaky breath. Quickly, to try and keep his brother's discomfort to a minimum, Dean checked his brother's legs for wounds but found none. Despite that, there most certainly had been some sort of physical injury. Dean closed his eyes for a moment, wishing he didn't have to ask his next question. He put his hands on his brother's face again, gently but firmly, forcing his sibling to look at him.
"Sam," Dean said and moved his thumbs across Sam's cheekbones when he felt warm tears against his skin, "Were you… Did they…"
God, how was he supposed to ask this? He had hoped that what the blood on his brother's legs had suggested wasn't true but with no apparent wounds and the dried blood on the backs of his brother's thighs, he had strong sense he knew what had happened.
Dean whispered the words, feeling them fighting to remain unspoken, "Sammy, did they hurt you?"
He couldn't get the word out, couldn't actually say the word 'rape' as though by not saying it, it would somehow make it less real.
Sam's eyes welled with tears and that was all the answer Dean needed. He pulled his brother into a tight hug, feeling Sam trembling. Dean felt his own eyes well with tears and he tightened his embrace, as though by squeezing hard enough he could push out his brother's memories of what he had been through during the past few days.
Dean didn't know how long they stayed like that but once he and Sam let go of each other, Dean wanted nothing more than to just get back in the Impala and get as far away from California as possible.
He helped Sam dress and although his brother didn't have any shoes in his duffle, that was fine, they'd be in the car mostly anyway. Gathering the First Aid Kit, duffle bag, blanket, and their Dad's jacket, Dean opened the restroom door to find the Impala parked exactly as they'd left it, John sitting behind the steering wheel.
Dean stalked towards the window and rapped his knuckles against it. John peered at him, his expression confused and then rolled down the window.
"What-" John began but Dean interrupted, rage at his father spilling over.
"You son of a bitch!" Dean snarled, "You bastard, you wouldn't listen to me!"
"Dean-" John tried, not understanding why he was being attacked.
"You didn't believe me when I said something wasn't right! You wouldn't trust me when I thought Sammy was in trouble!" Dean snapped.
"Hold on-" John spoke up again but again, Dean wouldn't let him speak.
"You made me wait three days! Three goddamn days that they were torturing Sam! They beat him and… and… you know what? I'm done talking to you right now," Dean looked away from John and turned his attention back to his brother. During the argument, Sam stood behind Dean, one hand fisted in the back of his shirt as though he were afraid he'd disappear if he let go.
"C'mon Sammy," Dean reached his hand back and Sam took hold of it, letting go of his shirt.
Dean opened the door for his sibling and caught sight of a white plastic bag in the backseat, two Gatorade bottles poking out of the top. John, who seemed to have followed his gaze, spoke, "I figured he'd need something to eat and drink."
"Good idea," Dean said sarcastically and put the First Aid Kid, blanket and duffle on the floor, ushering his brother inside. Sam slid down the bench seat and Dean climbed into the rear passenger's seat beside him and scrubbed both hands over his face.
John wanted to speak to his eldest son, ask him if Sam was all right but he kept his mouth shut. Instead he started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.
Dean dug a hand in the bag and pulled out a bottle of Gatorade. He twisted the cap free and offered the bottle to Sam. His brother stared at it but didn't take it.
"C'mon Sammy, it's Gatorade," Dean encouraged, "You've got to be thirsty."
Still Sam refused to take the bottle. Dean, confused, lifted the bottle to his own lips and took a drink.
"See? It's all right," Dean told his brother and pressed the bottle into Sam's hand. Reluctantly, his brother took a sip of the sports drink.
W
Dean couldn't get his brother to finish the Gatorade. After taking a sip he'd handed the bottle back. Dean sighed and put the lid back on, setting the bottle aside for later. Instead, he fished in the bag again until he grabbed a bag of beef jerky. He tore the bag open and held it out to Sam.
"I know it's not your favourite, but you've got to eat something," Dean encouraged.
Sam refused to even take one piece, even when Dean ate some. Sighing, he ate the jerky himself, not wanting it to go to waste.
