A/N sorry for the delay. This chapter kept kicking my butt. Still not entirely happy with it, honestly, but it's time to move on!
Please let me know what you think, now that you (and Dean) have learned all our Sammy's secrets!
Next chapter will jump forward in time a bit - no reason to put us all through the CPS hearing!
Thanks to everyone who has liked, favorited, followed, commented, or just taken the time to check in and read!
I hope y'all are still enjoying this and thanks for your patience!
-Aethena
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St. Joseph's Hospital, Biltmore Road, Asheville NC
Saturday, May 9, 1998 2:00 am
Dean stared at his little brother, who was leaning back against the pillows on his hospital bed, right arm crossed defensively over the cast covered left, staring back at Dean.
"Jesus, Sammy," Dean breathed and ran a slightly shaky hand over his face. "I…you…Holy Shit, Sam! How could you never have told me this?"
Sam's eyes skittered away from Dean's and focused on the cast on Sammy's right foot.
"I don't know," he said softly. "I guess I didn't know how."
"Well, the way you just did was pretty good," Dean said with more than a little sarcasm. "Five years too fucking late, maybe, but…"
Sam shook his head. "I'm sorry."
"I just…it could've been him, you know," Dean pointed out. "The demon? HE could've moved the furniture, not you."
"Right," Sam scoffed. "Because what he really wanted was to keep himself out. And get sent back to Hell. By a nine-year-old."
"A poltergeist, then," Dean deflected. "Everything that happened in the room, a poltergeist could easily have done."
"Oh, yeah," Sam agreed with an impressive level of sarcasm from someone with a concussion. "Casper the Friendly Poltergeist. Because poltergeists are so well known for being helpful and protecting people."
"Sammy, you don't…"
"I do, Dean," Sam cut him off. "I know exactly what happened that night. It wasn't the demon, it wasn't a poltergeist, and I did NOT have a nightmare. It happened. All. Of. It."
"You…"
"You said you remembered that hunt," Sam reminded him. "Do you remember finally coming to pick me up, you and Dad?"
"Yeah, but…"
"And I'm sure you remember the barricades at the door and window," Sam snarled. "How you two had to fight your way in with a handy battering ram."
"Sam…"
"Oh, no, you didn't, did you? Wanna know why, Dean? Why when you and Dad came back all the furniture was back in its proper place, and bolted the floor again?" Sam challenged.
Dean froze and leaned back against the chair, visibly bracing himself.
"Because I. Moved it. Back," Sam told him. "Alone. In the middle of a blizzard — hell, by the time I woke up again, in the middle of a fucking blackout. With. My. Mind, Dean. I did that. Not the demon, not a poltergeist, ME."
"Oh, Sammy," Dean whispered.
"And you know what else, big brother? Every time since, anytime you and Dad went on a hunt and left me behind. Anytime Dad left and you got a job and I came home from school before you. I've practiced. Trained," he corrected himself. "Just like Dad always says. You have to train to get good at any new skill. And I have. Trained. And gotten damn good." Sam took a shuddering breath in, and forced himself to meet his brother's gaze. "I can do so much more than rearrange the furniture, now," he said quietly. "I can heal. You know that. When I ran away in Flagstaff, I found a dog that had been hit by a car. He could hardly breathe, Dean. And I saved him."
"And you saved Sean," Dean nodded. "Today. And me."
Sam nodded. "Yeah."
"What else?" Dean demanded. "I'm guessing that's how you found the kids, with some sort of…power, I guess. But how? How does that work? You just, what, track people? Track their minds or something?"
Sam shook his head. "It's not that simple," he admitted. "I wish it were. The only person whose mind I can…home in on, I guess…is yours. And, to a lesser extent, Dad's."
Dean nodded. He hesitated and bit his lips for a moment.
"What?" Sam asked.
Dean's eyes widened, and Sam shot him a disgusted look. "I'm not reading your mind, doofus," Sam sighed. "But since when have I not been able to tell that you were debating whether to bring something up or not just by lookin' atcha?"
