Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural or whatnot, it is all property of the CW11 network and the Kripke. So don't sue and please don't be offended by the language cause it's gonna be colorful to say the least.
Chapter 3
His brow knotted together in a small frown as sleeps hold over him diminished.
A pair of hazel-green eyes sluggishly pealed themselves open and slowly blinked away the remnants of slumber.
Dean Winchester let out a low groan as he came back to the world of the conscious.
He stared blankly at the ceiling, brightened to a golden hue along with the rest of the motel room by the morning sunlight seeping in through the windows.
A deep yawn escaped Dean, beginning to clear the cobwebs of slumber from his mind.
Grunting softly, Dean threw off the bedsheets covering him and slowly rose up to sit over the edge of the mattress.
He hissed as the movement caused the bruises and cuts he'd received the night before made their presence known loud and clear.
The first thing that caught Dean's eye as he sat there kneading the back of his neck with his hand was that the second queen-sized bed reserved for a certain younger sibling was empty.
Only the rumbled bed sheets were evidence that someone had occupied it at some point.
At first, Dean wondered where Sam was, but with his mind finally clearing completely, rationality kicked in.
Sam almost always being the early riser, had most likely gotten up first and had gone to make the breakfast run.
With a gruff sigh, Dean stood up and stretched as far as his body would allow him, grimacing.
Also, for some odd reason, his nose caught the feint smell of bleach lightly accenting the air.
Not thinking much of the peculiarity of the scent, Dean's eyes traveled down to take a look at his torso.
He had a bird's eye view of the taped on patches of gauze that poked out all over his body.
Wanting a better look, the older Winchester brother shuffled off to the motel bathroom.
Once he'd stepped across the threshold into the room, Dean made immediate use of the mirror over the sink.
Dean winced at the sight of his upper body, mottled with bruises that stood out a vivid reddish purple against his pale skin.
Pinkish irritation poked out from underneath several of the gauze patches that littered his chest and abdomen, signaling inflammation and unhappily hurt skin and flesh.
What confused Dean was that he had not one recollection of the actual patch up job, he simply couldn't remember patching himself up.
Come to think of it, he could remember much of last night, he couldn't recall anything after he'd taken a shower when he and Sam had checked into the motel room.
Dean did however, remember the hunt for the witch in the woods that had been botched almost to the point fatality by Sam's rookie mistake.
Dean remembered that he hadn't let Sam off the hook for that one just yet and would need to give him a talking to as punishment.
With a huff of annoyance, Dean set about his morning routine, all the while feeling just a tiny bit of ire at the whole situation and at a certain little brother of his.
While Dean went about his morning oblivious to the punishment he had already doled out on his brother, or rather in his brother, a good three miles down the road from the motel, a sleek black 1967 Chevy Impala was parked nearly into the first row of trees that led into the dense woods.
To any passerby it would've been very difficult to spot.
That had been the idea as a little ways deeper in the woods and tall and thin figure sat on a rotting log, his breath rising in smoky plumes from his lips as he watched a tiny campfire crackle and burn with flames of bright reds and oranges.
Sam Winchester sat with his entire body slumped over, sadness and defeat coming off him in waves.
The cold Illinois air was biting at him, the small fire he had built up from scratch doing nothing to chase it away.
Moss green eyes, bloodshot and brimming with salt stared down at his hands, fingers looking slightly red and irritated by what he knew was chemical agents.
He didn't pay much attention to his fingers, just the items they were holding.
A bathroom towel and a pair of plain white boxers both of which were grotesquely stained with deep, darkened red liquid.
The towel in particular sent a spike of revulsion through Sam, not only stained with blood and seminal fluids but also bleach, the scent itself was enough to make even the strongest of men gag.
A once white towel and a pair of once white boxer shorts.
Stained with Sam's blood and his brother's.
Stained with the evidence of an unthinkable act.
With a rattling breath through his nose, Sam rose to his feet with his jaw clenching as pain lanced through his whole body, still tender muscles protesting the movement.
Sam stepped closer to the little campfire and with another shaky breath, tossed the bloodstained towel and the boxers he'd worn last night onto the waiting flames.
As he watched the remaining evidence of his own violation turn to charred ashes, Sam's mind unavoidably went to the life altering events of last night and what he'd done immediately after.
There was water dripping into the bathtub.
The sound was like a sledgehammer through his ears.
A roaring echo shattering the silence.
Sam stared blankly at the aged wood of the bathroom door from where he was still collapsed on the bathroom floor.
He was dimly aware that the tiles of the floor were digging into his shoulder and his side.
He'd spent a half hour that seemed more like a full day, sobbing and crying as quietly as he could as to not risk waking his brother, he silently wept until he had no tears left and could no longer sob.
After that he'd simply laid there, perfectly still with salt drying on his face.
Then Sam blinked and took a deep, rattling breath.
With all the strength he could muster, Sam let out a small grunt as he picked himself up off the floor, using left arm, he pushed himself up into a sitting position.
Sam's back felt like it was on fire, agony travelling down his spine and lower, and his bruised right wrist twinged with the slightest movement.
Sam sat there and focused on simply breathing and not loosing his mind to the pain.
When the agony faded somewhat, he forced himself to his feet tightly gripping the towel around his waist to cover his nakedness.
Sam slowly turned around to face the bathroom sink.
He only glanced at himself in the mirror again once before tearing his gaze away and averting it down to stare at the basin.
With one hand, Sam reached for one of the handles on either side of the faucet.
It squeaked loudly as he turned it, a thin trickle of clear water pouring out of the faucet. With his free hand, Sam cupped it and held it under the stream.