He was still simmering with anger and although he didn't want to talk to his father, he wanted him to know what his stupidity and indecision had meant for his brother. Before he could get up the nerve to speak, his father beat him to it.
"Want to tell me what happened back there?" John asked quietly, moving the rearview mirror so he could see his sons in the backseat.
Dean met his father's gaze and sighed, "I don't want to think about it, much less talk about it."
"Dean," John urged, "Please."
"Mind turning up the music?" Dean asked, surprising John but he did as he was asked and Alice In Chains' 'Rotten Apple' thumped from the speakers.
Dean leaned forward, arms on the back of the front bench seat, his mouth close to John's ear so he could speak without having to shout.
"It looks like they beat him," Dean told him, "He's covered with bruises and scrapes."
John looked at Dean quickly before turning his attention back to the road.
"But that's not what's got you so upset," John said, "Dean, just tell me. I need to know."
"They raped him," Dean told his father, snarling the words, "Because we weren't there in time they raped him. You could have stopped it but you wanted us to wait!"
John narrowed his eyes at his eldest son, "How the hell was I supposed to know what had happened, Dean? I'm not a fucking psychic!"
"You should have listened to me, damn it! You know Sam's a magnet for trouble!" Dean hissed and sat back sharply.
John didn't say anything for a long time. Dean saw his father's eyes in the rearview mirror were wet.
Well it was a little fucking late for that, Dean thought. Crying wasn't going to fix anything; Dean had learned as much from his father. You had to man-up and take care of business, even if it was you who had fucked up. You took responsibility for your mistakes like an adult. You didn't blubber over them like some snot-nosed kid.
W
"Dad, we need to stop," Dean announced, speaking for the first time in hours.
John reached out and turned the music volume down. They had just passed a sign welcoming them to Mammoth Lakes, over six hours away from Palo Alto.
The eldest Winchester glanced at his sons in the rearview mirror: Dean was sitting up on one side of the rear bench seat with his brother curled up beside him, Sam's head resting on his lap, feet against the door. But he wasn't asleep; his eyes were wide open.
"Maybe we should wait until we cross over into Nevada," John suggested, "It's not that far."
Dean shook his head, "Sam needs to get checked by a real doctor, sooner rather than later. And he needs some proper food and rest."
John glanced again at his youngest son in the mirror and nodded.
"Okay, Dean," he acquiesced. He didn't want to admit it but he wouldn't mind taking a break. Although he wanted to get as far from Stanford and the people who had held his son captive, he knew they had a head start and it would take time for the traffickers to find them- if and when that happened. He was hoping that the one in the kitchen hadn't seen the Impala but if he had, well John Winchester had friends too, a whole community of hunters who would protect one of their own from monsters human or not.
John drove slowly down the street, searching for a payphone. If he found one, it would surely have a phonebook that would have the address of a walk-in clinic. Stopping abruptly, he spotted a phone booth outside of an employment center and pulled up in front of it. Opening the door, he slipped out and walked to the booth. It was filthy- covered in grime and graffiti- the phone itself hanging off the cradle, the phone book missing half its pages but John decided to try his luck. Flipping through the thin pages, he was pleased to see that the 'C' section was still intact and quickly found a listing for the cities clinics, including walk-ins. Finding what he needed, he tore the page out of book and climbed back into the car.
"There's a whole list of walk-in clinics," John set the paper on the seat beside him and began driving again.
"Hey Sammy, can you sit up?" John heard Dean murmur to his sibling, "We're going to get you checked out by a doctor."
John quickly glanced in the rearview mirror to see his youngest son sitting up in the backseat; his arms wrapped around his middle like he had a stomachache and shake his head.
"I know you don't want to but we have to make sure you're okay," Dean said gently, "I'll be with you. I won't leave you alone."
"D'n," Sam muttered and leaned his head against Dean's shoulder.
"We're almost there," John announced, speaking past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.
The walk-in clinic was an unassuming redbrick building sandwiched between a Mexican restaurant and a dollar store in a strip mall.
John parked the car as close to the front door as he could and killed the engine.
"Pop the trunk, Dad," Dean ordered, "Sam needs some shoes."
