Inficio Sanctimonia - Sam/Dean - 2/3
Title: Inficio Sanctimonia - Part 2 of 3
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: Oh so NC-17
Word count: 3758 - 18,000 total
Warnings! Warnings! Warnings!: incest (duh), underage prostitution (of a sorts, no money is exchanged), sexual coercion of a minor (and I mean minor), dubious consent (very much bordering on non-con) with a minor, angst galore!!!
Disclaimer: After this, I bet they're glad I don't own them.
Summary: Dean remembers when Sammy lost his virginity, because he was the one that took it.
Part One ::: Part Three
Inficio Sanctimonia
Sam slid into the quiet bar, immediately heading over to the counter where the bartender was mixing drinks. The man looked up at his approach, handing the woman in front of him the martini he had made.
“Hi, I’m Sam Winchester,” Sam said, his eyes flickering through the bar. “You called me about my brother?”
The man--older, with graying hair and friendly eyes--nodded and then jerked his head toward a door behind the bar. “We found your name in his cell phone. Called your dad first but he didn’t answer. He’s a mess. He won’t talk to me though, or I would have sent him home in a cab. Didn’t know where to send him.”
“No, no, this is fine. We’re… traveling. We don’t live around here,” Sam said, shifting back and forth on his feet. “Is he back there?”
The bartender nodded and waved Sam toward the door. “All yours.”
“Thank you. I’m so sorry about all this.”
“Not the first time I’ve had a depressed drunk in my bar, kid,” the man laughed then turned to the couple that had walked up to the counter. Sam slid behind the bar and into the dark room behind the door.
“Dean?” Sam heard a shifting in the darkness and an undignified grunt. He felt his way over to the lump on the couch, his hands finding his brother’s shoulders as his feet hit the worn upholstery.
Dean pulled away from him, slumping over on the couch. Sam let out a sigh and held on tighter, pulling his brother to his feet. Dean let out another weak protest, garbled words sounding hollow in the dark room.
“What, Dean? What’s wrong?” Sam asked as he carefully maneuvered Dean out of the room and then the bar, tossing a thankful wave to the bartender as they left the building. Sam had one arm wrapped tightly around Dean’s waist; the other was searching for the keys in his pocket.
“Shouldn’ be here,” Dean slurred, slumping against Sam at the same time he tried to push him away. This caused Sam to loose his balance, and they nearly fell over. But Sam hit the hood of the Impala instead and pushed Dean back to his feet.
“Should be s’mewhere else. Norm’l,” Dean said. His glassy eyes closed and he was loosing the battle to stay awake. Sam shuddered to think how much alcohol was running through his brother’s, normally very tolerant, veins. “Should be norm’l.”
Sam laughed and slid Dean into the back seat. “Dean, I’m dragging my big brother’s sorry, drunk ass home from a bar. What’s more normal than that?”
But Dean was snoring already and didn’t hear him. He didn’t feel him wrap the belt buckle around his waist or gently brush a hand through his disheveled hair. Didn’t feel the kiss Sam placed on his forehead or the car pull out of the parking lot.
As Sam drove Dean mumbled in his sleep, half formed words of regret and love. Sam just snorted--half amused, half concerned--and headed back to the hotel.
***
It wasn’t easy getting Dean into the hotel room. As soon as Sam woke him up he started fighting, mumbling about being normal and how sorry he was, so sorry, it shouldn’t have happened, please forgive me, Sammy.
When Sam tried to help him walk, wrapping an arm around his waist before he could fall, Dean shoved him away and tried to walk on his own. He didn’t get very far before he was stumbling, pitching forward toward the ground. Sam was there to catch him but that made Dean both angry and distressed. Tears filled his glazed eyes as he tried to yank his arm away from Sam again.
But Sam just held on tighter and pushed and cajoled his brother into their room until he could shove him onto his bed. Dean immediately curled up on his side, back to Sam, his whole body rigid and very clearly saying ‘stay away from me’.
Sam sat down on his own bed as Dean once again drifted off into drunken sleep. He regretted the words he had shouted in anger, not 4 hours ago. He hadn’t meant it. Some of it, sure, but not that part.
Sam had thought about that hunt, that night, more than he liked to admit. He had never regretted it, never looked back on that night as anything other than a sweet memory of just how much his brother loved him. But he had always known his big brother felt guilty for what had happened, even though he had been the only one to try and stop it. Sam had just never realized how deep that guilt went.
