Please, Supernatural, NC-17, Broken!Verse
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Please
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, John, Ellen, Bobby, OMC
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3467
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, Mine, Better, Choice, Gathering, Betrayal, Taken, Remember, Training, Conflagration, Setting Up, Surviving, Pretending, Rescue, Revelations, Reconciliation, Waking Up, Guilt, Working On It, Effort and The Need to Talk.
Summary: Ellen reveals a secret to John, Sam falls apart, and it only gets worse when Caleb tries to help him. John learns a little more than he might have wanted to about Sam's ordeal and remembers something from his past.
A/Ns and Warnings: Very dark. Includes memory of torture and rape and very dark violence. This piece is especially dark. Sam is reacting to the extensive rape.
“Big brothers?” John asked following her across the clearing.
She nodded. “Bill was older, about 4 years, give or take a month or two. Michael, he was…reckless, emotional. He let it all fester inside him. Course, it was worse for him. He was there when the demons killed their mother.”
She stuck her hands back in her pockets. “He was fifteen. Bill was already working, nights at the Roadhouse with his daddy. Michael was home looking after their mama when they came. Demon possessed gang, looking for kicks. That kinda thing scars a kid.”
“That’s what got Bill into hunting.” John said, nodding when she looked up at him. “He told me that much, never mentioned he had a brother though.”
“Michael was everything to Bill after their father died chasing the demons. They ran together, like you and your boys…hunting, chasing, and then one day they found me.”
She crossed her arms. “Bill wanted to settle down, hunt still, but find himself something comfortable…have a family. Michael…he wanted none of that. They fought a lot. Then Michael went out on his own.”
“You telling me Michael went bad?”
“Not at first, of course. He got dark, brooding, made bad calls. He’d come around every now and again, drag Bill off on some hunt. Bill always came home angry. Finally, Bill had enough. Told Michael not to call. He never told me what happened.”
John knew she wasn’t just telling stories, visiting old memories. She had a point. One he wasn’t going to like. “Are we going somewhere with this?”
She nodded slowly. “I’m getting there. Two months before Bill died, he went out on a hunt alone. It was supposed to be a werewolf. It wasn’t. He came back beat all to hell and wouldn’t talk about it.”
This part John knew. “It was a berserker, the same one we went after together two months later.”
She nodded. “You didn’t kill it.”
John shook his head. “No, it was dead. I cut off it’s fucking head, Ellen.”
She closed her eyes. “Then maybe it isn’t what I thought. Maybe he was controlling it…maybe…”
“Ellen, stop and tell me what’s going on.”
She took a deep breath and turned to look him in the eye. “I’ve thought Michael was dead. I’ve thought you killed him, after he killed Bill. All this time, I was sure he was the berserker. He liked to play with animal spirits, Bill figured that one finally got the better of him…but maybe…maybe he found a way to control one.”
“You’re telling me Bill’s brother has something to do with this?”
She couldn’t keep the tears from falling this time. “I think that Michael is Marvin Gorlian.”
Sam carefully pulled himself free of this brother. The touch of skin on skin was too much, too familiar. Robert’s voice echoed in his head…and made Dean’s hand on his hot with memory.
“I love you so much. I can’t stand watching them hurt you. Make it stop, baby. You know how. Just tell him you want to be good. Tell him you want to serve him. You want to learn to be a good slave for your master.”
Sam shivered and sat up. His stomach roiled, and he tried to breathe through it. His breakfast sat heavily in him, threatening to come up. That would upset Dean. He was cold, his back ached…his leg throbbed. Dean rolled closer, the skin of his arm ghosting over Sam’s and Sam got out of bed. The thought of even Dean touching him was…terrifying.
He could feel Caleb’s eyes, watching…could taste the come on his tongue as the trainers traded places. He’d told himself he could handle it…that he could forget it…that he could survive it…he never considered how bad it could be…how the touch would stay with him.
Dean’s hands…in the shower…Dean’s hands, moving over him, touching him, washing his ass, his fingers inside Sam, cleaning him…making him come when Sam didn’t think he could…Dean showing him how to submit…offering himself up to James…
Sam leaned his forehead against the wall. It was too much. He wasn’t strong enough to handle it. He wasn’t Dean. He wasn’t the son his father wanted. He was weak…he was nothing.
Nothing. No one. Alone.
Sam whimpered, turning and sliding down the wall to sit huddled against it.
”Say it.” Thomas growled.
Sam hung from the shackles on his wrists, bent knees scraping the metal floor. He bit his tongue to stop himself and Thomas hit Caleb again. “You gonna let me beat him to death, slave?”
“No.” Sam moaned, not looking at Caleb or Thomas.
