Fic: Chasing Ghosts 3/3 (Supernatural)
Title: Chasing Ghosts
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Sam, Dean, John
Pairing(s): Gen
Word Count: 19,300
Rating: NC-17 - DARK THEMES: Abuse, violence, sexual assault, panic attacks, strong language
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never was.
Warnings: THIS STORY DEALS WITH THEMES OF ABUSE, specifically child abuse. It includes physical and verbal abuse, nonconsensual sexual encounters, starvation, and isolation. Most of the direct descriptions are included in the flashbacks, denoted by italics, but these events are referenced and discussed throughout. THIS STORY ALSO DESCRIBES A PANIC ATTACK as well as dissociation and a few brief mentions of (passive) suicidal thoughts. Please do not read if you feel this might be triggering.
Summary: When Dean’s wish on the pearl digs up old hurts, the brothers have to deal with the fallout.
Chasing Ghosts
Sam made his way to his own room and slipped in quietly. As he set his bag down, he realized he was completely alone. It didn’t often bother him, but after all the things he’d shared today, he felt that ache a little sharper. He always did. Digging up memories, especially the ones where he’d been locked away, made him want to attach himself to his brother’s side and never leave. Something about Dean always felt safe, but he wasn’t a thirteen year old kid anymore. He and Dean needed space right now.
He sighed and started stripping down. He really could use a shower. It always felt good to get under the hot water after sitting in the car all day. As he shed his layers down to his boxers, he pulled his shampoo from his bag and headed to the bathroom.
When he flipped the light on, he frozen on the threshold. He couldn’t breathe. Nothing in him was going to let him go into that tiny room. He knew he was about to drop. He forced his fingers to open and let the shampoo bottle slip from his grasp to clatter on the floor. It was the one thing he could physically control. At the noise, his focus wavered and he was able to take first one step, then another back from the doorway. He stood several paces back and just stared into the narrowing room. Okay. So maybe he’d just wash off in the sink.
He walked up to the adjacent wall and reached around the corner of the doorframe to switch the light back off. It was a trick he learned years ago so he didn’t have to look into the room itself. He tugged the door shut firmly and wandered over to the sink. It wasn’t a thorough wash, but he did scrub his face and arms off so that he felt a bit fresher.
When that was done, he wrapped himself in his biggest hoodie. It was one of the few things that brought him a little comfort. With the soft fabric hugging him, he relaxed enough to take stock of his room. That little part of his brain that was terrified of being trapped kept glancing at his bedroom door. He didn’t like having doors between him and his exit. It made his shoulders tense and his jaw clench. So would being in a large, open space right now. He could still remember the odd, abstract way the world had narrowed down to those four walls when he was under that particular punishment. For days after, he would feel like the whole rest of the world was too big and loud and not quite real.
He shook himself. Dwelling on the feeling wouldn’t help anything. As he looked for a distraction, his feet took him almost involuntarily to his bookshelf. His hands reached for the middle volume on the top shelf by habit alone, and he pulled it down to reveal a protein bar. He quickly scanned the package, but it was well within its date. He tucked it away again feeling a little more settled. It helped, but it didn’t completely ease the nervous anxiety. He would have to do a full sweep.
An hour later, Sam had settled with a book and a cup of tea in his bed. Of all the things he’d lived through, it seemed like the scars from John’s abuse ran the deepest. Those psychological wounds would break open and stir up all sorts of weird, unhelpful things. Even now, his gut was screaming that he shouldn’t leave the door closed, despite the fact that it opened inward and couldn’t possibly be barricaded from the outside.
His stomach cramped at the thought of being locked away. With that came the wave of panic that he’d been dealing with all evening. The one that said he was going to be hungry - deep in his bones hungry. With a shaking hand, he pulled the drawer of the nightstand open and felt along the bottom. His shoulders relaxed a little as he felt the slick packaging of the power bar taped to the underside.
His nerves itched to get up and check the rest of them again. It was absolutely ridiculous. It had been years, nearly a lifetime, since he’d ever been that hungry. While his little stockpiles had paid off over the years, he’d never gone so long without food again. A little part of his brain still worried over whether everything was really safe.
Sam growled. He brushed his fingers over the hidden bar one more time to reassure himself then snapped the drawer shut. His gaze flicked over to his door where the key was still resting safely in the unlocked position. He grunted and snatched his book back up.
He was trying to wind down before he went to sleep, maybe keep the old memories at bay for a little while, little good though it was doing him. It was times like now, when he was alone and had too much space to think, that they crept up on him. He had managed to dig his way through three full pages when there was a knock at the door.
Sam snapped the book shut, hands wrapping tightly around the cover, and closed his eyes for a second. When he felt a little more composed, he called, “Come in.”
Mary’s head appeared around the doorframe. “Are you still up?”
Sam sat up properly in the bed, shifting to sit cross-legged against the headboard. He motioned towards the other end, offering her a seat. She smiled and came to sit at the foot, giving him space, but still close enough to touch. “What’s up?”
Mary hesitated. She studied his face for a long moment. “Dean seemed really upset when you two came home today.”
Sam’s gaze shot to the side. He was going to have to do some fast talking if he wanted to avoid the conversation that was on the horizon. His luck sucked today.
“Hey, I’m not trying to accuse you,” Mary said. “When I asked him what was wrong he said I should talk to you. He seemed genuinely upset. Did something happen?”
Sam cleared his throat. “Sort of. We’re fine. Or we will be.”
“Oh, I know. I’m not worried about that. The only time I’ve seen Dean like that is when you’re hurt. Are you okay?”
Sam gave her a sad smile. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
She studied him for a long time. He couldn’t quite read the expression on her face, but he knew she wasn’t satisfied with that. “I know I never got to do much mothering, but you know I’m here, right?”
“I know, Mom. I’m really okay.”
“You haven’t been sleeping much.”
“Bad dreams,” Sam said with a shrug. “You know how it is. Some days are worse than others.”
“You’ve seemed off since your father… well, since his visit.”
Sam stared at the book in his hands. He wanted to tell her. He wanted so badly to have her tell him it wasn’t his fault. He longed to have her hug him and say that it was all going to be okay, but she’d never really been his mother. It wasn’t her fault, but Dean had been more a parent to him than anyone. It felt wrong to ask for that comfort from anyone, much less someone who had missed his entire childhood. Mary was trying, but they still hadn’t worked out exactly what they were to each other. Sam would never know what she might have been like when he had a bad dream or fell and scraped his knee. What he was looking for was something she had never given him, and he couldn’t expect it now.
