![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle:To The Waters And The Wild
Fandom:SpN
Author:roxy
PairingsDean/Sam
Rating:R
Word Count:3860
"No!" Sam fell back on his ass--threw his head back and screamed. Tricked, tortured, for what—*why?* Why make him go through that just…just to laugh at him? An arm coated with filth and grease, ending in a bloody flipper, smacked against the floor. Thick, glutinous mud studded with grass and twigs dripped on the floor. Shiny bits of gravel and sand glinted in the mess. Sam wiped his eyes, snuffling hard, watching the mud mixture slide off the arm and plop thickly on the floor. His breath hitched and caught in his throat. This is what happened when you let yourself hope--this pain….
Something at the end of the arm twitched, poked through the mud…a finger?
Fingers? He grabbed the arm and combed his own fingers through the sticky filth and curled them around the five perfect fingers he found. He ripped the rug open wider, and cursed. What had seemed a featureless head wasn't—there was hair, glued flat with blood and dirt and mucus, and under that coating, there were ears, and eyes, a mouth tightly shut against the gunk and—
Sam raced into the room's bath and reached into the tub to flip the faucets on, and turned on the shower. He kicked off his shoes as he hopped around the little room, lurching and banging into walls, trying to jump out of his jeans and take off his shirt and socks all at once. Finally stripped down to t-shirt and boxers, he ran back out to Dean, still and unmoving in the middle of the room…he locked his arms around Dean's chest and dragged him into the bathroom.
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
Sam knelt in the tub with Dean slumped under the shower's spray, trying to hold him up and wash him at the same time. The water swirled down the drain, carrying blood and mucus and shit with it and every so often, he had to stop and clear the drain. Sam was getting smeared himself, with clots and globs of stinking filth—it was seriously nasty. Reminded him a bit of the stuff that shapeshifter, the one who'd stolen Dean's face, had left behind when it…shed. Molted. Whatever. The memory made him gag, as much as the *smell* coming from the gunk…the steam from the hot water was doing a great job filling the air with the stench, but it didn’t matter now because Dean was coming to life under his hands. His body, his face…his face…freed from the muck as hot water and soap revealed him bit by bit. Shreds of leaves and grass and strands of what looked like ivory colored straw washed off of him, dirt and tiny white bits of gravel glittered in the bottom of the tub.
The shower was pretty much running cold and Sam's teeth were chattering when the water finally ran down the drain crystal clear.
He dragged a still unconscious Dean out of the shower. He was glad he'd taken his clothes off, kind of wished he'd ignored the stupid impulse for propriety that made him keep his underwear on…and oh shit. All Dean had to wear was a rug--
Sam stopped and wiped wet hair back from his face and exhaled. Slowly, a tiny bubble of weird ass amusement rose in his chest, blew out of him in a sharp bark of laughter. Dean naked and—and *naked*. That was going to make check-out some kind of difficult.
He spread Dean out on the bed and rubbed him down with a towel. The gentle swirling circles Sam swept over him slowed. Dean was…he looked closer at Dean's skin. There were marks all over him. His body was covered with odd lines of scarring, white and thin, pink and raised—at first it seemed the lines were scattered over his skin but there seemed to be some hint of pattern. Sam ran his fingers over the healed marks until it began to feel—intrusive. He swallowed hard, and rolled Dean under the blankets. He thought about sleeping on the floor and sighed. He kicked off his soaking underwear and wiped himself down with a dry towel quickly— crawled in with Dean. Fuck worrying about Dean waking up and beating the shit out of him. Hell, he saved his life. Brought him back home, Dean should be damn grateful for that--cut him some slack. He curved around his brother's back; the skin was chilled, so he pulled Dean tight against himself, wrapped his arms around him. He figured that'd make it a little harder for Dean to swing at him when he woke. When he woke…it'd all be different. It'd be right again. The way it was supposed to be, Dean with him, and him back with Dean. His eyes burned and he blinked hard. When he had the time, when everything was back in order, he was going to cry his fucking brains out and he'd deserve it too, damn it.
Sam fell asleep waiting for Dean's skin to warm.
Sam was ripped out of sleep by a siren shriek of pain—or fear. The bed was empty. Dean was moving crab-like across the floor, screaming. His gaze skittered around the room—he inhaled sharp and shocked when he saw Sam was awake, and froze.
"Dean—" The sudden, complete silence was almost as shocking as Dean's reaction to his voice. Sam watched him open-mouthed as he suddenly jerked like he was coming out of a trance--his eyes slammed shut and he rolled into a ball, fisted hands crossed over his face.
"Dean…Dean…" Sam dropped to the floor next to him and reached out for him, and Dean shuddered all over once and lay still, as if he was waiting. The way he did it…was wrong and awful and it *hurt* to see. Sam told himself he understood. After all, he couldn’t imagine what Dean suffered, year after year, what had been done to him to make him look like…like he had when Sam brought him out of Hell….