“Then say it.”
“N-nothing.” Sam whispered. There was a loud crack before he felt the sting on his back.
“Louder.”
“Nothing.” Sam managed.
“Finish it.”
“No one. Alone.”
Thomas moved to the door of his cage, beckoning in the next to torment him. “You will ask him if you may please suck his cock.”
Sam’s stomach churned, and his eyes slipped to Caleb. The older man was bruised, his back welted. Caleb shook his head, telling Sam to refuse. Thomas leaned into Sam’s face. “You will ask him nicely, or I will lay into your whipping boy so hard, the blood spatter will reach you all the way over here.” Sam shook, his entire body quaking.
“P-p-please…” Sam nearly bit his tongue he was shaking so hard. “M-m-may I…”
The sound of leather on flesh reverberated around him and Sam’s eyes closed. Caleb did his best not to cry out, but he couldn’t take much more. Sam couldn’t let him take much more. “P-please…m-may I s-suck….your c-cock, s-sir?” Sam stuttered out. He was rewarded with the lowering of his chain, enough that his knees hit the floor. Something inside him broke, he closed off the part of him that held out the hope that someone was coming for him.
The man was in front of him and Sam opened his mouth, just opened his mouth and waited.
Sam hit his head against the wall, biting his lip to keep from crying out…he couldn’t let anyone see…couldn’t…He hit his head a little harder, pressing his back against the wall until he could feel the scabbed over cuts breaking open.
Some part of him knew he had to stop, knew he was going to wake his brother…hurt himself…but he couldn’t stop. He threw himself against the wall again and again. He could taste blood in his mouth…but the copper tang was better than the memory of come, of cock.
“Sam?”
His ears buzzed, and the voice seemed distant. The hand on his arm burned though, burned like fire and Sam pulled away. “No! No more. No more.” He slapped at the hand and turned toward the wall.
“Come on Sam. Calm down.”
There was a hand on his face now and Sam tried to pull away, but his head was ringing. “Fuck! Bobby! I need some help.”
Sam tried to focus on the voice, tried to claw his way out of the dark inside him, but when his eyes opened and Caleb’s bruised face was all he could see, Sam felt his body seize up, felt his face flushed and hot.
“What the hell?”
“We need to get something into him.”
“Sam?”
“Dean, go get your father.”
Sam didn’t follow it, couldn’t make out who was who…only knew he was falling…and the hands reaching out to him were pulling him down into the abyss.
“What happened?” John asked, once they’d injected a fair amount of sedative into Sam and the convulsions had stopped.
“I heard knocking on the wall, and when I came in, he was hitting himself against the wall. I tried to help, and he started convulsing.” Caleb said.
John nodded and looked to where Dean was huddled in the corner of the room. Dean’s knees were drawn up to his chest, his forehead on his knees. John could tell he was crying. “Okay, let’s get Sam up into the bed.”
Between Caleb and Bobby and John, they lifted Sam and settled him into bed on his side. John cursed at the blood soaking through his shirt and matted in his hair. “I’m going to need the med kit…and Ellen.”
“I’ll go.” Caleb said, disappearing.
John peeled the wet t-shirt from Sam’s back, grimacing as it pulled off whatever scabbing had remained after Sam had beat himself against the wall. His eyes shot to Dean. He was going to have to deal with Dean soon. “Bobby, see if you can figure out how bad he hit his head.”
He brushed his hands on his jeans and went to squat by Dean. “Hey.”
Dean shook his head without raising it. “My fault. Shouldn’t have slept. Shouldn’t have let him be alone.”
“Dean. Look at me.”
Dean raised a tear stained face, his breath erratic as John’s head descended on his knee. “This isn’t your fault. Sam just had a…little break down. It’s okay. He’s gonna be fine.”
“No…he…did it for me…he wasn’t ready. I shouldn’t let him. I should have said no.”
“Dean? What happened?” John glanced up at Bobby who was tenderly pulling the blood soaked hair away from Sam’s wound. “What did you let him do?”
“I…I let him…he…helped me.” Dean dropped his eyes and John shook his head. He didn’t want to know this. Didn’t want to think about his boys like that. “It wasn’t good for him…I should have…I should have known…but he wanted…he said he wanted…”
“It’s okay Dean. It’s okay.” John whispered, quieting him. “He’ll be okay. It’s just a little concussion, and he opened up the cuts in his back.”
They were quiet then. Ellen appeared at the door with the med kit, her eyes sweeping over John and Dean, Sam and Bobby. She thankfully didn’t ask, just went to Bobby with the kit, opening it to pull out gauze and antiseptic.
