School was an exercise in control He had to learn to pretend that he was normal, that the not so silent jeers behind his back weren’t hurtful. He had to pretend that he really didn’t want friends. And when Dean asked, he had to pretend that he was making friends, that he was getting along well.
Otherwise, Dean might convince himself to look closer at what was going on. To see what he could do to make things easier for Sammy.
Sam didn’t want that. He wanted to be treated like normal, even if he didn’t want to act like normal himself. He struggled with keeping himself under control. He couldn’t let himself slip. If anything he would consider this another training exercise. He would learn to endure.
He didn’t say anything when he was tripped in the hallways. When his food trays ended up clattering to the floor, food he wasn’t going to eat anyway wasted on the cold and dirty tiles of the ancient cafeteria. He refused to let himself be bullied, to be intimidated by the meaningless children he was protecting.
He shuddered when touches found him, when teachers called on him and he had the answer, but he refused to give it. He didn’t talk in school. Away from Dean, away from his commanding father, he was a mute teen. It didn’t help that he was the new student. That at the party, he’d…
No. No, he would not think about that. He would not let himself think about what happened, and he refused to acknowledge the truth.
He focused on the collecting the things he needed for homework that evening. Ignored the looming presence of the football team behind him. The team was idolized throughout the school. They were division champions, the team were gods among the students.
Sam laughed at the joke Jordan had made. He threw the beer he’d been given back and grimaced at the taste. The bottle was starting to warm up, the beer was starting to get yeasty. Sam needed a new one.
“’Scuse me,” he murmured. He waved away from Jordan and moved toward the chaotic kitchen seeking another beer.
“Let me,” Jordan called. He wrapped a large hand around Sam’s biceps and pulled him back. “I’ll get you another beer,” he said with a quirked smile.
Sam waited for Dean at the Impala. He’d considered breaking into the car, climbing into the backseat and curling into himself and just waiting for the end. But he couldn’t. Dean couldn’t know about what had happened to him. He couldn’t know that Sam was breaking. Because if Dean knew, then dad would know. And if dad knew, he would be so disappointed.
He curled his arms around the books against his chest, leaned heavily against the passenger side door and waited. The sun wasn’t even out for him to pretend like it was a nice day. It was cool, a constant breeze blew and he fought the urge to shiver. The sun couldn’t make it out of the clouds, but the grey light was enough. More than what he deserved. He was so dirty.
He jumped and his books fell from his hands when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “Hey there, pretty boy,” Jordan grinned. Pretty boy, I’m gonna ride you so hard. Sam jumped back, left his books lying on the concrete as he tried to escape without making it obvious. “You miss me?”
“P-please,” Sam begged in a quiet whisper. “L-Leave me alone.”
“Sammy?” Dean’s voice called. It broke the momentary spell he’d been under and he jumped to look at his brother. Dean was at the driver’s side door, his green eyes were narrowed angrily at Jordan and Sam looked between them both, refused to acknowledge the cold sweat on his forehead, the shivers that coursed through him at the thought of Jordan.
“Get in the car,” Dean’s voice was the soft and dangerous voice of command that was impossible to ignore. Sam obeyed. He watched Jordan as he crossed the lot while he knelt to pick up his text books. He climbed into the car and sat silent as he waited for Dean to take them to the motel they were calling home.
“We’re going to talk about that,” Dean promised.
Sam looked out the window and waited for the explosion that he was sure would happen.
Jordan handed him the beer, the lid already popped off, and Sam smiled gratefully and took a swig of the cool alcohol. He smiled at the quarterback, unused to the attention he was getting. Dean was the one who attracted partners. Sam was the nerdy and naïve one. He wasn’t used to thinking of himself as attractive. Especially when compared to Jordan. And it was probably that Jordan just wanted a cheap, quick hook-up, but Sam was kind of okay with that.
“Thanks,” Sam smiled. He watched Jordan closely as he moved closer to Sam. A hot hand slid across his lower back, caressed the curve of his back above his ass. He shuddered at the touch and he leaned into Jordan curiously.
