Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 17: Mine

[justinedelarge]

Title: Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 17: Mine

Author: justinedelarge
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest (Sam is a few months shy of legal age)
Word Count: 2600
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Just for fun.
Summary: Ever wonder how Dean started talking dirty? The genesis is in the way Sam and Dean make their feelings for each other physical. This story has dirty talk, all the feels you can handle, infinite love and even a plot that develops into a nail-biting narrative, with the best kind of hurt/comfort.
Chapter Summary: Dean tells John and Bobby they have a lot to make up for. John tries to get started. And we learn more of what has been happening in the abandoned warehouse since Sam was rescued.

Request: Comments and encouraging feedback are really appreciated. If you read my fics and like them, please take a moment to let me know. This will encourage me to write more for you.

You can read the entire story up until the most recent chapter here:
http://archiveofourown.org/works/411362

Chapter 16:
http://justinedelarge.livejournal.com/20696.html

Chapter 17: Mine

The VCR clicked and whirred into rewind mode, spinning the tape back to the beginning.

Dean wished more than anything he could do that to the last few days. Just rewind to the day he had the fight with Sam. Do it all differently.

But that was impossible.

Sam was dead to the world, sleeping soundly for the first time since they rescued him.

John looked across Bobby to Dean.

Dean shook his head no and pursed his lips into a tight line. “Not now.” He didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to open the door to that locked and chained box inside him where he’d put away the knowledge that John and Bobby had brought this all down upon Sam’s head. Even worse, that the demon sympathizer they had interrogated and killed apparently had no demon blood in him after all.

He was pure human.

Just like Sam.

Dean could not think about that. Certainly couldn’t calmly talk about it. And he was damned if Sam was going to find out about it until he was stronger.

He’d been through enough.

John and Bobby moved into the kitchen. Dean sat with Sam for another hour, watching his breathing, until his full bladder forced him to get up. “I’ll be right back, Sam.” He let go of Sam’s hand, put another log on the fire to keep the living room nice and warm, took care of his aching bladder, then went into the kitchen.

John and Bobby were deep into Bobby’s stash of good Scotch. John poured a generous shot into a tumbler and handed it to Dean.

Dean accepted it, but did not sit down. His face was hard, striving to contain his emotions.

“You gotta know how sorry we are.” Bobby looked ten years older, wrinkles more pronounced, eyelids swollen.

John looked up at Dean, and flinched at what he saw on his firstborn son’s face. “Dean. Please.” He looked so lost, unmoored. “Say you forgive me.”

Dean tossed back a swallow of Scotch, burning his throat. “Asking the wrong guy.” He jerked his head toward the living room. “He’s the one you need to ask.” Beg, Dean thought. Beg for forgiveness on bended knee. “Sam’s never hurt anything in his life. Christ, he saves stray dogs.”

John dropped his gaze to the table.

“What happened to Sam? That’s on you two.” Another swallow, and Dean’s tumbler was empty. “And me. We’re responsible.”

Bobby looked at Dean quizzically. “Dean, you aren’t to blame for what happened to Sam.”

“Yeah I am.” Dean wiped his mouth. “Just—trust me. I am.” Jesus, Sammy. Are you that fucking desperate for it? Dean hated himself for that. Hated the darkness he had inside him that came spilling out sometimes when he got scared or mad, the harsh words that stormed right past his inner censors and laid waste to whoever was in his presence.

And he hated himself for letting Sam stay behind. But Sam was so insistent on not going, and Dean thought he’d be safer, secretly had been glad John never let Sam come on hunts.

He left Sam alone, unprotected. And Sam could take care of himself to a point, better than even Dean could have done all alone, maybe. But they were stronger together. And Dean would never make that mistake again.

“But you two… you’ve got a lot to answer for. Make up for. Not to me. To him.” Dean rubbed his eyes. “Look, I get it. What hunters do isn’t pretty. And sometimes you have to do things that civilians would never understand.” Dean tried to keep a lid on his anger, threatening to corrode the lid keeping it locked away and eat everything in its path. Sam bleeding, broken, screaming. Because of what they did.