“I don’t want him to die.” Dean said quietly, pulling John’s attention back to him.
“He’s not going to die, Dean.” John said.
“He…wants to…sometimes.”
“He--what?” John dropped to his knees in front of his son. “What are you saying?”
“He-he told me…can’t be alone, he said. I left him alone.”
John’s breath escaped him, like he’d been sucker punched. “What? Why would he say that?”
Dean’s expression was hurt and annoyed all at once. “He’s…dirty. He feels like nothing…not good enough…not wanted…like he’s just…like me…a whore.” His voice nearly disappeared on the last words.
John shook his head. It was too much information…his head was swimming with Ellen’s revelation and Sam’s pain and Dean’s need. “Fuck.” He pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose.
“John, you okay?” Ellen’s voice reached him and he shook his head.
“Deal with Sam. I’m fine.” He blew out a slow breath, reaching for Dean’s hands. “I need you to pay attention Dean. This is important.”
Dean nodded.
“You are not…not a whore…not a slave. Neither is Sam.” John’s throat constricted and he had to swallow hard. “You’re my sons.”
Dean calmed considerably, his eyes narrowing as they looked up into John’s. “Being your son doesn’t mean I’m not also what he made me.”
“John?”
He looked up at Ellen. “You should take a look at this.” She was holding Sam’s mouth open.
Dean nodded, and John climbed to his feet. “What?”
“He’s bit a pretty deep gash into his tongue. It’s still bleeding.”
Bobby held up some bloody gauze. “He’s gonna have a good headache when he comes to, but it isn’t as bad as it could be.”
John leaned over Sam to look. He sighed. “Okay. Let’s see about that tongue.” Ellen moved to let him on the bed where he could get a better look. “Damn…that’s gotta hurt.” The bleeding had slowed, but the tongue was going to be tender and swollen when Sam woke up. “I think it’ll be okay.”
“Maybe we should keep him sedated a while?” Bobby asked. “Maybe both of them could use it.”
John followed his gaze to Dean who was rocking slowly in the corner. “That only postpones it, Bobby. They’ve gotta deal with it, or we’ll still be doing this six months from now.”
“You say that like it’s easy.” Ellen said, her hand on his arm.
He closed his eyes. “Please, Ellen. I don’t know how much more of your nudging I can take before it’s me you’re sedating, okay?”
“Fair enough.”
“You look wiped out. Why don’t you let me finish this up?” Bobby said, indicating Sam’s wounded back. “Get some rest.”
John shook his head. “I’m not leaving them.”
“No one’s asking you to John, but what good are you to them if you can’t even stand up?” Ellen asked. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you and Dean go to your room and get some rest. Bobby and I will stay with Sam until one of you is up to taking over.”
“I’m not leaving.” Dean said, though he hadn’t moved.
Ellen rolled her eyes and headed for the door. “Fucking Winchesters.”
Sam’s first thought that wasn’t drug induced was that he was going to be sick. His hands flailed out to define his place, and he rolled to what he thought was the edge of the bed. A hand steadied him as his stomach revolted, and he vomited. When the heaving was done, the hand pulled him back onto the bed, a warm wash cloth wiping over his mouth.
“Dad?”
“Yeah, Sam.” His voice was deep and rumbled through Sam from behind. Slowly Sam became aware of his father’s body, close behind his without touching.
“What time is it?”
“Afternoon. Not sure.” His hand stroked over Sam’s head. “How you feeling?”
“Headache, sick.”
“Not surprised. You gave yourself a concussion and swallowed a lot of blood from the way you bit your tongue.”
Sam could feel his tongue was swollen, sore, but the truth was his head hurt more. “Where’s Dean?”
He felt his father sit up a little. “Ellen made Bobby and Caleb move the table out of the room and brought in another bed. He’s sleeping.”
Sam couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes just yet. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah, Sam. He’s fine. He’s scared, but he’s fine.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…I don’t know what happened.” He could still feel the drugs, but it wasn’t enough…the panic lay under the dull ache…under the pain and nausea…waiting.
He could feel the long line of his father behind him. He wanted to roll over, face him, but his back hurt.
“Can you tell me?”
His mind skipped back to the moment…the heat of Dean’s hand on his, the memory of Robert’s words…soft, loving…and the cascading feelings and thoughts…words…”The smell…after…after he came…it…I could…” He curled forward, away from his father. “I could taste it…you don’t…no…Dad.”
“I don’t know how to help you Sammy.” John said, his voice whispered over Sam’s ear. “I don’t know what you’re going through and you won’t tell me. Dean’s scared, and you don’t know how much that frightens me.”
