Who's afraid of the dark?
Title: Who's afraid of the dark?
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It should have been just another birthday, but it wasn't. When Sam disappears mysteriously, John, Dean and Bobby team up to start a desperate search for him. Meanwhile, Sam wakes up in a strange, cold room, where no one talks to him, although he knows he's being watched. He's just a boy, and when things go terribly wrong, can Dean help him survive the darkness that creeps through his skin and nestles in his bones? This is a story of great darkness and pain, but also of great love and comfort.
Warnings and A/N: Top!Dean, bottom!Sam, not for the faint of heart, graphic violence/torture and maybe more. Read at your own risk. Wee!cest, pre-series. Hurt/Comfort, protective Dean.
Previous chapters
Chapter 20
Later that day as the doctor had promised, Sam was transferred to another room, one where his father and brother, and Bobby too, could spend the day with him, although only one was allowed to spend the night.
Sam was still mildly sedated for the pain, particularly in his ribcage, and to avoid any kind of distress. He insisted on managing the spoon whenever his food came over, with a shaky left hand, but all by himself. The nurses helped him go to the bathroom when he pushed a button, and with that set, Sam didn’t feel the need to speak at all.
As soon as the three hunters were allowed into his room, Sam shrunk quietly in himself and stared at the window a few feet away from his bed. It was sunny outside, and Sam stared thoughtfully at the piece of blue sky he could see from bed. How long had it been since he had last seen the sky?
“Hey, son…” John smiled at him and walked closer to the bed.
Sam showed no reaction. He turned his attention to his legs, covered by a light blue sheet, and said nothing. He didn’t want to look his father in the eyes. He still couldn’t stand the reflected sight of the broken boy his father was seeing.
Bobby and Dean stood away from the bed and watched as John tried, in vain, to interact with his son.
“We’ve missed you,” John said, and squeezed Sam’s hand on the bed. He couldn’t help thinking of doctor Michael’s words when he had talked to him about examining Sam. He was glad for the doctor’s help and everything, but he was being a fool. In John’s head, there was just no way something like that had happened to his son.
Sam looked at his father’s larger hand above his own but did nothing. He didn’t squeeze back, neither did he retreat his hand. It was like he just didn’t care.
There was so much going on in John’s mind now. As a hunter, there were questions that needed answers, there was a beast in him still thirsty for revenge, for the blood of whoever had touched his son, but he tried to take it easy and hold back, because Sam was obviously too fragile to speak about what had happened to him.
“Hey kid,” Bobby said from behind John. Sam looked him in the eyes. “We’re gonna spend the day with you, that alright?” He asked.
Sam didn’t feel like replying. He turned his attention back to the sheet covering his legs and fell into his quiet, withdrawn attitude.
Dean seemed to be drawn to that behavior, because he started mirroring it unconsciously. He pulled a chair and sat down, not getting close to the bed, not asking questions, just being there, next to Sam.
He didn’t know what was going through his brother’s head right now, but Sam didn’t need to speak to tell them how hurt he was. The injuries in his body spoke volumes of what he had been through during the past months.
Eventually, John gave up trying to start a conversation and he and Bobby sat down too, making difficult small talk about anything they could think off.
When, around midday, one of the nurses came in with a remote control and turned on a small TV on a high corner of the room, it was a relief for the tension inside the room. John and Bobby finally had something to focus on, something that wasn’t the boy lying in bed, who was Sam, and yet felt like a stranger, someone who did not want to interact with them.
Dean wasn’t as bothered by Sam’s silence as his father and Bobby obviously were. He picked up a magazine from the hospital and leafed through it. They had been stressed and worried sick for the past few weeks. Now Sam was there, and no one would hurt him again. He might as well take advantage of the moment to calm down a little.
Sam stared at the television too. Sometimes he was actually paying attention to what was going on in there, but most of the time he was simply staring as his mind drifted else where.
Sam was quiet because he was putting so much energy into shutting many doors in his mind; he didn’t have anything left to talk about. He felt himself building a wall, brick by brick, so very slowly, between the bright room and himself. Sam never wanted to go back there, not even in his dreams. He wanted to erase that, delete the memory, like it had never happened. He unknowingly wanted to do what the demon couldn’t finish, which was to live as if none of that had ever happened.
The doctor, the demon, the man.
Sam shuddered and shut his eyes.
Nothing. There was nothing there. He wanted to look back and see nothing, he wanted his mind to be blank. So, as Bobby and John watched TV, and Dean read something in his room, Sam started building this frail wall, promising himself it would one day be thick and strong enough to keep the darkness away.