Trying to speak as soothingly as possible, he said, "Okay, you take your time, it's okay. You’re safe now, though, I want you to know that. You’re home, Dean." Dean didn’t move, and Sam sighed. He went into the bathroom to get water and when he came out, Dean was gone.
"Shit!" The glass dropped out of his nerveless fingers, rolled under the bed. He looked around wildly, rushed to the door--which was still locked. The windows were closed, still locked--still smeared with the wash he'd applied before he stepped into hell…what the fuck--
Sam glanced around the room again and looked at the bed….
He dropped to his knees and lifted the spread and Dean was under the bed, back to the wall and teeth bared. He looked terrified—so beyond terrified his expression was hardly human. Sam's heart tore.
He leaned back against the bed, shoulders against the box spring and his eyes filled. How in the hell had he been stupid enough to imagine that this was going to be anything like simple…that all he'd have to do was get Dean home and it'd all be sparkles and rainbows after that. This…this was going to be some shit. Worse than…he wiped at his eyes, ground his fists into them hard.
Okay. He took a deep breath. Okay damn it, let me think…the room had been cleaned. The altar was gone, just a nightstand now, holding an ugly lamp and an ancient pea soup green phone with square buttons. He huffed. Esu had the same Winchester taste in motels…he checked in the drawer and the gun he'd left on the altar was there, wrapped in the bandana he'd used to wash the doors and windows. Thoughtful.
He called the desk and asked for how long the room had been rented, and was told the room was his for three days. That left him one more day. He could call Raph, tell him that he'd found Dean and ask him to bring the clothes from his locker at work and that would solve his naked Dean problem, and then…then what?
What exactly did you do to help someone recover from the trauma of Hell? It sounded so stupid he laughed out loud, and was startled by the sound of wheezing from under the bed…shit!
Dean was shaking, his breath coming out in panicked bursts. Sam's stomach rolled. The sound of his laughter had sent his brother into a fit of terror.
God. The sound of *laughter* was terrifying him…
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
"Come out Dean, please…come out and eat—you want to eat?"
Dean was still plastered against the back wall, still scared, still wide-eyed, and if Sam tried to reach out, he shivered like a leaf in the wind…. Fuck. When Raph knocks on the door, it's going to make him freak like--and right on schedule, pounding on the door sent Dean into a shaking fit. "Swear to God, Dean, it's okay. I promise."
He answered the door, and Raph was standing there, holding two paper bags. "Hey, come on in. And can you try to keep it…quiet? He's a little, a little...." Sam stuttered into silence, and Raph gave him a look too full of understanding.
"Gotcha," his voice pitched low as he was capable. "Here's the clothes." He glanced around the room. "Where is he—oh. Damn..." Raph looked at him and Sam wanted to curse, punch him anything but be on the receiving end of that look…it hurt. "He's under the bed? Damn. Boss, if you need help—Boss, you need *help*," he said decisively.
"Raph…I'll talk to you tomorrow. And don't—not yet—you know."
"Hey, like the grave, man. See you tomorrow?"
"I'll call you. And thanks again Raph."
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
The next morning…Sam thought if *ever* anyone asked him if he'd like to relive it, he'd beat the shit out of them. Fuck—he'd pump silver bullets into their hearts.
It'd started with spending a long, long night laying on the floor next to the bed, and just kept getting better with the dawn—first, leaving Dean alone in the bathroom had turned out to be a major bad idea. He'd caught sight of himself in the mirror and just…screamed. Screamed and screamed until Sam had managed to yank him out of the room. He'd had to practically tackle him in order to drag his ass out of that bathroom. He wished he'd been able to do it before Dean put his fist through the mirror.
It got better….
He spent a half hour trying to get a flinching, whining, bleeding, screaming, trembling and completely uncooperative body into clothing…it came as no surprise that the hotel's single security guy had come banging on the door. Between trying to quiet Dean and assure the guard that everything was fine, just fine, he finally opened the door to him. "Look…my brother is. Uhm. Having problems." He tried to smile reassuringly…sure. He looked like he'd just stepped out of a wind tunnel, his shirt was smeared with blood--he probably looked like a serial killer. "I'm trying to get him out to our car and he's…."
The guy caught sight of Dean, half dressed, looking equally panicked, angry and…and devastated, so much so that even the cynical guard folded. Nodded, with that fucking sympathetic look, so like Raph's—the one that made Sam want to kick the shit out of someone. He shrugged. "I'm trying to get him ready, promise."
"Sir, try and keep it down some. I'll handle the other guests but...you're leaving, right?"
