Sins of the Past, Supernatural, Keeper!Verse, R
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Sins of the Past
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean, Dana
Word Count: 4965
Rating: R, for remembered torture, rape (not graphic)
Summary: Set following Christmas is Coming, Sam is having vivid memories of the punishment that scarred him, and he lashes out at Dean and John before succombing to them.
A/Ns & Warnings: This includes some pretty dark stuff, including memories of a very violent, underage rape. It isn't graphic. This thing was supposed to be a little "adjustment period" fic...with Sam picking a fight with John...and it kinda...grew. Sorry 'bout that.
Some nights it was the physical pain that was the worst. He’d wake and have to bite down on his pillow to keep from yelling out. He’d extricate himself from Dean and pull himself out of bed and try to get behind the bathroom door before he hissed or cried or threw up.
The glamour that hid his physical deformities to the world at large no longer hid the pain, no longer masked the dark past that Sam Winchester had spent most of the last five years trying to bury. He’d never tell Dean. He never let it show. Most of the time it was manageable…but sometimes…Sam blinked in the harsh glow of the bathroom light and stared at his shoulder.
It was maybe the worst of it. The deep puncture wound that had nearly taken his arm off, a Harrier’s claw deep in the joint, holding him still, keeping him positioned as the demon used his body.
Sam took a deep, stuttering breath and tried to escape the memory. He was shaking, sweating, and his right side sang out a litany of injury. He could feel the violation, the terror…it wasn’t his first time…it wasn’t the last…but he remembered every moment, every drop of blood…the feeling of come so hot it seared closed the bleeding tears inside him…the cold of the marble floor as he was dropped to it, naked and convulsing…Sam dropped to his knees and retched into the toilet.
Vaguely he heard Dana crying and thought he should go to her before she woke Dean, but he couldn’t move and then he heard Dean’s voice, deep with sleep and rumbly as he cajoled her, trying to figure the source of her pain.
It was a jolt to his already twitching stomach when Sam realized it was him. Clumsily, he shut her out, closed off the nearly constant connection and smiled wanly as the crying stopped abruptly. Then he was throwing up again, holding the edges of the toilet and shivering.
He was only half aware of the door opening behind him and that rumbling voice was speaking his name, a warm hand on his back. Sam nodded and pulled back, rubbing the back of one hand over his mouth. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you both.” Sam said, his throat sore and scratchy from the vomiting.
“Are you okay?”
Sam nodded, flushed and shakily got to his feet. “I’m fine…I just…” He closed his eyes wearily. He didn’t even know how to tell his brother about phantom pain that was so real it was like being there all over again. So he settled for a simpler explanation. “Nightmare.”
He knew the pain showed on his face, knew that Dean was beginning to wake up enough to realize that Sam was no where near okay. He tried to ease the grimace into a smile, and brushed past Dean to brush his teeth. “Is Dana okay?”
“She’s fine, Sam. I’m worried about you though.”
“I’m fine, Dean. Go back to sleep,” he said around a mouthful of toothpaste.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
Sam shook his head. “Not important.” Sam spit out the toothpaste and dried his face on the hand towel. “Go back to bed.”
“What about you?” Dean pouted. It was enough to make Sam melt.
“Yeah…okay.” He let Dean lead him back to bed, let him hold him, his warm hand laid across that shoulder as if he somehow knew. He wouldn’t sleep, but there was some comfort in laying there beside Dean…as long as he kept his mind on the way Dean’s leg slid between his…the slow, deep breathing as Dean reclaimed his sleep…as long as he didn’t acknowledge the agony or its cause…Sam could find comfort in this…whatever this had become.
Sam finally drifted off toward sleep as dawn crept in. He didn’t stay asleep long, chased out with images of Harriers and lesser demons chasing him up and out of bed. Dean was gone, and the sound of the shower told Sam where he had gone.
He pushed sweaty hair out of his eyes and reached for the nightstand and the leather band that would settle the illusion of perfect skin over the scars and ruined flesh. The pain had receded to some degree, almost back to the normal level that he lived with day to day. Sam snapped the leather on, closing his eyes as the odd feeling of the magic settled over him.
He looked up when Dean came in, wrapped in a towel and glistening damp. “Hey.” Dean said, sounding surprised.
Sam nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was going to be one of those days. “You okay?” Dean asked.
Sam sighed explosively. “Could you stop asking that? I’m fine.”
Dean held up his hands defensively and headed for the dresser. “Sorry. You don’t look fine.”
“Why are you up so early anyway?” Sam asked. Dean was seldom up before 10 unless he had somewhere to be.
“You really want me to answer that?”
Sam looked over his shoulder at him. “What?”
“You, dude…you were tossing and turning. I couldn’t sleep next to that, so I got up and showered, figured I’d take a crack at finding us a job.”
“Maybe I should just sleep in my room then.” Sam grumbled, getting up and stalking away. He couldn’t place why he was so angry, but when Dean’s hand grabbed his on his way through the door, he yanked it free. “Leave me alone,” he growled and Dean let him go.
Dana started to make noise to let them know she was awake and Dean shook his head at Sam before Dean disappeared into the nursery. He could hear Dean talking to her and could feel Dana’s response, but even that didn’t make him feel better. He closed the door to the bedroom he never used and paced the small space between the door and the bed.
He felt…caged. Confined. He had given up so much, had lost so much. Not that he didn’t want what he’d gotten in return. Not at all. It was just…hard. So much harder than he had anticipated…he shook his head and collapsed onto the bed, shaking his head…because he hadn’t anticipated.
Once upon a time in his life, he’d known what he was doing, where he was going. Ever since he met Dean Winchester, that had gone straight to hell. He chuckled at that. After all…hell is likely where he belonged.
Sam closed his eyes and instead of that night…that first night of the three when he was 16…when the most of the horrible scars had been marked into his body…he tried to hold an image of Dean in his head. Dean and Dana. He let the connection open a little, let the feeling that came with having Dana in his head push the terror away. For a while it worked, and he fell into a restless sleep.
There was a shift sometime later…Dana was gone…and the restless sleep shifted into restless dreams of cold marble floors and blood, of Latin incantations and air thick with the smell of sulfur and the fury spilling out of the fear that was nearly a living thing inside him.
He woke with a start. Dean must have taken Dana somewhere. Sam rose and pulled on clothes…though showering first would have been a better plan…he couldn’t bring himself to expend the energy just now. He wanted coffee and something to move him past this mood.