He took a deep breath.  Not now. “But you fucked up. And they made Sam pay.”

It was an odd tableau: a young man standing in front of two contrite adults, chastising them, their heads bowed, guilt and shame rippling off them like heat rising off asphalt.

John poured more Scotch into everyone’s glasses. “Jesus, Dean, what they did to him…” He buried his face in his hands.

“Not gonna talk about it.” Dean’s voice was hard. “Not now. Maybe not ever.” He took another drink, already feeling the effects. “But Sam? You two are gonna tell him exactly what you did. And exactly why they took him. He needs to know.” And you don’t get to get away with it, Dean thought bitterly.

“But he doesn’t need to hear it yet. Not until he’s healed up some. But you’re gonna tell him. Both of you. And you’re gonna make it up to him.” Dean had no idea if that was even possible. But he was damn sure they were going to try.

And he was going to make it up to Sam. Even if it took him the rest of his life.

~

The doctor stopped in that evening to check on Sam, as promised. He wasn’t happy about the intensity of Sam’s nightmare and Dean’s description of how Sam reacted physically in the throes of it. “He’s going to keep re-injuring himself, and those rib fractures will take longer to heal. And his vocal cords…” He didn’t even have to say it. Sam could end up with permanent damage.

He thought for a moment. “Maybe if there’s something in the background while Sam sleeps. Something to keep his unconscious mind engaged in something other than reliving his trauma. Music, or television, or the sound of someone’s voice. Do you have any books on tape?”

Bobby did not, but there was a library downtown. “I’ll pick some up tomorrow.”

“Soothing ones, alright? Don’t get anything with action or shooting or military stuff. That’s the last thing Sam needs in his head right now.”

The doctor turned to Sam again. “How does it feel in the recliner? Better than sleeping flat?” Sam nodded yes. “Good. Let’s have you try sleeping like this for a while.”

Sam made a face, and motioned for his notepad. Dean retrieved it, and Sam wrote, “Want to sleep in bed.”

Dean kept his face impassive. He knew that Sam liked having Dean hold him while he slept. More importantly, Dean needed it. Especially now. Being a few feet away, unable to touch him or feel the warmth that radiated off him like a heater, made Dean tense.

“Just try it for a few days, Sam. The more rest you can get, the more quickly you’ll heal, and the sooner you can get back to all the things you used to love to do.”

Sam glanced up at Dean, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Dean shivered at the hidden meaning.

Then Sam scrawled something else.

“My cast is itchy,” the doctor read out loud. Dean grinned.

“There’s actually something that can help with that. It’s a little weird, but it works.” The doctor explained how to use a soda bottle, duct tape and a vacuum cleaner hose over the cast’s opening at the wrist to provide relief from the itch. Bobby grasped the idea immediately. “I’m on it.” He left to put the contraption together.

The doctor had Sam breathe through a device he called an incentive spirometer. He had marked a level on the side of the plastic tube. “You want this little piece to hit that level there, and this ball needs to float right in the middle. If you breathe in too fast, it’ll shoot to the top. If you breathe in too slowly, it sinks to the bottom. Ok?” He pressed a pillow against Sam’s abdomen. “Dean, if you can do this for him, it’ll help ease the discomfort.”

Sam liked the device. He liked things that showed tangible goals with measurable results. Things he could do well on. Sam was a straight A student, and this appealed to him.

He struggled, though, and didn’t reach the level the doctor wanted until the third try.

The doctor left the spirometer for Sam to use, and put a paper bag on the couch. “This has some more meds, and a shampoo basin. He’s still too unsteady for showers or baths, and I bet Sam’s ready to get clean, so I also gave you supplies for sponge baths. Sam, you’ll be able to take care of this yourself pretty soon, but until you can move and bend without so much pain, you’ll need someone to do it for you.”

John and Bobby looked at each other.

Sam rolled his eyes and wrote on his notepad. “I don’t mind. But just Dean.”

