Fic: The Lion Faced Boy 1/?
Originally posted by imaginingjarpad at Fic: The Lion Faced Boy 1/?
"Sam,"
"Wake up boy, you've been sleeping all day."
"Sam!"
There's a slap on his face before he realizes now that he isn't dreaming.
"Sorry, Master, I didn't mean -" Sam wipes the back of his hands against his eyes, sighing.
"Yeah, you never mean it," Master huffs, keys dangling to unlock the cage door, "Now come on, out you get."
Sam smiles up at him like it's the only thing that's right. Then slowly gathers his blanket around his shoulders, and crawls out of his cage. Master gestures him over to his lap, so Sam follows, obediently unclasping the button of Masters slacks. He pulls down enough so his cock springs up, hard and pink.
Sam sighs once, then takes a deep breath in twice.
"Come on, you brat, I ain't got all day,"
"Yes, Master," Sam says, calmly, "Sorry, Master." Then Sam licks over Masters cock, allowing saliva to gather over the head. He swirls his tongue and flicks it around until he gets an anxious groan from above.
Master huffs again, angrily, and forcibly pushes Sam down the rest of the way. Sam chokes, surprised, clenches his hands suddenly on Masters thighs and tries to breath through his nose. Everything hurts, and he's got open sores in the back of his throat, stinging.
Master thrusts fasts, but Sam refuses to let himself cry. He focuses on the task in front of him, attempts to close his throat and move his lips around as much as possible.
Three more thrusts and Master comes. He clamps a hand over Sam's mouth and nose. And Sam gets it, he always does, so he swallows down the bitter taste, licks his lips to make Master happy, then cleans himself up efficiently.
Master gets up, complains about his busted knee, before walking away and leaving Sam alone. Again.
So Sam crawls back into his cage, rests his head on the bars, and ponders deeply until he falls back asleep.
---
Dean swirls the glass in front of him, watches the golden liquids slosh around. There's some sad country song playing on the radio, and If Dean wasn't so lost in thought, he'd be cringing.
"Bad night, I presume?" A soft voice pulls him from his thoughts, and Dean just laughs, something quiet in the back of his throat, "Yeah, you can say that."
"Want another?" She asks. Dean nods, holds his glass out.
He sips at his drink, and after a moment of silence, she speaks up again, "So what's FBI doing down here anyways?"
Deans brows shoot up curiously.
"Oh come on, I know your type, I've been working here 15 years. Trust me kid, I've seen it all. And boy do you got whole "kicked puppy" kind of look going on. So what's up?"
Dean shrugs his shoulders, "Doesn't really matter now. Not sure why I even bother trying anymore."
"It that bad?" She asks, sighs, takes his glass to pour him another, "I'm sorry, kid, I can't begin to understand how you're feeling."
"Yeah," Dean laughs again, but this time, more choked off. He guesses he sounds like crying, feels like it too, "The life's hard I guess. I gotta get going though."
Dean pulls out his wallet, fishes for the cash he could've sworn was in there. He sets it down and checks his pockets instead.
His back pockets have nothing but a gum wrapper and a receipt. His front ones though, there's enough in there to cover all he's spent tonight, plus a tip.
Dean tosses it over to her, picks up his wallet and puts it back in his coat pocket.
He's about to leave, but then the girl looks at him and says, "So how do you know Sam?"
Then everything comes crashing down.
---
July, 2012
There's something being placed over Sam's mouth. Sam is moving around, trying to get the thing off him. His arms are stiff, held to the side by cuffs. He throws up, Master slaps him across the face for good measure.
"Gosh, boy, must you be so dramatic."
There's someone else in the room, Sam notices, just before he realizes his nose is starting to bleed.
"I suggest you didn't do that," Someone says. Sam is crying, sobbing and withering about. Someone places a cloth over his nose.
"After the surgery, there can be no abuse, it wouldn't be good for his recovery. He also needs to sleep in a bed, not in that cage. Too cold."
He thinks he sees Master nod, but he's not sure.
"Yes, of course, I'll have him rest in mine."
Master places a hand on his forehead and leans down to press a soft kiss there, "I'm sorry, dear boy," He says, smiles softly. Sam could almost see something soft there, beneath the surface, hiding underneath all that cruelty and viciousness.
Sam shakes his head, "Please, Master, please don't do this. I'll be good. Better. So much better. I won't make mistakes."
"I know, sweet boy, it'll be okay."
The thing is placed over Sam's mouth again. He's crying but he doesn't care.
"Count down from ten, Sam."