John did as he was asked and unlocked the trunk. He waited until his sons had gone around to the rear of the car before getting out himself.
Exiting the vehicle, he stretched his stiff muscles as he waited for his sons. He could see that the restaurant was full, people chatting, laughing, enjoying their food, and, for a brief moment John felt hatred towards them, all of them, because they weren't going through what his youngest son had gone through.
Glancing at Sam, he saw that his youngest was wearing a pair of Dean's old running shoes he rarely wore anymore, preferring his boots. He was gripping the sleeve of Dean's jacket, just like he used to when he was a little boy.
John went inside first, pushing open the glass door and frowning at how empty the clinic was. He could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall in the waiting area but other than that, it was quiet.
"Hello?" he called, "Hello?"
A young woman, around Sam's age wearing a purple blouse and grey dress slacks appeared from behind the reception desk, "I'm sorry but we've closed."
"Is there a doctor or a nurse here?" John asked, "Please, my son needs help."
The young woman, who looked like she just wanted to go home, nodded, "I think Dr. Tanner is still here. Give me a second."
She rushed through a doorway behind the desk and the Winchesters waited anxiously. Finally, after some time, she reappeared, "I told Dr. Tanner you were here. She'll be out in a minute."
The young woman grabbed her Lulu Lemon bag and slung it over her shoulder but seemed uncertain of what to do next.
The sound of hurried footfalls approached and a middle-aged woman appeared, holding a white coat over one arm, a purse hanging from her shoulder.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm just closing for-" she began but John interrupted, "Can you look at my son, please? He's been hurt."
The woman pushed her wire-rimmed glasses up on her nose and squinted at the Winchesters. Frowning, clearly trying to decide what the best course of action would be, she finally nodded, "All right, come in."
Turning to the young receptionist she spoke, "Kathy, can you stay for a little bit? Just until I see to these people?"
"Sure," Kathy sat back down and pulled out her cell phone.
Dean glared at John; silently telling him he wasn't welcome to come with them so the father huffed and sat down in a chair, arms crossed.
Dr. Tanner led the brothers into an examination room and closed the door. Placing her purse onto the computer desk that sat against one wall, she shrugged her white lab coat back on.
"Can you sit on the table please?" she asked Sam, gesturing to the exam table on the opposite side of the room.
Sam hesitated for only a second before doing as she asked, not letting go of Dean, who leaned against the table as Sam sat, the paper crinkling.
"What's happened?" the woman asked.
"My brother was raped," Dean told her and Dr. Tanner frowned.
"When did this happen?" the doctor asked and Dean answered, lying.
"Last night," he told her.
"Where?" she asked.
Dean told her the name of a nearby town.
"We were passing through, decided to stop," he lied, "We went out and lost track of Sam."
Dr. Tanner nodded, "Sam? I need to ask you some questions and I want you to answer to the best of your ability, okay?"
Sam nodded but didn't look up; he seemed fascinated by his hands clasped in his lap.
Dean watched as the woman sat at the computer and booted it up, she typed in her password and opened a program that would allow her to select different forms about a variety of medical issues and type answers to the questions listed.
"Were you drinking alcohol or taking any illegal substances at the time of the assault?"
Dean looked at his brother. Sam shook his head.
"He wasn't," he told the doctor.
She turned in her chair, "I need Sam to answer. I'm sorry. But it's important that he answer these questions himself."
Dean frowned but nodded.
"Sam?" Dr. Tanner prompted.
"No," Sam mumbled.
The doctor turned and typed something into the computer.
"Were you acting in a way that would draw unwanted attention?"
"What-" Dean began but Sam spoke before he could finish.
"No," he whispered.
"Were there other people present at the time of the assault other than your attacker?"
Sam paused as though he were thinking about what his answer should be. Dr. Tanner didn't seem to notice.
"No," Sam whispered again.
"Okay," she responded, "Now, these next questions are going to be a little harder but again, I need you to answer to the best of your knowledge."
Dean reached out and took his brother's hand, Sam's fingers cool and dry against his.
"Was the perpetrator male or female?"
Dean squeezed Sam's hand.