He couldn’t stand the thought of her rejecting him. If she refused to believe him or worse, sided with John, he would break. He knew she wouldn’t. Everything rational in him knew she wouldn’t. But the lonely ten year old who just wanted a mom to come take him away from all the pain didn’t. He still thought, somewhere deep down, that John must have had a reason. He must have been right on some level.
“Dad and I never got along,” Sam said eventually. It wasn’t a confession, but it wasn’t a lie either. “I guess I’ve been thinking a lot about our relationship.”
“Seeing you three together, I’d guess he didn’t care in the end. He still loved you both.”
Sam clenched his hands around the book so that his shaking was less obvious. “Yeah.” His voice was flat, emotionless. He hadn’t meant for that to come out as robotic and lifeless as it had.
“Sam?” Mary reached out a hand to set on his knee and he jerked away. He drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them with his arms.
He realized his breathing had gone harsh. With it, tears were stinging in his eyes. He hid his face in his knees, not wanting Mary to see him cry. He took three long breaths. When he felt like he could speak again, he cleared his throat. “Sorry.”
“What’s wrong?” Mary’s voice was hesitant. Sam hugged his knees tighter and shook his head.
“Please? I know I’m not Dean, but I can listen.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Sam admitted. He knew exactly how horrible this whole thing was and it would hurt her. He couldn’t do that.
“You’re not going to hurt me.” When he didn’t respond, she sighed. “Is it about my cooking? You don’t have to worry. I know that casserole is atrocious. It’s basically a heart attack in a pan.”
Sam shook his head. “No, it’s about Dad,” he whispered into his knees.
Mary didn’t say anything. She just waited.
“He wasn’t all that great of a father.”
Mom let out a long breath. “I know. God, I know. Sometimes I wish he was still here so I could beat him senseless for the way he raised you boys. I never wanted you to grow up like I did, with all that hanging over your heads.”
“No,” Sam said quickly, finally propping his chin on his knees so he could speak clearly. His eyes found a spot past Mary’s should on the wall. He focused on that so he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye. “I mean, yeah. Who raises their kid like that, you know? But no. That I forgave him for a long time ago.”
“Then what do you mean?”
Sam shook his head, eyes falling closed. “It doesn’t matter. It’s long done and he’s gone. I’ve just been stuck in my head.”
“It does matter. Please? Just talk to me. I promise whatever you have to tell me, I can handle it.”
Sam’s shoulders slumped. The more he thought about it, the more he thought Dean might be right. If she had come in the morning when his defenses weren’t already worn thin, he might have been able to resist, but as it was, he was tired of the secret and the lies.
“You have to understand,” he said. “When it started, I think he really meant to help or straighten me out. It wasn’t right, but it wasn’t that bad. I was stubborn. I didn’t want anything to do with hunting and I wasn’t a natural like Dean. We butted heads so often I’m sure he was at the end of his rope.”
“When what started, Sammy?”
Sam pulled his legs tighter against his chest. “Dad, uh, he didn’t…well I wasn’t good at all that. I uh, didn’t want to b-be. And well, he thought -er, I don’t know what he thought but he…” Sam sucked in a breath and said, “Dad…”
“What did John do?” Mary’s voice was tight.
“He hurt me.”
Mary stiffened across from him. Sam buried his face back in his knees so he wouldn’t have to see the emotions on her face.
“He did what,” she hissed.
“I’m sorry. No one was supposed to know. But Dean, he kept asking questions and I couldn’t lie about it, not after everything. And then…I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out.”
“John hurt you?”
Sam nodded his head.
“How?”
“It’s not important, but that’s why Dean was upset. He didn’t know until today.”
“It is important. What did he do?”
“Hit me, mostly.”
“Sam,” she said, just a hint of sternness creeping into her tone.
“I mean it. At first it was just the belt or a smack. Then he started using his fists. He was smart. He never did anything I couldn’t cover. Occasionally he would lock me up, but mostly it was the hitting until I was in high school.”
“What happened in high school?”
Sam shook his head.
“Please? I need to know.”
“It turned sexual in high school,” Sam whispered.
Mary sucked in a sharp breath. He dared a glance up at her and found her on the verge of tears. “Mom?”
“Oh, Sam.” She reached towards him but didn’t make a move to touch him. Sam took her outstretched hand. She pulled gently until he was leaning against her. To his utter embarrassment, he realized huge tears were falling down his face. She rubbed his back. “I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I didn’t want to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you love him.” It was the simplest way to say all the reasons. He didn’t want her to hate him for ruining John’s memory. He didn’t want her to dismiss him because she couldn’t believe it of him. He didn’t want to take away any of the happy memories she had.
“And if I had known what he did, I’d have laid him out in the kitchen floor.”
Sam pulled back so that there was some space between them. “I don’t want this to change anything. I don’t want you to see me any different.”
She reached up and brushed his hair away from his face. “All I see is an incredibly strong man. I may still be getting to know you, but I’m proud you’re my son.”
A little of the warmth he’d been longing for opened up in his chest. “Really?”
“Yes. You’ve been through so much. You’ve seen so much, and you kept going. You survived. I’m not sure I could have.”
Sam let himself relax against her, his head laying on her shoulder. She seemed content to let him rest as she rubbed circles into his back. They stayed that way until Sam could feel his eyes getting heavy. When he huffed out a little yawn, Mary chuckled and nudged him. “Hey, sleepy head. Why don’t you lay down?”
Sam nodded. It took him a long moment to summon the energy to shift upright, but when he did, she stood to give him room to lay down properly. Sam rolled and pulled the covers over himself.
After he settled, Mary sat down on the edge of the bed. She let her fingers card through his hair. Sam blinked up at her.
“Get some rest. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”
She stood and clicked the bedside lamp off. In a show of affection he had never seen from her, she leaned forward and place a gentle kiss on his forehead.
Sam froze. It was so unlike Mary to be physically affectionate, but it was nice too. She ran her hand through his hair one more time, then cupped his cheek. “Goodnight, Sam.”
“Night.”
She turned and made her way to the door. As she reached to pull it shut behind her, something in Sam shuddered at the thought of having the door closed again. He called out, “Leave it cracked?”
“Okay.”
He listened to her steps as she moved down the hall, the warm light from the lamps just enough to softly illuminate his room.Sam thought he would drift off quickly. He’d been on the edge of sleep when Mary left, but after a few minutes, it became clear that he wouldn’t be able to unwind quite that quickly. While the crying had tired him out, it had left him feeling keyed up at the same time. He had that nagging feeling that if he didn’t get up and move, he might implode.
...
Sighing, he sat up and flipped his light back on. His tea sat discarded on his nightstand, cold and forgotten. It was peppermint, the one thing that tended to calm his nerves and settle his mind enough for him to relax.