Sam gets down to five, before everything goes black.
The next time he wakes up, he's being placed in a bed.
"Master," Sam cries, clinging on to him, "Why did you do that?"
"I know you don't understand right now, little one," Master replies, "But someday, you will."
Master places Sam on the bed. It hurts, and there's pain all over him, surrounding. Sam moans, reaches for his Master.
Master leans down to kiss Sam on the lips, then slips off the boys pants.
"I'm never going to walk again, am I?" Sam is crying harder now.
"No," Is all Master says, "But you'll understand some day, Sam. You'll see."
Then Master gets into bed and brings Sam into his arms. He holds him tight, rubs his back and kisses his neck. Sam is too weak to do anything back, so he just lies there and lets Master have his way.
"I love you," Master says. Sam doesn't say it back
Now
Dean is driving 20 miles over the speed limit. His heart is racing, his palms are sweating. Ten years, ten years Sam has been gone, and every minute, every hour, every day, has been spent looking for him, and now, Dean was going to get him back. He couldn't comprehend how this could be happening. He hardly even believed it was true.
He's crying, hard, gripping the steering wheel tight. There's soft rock playing in the background so Dean hums along with it.
(Just like Sam used to do.)
Mama told me when I was young
"Come sit beside me, my only son
And listen closely to what I say
And if you do this it'll help you some sunny day"
Dean takes a right and drives until he sees an abandoned, derelict house.
He shuts the car off and reaches in the back seat for his gun.
He takes a deep breath and heads for the door. He's getting his kid back.
When he finds Sam, he pukes. It burns in the back of his throat, but he doesn't care.
The guy is dead, he shot him enough times to know. And then there's Sam. He's tied to some bench, face down, something is clamped over his neck to keep him immobile. He's bleeding too, there's so much of it. Dean isn't even sure if Sam is alive.
He runs over to him, slips off his coat and places it over his naked body.
"Sa-Sammy," He murmurs, his lips trembling, "Oh my god, kiddo, what did he do to you? Oh gosh. There's so much blood!"
His cold palms slip to Sam's cold neck, feeling for a pulse which is obviously there. Dean sighs, relieved.
"Okay, okay. I'm gonna get you out of here, Sammy, I promise."
He unlocks the bar encasing Sam and then goes to gather him in his arms, gently and carefully. Sam is so light, so small. He probably weighs around 90 pounds. The kid is just bone and Dean only wishes he could've gotten to him sooner.
When he gets back on the road, he's humming again.
"Oh, take your time, don't live too fast
Troubles will come and they will pass
You'll find a woman and you'll find love
And don't forget, son, there is someone up above"
Dean looks down at Sam's head cradled in his lap, his fingers mindlessly petting through Sam's hair, and smiles.
"I got you, Sammy.You're safe now."
---
Dean takes Sam to the nearest clinic he can find. He runs in screaming, holding Sam limply to his chest. His voice is sore and he knows that Sam's blood is tracking behind them on the floor.
Dean tries his best to stay calm. He needs to; for Sam.
A male doctor comes darting from the front counter. He's an older man, his hair is grey and thin, balding at the top. A pair of silver lined glasses rest softly at the bottom of his nose.
"My goodness!" The man yells, exclaimed, "What in the heavens happened?"
Dean is breathing too rapid to explain. Another man comes out with a stretcher and takes Sam. That's when Dean collapses in on himself and begins to sob.
"Please help him," He's gasping and can't seem to get control of his lungs, "He's been raped, I don't know what else has happened. He's been missing since he was eight and I found him. I found him and now I don't know if I'll ever get him back!"
"Okay, Sir, I need you to calm down." The voice sounds feminine, soft and gentle. He feels a hand resting on his shoulder and it takes everything he can to not push it away, "We're going to take care of the boy but you need to calm down and talk to us, we can't help him if we don't know what's going on."
Dean forces himself to calm down, then turns to the woman, which he notices now is nothing like she sounds. She looks stressed, like she hasn't slept in days, but she also looks young, and freshly into the job.
"He, he was raped. I found him all tied up. God, he's been gone for so long. I don't -"
"Who is this boy to you, sir?" She asks.
"My brother, " Dean replies, matter of factly, "He's my brother."
The woman just nods, helps Dean to a seat and gets up only to return with a paper cup filled with water. Dean sips at it, enjoying the cold feeling of it washing away the still lingering taste of vomit.
She gets a seat next to Dean and sighs heavily, pushes her palms tightly against her eyes.
"Sorry," She says, "It's been a long day."
