Warning: Contains sever self-injury themes, and is very triggering to those who SI. Please be warned. Don't own don't sue by the way.
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Sam didn't notice when the hits stopped coming, and he wasn't even aware that he wasn't aware that Dean wasn't hurting him anymore, that the physical blows had stopped. He could barely see out of his eyes, when he tried in vein kept them open. His left eye was swollen shut and the right was tinted red, never a good sign. He couldn't feel most of his body, aside from all the pain all he could think about was the pain. He had tried to get away, through the front door… and regretted the idea, from which he gained at least two cracked ribs.
Sam whimpered pathetically as his breathing hitched painfully in his chest. Sam's thoughts spun dizzily through his head, he was nothing more then a worthless pile of clothes for all his brother cared. And he was used as such, to be kicked and tossed around with out a care. Sam's blurred eye sought out the knife in the floor in front of him, grunting with the effort he strained his body to pull it out of the floor. He had been told that he would be allowed to use it on his own in due time, and at that moment, Sam wanted nothing more than to end the pain, end the misery, end his worthless life. Dean must have known what he was planning to do with the knife, and had a telephone book hurtling into his head the minute he rested the blade against his skin. Sam quickly dropped the knife and tried to protect him self as best he could as Dean came clambering over.
"Not yet Sammy boy! I still get to play with you." Dean sang pulling Sam's laptop over to them. Sam whimpered as Dean sat down in front of him, causing him to pull further back into the corner he was in. "look Sammy… its pretty little Jessica!" Dean faced the computer screen towards Sam, who hungrily took in the sight of his love. The picture was of Jessica and him. Slowly Dean reached forward to change the picture, morphing the then happy Jessica to a new one, a Jessica that was full of pain and anguish. Sam tried to tare his gaze away his heart breaking into a million pieces, Jessica… his Jessica… and all because of him. Dean grasped his chin in his hand forcing Sam to look at the next picture. A perfect image of Jessica on the ceiling, flames dancing majestically around her. Her face screwed up in pain, tears course stained red on her beautiful face. Sam tilted his head to look at the face of his beloved. Then as if time stood still he read the caption, and her voice trickled through his mind. It felt like sweet bliss, until the words registered and everything came crashing down. "You did this to me, you killed me Sam!" It kept repeating in his head again. He tried to look away but Dean forced his eyes to focus on the picture.
"Say it Sam." Dean whispered smiling wickedly. He could feel the pieces of Sam that had been whole breaking. He clicked the down arrow and another picture came up. It was a picture of Sam bending over Jessica's broken body. "Say it Sam."
"I did it." He said, his body shaking in agony. He has thus far been able to hold onto a small inkling that it maybe wasn't all his fault… but Jessica would never lie… and she just said it her self. And that sealed it. He had killed her… and if he had killed her as he had killed his mother. Just a few pictures did what Dean hadn't been able to; they had finally broken the youngest Winchester. The only true killer of the family.
Dean watched hungrily as the light in Sam's eyes dimmed, his body seemed to fold in on himself, his muscles going slack. Dean had done it. Now, now was the time. Smiling he moved the computer and stood up. "You killed them Sam! You killed both of them you worthless shit, you killed them." Dean kicked out at his brother who didn't resist. The momentum of the kick made his head snap back slamming the wall behind him. Dean laughed; there was no resistance at all. "Say it Sam say what you did." Dean waited for a moment, and Sam did not reply. Dean glared hatefully at the boy before pulling the man to his feet. Sam sagged against him for support. His eye snapping to Dean as he was half dragged into the bathroom. Dean shoved him roughly into the ledge of the sink. He hadn't made Sam do this in a while, a month maybe or so. Slowly a smile played across Deans charming face. "Say it. Say what you are." Dean grasped Sammy's hair in his hands making the man stare into his picture with his good eye, which twitched back and forth taking in his horrid reflection, but he did not speak. "SAY IT!" Dean yelled pushing harder on the smaller boy, causing him to cry out as his hips grinded into the unforgiving ledge of the sink.
"I." Sam whispered his eye staring at his reflection, then searching out Dean's face, there was no love in the eyes. Pure hatred radiated from them. "I… am… a… killer." He whispered tears falling down from his eyes, leaving a trail of clear skin on his dirty blood caked face. His eyes sought out Deans who was eyeing him hungrily. "I am a killer" he said again with more certainty.
"Again you worthless piece of crap." Dean growled.
"I am a killer. I am a worthless killer. I am bad. I meant to kill you. I am bad. Bad bad bad." Sam cried out reverting to what had been engraved in his head all those nights ago. Dean smiled and dropped Sam on the floor, before turning on the hot water and plugging the bathtub before leaving the bathroom.