Sam assured him that they were, and as quickly as was possible. He thanked him for his patience, and shut the door and cursed long and low. Dean had his shirt almost off again, struggling against his arms trapped in the fabric and he was crouched against the floor again and just…shivering. fuck, just don't scream, please don't—
Dean started screaming like he was being gutted.
Sam tackled him and brought him down flat to the floor and Dean went dead silent and still as a stone. Sam yanked his head free of the shirt and Dean was quiet and just—absent. No matter how Sam patted his cheek or shook him there was no reaction and he thought oh my God, how do I make this better? Can I make this better?
Maybe he should have called for help. "Get up Dean, please—" he was prepared to be ignored, but Dean opened his eyes. He let himself be pulled up to his feet, let himself be dressed and pulled and prodded until he was more or less presentable. "Walk, okay? Can you walk?
Dean stared at him, his eyes skittering over and away from his face, flat and dull, but he took a step. Sam felt a flare of triumph and relief. Step after step they walked out of the room to the elevator. It felt as if a lifetime passed as they crossed the lobby and walked out to the parking lot behind the Crossroads. Sam shoved Dean into the car, unbelievably thankful they'd managed it without incident—he wanted to put all that shit behind him and he knew once they were safe at home the whole situation was bound to improve. Had to. Once they were back in the apartment, they'd figure out the next step. He drove towards home with his brother shivering and whining quietly in the seat next to him and tried not to worry.
He got Dean into the apartment with little trouble and took a deep breath, felt like his first breath since they'd climbed into the car. They'd done it. Home again. Home again.
It went straight to shit from there.
Sam sat at his table and drank what had to have been his fifth or sixth cup of bitter black coffee …he'd kind of lost track along the way. He grimaced, gulped it down and prayed for strength, or at least the strength to keep his eyelids up. He folded his arms on the table top and rested his forehead on them…he breathed out, tried to empty his lungs. From the bedroom a steady whine rose and fell. Dean was in there and he might be just a little sort of tied. To the bed—
Sam giggled, pressed his face against his arms hard enough to hurt. Dean tied to his bed. God, that would have been fodder for…yeah.
Reality was worlds uglier than that--Dean kept trying to hurt himself. When he couldn’t find some object to stab at himself he was ripping at his skin, stopping only when Sam gave in and tied his hands to the bedposts. There really was no way to do that gently. Dean stopped screaming at least, but mostly because he couldn't anymore and the noise he made when he tried to anyway was almost worse. Dean didn't know who his brother was and he didn’t know who he was. He was terrified by the face in the mirror and Sam was terrified that he might never know. He considered calling Bobby, over and over he reached for the phone but something stopped him, some instinct held him back.
A low despairing moan came from the bedroom and Sam shuddered. This was insane. He needed sleep. Dean needed sleep.
He called Raph.
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
Raph whistled when he saw Sam. "Boss, you look like shit. Where's your bro—whoa."
Dean let out a long hoarse scream, and Sam just shuddered, his eyes closing involuntarily.
"'Kaa-y." Raph reached in his pocket and pulled out a bottle of pills. "We'll give him two of these. They'll knock him out pretty good. You need to sleep too, Sam. You're going to die if you keep this up. You haven't slept since you brought him home, I bet." He frowned. "No one would think bad of you if you had him—you know, there are nice places—" He tried to step inside and stopped at Sam's look.
"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about." Sam held his hand out and shook it impatiently. "Just. Gimme the pills and go."
Raph nodded and dropped the bottle into his hand and Sam shut the door on him and went back to the bedroom.
Sam got the pills into Dean by shoving his fingers down his throat. It got the pills in but Dean went as blank as he had in the hotel room, unmoving and eyes fixed on some distant point. Sam crouched on the edge of the bed, waiting until Dean sighed and finally let go. He was out, deep in sleep and Sam freed his hands but left an ankle tied. This…was a nightmare. Drugging Dean, keeping him leashed to the bed, listening to him scream and fight and cry…Jesus. He kept telling himself that this was better than the last three years, that this was to be expected and eventually they'd get through this. He swore he'd do anything, *give* anything to have Dean back and he was sure as fuck not sorry that his brother was back…he stroked Dean's arm, relishing the warmth, the feel of the hair on his arms so soft against his palm…he hung his head and his eyes pricked sharply.
He was pretty damn tired….
He walked towards the kitchen, sniffing deeply, stunned that the smell of frying bacon wasn't a hallucination. Sitting on the counter were a couple of egg and bacon sandwiches on a plate, along with a big glass of orange juice. "Dude," Raph said, "Where the fuck's the food? What the fuck are you guys eating?"
Sam stood open mouthed in the doorway, angry as shit that Raph hadn't left, not really wanting him in the apartment—not wanting him to interfere. He seriously thought about punching the shit out of Raphael, but his stomach growled loudly, told him not to be an asshole to the person willing to feed him.