~ * ~
In the evening, before leaving for his house, doctor Michael stopped by to see if everything was alright and to remind the family that only one of them could spend the night.
John, Bobby and Dean stood up and followed the doctor outside to talk. He let them know that Sam was responding well to the medication and that although some of his injuries would take several weeks to heal, he was doing well and might be leaving the hospital by the end of the week.
“Michael?” John asked.
“Yes?”
“Has… something happened to Sam’s vocal chords?”
“No,” doctor Michael frowned. “Why?”
“Because he won’t say a thing,” John explained.
“Well, there’s no damage to his voice. In fact, I told you he spoke to me when he got here.”
“He spoke to me too when we found him,” Dean said. “Actually, it was just a couple of words, but…”
“His voice is fine. What isn’t fine is his mind, John,” doctor Michael said.
“What do you mean?”
“You told me you don’t know what happened to him, but judging from the wounds we saw, we can have an idea.”
John nodded, feeling his chest tight with pain.
“Whatever has happened to your kid during this time, I don’t think a few days in the hospital will be enough to heal him. Your son is in shock, John.”
Bobby listened to the conversation carefully. He agreed with the doctor. He remembered the last time he saw Sam before all that happened. He was growing into a teenager, and he was often moody and rebellious, but around him, Sam had always been sweet and lively, and the boy lying on that bed now didn’t even look like that kid anymore.
“What can we do to help him?” John asked, concern evident in his voice.
“I don’t know… only time will tell. But I do strongly recommend that you get your son some therapy as soon as he leaves here. He will need someone he can talk to, a professional who can make him open up and help him through this.”
John nodded quickly.
Dean listened to that, and although he understood the doctor meant well, he could not see Sam willingly going to a shrink and pouring his heart out. No, that was not happening. It was not the way they were raised to be - tough, keeping it all inside, never showing weakness. There was no way Sam would sit on a chair and open up to a stranger.
“I have to go now,” the doctor was saying. “And so do two of you. You can take turns to see who spends the night with him. There’s that small sofa in the room, it turns into a fairly decent bed. The hospital provides a pillow and blanket in the room.”
“Thank you, Mike. For everything,” John shook hands with him and the doctor nodded before turning around to leave.
“I’ll stay,” Dean said.
John looked at him. They all wanted to be with Sam, but he wouldn’t say he wasn’t relieved that Dean offered to stay tonight. The sight of his son so withdrawn and so broken was very painful to see. Every minute of Sam’s silence killed John a little bit inside, and as much as he wanted to be there for his boy, a part of him just wanted to be as far away as possible from the reminder of how badly he had failed his son.
“Okay. We’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Bobby said, nodding towards John so they would leave. Although Bobby couldn’t tell exactly what was going through his friend’s head, he sensed John could use a break from the sight of Sam’s injuries.
“Go eat something, Dean. We’ll see you early tomorrow,” John said and patted Dean on the shoulder.
Dean saw them leave and sighed, heading towards the hospital cafeteria. He ordered something quick to eat and half an hour later he was ready to go back into Sam’s room.
~ * ~
When Dean returned, and they were alone, he waited a few minutes before approaching Sam’s bed and looking at him closely. Sam made no sign of acknowledging his presence, and he didn’t move an inch when Dean rested his hand on the bed, beside his covered right thigh.
“Look,” Dean said. “I know you don’t want to speak, and I won’t make you. But I don’t want to stay here unless that’s what you want too. So if you want to be left alone you have to find a way to let me know, and I won’t bother you. I can go somewhere else to spend the night…and come back in the morning.”
Dean watched Sam for any reaction, but there was none. It hurt him saying those things, because he truly wanted to stay there, right beside his bed, and yet, he didn’t want to be in the room if that made Sam uncomfortable, or if he felt he needed time alone.
Sam listened to his brother, and though his face didn’t show anything, his emotions were a mess inside him. He had waited so long for Dean, to see him, to hear him… His closeness felt really good, but how could he tell him that? Sam felt petrified to his very core. It was like all of his ability to show emotion had been frozen, and he didn’t know how to tell Dean that his presence was soothing, and that even though he didn’t want to say anything, he liked knowing Dean was there with him.
“Alright,” Dean nodded, a bitter taste in his mouth. He sighed and was about to turn around and leave, taking Sam’s lack of reaction as a sign to go, when he felt the soft and warm weight of Sam’s smaller hand on top of his, on the bed.