He knew he would feel better if he could force himself through some of his grounding exercises. He was more than a little annoyed that he hadn’t just faded into sleep and now it would take him hours to get back to that point. He knew he could try to ride it out, but in the end, he probably needed the comfort more than he wanted to prove he could survive without it.
With a scowl, he swung his legs out of bed and stood, grabbing the mug from its spot. He would go, reheat his tea, then come back and try to center himself around something that wasn’t the fraying ends of his nerves.
He padded down the hallway, trying to be quiet. He doubted either Mom or Dean were asleep, he hadn’t been down that long and it wasn’t that late, but he also knew they’d be on him in a heartbeat if either of them saw him now, and his raw nerves couldn’t take it.
The light was on in the kitchen, which meant someone was still up. Sam walked as softly as he could in his approach, not wanting to get caught if someone had gone after a late snack.
He could hear low conversation as he got closer. “…should have put a bullet between his eyes a long time ago,” Dean said.
Sam shuddered. He turned and let the wall take his weight, head falling back and eyes dropping shut. This had been a mistake. The room beyond had lapsed into a tense silence. Sam debated just creeping back to his room. Before he could, there came the sound of smashing glass and Mom’s wordless cry of surprise.
“Dean?” The question was quiet and cautious. It was the only thing that kept Sam from flying around the corner. It wasn’t the sound of someone in trouble, it was the cautious tone of someone talking to a cornered animal.
“He nearly killed him,” Dean growled. “Sam almost died and it was because of him.”
Sam felt a shudder run down his spine. That was a dangerous tone on Dean. It was the one he used when he was done trying to save people. It was the one he used when he was about to do something that would haunt Sam for the rest of his life.
In the next room, Mary didn’t prompt him. Sam wished he could. It should be him in there listening, but he’d caused this whole mess and Dean wouldn’t talk to him. Not yet anyway. Sam shouldn’t even be standing there. He should slink back to his room and leave them to it, but the next words rooted him to the spot. “He barricaded my brother in a bathroom and left him there while we went on a hunt.”
It was the last thing Sam had expected. Sure, he’d mentioned that it had been close when they talked in the car, but Sam had assumed this outburst had been in a broader sense about the abuse. It was true that John had crossed so many lines, Sam had wondered himself how he survived sometimes.
“I didn’t know,” Dean continued. “He said he wanted to talk to Sam alone and sent me on to the car. We left and Sam was trapped in a tiny room with no food. We were gone eleven days.
“When we got home, Dad dropped me off at the restaurant and told me to grab us a table while he went to pick Sam up so we could celebrate together. It took him forever. When he finally walked in, Sam was barely walking on his own. He was so weak he could barely feed himself.
“He got sick. At the time, Dad said it was probably just a bug that had turned nasty because Sam hadn’t treated it properly. The first night, he started having trouble breathing. It sounded like his asthma was coming back, and I couldn’t get him to do more than moan in his sleep. His lips started to look blue. John stole a nebulizer from a local clinic and set him up. It seemed to help a little but…”
By this point, Sam was transfixed. He had never heard this side of it. He hadn’t wanted to ask earlier. Dean had been odd for a while when they got back. Sam had always assumed it was a rough hunt, or guilt for, as Dean believed, leaving him on his own when he was sick.
He could hear Dean start to pace. Sam stared up at the ceiling willing him to go on. He had a feeling this was something Dean had been carrying around all these years. He needed to be free of it as much as Sam needed to hear it.
“Then his heart started beating funny. I could feel it pounding just by laying my hand on his chest. It was too fast and lopsided. I wanted to take him to a hospital. By this point we were feeding him through a tube just to try and get something in him so his body could fight his fever. John said we couldn’t, that they would take him away. I wish they had. I wish I had taken him when I first thought it and let them. They could have taken him away from all that.
“Dean, you couldn’t have known.”
Dean pressed on, not even acknowledging the words. “He turned a corner the next morning. His heartbeat evened back out. With the nebulizer his breathing seemed to ease. It was a few days before he woke up and nearly a week before he could even get out of the bed by himself.”
Dean’s voice broke near the end and Sam found himself sliding to sit on the floor, his mug cradled to his chest. It really had been close. He hadn’t known. He always thought it had been a bad fever and that’s why he had lost those few days. Dean had been worried, but chipper so Sam had assumed it was just a rough bug.
Sam had to concentrate on keeping his breathing quiet. Sometime in that explanation, it had gone ragged and he didn’t want Dean to stop.
As if he had heard Sam’s thought, he said, “He was funny after that too. Weird. He kept asking if we were real. At the time I thought it was the fever. I had to keep telling him that we had come back from the hunt and were really, truly there. He wouldn’t leave my side for a solid month after he got better and didn’t close the bathroom door for weeks. I thought it was just because he’d been alone and so sick. After a near death brush, I wasn’t going to discourage a little bit of clinginess. I can see the shape of it now. I know what that sort of confinement does to people. I’d be surprised if he didn’t hallucinate us at some point and that’s why he wasn’t sure we were real.
“He started hoarding food too. It was never from his plate. He would finish everything. I mean everything. He would not leave a bite on his plate and more than once ate my left overs to the point I thought he was going to be sick. That eased off over the years until now I have to fight to get him to eat most of the time. He told me he got to a point where he just wasn’t hungry anymore. Now I wonder if that’s part of it, because he certainly wasn’t shy about eating as a kid. I started finding things everywhere. Chips, candy bars, jerky. He taped it under drawers, tucked it into cabinets, even hid it in our clothes.
“I didn’t think much about it. I knew it wasn’t great, but Sam was going into his teens. Even at seventeen, I still felt like a waking stomach. And we had some lean months. I just assumed he was putting some back or keeping a stash. I remember the late night need for food and the cold walks to the vending machine. I didn’t say anything cause I didn’t want to embarrass him.”
There was a pause as Dean circled closer to the door. Sam held his breath hoping he wouldn’t come out and find him here in the floor eavesdropping. Instead glasses clanked as he pulled down another and poured himself a drink. He seemed to have calmed down a little and Sam listened to him settle at the table.
“He still does it now. He thinks I don’t know, but I do.”
Sam could feel his cheeks heating. He knew Dean knew he kept a stash, but he didn’t realize he’d figured out they were hidden around the bunker.
“He does those meal replacement bars. It’s handy sometimes when we’re too wiped to cook or too banged up to think about stumbling into a diner. He’ll whip some out and it’s a Godsend. But, he’s done three sweeps since we got home. Three! I tailed for the second one and they’re all over this bunker, top to bottom.”
