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justinedelargeAuthor: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
justinedelarge
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest (Sam is a few months shy of legal age)
Word Count: 2750
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: Hunters have set up camp around Bobby's house. Dean finds out why. And Sam experiences something that triggers a terrifying flashback, and they learn more about what was done to him, with disturbing implications.
Previous chapter here:
http://justinedelarge.livejournal.com/21004.html
Dean and John wrestled the love seat recliner up the stairs and into the boys’ room. The room was big enough to accommodate it and the bed, with plenty of room to move around.
John didn’t even question why Bobby got a recliner that could sleep two. Sam needed to get as much rest as possible, and he always slept better when Dean was right next to him. Ever since Sam was a baby, he liked to sleep with Dean, curled up in his arms or even just touching his foot to Dean’s leg. And that never stopped. So if Sam had to sleep in a recliner, it had to be big enough to hold Dean too.
It was perfectly normal.
After Sam finished his hot tea with honey, Dean buttoned Sam up in a warm parka and brought him outside for a little walk to keep the blood moving in his legs, as the doctor had requested.
This time, Dean noticed something that wasn’t there the day before, when he’d taken Sam for his walk.
Two RVs were parked amidst Bobby’s vast collection of junkers. A gray-haired man in a thick woolen sweater sat on a folding chair in front of one, a card table in front of him, cleaning his guns. He snapped to attention at the sight of them.
Dean recognized him. He was one of the hunters that accompanied them on the rescue mission. The one who created a diversion for Dean.
Sam looked to Dean, and was satisfied by Dean’s reaction that this man was allowed to be there. He gave him a small nod, and Dean raised his hand by way of greeting.
The man rose to his feet and saluted them.
Sam looked stunned.
“We’re good. But thanks.”
The younger man spoke. “Bobby’s orders. You leave the house, we go with you.”
Sam looked at Dean, his questions clear as day.
“I don’t know, Sam. We gotta ask Dad and Bobby.”
Dean walked with Sam past the metal shed. With their unexpected bodyguards, Dean was unable to pull him around the side and kiss him soft and sweet like he had planned.
Sam walked slowly, sweat beading on his forehead, cheeks a blotchy red from the cold and the exertion. His foot slipped on a rock, causing him to twist to the side. He made a muffled sound of pain.
“Jesus, Sam.” Dean kicked the rock out of the way. “You ok?”
Sam nodded, and straightened up, walking in the direction they had been going.
“Uh-uh. Back to the house.”
Sam gestured forward with his head.
“Sam.”
Sam frowned and tapped twice on Dean’s arm.
“You really want to keep going?”
Sam nodded.
“Always were stubborn,” Dean said with a soft smile. He supported Sam as they walked. Sam seemed to be enjoying being outside. They continued to the end of the salvage yard.
There was a new vehicle parked there as well. A white van, with another hunter sitting in front holding a shotgun.
“Come on, Sam. Let’s go back.”
Sam tapped once for yes.
~
Back inside, Dean settled Sam back in the recliner in the living room, and gave him a pain pill. “I’ll go find out what’s going on.”
He found John and Bobby in the library, up to their elbows in books.
“What’s with the Rainbow Gathering outside?”
“I told you. We got backup. For protection.”
“What do we need protection for? We killed every last son-of-a-bitch that laid a finger on Sam. Got the whole damn nest.”
“You got the whole damn nest, Dean.” John gave Dean a smile that combined pride and embarrassment. “If it hadn’t been for you… You saved your brother. You saved all of us, too.”
“You’re a legend now. The entire hunter community’s talking about it.”
Dean was startled. “Really?”
“Oh yeah. Son, you’re famous.” Bobby thumped Dean on the shoulder.
“Hmm.” Dean pursed his lips. “Ok, so what’s the deal with our new bodyguards?”
John rubbed his jaw. “The demon sympathizers may be gone, but there’s a demon out there that’s gonna be pretty unhappy we took out that nest.”
Dean closed his eyes. He hadn’t even thought of that. “Shit.”
He thought for a long moment. “Sam isn’t ready to know the whole thing yet. I’m just gonna tell him the demon might be coming after us for killing his pets. Leave the rest out. For now.”
“How’s Sam doing?” John shut the heavy book in front of him.
“No nightmares last night. But…” Dean paused. “He’s really hurting. Like, bad. He’s full of pain pills and still…”
“A good long soak in a tub full of Epsom Salt’d make me feel a hell of a lot better. Help his breathing too. Think you can get him into a bathtub?”
Dean pondered that. Sam was stronger today than he had been yesterday. And he would do anything to make Sam feel better, help him heal quicker. “Yeah. I can do that.”
