Day Five
Sam woke slowly, reluctantly. Sleep was a sanctuary, a reprieve from the living nightmare in which he found himself.
Despite how hard he clung to unconsciousness, wakefulness beckoned.
Sam's eyes opened halfway and he was surprised to find himself in the motel bed he'd crawled into the night before. Glancing to his side, Sam saw that he was alone and his heart skipped a beat. Where was Dean? He had been here last night! Had he disappeared?
"Dean?" Sam called, one hand reaching out to grab the amulet that hung around his neck, "DEAN!"
The bathroom door opened and Dean poked his head out, his hair damp from a shower.
"I'm right here, Sammy," Dean assured his brother and Sam calmed down.
"Let me get dressed and I'll come out," Dean left the door ajar as he retreated back into the bathroom.
Sam sat up, gripping the amulet tightly in one hand.
It's okay, Dean's here, Sam told himself.
Moments later, his brother exited the bathroom and sat on the bed beside him, putting an arm around his shoulders.
Sam leaned against his brother.
"Thought you left me," Sam muttered.
"I'd never do that, Sammy," Dean assured him.
Sam wondered how long this delusion would last. He knew it wouldn't last forever and eventually he'd be thrust back into the living nightmare of Magnus and the Brothers once again.
With his free hand, Sam grabbed the front of Dean's t-shirt as though that would prevent his brother from vanishing.
He let out a whimper.
"Hey, it's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured, then, "Are you in pain?"
Sam shook his head even though it was a lie. He didn't want Dean to go anywhere, even if it was just to get him a Tylenol.
"Dad will be back any minute now with breakfast," Dean told him and Sam looked up. He hadn't even realized his father wasn't in the room with them.
"Do you think you can eat something this morning?" Dean asked, concerned green eyes peering into Sam's uncertain hazel ones, "You barely ate anything last night. You've got to be starving."
Sam lowered his gaze, making no promises.
The brothers remained sitting like that until they heard the motel room's door open and their father stepped inside, carrying a greasy paper bag and a drink tray from a nearby diner.
"Oh good," John's dark eyes focused on Sam, "You're up. I thought you were going to sleep all morning."
"I couldn't wake him up," Dean told their father as John shut the door and deposited the food and drinks on the table, "He was exhausted."
"Well, come and eat," John told his sons, "I want to get on the road as soon possible."
"Do you know where we're going?" Dean stood up, Sam moving with him, reluctant to let go of his sibling, and together they walked to the table.
"I spoke with Bobby while I was out this morning and he said he thinks he can help us," John replied nonchalantly.
Dean looked up sharply as he reached out for a coffee.
"Bobby? As in, Bobby Singer?"
John nodded.
"How the hell did you even get him to talk to you?" Dean asked, taking a sip of black coffee.
"I told him what happened to Sam," John explained, "Once I did, he completely forgot about wanting to fill me with buckshot."
Dean couldn't help but smile. It had been years since he had last seen Bobby Singer and it would be good to do so again.
Dean dug around in the bag and pulled out a round container with a plastic lid.
"I thought oatmeal would be easy on Sam's stomach," John answered Dean's questioning look.
Dean grabbed a plastic spoon from the bag and popped open the lid on the bowl of oatmeal.
Sam hadn't been paying much attention to his brother and father's conversation. He didn't care where they went, just as long as they stayed with him.
Now though, his gaze was drawn to the bowl his brother was holding, a white plastic spoon sticking out of it.
"Here Sammy, Dad got some oatmeal for you-" Dean began but stopped when he caught the expression on his sibling's face.
Underneath the bruises and cuts, Sam's face had gone as pale as spoiled milk, his eyes welling up with tears.
"Sam?" Dean set the bowl on the table, "Sammy? What's wrong? Are you feeling okay?"
Sam shook his head, releasing his hold on the amulet his was wearing to twist both his hands tightly into his brother's shirt. He swallowed thickly, nausea bubbling up in his stomach.
"What's the matter?" Dean tried again, "Sammy, come on, talk to me!"
Sam let out an involuntary sob. He could not, would not eat the oatmeal. Even if he wanted to, he was certain he wouldn't be able to keep it down.
"Please," Sam whimpered, "Don't make me… I can't…"
"Sammy, Sammy," Dean murmured, looking up at John helplessly.
Sam shook his head.
"He has to eat something," John said.
"It's just oatmeal, Sammy," Dean told him, "Can't you at least take one bite?"