“I want you,” Jordan whispered into Sam’s ear. His voice was soft and enticing and Sam wanted to give into it. But he didn’t want to blindly give in. He needed more than just the random hook-ups that Dean seemed to live on.
“Do you even know my name?” he asked.
“If it’s important to you, I’ll learn it. If not, then it doesn’t matter.”
“So,” Dean started when they were both in the motel room. “Wanna tell me what that was all about?”
“It’s nothing,” Sam muttered. He shook his head and sat his stuff on the bed. He would do his homework later, after he’d taken a shower. “I’m taking a shower.”
“No.” Dean strode across the room in six giant steps before Sam could react. “I’m not okay with what I saw today. And I’m not going to let you pretend nothing’s wrong. It’s been six weeks, Sam. Six fucking weeks and I haven’t said a damned thing waiting for you to bring it up. Waiting for you to step up to me and tell me you were hurting. But you haven’t. And now I have to force the issue.”
“Don’t,” Sam begged. “Please, please don’t do this.”
Dean stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Sam’s trembling body. “Sammy, you have to tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s nothing. Let me go!” he demanded, pushing against Dean. But six weeks of depriving himself of precious nutrition, of sleep meant that he was weaker than normal. It was no wonder Jordan had gotten the jump on him. He shivered at the thought. “Let me… It doesn’t matter!”
“It matters. You either talk to me, you talk to dad, or I talk to that kid in the parking lot,” Dean threatened. He released Sam and watched him pace the length of the bed.
“C-can… Later? Okay? I need… I need a shower. Please Dean, let me go take a shower.”
“No. We’re going running. You keep up.”
“Thought we were sparring,” Sam said softly.
“No. Not until you talk to me. We’re running instead.”
Sam nodded and grabbed a change of clothes from his duffel. He pulled the sweatshirt he normally wore for running out and moved toward the bathroom.
“You can change out here,” Dean said softly. “It’s not like I haven’t seen your chest before.”
“No. I’ll change in the bathroom,” Sam countered.
“Damnit Sam. When did you become such a freak?”
“I’m not… I’m not a freak.”
Jordan had him pressed against the rough trunk of a tree. His shirts had been lost somewhere along the way. He didn’t know where they had gone, didn’t know what had happened here, he didn’t want to be pressed against this tree with Jordan moving against him.
He was hot, feverish almost. His body was on fire. Jordan felt good against him, but he felt wrong too. He pushed weakly against Jordan’s still covered chest. He tossed his head side to side and fought the urge to vomit as Jordan’s hands slid into his jeans.
He’d been curious and he’d been flirty with Jordan. This was what happened when he did that. He would do well to remember that in the future. He was hard in his boxers. He was terrified, but he wanted it. It confused him and he resumed struggled he didn’t remember stopping.
“J’rd’n?” he slurred heavily.
“God, what’re you? A freak? How’re you still conscious?” Jordan asked as he thrust his hips against Sam’s again.
His head was pulled forward by a fistful of long strands and then forced back into the trunk of the tree. “D’n!” he begged.
“Oh god,” Sam sobbed softly as he fell to his knees. He trembled at the thought that he’d been… that he’d allowed himself to be taken advantage of. He knew that dad or Dean would never have allowed it to happen. He curled his arms around himself and rocked back and forth slowly. He was a broken man. He knew that. And he couldn’t tell Dean. He couldn’t tell anyone who might actually be able to help him.
“Sammy,” Dean growled. Sam clenched his eyes shut when he heard his brother hit his knees beside him. Strong arms wrapped around him and Dean’s voice was a soft litany of soothing noises. His hands moved in a careful, steady rhythm. “I’ve gotcha. You’re alright.”
“’M sorry,” Sam just repeated.
When he was aware of what was going on again, he was alone. His jeans were tangled around his ankles, pulled sloppily over his shoes. His shirt was wadded into the dirt to the side of the tree he was lying under. His back felt like it was on fire. He’d been pressed against the tree last he remembered.
