Better, Supernatural, NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Better
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, John, Caleb
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3672
Summary: A sequel to Anything which was a Christmas request from nanakomatsu, Nothing, Something, To Be Good, Broken, To Be Strong, Nothing, No One, Alone, Yours and Mine. Dean takes care of his Sammy. Sam finally comes clean about the things he had to do to find Dean, and the Hunters prepare for war...
A/Ns and Warnings: Confused Slave!Dean, memory of torture and rape...not exactly pretty stuff here.
Bobby got up to pour more coffee, stretching out his back as he reached for the pot. On the table behind him a timeline was started, based on John’s notes and the details Caleb had provided him. A map of the US covered the window behind the table, black dots marking known holdings of the Gorlian brothers.
He’d already just about exhausted his contacts getting what information they had. There wasn’t much. Aside from business holdings, the Gorlian brothers might not even exist. Every indication was that they were clean. Pristine. Far too clean to be real.
Now that he knew what they were looking for, he might be able to get closer. He couldn’t believe it though. The Dean Winchester he knew, the one who’d held his own against Robert, even at twelve, when Robert was seventeen, wouldn’t break easily…not so completely as Caleb had said he was.
There had been friendly competition between the boys right from the start, when Robert showed up on Bobby’s doorstep unexpectedly one day to find the ten year old Dean bent under the hood of a classic car with Bobby.
Bobby sat back down at the table, holding the cup to his lips to sip at. His boy was nothing like John’s boys. His mother had raised him city soft, no notion of hard work, no survival skills, and Bobby’s one regret was that he hadn’t insisted just a little more that Robert be allowed to spend more time with him.
He heard the sound of footsteps and looked up, slightly shocked by Dean’s appearance. “Hello Dean.”
Dean didn’t look at him. “My father?”
“I think he’s sleeping.”
“Caleb?”
Bobby nodded. “Him too.”
Dean shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “I remember this place. We used to come here.”
“Yes, you and Sammy came here sometimes.”
He watched Dean fidget, his eyes darting around the cluttered kitchen, over the table with its scattered materials and notes. “Hunt?” Dean asked, his eyes meeting Bobby’s briefly.
“Yep. Helping your Dad out.”
Dean nodded. “He’s hunting the men who…took me.”
“We all are, Dean. We’ll find them and make it so they can’t hurt anyone ever again.”
“He told me to take care of Sam.”
“Does Sam need something?”
Dean shuffled a little closer. “He should eat. He hasn’t eaten. He always makes sure I eat.”
“I could make lunch for both you and Sam and bring it up to you.”
Dean nodded. “That would be good. He’ll be happy.”
Bobby looked at him a little odd at the words, not sure which “he” Dean meant. “Stew okay? Got some leftover.”
Dean looked puzzled, then nodded. “I’m sure whatever you have will be fine. Thank you.”
“Okay, I’ll bring it up in a little bit.”
“I’ll go be with Sam. Dad told me to take care of him.”
Bobby watched him go, bare feet slipping noiselessly over hardwood floors. Dean never used to be barefoot, always prepared to go whenever he was here, ready to leave as soon as John came back from wherever he’d run off to. Grunting, Bobby got up and fished the bowl of stew out of the refrigerator and tossed it into a pan to warm it up.
While it cooked, he dug around in the cupboard for the tray he used to use to serve the boys their late night snacks that he never told John about. After they’d gotten themselves to bed he’d dish up three bowls of ice cream and he would sit with them in the big bed they shared in the room where Sam now lay. He smiled at the memory, the little conspiracy between them as they shared a few minutes, telling stories and eating ice cream. It was almost like having his son with him.
Of course, they were grown men now…and wouldn’t want an old man like him hanging out with them. He poured two glasses of milk and set them on the tray, then went back for the stew, stirring it through and testing the temperature before spooning it into bowls.
Dean opened the door as he got to the top of the stairs and Bobby carried the tray into the room. Sam was sitting up against a pile of pillows, his face pale, but a smile on his face. “Hey Bobby.”
“Sam, good to see you feeling better.”
“Just a couple of gun shots, you know. I’ll be fine.”
“Always were tough as nails, you boys. Dean here said you needed to eat, so I brought you some stew.” He set the tray on the bed. “You need any pain meds?”
Sam shook his head. “I’m good.”
“Okay. I’m downstairs, if you need anything.”
Sam waited until Dean had closed the door, then offered his brother a tentative smile. “Thank you.”
“You need to eat. You need your strength.”
Sam nodded. Dean was still by the door, and Sam could see some uncertainty in his fidgeting. He had to tread carefully now. “May I?” he asked, indicating the tray.