He shuffled out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, starting as he found John sitting there. “Hey.”
“Morning.”
“What are you doing here?”
John sipped at a cup of coffee and looked up from the book he was reading. “Waiting for you.”
Sam poured himself a cup of coffee and sat on the opposite side of the table. “Me?”
John nodded. “I thought maybe you’d like to take a little trip.”
Sam frowned. “Where?”
“A hunt, south of here. Something light, a routine haunting.”
Sam snorted and shook his head. “There’s no such thing. Hauntings are…anomalies. Not part of the major plan.”
John smiled and nodded. “So you’ve been saying in our little lessons, Sam. I just think its time for you to see one up close.”
Somehow that only irritated Sam more. “I’ve seen hauntings before,” he said irritably. “More than once.”
John smiled and Sam glowered at him. “What?”
“Nothing. You looked like your mother just then.”
Sam growled and stood, pushing away from the table.
“What is your problem?” John asked. “Dean said you were in a foul mood.”
Sam threw his coffee cup into the sink, shattering it.
“Why does there have to be a problem? Why is everyone always asking me what my problem is or if I’m okay?” He pulled his hands through his hair and turned his back to his father. “This is who I am, Dad.”
John stood, stepping closer. Sam could feel him and stiffened. “This is me.”
John’s hand was on Sam’s shoulder. “No, Sam…it isn’t. I’ve seen-“
Sam yanked away and turned. The pain flared through his shoulder again and he grimaced, cursing and backing away. John’s hand reached for him again and Sam lashed out, landing a left to John’s chin. The surprise was that John hit him back, a big fist to Sam’s jaw, sending him stumbling backwards. Sam’s hand went to his jaw as he stared back at his father.
“Do you feel better now?” John asked. “Or should we punch each other a little more?”
Sam stared at him, but didn’t say anything. John sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re hurting, I can see that. Dean can see that. Hell, Sam, Dana can.” He paced away. “I know you don’t trust me. But I want to help. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s causing you pain.”
The shoulder pain was worse again and Sam couldn’t keep himself from grabbing it with his left hand. He sank into the nearest chair and bit into his lip until he could taste blood. “Why?” he asked as the pain started to subside. “Why would you want to help me?” His stomach rolled as emotion washed through him. “I’m…I’m a worthless piece of shit…I can’t be…” He swallowed and pressed his fingers against his shoulder.
“Is it physical?” John asked. “Are you hurt?”
Sam nodded, averting his eyes.
“Can I see it?” John’s voice was soft, deep and filled with concern, but Sam stiffened.
He hadn’t let anyone but Dean see him without the glamour since his return…and he remembered all to well his father’s first reaction to the damage. “I don’t…there’s nothing you can do.” Sam finally replied, dropping his hand.
“Do you know that because a demon told you?” John asked as gently as he could and Sam closed his eyes.
Everything he knew about himself before meeting Dean was a lie. Why wouldn’t this be too. “The wounds…they were…meant to leave a lasting impression…they…left stuff behind…inside…”
John was right beside him now, his hand hovering over the shoulder. “Let me see.”
Sam hesitated, his left hand on his right wrist. With a deep breath, he snapped the leather band off and John’s hand pulled away as the glamour faded. “Where?”
Sam’s fingers found the place where the claws had dug deep, leaving behind a crater in his shoulder. John nodded and slid his fingers over the tight flesh. “It’s hot…you say they left something inside?”
Sam nodded. The pain was easing again. “It…flares up…it’s been getting worse since…the last glamour was taken away.” The one that had protected him from the pain as well as the frightened stares of children. “It’s better now.” He started to move to put the band back on.
“Wait.” John said. “I’d like to really look. Maybe there’s something we can do.”
Sam smiled weakly and snapped the leather around his wrist. “Maybe. But not today.” He swallowed and blew out a breath.
“There’s more.” John didn’t ask, just crossed his arms and waited.
Sam sighed and covered his face. “I don’t want to do this. Not now, not with you.”
Because it wasn’t just the pain. It was bad enough that John knew where the scars came from…the sordid history of his life as a fuck toy for demons…but to relive it now, in the pathetic little kitchen of some apartment in Kansas…with John…with his father…Sam shook his head. “I…just don’t think I can.”
“Okay.” John said after a long silence. He moved away a little stiffly, picking up his coffee cup and putting it in the sink. “So…what about that hunt? You up for it?”
Sam just stared at him for a minute, then nodded. “Yeah…sounds good.”
“Get a bag together. We’ll be gone a few days.”
Sam left the room, letting the emotion drain away a little. Maybe time away would be good for him…stretch his legs, get some motion back into his life. He hadn’t left the small city since he’d come back just before Thanksgiving…hadn’t gotten a job. He spent time with John working through the books he’d brought with him, and he watched Dana when John and Dean went hunting. He spent time with Dean. It was downright fucking domestic.
And maybe that’s what had him so restless. He packed some clothes into a bag, tossing in the gun he kept under his pillow and hesitated at the door to his room. The pain lanced through his shoulder and he dropped his bag, dropped to his knees and couldn’t stop the moan that slipped past his lips.
Gonna give you something to remind you, boy. Gonna remind you who is in control here…and I’ll give you a hint…it ain’t you.
Sam screamed as it happened again, just as real and vivid as that night at 16. The door closed and in the dark claws dug into him, his ass ripped open and his body was pounded against the cold marble floor.
He batted at the hands turning him over, yelling in words he knew didn’t make sense and came up with the gun.
“Sam. Put the gun down Son.”
Sam blinked and shook his head, trying to fight his way free of the memory. “No. I’m…I’m in control.” He stammered.
“Sure…you’re in control Sam. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Fuck!” Sam pulled a hand across his eyes and shook his head again. He could feel blood dripping from his arm, from his ass…and yet there wasn’t any there. “Always in control.”
The sound of the door made Sam jump. “Dad? Sam?”
“Keep Dana out there Dean.” John called over his shoulder. “Sam, put the gun down. You don’t want to hurt anyone.” He stepped closer and Sam’s arm shook.
“Stay…back…I’m not gonna let you hurt me…never again.”
“Sam?”
