A/N: Well, hopefully everyone had a good weekend. I pretty much battened down the hatches and wrote like a maniac. I had some trepidations about this story, but so far the response has been good. Just a reminder, though this chapter is very tame, this story itself comes with with a trigger warning for suicidal thoughts, and in case you didn't pick up in the last chapter, Sam is obviously trying to find a way to cope with his (rather reasonable, in my opinion) depression.
This chapter is from Dean's point of view, which will be the case often for this story, as even though this is a Sam-centric story, being inside Sam's head would give away a little too much of the plot.
Additionally, big brother Dean is awesome, and a large part of this story is Dean's character arc, in which he grows away from the mindless obedience he shows to John at the cost of Sam's emotional needs. I am a Sam girl, to the absolute core of my being, but never think I don't adore Dean also. This story just allows him to become the awesome person he's destined to be a little bit sooner. One of John's biggest crimes in my opinion (And Sam's, according to canon) is the way he trivializes Dean's amazing abilities as both a hunter and a leader, to the point where he doubts his own capabilities.
Oh, and fair warning. I am not entirely sure this story has a happy ending. I am kinda on the fence. There is going to be some major !Hurt!Sam, and really, the plot bunny could go either way.
Review if you have a preference, because seriously, this rabbit can't make up it's mind.
I hope you enjoy, and remember, not only are reviews love, but they let me know if what I am seeing in my head is being accurately translated onto paper!
And I have to give a shout out to my bestie, Sand_AllyMayhem, who beta's in person and via email for me since she does not write on this site, despite the fact that I think she would be amazing. We literally phone conferenced at midnight.
As Always,
EverReader
p.s.-Is my John too evil? I think he does his best, but whatever part of him that makes him a decent person is obviously broken inside, so he has about as good of a chance as being a decent dad as Soulless Sam. (Who I adored, by the way.) I know he states some incorrect information in his journal entry, but I'm trying to use the entry as a way to portray John's search for information, and at the point the entry is dated, he only has suspicions, some of which will prove to be incorrect, of course. I'm really just trying to give a peak inside a very enigmatic character.
Disclaimer: If Sam and Dean were mine, do you really think I would let John treat them this way?
Prisoner of War, Chap. No 2
"One More For The Hell Of It"
Excerpt from the private of journal of John Henry Winchester:
May 2, 1993
"Today was Sammy's tenth birthday, though I missed most of it due to a hunt. He looked at me with those haunting eyes of his, and I swear, at times it's like being judged by Mary herself. Though Dean by far looks more like both his mother and I, sometimes Sam will tilt his head a certain way, with that crooked grin of his, and I can't even breathe for how much it reminds me of his mother.
This hunt consumed me, in no small part because of the scraps of information I gleaned from the demon before I dispatched it. I am more sure than ever now that taking the boys, particularly Sammy, with me was the right thing to do. Missouri had argued with long and hard with my choice to take them with me on my travels, even offering to keep them herself. But whatever it was that drew the demon to Sammy's nursery that night must still be inside him, part of him. The night he was attacked by the Shtriga only confirms my suspicions. Something inside my child is a beacon to the things that roam the darkness. Were I to leave him and his brother behind with a civilian, even one as knowledgeable as Missouri, I risk damning them to the same fate as Mary.
At least that's what I tell myself in the light of day. I do not let myself consider the possibility that perhaps I keep him so near...as bait for the monster.
Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural
Twelve Days.
That's how long Dean lasted. He and Caleb had cleared out the last of the ghouls shortly after midnight, and Dean had jumped back into the Impala, not even taking up Caleb's offer of six hours of shut eye first. He was sore and exhausted. He had three stitches near his right collarbone from where an undead sixteen year had taken a swipe at him with what must have once been an expensive manicure.
Dean didn't care about any of that, however. He jumped in a quick shower, and was back in his baby in under thirty minutes. He wanted to get home. He hadn't seen his Dad or brother in nearly two weeks. What's more, he'd barely spoken to them for two weeks. Conversations with his dad were always more of a debriefing than anything else. And the handful of times he'd gotten Sammy on the phone had done little to put his mind at rest.
Sammy had sounded...well, fine. He'd sounded fine. Perfectly, completely, absolutely fine. So fine that whenever Dean had pressed for details of Sam's day, the only answer he ever got back was 'Everything's fine, Dean... I'm fine... Dad's fine... It's all fine."