Dean doesn't say anything back. Just breathes, looks at his reflection in the water.
"You said Sam was missing. How long ago?"
Dean's calmed down now, mostly anyway. He's not pushing his chest out to try to get more air in. His posture has changed. He's slumped against the seat. Swaying slightly.
"When I turned 21," He begins, "Sam was taken. I don't know how or why. But one night I came back and he was gone. Just gone," He snaps his fingers, "Like that."
The woman nods again and Dean is beginning to find it to be annoying.
"I'll be back," She promises, "I'm going to go get an update on your brother."
He watches her walk away but he doesn't follow her.
Dean's asleep before he realizes it. There's a hand tapping him lightly. Any other day he would've slept through it. But today was different.
"Sam -" He starts, but the women shakes her head, interrupting him, "He's okay. Stable."
Dean gets to his feet so quickly that the lady has to force herself back. Her hands, however, find his shoulders once more, "Sir you need to sit down. We need to discuss Sam's condition."
Dean shakes his head, "No, you can do that later. I need to see my brother."
She looks towards the floor, expression saddened, and that's when Dean knows something is wrong.
"What, what's wrong with my brother? He's alright isn't he?"
The woman looks like she isn't sure how to start the conversation, so Dean does it for her, "Tell me what's wrong with my brother."
"I will," She proclaims, "But please sit down."
Dean listens to her finally, and sits back down.
When she starts talking she doesn't stop. "Your brothers condition is very serious. He had intensive rectum tearing, which needed stiching. He is extremely underweight and malnourished, which we expect has been for a long period of time and may have stunted his growth. His right eye has bruising which will go down eventually. It's his feet that pose a concern to us, though. His tendons in both ankles are gone. Recovery for that is slim to none. It is very likely he will never walk again."
Dean throws up into the waste basket next to him. He doesn't know how he'll ever be able to fix this. How it could ever be made right.
Once Dean is done, he wipes his mouth with the back of his flannel and turns to look at the woman.
"Just take me to my brother," Is all he says. And she does.
---
The room that Sam is in, is small. It holds just the minimal things: A bed, a sink, and a chair. So Dean sits in the chair and scoots it as close to Sam's bed as it can get. When he looks at Sam, he sees a boy he doesn't know, but at the same time, knows to well. He still looks considerably like he did when he 8, not too much has changed that can't be fixed with some fattening food, and protein shakes. There's still something though, that is all too different. Sam looks broken now. Even now in his sleep, his eyes are scrunched shut, hands curled in fists around the blanket. If Dean didn't know Sam, he would assume he was awake, but Dean knew him like the back of his hand. The kid was asleep, just not in the way he had hoped.
Dean tries to grab onto Sam's hand, but there's too many wires and bandages in the way, so he settles for his leg. He rests a gentle hand there, the place right above his knee, and rubs his thumb in slow circles. He looks at Sam's bruised and battered face -- there's a cut where his eyebrow is meant to be. He see the hair there is gone. He knows that it'll take some time to grow back.
Sam's hair is long, much longer from when he last saw him. He guesses he wasn't allowed to cut it, but Dean doesn't at all mind it. Sam looks quite beautiful with his hair like that, actually, and Dean does what he can to not reach out and unknot the tangles that are curling up beneath his neck.
"Later," he thinks, "Later he will give Sam a bath. Wash his hair and clean all that dirt off."
Dean isn't sure when Sam will wake up. The woman, who he still doesn't have a name for, told him the body will go into a sort of hibernation to recover itself. She said it is likely he'll wake up and that he just needs time to adjust. But Dean doesn't want time. He just wants his brother.
A tear falls absently onto the bed sheet without Dean's realization, but he feels another one, fall to the bottom of his chin and rest there. It tickles so Dean wipes it off and then turns back to his little brother. The person that he's always loved more than himself and everyone else combined.
"Hey, Sammy. I don't know if you can hear me in there but, I just wanted to let you know that I'm here now. I'll never let anyone hurt you again, okay?"
He's stopped rubbing at Sam's knee, his hand has found his face now. He's cupping it lightly, looking into his closed eyes and praying, just somehow, he could see him.
When there's no response, Dean isn't surprised. He just sighs, understandably, and lays his head on the bed.
He falls asleep again, but this time, he welcomes it.
When Dean wakes up again, Sam is still asleep. So he allows himself to get up and wander for a cup of coffee. On the way, the lady finds him and she smiles.
"How is Sam?" She asks.
Dean doesn't know how to respond, so he just says "He's good, I think."