Dean took a drink and thunked his glass back down on the table with a sigh. “I get it now. I’m not happy about it, but I get it. He said the first time was the worst but that it happened again. Even once would have been enough to fuck anyone over. He did it over and over again. Now I’m just glad that even if I was too thick to see what was going on, I never called him on hiding the food. I don’t know what I’d have done if I came back to find him wasted away like that again.”
And that was Sam’s cue. He could hear that note of guilt and self-loathing in Dean’s voice. It was time for him to step in. None of this was Dean’s fault. None of it had anything to do with him, really. Him beating himself up wouldn’t help, and he shouldn’t have to carry that guilt around. Sam shoved himself to his feet and took the last few steps to stand in the kitchen doorway.
Dean was scrubbing a hand down his face as Sam came into view. Mary was sitting, watching him with a drink in her hand that she was mostly toying with. Dean’s own drink sat on the table ahead of him. He was leaning back on his stool with his feet pushed out ahead of him like he hadn’t been able to hold himself up any longer and just sprawled on the first seat he had found.
Sam was about to say something when Dean said, “You know, he never backed down. He and John would go at it. It would feel like world war III some days. They would absolutely tear into each other. But I don’t get it. Why? Why bait him knowing what he could do?”
“Because it didn’t make any difference,” Sam said from the doorway. Dean flinched and sat up, spinning to look at him with wide eyes. “He was going to do what he wanted. I did it to prove to myself that I was still me. Dad wasn’t -“
“Don’t call him that!”
Sam jerked back at the absolute snarl, his tea sloshing over his hand to plop into a little puddle on the floor. Sam knew he didn’t have a right to call him that. Not anymore. He had only ever kept it up because it made Dean happy. He hated hearing Sam call their father John.
“Dean,” Mary muttered.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said, not quite able to meet his eye. “I know.”
“Sick bastard should still be rotting in Hell.”
Sam glanced up at him, startled. The vehemence in his voice was so angry and certain. Sam had never heard him talk about John that way. While he knew, objectively the abuse hadn’t been his fault, he never thought Dean would react quite this way. He had always hoped Dean would be angry on his behalf, but Sam had always considered John somehow exempt from scrutiny at last from Dean. “You don’t mean that,” Sam said at last.
“Oh, I think I do,” Dean said, draining his whiskey and reaching for another. “No wonder Bobby was always at his throat.”
Sam tried to relax his coiled muscles. Fighting and arguing wouldn’t solve anything, especially tonight. “No, you don’t,” Sam reasoned. “He was still our father. And Bobby was an ornery bastard all on his own.”
Dean’s eye grew wide and he went pale. “Wait, he didn’t?”
Sam frowned. “Who didn’t what, Dean?” He was tired and wrung out and couldn’t quite keep up with how rapidly they were cycling through topics here.
“Bobby, he didn’t…”
“Bobby didn’t know as far as I’m aware,” Sam said with a frown. “I think he suspected something was going on, but if he had known, I’d be willing to bet he’d have done more than threaten John with buckshot.”
“But he wasn’t… he never…”
Sam’s own eyes went wide as he grasped what Dean was really asking. “What? No! Bobby would have never touched me. Never. He was the closest thing to what I imagined a real father was like.” Ice skittered down his spine as he considered the possible reasons Dean might have jumped to that conclusion. “Unless there’s something I need to know?”
“No! I just had to be sure.”
Sam collapsed sideways against the doorframe. “Look, this is a lot, I know, but there wasn’t some big, bad child abuser lurking behind every family friend we had as kids. You’ve got to take a minute to calm down here.”
Dean opened his mouth to respond, but Mary cut him off. “Why don’t you sit down, Sam,” she said. “You look like you’re about to fall over. I thought you were going to bed?”
Sam exhaled sharply. He came into the room and sat down next to her not quite trusting Dean’s temper at this moment. “I couldn’t sleep. I was going to reheat my tea.”
Dean snorted. When Sam glanced over at him, he was smirking, even if it didn’t quite look convincing.
“Shut up. It helps,” he said as Mary collected his mug and took it to the microwave for him.
“Whatever, Miss Muffet.”
“Miss Muffet was curds and whey. Is there a nursery rhyme about tea?”
Dean shrugged. “Do I look like Mother Goose to you?”
The microwave dinged and the mug reappeared in front of him. Sam blew across the top of it gently, then took a sip off the top. The cool bite of mint tingled in his mouth as he swallowed. It was refreshing and soothing. He took a moment to breath in the steam off the top. He never quite understood why peppermint tea smelled so herbal, rather than minty.
The three of them sat around the table nursing their drinks. Sam wanted to say something to soothe the mess of emotions this whole disaster had stirred up, but he was at a loss what that might be. He seemed to be sitting in a lot of awkward silence lately.
Dean took another sip off his third whiskey. He tilted the glass so that the pattern caught the light. He twisted it, watching the light dance on the table. “Why did you come with me?”
Sam glanced up from the glass to Dean’s face. He was still watching the shifting light rather than looking at Sam. “What do you mean?”
“When I came to get you at Stanford. Why did you come when I told you John was missing? You didn’t question that part of it. You just came. Why,” Dean asked, finally looking up at Sam.
“Because I missed you, doofus. So we were going to find Dad - “
“Sam.”
Sam sighed. “Fine. Right. Anyway. I had been thinking about you a lot. Every time something big happened I wanted to call you and tell you. The day I got my LSAT results, the only thing I could think was that I wished you were there to share it with me even before I opened the envelop. I guess I was hoping that you showing up meant we might have a chance to be okay. That maybe I could share some of those things with you.”
“Okay, but you stayed. Even when we had to work with him, you stayed.”
“John had answers. He knew more than he had ever told us and like it or not he had more experience. I had every intention of hunting him down and making him tell me everything he knew about what killed Jess and Mom, even if I had to beat it out of him myself.”
Dean nodded. He went back to playing with his glass. “Did he ever try again? Once we met back up with him, I mean.”
“Once, not long after he learned about the visions. I laid him out,” Sam said. Dean let his glass rest back down on the table with a thump. “The minute he tried to do anything to me, I punched him in the face hard enough he went down. He didn’t ever try after that, whether because we were never really alone together or because he figured out I wasn’t going to take it anymore, I don’t know.”
Dean smirked at him, this time far more genuine. He raised his glass in a little salute. “Atta boy, Sammy.”
Sam grinned at him and raised his own mug before taking a deep drink of his tea.
Next to him, Mary snorted. “Boys,” she muttered. He could practically feel her rolling her eyes, but her leg knocked against his under the table and he knew she was only teasing.
Sam smiled as he watched the two of them over his mug. Neither of them were happy, but some of the tension had eased from the atmosphere with that admission.
They were going to be all right. It would take time, but this little family of theirs was incredibly resilient.