Dean snorted to himself as he drove, seeing the city limit sign for the podunk farm town his Dad was currently using as a home base. Dawn was just streaking the sky in shades of orange and pink.
'Fine', Dean thought to himself, snorting again. Yeah, he'd just bet everything was just frickin peachy. Sam was obviously so pissed off he wasn't even speaking to Dean long enough to tell him he wasn't speaking to him.
Just great.
He'd known better than to leave Sam alone with Dad. He'd been longing for a little peace, and a chance to show some of the other hunters in the area just what he could do on his own. He hadn't expected it to be so lonely, though. True, Sam and Dad's constant fighting were enough to drive a saint to drink, but it wasn't always all bad. He'd missed his Dad and the sense of order and safety he always felt around him.
More than anything, though, he'd missed Sammy. No matter how much they fought, Sammy always had his back. They always seemed to work together seamlessly, Sam picking up on Dean's plans almost before Dean seemed to think of them. Sam wasn't always the most physically capable hunter, he was only a kid after all, but he was still more skilled than a lot of adult hunters Dean had encountered. Sam made up for what he lacked physically with a lightning quick mind, and he was a crack shot to boot, possibly better than Dean himself.
Working with the other hunters had been disconcerting at times for other reasons, too. He'd find himself in conversation with one or another, wisecracking, only to receive blank stares in return as he remembered once again that Sam wasn't there to catch the inside joke.
He'd missed the kid, in all his nerdy, goofy Sasquatch glory. Sam has a way of taking the world head on, as if, for him any door could swing wide open. For all Dean's teasing, the cynicism of Dean's most recent hunting partners had made Dean yearn for Sam's enthusiasm and optimism.
He pulled up to the rickety old farmhouse, killing the engine. He studied the place with a hunters eye, seeing nothing amiss. It was barely five, and Dean was tempted to just collapse in bed for another couple of hours. Just then his stomach rumbled and he grinned ruefully to himself.
Better be breakfast, Dean decided. He let himself into the back door of the farm house, which led straight into the kitchen. Sam should be up in another hour or so to get ready for school. Dean would make his brother breakfast, an opening salvo that might hopefully defuse the ugly situation he was no doubt walking into. Dean opened the fridge, taking out the carton of eggs and checking the contents, grateful for once that his Dad had stayed around long enough to ensure there was actual food in the house.
Dean had never said anything to Dad about how dire the money situation got for the boys sometimes, instead choosing to suck it up and make do. Monsters didn't care if you were hungry, after all.
Once he was old enough to use his fake ID to get into bars (and whatever pool or poker games he could track down), he'd made it a point to make sure he and Sam always had enough money to eat. Dean didn't like to think back on all the years Sammy had been so undersized, so much smaller than Dean and all the kids around them. He refused to think back on all the times he'd slipped Sam his own portion of food, only for Sam to somehow manage to return the favor at the next meal. His few months at Sonny's all those years ago had made it crystal clear to him just how much a growing teenage boy should be eating. So once he was old enough to put his fake ID to use, he made sure there was always enough food for him and Sammy to not ever have to go hungry.
It hadn't bothered him to take charge of that sort of thing, just as it had never bothered him to give Sam his portion when there wasn't enough. It was simply what Dean did, after all. The same way he had started making sure Sam's lunch account at school always had money in it, or he took Sam to get shoes when he outgrew the old ones. Their Dad was a busy guy, he was saving lives after all. So he took it on as a natural progression of his primary job in life.
He watched out for Sammy.
It seemed to pay off, if Sam's growth spurt over the past few years was any indication. Dean was grudgingly coming to accept that his shrimp of a little brother might actually end up taller than him.
Maybe.
Whistling, he cracked two more eggs in the skillet, scrambling them with a deft, practiced hand. He'd been cooking eggs for Sammy for longer than he could remember, and by now he could prepare a plate to Sammy's liking without so much as a spare thought.
Dividing the eggs in three portions, he dropped some bread in the toaster, flicked the coffee pot on (Sammy got vicious headaches if he went to long without caffeine) and headed down the hall to the room he was currently sharing with his brother.
"Yo, Sam-my, time to rise and shi-" Dean paused taken aback by the empty room, both beds made up with the clinical military precision their father demanded whenever they were in the same place more than a night or two.