Prone on the ground, he could take the time to catalogue his body. His hips hurt. His back hurt. His ass was a constant throbbing pain. His shoulders felt wrong and stiff. His throat hurt, had he been screaming? His knees were scratched, as were his palms and elbows. He shifted and white lightening shot through him. He fought roiling nausea and turned onto his side, even though his body protested the move.
He had to get home. He had to… he needed to take a shower and he needed a good night’s sleep. Once that was over, he knew it would be nothing more than a bad dream. He had just imagined it all.
“That salt and burn,” Dean said. “You weren’t in a fight, were you?” He looked at his brother with pleading eyes and shook his head. “Talk to me. What’d that kid do to you?”
“’M gonna throw up,” Sam forced out. He fought against Dean’s hold and ran to the bathroom. He only just made it. He buried his head in the lap of the porcelain goddess and gave base worship. The hair that fell in his eyes and his retching all hid his brother’s entrance and approach. A cold rag draped over the back of his neck and he shivered.
“Did he… Damnit Sam,” Dean said softly. His voice sounded broke, and the hand on Sam’s back trembled. “Did he rape you?”
“Don’t!” Sam sobbed, his voice broken and hoarse. “Don’t say that!”
“I’ll kill him. “I’m going to fucking kill him. And then you for not telling me,” Dean growled. He stalked away from Sam, out of the bathroom, his fists landed heavily against the door, the wall, whatever he could punch.
“Dean!” Sam rasped.
Dean was still close enough that he heard and he stuck his head back in the bathroom. His eyes were red and his cheeks were pink. He’d been crying, or fighting the urge to cry. Sam felt the disgust, the self-loathing return full force and he curled into himself on the floor.
“C’mon Sammy,” Dean said softly. He slid a hand across Sam’s shoulders and down his back. “Come lay down.”
Sam fell into the room. He sobbed as his body jarred at the impact. It hurt. Everything hurt. He was grateful nobody was home even as he hated the fact that he was alone. He wanted to fall into Dean, wanted to hide away in his brother’s warmth, but he couldn’t.
Realization hit him hard. He couldn’t tell Dean what had happened. He’d been attacked. He was too weak to protect himself. He’d been attacked and violated because he was a coward. He was too weak.
He crawled into the bathroom. He vomited onto the floor and sobbed at the way it made his ribs hurt, his stomach clenched. He needed to shower. He needed to clean himself off. It was impossible… he couldn’t stay like this.
Sam didn’t remember falling asleep. He didn’t remember moving into the bedroom or climbing under the covers. The last thing that he remembered was being in the bathroom, sobbing as his brother struggled to comfort him. He struggled, it felt like he was suffocating in the covers of the bed and tried to pull himself out of the mire.
“Easy,” the gruff voice of dad cautioned. “Easy boy, you’re okay.”
“D-dad?” Sam asked, calming at the order. His voice was wrecked. He almost couldn’t believe it was his.
“Dean called me. He needed to take care of something. He didn’t say what exactly. But he needed me to come home, said it was an emergency. Funky town.”
Sam sobbed and curled into himself. It was over. Dad would have no respect for him now. He covered his head with his hands and let himself cry behind the dark curtain of his hands.
Dad’s hand slid over Sam’s scalp slowly. He pet him slow and gentle, soothing his son in the only way he knew how. And even though Sam didn’t want to, he couldn’t stop himself from relaxing into his father’s touch. John was an absent father, but he was attentive and he really cared about his sons.
He was steadily falling back asleep when the hotel room busted open. Dean strode in, all anger and sadness. He slammed the door behind him and fell onto the edge of the bed Sam was lying on. “We’re leaving this godforsaken shithole of a town. Tonight. Tomorrow if we have to. But I ain’t staying here another day I don’t need.”
“What happened, boys?”
“Humans dad,” Dean answered. It was as general an answer as he could give without giving too much away. “It’s taken care of though.”
Sam shuddered and leaned into his dad’s touch, seeking comfort. Dean and dad would protect him. And it seemed that Dean wasn’t eager to tell his dad about how weak he was. Sam was grateful.