Dean was reaching for the bowl and Sam turned his head away. Dean stopped and instead put his hands on either side of his brother's face and got Sam to look at him.
"Don't make me…" Sam whimpered.
"Okay, Sammy, okay," Dean assured his brother. He wanted to ask why his sibling was having such a strong reaction towards oatmeal, the most mundane of breakfast foods, in his opinion, but he held his tongue. Now was not the time, especially since his brother was so visibly upset by the thought of having to eat some porridge.
"Is there anything else in there, Dad?" Dean asked, not taking his eyes off his brother.
"I got you a breakfast sandwich and hash brown," John told him.
Dean held out a hand and John set the paper-wrapped breakfast sandwich into it.
Dean showed the sandwich to his brother.
"Do you want this, Sammy?"
Sam didn't respond; he still seemed to be struggling with the idea of oatmeal.
"Gimme the hash brown, Dad," Dean reached his hand out and John gave him the deep-fried potato cake.
Dean held the hash brown in front of his brother's face, "Will you eat this, Sammy? Just a couple of bites?"
Sam didn't know what to do. He was so hungry and wanted to eat but he was also afraid of being drugged. He wanted to hold onto this Dean and Dad- even if they weren't real- but he was afraid he'd turn into a mindless zombie like Terry and the others.
With his free hand, Dean rubbed his brother's back, trying to calm him down, as John unwrapped his own sandwich and took a large bite.
"If he won't eat, don't force him," John told Dean, "We can't wait around all day for him. I want to get on the road as soon as we're finished up here."
Dean glared at his father and set the hash brown in front of Sam.
"I'll eat the oatmeal, okay Sammy?" he told his brother and picked up the bowl of porridge.
Sam looked away from his brother and father, feeling the eldest Winchester's gaze upon him and took a deep breath. Slowly, he unclenched one of his hands from his brother's shirt and picked up the hash brown. It was still warm, he could smell the cooked potato and oil it had been fried in. Cautiously, he nibbled at one corner of the hash brown, tasting grease. It wasn't unpleasant and it was familiar, somehow strangely comforting. He took a slightly bigger bite.
"Dad got you some coffee," Dean handed Sam one of the cups, "Did you get it the way Sammy likes it?"
"Two creams, two sugars?" John asked, finished with his breakfast sandwich and now munching on his own hash brown.
Sam set his hash brown down so he wouldn't have to let go of Dean's shirt and took the offered cup of coffee from his brother. He took a sip of the scalding liquid and almost smiled; it was just as he liked.
SPN
Ten minutes later the Winchesters were sitting in the Impala; John driving, Dean and Sam in the back, heading towards Bobby Singer's house in South Dakota.
Sam lay curled up on the seat, his head resting on Dean's lap, tired despite having slept the sleep of the exhausted the night before.
Dean sat as still as possible, carding a hand through his brother's hair. Sam hadn't eaten much- he hadn't finished the hash brown- and only drank half his coffee but Dean would take it. It was better than nothing.
Dean wasn't exactly sure how taking Sam to Sioux Falls would help his brother- he knew their Dad wanted to get as far away from California as he could- but maybe just letting Sam know there were more people on his side other than his father and brother would allow him to really relax.
SPN
Sam was back in the basement of the Beta Theta Upsilon house. He knew this despite it being pitch black and unable to see anything. He also knew that something was different. He was naked and he still had handcuffs around his wrists but he wasn't chained to the wall this time. He narrowed his eyes, struggling to make out anything, anyone in the darkness.
The sound of approaching footsteps startled him for a second and he called out, nervously.
"D-Dean?"
Whomever it was continued to approach and did not respond right away.
"Dean?" Sam called out again, taking an involuntary step back.
"Saaa-aaam," Magnus' voice replied in the darkness and Sam's heart skipped a beat.
"No," he whispered and turned around, not sure where he was going but knowing he couldn't let the older man catch him.
Sam ran. As usually happens in dreams, the basement seemed much larger than its real-world counterpart and Sam found himself running farther and farther than should have been possible, all the while Magnus' footsteps walking behind him, never speeding up but never stopping either.
"Saaa-aaam," Magnus called from somewhere behind Sam, his deep voice taunting, "Come out, come out wherever you are."
The young man staggered to a stop, panting, chest heaving. It felt like he wasn't making any progress, like Magnus was only just behind him, just out of reach. But he couldn't stop. Once again, Sam started running, pushing himself to keep ahead of the older man.
"You can run but you can't hide," Magnus taunted.