Sam’s eyes opened finally, stealing a glance back at his father. John’s face was shadowed, his eyes dark and sunken. Pulling himself up so that his back didn’t scrape across the sheet, Sam turned to face his father. “Why is he so scared?” Sam asked, his voice nearly as soft as John’s had been.
“He’s afraid you…don’t want him…that you want to die.” John pushed the words out, forced them.
Sam pulled back a little, startled. He shook his head. “No…I mean…ugh, I don’t know what I mean.” He laid down again, his head on the pillow inches from his father’s.
“Did you tell him you wanted to die?” John asked, and Sam hated the way his eyes fractured and looked away.
“I…I said I would rather die than try to do this alone.” Sam whispered. “You must both hate me…I-I can’t do this…can’t do anything right. You wouldn’t look at me…when I told you…and Dean…I want him to want me…but can’t let him touch me…and that’s not what he needs right now…” Sam hated himself, but couldn’t stop now that he’d started.
“I-I am so disgusting…and Robert was right….he was right all along…I’m nothing…they just…used…and they made me…god…Daddy.” Sam grabbed John’s hands and pulled them to him. He hadn’t called his father that since he was 11. “They made me say please….P-Please….they hit Caleb until he was bloody and he told me no…he shook his head…but he was broken…it was my fault…and I could stop it…just had to ask…p-please…may I?” Sam shuddered, his body remembering. “Please…and Caleb….he watched…they fucked me while he watched…made me ask for it…came in my mouth…made me say thank you…thank you…”
Some part of him realized he was babbling and his father was crying and he didn’t know how to stop. He closed his eyes and held onto his father’s hands like they anchored him, made it okay to say it all…to put it all out… “I am nothing…weak…so weak, Daddy…I can’t be like Dean…can’t…I can feel them inside me when they look at me…Caleb and Gabe and Ellen….I can feel them all over again…and it hurts….and he…he…touched me…said he loved me…and I killed him…I killed him…and he was right…he was right…it’s wrong…its so wrong…I know and you hate me because of it….god, don’t hate me Daddy…don’t hate me…don’t hate me…don’t hate me…”
John’s lips pressed against his head, his forehead. “Shh…Sammy…no, never…never…love you. I love you. I love you so much…we can do this…we can do this together…shh…” Kisses pressed against Sam’s closed eyes, against their joined hands. Sam still whispered his litany of words, though so softly now John couldn’t make out what he was saying.
Tears drenched his face, but he didn’t stop whispering back, reassurances of his love, kisses over any part of Sam’s face he could reach. Sam’s hands held his tight, almost painfully as sobs wracked through his body and shook the bed. “I’m here, Sammy….right here…not leaving you. Love you so much.”
Slowly Sam stilled beside him…the sobs dwindling to random bouts of shivering, the whimpering sounds and words trailing off, though his lips were still moving. His grip loosened a little and John shifted, reaching behind him for the syringe Bobby had left for him. “Sam?”
He let his free hand caress Sam’s face, cajoling him into opening his eyes. “Sam, I can give you something…let you sleep some more. Do you want it?”
Sam looked like a little boy again when his eyes opened and he took a shuddering breath. “Will you stay with me? If I sleep, will you stay?”
John nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, Sam…I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
Sam nodded, watching as John stuck the needle into his arm, wet eyelashes closing over red eyes as the sedative took hold. John sat beside him, one hand caressing his arm as he fell asleep again. When he was sure Sam was asleep, he sat up, turning away from his son to pull a hand over his face. His hands trembled and he thought maybe he’d be sick too now.
He sucked in big breaths and pushed to standing. He checked on Dean and paced the small space left in the room with the two beds in it. The clock on the night stand said it was only two in the afternoon…it didn’t seem possible, considering what the day had brought them.
John knew his boys both blamed themselves for what had happened to them…but after Ellen’s revelation in the woods, John Winchester knew the truth. He knew exactly where the blame for this whole thing lay. He stared into the mirror over the small dresser. The part he still wasn’t clear on though was whether it was because he’d killed the berserker, or that he’d tried to save Bill.
He could still hear the sound he’d made, sucking in air through the blood. John tried to stop it, but Bill was so torn up…and when the berserker came back for more he’d fired both of their guns until they were empty, and it still came. Covered in bear skins, so that they couldn’t even see it’s face…and Bill pleaded for it, with his final breaths. “Please…John…please…”
The hunting knife sliced it’s belly open just before it’s claws would have done the same to him. John rode it to the ground, crawling over it to hack it’s head off so that it couldn’t get back up. Still Bill begged…and it took a while for John to recognize what he was asking. A three day hike out of there, and Bill would never live through half of it.
“Please…”
John thought at that moment that maybe it was the single most vile word in the English language.