Dean’s eyes immediately fell on their hands, and he stared for a moment at Sam’s fingers resting on top of his own. Then, he raised his eyes to Sam’s face, but his brother’s eyes were still aloof and unclear. That was as much of a response as Dean would get from him tonight, but it was enough to warm his chest and make him feel like his heart was swelling.
“I’ll stay then,” he spoke softly, his voice slightly hoarse with veiled emotions. He squeezed Sam’s hand gently before letting it go.
Dean prepared the sofa with the blanket and pillow the doctor had said he could use - there was a cabinet in the room where Dean had found them - and then he put the remote control on Sam’s bed, by his hand.
“You decide when you want to turn it off,” Dean said, and went back to the sofa.
Sam turned the TV off about an hour later, but there was still plenty of clarity in the room. Though the light was softer at night, it was constantly on, and Sam liked that.
He didn’t have trouble sleeping because his I.V. drip contained enough painkillers and sedatives to make him close his eyes and drift into unconsciousness. Sam turned on his side and rested his cheek against the softness of the pillow. He fell asleep knowing Dean was right there, a few feet away, and knowing no harm could possibly come to him tonight.
~ * ~
Dean didn’t fall asleep as easily. After Sam shut his eyes and his breathing became slower and deeper, it still took him a couple of hours to be able to relax and try to sleep too. Before that, he spent the time watching over his brother’s sleep, wondering what was going on in Sam’s mind now, and how he could help him get over what had happened to him.
Dean didn’t know why Sam had been taken, and maybe Sam himself didn’t either. He had an idea of how much pain he had been through, but that was just a pale idea, and he was sure that it was much worse than what he could imagine.
He didn’t think a psychiatrist would be able to help Sam now, he didn’t think anyone would be able to make him talk about something he didn’t want to. Dean figured that patience would be a key element to help his brother trust again, and he was willing to do whatever it took to see him as happy as he had been the morning of his birthday, before any of that had happened.
When Dean eventually fell asleep, he was unconscious for no longer than two hours when a subtle change in Sam’s breathing woke him up.
Dean blinked a few times and didn’t know where he was at first. Soon, however, he saw the hospital bed and his brother on it, and he remembered where and why he was in that room.
He stood up from the sofa and walked towards the bed.
Sam was lying on his side, still asleep, but instead of a calm, deep breathing, the air escaped his lungs faster, and his chest seemed to heave up and down with a little more difficulty.
Dean watched him for a few minutes. There were tiny tremors taking Sam’s body every now and then, and his short breath was becoming slightly audible. Dean figured he was probably dreaming. And it was probably unpleasant.
He put a hand on Sam’s forehead instinctively, like he often did when Sam was a kid and looked sick. There was no fever, but Sam’s skin was warm against his palm.
Dean let his hand go from Sam’s forehead to his check and then neck, and let it settle softly on top of his left shoulder, where he squeezed.
Slowly, Sam’s breathing pattern fell back into a calmer, deeper rhythm, and Dean thought his body seemed to relax too.
“I’ll take care of you, Sammy,” he whispered softly.
Dean still stood by the bed for a while longer to make sure Sam was indeed deep asleep. When he was satisfied that his brother was no longer dreaming something unpleasant, Dean returned to the improvised bed and tried to sleep a bit more.
~ * ~
When the sun rose, Bobby and John were back in the hospital to spend another awkward day watching TV as Sam remained in absolute silence. The nurses came to change the sheets and help Sam take a shower. Dean, Bobby and John were then asked to leave the room.
They were allowed to return when Sam had already been helped into clean clothes. They had been unable to see his naked body and the different stages of fading bruises on it, but they could see his arms and his black eye, which was slightly less swollen today, and it told them just how difficult it was for Sam to move at all.
Sam ate what was brought to him quietly. He slept a great part of the day, in part because of the drugs in his system, but also because he liked the feeling of not having to worry about anyone looking at him and wondering about him.
But in the middle of the afternoon, his silence seemed to start getting to John, and he started pacing near his bed, circling it with visible restlessness.
“Are you feeling stronger today?” He asked, already knowing Sam would not reply.
Dean and Bobby watched him when he went closer to Sam’s bed.
“Sam… what’s going on, son?” He softened his voice and took Sam’s hand.
Even from a distance, Dean could see the way Sam stiffened at the touch.
“You need to talk to us… we’ve looked for you for so long, and now we’ve finally found you. We want to help you.”