Sam let out a sob of fear and frustration. Suddenly his foot struck something on the ground and he pitched forward, landing on his hands and knees. Turning to find what he'd hit- maybe it was a weapon- Sam inched forward until his hands touched something cool and clammy. Taking a deep breath, Sam curled the fingers of one hand around what felt like a human shoulder.
Lights suddenly blinded the young man as they turned on and Sam clenched his eyes shut for a second before daring to look. Terry lay before him, skin the pale grey of death, purple bruises showing where blood had pooled, eyes open and cloudy.
"No," Sam whimpered, "Terry."
The dead boy blinked and his eyes rolled to take in the young man. Sam jumped back in shock but he wasn't fast enough. Terry's hand snaked out and ice-cold fingers gripped Sam's wrist with inhuman strength.
"NO!" Sam cried, "Let me go!"
"Join the frat, Sam," Terry sat up, a rictus of a smile on his face, "We did."
Terry's eyes moved with a squelching sound to look at something over Sam's shoulder and the young man turned to see the other boys lying dead and broken on the ground behind them, like some cadaverous minefield.
"Let me go!" Sam tugged at Terry's hand, "Magnus is coming!"
The young man let out a cry of surprise when he felt a cold and clammy hand grab him by an ankle and, turning his head, saw Jamal- just as dead as Terry- behind him.
"No! Don't do this! Let me go! Please!"
"Join the frat," Jamal repeated Terry's words.
Sam struggled as the dead boys grabbed at him, their icy hands latching onto his arms, his legs. Sam let out a choking cry as a clammy arm slid around his neck.
"Let… go!" Sam ground out, fighting with all his strength.
"You thought you could run away from me, Sam," Magnus voice chided and Sam looked up. The older man was standing in front of him, a smirk on his lips.
Tears came to Sam's eyes unbidden.
"Please, call them off," Sam whimpered and then groaned in pain as the arm around his throat tightened its grip, nearly cutting off his air.
"You can't run from me," Magnus stepped closer and crouched down so that he was eye-to-eye with Sam.
"No matter how far you go," the man continued, smiling at the fear in Sam's eyes, "I will always find you."
Sam let out a wordless moan.
Magnus stood back up and the lights went out again. A terrified cry ripped itself from Sam as the dead boys dragged him into the darkness…
SPN
"Sam!" Dean cried as his brother started whimpering and crying in his sleep, "Wake up, man!"
Shaking his brother's shoulder, Dean glanced up at John's reflection in the rearview mirror.
"Should I pull over?" his father asked but then his youngest son's eyes snapped open and he sat up, grabbing frantically at his brother.
Dean took hold of Sam's wrists- gently- and spoke comfortingly to him.
"It's okay, Sammy, you're all right," he soothed, "It was just a nightmare."
Sam gradually calmed but continued to cry. Dean released his hold on his brother's arms and drew him into a hug. Sam grabbed Dean's jacket tightly, face pressed against Dean's shoulder.
"Is he all right, Dean?" John asked, "Do I need to stop?"
Dean shook his head, "Keep going. I've got it."
Like it would kill you to pull over and make sure Sammy's okay; Dean thought snidely but kept his thoughts to himself.
He turned his attention to his brother instead. Sam was muttering something but he couldn't understand what it was because the words were muffled by his jacket.
"Hey, Sammy, what're you saying?" Dean asked, urging Sam to lift his head. Sam did so, wiping his eyes with one hand.
"What's wrong?" Dean asked.
"They're dead," Sam whimpered, "all of them. Dead."
"Who?" Dean asked. This was the most Sam had spoken about his abduction and torture since he'd been rescued. He wanted to keep Sam talking if he could.
"The others," Sam replied vaguely.
"The others you were with?" Dean asked, thinking back to the multiple empty handcuffs he'd seen in the basement when they had rescued his brother and Sam nodded.
"Sammy, it was just a nightmare," Dean tried to reassure his brother but Sam shook his head.
"They took them away and now they're dead. I couldn't do anything to stop it… I couldn't help them."
"Oh Sammy," Dean murmured and hugged his brother again, "I'm sure they're okay."
Dean wished he hadn't said it as soon as he spoke. What the hell was he thinking? Of course those other kids weren't okay! They had been kidnapped by some assholes who sold other people like they were pieces of furniture and now they were God knows where, having God knows what done to them. He just wanted to comfort his brother anyway he could and if he had to say something stupid to even give his sibling a sliver of peace he would.