The pain Dean was feeling over the old memories had him telling Sam to leave him, to be normal, and that spoke volumes to Sam. If Dean was willing to let him go so easily in order to right what he had always thought was his worst mistake, then Sam had a long way to go to convince Dean that he didn’t need to hold on to those feelings anymore.
Dean let out an undignified snort and shifted in his sleep. Sam stood up and leaned over his brother to gauge his level of unconsciousness--out cold for at least a few hours, Sam guessed--then began to carefully strip his brother of his foul smelling clothes.
Once Dean was settled into the bed and peacefully sleeping away the alcohol, Sam began to think about how he was going to fix his brother.
***
Dean’s eyes blinked open and then immediately shut again, blocking out the light from the windows. It was barely morning, the sun just rising over the flat Oklahoma horizon. Dean turned carefully on the bed to look over at Sam, sleeping peacefully on top of the blankets in his own bed, still fully clothed and snoring softly.
The taste in Dean’s mouth was offending him so he carefully stood, suppressing a groan as his head began to pound, and shuffled into the bathroom. By the time he emerged, freshly showered and somewhat less disoriented, a rain storm had started and Sam was awake, watching Dean anxiously as he walked out of the tiny bathroom.
Dean ignored the imploring look Sam gave him and rummaged through his duffle bag for a pair of clean jeans. After a minute he made a mental note to do laundry before their next hunt came up and pulled on the least offensive pair he could find.
“Dean?” Sam’s quiet voice tore at Dean’s resolution, but he refused to turn around, refused to acknowledge his little brother or what had happened the night before.
Instead he grabbed the bag that held their weapons and began carefully placing them on the table in the center of the room. One by one he examined the weapons, noting if they needed to be cleaned, re-oiled, or re-loaded.
“Dean, we need to talk about this,” Sam said, rising slowly from his bed.
Dean grunted and pulled apart one of the handguns, carefully laying the pieces out. “No, we don’t.”
Sam sighed behind him. “Dean, I’m sorry for what I said. Really, I didn’t mean it. I just…”
Dean cast a disbelieving look over his shoulder then turned back to cleaning the gun barrel in his hands. “Yes, you did, Sam. Somewhere deep down in that head of yours you meant every word.”
They had had this conversation before. Only last time Dean had still been able to look at Sam as he had pulled the rock salt from his big brother’s chest. But this time Dean blamed himself, and the guilt and shame made him pull away, trying to hide himself from Sam so his little brother couldn’t see his true feelings.
Sam watched as Dean reassembled the gun then moved on to the next one. “Dean, I know what I said but… but I don’t care,” Sam said, not letting Dean shut him out. He knew his brother too well for Dean to be able to hide completely. “I mean, I know it’s not normal, but I… it doesn’t matter Dean. I don’t… It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” Dean growled, his hands moving faster over the weapons in long-practiced movements. A crease appeared between his eyebrows and Sam was glad to see it. It meant Dean was getting angry, and when he got angry he couldn’t shut himself away.
“Yes, it is, Dean,” Sam insisted. “It was my idea. It was my choice. I chose for it to happen. It’s not your fault, Dean. It’s not anybody’s fault. It was just something that happened.”
“It shouldn’t have been like that, Sam,” Dean protested, his hands restless over the weapons spread across the table.
“Yeah? And how should it have been, Dean?” Sam stepped up beside his brother and grabbed his wrists, pulling away the knife that he held tightly in one hand and forcing Dean to look at him. “Me fumbling around with some equally clueless girl, both of us bumping around and making fools of ourselves?”
Dean yanked his hands away and glared at Sam. “Yes, Sam!” He growled as he began to pace the confined space of the room. “It should have been with some pretty little girl with the two of you bumping noses and not knowing where anything goes. That’s the way it should have been! It shouldn’t have been with me! It shouldn’t have been on some blood covered altar with dad in the room!”
Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulders, pinning him against the wall to still his constant, nervous movement. “Better like that, with you, and the demon, and dad watching…” Sam took in a deep breath and his hands tightened on Dean’s arms. “Than with some sick freak in the back of a grocery store so that you can buy your little brother food.”
Dean’s eyes widened in surprise, and Sam’s heart broke at the pain and shame that flashed through them. “H-how do you know that?” Dean demanded. He pulled away from Sam again and walked to the other side of the room, his arms wrapping around his stomach, protecting himself. “How do you know about that?” He repeated.
Sam smiled, a bitter smile, and stared openly at Dean. “You told me, Dean,” he said. He moved toward Dean but his brother just backed away, his back hitting the wall as he tried to run. “It was the night before I left for Stanford. You were drunk then too, only you had managed to get yourself home that time.”