"Damn dude—you loud. Eat something."
Sam dropped into the seat, snatched up a greasy sandwich and took a huge bite and almost moaned. There were times that bacon was definitely called for…he swallowed and eyed Raph. "I thought I told you to get out."
"Shit." Raph was busy ignoring him, he had the trash can lid up and was staring down into it with a look of disgust. "Ya'll been eating applesauce and cup-a-soups? Shit. No wonder you sounded like a starving wookie."
"It's Dean. He won't eat much else. I think…" Sam inhaled, and held it for a moment. "I think it hurts him but I haven't…haven't looked in his mouth." He bit his lip, feeling all the words want to come pouring out and struggling to hold them in.
Raph frowned. "How about I take a look?"
Sam clamped down his automatic response of 'fuck no'--shook his head. "No. He's pretty messed up. Strangers will just make it worse." And he really didn’t want Raph becoming more involved than he had to be. Hell, Raph *already* was more involved than he should be.
"Man, he's got to be asleep by now. I'll just look real quick okay? He needs someone to take a look at him and I'm guessing if I told you to take him to an ER—"
"No!"
"--that you wouldn't go for that."
Sam scowled, and shoved the juice and the food away. "Come on. He's in here." Raph was a paramedic before he was a crime scene cleaner. He might pick up on stuff Sam was missing. And it was better than having a complete stranger intruding on them.
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
Raph kind of stuttered to a stop in the bedroom doorway. "Well fuck." He shook his head and said, "Dude. This—you can't—okay, never mind that right now." He laced his fingers together over his bald head and frowned. "I just…damn…" He went to the bed without further comment on the restraints, examined Dean as quickly as he could. He whistled. "Shit. Looks like someone worked the inside of his mouth over with a wire brush. He's…he's really taken some kind of beatings. He's got a lot of old and new scarring but doesn't look like anything deep, except for this one on his chest." He touched the nearly circular gnarled scar and Sam flinched. He knew why that scar was there and didn't want to think how it happened. "I think…well, you want to get some testing done on him, for sure. I'm sorry. I don’t mind helping out when you need it. Like I said, me and Danny both worked on a psych ward…you know."
Sam leaned on the headboard and fought down the surge of anger at the hint that Dean was less than okay…obvious as it was. Shit, Raph was right, hadn't really told him more than he didn't already know. Now that Dean was safely asleep, Sam had to admit that for the first time in days he felt a little less tightly strung. He wanted to hang onto the feeling for a few seconds more. "You've been a bit of everything, haven't you?"
"I get bored." He shoved Sam out the door, back into the kitchen and pointedly put his plate back in front of him. He dropped into the chair opposite Sam, crossed his arms on the table and rested his chin on them. "Hey, remind me some day to tell you about the escort service…"
"The fuck. You're kidding right?" Sam hesitated a moment before grabbing the sandwich and tearing into it.
"Maybe. And what, you think I ain't handsome enough, hunh?" Raph grinned and got to his feet, handed Sam a sleeping pill. When Sam shook his head and tried to refuse Raph said, "Don't worry, Boss. I'm staying here. Ears open, eyes wide. Relax."
Sam rolled the pill on his palm, thinking—and took it. He wasn't going to do Dean a bit of good if he was staggering and stupid for lack of sleep. He looked up at Raph and saw only sincere concern in his eyes and for a helpless second felt his eyes fill.
Raph just pointed at the bedroom. "Go. Do us both a favor and get some sleep."
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
hot hot hot and hot…thirsty. Hurt. They're coming again. Quiet yes, promise quiet please don't hurt me. Please, don’t hurt me. I don’t want to be this, don’t want it. Sorry.
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
Sam woke in the middle of the night…he was tense all over, listening hard, his heart tripping…he took a deep breath and decided it was the quiet that woke him. He lifted to one elbow and looked down at Dean. For the first time in days, he wasn’t jerking awake every few minutes. He was deeply asleep, still, not a twitch, not a moan. He smiled down into his brother's face and let his fingers trail over his warm cheek. Thank God, he was getting some peace at least this night.
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
no no no—can't move, can't run can't SCREAM. Don’t do that please please I'll do anything don't…PLEASE.
part 9
TBC
Fandom:SpN
Author:roxy
PairingsDean/Sam
Rating:R
Word Count:3860
"No!" Sam fell back on his ass--threw his head back and screamed. Tricked, tortured, for what—*why?* Why make him go through that just…just to laugh at him? An arm coated with filth and grease, ending in a bloody flipper, smacked against the floor. Thick, glutinous mud studded with grass and twigs dripped on the floor. Shiny bits of gravel and sand glinted in the mess. Sam wiped his eyes, snuffling hard, watching the mud mixture slide off the arm and plop thickly on the floor. His breath hitched and caught in his throat. This is what happened when you let yourself hope--this pain….