Sam didn't seem to think anything of his brother's comment. He wiped his face again and leaned his cheek against Dean's shoulder.
SPN
Sam forced himself to forget about the nightmare. It wouldn't help to dwell on it and besides, he wanted to cling to Dean and their Dad and the Impala for as long as he could instead of whatever hell Magnus had in store for him.
As he sat with his cheek resting against his brother's shoulder, the motion of the car and the small, involuntary movements Dean made, lulled Sam back to sleep.
SPN
They didn't stop for lunch but went through a Burger King drive-through so they could stay on the road.
There was no way they were going to reach Sioux Falls by nightfall, even without stopping, but when Dean asked where they were going to stay, John simply told his sons he had an idea.
Dean didn't really like his father's vague answers but he didn't argue. If John wanted to be all mysterious then let him.
"How you doing, Sammy?" Dean murmured to his brother, brushing Sam's bangs away from his forehead.
Sam looked up at Dean and the older brother smiled sadly.
SPN
Sam held Dean's hand tightly as his brother convinced him to get out of the car while they stopped to fill the Impala with gas. The gas station was practically deserted, theirs was the only car in the lot other than a maroon rust bucket that looked like it belonged to the teenager manning the cash register inside.
"We're just going to walk around for a minute," Dean told John as their father stood at the pump.
"Don't go too far," the elder Winchester warned and Dean waved a hand to show he was listening.
"C'mon Sammy," Dean said, squeezing his brother's hand, "Let's stretch our legs."
Sam followed Dean obediently as Dean wandered around the back of the gas station. There wasn't much to see. Besides the highway, the place was pretty barren, bare dirt with the occasional tuft of yellow grass and trash from travelers dotted the landscape.
"C'mere," Dean tugged his brother's hand and they stepped in behind the gas station, where the restrooms were.
Dean opened the door to the men's room and stepped inside, turning on the light. Sam followed him inside. There were three empty stalls, three unoccupied urinals and two sinks with mirrors over them.
"Look," Dean turned to one of the sinks and pointed to their reflection in the water-spotted mirror.
Sam stared at his face: he had dark circles beneath his eyes but his bruises seemed to be fading, the long scrape along the side of his face was scabbed-over. Dean reached out and put a hand on Sam's shoulder.
"You're getting better," Dean said, speaking quietly, "Soon you'd never know what happened to you."
Sam lowered his gaze. He knew Dean was trying to make him feel better and he appreciated it. His eyes caught sight of the tattoo on the inside of his left arm and he released Dean's hand to put his fingers over the mark, hiding it from view.
Dean's gaze followed Sam's movement and his smile faded, his eyes pinched in sympathy.
"It's just a mark," Dean told him, "Like a scar. We have tons of those, so does Dad, and they're nothing to be ashamed of. They mean we're strong, they show we're fighters. Survivors."
Sam lifted his gaze and smiled at his brother.
"Let's head back to the car," Dean said and Sam followed him outside, his hand falling away from his arm as they stepped back into the sunshine.
W
John was sitting in the driver's seat, waiting for them when the brothers came back around the building.
As Sam and Dean climbed into the backseat he handed Dean a plastic bag. The younger Winchester took it and saw it had a couple of bottles of Gatorade and some snacks inside.
"That should tide you over until we stop," John explained and started the car.
"Do you know where we're spending the night? Another motel?" Dean asked as he opened a bottle of orange Gatorade and handed it to Sam, hoping his brother would at least drink some of it.
John shook his head, "We're going to stop at a friend's place."
Dean looked sharply at his father, "Who?"
"You probably don't remember her," John began, pulling the classic Chevy onto the highway, "But her name is Ellen Harvelle. She owns a roadhouse in Nebraska. I used to hunt with her husband. She has a girl a couple of years younger than your brother."
The woman's name sounded vaguely familiar to Dean but that wasn't anything new. His father was well-known in the hunting community and frequently lost contact with people who would suddenly pop back into their lives years later.
"When were you going to tell us this?" Dean snapped, angry that his father hadn't said anything earlier.
Sam looked at Dean. He thought they were going to see Bobby.
"Dean," Sam whimpered and Dean turned to him, giving his hand a comforting squeeze.
"I didn't think it was important," John commented nonchalantly, "I know you might not believe it, Dean, but I know what I'm doing."
"Did you tell her what happened to Sammy? Did you give her the play-by-play?" Dean growled.
"I told her what she needed to know," John replied, his dark eyes narrowed.