<< Previous Chapter
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Sam, Dean, John
Pairing(s): Gen
Word Count: 19,300
Rating: NC-17 - DARK THEMES: Abuse, violence, sexual assault, panic attacks, strong language
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never was.
Warnings: THIS STORY DEALS WITH THEMES OF ABUSE, specifically child abuse. It includes physical and verbal abuse, nonconsensual sexual encounters, starvation, and isolation. Most of the direct descriptions are included in the flashbacks, denoted by italics, but these events are referenced and discussed throughout. THIS STORY ALSO DESCRIBES A PANIC ATTACK as well as dissociation and a few brief mentions of (passive) suicidal thoughts. Please do not read if you feel this might be triggering.
Summary: When Dean’s wish on the pearl digs up old hurts, the brothers have to deal with the fallout.
Chasing Ghosts
Sam made his way to his own room and slipped in quietly. As he set his bag down, he realized he was completely alone. It didn’t often bother him, but after all the things he’d shared today, he felt that ache a little sharper. He always did. Digging up memories, especially the ones where he’d been locked away, made him want to attach himself to his brother’s side and never leave. Something about Dean always felt safe, but he wasn’t a thirteen year old kid anymore. He and Dean needed space right now.
He sighed and started stripping down. He really could use a shower. It always felt good to get under the hot water after sitting in the car all day. As he shed his layers down to his boxers, he pulled his shampoo from his bag and headed to the bathroom.
When he flipped the light on, he frozen on the threshold. He couldn’t breathe. Nothing in him was going to let him go into that tiny room. He knew he was about to drop. He forced his fingers to open and let the shampoo bottle slip from his grasp to clatter on the floor. It was the one thing he could physically control. At the noise, his focus wavered and he was able to take first one step, then another back from the doorway. He stood several paces back and just stared into the narrowing room. Okay. So maybe he’d just wash off in the sink.
He walked up to the adjacent wall and reached around the corner of the doorframe to switch the light back off. It was a trick he learned years ago so he didn’t have to look into the room itself. He tugged the door shut firmly and wandered over to the sink. It wasn’t a thorough wash, but he did scrub his face and arms off so that he felt a bit fresher.
When that was done, he wrapped himself in his biggest hoodie. It was one of the few things that brought him a little comfort. With the soft fabric hugging him, he relaxed enough to take stock of his room. That little part of his brain that was terrified of being trapped kept glancing at his bedroom door. He didn’t like having doors between him and his exit. It made his shoulders tense and his jaw clench. So would being in a large, open space right now. He could still remember the odd, abstract way the world had narrowed down to those four walls when he was under that particular punishment. For days after, he would feel like the whole rest of the world was too big and loud and not quite real.
He shook himself. Dwelling on the feeling wouldn’t help anything. As he looked for a distraction, his feet took him almost involuntarily to his bookshelf. His hands reached for the middle volume on the top shelf by habit alone, and he pulled it down to reveal a protein bar. He quickly scanned the package, but it was well within its date. He tucked it away again feeling a little more settled. It helped, but it didn’t completely ease the nervous anxiety. He would have to do a full sweep.
An hour later, Sam had settled with a book and a cup of tea in his bed. Of all the things he’d lived through, it seemed like the scars from John’s abuse ran the deepest. Those psychological wounds would break open and stir up all sorts of weird, unhelpful things. Even now, his gut was screaming that he shouldn’t leave the door closed, despite the fact that it opened inward and couldn’t possibly be barricaded from the outside.
His stomach cramped at the thought of being locked away. With that came the wave of panic that he’d been dealing with all evening. The one that said he was going to be hungry - deep in his bones hungry. With a shaking hand, he pulled the drawer of the nightstand open and felt along the bottom. His shoulders relaxed a little as he felt the slick packaging of the power bar taped to the underside.
His nerves itched to get up and check the rest of them again. It was absolutely ridiculous. It had been years, nearly a lifetime, since he’d ever been that hungry. While his little stockpiles had paid off over the years, he’d never gone so long without food again. A little part of his brain still worried over whether everything was really safe.
Sam growled. He brushed his fingers over the hidden bar one more time to reassure himself then snapped the drawer shut. His gaze flicked over to his door where the key was still resting safely in the unlocked position. He grunted and snatched his book back up.
He was trying to wind down before he went to sleep, maybe keep the old memories at bay for a little while, little good though it was doing him. It was times like now, when he was alone and had too much space to think, that they crept up on him. He had managed to dig his way through three full pages when there was a knock at the door.
Sam snapped the book shut, hands wrapping tightly around the cover, and closed his eyes for a second. When he felt a little more composed, he called, “Come in.”
Mary’s head appeared around the doorframe. “Are you still up?”
Sam sat up properly in the bed, shifting to sit cross-legged against the headboard. He motioned towards the other end, offering her a seat. She smiled and came to sit at the foot, giving him space, but still close enough to touch. “What’s up?”
Mary hesitated. She studied his face for a long moment. “Dean seemed really upset when you two came home today.”
Sam’s gaze shot to the side. He was going to have to do some fast talking if he wanted to avoid the conversation that was on the horizon. His luck sucked today.
“Hey, I’m not trying to accuse you,” Mary said. “When I asked him what was wrong he said I should talk to you. He seemed genuinely upset. Did something happen?”
Sam cleared his throat. “Sort of. We’re fine. Or we will be.”
“Oh, I know. I’m not worried about that. The only time I’ve seen Dean like that is when you’re hurt. Are you okay?”
Sam gave her a sad smile. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
She studied him for a long time. He couldn’t quite read the expression on her face, but he knew she wasn’t satisfied with that. “I know I never got to do much mothering, but you know I’m here, right?”
“I know, Mom. I’m really okay.”
“You haven’t been sleeping much.”
“Bad dreams,” Sam said with a shrug. “You know how it is. Some days are worse than others.”
“You’ve seemed off since your father… well, since his visit.”
Sam stared at the book in his hands. He wanted to tell her. He wanted so badly to have her tell him it wasn’t his fault. He longed to have her hug him and say that it was all going to be okay, but she’d never really been his mother. It wasn’t her fault, but Dean had been more a parent to him than anyone. It felt wrong to ask for that comfort from anyone, much less someone who had missed his entire childhood. Mary was trying, but they still hadn’t worked out exactly what they were to each other. Sam would never know what she might have been like when he had a bad dream or fell and scraped his knee. What he was looking for was something she had never given him, and he couldn’t expect it now.