Dean smiled a little sheepishly. "Right," he laughed softly at himself. "Of course. It's just that…when you were… today, in the tunnels, when you, uh, 'scouted ahead', I…look, man, you had me a little…"
"Freaked out," Sam deadpanned and Dean chuckled, nodding.
"Yeah. When we got to that first fork, after we split with Dad," Dean explained, "and you stepped into the two sides of the fork, it…you seemed to…I don't know, hear something. And I couldn't. So when we got to that curve, and you said you were going to go ahead for a quick look…" Dean looked down for a moment, then forced himself to look at his brother again. "I followed you," he admitted. "I saw you, Sammy. You were chanting at a wall and then that wall…it just…it's like it ate your hand and spit it back out, man. I don't…I mean…What the HELL, Sammy?"
Sam nodded and reached out to lightly touch Dean's shoulder, just for a moment, sighing in obvious relief when Dean didn't pull away.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I know it was confusing, maybe scary even. I'm sorry."
Dean nodded his acceptance of the apology. "No, I get it, I really do. I mean, now. You couldn't have…You were right. To wait until it was just us again. Because…I get it. Before….before…I would've told Dad, if he'd been around. And…now," Dean sighed. "You're right. He'd've killed you. I...I'm not convinced that he would have, five years ago," he admitted, "but I can see why you'd think so. After what the demon said."
Sam pulled his hand away and seemed to withdraw into himself, digging the fingers of his right hand into the tense muscles on the left side of his neck repeatedly in what Dean knew to be an old method of self-comfort. "Thank you," he said softly, meeting Dean's gaze with a little water in his. "That means…just…Thanks, Dean."
Dean nodded, and stood up from the chair, to sit on the edge of Sam's bed. He wrapped his hands around the back of Sam's neck, felt the tension melt away from his baby brother as he did, and rested his forehead against Sam's.
"I'm just sorry you had to do it alone for so long, Sammy," Dean whispered. "You need to know, man…you'll never have to do that again. Not by yourself. When we get you out of here, we'll head to Bobby's, just like we planned. And then we'll find someplace, somewhere even Bobby won't bother us, and you can show me…everything. What you can do. What you've learned, and, and taught yourself. And I'm really proud of you, doing your own training, like you said. That was good, Sammy, that was real good. And we'll figure it out. What it means. What it's for. But I can tell you this," he said firmly, and used his thumbs to tip Sam's gaze up to meet his own. "It does not mean that there is anything wrong, or dangerous, or…or evil about you, Sammy. It just doesn't."
"But…the demon…what he said…I…It scares me, Dean. What did he mean, he'd take me home?" Sam wondered, his voice shaking with unshed tears. "Am I…I heard what Dad told you, at the cabin, when he came back. That the Yellow-Eyed Demon…that he fed me his blood? Am I…Dean," Sam bit his lower lip, and closed his eyes in a futile attempt to stop the tears. "Am I a demon now?" he whispered, opening eyes so full of pain and sorrow and fear that Dean felt his heart crack just a little. "Have I been becoming a demon since Mom died? Since I was six months old? Is that why I…I can…do things? Know things?"
"No," Dean said firmly and pulled his brother into his arms, careful to jostle the casts and bruises as little as possible. "No, Sammy. Like I said to Dad; like I said to you — I know who you are, Sammy. I know exactly who and what you are. You are my baby brother, and there is nothing…evil, or, or…I dunno, tainted? In you. There just isn't. There never will be. That's just not you."
"You don't…"
"I do," Dean reassured him and placed a kiss on his brother's forehead. "I really do, Sammy. And if you don't, right now, that's okay. I'll show you. And you'll see. It'll be all right. It'll all be all right."
Sam sniffed and wrapped his good arm around his brother's back, pressed his face against the side of Dean's neck and just breathed the familiar scent of peace, and home, and safety.
Of Dean.
"As long as we're together," Sam whispered.