He showed the message to everyone. John looked relieved. Bobby’s face was unreadable. And only Sam caught the flicker that lit up Dean’s face. The little flash of emotion that was just for Sam.

Bobby showed the doctor out.

John disappeared into the kitchen and emerged with a steaming mug of soup. “Chicken soup with stars.” That was Sam’s favorite when he was a little boy. Sam beamed, reaching out for the mug.

John sat next to Sam and arranged the blanket on his lap. “Too hot?”

Sam, lips glistening with soup, shook his head no and took another sip.

Dean jammed his hands in his pockets, balling them into fists. He watched John brush a stray lock of hair away from Sam’s forehead, and saw how Sam’s eyes lit up.

“You were real brave, Sam. And so smart. That Morse code trick. Really, really smart. And pulling it off while they…” John paused. Dean tried not to remember the tape, how Sam tapped out his message while they were hurting him. “Most men couldn’t have done it. Hell, I don’t know if I would have been able to.”

Sam scribbled on his notepad.

“Sam. It took four grown men hopped up on demon blood to take you. You fought like a warrior. I’m so proud of you.”

The words hung in the air like the afterimage of a Fourth of July sparkler. Sam gazed into John’s face, basking in the moment.

It was the first time Sam had ever received such praise from his father.

~

Dean tried not to hover, wanting to allow Sam to have this moment with John. But it burned. Knowing that John was so very much to blame for everything Sam had to endure, all the pain and fear, and yet here he was, laughing with Sam like he had just had a bad fall from his bicycle, telling him stories about how he broke his arm as a teenager climbing out on a weak tree branch, making Sam grin like a fool under the wealth of his attention.

Once Sam knew…he wouldn’t be smiling at John like he was the best thing in the world.

And despite the jealousy raging in Dean (he’s supposed to look at ME like that only at ME), that’s exactly why he busied himself in the kitchen, and let Sam have that moment, pure and unspoiled.

~

Dean walked past the couch on his way upstairs, studiously not looking at the two of them, but Sam plucked at his shirtsleeve. His expression was questioning.

“You two do your thing. I’ve got stuff to do.” Dean kept his voice smooth, giving nothing away. But Sam could see right through him. Always could. He plucked at Dean’s sleeve again, and didn’t let go.

“Don’t mean to intrude on your territory, Dean.” There was the faintest undercurrent of tension in John’s voice. He’d found a tiny cord of reconnection with Sam, and he clearly didn’t want to let it go.

As if he’d been quietly watching over them all, Bobby suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway. “John, if you aren’t too busy, I could use your help.”

Sam gave Bobby a grateful look. Bobby set a glass of water on the coffee table next to Sam, and took away the empty mug. “Get some water in you, wouldja?” He ruffled Sam’s hair.

John patted Sam’s knee. “You rest up, Sammy. I’ll come by and check on you later.”

Dean bristled.

When John left the room, Sam wrote something on his notepad and handed it to Dean.

When I get my voice back, I’ll tell him only you get to call me Sammy.

Dean laughed, and sat down on the couch next to Sam. “Yeah, that’d go over well.”

Sam wrote three more words. Your Sammy Yours. He looked at Dean intently. Then he underlined yours. Twice.

Dean exhaled hard, letting go of some of the jealousy that roiled in him.

Sam scribbled another sentence. I feel really gross. Need to get clean. Fresh clothes. Give me a hand?

“Sure. Anything you need.”

Sam wrote one last sentence on the sheet of notepaper. Better flush this page down the toilet.

Dean imagined what would happen if John fished a crumpled piece of paper out of the waste bin and read what Sam had written. “Yeah, no kidding.”

~

Back in the abandoned warehouse, a piteous figure lay prostrate at the feet of another figure. “Please,” he whispered. “Please just kill me.” Over a day of nonstop torture had reduced Earle Spivey to a gibbering wreck.

“Earle. You haven’t begun to make up for what you did. I’m not going to kill you yet.”