Dean came up behind John and Sam’s confusion deepened. “Don’t…need to…No…no…not…no more…” Sam’s right side was on fire and the dark was deepening, all but Dean’s face and John’s voice…that voice…the demon’s voice…He squeezed his eyes shut and backed up until he felt the wall behind him.
“Dad, go check on Dana. Let me handle this.”
“Dean-“
“Dad…just let me handle it.”
There was movement, and Sam dared to open his eyes. “Dean?”
“Right here, Sam.” Dean reached out a hand to touch Sam’s hand, but pulled it away instantly. “Jesus Sam, you’re burning up.”
“I’m in control.” Sam said again, the gun lowering. Dean nodded and moved a little closer.
“Always Sammy. Always. You’re free. You decide, you’re in charge.” Dean whispered as he got closer, as he slid a hand up to touch Sam’s face. He was slick with sweat, hot to the touch. “Sammy…can I help you? Will you let me?”
Sam’s eyes opened and for a minute he didn’t really see Dean…then the pain eased again and he sagged forward. “Dean? Really you?”
Dean smiled softly, “Yeah, Sammy…it’s me.”
“I don’t feel so good.”
“You don’t look so good.” Dean wiped the sweat from his face. “Want to give me the gun now?”
Sam looked at the weapon in his hand like he’d never seen it before. “Did I…hurt…did I hurt anyone?”
Dean shook his head and kissed him lightly on his lips as he took it from him. “No. No one’s hurt. But I think you’re sick. I think we need to get you to a doctor.”
Panic flared inside him and Sam pulled away. “No…no doctor…no doctor.”
“Okay, okay…easy. How about bed? Can I take you to bed?”
Sam nodded slowly and Dean led him into the bedroom Sam seldom used, guiding him onto the mattress and encouraging him to lay down. “I’m going to get you some water and some Tylenol. Is there anything else you need?”
Sam shook his head.
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
Dean emerged into the living room shaking his head. “Damn. He’s really messed up. He needs a doctor. He’s burning up.”
He went to the kitchen and got the promised glass of water. “What happened?”
John stopped leaning over the playpen and stood. “I don’t know. His scars were hurting him. They were hot, but he wasn’t feverish. Then he went to pack to go on this hunt. Next thing I know, I’m hearing him hit the ground.”
“He won’t let me take him to a doctor. We need to do something. I’m going to take him this and some aspirin. I’ll be right back.”
Sam was nearly asleep when Dean came back into the room. He sat him up enough to take the pills and drink down some water. “How’s that?”
Sam looked scared, his face pale and drawn. “I’m sorry, Dean.”
Dean smiled. “Don’t be. We’re going to take care of you.”
“Don’t…please don’t let him come back.”
“Who, Sam?”
Sam’s eyes fluttered, then caught on Dean’s his eyes bright and wide. “Dean! My god…Dean…it was him…it was…John….I mean, it wasn’t’…but it was. It…sounded like him…”
Dean shushed him and ran his hand over his face, trying to keep him from getting too worked up again. Sam grabbed his hand, held it to his chest. “Dean…the Harrier…the one who…the big one…he…he used your…our father’s voice. That’s…that’s why he…I’m…fuck…Dean. I can’t see him…I can’t.”
“Okay, it’s okay Sam. He’s in the living room with Dana. He’s not coming in here. No one’s coming unless you want them to, okay?” Dean sighed in frustration and concern, scratching at his head. “If you won’t let me take you to a doctor, can I get Missouri over here? Maybe she can…sense something.”
Sam look like he was going to refuse and Dean pulled their hands to his lips. “Please baby…you’re really scaring me here.”
Sam nodded and Dean kissed his forehead. “Okay. Get some rest. I’ll be back soon.”
Dean closed the door and sighed explosively. “Well?” John asked before he even got into the living room.
“He’s resting. I’m going to call Missouri, have her come…read him I guess.”
John crossed his arms and waited. Dean shook his head. “You…shouldn’t go in for a while.”
“Why?”
“He’s been reliving the attack that gave him the scars.” They stared at each other, knowledge of what the attack really was passing unspoken in the air between them. “He…said that the…that one of them…mimicked you….sounded like you.”
“Christ!” John ran a hand through his hair. “That’s why he reacted like that. I was only trying to help him…he must have thought…”
Dean watched as his father shook at the thought of what Sam might have thought…at the thought that Sam would think John was there to rape him.
“I’m going to call Missouri. Maybe you…maybe you should take Dana to your place.”
For a minute Dean thought he might argue, then John nodded stiffly. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. You call me though.” Dean nodded and watched him pick Dana up and bring her to Dean for a quick goodbye. “You be good for Bopa.”
“SamSam.”
“Uncle Sammy’s sleeping. You go with Bopa and me and Uncle Sammy will pick you up later.”
“Dad. SamSam. Ow.”
Dean nodded. “Yes, baby, Uncle Sam is ow. We’re going to make him all better.”
“A’better.” She reached for Dean, touching his right shoulder. “Ow. SamSam.”
Dean frowned at her. “Do you know where the ow is, Dana?”
She shoved her hand in her mouth and blinked big green eyes at her father. Dean shook his head. “Yeah…to much for a baby who has a ten word vocabulary, eh?” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll call Missouri.”
Sam tossed feverishly after Dana and John left and Dean paced from the front door to the bedroom door and back again. Missouri knocked, already pushing past Dean as he opened the door. “You should have called sooner.”
“I called as soon as I knew something was wrong.”
She shook her head and let herself into the room. “Oh…poor boy. He’s hurting pretty good. She set hesitantly beside him on the bed and touched his hand. His eyes opened and she smiled. “Hey Sam. How you doing?”
“Been…better.” He tried to smile, but Dean could tell he was in pain.
“Yeah, I know. Do you mind if I take a look?”
She lifted his right hand into her lap and petted it slightly, then her fingers came to rest on the wrist band. “May I take it off Sam?”
He made a face, turned away, but nodded. Dean came to sit beside him, holding his left hand while she removed the band and the glamour faded. Sam hissed, as if somehow the action had made the pain worse and she clucked. “This isn’t good.”
With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and ran her finger over his arm, up to the shoulder. She held it there for a minute, then ran her hand up to Sam’s face, drawing his eyes. “I need you help Sam. It’s deep and you’re blocking me. Can you trust me?”
“I’m in control.” Sam said through clenched teeth.
She nodded. “Of course, Your body, Sam. I’m just here to help.”