Bobby watched Sam’s face, but there was nothing there, except, perhaps, for a feeling of discomfort.
“What did they do to you in there?”
Sam’s breath shorted immediately and his heart beat faster. Despite the sedative in his vessels, his blood pressure spiked and the rapid sound of his breathing in and out of his nose could be heard.
“You have to trust us. We want to see you get better. You just need to tell us what they did to you in that room.”
Sam gasped and shuddered as a feeling of uneasiness grew inside him.
“Dad…” Dean started. ‘Dammit, dad, not now!’ He screamed in his mind.
“It’s okay, Dean,” John looked at him. “Sam knows we want to help. But he needs to speak, he needs to tell me what happened to him while he was there,” John meant no harm. In his mind he just thought he was being a good father, being there for his son, urging him to talk so he could be helped, so John could either rest assured that Sam had been avenged, or hunt down who ever had escaped. He was a busy, practical man, and it was incredibly difficult to sit and wait for something to happen. “Right Sam? What did the demon do to you?” He was all genuine concern, but his words triggered something else in Sam.
The boy gasped and retreated his hand quickly. He widened his eyes and his throat was dry. ‘What happened to me? What happened to me?!’ He thought hurriedly, his heart slamming against his chest and his breathing turning into panting. ‘They all happened to me! The doctor, the demon, the man.’ Sam shook uncontrollably on the bed and looked at his father with something that was a mix of fear and anger.
“John, not now,” Bobby went behind his friend and put a hand on his shoulder.
“But…” John looked at Sam. He realized he seemed uncomfortable with the questions, but he would certainly feel better once he let it all out so he could help him by doing something.
“Dad, no,” Dean said firmly. “There will be time for that later,” he begged into his father’s eyes with a stern look, one that was so intense it caused John to nod and shrug off his thoughts.
“Alright. It’s okay. We don’t need to talk about this now,” he smiled at his youngest son.
‘We don’t need to talk about this ever!’ Sam screamed in his mind and shut down in himself. It was a while before he was breathing regularly and his heart didn’t feel like it was beating in his throat. He didn’t look at anyone else in the room, he couldn’t stand the idea of making eye contact.
Sam wasn’t angry with his father or anything. He knew exactly why he was doing that - he knew his father was a hands-on kind of helper. But there was no way Sam would start speaking about the bright room. He was too busy building his wall, brick by brick, to block any memories from that place. He didn’t want to go there. Period.
When evening came and they had to decide who stayed in the room, Sam hoped with all his heart it would be Dean again.
They had agreed that tonight someone else would stay with Sam, but after John’s frustrating attempt at talking to Sam, they decided it would be better if he gave him some space.
“Are you sure you can handle another night? Aren’t you tried?” Bobby asked Dean.
“I’m fine,” he promised. And he was. He wanted to be the one there with Sam, and even though Sam hadn’t said a word, he knew he was the one Sam wanted to have there too.
“Okay, then. You stay again, but tomorrow night it’s either me or John.”
“Right,” John nodded.
“Sure,” Dean agreed.
He had a feeling he knew why he was being allowed to stay again. John loved his kids, and of course they knew that. But he was never very good at the whole loving parent role. He wanted to help Sam, but he lacked the soft skills to do so. And helping Sam was pretty much what Dean had been doing all their childhood, so it came as no surprise how much easier it was to him connecting with his brother.
“Let me just…say goodnight.”
John walked towards Sam’s bed and put a hand on top of his head.
“Night Sam,” he said softly. “We love you very much.”
Sam didn’t say anything. He watched silently as his father left with Bobby and Dean stayed, preparing the sofa for another night by his side.
Without saying a word, but after a meaningful exchange of looks, the two brothers drifted off to sleep, learning how to be around each other in silence and trying to find their way back to intimacy despite the distance Sam had been using as a shield.
In the middle of this night, it was Sam who woke up.
He had no idea what time it was, but the hospital was extremely quiet. The faint light was on and Dean was sound asleep on the sofa.
When his eyes found him, Sam relaxed.
For as much time as the medication allowed him, Sam stayed awake and stared at Dean. It felt good knowing he was there, even though they didn’t speak, and even though Dean didn’t know what had happened to him.
For so long Sam had hoped to wake up to the sight of his brother there, and now he finally had it.
Sam let himself be pulled back into sleep, and he tried to take with him the safe image of Dean sleeping near his bed. This way he could make sure there would still be some light when he closed his eyes.