"How many other 'friends' are we stopping to see on the way to Bobby's anyway? And are you charging them because if you're going to act like Sam's some circus freak than we might as well get paid for it," Dean snarled sarcastically.
"That's not what's happening, Dean, and you know it!" John argued, raising his voice, "I am trying to help Sam!"
Sam whimpered and grabbed Dean's shirt with his free hand.
"Stop yelling," Dean put an arm around his brother, "You're scaring Sam."
John opened his mouth, perhaps to make a comment on what should scare his youngest son but then closed it, shaking his head.
"I know you don't believe me but I do know what I'm doing."
Dean ignored John and hugged Sam, hoping that their father was right, even if he was being an ass about it.
W
The rest of the drive to Nebraska was uneventful. Sam slept on and off, Dean ate his way through the snacks John had bought at the gas station and the eldest Winchester kept his gaze on the road, lost in his own private thoughts.
The scenery was much the same as it had been when they'd stopped to get gas: dirt, struggling clumps of grass, discarded food wrappers, soda cans in the ditches along the road, telephone poles. The only thing that changed was the position of the sun. It steadily drew closer and closer to the horizon as the hours passed, growing from a bright white to a crimson ball of flames the further down it climbed.
John glanced in the rearview mirror at his sons as the last ray of sunlight vanished and the sky rapidly turned dark.
"We're almost there," he told Dean.
The older brother gently shook his sibling's shoulder, rousing him from his slumber.
"Dad says we're nearly there," Dean told Sam.
The younger brother sat up and rubbed his eyes for a moment before searching the darkened interior of the vehicle.
"What are you looking for, Sammy?" Dean asked.
"Where's my jacket?"
"I think it's in your duffel bag," Dean told him, "In the trunk."
"I want it," Sam muttered, right hand moving to once again cover the series of numbers inked into the skin of his left arm.
"Okay," Dean responded gently, "We'll get it before we go inside."
"What's wrong?" John spoke up from the front seat.
"Sam wants his jacket before we go inside," Dean told him.
"Why? We're only going to be outside for a minute or two and it's not cold out," John asked, his dark eyes glancing at his youngest son in the mirror.
"So? He wants to wear his jacket," Dean asked.
"I don't know what Sam's so self-conscious about," John grumbled, "Ellen's a friend. Besides, she knows what happened to-"
Dean stopped listening.
"Here Sammy," he said and shrugged out of his leather jacket and handed it to his brother, "You can wear mine."
Sam held the warm, worn material in his hands for a moment before nodding and slipping the jacket over his shoulders, slipping his hands through the sleeves.
Dean glanced at his brother, "I don't think you need this anymore."
He reached up and carefully peeled the bandage from the cut on Sam's brow.
Dean glanced out the window and saw they were approaching a large building that loomed close to the road, yellow light visible in its windows.
"There it is," John began slowing the Impala, "Harvelle's Roadhouse."
In Dean's humble opinion, the weathered, clapboard building looked as though it had been standing when cowboys and Indians still freely roamed the plains of Nebraska.
John pulled into the large gravel parking lot beside the roadhouse and cut the engine. There was only one other vehicle in the lot, a silver van that probably belonged to Ellen, used to carry deliveries to the bar.
The eldest Winchester stepped out of the Impala and stretched.
"C'mon, they're waiting for us," John commented.
Dean glanced at his brother as Sam reached for his hand.
"It's okay Sammy," he assured his sibling.
Slowly, because it took Sam some convincing, the brothers exited the car and stood beside John.
Their father glanced down, noticing that Sam was hanging onto Dean's hand and then looked at his eldest son.
"What?" Dean asked aggressively.
"You're eighteen and twenty-two," John reminded them, "Don't hold hands like you're children."
Dean ignored him. If Sam needed to hold his hand, Dean was going to let him.
"Don't worry Dad," Dean muttered mutinously, "We won't embarrass you in front of Ellen."
John just shook his head and walked to the trunk, unlocked it and gathered their duffels.
"Gimme Sam's," Dean held his hand out. John handed Dean his own bag, which he hung over his shoulder by its strap and then took his brother's in his free hand.
John led the way around to the front of the roadhouse, climbing the two steps onto the wide wooden porch and opened the door.
Sam stopped at the porch and refused to move.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean assured his brother, squeezing his hand, "Dad said Ellen's a friend."
They could hear muffled voices coming from inside the roadhouse.
"It's just a place to stay the night," Dean reminded him, "Then we'll head to Bobby's in the morning."