He pulled his hand from Dean’s and took her hand in it, guiding it to the shoulder. He was panting, but nodded to her and her eyes closed again. After a few long minutes, Sam’s hand fell away and Missouri opened her eyes.
“Can I talk to you?”
She left the room and Dean followed. “What is it?”
“We need to get it out of him.”
“What is it?” he repeated.
“I don’t really know, Dean. But it has to come out. If it doesn’t , he’s going to die.”
“I’m no surgeon.”
“You’re gonna have to be.” Missouri pulled him further away from the door. “Do you have drugs to sedate him? Pain meds for after?’
“I don’t know. The med kit’s in the bathroom. In the closet.”
“Go start some water to boil, I’ll get it.”
Twenty minutes later, Dean was boiling the surgical scalpel and tweezers from the med kit while Missouri decided which meds to give Sam. “This should put him under long enough.”
“What if I cut through a nerve or something? We should have a doctor do this. Not me.”
“We don’t have a doctor.”
“Dad then. Dad’s better-“
“After what you said Sam told you? I don’t think so.”
Dean shook his head. “Yeah, okay. This should be ready.” He fished the instrument out and set it on the sterile gauze Missouri had set out for him. “Let’s do this before I lose my lunch.”
Missouri went in ahead of him, and he could hear her cajoling Sam into taking the pills. When he started setting up the tools on the nightstand, Sam’s eyes were starting to haze over. “You okay, Dean?” Sam asked and Dean tried to smile.
“Yeah, Sam…I’m good. Did Missouri explain?”
“Gonna cut me. Only fair, right?”
Dean shook his head, coming to kneel by the bed. “Not payback Sam…never. Just want to make you better.”
Sam nodded, but didn’t really look like he believed his brother. “I’m going to make a little cut and pull out whatever’s causing this…okay?”
Sam made a gesture with his hand, and his eyes rolled shut. Dean blew out and gathered his wits about him. “Okay. Show me.”
Missouri took his hand and pressed his finger into the crater in Sam’s shoulder. She pressed down. “Here. It’s deep.”
Dean brought the scalpel down beside her finger and took a deep breath. Sam didn’t move was he cut, and Dean didn’t breath. Missouri took the knife as he finished and handed him the tweezers he’d sterilized. “I don’t like this,” he murmured as he started feeling around. “Wait…I think…yeah…I got something.”
Whatever it was didn’t want to come out, almost as if it was holding on. Dean gritted his teeth and pulled and slowly it gave way, coming loose with a pop. Dean held it up, angling it to the light. “Looks…like a claw…or something.” It stank like sulfur and seemed to smoke as it was exposed to the air. He handed it off into a pile of gauze Missouri held up and picked up the needle and thread. “Is that it? Is that all?”
Missouri shivered and set the gauze holding the black object aside, holding her other hand hovering over the wound. “I think so.” The claw was smoking heavily now, and Missouri dropped it into a bowl of holy water. It hissed and squealed and the water fizzed.
“We should wash it with holy water before you sew.” She got up and got the bottle he’d left on the dresser, reaching around him to pour into the wound. Sam arched off the bed, his body going rigid, his arm shaking. Dean swallowed a lump in his throat as Sam’s body slowly relaxed, his face a grimace of pain that eased into the slack emptiness of a drugged out stupor, though he was far from peaceful in his sleep.
Dean’s hands were shaking as he sewed and Sam’s fitful tossing didn’t help. Six stitches later, Dean cut the surgical thread and backed away. His hands were red and shaking and he only just made the bathroom before he started vomiting.
That…thing had been inside Sam all along…and Sam had been protected by the oath he made with the demon…the one he’d broken for Dean. “Don’t even start blaming yourself for this.” Missouri said from the door and Dean shook his head. “And don’t tell me you weren’t. Get cleaned up. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Dean did as he was told, washing his brother’s blood from his hands and splashing water on his face to pull himself together. When he thought he was ready for anything Missouri would say, he went to the kitchen where she was pouring coffee.
“Sit down and be quiet. I have something to say.”
“Missouri, now-“
“Is exactly when I’m gonna say it. Sit down Dean Winchester.”
He did, scowling at her. “Be angry, I don’t care. Just listen. That boy in there? He’s a mess. I told you before you were the center of this family. You so wrapped up in that baby you don’t realize he needs you more than she does. He’s hurting, and he needs you to know…and he needs her. You may be the center of this family, Dean…but that little girl, she’s the cement in his reality.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “This about that bond thing?”
She nodded. “It’s more too. She’s connected to him…but by more than that conduit we built between them. He’s never been loved like that before…that openly, that unconditionally. If you really want to know what changed him, you only have to watch him when their together.”
Dean stared into his coffee cup. Surprised by how much that hurt….that it wasn’t him…or that Dana clearly had a connection with Sam he would never share. Missouri’s hand closed over his. “They both love you too Dean. But Sam needs Dana…and in many ways, Dana may need him too.”
“He’s been through so much…I don’t know how to begin…he…won’t talk to me about it.”
“Don’t talk.” Missouri said. “Not with words.” She squeezed his hand and let go. “I already called your father and told him to bring that baby home. It’s time for you to start working at stitching up this family’s wounds before they get infected too.”
Dean’s head was reeling as he walked her to the door. He closed it behind her and went to stand in Sam’s bedroom doorway, watching him sleep. He still looked feverish, but wasn’t tossing as much. “Dadadadada.” He heard Dana even before his father opened the door and a few minutes later she was tugging on his leg.
“Hey baby.” He picked her up and glanced over his shoulder at his father. “He’s asleep.”
“SamSam ow.”
Dean nodded. “You want to kiss SamSam goodnight?” She nodded, her fist in her mouth. Dean carried her to the bed and sat beside Sam. She crawled out of his arms as John came to the door. Dean watched as she found a place between Sam’s arm and side, one fist stuck in her mouth, the other hand over the stitches.
“Ow. SamSam. Better.” She curled her head on the mangled curve of Sam’s bicep and closed her eyes. Sam shifted in his sleep, licking his lips and settling more deeply into sleep.
“Yeah, baby girl, I hope better.” Dean sighed. Dean got up and went back to the door, watching for a minute as Sam’s left hand drifted over to settle protectively over Dana. Dean smiled as Dana’s right hand similarly settled onto his big one, almost a mimicking gesture, and he had to wonder just which one of them was protecting the other as he turned off the light.