Something at the end of the arm twitched, poked through the mud…a finger?
Fingers? He grabbed the arm and combed his own fingers through the sticky filth and curled them around the five perfect fingers he found. He ripped the rug open wider, and cursed. What had seemed a featureless head wasn't—there was hair, glued flat with blood and dirt and mucus, and under that coating, there were ears, and eyes, a mouth tightly shut against the gunk and—
Sam raced into the room's bath and reached into the tub to flip the faucets on, and turned on the shower. He kicked off his shoes as he hopped around the little room, lurching and banging into walls, trying to jump out of his jeans and take off his shirt and socks all at once. Finally stripped down to t-shirt and boxers, he ran back out to Dean, still and unmoving in the middle of the room…he locked his arms around Dean's chest and dragged him into the bathroom.
Sam knelt in the tub with Dean slumped under the shower's spray, trying to hold him up and wash him at the same time. The water swirled down the drain, carrying blood and mucus and shit with it and every so often, he had to stop and clear the drain. Sam was getting smeared himself, with clots and globs of stinking filth—it was seriously nasty. Reminded him a bit of the stuff that shapeshifter, the one who'd stolen Dean's face, had left behind when it…shed. Molted. Whatever. The memory made him gag, as much as the *smell* coming from the gunk…the steam from the hot water was doing a great job filling the air with the stench, but it didn’t matter now because Dean was coming to life under his hands. His body, his face…his face…freed from the muck as hot water and soap revealed him bit by bit. Shreds of leaves and grass and strands of what looked like ivory colored straw washed off of him, dirt and tiny white bits of gravel glittered in the bottom of the tub.
The shower was pretty much running cold and Sam's teeth were chattering when the water finally ran down the drain crystal clear.
He dragged a still unconscious Dean out of the shower. He was glad he'd taken his clothes off, kind of wished he'd ignored the stupid impulse for propriety that made him keep his underwear on…and oh shit. All Dean had to wear was a rug--
Sam stopped and wiped wet hair back from his face and exhaled. Slowly, a tiny bubble of weird ass amusement rose in his chest, blew out of him in a sharp bark of laughter. Dean naked and—and *naked*. That was going to make check-out some kind of difficult.
He spread Dean out on the bed and rubbed him down with a towel. The gentle swirling circles Sam swept over him slowed. Dean was…he looked closer at Dean's skin. There were marks all over him. His body was covered with odd lines of scarring, white and thin, pink and raised—at first it seemed the lines were scattered over his skin but there seemed to be some hint of pattern. Sam ran his fingers over the healed marks until it began to feel—intrusive. He swallowed hard, and rolled Dean under the blankets. He thought about sleeping on the floor and sighed. He kicked off his soaking underwear and wiped himself down with a dry towel quickly— crawled in with Dean. Fuck worrying about Dean waking up and beating the shit out of him. Hell, he saved his life. Brought him back home, Dean should be damn grateful for that--cut him some slack. He curved around his brother's back; the skin was chilled, so he pulled Dean tight against himself, wrapped his arms around him. He figured that'd make it a little harder for Dean to swing at him when he woke. When he woke…it'd all be different. It'd be right again. The way it was supposed to be, Dean with him, and him back with Dean. His eyes burned and he blinked hard. When he had the time, when everything was back in order, he was going to cry his fucking brains out and he'd deserve it too, damn it.
Sam fell asleep waiting for Dean's skin to warm.
Sam was ripped out of sleep by a siren shriek of pain—or fear. The bed was empty. Dean was moving crab-like across the floor, screaming. His gaze skittered around the room—he inhaled sharp and shocked when he saw Sam was awake, and froze.
"Dean—" The sudden, complete silence was almost as shocking as Dean's reaction to his voice. Sam watched him open-mouthed as he suddenly jerked like he was coming out of a trance--his eyes slammed shut and he rolled into a ball, fisted hands crossed over his face.
"Dean…Dean…" Sam dropped to the floor next to him and reached out for him, and Dean shuddered all over once and lay still, as if he was waiting. The way he did it…was wrong and awful and it *hurt* to see. Sam told himself he understood. After all, he couldn’t imagine what Dean suffered, year after year, what had been done to him to make him look like…like he had when Sam brought him out of Hell….
Trying to speak as soothingly as possible, he said, "Okay, you take your time, it's okay. You’re safe now, though, I want you to know that. You’re home, Dean." Dean didn’t move, and Sam sighed. He went into the bathroom to get water and when he came out, Dean was gone.
"Shit!" The glass dropped out of his nerveless fingers, rolled under the bed. He looked around wildly, rushed to the door--which was still locked. The windows were closed, still locked--still smeared with the wash he'd applied before he stepped into hell…what the fuck--
Sam glanced around the room again and looked at the bed….