“Dad, we need a minute,” Dean said softly.
“I expect answers to my questions,” dad ordered. He patted Sam’s head and stood.
Dean waited until dad was out the motel room before he turned to his brother. “Sammy,” Dean said softly, calling his brother’s attention to himself. “He drugged the beer. He admitted to it. And it won’t happen again.”
Sam curled into his brother and just let himself sob. He was fifteen. He hadn’t wanted to learn about sex like that. He had wanted to discover it with somebody he’d loved. It was robbed from him. But Dean was protecting him. Even though he was weak and worthless, Dean was still protecting him. Sam sobbed as he clung to his brother. “Thank you.”
While i'd like to say that i'm sorry for making you cry, i can't do it honestly. So... i'll take it as a compliment! Thank you for reading, and i'm glad that it affected you so!
Otherwise, Dean might convince himself to look closer at what was going on. To see what he could do to make things easier for Sammy.
Sam didn’t want that. He wanted to be treated like normal, even if he didn’t want to act like normal himself. He struggled with keeping himself under control. He couldn’t let himself slip. If anything he would consider this another training exercise. He would learn to endure.
He didn’t say anything when he was tripped in the hallways. When his food trays ended up clattering to the floor, food he wasn’t going to eat anyway wasted on the cold and dirty tiles of the ancient cafeteria. He refused to let himself be bullied, to be intimidated by the meaningless children he was protecting.
He shuddered when touches found him, when teachers called on him and he had the answer, but he refused to give it. He didn’t talk in school. Away from Dean, away from his commanding father, he was a mute teen. It didn’t help that he was the new student. That at the party, he’d…
No. No, he would not think about that. He would not let himself think about what happened, and he refused to acknowledge the truth.
He focused on the collecting the things he needed for homework that evening. Ignored the looming presence of the football team behind him. The team was idolized throughout the school. They were division champions, the team were gods among the students.
Sam laughed at the joke Jordan had made. He threw the beer he’d been given back and grimaced at the taste. The bottle was starting to warm up, the beer was starting to get yeasty. Sam needed a new one.
“’Scuse me,” he murmured. He waved away from Jordan and moved toward the chaotic kitchen seeking another beer.
“Let me,” Jordan called. He wrapped a large hand around Sam’s biceps and pulled him back. “I’ll get you another beer,” he said with a quirked smile.
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He curled his arms around the books against his chest, leaned heavily against the passenger side door and waited. The sun wasn’t even out for him to pretend like it was a nice day. It was cool, a constant breeze blew and he fought the urge to shiver. The sun couldn’t make it out of the clouds, but the grey light was enough. More than what he deserved. He was so dirty.
He jumped and his books fell from his hands when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “Hey there, pretty boy,” Jordan grinned. Pretty boy, I’m gonna ride you so hard. Sam jumped back, left his books lying on the concrete as he tried to escape without making it obvious. “You miss me?”
“P-please,” Sam begged in a quiet whisper. “L-Leave me alone.”
“Sammy?” Dean’s voice called. It broke the momentary spell he’d been under and he jumped to look at his brother. Dean was at the driver’s side door, his green eyes were narrowed angrily at Jordan and Sam looked between them both, refused to acknowledge the cold sweat on his forehead, the shivers that coursed through him at the thought of Jordan.
“Get in the car,” Dean’s voice was the soft and dangerous voice of command that was impossible to ignore. Sam obeyed. He watched Jordan as he crossed the lot while he knelt to pick up his text books. He climbed into the car and sat silent as he waited for Dean to take them to the motel they were calling home.
“We’re going to talk about that,” Dean promised.
Sam looked out the window and waited for the explosion that he was sure would happen.
Jordan handed him the beer, the lid already popped off, and Sam smiled gratefully and took a swig of the cool alcohol. He smiled at the quarterback, unused to the attention he was getting. Dean was the one who attracted partners. Sam was the nerdy and naïve one. He wasn’t used to thinking of himself as attractive. Especially when compared to Jordan. And it was probably that Jordan just wanted a cheap, quick hook-up, but Sam was kind of okay with that.