Sam sat down on the bed farthest from Dean. He ached to go to his brother, to pull him into his arms and take away all the pain and guilt. But he knew that Dean wouldn’t accept his comfort. “I think you told me to try and guilt me into staying. I almost did too, because of it. But… but in the end it’s why I left.”
Dean’s head snapped up from where he had been resolutely staring at the floor. He looked almost sick and Sam watched his eyes fill with betrayal and tears. Dean opened his mouth to say something but all that came out was a half-formed gasp, and then he was moving for the door.
***
Sammy was hungry.
It had been two weeks since their dad left. That was a week longer than he had said, and their money had run out. Pastor Jim couldn’t be called--he was out on a hunt of his own--and the last of the cash he had left for them had gone to keeping them in the motel for an extra week.
They were out of food and there was no money left and Dean didn’t know what to do.
“Dean?” Sammy asked, looking at his brother with those big, green, puppy-dog eyes. “Dean, why isn’t Dad home yet? Is he dead?”
Dean buried his face in his hands. He wanted to yell. He wanted to cry. He wanted to go find the closest adult and tell them that their dad was gone and that Sammy was starving. But he couldn’t. Dad was trusting him to take care of things while he was away on the hunt and he knew that if he told the wrong person that Sammy might get taken away.
“He’s not dead, Sammy,” Dean said, desperately trying to keep his voice steady--he had been asking himself the same question for 5 days--and he stood up, ruffling Sammy’s hair. “It’s just taking longer than he thought.”
Sammy was quiet for a minute, watching Dean pace the ugly orange carpet in the hotel room. “Dean, are we gonna have dinner tonight?” he asked. His voice sounded so small.
Dean looked down at his little brother, at the scared, pleading look in his eyes. Dean’s jaw clenched and his heart felt like it would pound out of his chest. He had to do something. He had to take care of Sammy. He nodded. “Yeah, Sammy. We’re gonna have dinner. Just… I have to go to the store, okay?”
Sammy nodded, his big green eyes sparkling happily as he walked over to the small television set in the living area of the room. “I’ll be back in a little while, Sammy. Stay here, okay?” Dean waited for Sammy’s distracted nod then he grabbed his coat and walked out of the room, locking the door behind him.
Dean walked until he found a small grocery store, nestled between a coffee shop and a diner on the one main street the small town had. He walked past the diner, the last place they had seen their father before he had gone off in search of a malevolent spirit in New Jersey, and strolled as casually as he could into the grocery store.
He walked over to the magazine section and pretended to browse the comic books, looking casually at the two distracted cashiers. As the two girls giggled and gossiped Dean carefully made his way over to the canned foods section. The girls couldn’t see him from the angle where they were and there was no camera set up that he could see. He would grab a couple cans of spaghetti O’s and leave.
The first can was in the pocket of his too-big coat--a hand-me-down from his father--when he felt the presence of a man behind him. His instincts, honed over the past nine years by his father, told him it was a fairly big man. But he moved slow and breathed heavily. Dean could probably drop him if he tried, but it wouldn’t be easy and he didn’t want to cause a commotion. If the cops came they would definitely take Sammy from him.
The man was coming down the isle, his heavy stride beating under Dean’s feet, and Dean ran. But the man was faster than Dean had assumed and he had caught up with him before he got to the end of the isle; one large hand wrapped around Dean’s shirt before he could turn toward the door.
“Let me go!” Dean shouted, kicking out at the man’s legs. But the man’s arms were long and he easily avoided Dean’s foot.
“Mr. Hughes?” One of the girls asked, her hand pulling a white phone to her ear.
“No, no, Becky. It’s okay,” the big man said, tightening his grip on Dean’s shirt, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as the boy struggled. “Why don’t you girls just head on home. I’m just gonna have a chat with our little thief here then close up myself.”
“You sure?” The other girl asked, pink gum snapping between her teeth.
“Yeah. Go on now,” the man said. Dean stopped struggling, his whole body slumping in defeat. The two girls smiled and grabbed purses and coats from beneath their tills before rushing out the door.
The arm around Dean’s shoulder tightened and he was suddenly being pulled toward the back of the store. His whole being was screaming bad, this is bad, drop him and run! But then the guy was sure to call the cops. He would have to get Sammy and run. He wouldn’t be able to get a hold of their dad. And Sammy was still hungry. He was counting on Dean to take care of him.