"That's right," Dean nodded, brushing his cheek against the soft hair on the top of his brother's hair. (And when did somebody get the blood out of Sammy's hair, anyway?) "As long as it's Us, Sammy. We'll be okay. In a couple of days, it'll be all over with Dad. He won't be able to hurt you ever again, I promise."
Sam nodded and rested his head on his brother's shoulder. "Okay. Okay, Dean."
They stayed that way, holding each other for longer than either of them would have ever admitted, until finally, Sam pulled back, nodding a little, so Dean knew he was okay.
"So," Sam cleared his throat. "The rock."
"Yeah, what was that about? You were…let's start with the chanting," Dean decided. " 'Cause that sounded kinda…witchy."
"It's not a spell," Sam assured him. "I probably don't even need to do it — at least not out loud, but…It just seems…" Sam scoffed and covered his eyes with his right hand. "God, as I am saying this, I am realizing how incredibly stupid this sounds, but it's just…more polite."
"Polite," Dean repeated, deadpan. "You're being polite. To rocks."
Sam pulled his hand away from his face and raised it slightly, dropping it back onto his lap in a what do you want me to say gesture. "Yeah. I did say I knew it sounded stupid."
"Yes, yes you did," Dean agreed. "Glad of that. Shows there's still some sanity in there."
Sam flinched a little.
"No, I didn't…" Dean began hastily. "I mean, I don't think…"
"Yeah you do," Sam sighed. "So do I sometimes. It's a little…"
"Elvis-probed-me-on-an-alien-spaceship crazy?" Dean suggested with a sideways grin.
"Out there," Sam finished, firmly, throwing Dean a solid bitch face that only made Dean grin wider. Sam laughed. "But…yeah," he admitted. "Elvis on a spaceship."
"Sorry," Dean told him and patted Sam's knee gently. "It's not often my nerdy little brother tees one up for me like that. Couldn't resist."
Sam grinned back at him. "No, no, I get it. You had to take the shot. Big brother's job. Besides, you really don't get to do it much. Everybody knows I'm the sane one."
"Ha!" Dean barked a laugh. "In your dreams, geek boy. Everybody knows I am the very soul of sanity."
"Riiight," Sam laughed, and for just a moment, they were just two brothers, doing what brothers do — giving each other shit.
After a minute or so, Dean turned serious again. "But, the rock…" he prompted.
"It only works with natural formations," Sam explained. "I can't do it with, like, a table, or a building or anything. Even if it's made from all natural, organic material, once it's been artificially altered…I can't get anything."
"GET anything," Dean repeated. "Get what? Like, you're using natural rock formations to get directions?"
Sam shook his head. "Not exactly," he admitted. "I just…It's like…." He sighed, frustrated at not being able to put it into words that his brother could understand. "Everything…has a…I don't know…resonance? That's not right," he shook his head again. "I don't know how it works," he admitted, "but if I touch a…rock, or a tree…or just the unpaved ground…or an animal…I can…I can see what they see. What it sees. It's like…I don't know, maybe there's some kind of…bacterium or something, and it's all through the rocks and trees and stuff, and if I ask, they'll..show me. Whatever it is they've seen."
Dean nodded, sagely, a slow smile growing as he listened to his brother talk.
"It wasn't…the first time it happened, I was on my way back from school. You'd gone on a Hunt with Dad, so nobody was picking me up. Normally, I'd take this shortcut through an alley to get home, but that day, I was being chased by some asshole jocks…". Sam paused and raised an eyebrow at his brother as Dean's jaw clenched as his older brother leaned towards him, fisting his hands on his knees. "It was three years ago, Dean," Sam told him, "I don't even remember where we were at the time. You don't need to rip anybody's lungs out," he added with an eye roll. "You can stand down."
Dean frowned, but leaned back, crossing his arms.
"ANYway," Sam continued, fighting back a smile, "I was running from these dicks, and I took a few turns I'd never taken before, and I ended up in this field, with no idea how to get back to the motel."
"Ah, Sammy," Dean's anger melted away under his concern.