Sam nodded and followed his brother up the steps and onto the porch. The door opened and John stood there, looking slightly annoyed at his sons.
"Come inside," he said, gesturing the two through the doorway.
Dean went first, standing in front of Sam as though unconsciously shielding him from some potential threat but all he saw was a short woman with brown hair and eyes, wearing a faded blue jacket and a smile.
"Dean," Ellen came forward and put her hands on the young man's arms, "The last time you were here you stole all the root beer from the soda fridge."
Dean forced himself to smile. He had no recollection of that but it sounded like something he might do.
"Ellen," John spoke up, "This is Sam."
Ellen's brown eyes turned to the youngest Winchester.
"I'm sorry for what happened to you," she said.
Sam squeezed Dean's hand tightly.
"Have you eaten yet? Jo and I were waiting on dinner in case you hadn't had anything," Ellen spoke to John now.
"We haven't had dinner, no," he told her.
"Great," Ellen announced, "I made stew and biscuits."
"You didn't have to go to the trouble-" John began but Ellen tsked.
"I couldn't just let you starve," she told him.
"Well, thank you for doing that," John replied, "I know we haven't always seen eye-to-eye."
Ellen waved a hand as turned around, walking towards the back of the bar, "It's my pleasure. Now, sit anywhere you like, Jo and I will bring the food out."
The Winchesters drifted over to a table and sat down, Sam moving his chair so that it was right beside his brother. He hadn't let go of Dean's hand yet.
"You should take the jacket off," John said, "It's only polite."
Sam hunched his shoulders.
"Since when have you cared about what's polite or not?" Dean hissed.
As if to make a point, John removed his own coat and draped it over the back of his chair.
Sam looked up at Dean with a pleading expression.
"You don't have to take the jacket off," Dean murmured to him.
Dean turned around as footsteps approached and he saw a girl, a couple of years younger than Sammy, balancing a stack of bowls and plates in her hands.
"You must be Jo," John said as the girl reached their table and set the dishes down.
"Yeah," she brushed a lock of blonde hair away from her face, "That's me."
"These are my sons, Dean and-" John began when Jo interrupted.
"Sam," she turned to peer at the youngest Winchester, "Mom told me about you."
Dean stared at his father as Jo headed off the way she had come. Sam stared after the girl, his eyes wide, before turning to look at his brother.
"Dean?" Sam muttered, "Does she-?"
Dean squeezed his brother's hand, "It's okay, Sam."
He could see his brother's pale cheeks sudden redden with embarrassment. Just how much had John told Ellen and in turn what had she told her daughter?
He turned to John, glaring at his father.
"Why don't we just make Sammy a billboard to wear around his neck so everyone will know what happened to him?" Dean growled.
John leaned forward, "I didn't know Ellen was going to talk to her."
Dean just shook his head.
The sounds of talking and footsteps interrupted any more confrontation between the Winchesters as Ellen and Jo returned, the mother carrying the pot from a slow cooker wand the daughter carrying a basket of biscuits.
Once the Harvelles had seated themselves, Ellen spoke up, "Help yourselves, it's nothing fancy."
SPN
Sam didn't know what to think. Up until now he had been so sure- convinced, really- that what he was experiencing was an illusion, that it was some sort of delusion, either drug-induced or as a result of a traumatized mind retreating into the safety of unreality.
He had been terrified that when he entered the Roadhouse his brother and father would vanish and he'd once again be faced with Magnus and the Brothers, that he simply couldn't continue to conjure a place he hadn't been to in years, that he wouldn't be able to imagine two people he had only seen perhaps a handful of times while he was a child.
Now though, sitting at a table in the Roadhouse bar with Ellen and Jo Harvelle, he dared to think… to believe… that maybe, just maybe Dean had succeeded in saving him from the basement.
"Sam?" Dean's voice jolted him from his thoughts, "You should really eat something."
Sam stared down at the bowl of stew sitting in front of him.
"Is he okay, Dean? I can make him something else if-" Ellen began but Dean shook his head.
"Thanks," he told her, "But it's okay."
Sam reached up and grabbed the amulet around his neck. He looked at Ellen and Jo, told himself that this was real, that they were real, that there was no way he could be imagining this.
Tears pricked at the corners of Sam's eyes but he fought them.
"C'mon Sammy," Dean encouraged, "Just a couple of bites, what do you say?"
Sam watched as his brother ate a spoonful of stew and he picked up his own spoon and slid it into the steaming bowl in front of him.