The woman nods, about to walk away, but Dean stops her.
"What's your name? I never got it."
"Susan," She says, simply, "Let me know if you need anything. I'm sorry, but you'll have to excuse me. I have another patient to deal with."
Dean apologizes and let's her go.
When Dean finds the coffee, he takes the biggest cup and fills it to the top. The water is scalding, it burns his tongue, but Dean drinks it anyway.
When Dean goes back into Sam's room, he notices something amazing.
His eyes are open, and he's looking at him like he's confused, doesn't know where he is. He looks terrified even, but Dean takes what he can get and runs over to Sam in an instant, sets his coffee down on the table next to the bed and smiles something bright.
"Hey, Sammy," He says, sounding as if he's talking to a puppy.
Sam looks puzzled, "I know you," He states.
Dean nods his head, "Yeah, Sammy, you do. I'm your brother."
"My brother?" Sam hums, "I've always wanted a brother."
Then he falls back asleep and only then does Dean begin to feel hopeful.
---
February 2008
Sam doesn't remember when he stopped remembering, but one day, all he knew, was gone. Sometimes when he sleeps, he thinks he dreams of another boy, someone much older than him. He thinks the boy loved him, but Sam doesn't know for sure.
One day he tells Master of the boy, and he gets beaten bloody. He breaks his left arm and doesn't bother to move himself, or crawl to his area of his cage where his bucket is. So for days, he stays lying in his own piss and blood and begins to think that the dreams, he was so sure were real, were just another way to help him escape his undying, unending, reality.
Master comes to him on the fourth day and seems surprised. He carries Sam to his bathroom, places him on the toilet seat and draws him a bath.
"I'm sorry, Sam. But you mustn't talk of things that aren't real. I am the only man you will ever know. There is no one else."
Sam doesn't nod, or confirm that he heard what he heard. He just sits in silence and stares at the tiled floor until Master lifts him up and places him in the tub. It's cold so Sam shivers and wraps his arms weakly around himself.
"You smell awful boy. Are you a dog? Why couldn't you have crawled to your bucket instead of making a mess of yourself?" Master isn't yelling, but his voice sounds stern and aggravated.
"I'm sorry, Master," Sam says, "I just hurt. I couldn't move. I'm sorry. I hope you forgive me."
Master sighs, "Very well. With a face like yours I suppose there is no way I could possibly stay upset with you." Then Master chuckles and leans down to kiss Sam's hair. Sam closes his eyes and enjoys the little bit of affection he can attain.
That night, Master let's Sam sleep with him. He flips him over on his stomach and lays behind him, resting inside, and when Sam wakes up the next morning, he's still there.
He whimpers when Master pulls out but he doesn't scream. He knows better.
Now
"Well, he was awake. For a second. He talked to me, then I guess he fell back asleep."
The doctor adjusts his glasses and looks at the clipboard lying over Sam's bed.
"That's normal. He still needs time. It's excellent he woke up and talked to you. What did he say?"
Dean fiddles with his hands, refusing to face the doctor, "Just said he knew me."
The doctor looks pleased, but that's all Dean can read off him.
"Well, I'm feeling very confident Sam will wake up again, and soon. I'll be back to check on him in an hour or so. Press the call button if you need anything." Then he leaves and Dean is back to staring at his brother.
There's more color in Sam's face. He's not as ghostly pale as he was an hour ago. Even though, he still looks close to dead, Dean knows he isn't, so he tries to keep himself together and work on getting Sam to wake up again.
He talks to him, reads him an article from a magazine he found in the waiting room. He even hums him a few songs, but there's nothing from Sam, not even a twitch.
Dean accepts it within an hour, that Sam may not wake up for longer than he expected.
So he leans back in his chair and flips endlessly through the magazine. He tries to ignore the way his heart beats a little faster when he sees Sam. It's better that way, anyways.
Sam is sleeping, or he was. He feels awake but he can't seem to open his eyes. The feeling of being trapped surfaces over him and he wonders what drug Master has given him. He wants to open his eyes, to be able to see, and feel, but he can't even do that. His body seems frozen in place and Sam begins to feel anxiety making itself known.
He feels like throwing up but he doesn't.
"Sammy," He hears. It doesn't sound like Master so Sam squeezes his eyes shut in hopes the sound will go away.
"That's it," It says again, that terrible buzzing noise, "Wake up, Sam. Come on, kiddo."
Kiddo? Since when has anyone ever called him kiddo?
Sam shakes his head quickly. He calls out 'No' before the voice can say anything again.