"No, it's okay," Sam assured him. "I mean at the time, at first, I was really upset. I mean, I knew you were going to call to check up on me, and if I wasn't there to answer the phone…"
"Yeah, that'd be ugly," Dean agreed.
Sam chuckled, nodding his agreement. "So, I was upset, and out of breath, and I...just…fell back, you know. Lying on the grass, staring at the sky, wondering where I was and how the hell I was going to get where I needed to be. And then…"
Sam shook his head, a look of amazement and wonder and…joy, almost, Dean thought, on his face. It was the kind of look that Dean hadn't seen regularly on Sammy's expressive face since the kid was about 6. Hadn't seen pretty much AT ALL since Sam'd learned what the Family Business really was, and Dean couldn't help the smile that crept over him, seeing Sammy looking honestly happy, for once
"I swear," Sam whispered, his gaze going fuzzy as he looked into the past, "it was like…it wasn't a voice, it's never a voice. It's a…feeling. LIke, something was reaching out to me. And it wasn't a thought, it wasn't as, as…organized as that. It just…I knew, you know? I just knew. Something…I didn't know what…wanted to help me. You know?" he asked, meeting Dean's eyes again, almost willing his brother to understand.
"Something," Sam continued "some thing— was reaching out to me. Like, how could it help? How could it help me? And I…I just thought, you know? I need to get back to the motel. I'm lost, and I need to get back. And then…" he shrugged as much as he could with this left arm in a sling, "I just…started walking. It was like…that time, the first time…it was just…I knew where to go. And if I didn't, if I wasn't sure if I needed to go left or go right, I just…I'd crouch down and I'd touch the ground again, or lean against a tree, and…I'd know where to go again.
"Now, today," Same explained, "now it's different. I've gotten better at it, at controlling it. If I just think about what I need, let…whatever it is…know what I'm looking for…I can see it. I can actually see it. And if I think about how to get there, it's…You said you thought I heard something," Sam recalled. "It's almost a sound," he admitted, "but it's more…like a vibration. Really faint, sometimes I really have to concentrate on it, like at the first fork after we split up. And sometimes, like where the tunnel split into three paths, it's…it's like there's interference. When that happens, I have to ask more directly, get more help. Not just…tap into whatever it is, but actively ask which way to go. And I get an answer. Every time. I mean, I don't know what it is," Sam admitted, "what exactly I'm tapping into, maybe even communicating with. I don't have any idea. Except…whatever it is," and here he paused and looked Dean directly in the eye, "it's good, Dean. It's not…I swear to you, it's not dangerous. It's not demonic. It's not…it doesn't want anything from me. It just…IS."
"Of course it is," Dean nodded, and Sammy stared at him, a little taken aback by the wide, and still growing, grin on his big brother's face, the sparkle in his green eyes.
"Dean?" Sam asked warily.
"I know what it is," Dean breathed, then laughed. "Sam, this is amazing! Don't you know what this is? It's some kind of field. And it binds everything together. And certain people can connect to it and…Aw, Sammy! This is so cool."
"A fiel—" Sam stopped, and frowned at his brother. "Dean. No."
"Sammy, yes," Dean insisted. "It's the Force! My baby brother is a freakin' Jedi Knight! You gotta teach me this, Sammy, you have to."
Sam closed his eyes and shook his head, slowly. "God dammit, Dean. Can you be serious?" he wondered and opened his eyes, hitting Dean with an epic bitch face. "Like, ever?"
"I am serious!" Dean insisted, clearly affronted. "You connected, to the rocks and the plants, all things! And you got a feeling, guiding the way, showing you where to go, showing you what you need to know. Giving you power that you can tap into. How is that not the Force?"
"Uh, because the Force is fiction," Sam suggested.
"Apparently not!" Dean countered.
Sam sighed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his unbroken hand. He closed his eyes and took what Dean recognized as a deep, calming breath. "It's not the Force, Dean," Sam said softly.