He dropped to his knees and lifted the spread and Dean was under the bed, back to the wall and teeth bared. He looked terrified—so beyond terrified his expression was hardly human. Sam's heart tore.
He leaned back against the bed, shoulders against the box spring and his eyes filled. How in the hell had he been stupid enough to imagine that this was going to be anything like simple…that all he'd have to do was get Dean home and it'd all be sparkles and rainbows after that. This…this was going to be some shit. Worse than…he wiped at his eyes, ground his fists into them hard.
Okay. He took a deep breath. Okay damn it, let me think…the room had been cleaned. The altar was gone, just a nightstand now, holding an ugly lamp and an ancient pea soup green phone with square buttons. He huffed. Esu had the same Winchester taste in motels…he checked in the drawer and the gun he'd left on the altar was there, wrapped in the bandana he'd used to wash the doors and windows. Thoughtful.
He called the desk and asked for how long the room had been rented, and was told the room was his for three days. That left him one more day. He could call Raph, tell him that he'd found Dean and ask him to bring the clothes from his locker at work and that would solve his naked Dean problem, and then…then what?
What exactly did you do to help someone recover from the trauma of Hell? It sounded so stupid he laughed out loud, and was startled by the sound of wheezing from under the bed…shit!
Dean was shaking, his breath coming out in panicked bursts. Sam's stomach rolled. The sound of his laughter had sent his brother into a fit of terror.
God. The sound of *laughter* was terrifying him…
"Come out Dean, please…come out and eat—you want to eat?"
Dean was still plastered against the back wall, still scared, still wide-eyed, and if Sam tried to reach out, he shivered like a leaf in the wind…. Fuck. When Raph knocks on the door, it's going to make him freak like--and right on schedule, pounding on the door sent Dean into a shaking fit. "Swear to God, Dean, it's okay. I promise."
He answered the door, and Raph was standing there, holding two paper bags. "Hey, come on in. And can you try to keep it…quiet? He's a little, a little...." Sam stuttered into silence, and Raph gave him a look too full of understanding.
"Gotcha," his voice pitched low as he was capable. "Here's the clothes." He glanced around the room. "Where is he—oh. Damn..." Raph looked at him and Sam wanted to curse, punch him anything but be on the receiving end of that look…it hurt. "He's under the bed? Damn. Boss, if you need help—Boss, you need *help*," he said decisively.
"Raph…I'll talk to you tomorrow. And don't—not yet—you know."
"Hey, like the grave, man. See you tomorrow?"
"I'll call you. And thanks again Raph."
The next morning…Sam thought if *ever* anyone asked him if he'd like to relive it, he'd beat the shit out of them. Fuck—he'd pump silver bullets into their hearts.
It'd started with spending a long, long night laying on the floor next to the bed, and just kept getting better with the dawn—first, leaving Dean alone in the bathroom had turned out to be a major bad idea. He'd caught sight of himself in the mirror and just…screamed. Screamed and screamed until Sam had managed to yank him out of the room. He'd had to practically tackle him in order to drag his ass out of that bathroom. He wished he'd been able to do it before Dean put his fist through the mirror.
It got better….
He spent a half hour trying to get a flinching, whining, bleeding, screaming, trembling and completely uncooperative body into clothing…it came as no surprise that the hotel's single security guy had come banging on the door. Between trying to quiet Dean and assure the guard that everything was fine, just fine, he finally opened the door to him. "Look…my brother is. Uhm. Having problems." He tried to smile reassuringly…sure. He looked like he'd just stepped out of a wind tunnel, his shirt was smeared with blood--he probably looked like a serial killer. "I'm trying to get him out to our car and he's…."
The guy caught sight of Dean, half dressed, looking equally panicked, angry and…and devastated, so much so that even the cynical guard folded. Nodded, with that fucking sympathetic look, so like Raph's—the one that made Sam want to kick the shit out of someone. He shrugged. "I'm trying to get him ready, promise."
"Sir, try and keep it down some. I'll handle the other guests but...you're leaving, right?"
Sam assured him that they were, and as quickly as was possible. He thanked him for his patience, and shut the door and cursed long and low. Dean had his shirt almost off again, struggling against his arms trapped in the fabric and he was crouched against the floor again and just…shivering. fuck, just don't scream, please don't—
Dean started screaming like he was being gutted.
Sam tackled him and brought him down flat to the floor and Dean went dead silent and still as a stone. Sam yanked his head free of the shirt and Dean was quiet and just—absent. No matter how Sam patted his cheek or shook him there was no reaction and he thought oh my God, how do I make this better? Can I make this better?
Maybe he should have called for help. "Get up Dean, please—" he was prepared to be ignored, but Dean opened his eyes. He let himself be pulled up to his feet, let himself be dressed and pulled and prodded until he was more or less presentable. "Walk, okay? Can you walk?