Dean allowed himself to be pulled into an office at the back of the store. He jumped when the door slammed shut, turning around to face the man. He was older, in his 50’s at least, and huge. His hair was graying but his broad shoulders were strong and his big body was still well fit for his age. There was a military tattoo on his left arm.
Dean knew that he could never take this guy; he was good, had even helped his dad take out a poltergeist a few months ago, but not that good. One large hand was held out to Dean expectantly, the look in the man’s amber eyes almost reassuring.
Dean began to relax, lulled into security by the big man’s calm demeanor. He pulled the now warm can from his pocket and gave it to the man. He looked down at it, then back up at Dean.
“You know,” he said amiably, “Most kids your age steal candy bars or dirty magazines.”
Dean swallowed hard, one foot shuffling across the tile floor. “My-” His voice faltered, and his body tensed again. He didn’t know what he should do. But he wasn’t going to get out of this the easy way. “My brother is hungry,” he finally confessed. “My dad’s away, working, and… h-he was supposed to be back last week but he hasn’t come home yet and… and I don’t have any more money and my little brother is hungry. Please don’t take him away!”
Dean was suddenly shaking, fear, and shame at not being able to handle it on his own--not being able to take care of Sammy--suddenly washing over him. “My dad’ll be back soon, we just don’t have any money, and Sammy is hungry and I need to take care of him, but I don’t know how. Please, please don’t take him away. I’ll pay for it, I’ll do anything, just don’t take him away!” Dean’s eyes had filled with tears and one slipped down his cheek.
The man reached out one big hand and wiped the tear from Dean’s cheek with his thumb. Dean jumped when the large thumb slid down his cheek and over his lips. “Tell you what,” the man said, his eyes going dark as he stared down at Dean’s mouth. A shiver raced through Dean’s spine and he wanted to pull away, but he couldn’t. “You spend one hour back here with me and I let you leave with anything you want. And I don’t call the cops and get your brother taken away.”
Dean’s stomach clenched into a painful knot and he felt like throwing up. He wanted to beat the shit out of this guy and run. Wanted to get Sammy and hold on to him until the painful beating in his chest stopped. But… but Sammy was hungry.
“H-half an hour.” Dean’s voice shook and his lip trembled under the man’s thumb.
The big man laughed, a mirthful, happy laugh that shouldn’t be on a man that had just propositioned a thirteen year old. “You got it, kid,” he said. Then his hand slid down to Dean’s cheek and he drew him closer.
***
It seamed like hours, but Dean was watching the clock that hung on the wall and the man kept him there for exactly 30 minutes. After it was over Dean dressed and then left the store, a bag of groceries in each hand.
Dean was still shaking when Sammy met him at the door. But the younger boy didn’t notice as he threw his little arms around his big brother. Dean dropped the groceries and hugged Sammy close, breathing in the smell of soap and little boy.
“Why were you gone so long, Dean?” Sammy asked, pulling innocently at Dean’s shirt. Dean gave him a shaky smile and reached for the bags he had dropped.
“Just took longer than I thought, kiddo,” Dean said as he began to pull cans and boxes from the bags.
“You smell funny.” Sammy climbed up a chair and sat down on the counter, watching his brother.
Dean shuddered and bit his lip. “I just got dirty, Sammy,” he said, carefully keeping his watering eyes from his little brother’s view. “Go get the little pot, okay?” Sammy nodded enthusiastically and ran off to do as his brother asked. Dean opened the can of ravioli and tried not to cry.
***
Sam got to the door first, scrambling to his feet and grabbing his brother’s arm before he could flee. He turned Dean around to look at him, but his brother wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I did it for you, Dean,” Sam whispered, his voice wavering. “I left for you. I knew that if I stayed, that one day… one day you would die for me. You had already given me so much. You’d sacrificed everything for me… I couldn’t just wait around for you to die. Not for me. Not if I could stop it. Dean…”
Sam’s grip on Dean’s arm tightened and he pulled his resisting brother into his arms, hugging him close to his chest so that Dean couldn’t escape. The older man struggled for just a moment then he went lax, falling into Sam’s embrace.
“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Sam whispered into his brother’s hair. “It’s okay now. Everything’s okay.”
Sam lifted Dean’s chin, his palm gently cupping his cheek. Dean finally looked up at him as Sam’s thumb brushed away the tear that was trailing down Dean’s cheek; a loving imitation of the moment that had stolen Dean’s innocence. Dean’s breath hitched in his chest, but he didn’t pull away when Sam leaned down toward him, their lips meeting in sweet absolution.