"Okay," Dean nodded. "You don't know that, but I get it. It's a little uncomfortable, realizing that you're tapping into the greatest Cosmic force that's ever existed. I get it. We can just…we'll table that for now."
Sam sighed again, and shook his head just slightly, still pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to forestall the headache he knew Dean's latest ridiculous enthusiasm would cause. "RIght. Let's just table that. Table the Force. Okay."
Dean tried — with moderate success — to control his grin, and cleared his throat, bringing the conversation (and himself) back into what Sammy would consider reality. "So," Dean continued brightly, and Sam cautiously opened his eyes, letting his good hand fall back into his lap. "The rock. It…from where I was standing, it looked like the rock just…moved. Just, like, flowed over your hand for a second, then flowed back…"
Sam shook his head. "Rock doesn't move, Dean," he said, as if, after everything he'd already told Dean, that should still be obvious.
"I know what I saw, Sammy," Dean insisted. "Your hand was there, then the rock covered it, then it didn't."
Sam nodded. "Oh, no, yeah, I'm not saying that didn't happen," he assured his big brother. "But the rock didn't change. I did."
"I'm sorry, what?" Dean blinked in confusion.
"When I need more information, more help," Sam explained, "I've found that it works better if the…the contact, the…the medium I'm talking to.."
"Medium?" Dean yelped. "You're a fucking MEDIUM now?"
Sam rolled his eyes again. "Not that kind of medium, Dean. I'm not some…some…storefront psychic, or anything. But medium, as…as in, like…material, you know? Rock, or tree, or whatever."
"Then why didn't you just say that?" Dean snapped. "Throwing all your four dollar words at a guy, like everybody knows all the crap rolling around in that geek head of yours," he mumbled and it was all Sam could do to not smile or laugh, because it was just…so…Dean.
"I'm sorry," Sam apologized, as seriously as he could manage.
"Uh-huh," Dean muttered. "Sure you are. Just get on with it! What do you mean, you change. Into what?" His eyes grew wide. "Are you saying you become rock?
"No," Sam assured him. "It's not like that. I don't…it's not that I really change…I know that's what I said," he continued, rushing to cut off his brother's objections, "but you have to remember, I've never talked about this before. Not with anyone, Dean, so…I'm kinda having to figure out some of this as I'm talking. I mean, I know what happens, but I've never had to explain it before."
Dean nodded, still frowning, and flapped one hand at his brother in a get on with it, then, gesture.
Sam nodded his understanding of Dean's direction. "So, sometimes, I kinda need to be…like surrounded by…whatever I'm working with," he tried again, "but like I said, rock doesn't move. I mean if it's just dirt or grass or something, that's easy, but actual rock…I can't just…dig in, you know?"
Dean grunted his understanding, his eyes narrowing slightly. He was starting to get half an idea of where his brother might be going with this, and it was not a direction either Hunter Dean or Big Brother Dean was in any way happy about.
"So — and I don't actually know how I do it," Sam admitted, "it just kinda…happens, really — but since I can't pull the rock around my hand, I kinda…push my hand into the rock instead. For a little while, like a second maybe, if that long, my hand just…isn't… quite…solid. For just a second or two. And while it's more…malleable?" he tried, throwing a glance at Dean for a reaction, then continued on when Dean nodded his acceptance of the term. "While my hand, or foot, or whatever, is more malleable, I…push it into the rock, and while I'm in there…with my hand or whatever…I can get better information. See more of what I need to, get a clearer route in my head. And when I have that, my hand goes all…wibbly again, and I pull it back out," he shrugged. "That's what you saw, Dean. The rock didn't flow over my hand; I kinda….flowed into the rock." He stopped talking, and turned his head so he was looking at Dean sort of sideways, frowning in a worried sort of way as he waited for Dean's response.
"So, you can walk through rock," Dean summarized.
"What? No!" Sam countered, startled by the thought.
"You said…."
"I said my hand changed, Dean," Sam said with another deep frown, "not my entire body!" And his headache was getting more determined to come back now. Great.