Dean frowned and headed down the hall to the head. The door was wide open, no little brother to be seen. Pausing to listen for a moment, he then half-jogged back to the main living room. Maybe Sam had fallen asleep on the couch with his homework. It wouldn't have been the first time, after all.
Every room Dean checked was as empty as the first, however, and Dean felt the first stirrings of true panic. His Dad was still asleep in the master bedroom, snoring gently, journal and bottle of jack by his side.
Dean moved quickly out to the front porch, giving a shout for his brother- "Sam? Sammy!" He glanced around frantically, still seeing no signs of foul play, yet no little brother either.
'Crap.' Dean thought to himself. 'He's frickin run away. I knew I shouldn't have left him with Dad.' Dean shook his head, swearing. Their Dad was gonna be PISSED-
"Dean?" The mildly-voiced question had Dean startling, turning and drawing at the same time, only to be met by the sight of Sam starting up the steps wearing sweat -soaked jogging clothes. Years of training and instinct had Dean's finger off the trigger just as quickly as it had Sam fluidly stepping back and raising his arms.
"Sam?" Dean asked, heartbeat starting to settle as he scanned Sam from top to bottom. Sweaty hair accented the high red patches on Sam's cheeks, his breath still whistling a little from his recent exertion.
"Good...morning?" Sam replied mildly, eyebrows raised as he motioned faintly towards to piece still aimed at him.
"Shit." Dean started, then quickly replaced his gun at the small of his back. "Where the hell you been, Sammy?" he asked, his concern roughening his voice. He moved forward to wrap Sam in a hug. Dean wasn't much for chick flick moments, but he'd been sure, just for a second, that Sam had been gone, well and truly gone.
"Uh..." Sam had stiffened slightly when Dean had hugged him. "Jogging. Dean, you...okay? Little hyped up, maybe?" Sam asked, gracefully disengaging from the embrace, leaving behind a somewhat disconcerted older brother.
Sam had never shrugged off an embrace from his brother before, and his action startled Dean, who whipped a hand out to catch Sam by the shoulder.
"Jogging? It's not even five am, Sammy." Dean studied his sixteen year old brother's face intently, looking for clues to Sam's actions.
Sam hated training, hated target practice, hated hunting. But more than anything, Dean knew, Sam hated jogging. Hated it with a well nourished passion, preferring sit ups, push ups, even the obstacle course to being forced to simply run.
Sammy's face remained impassive though, as blank as if he were sitting at a poker table. Dean could discern no signs of anger, aggression or even irritation in his expression.
He looked... fine.
"Training." Sam finally offered his monosyllabic answer with a one shouldered shrug, studying Dean as intently as he himself was being watched.
"Training?" Dean repeated, eyebrows raised. "Dad's still in bed with his good friend Jack, Sammy. It probably coulda waited another hour, don't ya think?" Dean fished, still trying to sound out the depths of his siblings hurt over what he must have perceived as Dean's abandonment.
Sam gave another shrug. "Cooler now than once the sun's up." He offered simply when it became clear that Dean wasn't moving without an answer.
"Oh." Dean stopped, halted by his brother's perceived logic. "Makes sense, I guess. I got home about an hour ago, made some grub, went to wake you and you were gone." Dean stated, distaste at the thought of misplacing his brother marring booth features and voice.
Sam raised an eyebrow. "To which the proper response was standing on the porch, hollering my name?" Sam asked, traces of idle amusement in his voice.
Dean grinned sheepishly. "Okay, I might be a little hyped up. Maybe." He reluctantly conceded. "Come on!" He gestured towards the door. "Grab a shower and I'll reheat your food" Dean offered.
Sam was already shaking his head 'no', however, backing down the stairs as he did so.
"Nah, still got another mile to go. Just stopped 'cause you were screaming my name like Rocky on the stairs".
"Another mile?" Dean asked incredulously. Sam had already gone out by the time Dean had gotten home, which meant he'd been running for over an hour now, at least. "How many does Dad have you doing?" Dean demanded suspiciously.
Had Sam been acting out while Dean was away, leading to running extra as some sort of punishment?
"Oh, I did those already." Sam replied with a strange smile. "This last one's for me. Another one, just for the hell of it, ya know." He started jogging backwards, then turned and continued back down the drive.