"Male," Sam answered.
"Was there one or more attackers?"
"More," Sam answered, his voice barely audible.
"To the best you can remember, how many were involved?"
Dean gripped his brother's hand tightly.
Sam wouldn't look up, whether it was out of shame or embarrassment, Dean didn't know.
"Sam?" Dr. Tanner asked but he refused to say anything else.
Oh Sammy, Dean thought and looked towards the ceiling for a moment to get his emotions under control.
"Okay, just a couple of more questions," Dr. Tanner told them.
"Were any foreign objects used turning the attack?"
Dean looked at the woman, "What does that mean?"
Dr. Tanner turned in her chair and pinched the bridge of her nose, "Were objects such as a broomstick handle or a beer bottle used during the assault."
Dean closed his eyes and felt nauseous, wishing he hadn't asked.
"N-No," Sam replied and Dean squeezed his hand again.
Dr. Tanner typed the answer into the computer.
"Last question, have you gone to the police with this information?"
"Yes," Dean answered, lying again, "We spoke to them last night."
Dr. Tanner nodded in approval and stood up.
"I'd like to do a physical examination," she told them. Sam looked up at Dean, nervous.
"I'd like to make sure there isn't any serious damage done," she explained, "I'm going ask you to leave the room until it's complete."
"Dean," Sam whimpered, squeezing Dean's hand painfully.
"Can't I stay?" Dean asked, "Sammy's really scared. Please."
Dr. Tanner didn't answer for a moment but then she nodded, "All right. I don't normally do this but, considering the circumstances…"
Dean forced himself to smiled at the woman before turning to his brother.
"It's okay Sammy," Dean murmured, "She's a doctor, she's not going to hurt you."
"Would you like me to step out of the room for a minute?" Dr. Tanner asked.
"Could you?" Dean asked and she nodded, "When Sam's ready, have him take his pants and underwear off and lie on the bed on his stomach."
She paused, opened a cabinet door and pulled out a blue hospital johnnie.
"You can cover Sam with this for privacy," she handed the jonnie to Dean and left the room.
Dean turned to his brother.
"C'mon Sammy," he urged, "She's gotta make sure you're not hurt. I know you don't want to but I'm right here. I won't let anything happen to you, okay?"
Dean watched as Sam nodded, sliding off the table and pulling his pants and boxers down. Instantly, Dean put the hospital johnnie around his brother's waist so he wouldn't feel so vulnerable, tying it in place.
Sam then climbed back onto the table, lying on his stomach, his chin resting against the thin pillow beneath the paper, arms folded beneath it. Dean reached out and took hold of one of his brother's hands that was hidden beneath the pillow. Sam smiled ever so slightly.
"It'll be okay," Dean assured him.
The door opened and Dr. Tanner stepped inside. The doctor pulled on a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and approached Sam until she was standing beside Dean.
"Sam, I'm going to have to touch you but I'm not going to try my best not to hurt you, all right?" Dr. Tanner told the young man and Sam nodded.
Dean kept his eyes on his brother as the woman walked around the table to stand behind Sam. Glancing up quickly, he watched her lift the hospital johnnie before looking back at Sam. His brother winced slightly and Dean squeezed his hand comfortingly. In another minute Dr. Tanner had lowered the hospital johnnie and was removing her gloves.
"Well?" Dean asked, "Is everything okay?"
Sam sat up on the edge of the table, the johnnie hanging down to his knees.
"Sam has some anal fissures," Dr. Tanner explained.
"What are those?" Dean asked, sitting down beside his brother on the table.
"Tears in the lining of the anus that cause pain and bleeding," she explained, "They can be caused by anal intercourse. The good news is, they can usually be treated without any major surgery. I'll write Sam a prescription for a topical medication to promote healing and I'd also recommend he take a stool softener and eat a high-fiber diet for a while. Go to the hospital if the pain becomes unbearable while having a bowel movement or if there is a large amount of blood."
She took back her computer chair and pulled out a pad of prescriptions, writing down her instructions on one and ripping it off and handing it to Dean.