----------------------------------------------------------------
tbc...
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It should have been just another birthday, but it wasn't. When Sam disappears mysteriously, John, Dean and Bobby team up to start a desperate search for him. Meanwhile, Sam wakes up in a strange, cold room, where no one talks to him, although he knows he's being watched. He's just a boy, and when things go terribly wrong, can Dean help him survive the darkness that creeps through his skin and nestles in his bones? This is a story of great darkness and pain, but also of great love and comfort.
Warnings and A/N: Top!Dean, bottom!Sam, not for the faint of heart, graphic violence/torture and maybe more. Read at your own risk. Wee!cest, pre-series. Hurt/Comfort, protective Dean.
Previous chapters
Chapter 20
Later that day as the doctor had promised, Sam was transferred to another room, one where his father and brother, and Bobby too, could spend the day with him, although only one was allowed to spend the night.
Sam was still mildly sedated for the pain, particularly in his ribcage, and to avoid any kind of distress. He insisted on managing the spoon whenever his food came over, with a shaky left hand, but all by himself. The nurses helped him go to the bathroom when he pushed a button, and with that set, Sam didn’t feel the need to speak at all.
As soon as the three hunters were allowed into his room, Sam shrunk quietly in himself and stared at the window a few feet away from his bed. It was sunny outside, and Sam stared thoughtfully at the piece of blue sky he could see from bed. How long had it been since he had last seen the sky?
“Hey, son…” John smiled at him and walked closer to the bed.
Sam showed no reaction. He turned his attention to his legs, covered by a light blue sheet, and said nothing. He didn’t want to look his father in the eyes. He still couldn’t stand the reflected sight of the broken boy his father was seeing.
Bobby and Dean stood away from the bed and watched as John tried, in vain, to interact with his son.
“We’ve missed you,” John said, and squeezed Sam’s hand on the bed. He couldn’t help thinking of doctor Michael’s words when he had talked to him about examining Sam. He was glad for the doctor’s help and everything, but he was being a fool. In John’s head, there was just no way something like that had happened to his son.
Sam looked at his father’s larger hand above his own but did nothing. He didn’t squeeze back, neither did he retreat his hand. It was like he just didn’t care.
There was so much going on in John’s mind now. As a hunter, there were questions that needed answers, there was a beast in him still thirsty for revenge, for the blood of whoever had touched his son, but he tried to take it easy and hold back, because Sam was obviously too fragile to speak about what had happened to him.
“Hey kid,” Bobby said from behind John. Sam looked him in the eyes. “We’re gonna spend the day with you, that alright?” He asked.
Sam didn’t feel like replying. He turned his attention back to the sheet covering his legs and fell into his quiet, withdrawn attitude.
Dean seemed to be drawn to that behavior, because he started mirroring it unconsciously. He pulled a chair and sat down, not getting close to the bed, not asking questions, just being there, next to Sam.
He didn’t know what was going through his brother’s head right now, but Sam didn’t need to speak to tell them how hurt he was. The injuries in his body spoke volumes of what he had been through during the past months.
Eventually, John gave up trying to start a conversation and he and Bobby sat down too, making difficult small talk about anything they could think off.
When, around midday, one of the nurses came in with a remote control and turned on a small TV on a high corner of the room, it was a relief for the tension inside the room. John and Bobby finally had something to focus on, something that wasn’t the boy lying in bed, who was Sam, and yet felt like a stranger, someone who did not want to interact with them.
Dean wasn’t as bothered by Sam’s silence as his father and Bobby obviously were. He picked up a magazine from the hospital and leafed through it. They had been stressed and worried sick for the past few weeks. Now Sam was there, and no one would hurt him again. He might as well take advantage of the moment to calm down a little.
Sam stared at the television too. Sometimes he was actually paying attention to what was going on in there, but most of the time he was simply staring as his mind drifted else where.
Sam was quiet because he was putting so much energy into shutting many doors in his mind; he didn’t have anything left to talk about. He felt himself building a wall, brick by brick, so very slowly, between the bright room and himself. Sam never wanted to go back there, not even in his dreams. He wanted to erase that, delete the memory, like it had never happened. He unknowingly wanted to do what the demon couldn’t finish, which was to live as if none of that had ever happened.
The doctor, the demon, the man.
Sam shuddered and shut his eyes.
Nothing. There was nothing there. He wanted to look back and see nothing, he wanted his mind to be blank. So, as Bobby and John watched TV, and Dean read something in his room, Sam started building this frail wall, promising himself it would one day be thick and strong enough to keep the darkness away.