"Hey, Sam? Sammy, come back, man!" Dean shouted, but it was useless, Sam already nothing more than a steadily shrinking shape down the road.
"Monster's don't care if you're tired, Dean!" Came Sammy's reply turning to jog backwards once again, arm wide open in a 'come at me' gesture. His words echoed in the morning's stillness.
Dean stood staring for another moment, before a sound behind him alerted him to his father's presence.
"Dean." John gave the no-frills greeting as he sipped his coffee. "Hunt wrapped up satisfactorily, I'm assuming."
"Yes, Sir." Dean replied, still staring out to where his brother had disappeared.
"Your brother back from his run yet?" John asked, checking his watch.
Dean frowned. "Actually, it was weird dad. Sam said something about finishing the miles you assigned him and then doing one one more for the hell of it." He looked to his father for some clue as to Sam's strange behavior.
"Good." John said without inflection. "Long as he gets his assigned run done, he can do as many more as he wants." He turned to back into the house.
"How many miles Sam up to, now, anyway?" Dean asked, as casually as he could. He couldn't place his finger on it, but something about this whole thing was bugging him. Sam was acting weird, Dad was acting weird. Hell, they didn't even seem to be fighting and when was the last time that had happened?
"Five from me." John replied steadily.
"Five?" Dean exclaimed in alarm. "Shit Dad, I only run four. And now he's running another one for kicks? What the hell didja you say to him?"
John looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Watch your mouth, soldier. Sam's been training these past couple weeks. He's finally started to put his head into the game. Don't mess with him." His father ordered sternly, then stood, waiting for Dean's reply.
"Yessir." Dean replied automatically, a lifetime of ingrained habit far to strong to be overcome with the whispers of unease coursing through him caused by Sam's behavior.
"Good." John asserted. "Let's eat. Your brother will come in when he's finished." He turned and headed back into the kitchen, but Dean lingered at the doorway. Sighing, he eventually followed his father inside.
Sam finally made his way back through as Dean and John were finishing up their meal. Dean stood automatically, heading for the stove to start reheating Sammy's portion. "Hit the shower kiddo, I'll grab you a plate."
"Don't worry about it. I'm running late." Sam replied, as he started across the kitchen. "I'll miss the bus if I don't hurry. I'll just grab some coffee after I shower."
"You'll eat the food your brother made you, Sam. Shoulda run faster if you didn't want to miss your bus." John replied without looking up from his morning paper.
Dean tensed at the stove, swearing internally. Despite whatever Sam and John said about the last few weeks, there was no way things could really just be "fine". Trying to head off Sam's imminent explosion he turned around.
"It's not a big deal Dad. If Sammy's not hungry-"
"It's fine, Dean. I'll eat. Just lemme grab a shower." Dean was so surprised he let go of the spatula, the clunk echoing in the dead quiet kitchen.
He'd expected Sam to argue, berate their father for trying to control him, or accuse John of not caring whether or not Sam got to school on time.
He had not, however, anticipated this immediate, automatic agreement. Sam had on that impassive face again, that one that could win a poker tournament. Dean had seen Sam use that face before, with over enthusiastic guidance counselors and too-clever emergency room nurses.
He'd never seen Sam use it around him or their Dad, though.
Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably as Sam sat down at the table a few moments later and began mechanically eating his eggs and toast. Dean could have kept time by the regularity of his chewing, and he wondered if Sam was even tasting his breakfast.
"Is it..." He started to ask, but then stopped, glancing between John and Sam again, trying to feel his way through this confusing new family dynamic.
Sam glanced up again, almost as if he were surprised Dean were speaking to him. "The food's fine, Dean. Thanks." He added, as impersonally as he would thank a librarian for lending out a book to him.
Dean was really starting to despise that word.
"Great." Dean said, shifting to look at his brother. "Hey, look man, after we finish up, I'll give you a ride into town so you're not late." He offered, trying to make eye contact with Sam.
Sam shifted, looking anywhere but at his brother. "Nah, I'm cool. My own fault anyway." Sam said as he pushed away from the table and went to rinse his plate in the sink.
"No, Sammy, my Hollywood drama queen moment messed up your time. Lemme give you a ride."
Sammy just shrugged again, still not making eye contact.