"Thank you so much for your help, doctor," Dean told her, "We owe you."
Dr. Tanner smiled, "No you don't. I'm just dong my job."
She looked at Dean seriously, "Take care of your brother."
Dean nodded, "Don't worry, I will."
She shrugged out of white coat, picked up her purse and stepped out of the exam room so Sam could dress.
Dean folded the doctor's prescription and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
Once Sam had his boxers and pants back on, Dean opened the door and headed into the waiting area. Dr. Tanner was standing by the door, speaking quietly with John.
"Thanks again," John told the women.
Sam's hand found Dean's as he followed him outside and towards the car. Once again, the brothers sat in the backseat while John got behind the wheel of the Impala.
Sam leaned heavily against Dean, his eyes closed. Dean smiled and carded a hand through his brother's hair.
"You did real good, Sammy," he murmured to his sibling.
W
Two and a half hours later, they pulled into a dingy motel on the outskirts of Carson City, Nevada.
All three Winchesters were exhausted and wanted nothing more than to eat and get some sleep.
John dropped his duffle on the bed closest to the door and looked at his sons, sitting side-by-side on the other bed, Sam leaning against his brother.
"Why don't you take a shower, Sam?" John suggested, taking in the blood still staining his son's skin, his unwashed hair and stubble.
Sam looked at John and then at Dean, "D'n."
"You don't need Dean with you," John told him, "You're eighteen."
Sam reached out and grabbed the front of his brother's shirt.
"Give him a fucking break would you?" Dean glared at their father, "Can't you see he's practically traumatized?"
John just threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
"Coddling him isn't going to help," he told Dean but his eldest son ignored him.
"You'll feel better after a shower, Sammy," Dean told him.
Sam looked at the bandages around his wrists, "But…"
"I'll put fresh ones on afterwards," Dean assured him and stood, pulling Sam into a standing position as he did so. Carefully prying his brother's hand away from his shirt, Dean twined his fingers in Sam's instead and led him to the bathroom.
John just shook his head.
Once inside the bathroom with the door closed, Dean carefully unrolled the gauze from around his brother's wrists and peeled the bandage off his forehead. Afterwards he sat on the closed lid of the toilet as his brother undressed, telling himself that a hot shower and some hot food would do his sibling a world of good. Sam climbed into the tub, drew the curtain and turned on the water.
Dean sat patiently, waiting as steam swirled around the small bathroom, fogging the mirror and coating everything in a wet film.
After a minute or so, he heard another sound over the flow of the water.
"Sammy? You okay in there?" Dean called.
There was no response. Cautiously, Dean moved the curtain aside to see his brother, head bowed to watch the blood and grime swirling down the drain, crying. Dean said nothing but quickly sat back, feeling his own eyes sting with tears.
W
John Winchester closed the curtains across the window of the tiny motel room, for once wishing that the Impala wasn't so damn noticeable. Not that he could do anything about it now; he just hoped that the man in the Beta Theta Upsilon house hadn't seen it.
Looking up as the bathroom door opened, John forced a smile at the sight of his youngest son. Sam still looked like hell but at least now he had had a chance to clean himself and wash his hair. Dean had put fresh bandages on his brother and they looked blindingly white against his pale skin.
"I ordered us pizza," John told his sons, "Hope that's okay."
Dean shrugged and sat down on the side of the bed, pulling his brother down to sit beside him. Sam allowed this and leaned against Dean, his eyes half-closed.
"Hey, Sammy your dripping water on me," Dean joked as Sam's hair dripped onto his shoulder. Sam didn't move however. Dean wrapped an arm around his brother and looked at John.
John cleared his throat and moved from his spot, coming to sit beside his youngest son. Sam looked up at him.
"Dad," he whispered, as though afraid to raise his voice, "I'm so-"
"No," John interrupted, "Don't. You don't need to apologize to me."
Sam's eyes widened slightly. Was his Dad still angry with him for leaving? Was he going to get kicked out?
Sam whimpered and reached out to grip the front of Dean's t-shirt again.
"The fight- well, I've forgotten about it," John told him, "I'm glad you're safe, that's all."