When Dean returned he held in his hand, the knife, and a shirt. Sam didn't notice the sound of the ripping as Dean tore two strips off of the shirt before he roughly shoved the rest of it into Sam's mouth. Sam gagged his hands reaching up to take it out. Dean knocked his hands away and sent a powerful blow into him making him cease his fighting, his eyes going another shade lighter. Dean then took one of the strips that he had made and tied it around Sam's head tightly tying a knot in the back of it. Then gave Sam the knife.
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Blackness is the only word that could describe what was in Sam, what Sam now was. Sam was thinking things slowly over in his drowned mind. All this pain could be gone, but the question was, did he deserve a reprieve from the pain? He had killed Jessica, his baby Jessica and his mother. He was responsible; he was marked as Bad ever since he was 6 months old. Why hadn't he seen it before? The signs were there… but Dean had always protected him. Dean had always said he was a good boy a good son, a good person, but then again, Dean had changed his mind. Bad bad. He was bad. He did deserve to die. He had killed two innocent people. Sam felt everything that was left of him crumbling slowly. It wasn't done breaking; no with every thought another part of him would slowly fade away to a place that he could never reach.
Sam's thoughts traveled to his brother… and the cold uncaring expression that he had on his face now. His brother had seen that he was bad, showed him that he was bad, and now was letting him end the bad in his own way. The knife was in his hands, Dean had given him this knife, before he had gone to Stanford, as a present…and was now giving it to him, not for protection, but for the ending of his life. It felt so heavy in his hands. So perfect. Life came at a heavy price, and this was it. Sam's eyes drifted down to his arm, lying limp almost in front of him. A large scab glaring back at him the stitches that his brother had put in were ripped apart. Sam didn't want to cut over it. He placed the tip of the knife to his wrist, pulling it across slowly deeply, savoring his self inflicted pain. It slowly collected before it cascaded down his arm dripping gracefully on his leg. He made another cut. Sam Sighed, his mind concentrating on the thrill of pain, something that he had caused. Slowly he made another cut, and then another.
"More do more." Lazily drifted into his ears, it was Dean. Dean was happy he was doing this, and he wanted to hear the happy Dean, so he made another cut. But Dean didn't say anything more, but that didn't stop him. One more cut and he would stop, Sam vowed silently as he made another cut, and one more to follow that. He couldn't stop. He didn't have the will to stop, deeper and deeper he cut. Finally he grasped the knife in his weakened and bloody left hand and made one last and fatal cut to his right forearm. Blood poured out with out beading; it dropped like a waterfall of crimson red. Sam's eyes slowly drifted closed as he collapsed to his side, hoping once again, that he would never awake.
Dean watched pleased with himself immensely and then as he watched the knife drop to the floor then helped Sam to his death. Pulling him up, cradling him like a baby Dean dumped him in the scorching water. Sam's eyes snapped open and he tried to scream in pain around the gag in his mouth. His arms trying to push himself out of the scorching water, he couldn't though; Dean wasn't even holding him down. His arms he saw the blood, blood was everywhere, the bathtub was filled with blood. He was loosing all his blood. Sam was panicking no no, this wasn't how it was supposed to end. Hotness it was so hot his arms were on fire, everything burned, and his mind ran from his body, into the back where no pain was felt. Sam's eyes stared ahead of him blankly. This was it. He couldn't stop it. He had wanted this, and now he had gotten it.
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John Winchester pulled his truck up along side his Son's impala dialing Missouri's number quickly. Listening to two rings before the woman picked up screeching that he needed to get to Sam now, or it was going to be too late. John hopped to it, grabbing his shot gun full of rock salt and sedatives and broke the door down to his Son's room. He barley kept from falling over as he entered the room his gun ready to fire. Dean had run out of the bathroom in attack mode lunging at his father. John did the only thing he could do when faced with a savage animal, he pulled up his shot gun and fired a couple of rounds of salt into his son. With one tranquilizer in there, not enough to kill, but enough to keep him knocked out for at least 24 hours.
John dropped his gun to the floor as he ran into the bathroom his stomach flip flopping painfully as he saw his son in the pool of blood. He went to his knees and hefted his baby boy out of the water, into his arms. He grabbed at the towel that was on the floor wrapping it tightly around Sam's arms, and pulled the gag out of his poor sons mouth watching breathlessly as there was a small intake of air. Then dialing 911 he yelled for an ambulance and rattled off the address before he hung up. Focusing on his son, they would get there in time. Sam's life depended on it, He could tell the still lived as his chest rise and fell rise and fell and stopped for a beat and then slowly rose again. John was terrified what was going to happen. He looked out the door and saw Dean lying there, he had to move him. Letting Sam go for an instant John shoved his oldest son under the bed before he rushed back to Sam checking for a pulse, it was there, but so weak he would scarcely call it a pulse. He cursed anything wholly who had let this happen to his Son, how he had let this happen to his son, his ears all the while listening for the blessed sounds of the ambulance.