Dean nodded and came closer. “Do you need…help?”
“I think I can manage. Would you…sit with me?”
Dean came to the end of the bed, sitting tentatively. “He would want me to eat too.” It was almost a question.
Sam nodded in agreement. “I’m sure he would.”
Dean crossed his legs and lifted the second bowl. “You need to eat it all. You need strength to heal.”
“I will.” Sam smiled to himself, grateful that Dean had reacted the way he had to the whole idea. If Dean felt responsible for Sam, it might just pull him along…help him remember what they had been once…and maybe Sam could get through all that conditioning and find his brother again.
It was late afternoon when John emerged from his room, rested and showered. He opened the door to Sam’s room and Dean looked up from the end of the bed. He scrambled to his feet and John smiled for him.
“He’s asleep. I made sure he ate. I ate too. Some stew he made for us. Bobby I mean.”
“That’s good Dean.”
“Caleb came in and gave him more medicine. He didn’t want it, but I told him he needed it. He took it for me.”
“Very good. How are his wounds?”
“No bleeding, sir. I checked.”
John crossed the room, sitting on the bedside to do his own checking. The stitches had held and there was no more bleeding. “Looks real good. I’m sure Sam will be up and on his feet before long.” Sam stirred, but didn’t open his eyes and John sighed. “You did real good, Dean. How are you feeling?”
Dean looked up, seemingly surprised by the question. “I’m fine. Can I…is there something more I can do?”
“Are you tired?”
“No, sir.”
John nodded. “We need to start getting you back in shape. I want you to go outside and walk around the yard. Don’t leave the property.”
“Outside? Who will take care of Sam?”
John smiled. “I’m here, Dean. I’ll take care of him. You go on. You might want to put your shoes on though…Bobby’s yard is full of dangerous bits of metal. I want you to walk until I call you in, okay? Good exercise and some sun on your face.”
Dean looked a little confused, but nodded. “Yes sir.”
When the door was shut behind him John sighed again. “You can open your eyes, he’s gone.”
Sam blinked and shifted a little. “Never could fool you.” He pushed up to near sitting. “His attention gets a little intense these days.”
“Yeah. I see that. How’re you really?”
Sam shrugged. “I got shot. I’m sore, but I’ll be okay. What about you?”
John exhaled slowly and rubbed both hands over his face. “You…weren’t kidding…I don’t…shit, Sam. I know you warned me, but I wasn’t ready for that. He just…”
Sam stopped him with a touch on his arm. “I know. But you gave him something. It helped.”
“I figured it would help…maybe remind him.”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I think it did. He’s starting to understand a little I think. He’ll still try, until you make it firm exactly what your relationship with him will be. He’ll accept it, because he thinks of you as his owner. He won’t necessarily understand it…but he’ll accept it.”
They were quiet for a minute, then John took his hand. “Sam…I need to know.”
Sam shook his head. “No, you don’t.”
“That’s pretty much an admission.”
Sam looked up at him, looked him in the eye. “I love Dean, Dad. That should be the only admission that means anything.”
“I watched you kill three human beings in cold blood Sam. You told me they weren’t the first, that you did…other things. I need to know how bad. We need to find these bastards and I need to know how dirty things need to get to do it.” He looked away. “I don’t need to…don’t want to know about anything…you and Dean…anything you’ve done with Dean.”
Sam flushed as he realized what his father was saying…what it meant his father knew. Sam pulled his hand back and crossed his arms. “Have you decided to trust Caleb and Bobby?”
John nodded. “Yes. I think they would have shown their hand by now if it was one of them.”
“Then get them up here. I don’t want to tell this story more than once.”
Nearly an hour later, Sam had spilled the whole sordid tale, confessed his darkest secrets, darker even than the secret of what he’d shared with Dean since he was fifteen. All told, he’d killed seven men, including the three his father had watched him kill. Summoned, and made deals with demons, plural…more than one.
He’d gotten the name of the brothel in New Mexico through an interrogation of a driver who transported slaves…and the man hadn’t been very forthcoming with the information. When he’d finally wrung it out of him, Sam had left him to die, chained to a pipe in a sewer.
He’d developed the Silvers personae with the help of a few rich friends from school and a witch who flirted with darker magic. Of course, he’d done his own charm work too. The glamour was a fairly dark spell; he’d had to spill blood to make it last more than a few hours.
“There’s the underground, then there’s the sub-underground, where most demon-pacts and dark magic practitioners operate. Then there’s the level these people are on.”