TBC in Part 3...
- Meagan
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: Oh so NC-17
Word count: 3758 - 18,000 total
Warnings! Warnings! Warnings!: incest (duh), underage prostitution (of a sorts, no money is exchanged), sexual coercion of a minor (and I mean minor), dubious consent (very much bordering on non-con) with a minor, angst galore!!!
Disclaimer: After this, I bet they're glad I don't own them.
Summary: Dean remembers when Sammy lost his virginity, because he was the one that took it.
Part One ::: Part Three
Inficio Sanctimonia
Sam slid into the quiet bar, immediately heading over to the counter where the bartender was mixing drinks. The man looked up at his approach, handing the woman in front of him the martini he had made.
“Hi, I’m Sam Winchester,” Sam said, his eyes flickering through the bar. “You called me about my brother?”
The man--older, with graying hair and friendly eyes--nodded and then jerked his head toward a door behind the bar. “We found your name in his cell phone. Called your dad first but he didn’t answer. He’s a mess. He won’t talk to me though, or I would have sent him home in a cab. Didn’t know where to send him.”
“No, no, this is fine. We’re… traveling. We don’t live around here,” Sam said, shifting back and forth on his feet. “Is he back there?”
The bartender nodded and waved Sam toward the door. “All yours.”
“Thank you. I’m so sorry about all this.”
“Not the first time I’ve had a depressed drunk in my bar, kid,” the man laughed then turned to the couple that had walked up to the counter. Sam slid behind the bar and into the dark room behind the door.
“Dean?” Sam heard a shifting in the darkness and an undignified grunt. He felt his way over to the lump on the couch, his hands finding his brother’s shoulders as his feet hit the worn upholstery.
Dean pulled away from him, slumping over on the couch. Sam let out a sigh and held on tighter, pulling his brother to his feet. Dean let out another weak protest, garbled words sounding hollow in the dark room.
“What, Dean? What’s wrong?” Sam asked as he carefully maneuvered Dean out of the room and then the bar, tossing a thankful wave to the bartender as they left the building. Sam had one arm wrapped tightly around Dean’s waist; the other was searching for the keys in his pocket.
“Shouldn’ be here,” Dean slurred, slumping against Sam at the same time he tried to push him away. This caused Sam to loose his balance, and they nearly fell over. But Sam hit the hood of the Impala instead and pushed Dean back to his feet.
“Should be s’mewhere else. Norm’l,” Dean said. His glassy eyes closed and he was loosing the battle to stay awake. Sam shuddered to think how much alcohol was running through his brother’s, normally very tolerant, veins. “Should be norm’l.”
Sam laughed and slid Dean into the back seat. “Dean, I’m dragging my big brother’s sorry, drunk ass home from a bar. What’s more normal than that?”
But Dean was snoring already and didn’t hear him. He didn’t feel him wrap the belt buckle around his waist or gently brush a hand through his disheveled hair. Didn’t feel the kiss Sam placed on his forehead or the car pull out of the parking lot.
As Sam drove Dean mumbled in his sleep, half formed words of regret and love. Sam just snorted--half amused, half concerned--and headed back to the hotel.
***
It wasn’t easy getting Dean into the hotel room. As soon as Sam woke him up he started fighting, mumbling about being normal and how sorry he was, so sorry, it shouldn’t have happened, please forgive me, Sammy.
When Sam tried to help him walk, wrapping an arm around his waist before he could fall, Dean shoved him away and tried to walk on his own. He didn’t get very far before he was stumbling, pitching forward toward the ground. Sam was there to catch him but that made Dean both angry and distressed. Tears filled his glazed eyes as he tried to yank his arm away from Sam again.
But Sam just held on tighter and pushed and cajoled his brother into their room until he could shove him onto his bed. Dean immediately curled up on his side, back to Sam, his whole body rigid and very clearly saying ‘stay away from me’.
Sam sat down on his own bed as Dean once again drifted off into drunken sleep. He regretted the words he had shouted in anger, not 4 hours ago. He hadn’t meant it. Some of it, sure, but not that part.
Sam had thought about that hunt, that night, more than he liked to admit. He had never regretted it, never looked back on that night as anything other than a sweet memory of just how much his brother loved him. But he had always known his big brother felt guilty for what had happened, even though he had been the only one to try and stop it. Sam had just never realized how deep that guilt went.