"Right," Dean scoffed. "Because that's so much better. Jesus, Sammy! What…How…What the hell am I supposed to do with this?" he wondered, running his hand over his short cropped hair, and looking at the blank TV hanging from the corner of the room, then out the window.
Anywhere but at his baby brother, Sam noticed and sighed.
"Dean, I…"
Dean raised a hand, and closed his eyes for a long moment, breathing deeply. "Just…just hang on, Sammy," he said quietly. "Give me a minute to wrap my brain around this one."
Sam nodded, and leaned back into his pillows, closing his eyes while he waited for his brother to work it through.
"So," Dean mused aloud. "You can heal people, including yourself, if you're not too tired."
Sam nodded confirmation, keeping his eyes closed.
"And you're telekinetic."
Another nod from Sammy.
"And you're the..the Dr. Doolittle of rocks and trees."
Sammy cracked one eye open, frowning, and saw that Dean was looking mostly through him, completely serious, not teasing or mocking him at all. Sam closed his eye again, and shrugged. Whatever.
"Okay," Dean nodded and turned his attention back to his brother. It was only a second or two after Dean started watching the boy again before Sam opened his eyes.
Psychic? Hunter Dean suggested when Sammy clearly reacted to something he couldn't have seen.
Pffft, Big brother Dean scoffed. SAMMY.
"Okay," Dean repeated. "So, basically, you're some kind of mutant superhero or some shit, and you've been hiding it all for five years. From. ME."
Sam shook his head. "The telekinesis started five years ago. The…" Sam paused, gave it a second's thought, then shrugged his acquiescence, "Dr. Doolittle thing I only figured out about three years ago."
"And the healing? How long have you been keeping that from me?"
"That's…a little complicated."
"Because the rest of this isn't," Dean countered with his own bitch face.
Sam shrugged his good arm in acknowledgment of the point. "Yeah, good point."
"So, why is healing 'complicated?' "Dean wondered.
"Well the healing itself isn't, really," Sam admitted and Dean glared at him.
"Son of a bitch, Sammy!" Dean shook his head. "Like I'm not having a hard enough time wrapping my brain around this shit, you gotta contradict yourself every four seconds!"
"No, no," Sam countered. "The healing isn't complicated, but the timeline is a little…fuzzy."
"Fuzzy," Dean repeated. "Fuzzy HOW?"
"Well I told you, I figured out I could heal others when I ran away in Flagstaff and found that dog."
Dean nodded, for once not making a bitch face at the mention of Flagstaff.
"But healing myself…I'm not sure when that started," Sammy admitted. "I know when I first noticed it," he added, "but I can't be sure when it started. That's what I meant by complicated."
Dean nodded. "Okay. When did you notice it, that you could heal yourself?"
"About a year…no, a year and a half ago. I was in school, and it was one of those times when Dad left you behind because he was going to be gone awhile, and you got a job to help feed us, when Dad's money ran out." Sam shook his head. "Because that should be your responsibility, not a father's, apparently."
"Sam," Dean said warningly.
"Right, sorry, 'm sorry," Sam said hastily. "I was having some issues with some bullies at school…"
"Year and a half ago," Dean mused. "Dad gone for a long while. That would be…that was Gainesville, right? Florida?"
Sam nodded and Dean pinned him, with a narrow-eyed stare. "Funny," Dean frowned, "but I don't remember you saying anything about bullies in Gainesville."
Sam met his brother's angry gaze with a calm one. "That's because I didn't tell you," he acknowledged.
"Dammit, Sammy!" Dean yelled, without actually raising his voice loud enough to disturb anyone else nearby — a skill that all the Winchesters had long ago mastered, to be able to adequately express their anger with one another without being thrown out of hospital wards. "It's my job to…."
"Keep me safe!" Sam Winchester-yelled back. "I know! But dammit, Dean, that's not fair."
"I'm sorry? Being beaten up because Dad drags us all over Hell and half of Georgia is fair to you?"