Sam lowered his gaze. He started playing with a lose thread on the bandage on his wrist as he hung onto Dean's shirt.
"Sam," John said, "Son, look at me."
Sam slowly lifted his gaze; hazel eyes peering nervously into his father's dark brown ones.
"Can you… Do you feel up to talking to us?" John asked, "About what happened?"
"Dad, don't you think he's been through enough today?" Dean asked their father.
Sam shook his head against Dean's chest, his grip on Dean's t-shirt tightening.
"Sam doesn't want to talk," Dean told him, wrapping an arm protectively around his sibling.
"He's going to have to talk eventually," John commented.
"When he's ready," Dean growled, "Not when you want him to."
Dean didn't know what else their Dad wanted from Sam. They already knew he'd been beaten and raped, for him, at least, that was just about as much as he could take at the moment. He wasn't about to press Sam for information he didn't want or wasn't ready to give. Hell, that morning they had rescued him for that awful house. Didn't John realize Sam needed some time to process? Did he care?
"It's not going to help with you treating him like a baby, Dean," John told his eldest son.
Dean ignored him.
"We'll get you something to eat and then you can get some sleep," he told Sam.
Sam closed his eyes, face pressed against Dean's chest.
SPN
Sam refused to let go of his brother. Something inside telling him that if he did so, Dean was sure to disappear and he'd be back in that awful basement with Magnus and the other Brothers.
He wasn't stupid; he knew this was all some sort of hallucination, a delusion, from eating the drugged oatmeal. He guessed, though, that he hadn't consumed enough to get the full effects like Terry and the other boys so instead of becoming some kind of brainless drone, whatever the food had been spiked with, was drug-induced dream.
Sam didn't mind actually, as long as he got to see his brother again. Dean's arms around his felt just as real as if he were actually there with him. He could almost- almost- believe that this Dean was the real thing. Sam could feel the warmth of Dean's chest against his cheek, feel the softness of the fabric of his brother's shirt beneath his hand, and smell his sibling's familiar scent.
Sam tightened his grip on Dean's shirt when his brother shifted position, terrified that at any moment he'd be jolted back into nightmarish reality.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured and place a hand on his shoulder.
Sam watched warily as their father grabbed his duffel bag and pulled his journal out, opened it and took a pen from his shirt pocket to write with.
"Really Dad, you're going to do that now?" Dean's chest vibrated gently against Sam's cheek as he spoke.
"I'm adding information on this human trafficking group, Dean, if you want to know," John growled back.
"In your journal?" Dean asked.
Sam glanced down when their father looked across the room at them, dark eyes angry.
"They're monsters," he snapped, "As much as werewolves or vampires or wendigos are. I don't consider them human. Look what they did to your brother."
Sam let out an involuntary whimper and clenched his eyes closed.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured, "They can't hurt you anymore."
Oh Dean, Sam thought, if only that were true.
Tears welled up in his eyes and he reached out his other hand to grab onto Dean's shirt.
"Hey, hey, hey, you're all right, Sammy, it's all right," Dean wrapped both arms around him tightly.
Sam wanted so badly to believe that Dean was telling the truth but he knew, that his brother was wrong.
A sharp knock on the door startled Sam and he pressed his face against his brother's shirt, smearing it with tears and snot.
He heard John get up and walk across the room, open the door a bit and speak to someone.
"It's just the pizza," Dean assured him.
John closed the door with a snap, startling Sam again, and the scent of pizza filled the small motel room.
"C'mon Sammy," Dean encouraged and pulled Sam away from him. Sam though, wasn't having any of it and reached out one hand to grab one of his brother's. He led Sam over to the tiny table in the room where John sat and, his younger brother dropped into the chair beside his, nearly on top of him.
John watched this with no comment but Sam could feel his father's eyes on him as he opened the pizza box.
"I got half meat-lovers and half vegetables," John told them.
He set a couple of napkins in front of his sons and handed them each a slice of their preferred type of pizza. Dean began eating his with gusto, ravenous after the long day.