But then then there are hands on his face, calloused and rough and Sam wakes up suddenly, screaming and choking.
"Sam,"
"Wake up boy, you've been sleeping all day."
"Sam!"
There's a slap on his face before he realizes now that he isn't dreaming.
"Sorry, Master, I didn't mean -" Sam wipes the back of his hands against his eyes, sighing.
"Yeah, you never mean it," Master huffs, keys dangling to unlock the cage door, "Now come on, out you get."
Sam smiles up at him like it's the only thing that's right. Then slowly gathers his blanket around his shoulders, and crawls out of his cage. Master gestures him over to his lap, so Sam follows, obediently unclasping the button of Masters slacks. He pulls down enough so his cock springs up, hard and pink.
Sam sighs once, then takes a deep breath in twice.
"Come on, you brat, I ain't got all day,"
"Yes, Master," Sam says, calmly, "Sorry, Master." Then Sam licks over Masters cock, allowing saliva to gather over the head. He swirls his tongue and flicks it around until he gets an anxious groan from above.
Master huffs again, angrily, and forcibly pushes Sam down the rest of the way. Sam chokes, surprised, clenches his hands suddenly on Masters thighs and tries to breath through his nose. Everything hurts, and he's got open sores in the back of his throat, stinging.
Master thrusts fasts, but Sam refuses to let himself cry. He focuses on the task in front of him, attempts to close his throat and move his lips around as much as possible.
Three more thrusts and Master comes. He clamps a hand over Sam's mouth and nose. And Sam gets it, he always does, so he swallows down the bitter taste, licks his lips to make Master happy, then cleans himself up efficiently.
Master gets up, complains about his busted knee, before walking away and leaving Sam alone. Again.
So Sam crawls back into his cage, rests his head on the bars, and ponders deeply until he falls back asleep.
---
Dean swirls the glass in front of him, watches the golden liquids slosh around. There's some sad country song playing on the radio, and If Dean wasn't so lost in thought, he'd be cringing.
"Bad night, I presume?" A soft voice pulls him from his thoughts, and Dean just laughs, something quiet in the back of his throat, "Yeah, you can say that."
"Want another?" She asks. Dean nods, holds his glass out.
He sips at his drink, and after a moment of silence, she speaks up again, "So what's FBI doing down here anyways?"
Deans brows shoot up curiously.
"Oh come on, I know your type, I've been working here 15 years. Trust me kid, I've seen it all. And boy do you got whole "kicked puppy" kind of look going on. So what's up?"
Dean shrugs his shoulders, "Doesn't really matter now. Not sure why I even bother trying anymore."
"It that bad?" She asks, sighs, takes his glass to pour him another, "I'm sorry, kid, I can't begin to understand how you're feeling."
"Yeah," Dean laughs again, but this time, more choked off. He guesses he sounds like crying, feels like it too, "The life's hard I guess. I gotta get going though."
Dean pulls out his wallet, fishes for the cash he could've sworn was in there. He sets it down and checks his pockets instead.
His back pockets have nothing but a gum wrapper and a receipt. His front ones though, there's enough in there to cover all he's spent tonight, plus a tip.
Dean tosses it over to her, picks up his wallet and puts it back in his coat pocket.
He's about to leave, but then the girl looks at him and says, "So how do you know Sam?"
Then everything comes crashing down.
---
July, 2012
There's something being placed over Sam's mouth. Sam is moving around, trying to get the thing off him. His arms are stiff, held to the side by cuffs. He throws up, Master slaps him across the face for good measure.
"Gosh, boy, must you be so dramatic."
There's someone else in the room, Sam notices, just before he realizes his nose is starting to bleed.
"I suggest you didn't do that," Someone says. Sam is crying, sobbing and withering about. Someone places a cloth over his nose.
"After the surgery, there can be no abuse, it wouldn't be good for his recovery. He also needs to sleep in a bed, not in that cage. Too cold."
He thinks he sees Master nod, but he's not sure.
"Yes, of course, I'll have him rest in mine."
Master places a hand on his forehead and leans down to press a soft kiss there, "I'm sorry, dear boy," He says, smiles softly. Sam could almost see something soft there, beneath the surface, hiding underneath all that cruelty and viciousness.
Sam shakes his head, "Please, Master, please don't do this. I'll be good. Better. So much better. I won't make mistakes."
"I know, sweet boy, it'll be okay."
The thing is placed over Sam's mouth again. He's crying but he doesn't care.
"Count down from ten, Sam."
Sam gets down to five, before everything goes black.
The next time he wakes up, he's being placed in a bed.