"You're exhausted, Dean. You obviously drove straight through. Hit your rack. Sam can get himself to school." John said, as ever the final word around the Winchester dining table.
Or at least he normally would have been.
Dean was tired. He was sore. Eight hours horizontal was currently extremely high on his list of priorities.
But Dean was now absolutely certain something was wrong with Sammy. He hadn't spent the last sixteen years of the kid's life studying every inch of his face, every reaction, every emotion just to be fooled now by a couple of placating words.
"I said, I'm taking Sam to school." Dean enunciated as carefully as he could through gritted teeth. "It's fine." He couldn't help adding, not missing the tiny flinch from Sam as he said it.
"Sammy, grab your bag. Let's roll." Dean ordered, trying not to be even more alarmed when Sam simply obeyed him.
He hustled his younger brother out of the kitchen, purposefully ignoring the irritated look on his father's face as they left.
He practically buckled a bemused Sam into the passenger seat of the Impala, before taking his place behind the wheel.
The first couple miles passed in silence. If Dean had been with anyone else, it might have been described as peaceful. But Dean was with Sam. Sam, who he hadn't seen in nearly two weeks, who had to want to give Dean grief about leaving him with their father. Sam, who by rights should have a bible-length litany of complaints about John by now. Sixteen years worth of experience told Dean his little brother should be causing a scene that would make a Jersey cab driver proud.
Sam remained silent beside him, however, as impassive as he'd been since breakfast, since he'd been on the porch that morning. Dean had to fight down the urge to wrench the Impala over to the side of the road and shake his little brother until the words spilled out.
Dean couldn't fix whatever had gone down between Sam and John while he was away until Sam told him what it was.
But instead, he clenched his fingers tighter around the steering wheel, remembering his father's warning about undoing his hard work.
"You okay?" Sam asked in that flat, mild voice he'd been using all morning, as is Dean were the one acting strangely. The same voice he might use to comment on the weather, or order a coke in a drive though. Dean hated it. It had none of Sam's usual inflections, gave away none of Sam's emotions. Sammy had always been the most open of any of the Winchesters, but now his voice was almost like that of a stranger.
Dean caved, then, jerking the car to the side of the road. He turned to Sam. "Cut the bullshit, Sammy. What the hell is going on with you and Dad? And don't give me anymore of this 'fine' crap, 'cause if I hear that word come out of your mouth one more time, I may make you eat it. So spill, what the hell's going on?" Dean's tirade left him breathing hard as he waited for Sam's response.
Sam looked at somewhat of a loss, as if Dean were yelling at him in Chinese and Sam was trying to translate strictly based on hand gestures.
"I think Dad was right, man. You shoulda hit your rack. I'm not sure what you're talking about. Dad and I are-" He stopped just shy of saying the word, most likely warned by the clenching of Dean's jaw.
Sam sighed. "You went on a hunt. I stayed and trained. Pretty straight forward." He said, looking for all the world as if he wished he had walked to school after all.
"No, see, that. That's what I'm talking about. Bed, Sam. You call it bed. Dad calls it a 'rack'. You hate that. Hate the military slang. And since when do you run for the hell of it, huh Sammy? You hate running. Practically the only thing you said to Dad this morning was 'yessir'. What the hell's with that?" Dean exploded.
Sam eyed his brother warily. "Dean..." A long moment passed. Sam turned to look out the window, as if the words came easier if they weren't face to face. "You were right." He said finally.
"Say what?" Dean replied, starting to wonder if he needed some holy water.
"You were right. Dad was right. I'm tired of fighting it. This is what our family does. We hunt the monsters. And the monsters don't really care about all this alpha-wolf family politics bullshit. I'm a hunter. I always have been. That's it. That's all there is. I just... don't see the point in fighting it anymore."
Sam sat back, looking straight out the window. Dean stared at his brother, completely speechless.
"I'm gonna be late for school." Sam said finally when Dean didn't start the car.
"Sammy..." Dean didn't even know where to start, how to begin to unravel the knot of words Sam had just let loose.
Sam didn't give up. He didn't just give in. What the hell could have gone down in the past twelve days that had his stubborn little brother saying "yessir" to their father while refusing to make eye contact with Dean?
"Let it go, Dean." Sam bit out. Reluctantly, Dean started the car and pulled back onto the road.
Sleep would have to wait.
He needed to talk to their Dad, ASAP.