"Of course not!" Sam sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose again. "What I mean is, it's not fair to you, Dean! You always take care of me. ALWAYS. Whether Dad is there or not, and…" he took his hand away from this nose, and placed it lightly on Dean's wrist. "You had a right to be a kid, too, Dean. And taking care of me…you couldn't. You had to be the grown-up. So if it's something I can take care of myself — if I can get the bullies to back down on my own, the way you taught me…I will. Because you got enough, Dean. You got more than enough to deal with."
For a moment, the brothers just glared at each other, warring bitch faces on parade.
Finally, Dean sighed and shook his head. "Whatever. We're not done with this," he assured his little brother, who just bobbled his head from side to side in acceptance of Dean's decree, "but go on. You were being bullied in Gainesville. I think I can guess how you figured out you can heal yourself."
Sam nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure you can," he chuckled. "I stood up to them, like you taught me. 'Bullies are cowards. If you stand up to them, they'll back down. They haven't got the guts to do anything else'," he recited, in a fair enough imitation of his brother's voice that Dean had to smile. "And they did," he admitted. "They came after me at lunch, and I wouldn't back down, so they made some lame excuse about my being too small and weak to be worth the effort, and walked away."
Dean nodded with satisfaction.
"Until after school," Sam continued, and Dean frowned. "Yeah. Once there wasn't an entire cafeteria full of students to watch me not cave in, it was a different story. One of them grabbed me from behind, pinned my arms, and the leader just started punching. Eventually, I got free," Sam admitted with a shrug of his good arm. "Used that technique you taught me, when somebody bigger'n you has you from behind, and you still have an opponent in front…"
"Which one?" Dean wondered. "Break the nose of the guy behind with your head, or kick the guy in front, using hold'em boy for leverage?"
"Kicking," Sam admitted, shaking his head ruefully. "If I'd slammed the guy holding me with my head, I probably would've just bounced off his pecs. Guy was a tree."
"And the guy in front?"
"A slightly smaller tree," Sam laughed. "Happily, a tree that was not wearing a cup. Leaned back into big tree, kicked both feet right into smaller tree's crotch. Big tree was so shocked, he slacked off on his hold, and I was able to break his grip, turn around, and slam my palm into his nose."
Dean laughed. " 'At's my boy."
Sam grinned, basking in his big brother's praise. "And then, I took off running," Sam admitted.
"Discretion being the better part of valor?" Dean suggested.
"More, not pushing my luck being the better shot at living," Sam admitted. "The motel we were at was a good two miles from school," he continued, and Dean nodded, remembering. "I was maybe half way home, sure they hadn't followed me, and I finally slowed down enough to start really feeling what they'd done to me."
"Which was…" Dean frowned, as his hands curled into fists and his eyes darkened to that particularly dangerous shade of olive green that anyone Dean had ever fought with would probably never forget.
"Again, over a year ago and 450 miles away," Sam reminded him. "Nobody to beat up, now."
"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered and forced himself to sit back in his chair again, nonchalantly crossing his arms. "What was the damage?"
"Three cracked ribs, bruised collarbone, one eye swollen shut, and a lip that'd swelled up so much, I must've looked like I had a pair of those wax lips on. Felt like it, too," he grinned. "Also probably had a minor concussion, given that I was slightly dizzy and way tired by the time I got back to the motel."
Dean frowned. "I don't remember coming home and finding you hurt."
"You didn't," Sam confirmed. "I got home about two hours before you — I always did. I looked in the mirror, and my first thought was something along the lines of: 'shit, if Dean sees this, he's gonna blow gasket.' You'd badger me until I told you what had happened, and with whom, and then you'd beat the guys up — even though they were minors, and you weren't; probably end up with charges against you, which meant that Dad would find out, and then the shit would really hit the fan."
Dean nodded. "Accurate."
"Yeah. So, I grabbed an ice pack from the little freezer in the motel fridge, plopped it on my swollen lip, and lay down, thinking 'man, I wish I could just make this all go away, like I did with Bones'."
"Bones?"