Dean stared at him, his eyes skittering over and away from his face, flat and dull, but he took a step. Sam felt a flare of triumph and relief. Step after step they walked out of the room to the elevator. It felt as if a lifetime passed as they crossed the lobby and walked out to the parking lot behind the Crossroads. Sam shoved Dean into the car, unbelievably thankful they'd managed it without incident—he wanted to put all that shit behind him and he knew once they were safe at home the whole situation was bound to improve. Had to. Once they were back in the apartment, they'd figure out the next step. He drove towards home with his brother shivering and whining quietly in the seat next to him and tried not to worry.
He got Dean into the apartment with little trouble and took a deep breath, felt like his first breath since they'd climbed into the car. They'd done it. Home again. Home again.
It went straight to shit from there.
Sam sat at his table and drank what had to have been his fifth or sixth cup of bitter black coffee …he'd kind of lost track along the way. He grimaced, gulped it down and prayed for strength, or at least the strength to keep his eyelids up. He folded his arms on the table top and rested his forehead on them…he breathed out, tried to empty his lungs. From the bedroom a steady whine rose and fell. Dean was in there and he might be just a little sort of tied. To the bed—
Sam giggled, pressed his face against his arms hard enough to hurt. Dean tied to his bed. God, that would have been fodder for…yeah.
Reality was worlds uglier than that--Dean kept trying to hurt himself. When he couldn’t find some object to stab at himself he was ripping at his skin, stopping only when Sam gave in and tied his hands to the bedposts. There really was no way to do that gently. Dean stopped screaming at least, but mostly because he couldn't anymore and the noise he made when he tried to anyway was almost worse. Dean didn't know who his brother was and he didn’t know who he was. He was terrified by the face in the mirror and Sam was terrified that he might never know. He considered calling Bobby, over and over he reached for the phone but something stopped him, some instinct held him back.
A low despairing moan came from the bedroom and Sam shuddered. This was insane. He needed sleep. Dean needed sleep.
He called Raph.
Raph whistled when he saw Sam. "Boss, you look like shit. Where's your bro—whoa."
Dean let out a long hoarse scream, and Sam just shuddered, his eyes closing involuntarily.
"'Kaa-y." Raph reached in his pocket and pulled out a bottle of pills. "We'll give him two of these. They'll knock him out pretty good. You need to sleep too, Sam. You're going to die if you keep this up. You haven't slept since you brought him home, I bet." He frowned. "No one would think bad of you if you had him—you know, there are nice places—" He tried to step inside and stopped at Sam's look.
"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about." Sam held his hand out and shook it impatiently. "Just. Gimme the pills and go."
Raph nodded and dropped the bottle into his hand and Sam shut the door on him and went back to the bedroom.
Sam got the pills into Dean by shoving his fingers down his throat. It got the pills in but Dean went as blank as he had in the hotel room, unmoving and eyes fixed on some distant point. Sam crouched on the edge of the bed, waiting until Dean sighed and finally let go. He was out, deep in sleep and Sam freed his hands but left an ankle tied. This…was a nightmare. Drugging Dean, keeping him leashed to the bed, listening to him scream and fight and cry…Jesus. He kept telling himself that this was better than the last three years, that this was to be expected and eventually they'd get through this. He swore he'd do anything, *give* anything to have Dean back and he was sure as fuck not sorry that his brother was back…he stroked Dean's arm, relishing the warmth, the feel of the hair on his arms so soft against his palm…he hung his head and his eyes pricked sharply.
He was pretty damn tired….
He walked towards the kitchen, sniffing deeply, stunned that the smell of frying bacon wasn't a hallucination. Sitting on the counter were a couple of egg and bacon sandwiches on a plate, along with a big glass of orange juice. "Dude," Raph said, "Where the fuck's the food? What the fuck are you guys eating?"
Sam stood open mouthed in the doorway, angry as shit that Raph hadn't left, not really wanting him in the apartment—not wanting him to interfere. He seriously thought about punching the shit out of Raphael, but his stomach growled loudly, told him not to be an asshole to the person willing to feed him.
"Damn dude—you loud. Eat something."
Sam dropped into the seat, snatched up a greasy sandwich and took a huge bite and almost moaned. There were times that bacon was definitely called for…he swallowed and eyed Raph. "I thought I told you to get out."
"Shit." Raph was busy ignoring him, he had the trash can lid up and was staring down into it with a look of disgust. "Ya'll been eating applesauce and cup-a-soups? Shit. No wonder you sounded like a starving wookie."
"It's Dean. He won't eat much else. I think…" Sam inhaled, and held it for a moment. "I think it hurts him but I haven't…haven't looked in his mouth." He bit his lip, feeling all the words want to come pouring out and struggling to hold them in.