Sam lifted a notebook from the duffle bag John had brought to him and flipped it open. “The Gorlians aren’t even the top. They’re the front men. I never got the names of the people above them. Terrance Gorlian is the man I dealt with. He handles the base operation, sub-contracts out the units, employs the salespeople. He takes a personal interest in specific cases…slaves who were difficult to…acquire, or break…people who are or were well known. People like Dean.”
Bobby leaned over, examining Sam’s notes. “The other two are Allen, and Martin.”
“They can’t all be hunters. We’d have heard about it before now.” Caleb said and Sam nodded.
“Yeah…some of them are half-breeds, part demon. Some looked like they’re just…average people. Runaways maybe…mostly young. But really, hunters disappear all the time, Caleb. We always assume some nasty thing got them…maybe the Gorlians are the nasty.”
Sam rubbed his hands over his face and tried to concentrate. It was hard when he was tired and his body ached. He hated being wounded. It made him weak. “I heard rumors that there are other kinds of slaves, assassins, but the Gorlians deal primarily with…” Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. “Primarily with the ones trained for sex.”
John made some distressed sound and Sam sighed. “They’ll have moved the market where I found Dean. Probably most of the other shit too.” Sam said. “Neither the market or the brothel were owned by Gorlian. The warehouse where the market was had about ten layers of dummy corporations and subsidiary companies protecting the real owner.”
He glanced at his father who had been quiet since he started talking. “I was more concerned with finding Dean, than hunting down the organization.”
John patted his hand absently. “It’s okay. You did the right thing.”
“This is everything. All the names, all the information. Six months of work. Most of it probably isn’t any good anymore.”
“May I?” Bobby asked, taking the notebook as Sam nodded. “I’ll start on this. It may have all changed, but there could still be a trail”
Sam yawned, suddenly very tired. “You should probably go call Dean. He’ll keep walking until he drops if you don’t.”
John nodded and stood. He stopped at the door. “Thank you, Sam. I know you didn’t want to tell me.”
Sam sighed. “You were right. You needed to know.”
“You okay?” Caleb asked as he also stood from the chair by the bed.
Sam shifted on the bed and made a face. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
“For what it’s worth Sam, you did what you had to do. He understands that.”
Sam wasn’t sure he did, but it was okay, Sam himself had come to terms with it already. “Honestly, I don’t care if he does. Dean is all that mattered.” He looked up at Caleb. “Did you kill him?”
“Who?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “The bastard you shot. Is he dead?” Hunters killed evil, not humans…Caleb was a hunter, one who didn’t find the moral issues as ambiguous as others.
“I honestly don’t know, Sam. I wasn’t thinking about it at the time. Dean was…gone, you were down, and I saw the last shot, I knew it was bad. My only thought was to eliminate the threat.”
Sam nodded. “I want him dead.” He lowered his eyes. “I want to cut his dick off and stuff it up his ass and watch him fucking bleed to death…and even that is too good for him.”
Caleb’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “You know, you really shouldn’t repress your feelings Sam.” He said with a soft smile. “If he isn’t dead, you can rest assured he will be.” He squeezed again, then stepped away. Sam yawned again and slid down to try to get comfortable. “You want more morphine?”
Sam shook his head. “No. I’ll sleep without it.”
“Okay. Call if you change your mind.”
Dean was tired when he came inside with his father. He’d counted the number of times he circled the yard, in case John wanted to know. He didn’t ask so Dean didn’t say. He was sweaty and he needed to pee. They came into the kitchen where Bobby was on the phone, a notebook in his hand. John was distracted almost immediately by Caleb and a big piece of paper on the table.
Dean withdrew back by the counter and watched, waiting for his father to say something, offer him instruction. When he didn’t, Dean started to feel a little distressed. He should be clean, wash the sweat away. He should ask to relieve himself. Then it dawned on him that Sam was alone. He needed to take care of Sam.
He bit his lip, weighing the severity of interrupting his father. On the one hand, his needs didn’t matter. Never interrupt Master when he is with others. On the other he could be punished for not following rules. Slaves must never be soiled. He was dirty and he would wet himself if he didn’t get permission soon. Punishment would be more severe for leaving the room without permission or breaking the rules than for interrupting. He cleared his throat and stepped closer. “Dad?”
John looked up, almost surprised to see Dean still standing there. “What do you need, Dean?”
“May I go relieve and clean myself?”
“Of course, Dean. You’re free to do those things anytime you need to.”
“I am?”
John forced a smile and nodded. “Yes, in fact we’ll call it our new rule, okay?”
Dean nodded, filing it away in his head. “May I check on Sam?”
“Yes, he’s your responsibility now. No need to ask permission. You need to take care of him.”