"The d—never mind. I just wished it would go away," he repeated, and shook his head ruefully. "I woke up about ten minutes before you came through the door…and it had. My ribs and collarbone were still slightly sore…but my face was fine. And that was what mattered. You never had a clue," Sam admitted. "And that's when I really figured out I could heal myself, too. The little stuff'll just kinda mend on its own, but the bigger stuff, I still have to work at. It takes some concentration."
Dean frowned, and bit his lip for a moment. "That's what you meant," he realized. "You said if I'd been there, it would have distracted you."
"Yeah."
"And if you were distracted…" Dean mused. "You were staying ahead of it," he realized, amazed at the idea. "You were healing yourself while he was beating the tar out of you."
Sam nodded. "As best I could," he admitted.
Dean rubbed his left hand up and down his right arm, a nervous tick that Sam knew his brother used to keep himself from blowing up.
"What did he do?" Dean demanded.
"Wha—you know what he did," Sam hedged. "He beat the crap out of me."
"When I found you, you said he'd've killed you. What did he do?" Dean asked again.
Sam made another bitch face. "It's just an ex…"
"No," Dean interrupted. "It wasn't an expression. Don't lie to me, Sammy. Not now. There was a moment. Something he did, that you knew…you were dead. What? What was it?"
Sam took a deep breath and pushed himself further into the pillow behind him, covering his mouth with his good hand for a moment before his hand curled into a fist and dropped into his lap. "Don't," he said quietly. "Dean, please. Don't do this."
"I need to know, Sammy."
"You don't, Dean. You don't. I'm here," Sam reminded, his voice rough with unshed tears. "He failed. And you're getting me away. That's all that matters."
"I need. To know," Dean repeated, his voice no less shaky than his brother's.
"Dean, please," Sam whispered, not even trying to stop the tears now. "I don't even think he knows," he admitted. "You don't need to. He'll never do it again. He can't. You're making sure of that. We're making sure of that. Just…Please, just…."
"I'm not letting it go," Dean told him firmly. "Not now, not ever. I will hound you every day for the rest of our lives, and you know I can! Tell me."
Sam angrily swiped at his wet face, and tried one more time. "Dean…."
"Tell me."
Sam took a shaky breath, and looked up at the ceiling, refusing to look into his brother's eyes. "After the call," he said, so softly that Dean had to lean in to hear it at all, "he was so…I…He went a little insane, I think. He hit me, and I went down, and he started kicking. Over and over and over again. In my chest. My ribs. And he…he was so angry, he couldn't even manage to yell. He just kept…it wasn't quite a whisper. It wasn't speaking either, not really. More just…growling, I guess."
"Aw, Sam," Dean breathed.
"And he just kept saying it: 'You killed my Mary.' Over. And over. And over. And every time he said her name, he'd kick me. Same spot. Over and over and over and over….Right in the ribs. Until they broke. And he just kept kicking. And then he…I felt…"
Dean waited, saying nothing, letting Sam get to the truth in his own time.
"I'm sure he doesn't know," Sam said. "But he kicked one of the pieces of my ribs…and it stabbed me in the heart. I felt it," he breathed. "My heart? I felt it tear. And I felt it stop. And I was…somewhere. And then I was back, and my heart was whole and my ribs were only cracked. And I rolled. I rolled onto my side. And he stopped kicking. He grabbed me by the shirt, and threw me against the wall, and started punching instead," he said with a shrug. "But he killed me. He killed me, just for a second, and he didn't know it, and I…I'm still here. And I shouldn't be. Because Dad…because my own father killed me. He didn't know — but he'd've been happy if he did."
Sam sniffed and wiped the tears from his face again, before turning to glare at Dean, watching his brother wiping his own tears away.
"Why, Dean," Sam sobbed. "Why did you make me tell you that? It's bad enough that I know, that I remember…Why did you have to know that?"
Dean stood, shifted to sit on the bed and pulled his baby brother carefully into his arms. "Aw, Sammy," Dean breathed and gently kissed Sam's temple. "So you don't have to remember it alone."