“Thanks,” Sam smiled. He watched Jordan closely as he moved closer to Sam. A hot hand slid across his lower back, caressed the curve of his back above his ass. He shuddered at the touch and he leaned into Jordan curiously.
“I want you,” Jordan whispered into Sam’s ear. His voice was soft and enticing and Sam wanted to give into it. But he didn’t want to blindly give in. He needed more than just the random hook-ups that Dean seemed to live on.
“Do you even know my name?” he asked.
“If it’s important to you, I’ll learn it. If not, then it doesn’t matter.”
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“It’s nothing,” Sam muttered. He shook his head and sat his stuff on the bed. He would do his homework later, after he’d taken a shower. “I’m taking a shower.”
“No.” Dean strode across the room in six giant steps before Sam could react. “I’m not okay with what I saw today. And I’m not going to let you pretend nothing’s wrong. It’s been six weeks, Sam. Six fucking weeks and I haven’t said a damned thing waiting for you to bring it up. Waiting for you to step up to me and tell me you were hurting. But you haven’t. And now I have to force the issue.”
“Don’t,” Sam begged. “Please, please don’t do this.”
Dean stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Sam’s trembling body. “Sammy, you have to tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s nothing. Let me go!” he demanded, pushing against Dean. But six weeks of depriving himself of precious nutrition, of sleep meant that he was weaker than normal. It was no wonder Jordan had gotten the jump on him. He shivered at the thought. “Let me… It doesn’t matter!”
“It matters. You either talk to me, you talk to dad, or I talk to that kid in the parking lot,” Dean threatened. He released Sam and watched him pace the length of the bed.
“C-can… Later? Okay? I need… I need a shower. Please Dean, let me go take a shower.”
“No. We’re going running. You keep up.”
“Thought we were sparring,” Sam said softly.
“No. Not until you talk to me. We’re running instead.”
Sam nodded and grabbed a change of clothes from his duffel. He pulled the sweatshirt he normally wore for running out and moved toward the bathroom.
“You can change out here,” Dean said softly. “It’s not like I haven’t seen your chest before.”
“No. I’ll change in the bathroom,” Sam countered.
“Damnit Sam. When did you become such a freak?”
“I’m not… I’m not a freak.”
Jordan had him pressed against the rough trunk of a tree. His shirts had been lost somewhere along the way. He didn’t know where they had gone, didn’t know what had happened here, he didn’t want to be pressed against this tree with Jordan moving against him.
He was hot, feverish almost. His body was on fire. Jordan felt good against him, but he felt wrong too. He pushed weakly against Jordan’s still covered chest. He tossed his head side to side and fought the urge to vomit as Jordan’s hands slid into his jeans.
He’d been curious and he’d been flirty with Jordan. This was what happened when he did that. He would do well to remember that in the future. He was hard in his boxers. He was terrified, but he wanted it. It confused him and he resumed struggled he didn’t remember stopping.
“J’rd’n?” he slurred heavily.
“God, what’re you? A freak? How’re you still conscious?” Jordan asked as he thrust his hips against Sam’s again.
His head was pulled forward by a fistful of long strands and then forced back into the trunk of the tree. “D’n!” he begged.
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“Sammy,” Dean growled. Sam clenched his eyes shut when he heard his brother hit his knees beside him. Strong arms wrapped around him and Dean’s voice was a soft litany of soothing noises. His hands moved in a careful, steady rhythm. “I’ve gotcha. You’re alright.”
“’M sorry,” Sam just repeated.
When he was aware of what was going on again, he was alone. His jeans were tangled around his ankles, pulled sloppily over his shoes. His shirt was wadded into the dirt to the side of the tree he was lying under. His back felt like it was on fire. He’d been pressed against the tree last he remembered.
Prone on the ground, he could take the time to catalogue his body. His hips hurt. His back hurt. His ass was a constant throbbing pain. His shoulders felt wrong and stiff. His throat hurt, had he been screaming? His knees were scratched, as were his palms and elbows. He shifted and white lightening shot through him. He fought roiling nausea and turned onto his side, even though his body protested the move.