“He’s mine.” Dean said softly, remembering how Sam had knelt and asked him.
John cupped a hand to his face. “Go on then. If you need anything, I’ll be down here.”
Dean climbed the stairs, feeling some of his earlier distress fade. He was free to take care of his body, and got to choose what to wear. He stopped at Sam’s room, checked his bandages and slipped back out to go to his father’s room.
He showered quickly, though his thoughts weren’t on the proper way to clean himself. He yawned as he checked to see if he needed to shave, but shook off the fatigue pulling at him to go dress. He choose the sweatpants, even though they were too big. He remembered why they were too big. They were Sam’s. That made him smile. He liked having something of Sam’s.
He pulled them on, looking down at the excess material that pooled at his ankles. He decided that they would be okay for checking on Sam and sitting with him and put on the white t-shirt.
His father had left the bed unmade, his clothes scattered around the room. He hadn’t told Dean to clean the room…but…Dean set his duffle on the floor by the dresser and made the bed, smoothing out the comforter. He remembered this room too, remembered his father sleeping here, sneaking in to make sure he was still alive after one of Sammy’s nightmares. He remembered more here than he had anywhere else. He’d found the car he and Sam used to hide in sometimes. He climbed inside it and found their names still marking the old twisted metal. Sam had kissed him there.
He folded his father’s clothes and laid them out on the bed in neat piles. That done, Dean straightened up the random objects on the dresser, an old brush and comb, a picture frame. The glass caught the light as he moved the frame and he stopped to look. His own face stared back at him. Him and Sam and his father. Dean scowled at the picture, trying to remember. Sam was young, maybe 14. Dean’s face was greasy and John was smiling.
Dean put the picture back, and finished tidying the dresser. He felt better about leaving the room now that it was neat. Master would be pleased. Dean stopped. His master was his father…and his father wouldn’t necessarily care about the room. It pleased Dean though that he could take care of his father this way. If he wouldn’t let him be what they had trained him to be, Dean would find ways to serve him. Like with Sam.
He was smiling when he came into Sam’s room. Outside Sam’s window the late afternoon sun was slanted across the yard. Dean lowered the blinds to block the sun. Sam needed his sleep.
Sam whimpered and Dean crossed to his bed, brushing a hand over his forehead. His eyes opened, something like fear in them. “You okay, Sam?”
Sam clutched his hand. “Nightmare.”
“I used to get them a lot. Just dreams though.” Just dreams, until they filled your cage and became real. “Go back to sleep.”
“Lay with me?” Sam kissed his hand, holding on to him like he was afraid Dean would vanish if he let go.
Dean nodded. “Move over a little.” He climbed up beside his brother, his left arm cradling his head, his right laying over Sam’s chest. “Better?”
Sam nodded, his eyes closed, already drifting back to sleep. Dean sighed, his own eyes closing. This was familiar…the room, the feeling of Sam in his arms. It felt good. It felt better.
John opened the door and found his two boys asleep, Dean curled protectively around Sam like he’d down when they were children. His face was so open, so innocent. The tears came unexpectedly and he swallowed them quickly as Caleb came up the stairs. John backed out of the room and pulled the door closed. “Ellen called. We’re on. Two days, at the Roadhouse.”
John nodded, his throat suddenly dry. “Will we be ready?”
Caleb nodded. “Not a call will go out of that place that we don’t record.” He crossed his arms and regarded John. “How are you holding up?”
“I’ll be better when we get these bastards”
“Sam needs to know you’re okay with what he’s done.”
“Do you realize what that is?” John asked, turning away.
“Aside from what he told us in there?” Caleb crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “I’m not stupid John. Neither are you.” He waited, and John couldn’t look up at him. “Neither is Sam. He loves his brother, John. Maybe more than is normal or right…but you’ve said it yourself, there isn’t anything those boys wouldn’t do for each other. Nothing.”
“God, Caleb. If you had seen him.” John swallowed the rising bile.
“Can you handle this?” Caleb touched John’s arm. “John? Can you be what he needs you to be?”
“I don’t know.” John admitted.
“Sam did what he had to do to get Dean back and to bring him this far. Now you have to do the same.” Caleb took a few steps toward the stairs. “If you can’t handle it now, how are you going to deal when we find them? When you see those people the way Dean was when Sam got to him?” Caleb turned back. “And we will find them John. We will, and when we do the men who did this to Dean will pay. But that isn’t going to fix anything.”
“No, it won’t. But it will make me feel better.”
“Will it?” Caleb left the question hanging there in the air for John to think about.
Better. He had to believe it. Right now that belief was the only thing keeping John Winchester from losing himself.