He lightly splashed whatever liquid caught by his palm and fingers onto his tear-stained face.
He repeated the action a few more times until he was sure that most of the dried salt on his cheeks had been dissolved before turning the water off.
Sam scrubbed at his wet face before using a corner of the towel he was wearing to dry off.
Then, gathering his whits and using a tremendous amount of sheer will and courage, Sam steadied his nerve and limped out of the bathroom.
The second he did his eyes landed on his sleeping brother and he immediately wanted to sink into the ground and let the arm of Hell itself rip him apart.
Then he swallowed convulsively and ignored the chaos inside him and focused instead on getting to his duffel bag.
He limped all the way across the room shivering as he went. He knelt before his bag and somehow wrestled the zipper open.
Sam pulled out a baggy pair of sweats and a big t-shirt as fast as he could, and donned them even faster.
Feeling relieved beyond words that he finally had clothes on again, Sam knew what he had to take care of now.
Clearing up all traces of what had happened between him and Dean.
Sam looked around the room and instantly knew what would be his first order of business.
With a shaky huff, Sam set about limping around the motel room and quickly and as quietly as he could, picking up the many articles of clothing strewn around the room, ignoring the pain that shot up through him at the exertion.
Once he had all of the clothes he'd originally been wearing, both the ones that were salvageable and those torn beyond saving were all bunched up in his arms he limped back to his duffel and quickly stuffed them inside as deep as he could.
After that was over, Sam looked around the room and floor.
To his chagrin he found a small red stain on the carpet between the bed.
Who's blood it was, his or Dean's Sam couldn't tell and didn't care, all that matter was at he found some bleach or any other kind of cleaning solution and got rid of it pronto.
Sam scrambled back into the bathroom and all but tore the doors to the cabinet beneath the sink off.
A small breath of relief escaped him when he found a bottle of Clorox Bleach near the dark corner of the cabinet.
Yanking it out, Sam also grabbed up the bloody towel he'd used earlier to clean his brother up from where it lay on the floor, with these items in hand Sam limped as fast as he could around the bed Dean was on and came to kneel on the floor between the beds.
Sam hastily unscrewed the cap from the bleach with fumbling fingers and sloppily held the ruined towel over the opening, letting some of the contents soak into the terry-cloth fabric.
Once some of the towel was soaked enough, Sam set the Clorox aside and set to work furiously scrubbing at the aforementioned bloodstain in question.
Bleach was getting onto his fingers but, Sam was hellbent on only getting the stain out.
Sam scrubbed until his arms were tingling, his bruised wrist was aching, and he'd all but worn a hole through the carpet.
Much to Sam's relief, not even the stench of bleach had aroused Dean from his slumber.
With a sniffle, an now completely exhausted Sam gathered up what he'd used to clean the floor and stumbled back into the bathroom.
He tucked the bleach back into the cabinet he'd taken it from and unceremoniously dumped the towel onto the floor.
He'd deal with the rest of the clean up in the morning.
Right now he was barely running on fumes.
To Sam's chagrin, his jaw started to tremble real bad, he clenched it hard and bit his lower lips to the point of nearly drawing blood.
The young man let one plaintiff sob escape him before he held the rest from spilling out.
He all but dragged himself out of the motel bathroom, his body begging for the sanctuary of the unoccupied bed next to the one Dean was in.
Sam wearily pushed his spent body forward, limping past his brother to the second queen and reached for the covers.
The second he'd climbed in, Sam rapidly lost consciousness, finally giving in to the pain and the fatigue.
And by some miracle, his slumber was mercifully dreamless.
The now dying fire crackled loudly, bringing Sam back to the present.
As he blinked, a single drop of hot salt escaped his eyes, carving a bitter trail down his cheek.
Sam reached up with a trembling hand and wiped it away.
With a sniffle, Sam stepped closer to the dying embers and began kicking dirt over the charred remnants until he'd completly covered it over, snubbing it all out leaving only a few ghostly plumes of smoke rising up from the small mound he'd created.
He stomped on it a few times for good measure before turning his back to it.
As the fire died away behind him, a new fire lit itself within Sam's battered and nearly shattered heart and soul as walked back to the Impala.
Sam's weepy eyes hardened, their tears drying up like snow against a desert.
He glanced back and looked upon what remained one last time with cold disdain.
Then he turn his gaze straight ahead and never looked back as he made his way out of the woods.
Sam trudged out of the shadows the woods cast over all and was bathed in the warm still morning light as he quickly made his way to the Impala.
He fished out the keys from his jacket pocket and quickly climbed in.
A few seconds later, the muscle car was rumbling to life.
With a low growl, Sam hit the accelerator and pulled back onto the road.
Sam gunned the engine and speed back towards town and as he burned rubber he hoped and prayed that Dean, who was probably awake right now had no recollection what so ever of last night.
Sam hoped, even though it was probably terrible of him to, that whatever had possessed his brother last night had been strong enough to have basically pulled a blanket over his brother's conscious mind and kept him blind to the actions his body had taken.
It would make things a Hell of a lot more easier for Sam to hide the truth and put up a front of everything being more or less fine.
This was the way things needed to be right now.
In his heart, Sam knew that Dean would not survive it if he found out what had happened.
if he found out right now it would destroy Dean, Hell it would destroy him.
But in Sam's mind was only one true thought paramount amidst the terror
He had to keep his big brother safe.
Sam also felt a deep surging hatred course through him as he drove back into town at near breakneck speed.
And this hatred was directed at whatever demonic force had done this to him, and to his brother.
But for right now, Sam put his focus on the road and slowing down a little as he re-entered town with any nearby diner as his destination.
He had to go pick up breakfast since he had been the first one up.