Sam felt Dean's eyes on him as he lifted his spoon and ate a mouthful of stew. His brother didn't say anything but he felt Dean squeeze his hand beneath the table.
SPN
Dean sat on the edge of the narrow bed beside Sam, carding a hand through his brother's hair. The Roadhouse had a couple of rooms that had been converted from storerooms to bedrooms for weary truck drivers who needed a place to rest for a couple of hours and didn't want to sleep in their cabs. Dean and Sam took one of these rooms while their father took the other, directly across from them.
Sam had been quiet throughout dinner but he had eaten half his bowl of stew- the most he'd had since they'd rescued him- before Dean asked if there was anywhere his brother could lay down.
Dean could hear the sounds of Jo and Ellen down the hall, washing the dishes from dinner in the bar's kitchen but their words were quiet, muffled.
"Sammy, you asleep?" Dean asked and his brother opened his eyes.
"Dean," Sam whispered.
"You need to get some rest," Dean told him.
Sam's eyes closed halfway.
"Can't," he muttered.
Dean frowned, "Why not?"
Sam sat up and drew his knees to his chest.
"I keep thinking…" Sam hesitated, his gaze on his feet.
"Thinking about what?" Dean asked.
"Thinking about Terry," Sam whispered.
"Your roommate?"
Sam nodded.
Dean wasn't sure what to say at first. He didn't want to give his brother false hope or anything but he also couldn't bear to see Sam so dejected.
"Maybe… Maybe when we get to Bobby's place he could help us find Terry," Dean offered.
"I don't know," Sam muttered.
Dean frowned, "What don't you know?"
"I don't…" Sam hesitated.
"What?" Dean reached out and put his hand on his brother's chin, "What's going on?"
Sam shook his head.
"C'mon Sammy," Dean urged, "Talk to me. Maybe I can help you."
Sam sighed and looked at Dean with wet eyes.
"I don't know if I want to find him."
Dean's eyebrows furrowed, "What do you mean?"
Sam looked away again. He had already said too much and now he couldn't go back.
"I know he didn't meant to," Sam muttered, so quiet that Dean had to strain to hear him even though he was sitting right beside his brother, "I know he wasn't himself."
"What did he do, Sammy? Did he hurt you?"
Sam didn't speak but nodded.
"Sammy?" Dean said, unable to say anything else.
Sam sucked in a shaky breath.
"What did he do?" Dean repeated.
"They were hitting me," Sam muttered.
"It was more than just Terry?" Dean asked and Sam nodded.
"Magnus told them I had to be punished," Sam continued, "Because I wouldn't do what he wanted."
Dean's hands curled into fists. He wanted to punch this Magnus in his face or better yet, throttle him.
"I… I tried to stop it," Sam whispered, "But they wouldn't listen… They only listened to him…"
Sam let out a sob and Dean felt his heart break for his brother.
"I… I thought that was it… but… Magnus told them…. He told them to…" Sam's sentence dissolved into crying and Dean reached out, wrapping his arms around his brother.
Sam pressed his face against Dean's shoulder and spoke, his words muffled, "They… they… raped me."
Dean grasped his brother tighter as he heard his brother's confession.
"No, Sammy," Dean ground out, as though trying to make his brother's words untrue.
"I c-couldn't s-st-stop them," Sam cried, clutching Dean's shirt.
Dean brushed Sam's hair back from his forehead, his hand grazing the healing gash on his brother's brow.
Sam released one hand from Dean's shirt and touched the scabbed-over cut.
"I f-fought," Sam whispered, "I t-tried to b-be strong…"
"Sammy," Dean murmured.
"M-Magnus and the Brothers… they hurt me f-first…"
Dean shook his head. He wanted to put his hands over his ears and block out what his brother was saying but he knew he couldn't.
"T-Terry and the others w-were only d-doing what th-they'd seen… seen the… the… B-B-" Sam couldn't finish his sentence and dissolved into sobs again.
"Shhh Sammy," Dean gripped his brother tighter.
The older Winchester closed his eyes, feeling his gorge rise. He couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it but there was no avoiding the truth. Not only had his sibling been raped by a group of sick human traffickers, those same bastards had convinced a bunch of eighteen-year old's to do the same thing to him.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured, "It'll be okay."
His brother seemed to be unable to stop crying. Dean let him though, not trying to stop him.
Eventually Sam finally quieted down, exhausted and lay down, curled in the fetal position on the bed. Dean covered his sibling with a quilt and sighed. He didn't think he'd be getting any sleep himself, after what his brother had just revealed to him.