Title: Better
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, John, Caleb
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3672
Summary: A sequel to Anything which was a Christmas request from nanakomatsu, Nothing, Something, To Be Good, Broken, To Be Strong, Nothing, No One, Alone, Yours and Mine. Dean takes care of his Sammy. Sam finally comes clean about the things he had to do to find Dean, and the Hunters prepare for war...
A/Ns and Warnings: Confused Slave!Dean, memory of torture and rape...not exactly pretty stuff here.
Bobby got up to pour more coffee, stretching out his back as he reached for the pot. On the table behind him a timeline was started, based on John’s notes and the details Caleb had provided him. A map of the US covered the window behind the table, black dots marking known holdings of the Gorlian brothers.
He’d already just about exhausted his contacts getting what information they had. There wasn’t much. Aside from business holdings, the Gorlian brothers might not even exist. Every indication was that they were clean. Pristine. Far too clean to be real.
Now that he knew what they were looking for, he might be able to get closer. He couldn’t believe it though. The Dean Winchester he knew, the one who’d held his own against Robert, even at twelve, when Robert was seventeen, wouldn’t break easily…not so completely as Caleb had said he was.
There had been friendly competition between the boys right from the start, when Robert showed up on Bobby’s doorstep unexpectedly one day to find the ten year old Dean bent under the hood of a classic car with Bobby.
Bobby sat back down at the table, holding the cup to his lips to sip at. His boy was nothing like John’s boys. His mother had raised him city soft, no notion of hard work, no survival skills, and Bobby’s one regret was that he hadn’t insisted just a little more that Robert be allowed to spend more time with him.
He heard the sound of footsteps and looked up, slightly shocked by Dean’s appearance. “Hello Dean.”
Dean didn’t look at him. “My father?”
“I think he’s sleeping.”
“Caleb?”
Bobby nodded. “Him too.”
Dean shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “I remember this place. We used to come here.”
“Yes, you and Sammy came here sometimes.”
He watched Dean fidget, his eyes darting around the cluttered kitchen, over the table with its scattered materials and notes. “Hunt?” Dean asked, his eyes meeting Bobby’s briefly.
“Yep. Helping your Dad out.”
Dean nodded. “He’s hunting the men who…took me.”
“We all are, Dean. We’ll find them and make it so they can’t hurt anyone ever again.”
“He told me to take care of Sam.”
“Does Sam need something?”
Dean shuffled a little closer. “He should eat. He hasn’t eaten. He always makes sure I eat.”
“I could make lunch for both you and Sam and bring it up to you.”
Dean nodded. “That would be good. He’ll be happy.”
Bobby looked at him a little odd at the words, not sure which “he” Dean meant. “Stew okay? Got some leftover.”
Dean looked puzzled, then nodded. “I’m sure whatever you have will be fine. Thank you.”
“Okay, I’ll bring it up in a little bit.”
“I’ll go be with Sam. Dad told me to take care of him.”
Bobby watched him go, bare feet slipping noiselessly over hardwood floors. Dean never used to be barefoot, always prepared to go whenever he was here, ready to leave as soon as John came back from wherever he’d run off to. Grunting, Bobby got up and fished the bowl of stew out of the refrigerator and tossed it into a pan to warm it up.
While it cooked, he dug around in the cupboard for the tray he used to use to serve the boys their late night snacks that he never told John about. After they’d gotten themselves to bed he’d dish up three bowls of ice cream and he would sit with them in the big bed they shared in the room where Sam now lay. He smiled at the memory, the little conspiracy between them as they shared a few minutes, telling stories and eating ice cream. It was almost like having his son with him.
Of course, they were grown men now…and wouldn’t want an old man like him hanging out with them. He poured two glasses of milk and set them on the tray, then went back for the stew, stirring it through and testing the temperature before spooning it into bowls.
Dean opened the door as he got to the top of the stairs and Bobby carried the tray into the room. Sam was sitting up against a pile of pillows, his face pale, but a smile on his face. “Hey Bobby.”
“Sam, good to see you feeling better.”
“Just a couple of gun shots, you know. I’ll be fine.”
“Always were tough as nails, you boys. Dean here said you needed to eat, so I brought you some stew.” He set the tray on the bed. “You need any pain meds?”
Sam shook his head. “I’m good.”
“Okay. I’m downstairs, if you need anything.”
Sam waited until Dean had closed the door, then offered his brother a tentative smile. “Thank you.”
“You need to eat. You need your strength.”
Sam nodded. Dean was still by the door, and Sam could see some uncertainty in his fidgeting. He had to tread carefully now. “May I?” he asked, indicating the tray.