The pain Dean was feeling over the old memories had him telling Sam to leave him, to be normal, and that spoke volumes to Sam. If Dean was willing to let him go so easily in order to right what he had always thought was his worst mistake, then Sam had a long way to go to convince Dean that he didn’t need to hold on to those feelings anymore.
Dean let out an undignified snort and shifted in his sleep. Sam stood up and leaned over his brother to gauge his level of unconsciousness--out cold for at least a few hours, Sam guessed--then began to carefully strip his brother of his foul smelling clothes.
Once Dean was settled into the bed and peacefully sleeping away the alcohol, Sam began to think about how he was going to fix his brother.
***
Dean’s eyes blinked open and then immediately shut again, blocking out the light from the windows. It was barely morning, the sun just rising over the flat Oklahoma horizon. Dean turned carefully on the bed to look over at Sam, sleeping peacefully on top of the blankets in his own bed, still fully clothed and snoring softly.
The taste in Dean’s mouth was offending him so he carefully stood, suppressing a groan as his head began to pound, and shuffled into the bathroom. By the time he emerged, freshly showered and somewhat less disoriented, a rain storm had started and Sam was awake, watching Dean anxiously as he walked out of the tiny bathroom.
Dean ignored the imploring look Sam gave him and rummaged through his duffle bag for a pair of clean jeans. After a minute he made a mental note to do laundry before their next hunt came up and pulled on the least offensive pair he could find.
“Dean?” Sam’s quiet voice tore at Dean’s resolution, but he refused to turn around, refused to acknowledge his little brother or what had happened the night before.
Instead he grabbed the bag that held their weapons and began carefully placing them on the table in the center of the room. One by one he examined the weapons, noting if they needed to be cleaned, re-oiled, or re-loaded.
“Dean, we need to talk about this,” Sam said, rising slowly from his bed.
Dean grunted and pulled apart one of the handguns, carefully laying the pieces out. “No, we don’t.”
Sam sighed behind him. “Dean, I’m sorry for what I said. Really, I didn’t mean it. I just…”
Dean cast a disbelieving look over his shoulder then turned back to cleaning the gun barrel in his hands. “Yes, you did, Sam. Somewhere deep down in that head of yours you meant every word.”
They had had this conversation before. Only last time Dean had still been able to look at Sam as he had pulled the rock salt from his big brother’s chest. But this time Dean blamed himself, and the guilt and shame made him pull away, trying to hide himself from Sam so his little brother couldn’t see his true feelings.
Sam watched as Dean reassembled the gun then moved on to the next one. “Dean, I know what I said but… but I don’t care,” Sam said, not letting Dean shut him out. He knew his brother too well for Dean to be able to hide completely. “I mean, I know it’s not normal, but I… it doesn’t matter Dean. I don’t… It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” Dean growled, his hands moving faster over the weapons in long-practiced movements. A crease appeared between his eyebrows and Sam was glad to see it. It meant Dean was getting angry, and when he got angry he couldn’t shut himself away.
“Yes, it is, Dean,” Sam insisted. “It was my idea. It was my choice. I chose for it to happen. It’s not your fault, Dean. It’s not anybody’s fault. It was just something that happened.”
“It shouldn’t have been like that, Sam,” Dean protested, his hands restless over the weapons spread across the table.
“Yeah? And how should it have been, Dean?” Sam stepped up beside his brother and grabbed his wrists, pulling away the knife that he held tightly in one hand and forcing Dean to look at him. “Me fumbling around with some equally clueless girl, both of us bumping around and making fools of ourselves?”
Dean yanked his hands away and glared at Sam. “Yes, Sam!” He growled as he began to pace the confined space of the room. “It should have been with some pretty little girl with the two of you bumping noses and not knowing where anything goes. That’s the way it should have been! It shouldn’t have been with me! It shouldn’t have been on some blood covered altar with dad in the room!”
Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulders, pinning him against the wall to still his constant, nervous movement. “Better like that, with you, and the demon, and dad watching…” Sam took in a deep breath and his hands tightened on Dean’s arms. “Than with some sick freak in the back of a grocery store so that you can buy your little brother food.”
Dean’s eyes widened in surprise, and Sam’s heart broke at the pain and shame that flashed through them. “H-how do you know that?” Dean demanded. He pulled away from Sam again and walked to the other side of the room, his arms wrapping around his stomach, protecting himself. “How do you know about that?” He repeated.
Sam smiled, a bitter smile, and stared openly at Dean. “You told me, Dean,” he said. He moved toward Dean but his brother just backed away, his back hitting the wall as he tried to run. “It was the night before I left for Stanford. You were drunk then too, only you had managed to get yourself home that time.”