He couldn’t stand the thought of her rejecting him. If she refused to believe him or worse, sided with John, he would break. He knew she wouldn’t. Everything rational in him knew she wouldn’t. But the lonely ten year old who just wanted a mom to come take him away from all the pain didn’t. He still thought, somewhere deep down, that John must have had a reason. He must have been right on some level.
“Dad and I never got along,” Sam said eventually. It wasn’t a confession, but it wasn’t a lie either. “I guess I’ve been thinking a lot about our relationship.”
“Seeing you three together, I’d guess he didn’t care in the end. He still loved you both.”
Sam clenched his hands around the book so that his shaking was less obvious. “Yeah.” His voice was flat, emotionless. He hadn’t meant for that to come out as robotic and lifeless as it had.
“Sam?” Mary reached out a hand to set on his knee and he jerked away. He drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them with his arms.
He realized his breathing had gone harsh. With it, tears were stinging in his eyes. He hid his face in his knees, not wanting Mary to see him cry. He took three long breaths. When he felt like he could speak again, he cleared his throat. “Sorry.”
“What’s wrong?” Mary’s voice was hesitant. Sam hugged his knees tighter and shook his head.
“Please? I know I’m not Dean, but I can listen.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Sam admitted. He knew exactly how horrible this whole thing was and it would hurt her. He couldn’t do that.
“You’re not going to hurt me.” When he didn’t respond, she sighed. “Is it about my cooking? You don’t have to worry. I know that casserole is atrocious. It’s basically a heart attack in a pan.”
Sam shook his head. “No, it’s about Dad,” he whispered into his knees.
Mary didn’t say anything. She just waited.
“He wasn’t all that great of a father.”
Mom let out a long breath. “I know. God, I know. Sometimes I wish he was still here so I could beat him senseless for the way he raised you boys. I never wanted you to grow up like I did, with all that hanging over your heads.”
“No,” Sam said quickly, finally propping his chin on his knees so he could speak clearly. His eyes found a spot past Mary’s should on the wall. He focused on that so he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye. “I mean, yeah. Who raises their kid like that, you know? But no. That I forgave him for a long time ago.”
“Then what do you mean?”
Sam shook his head, eyes falling closed. “It doesn’t matter. It’s long done and he’s gone. I’ve just been stuck in my head.”
“It does matter. Please? Just talk to me. I promise whatever you have to tell me, I can handle it.”
Sam’s shoulders slumped. The more he thought about it, the more he thought Dean might be right. If she had come in the morning when his defenses weren’t already worn thin, he might have been able to resist, but as it was, he was tired of the secret and the lies.
“You have to understand,” he said. “When it started, I think he really meant to help or straighten me out. It wasn’t right, but it wasn’t that bad. I was stubborn. I didn’t want anything to do with hunting and I wasn’t a natural like Dean. We butted heads so often I’m sure he was at the end of his rope.”
“When what started, Sammy?”
Sam pulled his legs tighter against his chest. “Dad, uh, he didn’t…well I wasn’t good at all that. I uh, didn’t want to b-be. And well, he thought -er, I don’t know what he thought but he…” Sam sucked in a breath and said, “Dad…”
“What did John do?” Mary’s voice was tight.
“He hurt me.”
Mary stiffened across from him. Sam buried his face back in his knees so he wouldn’t have to see the emotions on her face.
“He did what,” she hissed.
“I’m sorry. No one was supposed to know. But Dean, he kept asking questions and I couldn’t lie about it, not after everything. And then…I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out.”
“John hurt you?”
Sam nodded his head.
“How?”
“It’s not important, but that’s why Dean was upset. He didn’t know until today.”
“It is important. What did he do?”
“Hit me, mostly.”
“Sam,” she said, just a hint of sternness creeping into her tone.
“I mean it. At first it was just the belt or a smack. Then he started using his fists. He was smart. He never did anything I couldn’t cover. Occasionally he would lock me up, but mostly it was the hitting until I was in high school.”
“What happened in high school?”
Sam shook his head.
“Please? I need to know.”
“It turned sexual in high school,” Sam whispered.
Mary sucked in a sharp breath. He dared a glance up at her and found her on the verge of tears. “Mom?”
“Oh, Sam.” She reached towards him but didn’t make a move to touch him. Sam took her outstretched hand. She pulled gently until he was leaning against her. To his utter embarrassment, he realized huge tears were falling down his face. She rubbed his back. “I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I didn’t want to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you love him.” It was the simplest way to say all the reasons. He didn’t want her to hate him for ruining John’s memory. He didn’t want her to dismiss him because she couldn’t believe it of him. He didn’t want to take away any of the happy memories she had.
“And if I had known what he did, I’d have laid him out in the kitchen floor.”
Sam pulled back so that there was some space between them. “I don’t want this to change anything. I don’t want you to see me any different.”
She reached up and brushed his hair away from his face. “All I see is an incredibly strong man. I may still be getting to know you, but I’m proud you’re my son.”
A little of the warmth he’d been longing for opened up in his chest. “Really?”
“Yes. You’ve been through so much. You’ve seen so much, and you kept going. You survived. I’m not sure I could have.”
Sam let himself relax against her, his head laying on her shoulder. She seemed content to let him rest as she rubbed circles into his back. They stayed that way until Sam could feel his eyes getting heavy. When he huffed out a little yawn, Mary chuckled and nudged him. “Hey, sleepy head. Why don’t you lay down?”
Sam nodded. It took him a long moment to summon the energy to shift upright, but when he did, she stood to give him room to lay down properly. Sam rolled and pulled the covers over himself.
After he settled, Mary sat down on the edge of the bed. She let her fingers card through his hair. Sam blinked up at her.
“Get some rest. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”
She stood and clicked the bedside lamp off. In a show of affection he had never seen from her, she leaned forward and place a gentle kiss on his forehead.
Sam froze. It was so unlike Mary to be physically affectionate, but it was nice too. She ran her hand through his hair one more time, then cupped his cheek. “Goodnight, Sam.”
“Night.”
She turned and made her way to the door. As she reached to pull it shut behind her, something in Sam shuddered at the thought of having the door closed again. He called out, “Leave it cracked?”
“Okay.”
He listened to her steps as she moved down the hall, the warm light from the lamps just enough to softly illuminate his room.Sam thought he would drift off quickly. He’d been on the edge of sleep when Mary left, but after a few minutes, it became clear that he wouldn’t be able to unwind quite that quickly. While the crying had tired him out, it had left him feeling keyed up at the same time. He had that nagging feeling that if he didn’t get up and move, he might implode.
...
Sighing, he sat up and flipped his light back on. His tea sat discarded on his nightstand, cold and forgotten. It was peppermint, the one thing that tended to calm his nerves and settle his mind enough for him to relax.