Dean nodded and came closer. “Do you need…help?”
“I think I can manage. Would you…sit with me?”
Dean came to the end of the bed, sitting tentatively. “He would want me to eat too.” It was almost a question.
Sam nodded in agreement. “I’m sure he would.”
Dean crossed his legs and lifted the second bowl. “You need to eat it all. You need strength to heal.”
“I will.” Sam smiled to himself, grateful that Dean had reacted the way he had to the whole idea. If Dean felt responsible for Sam, it might just pull him along…help him remember what they had been once…and maybe Sam could get through all that conditioning and find his brother again.
It was late afternoon when John emerged from his room, rested and showered. He opened the door to Sam’s room and Dean looked up from the end of the bed. He scrambled to his feet and John smiled for him.
“He’s asleep. I made sure he ate. I ate too. Some stew he made for us. Bobby I mean.”
“That’s good Dean.”
“Caleb came in and gave him more medicine. He didn’t want it, but I told him he needed it. He took it for me.”
“Very good. How are his wounds?”
“No bleeding, sir. I checked.”
John crossed the room, sitting on the bedside to do his own checking. The stitches had held and there was no more bleeding. “Looks real good. I’m sure Sam will be up and on his feet before long.” Sam stirred, but didn’t open his eyes and John sighed. “You did real good, Dean. How are you feeling?”
Dean looked up, seemingly surprised by the question. “I’m fine. Can I…is there something more I can do?”
“Are you tired?”
“No, sir.”
John nodded. “We need to start getting you back in shape. I want you to go outside and walk around the yard. Don’t leave the property.”
“Outside? Who will take care of Sam?”
John smiled. “I’m here, Dean. I’ll take care of him. You go on. You might want to put your shoes on though…Bobby’s yard is full of dangerous bits of metal. I want you to walk until I call you in, okay? Good exercise and some sun on your face.”
Dean looked a little confused, but nodded. “Yes sir.”
When the door was shut behind him John sighed again. “You can open your eyes, he’s gone.”
Sam blinked and shifted a little. “Never could fool you.” He pushed up to near sitting. “His attention gets a little intense these days.”
“Yeah. I see that. How’re you really?”
Sam shrugged. “I got shot. I’m sore, but I’ll be okay. What about you?”
John exhaled slowly and rubbed both hands over his face. “You…weren’t kidding…I don’t…shit, Sam. I know you warned me, but I wasn’t ready for that. He just…”
Sam stopped him with a touch on his arm. “I know. But you gave him something. It helped.”
“I figured it would help…maybe remind him.”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I think it did. He’s starting to understand a little I think. He’ll still try, until you make it firm exactly what your relationship with him will be. He’ll accept it, because he thinks of you as his owner. He won’t necessarily understand it…but he’ll accept it.”
They were quiet for a minute, then John took his hand. “Sam…I need to know.”
Sam shook his head. “No, you don’t.”
“That’s pretty much an admission.”
Sam looked up at him, looked him in the eye. “I love Dean, Dad. That should be the only admission that means anything.”
“I watched you kill three human beings in cold blood Sam. You told me they weren’t the first, that you did…other things. I need to know how bad. We need to find these bastards and I need to know how dirty things need to get to do it.” He looked away. “I don’t need to…don’t want to know about anything…you and Dean…anything you’ve done with Dean.”
Sam flushed as he realized what his father was saying…what it meant his father knew. Sam pulled his hand back and crossed his arms. “Have you decided to trust Caleb and Bobby?”
John nodded. “Yes. I think they would have shown their hand by now if it was one of them.”
“Then get them up here. I don’t want to tell this story more than once.”
Nearly an hour later, Sam had spilled the whole sordid tale, confessed his darkest secrets, darker even than the secret of what he’d shared with Dean since he was fifteen. All told, he’d killed seven men, including the three his father had watched him kill. Summoned, and made deals with demons, plural…more than one.
He’d gotten the name of the brothel in New Mexico through an interrogation of a driver who transported slaves…and the man hadn’t been very forthcoming with the information. When he’d finally wrung it out of him, Sam had left him to die, chained to a pipe in a sewer.
He’d developed the Silvers personae with the help of a few rich friends from school and a witch who flirted with darker magic. Of course, he’d done his own charm work too. The glamour was a fairly dark spell; he’d had to spill blood to make it last more than a few hours.
“There’s the underground, then there’s the sub-underground, where most demon-pacts and dark magic practitioners operate. Then there’s the level these people are on.”