~ * ~
In the evening, before leaving for his house, doctor Michael stopped by to see if everything was alright and to remind the family that only one of them could spend the night.
John, Bobby and Dean stood up and followed the doctor outside to talk. He let them know that Sam was responding well to the medication and that although some of his injuries would take several weeks to heal, he was doing well and might be leaving the hospital by the end of the week.
“Michael?” John asked.
“Yes?”
“Has… something happened to Sam’s vocal chords?”
“No,” doctor Michael frowned. “Why?”
“Because he won’t say a thing,” John explained.
“Well, there’s no damage to his voice. In fact, I told you he spoke to me when he got here.”
“He spoke to me too when we found him,” Dean said. “Actually, it was just a couple of words, but…”
“His voice is fine. What isn’t fine is his mind, John,” doctor Michael said.
“What do you mean?”
“You told me you don’t know what happened to him, but judging from the wounds we saw, we can have an idea.”
John nodded, feeling his chest tight with pain.
“Whatever has happened to your kid during this time, I don’t think a few days in the hospital will be enough to heal him. Your son is in shock, John.”
Bobby listened to the conversation carefully. He agreed with the doctor. He remembered the last time he saw Sam before all that happened. He was growing into a teenager, and he was often moody and rebellious, but around him, Sam had always been sweet and lively, and the boy lying on that bed now didn’t even look like that kid anymore.
“What can we do to help him?” John asked, concern evident in his voice.
“I don’t know… only time will tell. But I do strongly recommend that you get your son some therapy as soon as he leaves here. He will need someone he can talk to, a professional who can make him open up and help him through this.”
John nodded quickly.
Dean listened to that, and although he understood the doctor meant well, he could not see Sam willingly going to a shrink and pouring his heart out. No, that was not happening. It was not the way they were raised to be - tough, keeping it all inside, never showing weakness. There was no way Sam would sit on a chair and open up to a stranger.
“I have to go now,” the doctor was saying. “And so do two of you. You can take turns to see who spends the night with him. There’s that small sofa in the room, it turns into a fairly decent bed. The hospital provides a pillow and blanket in the room.”
“Thank you, Mike. For everything,” John shook hands with him and the doctor nodded before turning around to leave.
“I’ll stay,” Dean said.
John looked at him. They all wanted to be with Sam, but he wouldn’t say he wasn’t relieved that Dean offered to stay tonight. The sight of his son so withdrawn and so broken was very painful to see. Every minute of Sam’s silence killed John a little bit inside, and as much as he wanted to be there for his boy, a part of him just wanted to be as far away as possible from the reminder of how badly he had failed his son.
“Okay. We’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Bobby said, nodding towards John so they would leave. Although Bobby couldn’t tell exactly what was going through his friend’s head, he sensed John could use a break from the sight of Sam’s injuries.
“Go eat something, Dean. We’ll see you early tomorrow,” John said and patted Dean on the shoulder.
Dean saw them leave and sighed, heading towards the hospital cafeteria. He ordered something quick to eat and half an hour later he was ready to go back into Sam’s room.
~ * ~
When Dean returned, and they were alone, he waited a few minutes before approaching Sam’s bed and looking at him closely. Sam made no sign of acknowledging his presence, and he didn’t move an inch when Dean rested his hand on the bed, beside his covered right thigh.
“Look,” Dean said. “I know you don’t want to speak, and I won’t make you. But I don’t want to stay here unless that’s what you want too. So if you want to be left alone you have to find a way to let me know, and I won’t bother you. I can go somewhere else to spend the night…and come back in the morning.”
Dean watched Sam for any reaction, but there was none. It hurt him saying those things, because he truly wanted to stay there, right beside his bed, and yet, he didn’t want to be in the room if that made Sam uncomfortable, or if he felt he needed time alone.
Sam listened to his brother, and though his face didn’t show anything, his emotions were a mess inside him. He had waited so long for Dean, to see him, to hear him… His closeness felt really good, but how could he tell him that? Sam felt petrified to his very core. It was like all of his ability to show emotion had been frozen, and he didn’t know how to tell Dean that his presence was soothing, and that even though he didn’t want to say anything, he liked knowing Dean was there with him.
“Alright,” Dean nodded, a bitter taste in his mouth. He sighed and was about to turn around and leave, taking Sam’s lack of reaction as a sign to go, when he felt the soft and warm weight of Sam’s smaller hand on top of his, on the bed.