“Didn’t. Know.” Spivey gasped. His gasp rose to a scream, twisted off into a strangled sound as the figure with glowing yellow eyes made little motions with his hand.

“Ignorantia juris non excusat. Oh, what, they didn’t teach Latin in whatever bumfuck grade school you graduated from, Earle? My sincerest apologies for using my ten dollar words. It means ignorance of the law is no fucking excuse.

“But you should know that already. Papa Winchester didn’t know your boy was pure human when he brought out the pliers and cattle prod, and snapped his neck when he was done making him dance. But you tortured his son for revenge, because his ignorance didn’t matter.” The yellow-eyed demon flicked a finger, restoring air to Spivey’s airway,  and he sucked in a huge breath.  “Of course, we both know you would have done it anyway, even if little Leon had sucked down some demon juice like his daddy. Because he hurt what was yours.”

Spivey began to shudder and tried to crawl away. Azazel waved his hand and sent Spivey spinning up into the air, hovering there, all four limbs outstretched like they were tied to four horses.

“And that’s what you did to me, Leon. Sam Winchester is mine. He’s a very special boy. My special boy. I have such plans for him. And you stole him. And hurt him. Real bad.” Azazel’s voice disintegrated into a malevolent hiss. “And you don’t hurt what’s mine.”

Azazel sat down in a wooden chair and flicked his finger. Spivey screamed as his limbs were torn from him by the invisible force. He hung in the air, quivering, and suddenly his arms and legs were attached once more, his body whole again. He threw his head back and howled as his limbs were again slowly pulled out in all four directions.

Azazel leaned back and crossed his legs. “Oh, I could do this all day.”

And on to chapter 18:
http://justinedelarge.livejournal.com/21004.html

Comments

[ayden-brooks.livejournal.com]

I am loving this! Poor Sam. He is going to be so heartbroken when he finds out what happened and he will because he's so damn smart. And Dean. Sigh. What beautifully written guilt and love and desire to be forgiven. Keep up the great work.

[marylizh.livejournal.com]

Wow. Just wow. I had never expected azazel to take revenge on spivey for Sam. I had thought that spivey was resurrected to grab Sam again. Wow. I just can't wait for the next chapter.

[venusadvincula.livejournal.com]

This just keeps getting better and better! Can't wait for Dean to help Sammy with his washing up, poor kid probably feels really icky. Washing someone's hair for them when they can't do it for themselves is actually a very intimate thing. And Dean is so careful with his boy. I sure hope they shred that note into tiny tiny pieces!

[deansdirtybb.livejournal.com]

This may be the first time I cheered Azazel on.

Can't wait for the sponge-bath update...

[sammichgirl]

Spivey not dead makes me anxious. Even with Azazel playing with him, that spells nothing but trouble ahead.

And Azazel. ARGH! Poor Sam, he'll never catch a break. John is going to lose it when he finds out about Sam's blood. And you've got me wondering just how John will side...with Sam or against him. And that breaks my heart.

[deezy-y.livejournal.com]

Oh YED, i think that Dean's going to have something to say to that...I'd put my money on Dean any day. Another great update. :D

Thank you!

[justinedelarge.livejournal.com]

I cannot wait until I can write that confrontation. And there will be a confrontation, involving Azazel and Dean, over Sam. :)

Re: Thank you!

[deezy-y.livejournal.com]

Ooooh...I'm chomping at the bit thinking about it. But I still have a ways to go in the fic/verse/story. Then again, you may have it written by the time I creep closer to where you are now.

I'm also thinking of how their relationship will change and grow by the time the confrontation comes to pass. Of course, that isn't taking into account and wrenches that you may throw their way (they are the Winchesters after all). I'll still put my money on Dean, and the deep bond and love that Sam and Dean share.

[lilithrain.livejournal.com]

Azazel, i don't care for you mate but awesome dude. Get him!

Oh a side note; Awww John and little Sammy. So adorable.

[justinedelarge.livejournal.com]

:) Thank you!