Sam lifted a notebook from the duffle bag John had brought to him and flipped it open. “The Gorlians aren’t even the top. They’re the front men. I never got the names of the people above them. Terrance Gorlian is the man I dealt with. He handles the base operation, sub-contracts out the units, employs the salespeople. He takes a personal interest in specific cases…slaves who were difficult to…acquire, or break…people who are or were well known. People like Dean.”
Bobby leaned over, examining Sam’s notes. “The other two are Allen, and Martin.”
“They can’t all be hunters. We’d have heard about it before now.” Caleb said and Sam nodded.
“Yeah…some of them are half-breeds, part demon. Some looked like they’re just…average people. Runaways maybe…mostly young. But really, hunters disappear all the time, Caleb. We always assume some nasty thing got them…maybe the Gorlians are the nasty.”
Sam rubbed his hands over his face and tried to concentrate. It was hard when he was tired and his body ached. He hated being wounded. It made him weak. “I heard rumors that there are other kinds of slaves, assassins, but the Gorlians deal primarily with…” Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. “Primarily with the ones trained for sex.”
John made some distressed sound and Sam sighed. “They’ll have moved the market where I found Dean. Probably most of the other shit too.” Sam said. “Neither the market or the brothel were owned by Gorlian. The warehouse where the market was had about ten layers of dummy corporations and subsidiary companies protecting the real owner.”
He glanced at his father who had been quiet since he started talking. “I was more concerned with finding Dean, than hunting down the organization.”
John patted his hand absently. “It’s okay. You did the right thing.”
“This is everything. All the names, all the information. Six months of work. Most of it probably isn’t any good anymore.”
“May I?” Bobby asked, taking the notebook as Sam nodded. “I’ll start on this. It may have all changed, but there could still be a trail”
Sam yawned, suddenly very tired. “You should probably go call Dean. He’ll keep walking until he drops if you don’t.”
John nodded and stood. He stopped at the door. “Thank you, Sam. I know you didn’t want to tell me.”
Sam sighed. “You were right. You needed to know.”
“You okay?” Caleb asked as he also stood from the chair by the bed.
Sam shifted on the bed and made a face. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
“For what it’s worth Sam, you did what you had to do. He understands that.”
Sam wasn’t sure he did, but it was okay, Sam himself had come to terms with it already. “Honestly, I don’t care if he does. Dean is all that mattered.” He looked up at Caleb. “Did you kill him?”
“Who?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “The bastard you shot. Is he dead?” Hunters killed evil, not humans…Caleb was a hunter, one who didn’t find the moral issues as ambiguous as others.
“I honestly don’t know, Sam. I wasn’t thinking about it at the time. Dean was…gone, you were down, and I saw the last shot, I knew it was bad. My only thought was to eliminate the threat.”
Sam nodded. “I want him dead.” He lowered his eyes. “I want to cut his dick off and stuff it up his ass and watch him fucking bleed to death…and even that is too good for him.”
Caleb’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “You know, you really shouldn’t repress your feelings Sam.” He said with a soft smile. “If he isn’t dead, you can rest assured he will be.” He squeezed again, then stepped away. Sam yawned again and slid down to try to get comfortable. “You want more morphine?”
Sam shook his head. “No. I’ll sleep without it.”
“Okay. Call if you change your mind.”
Dean was tired when he came inside with his father. He’d counted the number of times he circled the yard, in case John wanted to know. He didn’t ask so Dean didn’t say. He was sweaty and he needed to pee. They came into the kitchen where Bobby was on the phone, a notebook in his hand. John was distracted almost immediately by Caleb and a big piece of paper on the table.
Dean withdrew back by the counter and watched, waiting for his father to say something, offer him instruction. When he didn’t, Dean started to feel a little distressed. He should be clean, wash the sweat away. He should ask to relieve himself. Then it dawned on him that Sam was alone. He needed to take care of Sam.
He bit his lip, weighing the severity of interrupting his father. On the one hand, his needs didn’t matter. Never interrupt Master when he is with others. On the other he could be punished for not following rules. Slaves must never be soiled. He was dirty and he would wet himself if he didn’t get permission soon. Punishment would be more severe for leaving the room without permission or breaking the rules than for interrupting. He cleared his throat and stepped closer. “Dad?”
John looked up, almost surprised to see Dean still standing there. “What do you need, Dean?”
“May I go relieve and clean myself?”
“Of course, Dean. You’re free to do those things anytime you need to.”
“I am?”
John forced a smile and nodded. “Yes, in fact we’ll call it our new rule, okay?”
Dean nodded, filing it away in his head. “May I check on Sam?”
“Yes, he’s your responsibility now. No need to ask permission. You need to take care of him.”