Leaning his back against the wall, Dean closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Sam breathing as he slept.
W
Dean crossed the hallway and opened the door to the room his father was sleeping in. He didn't know what time it was but it was late. Jo and Ellen had long ago gone to bed themselves, the Roadhouse's lights turned down for the night.
Dean hadn't wanted to leave his brother's side even though Sam was asleep, but he had to talk to their Dad and he wanted to do so when Sam wasn't listening.
Dean pushed open the door to his father's room.
"Dad?" he called softly, so as not to startle the older man.
"Dean? What's wrong?" John's voice floated to him from the darkness.
Dean turned the light on without warning, making his father grunt in surprise and raise a hand to shield his eyes.
"What's wrong?" John asked again, glaring at his son once he'd adjusted to the light.
"You want to know what's wrong, huh?" Dean seethed with barely contained rage.
"What's going on?" John sat up in bed, staring at his eldest son.
"Those… fuckers…" Dean growled, pacing like a caged tiger.
"Dean, tell me what you're going on about!" John demanded.
Dean turned around instead punched the wall to keep himself from decking his own father.
John stood up and put a restraining hand on Dean's shoulder.
"Dean?" John asked, his son's entire body was trembling and it took a moment to realize that it was no longer with anger but that his son was crying.
"Dean!" John snapped, shocked at the reaction in his eldest son, "Is Sam alright?"
Dean pressed a hand to his mouth and nodded.
John stared at his boy and shook his head, "Then what-"
"I think… I think they gang raped him, Dad," Dean managed to speak between clenched teeth, "I think they took turns."
John took a step back; Dean's face had gone pale and he looked as though he was going to be sick.
"What?" John asked, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.
"Sammy didn't say as much but… He didn't have to," Dean wiped his sleeve across his eyes, his breathing heavy.
John stared at Dean, his mouth open.
"He said the leader, Magnus, and his cronies were punishing him," Dean continued, "And then he got the other kids to… to do the same thing to Sammy."
John shook his head. He raked a hand through his black hair and suddenly his feet were moving, crossing the room before he had even a conscious thought to do so.
'Dad!" Dean cried, "Don't!"
John ignored Dean and stepped into the hallway, crossed it in three steps and yanked open the door to the room his youngest son was.
"Don't wake him!" Dean begged but his father seemed to be on auto-pilot. He approached the bed where his youngest son lay and, reaching down, shook him by the shoulders.
Sam startled away and scrunched up, crying out in fear at the rude awakening.
"Tell me, Sam," John growled, ignoring his son's obvious fear, "Tell me they didn't do what Dean said they did!"
"Dad! Get off him!" Dean grabbed at John's shoulder.
"Tell me it's not true!" John demanded, staring into his son's frightened hazel eyes.
Dean now realized it was a mistake to have spoken to his Dad. John Winchester may be a hard man to read, may conceal his emotions, but of course, he could only act impervious for so long before he cracked.
"Just tell me!" John said again.
Sam's eyes filled with tears.
"Were you gang raped?" John growled. Sam didn't respond. Tears flowed freely down his face.
Dean finally managed to pull his father away from his brother and shove him towards the exit. John stared at his eldest son, his dark eyes wild. Dean raised a fist and struck a glancing blow off his father's cheek.
"Get out," Dean hissed, "Just get out of here."
He slammed the door in John's face and then hurried to his brother's side.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean grabbed his brother, "I didn't know he was going to react like that."
Sam pressed his face against Dean's chest while the older brother rocked him, trying to calm him down and berating himself for being such an idiot.
"I'm sorry," Dean murmured, "I'm sorry."
It seemed all he could say.
God, this was so messed up. Dean closed his eyes, wishing he could go back five minutes and take the conversation with his father back.
Dean held his brother as tight as he dared, comforting him as best he could.
SPN
A figure stood at the end of the hallway, hidden by shadows, as listening to the Winchesters arguing. They had to press the back of their hand to their mouth to muffle the sounds of laughter, eyes sparkling with malicious mirth in the darkness.
Author's Note:
Special thanks to mandancie for helping me with this chapter.
Thanks to bumblebeecas, Allen92909, CBloom2, carlton1, bingos-gal, oooPennywizeooo, Thalia Winchester, scootersmom, onlyu-some-loser, Still Awesome2009, collegekatie2006, Mama's Stories, supermikeyninjalady, TweetyRulz, ANNA Loves SPN, BatmanLeBu, and Guest for reviewing.
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