Title: Please
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, John, Ellen, Bobby, OMC
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3467
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, Mine, Better, Choice, Gathering, Betrayal, Taken, Remember, Training, Conflagration, Setting Up, Surviving, Pretending, Rescue, Revelations, Reconciliation, Waking Up, Guilt, Working On It, Effort and The Need to Talk.
Summary: Ellen reveals a secret to John, Sam falls apart, and it only gets worse when Caleb tries to help him. John learns a little more than he might have wanted to about Sam's ordeal and remembers something from his past.
A/Ns and Warnings: Very dark. Includes memory of torture and rape and very dark violence. This piece is especially dark. Sam is reacting to the extensive rape.
“Big brothers?” John asked following her across the clearing.
She nodded. “Bill was older, about 4 years, give or take a month or two. Michael, he was…reckless, emotional. He let it all fester inside him. Course, it was worse for him. He was there when the demons killed their mother.”
She stuck her hands back in her pockets. “He was fifteen. Bill was already working, nights at the Roadhouse with his daddy. Michael was home looking after their mama when they came. Demon possessed gang, looking for kicks. That kinda thing scars a kid.”
“That’s what got Bill into hunting.” John said, nodding when she looked up at him. “He told me that much, never mentioned he had a brother though.”
“Michael was everything to Bill after their father died chasing the demons. They ran together, like you and your boys…hunting, chasing, and then one day they found me.”
She crossed her arms. “Bill wanted to settle down, hunt still, but find himself something comfortable…have a family. Michael…he wanted none of that. They fought a lot. Then Michael went out on his own.”
“You telling me Michael went bad?”
“Not at first, of course. He got dark, brooding, made bad calls. He’d come around every now and again, drag Bill off on some hunt. Bill always came home angry. Finally, Bill had enough. Told Michael not to call. He never told me what happened.”
John knew she wasn’t just telling stories, visiting old memories. She had a point. One he wasn’t going to like. “Are we going somewhere with this?”
She nodded slowly. “I’m getting there. Two months before Bill died, he went out on a hunt alone. It was supposed to be a werewolf. It wasn’t. He came back beat all to hell and wouldn’t talk about it.”
This part John knew. “It was a berserker, the same one we went after together two months later.”
She nodded. “You didn’t kill it.”
John shook his head. “No, it was dead. I cut off it’s fucking head, Ellen.”
She closed her eyes. “Then maybe it isn’t what I thought. Maybe he was controlling it…maybe…”
“Ellen, stop and tell me what’s going on.”
She took a deep breath and turned to look him in the eye. “I’ve thought Michael was dead. I’ve thought you killed him, after he killed Bill. All this time, I was sure he was the berserker. He liked to play with animal spirits, Bill figured that one finally got the better of him…but maybe…maybe he found a way to control one.”
“You’re telling me Bill’s brother has something to do with this?”
She couldn’t keep the tears from falling this time. “I think that Michael is Marvin Gorlian.”
Sam carefully pulled himself free of this brother. The touch of skin on skin was too much, too familiar. Robert’s voice echoed in his head…and made Dean’s hand on his hot with memory.
“I love you so much. I can’t stand watching them hurt you. Make it stop, baby. You know how. Just tell him you want to be good. Tell him you want to serve him. You want to learn to be a good slave for your master.”
Sam shivered and sat up. His stomach roiled, and he tried to breathe through it. His breakfast sat heavily in him, threatening to come up. That would upset Dean. He was cold, his back ached…his leg throbbed. Dean rolled closer, the skin of his arm ghosting over Sam’s and Sam got out of bed. The thought of even Dean touching him was…terrifying.
He could feel Caleb’s eyes, watching…could taste the come on his tongue as the trainers traded places. He’d told himself he could handle it…that he could forget it…that he could survive it…he never considered how bad it could be…how the touch would stay with him.
Dean’s hands…in the shower…Dean’s hands, moving over him, touching him, washing his ass, his fingers inside Sam, cleaning him…making him come when Sam didn’t think he could…Dean showing him how to submit…offering himself up to James…
Sam leaned his forehead against the wall. It was too much. He wasn’t strong enough to handle it. He wasn’t Dean. He wasn’t the son his father wanted. He was weak…he was nothing.
Nothing. No one. Alone.
Sam whimpered, turning and sliding down the wall to sit huddled against it.
”Say it.” Thomas growled.
Sam hung from the shackles on his wrists, bent knees scraping the metal floor. He bit his tongue to stop himself and Thomas hit Caleb again. “You gonna let me beat him to death, slave?”
“No.” Sam moaned, not looking at Caleb or Thomas.