“He’s mine.” Dean said softly, remembering how Sam had knelt and asked him.
John cupped a hand to his face. “Go on then. If you need anything, I’ll be down here.”
Dean climbed the stairs, feeling some of his earlier distress fade. He was free to take care of his body, and got to choose what to wear. He stopped at Sam’s room, checked his bandages and slipped back out to go to his father’s room.
He showered quickly, though his thoughts weren’t on the proper way to clean himself. He yawned as he checked to see if he needed to shave, but shook off the fatigue pulling at him to go dress. He choose the sweatpants, even though they were too big. He remembered why they were too big. They were Sam’s. That made him smile. He liked having something of Sam’s.
He pulled them on, looking down at the excess material that pooled at his ankles. He decided that they would be okay for checking on Sam and sitting with him and put on the white t-shirt.
His father had left the bed unmade, his clothes scattered around the room. He hadn’t told Dean to clean the room…but…Dean set his duffle on the floor by the dresser and made the bed, smoothing out the comforter. He remembered this room too, remembered his father sleeping here, sneaking in to make sure he was still alive after one of Sammy’s nightmares. He remembered more here than he had anywhere else. He’d found the car he and Sam used to hide in sometimes. He climbed inside it and found their names still marking the old twisted metal. Sam had kissed him there.
He folded his father’s clothes and laid them out on the bed in neat piles. That done, Dean straightened up the random objects on the dresser, an old brush and comb, a picture frame. The glass caught the light as he moved the frame and he stopped to look. His own face stared back at him. Him and Sam and his father. Dean scowled at the picture, trying to remember. Sam was young, maybe 14. Dean’s face was greasy and John was smiling.
Dean put the picture back, and finished tidying the dresser. He felt better about leaving the room now that it was neat. Master would be pleased. Dean stopped. His master was his father…and his father wouldn’t necessarily care about the room. It pleased Dean though that he could take care of his father this way. If he wouldn’t let him be what they had trained him to be, Dean would find ways to serve him. Like with Sam.
He was smiling when he came into Sam’s room. Outside Sam’s window the late afternoon sun was slanted across the yard. Dean lowered the blinds to block the sun. Sam needed his sleep.
Sam whimpered and Dean crossed to his bed, brushing a hand over his forehead. His eyes opened, something like fear in them. “You okay, Sam?”
Sam clutched his hand. “Nightmare.”
“I used to get them a lot. Just dreams though.” Just dreams, until they filled your cage and became real. “Go back to sleep.”
“Lay with me?” Sam kissed his hand, holding on to him like he was afraid Dean would vanish if he let go.
Dean nodded. “Move over a little.” He climbed up beside his brother, his left arm cradling his head, his right laying over Sam’s chest. “Better?”
Sam nodded, his eyes closed, already drifting back to sleep. Dean sighed, his own eyes closing. This was familiar…the room, the feeling of Sam in his arms. It felt good. It felt better.
John opened the door and found his two boys asleep, Dean curled protectively around Sam like he’d down when they were children. His face was so open, so innocent. The tears came unexpectedly and he swallowed them quickly as Caleb came up the stairs. John backed out of the room and pulled the door closed. “Ellen called. We’re on. Two days, at the Roadhouse.”
John nodded, his throat suddenly dry. “Will we be ready?”
Caleb nodded. “Not a call will go out of that place that we don’t record.” He crossed his arms and regarded John. “How are you holding up?”
“I’ll be better when we get these bastards”
“Sam needs to know you’re okay with what he’s done.”
“Do you realize what that is?” John asked, turning away.
“Aside from what he told us in there?” Caleb crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “I’m not stupid John. Neither are you.” He waited, and John couldn’t look up at him. “Neither is Sam. He loves his brother, John. Maybe more than is normal or right…but you’ve said it yourself, there isn’t anything those boys wouldn’t do for each other. Nothing.”
“God, Caleb. If you had seen him.” John swallowed the rising bile.
“Can you handle this?” Caleb touched John’s arm. “John? Can you be what he needs you to be?”
“I don’t know.” John admitted.
“Sam did what he had to do to get Dean back and to bring him this far. Now you have to do the same.” Caleb took a few steps toward the stairs. “If you can’t handle it now, how are you going to deal when we find them? When you see those people the way Dean was when Sam got to him?” Caleb turned back. “And we will find them John. We will, and when we do the men who did this to Dean will pay. But that isn’t going to fix anything.”
“No, it won’t. But it will make me feel better.”
“Will it?” Caleb left the question hanging there in the air for John to think about.
Better. He had to believe it. Right now that belief was the only thing keeping John Winchester from losing himself.