Title: Sins of the Past
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean, Dana
Word Count: 4965
Rating: R, for remembered torture, rape (not graphic)
Summary: Set following Christmas is Coming, Sam is having vivid memories of the punishment that scarred him, and he lashes out at Dean and John before succombing to them.
A/Ns & Warnings: This includes some pretty dark stuff, including memories of a very violent, underage rape. It isn't graphic. This thing was supposed to be a little "adjustment period" fic...with Sam picking a fight with John...and it kinda...grew. Sorry 'bout that.
Some nights it was the physical pain that was the worst. He’d wake and have to bite down on his pillow to keep from yelling out. He’d extricate himself from Dean and pull himself out of bed and try to get behind the bathroom door before he hissed or cried or threw up.
The glamour that hid his physical deformities to the world at large no longer hid the pain, no longer masked the dark past that Sam Winchester had spent most of the last five years trying to bury. He’d never tell Dean. He never let it show. Most of the time it was manageable…but sometimes…Sam blinked in the harsh glow of the bathroom light and stared at his shoulder.
It was maybe the worst of it. The deep puncture wound that had nearly taken his arm off, a Harrier’s claw deep in the joint, holding him still, keeping him positioned as the demon used his body.
Sam took a deep, stuttering breath and tried to escape the memory. He was shaking, sweating, and his right side sang out a litany of injury. He could feel the violation, the terror…it wasn’t his first time…it wasn’t the last…but he remembered every moment, every drop of blood…the feeling of come so hot it seared closed the bleeding tears inside him…the cold of the marble floor as he was dropped to it, naked and convulsing…Sam dropped to his knees and retched into the toilet.
Vaguely he heard Dana crying and thought he should go to her before she woke Dean, but he couldn’t move and then he heard Dean’s voice, deep with sleep and rumbly as he cajoled her, trying to figure the source of her pain.
It was a jolt to his already twitching stomach when Sam realized it was him. Clumsily, he shut her out, closed off the nearly constant connection and smiled wanly as the crying stopped abruptly. Then he was throwing up again, holding the edges of the toilet and shivering.
He was only half aware of the door opening behind him and that rumbling voice was speaking his name, a warm hand on his back. Sam nodded and pulled back, rubbing the back of one hand over his mouth. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you both.” Sam said, his throat sore and scratchy from the vomiting.
“Are you okay?”
Sam nodded, flushed and shakily got to his feet. “I’m fine…I just…” He closed his eyes wearily. He didn’t even know how to tell his brother about phantom pain that was so real it was like being there all over again. So he settled for a simpler explanation. “Nightmare.”
He knew the pain showed on his face, knew that Dean was beginning to wake up enough to realize that Sam was no where near okay. He tried to ease the grimace into a smile, and brushed past Dean to brush his teeth. “Is Dana okay?”
“She’s fine, Sam. I’m worried about you though.”
“I’m fine, Dean. Go back to sleep,” he said around a mouthful of toothpaste.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
Sam shook his head. “Not important.” Sam spit out the toothpaste and dried his face on the hand towel. “Go back to bed.”
“What about you?” Dean pouted. It was enough to make Sam melt.
“Yeah…okay.” He let Dean lead him back to bed, let him hold him, his warm hand laid across that shoulder as if he somehow knew. He wouldn’t sleep, but there was some comfort in laying there beside Dean…as long as he kept his mind on the way Dean’s leg slid between his…the slow, deep breathing as Dean reclaimed his sleep…as long as he didn’t acknowledge the agony or its cause…Sam could find comfort in this…whatever this had become.
Sam finally drifted off toward sleep as dawn crept in. He didn’t stay asleep long, chased out with images of Harriers and lesser demons chasing him up and out of bed. Dean was gone, and the sound of the shower told Sam where he had gone.
He pushed sweaty hair out of his eyes and reached for the nightstand and the leather band that would settle the illusion of perfect skin over the scars and ruined flesh. The pain had receded to some degree, almost back to the normal level that he lived with day to day. Sam snapped the leather on, closing his eyes as the odd feeling of the magic settled over him.
He looked up when Dean came in, wrapped in a towel and glistening damp. “Hey.” Dean said, sounding surprised.
Sam nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was going to be one of those days. “You okay?” Dean asked.
Sam sighed explosively. “Could you stop asking that? I’m fine.”
Dean held up his hands defensively and headed for the dresser. “Sorry. You don’t look fine.”
“Why are you up so early anyway?” Sam asked. Dean was seldom up before 10 unless he had somewhere to be.
“You really want me to answer that?”
Sam looked over his shoulder at him. “What?”
“You, dude…you were tossing and turning. I couldn’t sleep next to that, so I got up and showered, figured I’d take a crack at finding us a job.”
“Maybe I should just sleep in my room then.” Sam grumbled, getting up and stalking away. He couldn’t place why he was so angry, but when Dean’s hand grabbed his on his way through the door, he yanked it free. “Leave me alone,” he growled and Dean let him go.
Dana started to make noise to let them know she was awake and Dean shook his head at Sam before Dean disappeared into the nursery. He could hear Dean talking to her and could feel Dana’s response, but even that didn’t make him feel better. He closed the door to the bedroom he never used and paced the small space between the door and the bed.
He felt…caged. Confined. He had given up so much, had lost so much. Not that he didn’t want what he’d gotten in return. Not at all. It was just…hard. So much harder than he had anticipated…he shook his head and collapsed onto the bed, shaking his head…because he hadn’t anticipated.
Once upon a time in his life, he’d known what he was doing, where he was going. Ever since he met Dean Winchester, that had gone straight to hell. He chuckled at that. After all…hell is likely where he belonged.
Sam closed his eyes and instead of that night…that first night of the three when he was 16…when the most of the horrible scars had been marked into his body…he tried to hold an image of Dean in his head. Dean and Dana. He let the connection open a little, let the feeling that came with having Dana in his head push the terror away. For a while it worked, and he fell into a restless sleep.
There was a shift sometime later…Dana was gone…and the restless sleep shifted into restless dreams of cold marble floors and blood, of Latin incantations and air thick with the smell of sulfur and the fury spilling out of the fear that was nearly a living thing inside him.
He woke with a start. Dean must have taken Dana somewhere. Sam rose and pulled on clothes…though showering first would have been a better plan…he couldn’t bring himself to expend the energy just now. He wanted coffee and something to move him past this mood.