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Two hours later John had sent out a call to Father Jim to come help, and Missouri had called saying that she was also coming, to get to the bottom of this. They were both set to arrive in a few hours at most. This though left plenty of time for John to call in a favor from a friend at the police department and had a dispatch out looking for one Samuel Winchester, found missing two weeks before. When John had arrived at the hospital, Sam was already in intensive care, and quite a large nurse had sat him down in the waiting room, forcefully, and handed him a book on God and left saying that all he could do was wait. If nothing else, John Winchester was not a patient man.
John had done a mild check over Sam before the paramedics had arrived. What he found made his heart snap in two literally. The amount of bruising and pain that his boys body had was sickening. He was a hunter and he rarely saw such gruesome things. It was even worse knowing that it was on his sons brutally beaten body he was holding.
The minutes trickled by slowly, it seemed as though no one would ever tell him how his youngest son was doing. Finally thankfully a doctor with a balding head came out calling for the party of Winchester. John was instantly on his feet greeting the man.
"I'm John, his father, how is he?" The eldest Winchester asked breathlessly, the look on the doctor's face was not making the knot in his stomach feel any better.
"I'm Dr. Ragsdale. Mr. Winchester I have some good news and some bad news. Why don't you come with me I'll explain on the way to your Son's room." They began to walk down the halls of the hospital. John didn't bother to keep track of where they were going. "The good news is that physically your son will heal nicely, and only leave scars as reminders. There is no lasting damage. On of our nurses informed me that there was a watch out for him, so the Kansas police know that he's here, and relatively safe. You don't' need to worry about that Mr. Winchester any more." Dr. Ragsdale motioned their way into an elevator and punched a button before continuing. "The bad news though…" he began before changing his tactic, "Mr. Winchester though your son will physically fine, his mind might not be. He is unresponsive to us. His mind might not be able to recover, there is a possibility that he will, but in such trauma cases is quite a miracle if they recover. Persons who have gone though such physical abuse their minds will eventually, with no other option will recede into its self. It will hide inside its self to get away from the physical and emotion pain that he can't figure out how to cope with. Some will resort to Self-mutilation, in your son's case; he was trying to commit his own Suicide. There is evidence though that this has been going on for quite some time. Did you know about this?"
John shook his head, "No I didn't. His brother might have… but he died some months ago." He said solemnly.
"I'm sorry to hear that." The doctor continued, "Your son had no other choice. Weather or not he'll pull through, is on his will power. And if you can get through to him, loosing a loved one then going through this is hard to deal with, for people at any age. And he is still a young man… it might take sometime. But, I'll stop there. This is quite a lot to take in Sir. But please if you have any questions, the nurses have my pager number please do not hesitate to call or ask any questions about your Son's condition." The doctor gestured to the door to their left, room 777 John slowly turned the knob ignoring the doctor and entering his son's hospital room.
Walking over to his Son's bed John fell into the seat next to the bed. Looking over his injuries, or lack there of. Most of them were under striking white bindings, keeping them clean. His arms were bandaged heavily though John could see a few red spots seeping through. A catheter was hooked up to his sons chest, because the arms were so badly damaged, blood dripped into his son through it from a bag hanging next to his bed Along with a few other clear liquids. John Winchester could not take his eyes off of his pale son. His darling boy, the last child he had with Mary… John Winchester had trained his sons to never show emotion, never to cry, never to be weak. But the eldest Winchester could not keep his emotions in check as he looked upon his son. Tears that had waited a life time leaked out of his eyes and he let out in anguished sob, grasping his son's hand in his own as he laid his head down on the bed and let his emotions out.
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Mary Winchester watched the scene from the abyss that was unknown. Tears coursing down her own eyes, at her beloved's pain. All of her boys were far from well. This was just the beginning. This was the first attempt on one of their lives that would try and splinter them apart. The road ahead was unknown now, to even her. She watched though, weeping, wishing that she could do more. She did know one thing through all of this, she knew and felt how strong the bond between the Winchesters was, it was going to be near impossible to break them apart.
BAN/ There… the rescue… what do you all think? I made it long too! 6 pages almost! This chapter was really trying to write… really emotional and connecting. I'm sorry it has taken so long, so much has been happening to me. So much is going on. I won't bore you. I'm sorry its taken so long. I really am. So this is sorta like an end… I guess… If you want me to continue… let me know? I don't wanna end, but if you guys don't want me to I won't and if you do I'll continue and stuff. So let me know please? So yah… uh… review with your responses please! I love you all so much thank you!