"Master," Sam cries, clinging on to him, "Why did you do that?"
"I know you don't understand right now, little one," Master replies, "But someday, you will."
Master places Sam on the bed. It hurts, and there's pain all over him, surrounding. Sam moans, reaches for his Master.
Master leans down to kiss Sam on the lips, then slips off the boys pants.
"I'm never going to walk again, am I?" Sam is crying harder now.
"No," Is all Master says, "But you'll understand some day, Sam. You'll see."
Then Master gets into bed and brings Sam into his arms. He holds him tight, rubs his back and kisses his neck. Sam is too weak to do anything back, so he just lies there and lets Master have his way.
"I love you," Master says. Sam doesn't say it back
Now
Dean is driving 20 miles over the speed limit. His heart is racing, his palms are sweating. Ten years, ten years Sam has been gone, and every minute, every hour, every day, has been spent looking for him, and now, Dean was going to get him back. He couldn't comprehend how this could be happening. He hardly even believed it was true.
He's crying, hard, gripping the steering wheel tight. There's soft rock playing in the background so Dean hums along with it.
(Just like Sam used to do.)
Mama told me when I was young
"Come sit beside me, my only son
And listen closely to what I say
And if you do this it'll help you some sunny day"
Dean takes a right and drives until he sees an abandoned, derelict house.
He shuts the car off and reaches in the back seat for his gun.
He takes a deep breath and heads for the door. He's getting his kid back.
When he finds Sam, he pukes. It burns in the back of his throat, but he doesn't care.
The guy is dead, he shot him enough times to know. And then there's Sam. He's tied to some bench, face down, something is clamped over his neck to keep him immobile. He's bleeding too, there's so much of it. Dean isn't even sure if Sam is alive.
He runs over to him, slips off his coat and places it over his naked body.
"Sa-Sammy," He murmurs, his lips trembling, "Oh my god, kiddo, what did he do to you? Oh gosh. There's so much blood!"
His cold palms slip to Sam's cold neck, feeling for a pulse which is obviously there. Dean sighs, relieved.
"Okay, okay. I'm gonna get you out of here, Sammy, I promise."
He unlocks the bar encasing Sam and then goes to gather him in his arms, gently and carefully. Sam is so light, so small. He probably weighs around 90 pounds. The kid is just bone and Dean only wishes he could've gotten to him sooner.
When he gets back on the road, he's humming again.
"Oh, take your time, don't live too fast
Troubles will come and they will pass
You'll find a woman and you'll find love
And don't forget, son, there is someone up above"
Dean looks down at Sam's head cradled in his lap, his fingers mindlessly petting through Sam's hair, and smiles.
"I got you, Sammy.You're safe now."
---
Dean takes Sam to the nearest clinic he can find. He runs in screaming, holding Sam limply to his chest. His voice is sore and he knows that Sam's blood is tracking behind them on the floor.
Dean tries his best to stay calm. He needs to; for Sam.
A male doctor comes darting from the front counter. He's an older man, his hair is grey and thin, balding at the top. A pair of silver lined glasses rest softly at the bottom of his nose.
"My goodness!" The man yells, exclaimed, "What in the heavens happened?"
Dean is breathing too rapid to explain. Another man comes out with a stretcher and takes Sam. That's when Dean collapses in on himself and begins to sob.
"Please help him," He's gasping and can't seem to get control of his lungs, "He's been raped, I don't know what else has happened. He's been missing since he was eight and I found him. I found him and now I don't know if I'll ever get him back!"
"Okay, Sir, I need you to calm down." The voice sounds feminine, soft and gentle. He feels a hand resting on his shoulder and it takes everything he can to not push it away, "We're going to take care of the boy but you need to calm down and talk to us, we can't help him if we don't know what's going on."
Dean forces himself to calm down, then turns to the woman, which he notices now is nothing like she sounds. She looks stressed, like she hasn't slept in days, but she also looks young, and freshly into the job.
"He, he was raped. I found him all tied up. God, he's been gone for so long. I don't -"
"Who is this boy to you, sir?" She asks.
"My brother, " Dean replies, matter of factly, "He's my brother."
The woman just nods, helps Dean to a seat and gets up only to return with a paper cup filled with water. Dean sips at it, enjoying the cold feeling of it washing away the still lingering taste of vomit.
She gets a seat next to Dean and sighs heavily, pushes her palms tightly against her eyes.
"Sorry," She says, "It's been a long day."
Dean doesn't say anything back. Just breathes, looks at his reflection in the water.