“Then say it.”
“N-nothing.” Sam whispered. There was a loud crack before he felt the sting on his back.
“Louder.”
“Nothing.” Sam managed.
“Finish it.”
“No one. Alone.”
Thomas moved to the door of his cage, beckoning in the next to torment him. “You will ask him if you may please suck his cock.”
Sam’s stomach churned, and his eyes slipped to Caleb. The older man was bruised, his back welted. Caleb shook his head, telling Sam to refuse. Thomas leaned into Sam’s face. “You will ask him nicely, or I will lay into your whipping boy so hard, the blood spatter will reach you all the way over here.” Sam shook, his entire body quaking.
“P-p-please…” Sam nearly bit his tongue he was shaking so hard. “M-m-may I…”
The sound of leather on flesh reverberated around him and Sam’s eyes closed. Caleb did his best not to cry out, but he couldn’t take much more. Sam couldn’t let him take much more. “P-please…m-may I s-suck….your c-cock, s-sir?” Sam stuttered out. He was rewarded with the lowering of his chain, enough that his knees hit the floor. Something inside him broke, he closed off the part of him that held out the hope that someone was coming for him.
The man was in front of him and Sam opened his mouth, just opened his mouth and waited.
Sam hit his head against the wall, biting his lip to keep from crying out…he couldn’t let anyone see…couldn’t…He hit his head a little harder, pressing his back against the wall until he could feel the scabbed over cuts breaking open.
Some part of him knew he had to stop, knew he was going to wake his brother…hurt himself…but he couldn’t stop. He threw himself against the wall again and again. He could taste blood in his mouth…but the copper tang was better than the memory of come, of cock.
“Sam?”
His ears buzzed, and the voice seemed distant. The hand on his arm burned though, burned like fire and Sam pulled away. “No! No more. No more.” He slapped at the hand and turned toward the wall.
“Come on Sam. Calm down.”
There was a hand on his face now and Sam tried to pull away, but his head was ringing. “Fuck! Bobby! I need some help.”
Sam tried to focus on the voice, tried to claw his way out of the dark inside him, but when his eyes opened and Caleb’s bruised face was all he could see, Sam felt his body seize up, felt his face flushed and hot.
“What the hell?”
“We need to get something into him.”
“Sam?”
“Dean, go get your father.”
Sam didn’t follow it, couldn’t make out who was who…only knew he was falling…and the hands reaching out to him were pulling him down into the abyss.
“What happened?” John asked, once they’d injected a fair amount of sedative into Sam and the convulsions had stopped.
“I heard knocking on the wall, and when I came in, he was hitting himself against the wall. I tried to help, and he started convulsing.” Caleb said.
John nodded and looked to where Dean was huddled in the corner of the room. Dean’s knees were drawn up to his chest, his forehead on his knees. John could tell he was crying. “Okay, let’s get Sam up into the bed.”
Between Caleb and Bobby and John, they lifted Sam and settled him into bed on his side. John cursed at the blood soaking through his shirt and matted in his hair. “I’m going to need the med kit…and Ellen.”
“I’ll go.” Caleb said, disappearing.
John peeled the wet t-shirt from Sam’s back, grimacing as it pulled off whatever scabbing had remained after Sam had beat himself against the wall. His eyes shot to Dean. He was going to have to deal with Dean soon. “Bobby, see if you can figure out how bad he hit his head.”
He brushed his hands on his jeans and went to squat by Dean. “Hey.”
Dean shook his head without raising it. “My fault. Shouldn’t have slept. Shouldn’t have let him be alone.”
“Dean. Look at me.”
Dean raised a tear stained face, his breath erratic as John’s head descended on his knee. “This isn’t your fault. Sam just had a…little break down. It’s okay. He’s gonna be fine.”
“No…he…did it for me…he wasn’t ready. I shouldn’t let him. I should have said no.”
“Dean? What happened?” John glanced up at Bobby who was tenderly pulling the blood soaked hair away from Sam’s wound. “What did you let him do?”
“I…I let him…he…helped me.” Dean dropped his eyes and John shook his head. He didn’t want to know this. Didn’t want to think about his boys like that. “It wasn’t good for him…I should have…I should have known…but he wanted…he said he wanted…”
“It’s okay Dean. It’s okay.” John whispered, quieting him. “He’ll be okay. It’s just a little concussion, and he opened up the cuts in his back.”
They were quiet then. Ellen appeared at the door with the med kit, her eyes sweeping over John and Dean, Sam and Bobby. She thankfully didn’t ask, just went to Bobby with the kit, opening it to pull out gauze and antiseptic.
“I don’t want him to die.” Dean said quietly, pulling John’s attention back to him.