He shuffled out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, starting as he found John sitting there. “Hey.”
“Morning.”
“What are you doing here?”
John sipped at a cup of coffee and looked up from the book he was reading. “Waiting for you.”
Sam poured himself a cup of coffee and sat on the opposite side of the table. “Me?”
John nodded. “I thought maybe you’d like to take a little trip.”
Sam frowned. “Where?”
“A hunt, south of here. Something light, a routine haunting.”
Sam snorted and shook his head. “There’s no such thing. Hauntings are…anomalies. Not part of the major plan.”
John smiled and nodded. “So you’ve been saying in our little lessons, Sam. I just think its time for you to see one up close.”
Somehow that only irritated Sam more. “I’ve seen hauntings before,” he said irritably. “More than once.”
John smiled and Sam glowered at him. “What?”
“Nothing. You looked like your mother just then.”
Sam growled and stood, pushing away from the table.
“What is your problem?” John asked. “Dean said you were in a foul mood.”
Sam threw his coffee cup into the sink, shattering it.
“Why does there have to be a problem? Why is everyone always asking me what my problem is or if I’m okay?” He pulled his hands through his hair and turned his back to his father. “This is who I am, Dad.”
John stood, stepping closer. Sam could feel him and stiffened. “This is me.”
John’s hand was on Sam’s shoulder. “No, Sam…it isn’t. I’ve seen-“
Sam yanked away and turned. The pain flared through his shoulder again and he grimaced, cursing and backing away. John’s hand reached for him again and Sam lashed out, landing a left to John’s chin. The surprise was that John hit him back, a big fist to Sam’s jaw, sending him stumbling backwards. Sam’s hand went to his jaw as he stared back at his father.
“Do you feel better now?” John asked. “Or should we punch each other a little more?”
Sam stared at him, but didn’t say anything. John sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re hurting, I can see that. Dean can see that. Hell, Sam, Dana can.” He paced away. “I know you don’t trust me. But I want to help. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s causing you pain.”
The shoulder pain was worse again and Sam couldn’t keep himself from grabbing it with his left hand. He sank into the nearest chair and bit into his lip until he could taste blood. “Why?” he asked as the pain started to subside. “Why would you want to help me?” His stomach rolled as emotion washed through him. “I’m…I’m a worthless piece of shit…I can’t be…” He swallowed and pressed his fingers against his shoulder.
“Is it physical?” John asked. “Are you hurt?”
Sam nodded, averting his eyes.
“Can I see it?” John’s voice was soft, deep and filled with concern, but Sam stiffened.
He hadn’t let anyone but Dean see him without the glamour since his return…and he remembered all to well his father’s first reaction to the damage. “I don’t…there’s nothing you can do.” Sam finally replied, dropping his hand.
“Do you know that because a demon told you?” John asked as gently as he could and Sam closed his eyes.
Everything he knew about himself before meeting Dean was a lie. Why wouldn’t this be too. “The wounds…they were…meant to leave a lasting impression…they…left stuff behind…inside…”
John was right beside him now, his hand hovering over the shoulder. “Let me see.”
Sam hesitated, his left hand on his right wrist. With a deep breath, he snapped the leather band off and John’s hand pulled away as the glamour faded. “Where?”
Sam’s fingers found the place where the claws had dug deep, leaving behind a crater in his shoulder. John nodded and slid his fingers over the tight flesh. “It’s hot…you say they left something inside?”
Sam nodded. The pain was easing again. “It…flares up…it’s been getting worse since…the last glamour was taken away.” The one that had protected him from the pain as well as the frightened stares of children. “It’s better now.” He started to move to put the band back on.
“Wait.” John said. “I’d like to really look. Maybe there’s something we can do.”
Sam smiled weakly and snapped the leather around his wrist. “Maybe. But not today.” He swallowed and blew out a breath.
“There’s more.” John didn’t ask, just crossed his arms and waited.
Sam sighed and covered his face. “I don’t want to do this. Not now, not with you.”
Because it wasn’t just the pain. It was bad enough that John knew where the scars came from…the sordid history of his life as a fuck toy for demons…but to relive it now, in the pathetic little kitchen of some apartment in Kansas…with John…with his father…Sam shook his head. “I…just don’t think I can.”
“Okay.” John said after a long silence. He moved away a little stiffly, picking up his coffee cup and putting it in the sink. “So…what about that hunt? You up for it?”
Sam just stared at him for a minute, then nodded. “Yeah…sounds good.”
“Get a bag together. We’ll be gone a few days.”
Sam left the room, letting the emotion drain away a little. Maybe time away would be good for him…stretch his legs, get some motion back into his life. He hadn’t left the small city since he’d come back just before Thanksgiving…hadn’t gotten a job. He spent time with John working through the books he’d brought with him, and he watched Dana when John and Dean went hunting. He spent time with Dean. It was downright fucking domestic.
And maybe that’s what had him so restless. He packed some clothes into a bag, tossing in the gun he kept under his pillow and hesitated at the door to his room. The pain lanced through his shoulder and he dropped his bag, dropped to his knees and couldn’t stop the moan that slipped past his lips.
Gonna give you something to remind you, boy. Gonna remind you who is in control here…and I’ll give you a hint…it ain’t you.
Sam screamed as it happened again, just as real and vivid as that night at 16. The door closed and in the dark claws dug into him, his ass ripped open and his body was pounded against the cold marble floor.
He batted at the hands turning him over, yelling in words he knew didn’t make sense and came up with the gun.
“Sam. Put the gun down Son.”
Sam blinked and shook his head, trying to fight his way free of the memory. “No. I’m…I’m in control.” He stammered.
“Sure…you’re in control Sam. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Fuck!” Sam pulled a hand across his eyes and shook his head again. He could feel blood dripping from his arm, from his ass…and yet there wasn’t any there. “Always in control.”
The sound of the door made Sam jump. “Dad? Sam?”
“Keep Dana out there Dean.” John called over his shoulder. “Sam, put the gun down. You don’t want to hurt anyone.” He stepped closer and Sam’s arm shook.
“Stay…back…I’m not gonna let you hurt me…never again.”
“Sam?”
Dean came up behind John and Sam’s confusion deepened. “Don’t…need to…No…no…not…no more…” Sam’s right side was on fire and the dark was deepening, all but Dean’s face and John’s voice…that voice…the demon’s voice…He squeezed his eyes shut and backed up until he felt the wall behind him.