"You said Sam was missing. How long ago?"
Dean's calmed down now, mostly anyway. He's not pushing his chest out to try to get more air in. His posture has changed. He's slumped against the seat. Swaying slightly.
"When I turned 21," He begins, "Sam was taken. I don't know how or why. But one night I came back and he was gone. Just gone," He snaps his fingers, "Like that."
The woman nods again and Dean is beginning to find it to be annoying.
"I'll be back," She promises, "I'm going to go get an update on your brother."
He watches her walk away but he doesn't follow her.
Dean's asleep before he realizes it. There's a hand tapping him lightly. Any other day he would've slept through it. But today was different.
"Sam -" He starts, but the women shakes her head, interrupting him, "He's okay. Stable."
Dean gets to his feet so quickly that the lady has to force herself back. Her hands, however, find his shoulders once more, "Sir you need to sit down. We need to discuss Sam's condition."
Dean shakes his head, "No, you can do that later. I need to see my brother."
She looks towards the floor, expression saddened, and that's when Dean knows something is wrong.
"What, what's wrong with my brother? He's alright isn't he?"
The woman looks like she isn't sure how to start the conversation, so Dean does it for her, "Tell me what's wrong with my brother."
"I will," She proclaims, "But please sit down."
Dean listens to her finally, and sits back down.
When she starts talking she doesn't stop. "Your brothers condition is very serious. He had intensive rectum tearing, which needed stiching. He is extremely underweight and malnourished, which we expect has been for a long period of time and may have stunted his growth. His right eye has bruising which will go down eventually. It's his feet that pose a concern to us, though. His tendons in both ankles are gone. Recovery for that is slim to none. It is very likely he will never walk again."
Dean throws up into the waste basket next to him. He doesn't know how he'll ever be able to fix this. How it could ever be made right.
Once Dean is done, he wipes his mouth with the back of his flannel and turns to look at the woman.
"Just take me to my brother," Is all he says. And she does.
---
The room that Sam is in, is small. It holds just the minimal things: A bed, a sink, and a chair. So Dean sits in the chair and scoots it as close to Sam's bed as it can get. When he looks at Sam, he sees a boy he doesn't know, but at the same time, knows to well. He still looks considerably like he did when he 8, not too much has changed that can't be fixed with some fattening food, and protein shakes. There's still something though, that is all too different. Sam looks broken now. Even now in his sleep, his eyes are scrunched shut, hands curled in fists around the blanket. If Dean didn't know Sam, he would assume he was awake, but Dean knew him like the back of his hand. The kid was asleep, just not in the way he had hoped.
Dean tries to grab onto Sam's hand, but there's too many wires and bandages in the way, so he settles for his leg. He rests a gentle hand there, the place right above his knee, and rubs his thumb in slow circles. He looks at Sam's bruised and battered face -- there's a cut where his eyebrow is meant to be. He see the hair there is gone. He knows that it'll take some time to grow back.
Sam's hair is long, much longer from when he last saw him. He guesses he wasn't allowed to cut it, but Dean doesn't at all mind it. Sam looks quite beautiful with his hair like that, actually, and Dean does what he can to not reach out and unknot the tangles that are curling up beneath his neck.
"Later," he thinks, "Later he will give Sam a bath. Wash his hair and clean all that dirt off."
Dean isn't sure when Sam will wake up. The woman, who he still doesn't have a name for, told him the body will go into a sort of hibernation to recover itself. She said it is likely he'll wake up and that he just needs time to adjust. But Dean doesn't want time. He just wants his brother.
A tear falls absently onto the bed sheet without Dean's realization, but he feels another one, fall to the bottom of his chin and rest there. It tickles so Dean wipes it off and then turns back to his little brother. The person that he's always loved more than himself and everyone else combined.
"Hey, Sammy. I don't know if you can hear me in there but, I just wanted to let you know that I'm here now. I'll never let anyone hurt you again, okay?"
He's stopped rubbing at Sam's knee, his hand has found his face now. He's cupping it lightly, looking into his closed eyes and praying, just somehow, he could see him.
When there's no response, Dean isn't surprised. He just sighs, understandably, and lays his head on the bed.
He falls asleep again, but this time, he welcomes it.
When Dean wakes up again, Sam is still asleep. So he allows himself to get up and wander for a cup of coffee. On the way, the lady finds him and she smiles.
"How is Sam?" She asks.
Dean doesn't know how to respond, so he just says "He's good, I think."
The woman nods, about to walk away, but Dean stops her.
"What's your name? I never got it."