He had to get home. He had to… he needed to take a shower and he needed a good night’s sleep. Once that was over, he knew it would be nothing more than a bad dream. He had just imagined it all.
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“’M gonna throw up,” Sam forced out. He fought against Dean’s hold and ran to the bathroom. He only just made it. He buried his head in the lap of the porcelain goddess and gave base worship. The hair that fell in his eyes and his retching all hid his brother’s entrance and approach. A cold rag draped over the back of his neck and he shivered.
“Did he… Damnit Sam,” Dean said softly. His voice sounded broke, and the hand on Sam’s back trembled. “Did he rape you?”
“Don’t!” Sam sobbed, his voice broken and hoarse. “Don’t say that!”
“I’ll kill him. “I’m going to fucking kill him. And then you for not telling me,” Dean growled. He stalked away from Sam, out of the bathroom, his fists landed heavily against the door, the wall, whatever he could punch.
“Dean!” Sam rasped.
Dean was still close enough that he heard and he stuck his head back in the bathroom. His eyes were red and his cheeks were pink. He’d been crying, or fighting the urge to cry. Sam felt the disgust, the self-loathing return full force and he curled into himself on the floor.
“C’mon Sammy,” Dean said softly. He slid a hand across Sam’s shoulders and down his back. “Come lay down.”
Sam fell into the room. He sobbed as his body jarred at the impact. It hurt. Everything hurt. He was grateful nobody was home even as he hated the fact that he was alone. He wanted to fall into Dean, wanted to hide away in his brother’s warmth, but he couldn’t.
Realization hit him hard. He couldn’t tell Dean what had happened. He’d been attacked. He was too weak to protect himself. He’d been attacked and violated because he was a coward. He was too weak.
He crawled into the bathroom. He vomited onto the floor and sobbed at the way it made his ribs hurt, his stomach clenched. He needed to shower. He needed to clean himself off. It was impossible… he couldn’t stay like this.
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“Easy,” the gruff voice of dad cautioned. “Easy boy, you’re okay.”
“D-dad?” Sam asked, calming at the order. His voice was wrecked. He almost couldn’t believe it was his.
“Dean called me. He needed to take care of something. He didn’t say what exactly. But he needed me to come home, said it was an emergency. Funky town.”
Sam sobbed and curled into himself. It was over. Dad would have no respect for him now. He covered his head with his hands and let himself cry behind the dark curtain of his hands.
Dad’s hand slid over Sam’s scalp slowly. He pet him slow and gentle, soothing his son in the only way he knew how. And even though Sam didn’t want to, he couldn’t stop himself from relaxing into his father’s touch. John was an absent father, but he was attentive and he really cared about his sons.
He was steadily falling back asleep when the hotel room busted open. Dean strode in, all anger and sadness. He slammed the door behind him and fell onto the edge of the bed Sam was lying on. “We’re leaving this godforsaken shithole of a town. Tonight. Tomorrow if we have to. But I ain’t staying here another day I don’t need.”
“What happened, boys?”
“Humans dad,” Dean answered. It was as general an answer as he could give without giving too much away. “It’s taken care of though.”
Sam shuddered and leaned into his dad’s touch, seeking comfort. Dean and dad would protect him. And it seemed that Dean wasn’t eager to tell his dad about how weak he was. Sam was grateful.
“Dad, we need a minute,” Dean said softly.
“I expect answers to my questions,” dad ordered. He patted Sam’s head and stood.
Dean waited until dad was out the motel room before he turned to his brother. “Sammy,” Dean said softly, calling his brother’s attention to himself. “He drugged the beer. He admitted to it. And it won’t happen again.”
Sam curled into his brother and just let himself sob. He was fifteen. He hadn’t wanted to learn about sex like that. He had wanted to discover it with somebody he’d loved. It was robbed from him. But Dean was protecting him. Even though he was weak and worthless, Dean was still protecting him. Sam sobbed as he clung to his brother. “Thank you.”
The End
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