He knew he would feel better if he could force himself through some of his grounding exercises. He was more than a little annoyed that he hadn’t just faded into sleep and now it would take him hours to get back to that point. He knew he could try to ride it out, but in the end, he probably needed the comfort more than he wanted to prove he could survive without it.
With a scowl, he swung his legs out of bed and stood, grabbing the mug from its spot. He would go, reheat his tea, then come back and try to center himself around something that wasn’t the fraying ends of his nerves.
He padded down the hallway, trying to be quiet. He doubted either Mom or Dean were asleep, he hadn’t been down that long and it wasn’t that late, but he also knew they’d be on him in a heartbeat if either of them saw him now, and his raw nerves couldn’t take it.
The light was on in the kitchen, which meant someone was still up. Sam walked as softly as he could in his approach, not wanting to get caught if someone had gone after a late snack.
He could hear low conversation as he got closer. “…should have put a bullet between his eyes a long time ago,” Dean said.
Sam shuddered. He turned and let the wall take his weight, head falling back and eyes dropping shut. This had been a mistake. The room beyond had lapsed into a tense silence. Sam debated just creeping back to his room. Before he could, there came the sound of smashing glass and Mom’s wordless cry of surprise.
“Dean?” The question was quiet and cautious. It was the only thing that kept Sam from flying around the corner. It wasn’t the sound of someone in trouble, it was the cautious tone of someone talking to a cornered animal.
“He nearly killed him,” Dean growled. “Sam almost died and it was because of him.”
Sam felt a shudder run down his spine. That was a dangerous tone on Dean. It was the one he used when he was done trying to save people. It was the one he used when he was about to do something that would haunt Sam for the rest of his life.
In the next room, Mary didn’t prompt him. Sam wished he could. It should be him in there listening, but he’d caused this whole mess and Dean wouldn’t talk to him. Not yet anyway. Sam shouldn’t even be standing there. He should slink back to his room and leave them to it, but the next words rooted him to the spot. “He barricaded my brother in a bathroom and left him there while we went on a hunt.”
It was the last thing Sam had expected. Sure, he’d mentioned that it had been close when they talked in the car, but Sam had assumed this outburst had been in a broader sense about the abuse. It was true that John had crossed so many lines, Sam had wondered himself how he survived sometimes.
“I didn’t know,” Dean continued. “He said he wanted to talk to Sam alone and sent me on to the car. We left and Sam was trapped in a tiny room with no food. We were gone eleven days.
“When we got home, Dad dropped me off at the restaurant and told me to grab us a table while he went to pick Sam up so we could celebrate together. It took him forever. When he finally walked in, Sam was barely walking on his own. He was so weak he could barely feed himself.
“He got sick. At the time, Dad said it was probably just a bug that had turned nasty because Sam hadn’t treated it properly. The first night, he started having trouble breathing. It sounded like his asthma was coming back, and I couldn’t get him to do more than moan in his sleep. His lips started to look blue. John stole a nebulizer from a local clinic and set him up. It seemed to help a little but…”
By this point, Sam was transfixed. He had never heard this side of it. He hadn’t wanted to ask earlier. Dean had been odd for a while when they got back. Sam had always assumed it was a rough hunt, or guilt for, as Dean believed, leaving him on his own when he was sick.
He could hear Dean start to pace. Sam stared up at the ceiling willing him to go on. He had a feeling this was something Dean had been carrying around all these years. He needed to be free of it as much as Sam needed to hear it.
“Then his heart started beating funny. I could feel it pounding just by laying my hand on his chest. It was too fast and lopsided. I wanted to take him to a hospital. By this point we were feeding him through a tube just to try and get something in him so his body could fight his fever. John said we couldn’t, that they would take him away. I wish they had. I wish I had taken him when I first thought it and let them. They could have taken him away from all that.
“Dean, you couldn’t have known.”
Dean pressed on, not even acknowledging the words. “He turned a corner the next morning. His heartbeat evened back out. With the nebulizer his breathing seemed to ease. It was a few days before he woke up and nearly a week before he could even get out of the bed by himself.”
Dean’s voice broke near the end and Sam found himself sliding to sit on the floor, his mug cradled to his chest. It really had been close. He hadn’t known. He always thought it had been a bad fever and that’s why he had lost those few days. Dean had been worried, but chipper so Sam had assumed it was just a rough bug.
Sam had to concentrate on keeping his breathing quiet. Sometime in that explanation, it had gone ragged and he didn’t want Dean to stop.
As if he had heard Sam’s thought, he said, “He was funny after that too. Weird. He kept asking if we were real. At the time I thought it was the fever. I had to keep telling him that we had come back from the hunt and were really, truly there. He wouldn’t leave my side for a solid month after he got better and didn’t close the bathroom door for weeks. I thought it was just because he’d been alone and so sick. After a near death brush, I wasn’t going to discourage a little bit of clinginess. I can see the shape of it now. I know what that sort of confinement does to people. I’d be surprised if he didn’t hallucinate us at some point and that’s why he wasn’t sure we were real.
“He started hoarding food too. It was never from his plate. He would finish everything. I mean everything. He would not leave a bite on his plate and more than once ate my left overs to the point I thought he was going to be sick. That eased off over the years until now I have to fight to get him to eat most of the time. He told me he got to a point where he just wasn’t hungry anymore. Now I wonder if that’s part of it, because he certainly wasn’t shy about eating as a kid. I started finding things everywhere. Chips, candy bars, jerky. He taped it under drawers, tucked it into cabinets, even hid it in our clothes.
“I didn’t think much about it. I knew it wasn’t great, but Sam was going into his teens. Even at seventeen, I still felt like a waking stomach. And we had some lean months. I just assumed he was putting some back or keeping a stash. I remember the late night need for food and the cold walks to the vending machine. I didn’t say anything cause I didn’t want to embarrass him.”
There was a pause as Dean circled closer to the door. Sam held his breath hoping he wouldn’t come out and find him here in the floor eavesdropping. Instead glasses clanked as he pulled down another and poured himself a drink. He seemed to have calmed down a little and Sam listened to him settle at the table.
“He still does it now. He thinks I don’t know, but I do.”
Sam could feel his cheeks heating. He knew Dean knew he kept a stash, but he didn’t realize he’d figured out they were hidden around the bunker.
“He does those meal replacement bars. It’s handy sometimes when we’re too wiped to cook or too banged up to think about stumbling into a diner. He’ll whip some out and it’s a Godsend. But, he’s done three sweeps since we got home. Three! I tailed for the second one and they’re all over this bunker, top to bottom.”