Sam sat down on the bed farthest from Dean. He ached to go to his brother, to pull him into his arms and take away all the pain and guilt. But he knew that Dean wouldn’t accept his comfort. “I think you told me to try and guilt me into staying. I almost did too, because of it. But… but in the end it’s why I left.”
Dean’s head snapped up from where he had been resolutely staring at the floor. He looked almost sick and Sam watched his eyes fill with betrayal and tears. Dean opened his mouth to say something but all that came out was a half-formed gasp, and then he was moving for the door.
***
Sammy was hungry.
It had been two weeks since their dad left. That was a week longer than he had said, and their money had run out. Pastor Jim couldn’t be called--he was out on a hunt of his own--and the last of the cash he had left for them had gone to keeping them in the motel for an extra week.
They were out of food and there was no money left and Dean didn’t know what to do.
“Dean?” Sammy asked, looking at his brother with those big, green, puppy-dog eyes. “Dean, why isn’t Dad home yet? Is he dead?”
Dean buried his face in his hands. He wanted to yell. He wanted to cry. He wanted to go find the closest adult and tell them that their dad was gone and that Sammy was starving. But he couldn’t. Dad was trusting him to take care of things while he was away on the hunt and he knew that if he told the wrong person that Sammy might get taken away.
“He’s not dead, Sammy,” Dean said, desperately trying to keep his voice steady--he had been asking himself the same question for 5 days--and he stood up, ruffling Sammy’s hair. “It’s just taking longer than he thought.”
Sammy was quiet for a minute, watching Dean pace the ugly orange carpet in the hotel room. “Dean, are we gonna have dinner tonight?” he asked. His voice sounded so small.
Dean looked down at his little brother, at the scared, pleading look in his eyes. Dean’s jaw clenched and his heart felt like it would pound out of his chest. He had to do something. He had to take care of Sammy. He nodded. “Yeah, Sammy. We’re gonna have dinner. Just… I have to go to the store, okay?”
Sammy nodded, his big green eyes sparkling happily as he walked over to the small television set in the living area of the room. “I’ll be back in a little while, Sammy. Stay here, okay?” Dean waited for Sammy’s distracted nod then he grabbed his coat and walked out of the room, locking the door behind him.
Dean walked until he found a small grocery store, nestled between a coffee shop and a diner on the one main street the small town had. He walked past the diner, the last place they had seen their father before he had gone off in search of a malevolent spirit in New Jersey, and strolled as casually as he could into the grocery store.
He walked over to the magazine section and pretended to browse the comic books, looking casually at the two distracted cashiers. As the two girls giggled and gossiped Dean carefully made his way over to the canned foods section. The girls couldn’t see him from the angle where they were and there was no camera set up that he could see. He would grab a couple cans of spaghetti O’s and leave.
The first can was in the pocket of his too-big coat--a hand-me-down from his father--when he felt the presence of a man behind him. His instincts, honed over the past nine years by his father, told him it was a fairly big man. But he moved slow and breathed heavily. Dean could probably drop him if he tried, but it wouldn’t be easy and he didn’t want to cause a commotion. If the cops came they would definitely take Sammy from him.
The man was coming down the isle, his heavy stride beating under Dean’s feet, and Dean ran. But the man was faster than Dean had assumed and he had caught up with him before he got to the end of the isle; one large hand wrapped around Dean’s shirt before he could turn toward the door.
“Let me go!” Dean shouted, kicking out at the man’s legs. But the man’s arms were long and he easily avoided Dean’s foot.
“Mr. Hughes?” One of the girls asked, her hand pulling a white phone to her ear.
“No, no, Becky. It’s okay,” the big man said, tightening his grip on Dean’s shirt, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as the boy struggled. “Why don’t you girls just head on home. I’m just gonna have a chat with our little thief here then close up myself.”
“You sure?” The other girl asked, pink gum snapping between her teeth.
“Yeah. Go on now,” the man said. Dean stopped struggling, his whole body slumping in defeat. The two girls smiled and grabbed purses and coats from beneath their tills before rushing out the door.
The arm around Dean’s shoulder tightened and he was suddenly being pulled toward the back of the store. His whole being was screaming bad, this is bad, drop him and run! But then the guy was sure to call the cops. He would have to get Sammy and run. He wouldn’t be able to get a hold of their dad. And Sammy was still hungry. He was counting on Dean to take care of him.