Dean’s eyes immediately fell on their hands, and he stared for a moment at Sam’s fingers resting on top of his own. Then, he raised his eyes to Sam’s face, but his brother’s eyes were still aloof and unclear. That was as much of a response as Dean would get from him tonight, but it was enough to warm his chest and make him feel like his heart was swelling.
“I’ll stay then,” he spoke softly, his voice slightly hoarse with veiled emotions. He squeezed Sam’s hand gently before letting it go.
Dean prepared the sofa with the blanket and pillow the doctor had said he could use - there was a cabinet in the room where Dean had found them - and then he put the remote control on Sam’s bed, by his hand.
“You decide when you want to turn it off,” Dean said, and went back to the sofa.
Sam turned the TV off about an hour later, but there was still plenty of clarity in the room. Though the light was softer at night, it was constantly on, and Sam liked that.
He didn’t have trouble sleeping because his I.V. drip contained enough painkillers and sedatives to make him close his eyes and drift into unconsciousness. Sam turned on his side and rested his cheek against the softness of the pillow. He fell asleep knowing Dean was right there, a few feet away, and knowing no harm could possibly come to him tonight.
~ * ~
Dean didn’t fall asleep as easily. After Sam shut his eyes and his breathing became slower and deeper, it still took him a couple of hours to be able to relax and try to sleep too. Before that, he spent the time watching over his brother’s sleep, wondering what was going on in Sam’s mind now, and how he could help him get over what had happened to him.
Dean didn’t know why Sam had been taken, and maybe Sam himself didn’t either. He had an idea of how much pain he had been through, but that was just a pale idea, and he was sure that it was much worse than what he could imagine.
He didn’t think a psychiatrist would be able to help Sam now, he didn’t think anyone would be able to make him talk about something he didn’t want to. Dean figured that patience would be a key element to help his brother trust again, and he was willing to do whatever it took to see him as happy as he had been the morning of his birthday, before any of that had happened.
When Dean eventually fell asleep, he was unconscious for no longer than two hours when a subtle change in Sam’s breathing woke him up.
Dean blinked a few times and didn’t know where he was at first. Soon, however, he saw the hospital bed and his brother on it, and he remembered where and why he was in that room.
He stood up from the sofa and walked towards the bed.
Sam was lying on his side, still asleep, but instead of a calm, deep breathing, the air escaped his lungs faster, and his chest seemed to heave up and down with a little more difficulty.
Dean watched him for a few minutes. There were tiny tremors taking Sam’s body every now and then, and his short breath was becoming slightly audible. Dean figured he was probably dreaming. And it was probably unpleasant.
He put a hand on Sam’s forehead instinctively, like he often did when Sam was a kid and looked sick. There was no fever, but Sam’s skin was warm against his palm.
Dean let his hand go from Sam’s forehead to his check and then neck, and let it settle softly on top of his left shoulder, where he squeezed.
Slowly, Sam’s breathing pattern fell back into a calmer, deeper rhythm, and Dean thought his body seemed to relax too.
“I’ll take care of you, Sammy,” he whispered softly.
Dean still stood by the bed for a while longer to make sure Sam was indeed deep asleep. When he was satisfied that his brother was no longer dreaming something unpleasant, Dean returned to the improvised bed and tried to sleep a bit more.
~ * ~
When the sun rose, Bobby and John were back in the hospital to spend another awkward day watching TV as Sam remained in absolute silence. The nurses came to change the sheets and help Sam take a shower. Dean, Bobby and John were then asked to leave the room.
They were allowed to return when Sam had already been helped into clean clothes. They had been unable to see his naked body and the different stages of fading bruises on it, but they could see his arms and his black eye, which was slightly less swollen today, and it told them just how difficult it was for Sam to move at all.
Sam ate what was brought to him quietly. He slept a great part of the day, in part because of the drugs in his system, but also because he liked the feeling of not having to worry about anyone looking at him and wondering about him.
But in the middle of the afternoon, his silence seemed to start getting to John, and he started pacing near his bed, circling it with visible restlessness.
“Are you feeling stronger today?” He asked, already knowing Sam would not reply.
Dean and Bobby watched him when he went closer to Sam’s bed.
“Sam… what’s going on, son?” He softened his voice and took Sam’s hand.
Even from a distance, Dean could see the way Sam stiffened at the touch.
“You need to talk to us… we’ve looked for you for so long, and now we’ve finally found you. We want to help you.”