Raph frowned. "How about I take a look?"
Sam clamped down his automatic response of 'fuck no'--shook his head. "No. He's pretty messed up. Strangers will just make it worse." And he really didn’t want Raph becoming more involved than he had to be. Hell, Raph *already* was more involved than he should be.
"Man, he's got to be asleep by now. I'll just look real quick okay? He needs someone to take a look at him and I'm guessing if I told you to take him to an ER—"
"No!"
"--that you wouldn't go for that."
Sam scowled, and shoved the juice and the food away. "Come on. He's in here." Raph was a paramedic before he was a crime scene cleaner. He might pick up on stuff Sam was missing. And it was better than having a complete stranger intruding on them.
Raph kind of stuttered to a stop in the bedroom doorway. "Well fuck." He shook his head and said, "Dude. This—you can't—okay, never mind that right now." He laced his fingers together over his bald head and frowned. "I just…damn…" He went to the bed without further comment on the restraints, examined Dean as quickly as he could. He whistled. "Shit. Looks like someone worked the inside of his mouth over with a wire brush. He's…he's really taken some kind of beatings. He's got a lot of old and new scarring but doesn't look like anything deep, except for this one on his chest." He touched the nearly circular gnarled scar and Sam flinched. He knew why that scar was there and didn't want to think how it happened. "I think…well, you want to get some testing done on him, for sure. I'm sorry. I don’t mind helping out when you need it. Like I said, me and Danny both worked on a psych ward…you know."
Sam leaned on the headboard and fought down the surge of anger at the hint that Dean was less than okay…obvious as it was. Shit, Raph was right, hadn't really told him more than he didn't already know. Now that Dean was safely asleep, Sam had to admit that for the first time in days he felt a little less tightly strung. He wanted to hang onto the feeling for a few seconds more. "You've been a bit of everything, haven't you?"
"I get bored." He shoved Sam out the door, back into the kitchen and pointedly put his plate back in front of him. He dropped into the chair opposite Sam, crossed his arms on the table and rested his chin on them. "Hey, remind me some day to tell you about the escort service…"
"The fuck. You're kidding right?" Sam hesitated a moment before grabbing the sandwich and tearing into it.
"Maybe. And what, you think I ain't handsome enough, hunh?" Raph grinned and got to his feet, handed Sam a sleeping pill. When Sam shook his head and tried to refuse Raph said, "Don't worry, Boss. I'm staying here. Ears open, eyes wide. Relax."
Sam rolled the pill on his palm, thinking—and took it. He wasn't going to do Dean a bit of good if he was staggering and stupid for lack of sleep. He looked up at Raph and saw only sincere concern in his eyes and for a helpless second felt his eyes fill.
Raph just pointed at the bedroom. "Go. Do us both a favor and get some sleep."
hot hot hot and hot…thirsty. Hurt. They're coming again. Quiet yes, promise quiet please don't hurt me. Please, don’t hurt me. I don’t want to be this, don’t want it. Sorry.
Sam woke in the middle of the night…he was tense all over, listening hard, his heart tripping…he took a deep breath and decided it was the quiet that woke him. He lifted to one elbow and looked down at Dean. For the first time in days, he wasn’t jerking awake every few minutes. He was deeply asleep, still, not a twitch, not a moan. He smiled down into his brother's face and let his fingers trail over his warm cheek. Thank God, he was getting some peace at least this night.
no no no—can't move, can't run can't SCREAM. Don’t do that please please I'll do anything don't…PLEASE.
part 9
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
11/27/08 03:55 am (UTC)*shakes Sam*
*sits quietly across the room from Dean*
Damnit, oh, hell's bells.
Boys....
*hugs them*
*sniffles*
(no subject)
11/27/08 04:36 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/27/08 04:49 am (UTC)Suuuuuuuuuuure it will.
I trust you, miss 'they might be happy'.
*stares at you*
(no subject)
11/27/08 02:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
12/5/08 05:43 am (UTC)worsebetter!(no subject)
5/11/09 09:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/27/08 05:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
12/5/08 05:43 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/5/09 10:33 pm (UTC)*waggles finger at you for making a heartbreaking (and yet totally awesome) story*
(no subject)
5/5/09 10:38 pm (UTC)Dang! That was *fast*! There will be more later since I meant to post two parts before. :)
(no subject)
5/6/09 12:19 am (UTC)*hugs Dean*
*runs away cause he's screaming so much*
*hugs Sam*
*cries*
(no subject)
5/6/09 03:40 am (UTC)It will get better, promise! It has to hit bottom before we can go up!
*hugs you some more*
(no subject)
5/11/09 09:48 pm (UTC)See? All the bad things I do in MY stories? Simply homages to the master. :)
(no subject)
5/27/09 07:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
5/27/09 09:52 pm (UTC)