Dean allowed himself to be pulled into an office at the back of the store. He jumped when the door slammed shut, turning around to face the man. He was older, in his 50’s at least, and huge. His hair was graying but his broad shoulders were strong and his big body was still well fit for his age. There was a military tattoo on his left arm.
Dean knew that he could never take this guy; he was good, had even helped his dad take out a poltergeist a few months ago, but not that good. One large hand was held out to Dean expectantly, the look in the man’s amber eyes almost reassuring.
Dean began to relax, lulled into security by the big man’s calm demeanor. He pulled the now warm can from his pocket and gave it to the man. He looked down at it, then back up at Dean.
“You know,” he said amiably, “Most kids your age steal candy bars or dirty magazines.”
Dean swallowed hard, one foot shuffling across the tile floor. “My-” His voice faltered, and his body tensed again. He didn’t know what he should do. But he wasn’t going to get out of this the easy way. “My brother is hungry,” he finally confessed. “My dad’s away, working, and… h-he was supposed to be back last week but he hasn’t come home yet and… and I don’t have any more money and my little brother is hungry. Please don’t take him away!”
Dean was suddenly shaking, fear, and shame at not being able to handle it on his own--not being able to take care of Sammy--suddenly washing over him. “My dad’ll be back soon, we just don’t have any money, and Sammy is hungry and I need to take care of him, but I don’t know how. Please, please don’t take him away. I’ll pay for it, I’ll do anything, just don’t take him away!” Dean’s eyes had filled with tears and one slipped down his cheek.
The man reached out one big hand and wiped the tear from Dean’s cheek with his thumb. Dean jumped when the large thumb slid down his cheek and over his lips. “Tell you what,” the man said, his eyes going dark as he stared down at Dean’s mouth. A shiver raced through Dean’s spine and he wanted to pull away, but he couldn’t. “You spend one hour back here with me and I let you leave with anything you want. And I don’t call the cops and get your brother taken away.”
Dean’s stomach clenched into a painful knot and he felt like throwing up. He wanted to beat the shit out of this guy and run. Wanted to get Sammy and hold on to him until the painful beating in his chest stopped. But… but Sammy was hungry.
“H-half an hour.” Dean’s voice shook and his lip trembled under the man’s thumb.
The big man laughed, a mirthful, happy laugh that shouldn’t be on a man that had just propositioned a thirteen year old. “You got it, kid,” he said. Then his hand slid down to Dean’s cheek and he drew him closer.
***
It seamed like hours, but Dean was watching the clock that hung on the wall and the man kept him there for exactly 30 minutes. After it was over Dean dressed and then left the store, a bag of groceries in each hand.
Dean was still shaking when Sammy met him at the door. But the younger boy didn’t notice as he threw his little arms around his big brother. Dean dropped the groceries and hugged Sammy close, breathing in the smell of soap and little boy.
“Why were you gone so long, Dean?” Sammy asked, pulling innocently at Dean’s shirt. Dean gave him a shaky smile and reached for the bags he had dropped.
“Just took longer than I thought, kiddo,” Dean said as he began to pull cans and boxes from the bags.
“You smell funny.” Sammy climbed up a chair and sat down on the counter, watching his brother.
Dean shuddered and bit his lip. “I just got dirty, Sammy,” he said, carefully keeping his watering eyes from his little brother’s view. “Go get the little pot, okay?” Sammy nodded enthusiastically and ran off to do as his brother asked. Dean opened the can of ravioli and tried not to cry.
***
Sam got to the door first, scrambling to his feet and grabbing his brother’s arm before he could flee. He turned Dean around to look at him, but his brother wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I did it for you, Dean,” Sam whispered, his voice wavering. “I left for you. I knew that if I stayed, that one day… one day you would die for me. You had already given me so much. You’d sacrificed everything for me… I couldn’t just wait around for you to die. Not for me. Not if I could stop it. Dean…”
Sam’s grip on Dean’s arm tightened and he pulled his resisting brother into his arms, hugging him close to his chest so that Dean couldn’t escape. The older man struggled for just a moment then he went lax, falling into Sam’s embrace.
“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Sam whispered into his brother’s hair. “It’s okay now. Everything’s okay.”
Sam lifted Dean’s chin, his palm gently cupping his cheek. Dean finally looked up at him as Sam’s thumb brushed away the tear that was trailing down Dean’s cheek; a loving imitation of the moment that had stolen Dean’s innocence. Dean’s breath hitched in his chest, but he didn’t pull away when Sam leaned down toward him, their lips meeting in sweet absolution.
TBC in Part 3...
- Meagan