“He’s not going to die, Dean.” John said.
“He…wants to…sometimes.”
“He--what?” John dropped to his knees in front of his son. “What are you saying?”
“He-he told me…can’t be alone, he said. I left him alone.”
John’s breath escaped him, like he’d been sucker punched. “What? Why would he say that?”
Dean’s expression was hurt and annoyed all at once. “He’s…dirty. He feels like nothing…not good enough…not wanted…like he’s just…like me…a whore.” His voice nearly disappeared on the last words.
John shook his head. It was too much information…his head was swimming with Ellen’s revelation and Sam’s pain and Dean’s need. “Fuck.” He pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose.
“John, you okay?” Ellen’s voice reached him and he shook his head.
“Deal with Sam. I’m fine.” He blew out a slow breath, reaching for Dean’s hands. “I need you to pay attention Dean. This is important.”
Dean nodded.
“You are not…not a whore…not a slave. Neither is Sam.” John’s throat constricted and he had to swallow hard. “You’re my sons.”
Dean calmed considerably, his eyes narrowing as they looked up into John’s. “Being your son doesn’t mean I’m not also what he made me.”
“John?”
He looked up at Ellen. “You should take a look at this.” She was holding Sam’s mouth open.
Dean nodded, and John climbed to his feet. “What?”
“He’s bit a pretty deep gash into his tongue. It’s still bleeding.”
Bobby held up some bloody gauze. “He’s gonna have a good headache when he comes to, but it isn’t as bad as it could be.”
John leaned over Sam to look. He sighed. “Okay. Let’s see about that tongue.” Ellen moved to let him on the bed where he could get a better look. “Damn…that’s gotta hurt.” The bleeding had slowed, but the tongue was going to be tender and swollen when Sam woke up. “I think it’ll be okay.”
“Maybe we should keep him sedated a while?” Bobby asked. “Maybe both of them could use it.”
John followed his gaze to Dean who was rocking slowly in the corner. “That only postpones it, Bobby. They’ve gotta deal with it, or we’ll still be doing this six months from now.”
“You say that like it’s easy.” Ellen said, her hand on his arm.
He closed his eyes. “Please, Ellen. I don’t know how much more of your nudging I can take before it’s me you’re sedating, okay?”
“Fair enough.”
“You look wiped out. Why don’t you let me finish this up?” Bobby said, indicating Sam’s wounded back. “Get some rest.”
John shook his head. “I’m not leaving them.”
“No one’s asking you to John, but what good are you to them if you can’t even stand up?” Ellen asked. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you and Dean go to your room and get some rest. Bobby and I will stay with Sam until one of you is up to taking over.”
“I’m not leaving.” Dean said, though he hadn’t moved.
Ellen rolled her eyes and headed for the door. “Fucking Winchesters.”
Sam’s first thought that wasn’t drug induced was that he was going to be sick. His hands flailed out to define his place, and he rolled to what he thought was the edge of the bed. A hand steadied him as his stomach revolted, and he vomited. When the heaving was done, the hand pulled him back onto the bed, a warm wash cloth wiping over his mouth.
“Dad?”
“Yeah, Sam.” His voice was deep and rumbled through Sam from behind. Slowly Sam became aware of his father’s body, close behind his without touching.
“What time is it?”
“Afternoon. Not sure.” His hand stroked over Sam’s head. “How you feeling?”
“Headache, sick.”
“Not surprised. You gave yourself a concussion and swallowed a lot of blood from the way you bit your tongue.”
Sam could feel his tongue was swollen, sore, but the truth was his head hurt more. “Where’s Dean?”
He felt his father sit up a little. “Ellen made Bobby and Caleb move the table out of the room and brought in another bed. He’s sleeping.”
Sam couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes just yet. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah, Sam. He’s fine. He’s scared, but he’s fine.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…I don’t know what happened.” He could still feel the drugs, but it wasn’t enough…the panic lay under the dull ache…under the pain and nausea…waiting.
He could feel the long line of his father behind him. He wanted to roll over, face him, but his back hurt.
“Can you tell me?”
His mind skipped back to the moment…the heat of Dean’s hand on his, the memory of Robert’s words…soft, loving…and the cascading feelings and thoughts…words…”The smell…after…after he came…it…I could…” He curled forward, away from his father. “I could taste it…you don’t…no…Dad.”
“I don’t know how to help you Sammy.” John said, his voice whispered over Sam’s ear. “I don’t know what you’re going through and you won’t tell me. Dean’s scared, and you don’t know how much that frightens me.”