"Susan," She says, simply, "Let me know if you need anything. I'm sorry, but you'll have to excuse me. I have another patient to deal with."
Dean apologizes and let's her go.
When Dean finds the coffee, he takes the biggest cup and fills it to the top. The water is scalding, it burns his tongue, but Dean drinks it anyway.
When Dean goes back into Sam's room, he notices something amazing.
His eyes are open, and he's looking at him like he's confused, doesn't know where he is. He looks terrified even, but Dean takes what he can get and runs over to Sam in an instant, sets his coffee down on the table next to the bed and smiles something bright.
"Hey, Sammy," He says, sounding as if he's talking to a puppy.
Sam looks puzzled, "I know you," He states.
Dean nods his head, "Yeah, Sammy, you do. I'm your brother."
"My brother?" Sam hums, "I've always wanted a brother."
Then he falls back asleep and only then does Dean begin to feel hopeful.
---
February 2008
Sam doesn't remember when he stopped remembering, but one day, all he knew, was gone. Sometimes when he sleeps, he thinks he dreams of another boy, someone much older than him. He thinks the boy loved him, but Sam doesn't know for sure.
One day he tells Master of the boy, and he gets beaten bloody. He breaks his left arm and doesn't bother to move himself, or crawl to his area of his cage where his bucket is. So for days, he stays lying in his own piss and blood and begins to think that the dreams, he was so sure were real, were just another way to help him escape his undying, unending, reality.
Master comes to him on the fourth day and seems surprised. He carries Sam to his bathroom, places him on the toilet seat and draws him a bath.
"I'm sorry, Sam. But you mustn't talk of things that aren't real. I am the only man you will ever know. There is no one else."
Sam doesn't nod, or confirm that he heard what he heard. He just sits in silence and stares at the tiled floor until Master lifts him up and places him in the tub. It's cold so Sam shivers and wraps his arms weakly around himself.
"You smell awful boy. Are you a dog? Why couldn't you have crawled to your bucket instead of making a mess of yourself?" Master isn't yelling, but his voice sounds stern and aggravated.
"I'm sorry, Master," Sam says, "I just hurt. I couldn't move. I'm sorry. I hope you forgive me."
Master sighs, "Very well. With a face like yours I suppose there is no way I could possibly stay upset with you." Then Master chuckles and leans down to kiss Sam's hair. Sam closes his eyes and enjoys the little bit of affection he can attain.
That night, Master let's Sam sleep with him. He flips him over on his stomach and lays behind him, resting inside, and when Sam wakes up the next morning, he's still there.
He whimpers when Master pulls out but he doesn't scream. He knows better.
Now
"Well, he was awake. For a second. He talked to me, then I guess he fell back asleep."
The doctor adjusts his glasses and looks at the clipboard lying over Sam's bed.
"That's normal. He still needs time. It's excellent he woke up and talked to you. What did he say?"
Dean fiddles with his hands, refusing to face the doctor, "Just said he knew me."
The doctor looks pleased, but that's all Dean can read off him.
"Well, I'm feeling very confident Sam will wake up again, and soon. I'll be back to check on him in an hour or so. Press the call button if you need anything." Then he leaves and Dean is back to staring at his brother.
There's more color in Sam's face. He's not as ghostly pale as he was an hour ago. Even though, he still looks close to dead, Dean knows he isn't, so he tries to keep himself together and work on getting Sam to wake up again.
He talks to him, reads him an article from a magazine he found in the waiting room. He even hums him a few songs, but there's nothing from Sam, not even a twitch.
Dean accepts it within an hour, that Sam may not wake up for longer than he expected.
So he leans back in his chair and flips endlessly through the magazine. He tries to ignore the way his heart beats a little faster when he sees Sam. It's better that way, anyways.
Sam is sleeping, or he was. He feels awake but he can't seem to open his eyes. The feeling of being trapped surfaces over him and he wonders what drug Master has given him. He wants to open his eyes, to be able to see, and feel, but he can't even do that. His body seems frozen in place and Sam begins to feel anxiety making itself known.
He feels like throwing up but he doesn't.
"Sammy," He hears. It doesn't sound like Master so Sam squeezes his eyes shut in hopes the sound will go away.
"That's it," It says again, that terrible buzzing noise, "Wake up, Sam. Come on, kiddo."
Kiddo? Since when has anyone ever called him kiddo?
Sam shakes his head quickly. He calls out 'No' before the voice can say anything again.
But then then there are hands on his face, calloused and rough and Sam wakes up suddenly, screaming and choking.