Sam's stomach cramped with hunger as he stared at his slice of pizza oozing grease onto the napkin. It was just what he liked: cheese with onions, green peppers, broccoli, jalapeños and black olives.
But he could not, would not eat it.
It's drugged, a voice in his head warned him, just like the oatmeal. If you eat it you'll end up like Terry.
Sam shuddered and shoved the slice of pizza away.
"Sam? Aren't you hungry? You've gotta be starving, man," Dean asked, his expression concerned.
Sam looked down and shook his head.
"C'mon Sammy, take one bite," Dean pleaded, "For me."
Sam refused.
"Look," Dean grabbed Sam's piece of pizza and took a bite, "It's fine."
Dean held the slice out to Sam but he turned his face away.
"Leave him be, Dean," John's voice scolded, muffled by a mouthful of food, "Didn't you tell me not to press him?"
"He needs to eat!" Dean exclaimed.
"He'll eat when he's ready," John argued, "Maybe he's not ready to stomach pizza right now."
"Sammy, is that right?" Dean asked.
Sam looked away and didn't answer.
"Okay, well maybe you can have some soup later or something," Dean acquiesced, "Are you tired? Why don't you lay down?'
Sam didn't want to let go of Dean's hand but he was so tired. He leaned his head against his brother's shoulder instead, as though he intended to sleep like that.
"Sammy, c'mon, you'll be more comfortable in the bed," Dean suggested but Sam grabbed his shirt when Dean tried to shift him.
"Sammy, man, you've gotta get some sleep," Dean urged.
"D'n," Sam whimpered, unable to say anything else. He looked up into his brother's green eyes, silently pleading with him, before lowering his gaze, finding himself looking at the necklace he'd gifted Dean many years ago as a Christmas present.
Dean, seeming to know what Sam was looking at, reached up. Sam whimpered again, afraid Dean was going to pry his hands away but instead, his brother simply took the necklace off. Sam's eyes rolled up to his brother's face again, questioning.
"Here," Dean slipped the simple black cord around Sam's neck and the small gold amulet rested against his chest, "You need this more than me."
Sam looked down at the necklace and reached one hand to touch it, the other still fisted in his brother's shirt.
"You remember when you gave that to me?" Dean asked.
Sam nodded.
"You said it would protect me," Dean continued, "Well, now it's going to protect you. As long as you're wearing it, I won't be far away."
Sam looked up into Dean's face, his eyes welling with tears.
"If you're in trouble, all you have to do is touch it and I'll come running," Dean smiled.
Sam didn't know exactly how to respond. He nodded.
"I know you're exhausted, Sammy," Dean continued, "You'll feel a whole lot better if you just get a little sleep, even a couple hour's worth. I am not going to leave this room, okay? I'm going to be right here the entire time. I won't leave you alone. I promise."
Dean reached out and carefully pried Sam's hand from his shirt. Sam wrapped his fingers around his brother's instead.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean assured him, "I'm not going away. Not for anything."
Sam knew what he wanted to do. But he didn't want to do it. He was terrified if he let go of Dean his brother would disappear and the spell would be broken and he'd be back in the basement with only Magnus and the Brothers for company.
"C'mon Sammy," Dean encouraged, "You can do it."
Sam nearly smiled at his brother's words; so similar to those he'd said when teaching him to drive the Impala for the first time. He had been scared then too, but for an entirely different reason. Dean's words though, had the same effect and reluctantly, slowly, Sam held his breath and unclasped his hand from his brother's. Nothing happened. Sam, surprised but still wary, shuffled backwards, keeping his gaze on Dean until the back of his legs touched the mattress of the bed furthest from the door and he crawled onto it, eyes on his brother the entire time. Sam glanced at his brother once again before curling up on his side and drawing the blanket up past his chin. He let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and reached up with one hand, gripping the amulet hanging from his neck.
Sam closed his eyes but could still hear his brother speaking to their Dad, the quiet murmur calming him somewhat, and eventually, miraculously, he slipped into a deep slumber.
Author's Note:
Special thanks to mandancie for helping me with this chapter.
Thanks to bumblebeecas, carlton1, TweetyRulz, and only-some-loser for reviewing.
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