If You Dare Challenge - #886 (Suffocating)

Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #660 (Kitchen table)

Fanfiction Writing Month: October [1461]

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

It was difficult for Sam to stay awake (and more so than usual for Dean because he was weaker), so they practiced their Morse code in the dark, tapping gently on the arms and legs of the other in order to communicate and keep their eyes open. Unlike Latin, John had not taught them ASL or Morse code; they had learned those two languages on their own. Both boys had been kidnapped or held captive multiple times when dragged into their father's hunts, and when their voices were somehow unable to be used (or it would be dangerous to do so), they had to figure out other ways to communicate. If they wanted to speak about their father's work outside of the car or the motel without being heard, they would switch into one of their other three languages: Latin, ASL, or Morse code. Dean was the best at Morse code; he'd had more occasion to use it during hunts. Sam was particularly fond of Latin, while Dean's actual favorite was sign language.

Dean watched the hour hand finally fall on the two, and then gently shook his brother awake, pressing I LOVE YOU into his brother's hand to let him know that everything was okay. Once Sam awoke, rubbing his eyes sleepily, he tapped his finger against his brother's palm. Long. Pause. Short. Short. Pause. Long. Long. Pause. Short.

Morse code took much longer than ASL to communicate with, so Dean switched to his hands. Although it was difficult to see in the dark, in the light of the moon Sam could make out Dean's words. BATHROOM GO NOW.

OKAY. Sam nodded, going down the ladder.

Sam slipped past the rows of sleeping boys and pushed the door open, sliding between the small crack between the wall and the door. Dean closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then followed him.

Sonny was nearly asleep when he first heard the stairs creak. After one, he doubted they'd try to run away, but he waited nonetheless. He watched as the older Winchester snuck down the stairs, unusually quiet for an adolescent boy, and slipped into the kitchen. Sonny's form was shrouded by darkness; Dean didn't notice him. Sonny didn't see Sam coming behind him, so he decided to wait for the younger boy to join them so he could talk to them both.

Dean pulled open the cabinets with odd precision until he located a small, round cylindrical container: salt. Then he took something from the kitchen table and stepped to the right; Sonny's stomach dropped. Dean was holding a kitchen knife. He was reaching for another when Sonny spoke his name in a warning tone, startling him so badly that he jumped. Dean's eyes went wide, his gaze glistening with terror, and he tried to run back up the stairs. However, it wasn't easy with his two casts, so Sonny caught up to him easily. Dean whipped around, brandishing the knife, and Sonny was surprised how professional his attacks were.

Dean was not only fighting him; Dean was fighting him. His hits were practiced, his kicks were well-aimed, and his jabs with the knife were dangerous. If he had been up to his full strength, Dean would have easily stabbed him.

Once Sonny pried the knife from his grip, Dean twisted around, trying to get free and run. "Jesus—Dean! Dean, stop! Just calm down!" Sonny used his size to his advantage and, after much effort, trapped Dean's arms at his sides. As he did so, he sensed the boy's fear multiply, and he started to cough, rasping and struggling for air like he was suffocating. Sonny immediately let him go, telling him to calm down. Then he heard a squeaky "Dean?" from the top of the stairs, and everything escalated impossibly fast.

Sam's eyes flickered from Dean, who was barely able to breathe, to Sonny, who was holding a large kitchen knife. Sonny dropped the knife, kicking across the floor and saying, "Sam, listen, I—" but it was too late. His eyes glistened with rage Sonny had only previously seen in Dean, and he flew at him in a flurry of nails and teeth and little feet. "Sam—stop—hey, cut it out—" Sonny didn't want to make any offensive movements against Sam, but the boy kept attacking him, his nails scratching his face.

"S'm—" Dean was gasping, sucking in air is if through a straw. Sam immediately went to his brother, whispering frantically— "Esne bene? Nocuerunt tibi?" —while Sonny winced, touching the multiple scratches covering his face. When Sonny attempted to reassure the boys again, he only made the situation worse; Dean clawed at his chest while Sam picked up the knife off of the floor, directing it at the man in front of them. When Dean made an odd choking noise, Sam placed the knife beside them on the stairs and grabbed his brother.

"Dean, Dean—come on, breathe—please—" Dean seemed to calm down once Sam's arms were around him, his eyes settling on his brother and his movements stilling. Sonny relaxed, relieved, as he heard Dean breathe again.

"Dean?" he said gently. "You okay?"

Dean glared at him, standing up. Sam pointed the kitchen knife at him.

Sonny licked his lips nervously. "Listen… You were trying to run tonight, right?" Dean pushed Sam behind him, taking the weapon from his little brother and gripping it tightly. "Boys…" He gulped. "I know this hasn't been easy for you, alright? But running away won't solve anything, you understand? If you walk out that door, CPS will track you two down. Sam's too young to just fall off the radar—both of you are. They'll separate you for sure; Dean, they will take Sam from you. You'll go to juvy, and I doubt you'll see each other for at least a year or two except through phone calls and maybe supervised visits." He ran his hand through his hair. "This is the best place for you right now."

"De—" Sam whimpered.

Dean stopped him. "He's right." His throat was still tight from his coughing fit, so his words were tainted with remnants of it. He closed his eyes, pressing his mouth together in a thin line. "Sam," he rasped finally, opening his eyes and dropping the knife, "go back upstairs."

Sam's reaction surprised Sonny. He shook his head, eyes practically popping out of his head in fear. "No, no, Dean, don't—"

"Sammy," Dean said softly, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Go back upstairs. I'll be up soon."

Sonny didn't understand why Sam was getting so emotional; tears dripped down his face as he turned to go up the stairs. Dean watched him go and faced Sonny, his eyes glued to the floor. "I know you're angry," Dean said, "but you don't touch Sam, okay? He had nothing to do with any of this."

"Dean—"

"It was all my idea. Leaving...and everything. He didn't—none of this was his fault. It was me. Sam didn't do anything. So you punish me, okay? Not Sam. Punish me."

Sonny frowned. "Dean—" He was interrupted by the sound of Dean's belt unbuckling. "Dean, wha—"

He stopped. Dean was holding out his belt to him, head bowed. When Sonny didn't move to take it from him, his whole body shuddered, and he placed the belt between them. Then he backed up and turned around, kneeling awkwardly on the ground and lacing his fingers together behind his head. Sonny stood still behind the boy, barely able to comprehend what was happening. Dean expected him to… Sonny's eyes traced the boy's hands. They were covered in scars. He wondered if the rest of Dean's skin matched. "Dean…" The boy jerked slightly; it took Sonny a moment to understand he was expecting Sonny to hit him.

Sonny felt his heart clench terribly. "Dean, I'm not—" His voice broke. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Dean didn't answer.

"I'm not gonna punish" —he stumbled over the word— "you, Dean." He circled around him, kneeling in front of the boy. "Running away… Most of my boys try it the first or second night they're here. I don't blame them, and I certainly won't blame you. You tried to leave because you didn't feel safe, and I understand. I'm going to try to make you feel as safe as possible, Dean, because I don't want you to feel like you are in danger here.

"When you're here, under my roof, you're safe." Dean's eyes were squeezed shut. "Dean, look at me."

Sickeningly obedient, Dean forced his eyes to Sonny's. "Sir?"

"You're safe here," he repeated. "I'm not going to hurt you." He handed the belt back to the boy. "You're safe."

Dean looked up, confused, at Sonny, his hands closing around the leather strap.

A/N: Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading! Next chapter soon!