Sam’s eyes opened finally, stealing a glance back at his father. John’s face was shadowed, his eyes dark and sunken. Pulling himself up so that his back didn’t scrape across the sheet, Sam turned to face his father. “Why is he so scared?” Sam asked, his voice nearly as soft as John’s had been.
“He’s afraid you…don’t want him…that you want to die.” John pushed the words out, forced them.
Sam pulled back a little, startled. He shook his head. “No…I mean…ugh, I don’t know what I mean.” He laid down again, his head on the pillow inches from his father’s.
“Did you tell him you wanted to die?” John asked, and Sam hated the way his eyes fractured and looked away.
“I…I said I would rather die than try to do this alone.” Sam whispered. “You must both hate me…I-I can’t do this…can’t do anything right. You wouldn’t look at me…when I told you…and Dean…I want him to want me…but can’t let him touch me…and that’s not what he needs right now…” Sam hated himself, but couldn’t stop now that he’d started.
“I-I am so disgusting…and Robert was right….he was right all along…I’m nothing…they just…used…and they made me…god…Daddy.” Sam grabbed John’s hands and pulled them to him. He hadn’t called his father that since he was 11. “They made me say please….P-Please….they hit Caleb until he was bloody and he told me no…he shook his head…but he was broken…it was my fault…and I could stop it…just had to ask…p-please…may I?” Sam shuddered, his body remembering. “Please…and Caleb….he watched…they fucked me while he watched…made me ask for it…came in my mouth…made me say thank you…thank you…”
Some part of him realized he was babbling and his father was crying and he didn’t know how to stop. He closed his eyes and held onto his father’s hands like they anchored him, made it okay to say it all…to put it all out… “I am nothing…weak…so weak, Daddy…I can’t be like Dean…can’t…I can feel them inside me when they look at me…Caleb and Gabe and Ellen….I can feel them all over again…and it hurts….and he…he…touched me…said he loved me…and I killed him…I killed him…and he was right…he was right…it’s wrong…its so wrong…I know and you hate me because of it….god, don’t hate me Daddy…don’t hate me…don’t hate me…don’t hate me…”
John’s lips pressed against his head, his forehead. “Shh…Sammy…no, never…never…love you. I love you. I love you so much…we can do this…we can do this together…shh…” Kisses pressed against Sam’s closed eyes, against their joined hands. Sam still whispered his litany of words, though so softly now John couldn’t make out what he was saying.
Tears drenched his face, but he didn’t stop whispering back, reassurances of his love, kisses over any part of Sam’s face he could reach. Sam’s hands held his tight, almost painfully as sobs wracked through his body and shook the bed. “I’m here, Sammy….right here…not leaving you. Love you so much.”
Slowly Sam stilled beside him…the sobs dwindling to random bouts of shivering, the whimpering sounds and words trailing off, though his lips were still moving. His grip loosened a little and John shifted, reaching behind him for the syringe Bobby had left for him. “Sam?”
He let his free hand caress Sam’s face, cajoling him into opening his eyes. “Sam, I can give you something…let you sleep some more. Do you want it?”
Sam looked like a little boy again when his eyes opened and he took a shuddering breath. “Will you stay with me? If I sleep, will you stay?”
John nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, Sam…I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
Sam nodded, watching as John stuck the needle into his arm, wet eyelashes closing over red eyes as the sedative took hold. John sat beside him, one hand caressing his arm as he fell asleep again. When he was sure Sam was asleep, he sat up, turning away from his son to pull a hand over his face. His hands trembled and he thought maybe he’d be sick too now.
He sucked in big breaths and pushed to standing. He checked on Dean and paced the small space left in the room with the two beds in it. The clock on the night stand said it was only two in the afternoon…it didn’t seem possible, considering what the day had brought them.
John knew his boys both blamed themselves for what had happened to them…but after Ellen’s revelation in the woods, John Winchester knew the truth. He knew exactly where the blame for this whole thing lay. He stared into the mirror over the small dresser. The part he still wasn’t clear on though was whether it was because he’d killed the berserker, or that he’d tried to save Bill.
He could still hear the sound he’d made, sucking in air through the blood. John tried to stop it, but Bill was so torn up…and when the berserker came back for more he’d fired both of their guns until they were empty, and it still came. Covered in bear skins, so that they couldn’t even see it’s face…and Bill pleaded for it, with his final breaths. “Please…John…please…”
The hunting knife sliced it’s belly open just before it’s claws would have done the same to him. John rode it to the ground, crawling over it to hack it’s head off so that it couldn’t get back up. Still Bill begged…and it took a while for John to recognize what he was asking. A three day hike out of there, and Bill would never live through half of it.
“Please…”
John thought at that moment that maybe it was the single most vile word in the English language.