Dean took a drink and thunked his glass back down on the table with a sigh. “I get it now. I’m not happy about it, but I get it. He said the first time was the worst but that it happened again. Even once would have been enough to fuck anyone over. He did it over and over again. Now I’m just glad that even if I was too thick to see what was going on, I never called him on hiding the food. I don’t know what I’d have done if I came back to find him wasted away like that again.”
And that was Sam’s cue. He could hear that note of guilt and self-loathing in Dean’s voice. It was time for him to step in. None of this was Dean’s fault. None of it had anything to do with him, really. Him beating himself up wouldn’t help, and he shouldn’t have to carry that guilt around. Sam shoved himself to his feet and took the last few steps to stand in the kitchen doorway.
Dean was scrubbing a hand down his face as Sam came into view. Mary was sitting, watching him with a drink in her hand that she was mostly toying with. Dean’s own drink sat on the table ahead of him. He was leaning back on his stool with his feet pushed out ahead of him like he hadn’t been able to hold himself up any longer and just sprawled on the first seat he had found.
Sam was about to say something when Dean said, “You know, he never backed down. He and John would go at it. It would feel like world war III some days. They would absolutely tear into each other. But I don’t get it. Why? Why bait him knowing what he could do?”
“Because it didn’t make any difference,” Sam said from the doorway. Dean flinched and sat up, spinning to look at him with wide eyes. “He was going to do what he wanted. I did it to prove to myself that I was still me. Dad wasn’t -“
“Don’t call him that!”
Sam jerked back at the absolute snarl, his tea sloshing over his hand to plop into a little puddle on the floor. Sam knew he didn’t have a right to call him that. Not anymore. He had only ever kept it up because it made Dean happy. He hated hearing Sam call their father John.
“Dean,” Mary muttered.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said, not quite able to meet his eye. “I know.”
“Sick bastard should still be rotting in Hell.”
Sam glanced up at him, startled. The vehemence in his voice was so angry and certain. Sam had never heard him talk about John that way. While he knew, objectively the abuse hadn’t been his fault, he never thought Dean would react quite this way. He had always hoped Dean would be angry on his behalf, but Sam had always considered John somehow exempt from scrutiny at last from Dean. “You don’t mean that,” Sam said at last.
“Oh, I think I do,” Dean said, draining his whiskey and reaching for another. “No wonder Bobby was always at his throat.”
Sam tried to relax his coiled muscles. Fighting and arguing wouldn’t solve anything, especially tonight. “No, you don’t,” Sam reasoned. “He was still our father. And Bobby was an ornery bastard all on his own.”
Dean’s eye grew wide and he went pale. “Wait, he didn’t?”
Sam frowned. “Who didn’t what, Dean?” He was tired and wrung out and couldn’t quite keep up with how rapidly they were cycling through topics here.
“Bobby, he didn’t…”
“Bobby didn’t know as far as I’m aware,” Sam said with a frown. “I think he suspected something was going on, but if he had known, I’d be willing to bet he’d have done more than threaten John with buckshot.”
“But he wasn’t… he never…”
Sam’s own eyes went wide as he grasped what Dean was really asking. “What? No! Bobby would have never touched me. Never. He was the closest thing to what I imagined a real father was like.” Ice skittered down his spine as he considered the possible reasons Dean might have jumped to that conclusion. “Unless there’s something I need to know?”
“No! I just had to be sure.”
Sam collapsed sideways against the doorframe. “Look, this is a lot, I know, but there wasn’t some big, bad child abuser lurking behind every family friend we had as kids. You’ve got to take a minute to calm down here.”
Dean opened his mouth to respond, but Mary cut him off. “Why don’t you sit down, Sam,” she said. “You look like you’re about to fall over. I thought you were going to bed?”
Sam exhaled sharply. He came into the room and sat down next to her not quite trusting Dean’s temper at this moment. “I couldn’t sleep. I was going to reheat my tea.”
Dean snorted. When Sam glanced over at him, he was smirking, even if it didn’t quite look convincing.
“Shut up. It helps,” he said as Mary collected his mug and took it to the microwave for him.
“Whatever, Miss Muffet.”
“Miss Muffet was curds and whey. Is there a nursery rhyme about tea?”
Dean shrugged. “Do I look like Mother Goose to you?”
The microwave dinged and the mug reappeared in front of him. Sam blew across the top of it gently, then took a sip off the top. The cool bite of mint tingled in his mouth as he swallowed. It was refreshing and soothing. He took a moment to breath in the steam off the top. He never quite understood why peppermint tea smelled so herbal, rather than minty.
The three of them sat around the table nursing their drinks. Sam wanted to say something to soothe the mess of emotions this whole disaster had stirred up, but he was at a loss what that might be. He seemed to be sitting in a lot of awkward silence lately.
Dean took another sip off his third whiskey. He tilted the glass so that the pattern caught the light. He twisted it, watching the light dance on the table. “Why did you come with me?”
Sam glanced up from the glass to Dean’s face. He was still watching the shifting light rather than looking at Sam. “What do you mean?”
“When I came to get you at Stanford. Why did you come when I told you John was missing? You didn’t question that part of it. You just came. Why,” Dean asked, finally looking up at Sam.
“Because I missed you, doofus. So we were going to find Dad - “
“Sam.”
Sam sighed. “Fine. Right. Anyway. I had been thinking about you a lot. Every time something big happened I wanted to call you and tell you. The day I got my LSAT results, the only thing I could think was that I wished you were there to share it with me even before I opened the envelop. I guess I was hoping that you showing up meant we might have a chance to be okay. That maybe I could share some of those things with you.”
“Okay, but you stayed. Even when we had to work with him, you stayed.”
“John had answers. He knew more than he had ever told us and like it or not he had more experience. I had every intention of hunting him down and making him tell me everything he knew about what killed Jess and Mom, even if I had to beat it out of him myself.”
Dean nodded. He went back to playing with his glass. “Did he ever try again? Once we met back up with him, I mean.”
“Once, not long after he learned about the visions. I laid him out,” Sam said. Dean let his glass rest back down on the table with a thump. “The minute he tried to do anything to me, I punched him in the face hard enough he went down. He didn’t ever try after that, whether because we were never really alone together or because he figured out I wasn’t going to take it anymore, I don’t know.”
Dean smirked at him, this time far more genuine. He raised his glass in a little salute. “Atta boy, Sammy.”
Sam grinned at him and raised his own mug before taking a deep drink of his tea.
Next to him, Mary snorted. “Boys,” she muttered. He could practically feel her rolling her eyes, but her leg knocked against his under the table and he knew she was only teasing.
Sam smiled as he watched the two of them over his mug. Neither of them were happy, but some of the tension had eased from the atmosphere with that admission.
They were going to be all right. It would take time, but this little family of theirs was incredibly resilient.
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