“Dad, go check on Dana. Let me handle this.”
“Dean-“
“Dad…just let me handle it.”
There was movement, and Sam dared to open his eyes. “Dean?”
“Right here, Sam.” Dean reached out a hand to touch Sam’s hand, but pulled it away instantly. “Jesus Sam, you’re burning up.”
“I’m in control.” Sam said again, the gun lowering. Dean nodded and moved a little closer.
“Always Sammy. Always. You’re free. You decide, you’re in charge.” Dean whispered as he got closer, as he slid a hand up to touch Sam’s face. He was slick with sweat, hot to the touch. “Sammy…can I help you? Will you let me?”
Sam’s eyes opened and for a minute he didn’t really see Dean…then the pain eased again and he sagged forward. “Dean? Really you?”
Dean smiled softly, “Yeah, Sammy…it’s me.”
“I don’t feel so good.”
“You don’t look so good.” Dean wiped the sweat from his face. “Want to give me the gun now?”
Sam looked at the weapon in his hand like he’d never seen it before. “Did I…hurt…did I hurt anyone?”
Dean shook his head and kissed him lightly on his lips as he took it from him. “No. No one’s hurt. But I think you’re sick. I think we need to get you to a doctor.”
Panic flared inside him and Sam pulled away. “No…no doctor…no doctor.”
“Okay, okay…easy. How about bed? Can I take you to bed?”
Sam nodded slowly and Dean led him into the bedroom Sam seldom used, guiding him onto the mattress and encouraging him to lay down. “I’m going to get you some water and some Tylenol. Is there anything else you need?”
Sam shook his head.
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
Dean emerged into the living room shaking his head. “Damn. He’s really messed up. He needs a doctor. He’s burning up.”
He went to the kitchen and got the promised glass of water. “What happened?”
John stopped leaning over the playpen and stood. “I don’t know. His scars were hurting him. They were hot, but he wasn’t feverish. Then he went to pack to go on this hunt. Next thing I know, I’m hearing him hit the ground.”
“He won’t let me take him to a doctor. We need to do something. I’m going to take him this and some aspirin. I’ll be right back.”
Sam was nearly asleep when Dean came back into the room. He sat him up enough to take the pills and drink down some water. “How’s that?”
Sam looked scared, his face pale and drawn. “I’m sorry, Dean.”
Dean smiled. “Don’t be. We’re going to take care of you.”
“Don’t…please don’t let him come back.”
“Who, Sam?”
Sam’s eyes fluttered, then caught on Dean’s his eyes bright and wide. “Dean! My god…Dean…it was him…it was…John….I mean, it wasn’t’…but it was. It…sounded like him…”
Dean shushed him and ran his hand over his face, trying to keep him from getting too worked up again. Sam grabbed his hand, held it to his chest. “Dean…the Harrier…the one who…the big one…he…he used your…our father’s voice. That’s…that’s why he…I’m…fuck…Dean. I can’t see him…I can’t.”
“Okay, it’s okay Sam. He’s in the living room with Dana. He’s not coming in here. No one’s coming unless you want them to, okay?” Dean sighed in frustration and concern, scratching at his head. “If you won’t let me take you to a doctor, can I get Missouri over here? Maybe she can…sense something.”
Sam look like he was going to refuse and Dean pulled their hands to his lips. “Please baby…you’re really scaring me here.”
Sam nodded and Dean kissed his forehead. “Okay. Get some rest. I’ll be back soon.”
Dean closed the door and sighed explosively. “Well?” John asked before he even got into the living room.
“He’s resting. I’m going to call Missouri, have her come…read him I guess.”
John crossed his arms and waited. Dean shook his head. “You…shouldn’t go in for a while.”
“Why?”
“He’s been reliving the attack that gave him the scars.” They stared at each other, knowledge of what the attack really was passing unspoken in the air between them. “He…said that the…that one of them…mimicked you….sounded like you.”
“Christ!” John ran a hand through his hair. “That’s why he reacted like that. I was only trying to help him…he must have thought…”
Dean watched as his father shook at the thought of what Sam might have thought…at the thought that Sam would think John was there to rape him.
“I’m going to call Missouri. Maybe you…maybe you should take Dana to your place.”
For a minute Dean thought he might argue, then John nodded stiffly. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. You call me though.” Dean nodded and watched him pick Dana up and bring her to Dean for a quick goodbye. “You be good for Bopa.”
“SamSam.”
“Uncle Sammy’s sleeping. You go with Bopa and me and Uncle Sammy will pick you up later.”
“Dad. SamSam. Ow.”
Dean nodded. “Yes, baby, Uncle Sam is ow. We’re going to make him all better.”
“A’better.” She reached for Dean, touching his right shoulder. “Ow. SamSam.”
Dean frowned at her. “Do you know where the ow is, Dana?”
She shoved her hand in her mouth and blinked big green eyes at her father. Dean shook his head. “Yeah…to much for a baby who has a ten word vocabulary, eh?” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll call Missouri.”
Sam tossed feverishly after Dana and John left and Dean paced from the front door to the bedroom door and back again. Missouri knocked, already pushing past Dean as he opened the door. “You should have called sooner.”
“I called as soon as I knew something was wrong.”
She shook her head and let herself into the room. “Oh…poor boy. He’s hurting pretty good. She set hesitantly beside him on the bed and touched his hand. His eyes opened and she smiled. “Hey Sam. How you doing?”
“Been…better.” He tried to smile, but Dean could tell he was in pain.
“Yeah, I know. Do you mind if I take a look?”
She lifted his right hand into her lap and petted it slightly, then her fingers came to rest on the wrist band. “May I take it off Sam?”
He made a face, turned away, but nodded. Dean came to sit beside him, holding his left hand while she removed the band and the glamour faded. Sam hissed, as if somehow the action had made the pain worse and she clucked. “This isn’t good.”
With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and ran her finger over his arm, up to the shoulder. She held it there for a minute, then ran her hand up to Sam’s face, drawing his eyes. “I need you help Sam. It’s deep and you’re blocking me. Can you trust me?”
“I’m in control.” Sam said through clenched teeth.
She nodded. “Of course, Your body, Sam. I’m just here to help.”