Bobby watched Sam’s face, but there was nothing there, except, perhaps, for a feeling of discomfort.
“What did they do to you in there?”
Sam’s breath shorted immediately and his heart beat faster. Despite the sedative in his vessels, his blood pressure spiked and the rapid sound of his breathing in and out of his nose could be heard.
“You have to trust us. We want to see you get better. You just need to tell us what they did to you in that room.”
Sam gasped and shuddered as a feeling of uneasiness grew inside him.
“Dad…” Dean started. ‘Dammit, dad, not now!’ He screamed in his mind.
“It’s okay, Dean,” John looked at him. “Sam knows we want to help. But he needs to speak, he needs to tell me what happened to him while he was there,” John meant no harm. In his mind he just thought he was being a good father, being there for his son, urging him to talk so he could be helped, so John could either rest assured that Sam had been avenged, or hunt down who ever had escaped. He was a busy, practical man, and it was incredibly difficult to sit and wait for something to happen. “Right Sam? What did the demon do to you?” He was all genuine concern, but his words triggered something else in Sam.
The boy gasped and retreated his hand quickly. He widened his eyes and his throat was dry. ‘What happened to me? What happened to me?!’ He thought hurriedly, his heart slamming against his chest and his breathing turning into panting. ‘They all happened to me! The doctor, the demon, the man.’ Sam shook uncontrollably on the bed and looked at his father with something that was a mix of fear and anger.
“John, not now,” Bobby went behind his friend and put a hand on his shoulder.
“But…” John looked at Sam. He realized he seemed uncomfortable with the questions, but he would certainly feel better once he let it all out so he could help him by doing something.
“Dad, no,” Dean said firmly. “There will be time for that later,” he begged into his father’s eyes with a stern look, one that was so intense it caused John to nod and shrug off his thoughts.
“Alright. It’s okay. We don’t need to talk about this now,” he smiled at his youngest son.
‘We don’t need to talk about this ever!’ Sam screamed in his mind and shut down in himself. It was a while before he was breathing regularly and his heart didn’t feel like it was beating in his throat. He didn’t look at anyone else in the room, he couldn’t stand the idea of making eye contact.
Sam wasn’t angry with his father or anything. He knew exactly why he was doing that - he knew his father was a hands-on kind of helper. But there was no way Sam would start speaking about the bright room. He was too busy building his wall, brick by brick, to block any memories from that place. He didn’t want to go there. Period.
When evening came and they had to decide who stayed in the room, Sam hoped with all his heart it would be Dean again.
They had agreed that tonight someone else would stay with Sam, but after John’s frustrating attempt at talking to Sam, they decided it would be better if he gave him some space.
“Are you sure you can handle another night? Aren’t you tried?” Bobby asked Dean.
“I’m fine,” he promised. And he was. He wanted to be the one there with Sam, and even though Sam hadn’t said a word, he knew he was the one Sam wanted to have there too.
“Okay, then. You stay again, but tomorrow night it’s either me or John.”
“Right,” John nodded.
“Sure,” Dean agreed.
He had a feeling he knew why he was being allowed to stay again. John loved his kids, and of course they knew that. But he was never very good at the whole loving parent role. He wanted to help Sam, but he lacked the soft skills to do so. And helping Sam was pretty much what Dean had been doing all their childhood, so it came as no surprise how much easier it was to him connecting with his brother.
“Let me just…say goodnight.”
John walked towards Sam’s bed and put a hand on top of his head.
“Night Sam,” he said softly. “We love you very much.”
Sam didn’t say anything. He watched silently as his father left with Bobby and Dean stayed, preparing the sofa for another night by his side.
Without saying a word, but after a meaningful exchange of looks, the two brothers drifted off to sleep, learning how to be around each other in silence and trying to find their way back to intimacy despite the distance Sam had been using as a shield.
In the middle of this night, it was Sam who woke up.
He had no idea what time it was, but the hospital was extremely quiet. The faint light was on and Dean was sound asleep on the sofa.
When his eyes found him, Sam relaxed.
For as much time as the medication allowed him, Sam stayed awake and stared at Dean. It felt good knowing he was there, even though they didn’t speak, and even though Dean didn’t know what had happened to him.
For so long Sam had hoped to wake up to the sight of his brother there, and now he finally had it.
Sam let himself be pulled back into sleep, and he tried to take with him the safe image of Dean sleeping near his bed. This way he could make sure there would still be some light when he closed his eyes.
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