He pulled his hand from Dean’s and took her hand in it, guiding it to the shoulder. He was panting, but nodded to her and her eyes closed again. After a few long minutes, Sam’s hand fell away and Missouri opened her eyes.
“Can I talk to you?”
She left the room and Dean followed. “What is it?”
“We need to get it out of him.”
“What is it?” he repeated.
“I don’t really know, Dean. But it has to come out. If it doesn’t , he’s going to die.”
“I’m no surgeon.”
“You’re gonna have to be.” Missouri pulled him further away from the door. “Do you have drugs to sedate him? Pain meds for after?’
“I don’t know. The med kit’s in the bathroom. In the closet.”
“Go start some water to boil, I’ll get it.”
Twenty minutes later, Dean was boiling the surgical scalpel and tweezers from the med kit while Missouri decided which meds to give Sam. “This should put him under long enough.”
“What if I cut through a nerve or something? We should have a doctor do this. Not me.”
“We don’t have a doctor.”
“Dad then. Dad’s better-“
“After what you said Sam told you? I don’t think so.”
Dean shook his head. “Yeah, okay. This should be ready.” He fished the instrument out and set it on the sterile gauze Missouri had set out for him. “Let’s do this before I lose my lunch.”
Missouri went in ahead of him, and he could hear her cajoling Sam into taking the pills. When he started setting up the tools on the nightstand, Sam’s eyes were starting to haze over. “You okay, Dean?” Sam asked and Dean tried to smile.
“Yeah, Sam…I’m good. Did Missouri explain?”
“Gonna cut me. Only fair, right?”
Dean shook his head, coming to kneel by the bed. “Not payback Sam…never. Just want to make you better.”
Sam nodded, but didn’t really look like he believed his brother. “I’m going to make a little cut and pull out whatever’s causing this…okay?”
Sam made a gesture with his hand, and his eyes rolled shut. Dean blew out and gathered his wits about him. “Okay. Show me.”
Missouri took his hand and pressed his finger into the crater in Sam’s shoulder. She pressed down. “Here. It’s deep.”
Dean brought the scalpel down beside her finger and took a deep breath. Sam didn’t move was he cut, and Dean didn’t breath. Missouri took the knife as he finished and handed him the tweezers he’d sterilized. “I don’t like this,” he murmured as he started feeling around. “Wait…I think…yeah…I got something.”
Whatever it was didn’t want to come out, almost as if it was holding on. Dean gritted his teeth and pulled and slowly it gave way, coming loose with a pop. Dean held it up, angling it to the light. “Looks…like a claw…or something.” It stank like sulfur and seemed to smoke as it was exposed to the air. He handed it off into a pile of gauze Missouri held up and picked up the needle and thread. “Is that it? Is that all?”
Missouri shivered and set the gauze holding the black object aside, holding her other hand hovering over the wound. “I think so.” The claw was smoking heavily now, and Missouri dropped it into a bowl of holy water. It hissed and squealed and the water fizzed.
“We should wash it with holy water before you sew.” She got up and got the bottle he’d left on the dresser, reaching around him to pour into the wound. Sam arched off the bed, his body going rigid, his arm shaking. Dean swallowed a lump in his throat as Sam’s body slowly relaxed, his face a grimace of pain that eased into the slack emptiness of a drugged out stupor, though he was far from peaceful in his sleep.
Dean’s hands were shaking as he sewed and Sam’s fitful tossing didn’t help. Six stitches later, Dean cut the surgical thread and backed away. His hands were red and shaking and he only just made the bathroom before he started vomiting.
That…thing had been inside Sam all along…and Sam had been protected by the oath he made with the demon…the one he’d broken for Dean. “Don’t even start blaming yourself for this.” Missouri said from the door and Dean shook his head. “And don’t tell me you weren’t. Get cleaned up. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Dean did as he was told, washing his brother’s blood from his hands and splashing water on his face to pull himself together. When he thought he was ready for anything Missouri would say, he went to the kitchen where she was pouring coffee.
“Sit down and be quiet. I have something to say.”
“Missouri, now-“
“Is exactly when I’m gonna say it. Sit down Dean Winchester.”
He did, scowling at her. “Be angry, I don’t care. Just listen. That boy in there? He’s a mess. I told you before you were the center of this family. You so wrapped up in that baby you don’t realize he needs you more than she does. He’s hurting, and he needs you to know…and he needs her. You may be the center of this family, Dean…but that little girl, she’s the cement in his reality.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “This about that bond thing?”
She nodded. “It’s more too. She’s connected to him…but by more than that conduit we built between them. He’s never been loved like that before…that openly, that unconditionally. If you really want to know what changed him, you only have to watch him when their together.”
Dean stared into his coffee cup. Surprised by how much that hurt….that it wasn’t him…or that Dana clearly had a connection with Sam he would never share. Missouri’s hand closed over his. “They both love you too Dean. But Sam needs Dana…and in many ways, Dana may need him too.”
“He’s been through so much…I don’t know how to begin…he…won’t talk to me about it.”
“Don’t talk.” Missouri said. “Not with words.” She squeezed his hand and let go. “I already called your father and told him to bring that baby home. It’s time for you to start working at stitching up this family’s wounds before they get infected too.”
Dean’s head was reeling as he walked her to the door. He closed it behind her and went to stand in Sam’s bedroom doorway, watching him sleep. He still looked feverish, but wasn’t tossing as much. “Dadadadada.” He heard Dana even before his father opened the door and a few minutes later she was tugging on his leg.
“Hey baby.” He picked her up and glanced over his shoulder at his father. “He’s asleep.”
“SamSam ow.”
Dean nodded. “You want to kiss SamSam goodnight?” She nodded, her fist in her mouth. Dean carried her to the bed and sat beside Sam. She crawled out of his arms as John came to the door. Dean watched as she found a place between Sam’s arm and side, one fist stuck in her mouth, the other hand over the stitches.
“Ow. SamSam. Better.” She curled her head on the mangled curve of Sam’s bicep and closed her eyes. Sam shifted in his sleep, licking his lips and settling more deeply into sleep.
“Yeah, baby girl, I hope better.” Dean sighed. Dean got up and went back to the door, watching for a minute as Sam’s left hand drifted over to settle protectively over Dana. Dean smiled as Dana’s right hand similarly settled onto his big one, almost a mimicking gesture, and he had to wonder just which one of them was protecting the other as he turned off the light.