Dean headed toward the living room. The sound of John’s voice stopped him.
“Dean. We’re going to have to ask Sam to tell us about it. Soon.”
Dean didn’t turn around. “Doctor says he can try talking tonight.”
He didn’t want to make Sam talk about it. Wanted Sam to forget every second. But he knew his father was right.
~
Dean filled Sam in on the reason for the armed guards outside the house. Sam nodded, but did not seem inclined to ask any questions. Sam’s face lit up when Dean told him he was going to help him take a bath. Sam had always loved taking baths.
Bobby filled the huge claw-foot tub with warm water and dumped in a small box of Epsom Salts, swirling the water with his hand until it had all dissolved. “All yours, kids.”
Dean undressed Sam and brought him to the side of the tub.
Sam’s face froze at the sight of the steaming water.
“I checked the temperature. It’s not too hot.”
Sam still looked nervous, his eyes huge.
“Dude. I’m not gonna drop you. I promise. I’ll help you in nice and slow, ok?”
Sam swallowed, and looked at Dean. His face was so open, so hopeful. He wanted to do this for Sam, make him feel nice.
So Sam allowed Dean to help him, ever so carefully, into the water.
Sam gripped the edge of the tub. As the water closed over Sam’s legs, he started to shake.
“It’s alright, Sam. Just lay back. Gonna feel better real soon.”
Sam forced himself to lay back, knuckles white from the death grip he had on the tub.
The water rose to Sam’s chest. And suddenly Sam was a flurry of motion, tearing himself from the water, pulling himself out of the tub along with a wall of water. His feet slipped on the wet floor and he went down hard on his right side, but didn’t stop moving, scrabbling along the tile, until he was in the farthest corner of the bathroom.
“Sam?” Dean dropped to his knees. “Sammy. What’s wrong?”
Sam’s hands fluttered against the wall, pressing, lifting off, in frantic motion. He curled in on himself, then straightened with an agonized cry. His chest spasmed, hyperventilating.
“It’s ok, Sam. I’m right here. I got you.”
Sam gasped, “Can’t. Breathe.” His voice was practically non-existent, his vocal cords still wrecked. He tried to take a deep breath, but the pain in his ribs prevented him. His panic escalated, and he stared at Dean with terror in his eyes.
Dean didn’t know what to do. He held Sam’s hand.
Sam squeezed Dean’s fingers hard. “Dean. Help.”
“You’re ok,” he kept saying. “You’re ok.” But it wasn’t helping.
Sam trembled violently. “Dying.” His eyes searched Dean’s face. “Dying.”
Dean kicked the bathroom door wide open. “Dad! Bobby!” he hollered. “Help!”
John was up the stairs and skidding to a stop in the bathroom less than a minute after Dean first started screaming for help. Bobby, huffing, was right behind.
Sam was frantic, gasping for breath, his left hand clutching his heart, the other locked onto Dean’s hand. He looked at John, and mouthed, “Help.”
“What happened?”
“He got in the tub. He was fine. And then he just freaked out and pulled himself out. Started saying he couldn’t breathe, he was dying…”
“Sam.” John kneeled next to Sam, “You’re ok. You’re just having a panic attack. You’re not going to die.”
His words did nothing.
John slapped Sam hard across the face.
Sam didn’t snap out of it. If anything, it only increased his agitation.
But Dean stopped breathing. His vision went red.
The next thing he knew, John was flat on his back, bleeding from the nose.
Dean shook with barely restrained fury. “The fuck were you thinking?”
“Christ, Dean, I was just trying to—“
“You don’t hit Sam. Ever.” His face was hard. “You don’t fucking touch him.”
He turned his back on his father and cradled Sam, stroking the side of his face where John had slapped him, fingers caressing the livid mark of the palm print John had put there.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m sorry.” His voice was thick with emotion.
Sam clutched at Dean’s shirt. “Dean.”
Bobby disappeared, came back moments later with a paper bag. “Have him breathe into this.” Dean pressed the bag to Sam’s mouth. Within a few minutes, Sam had stopped hyperventilating, but was still in a blind panic, because he still couldn’t breathe well, as the fall on the wet floor had tweaked his ribs yet again.
“Have him breathe with you, Dean. Count it off. Two counts in, two counts out.” Bobby threw a clean, wadded-up handkerchief onto John’s chest. “You. Come here.”
Bobby stalked out of the room into the hall. John clambered to his feet and followed, dabbing at his bleeding nose with the handkerchief.
“Before you even think of giving me a lecture—“
“You made the wrong call.”
John’s face was flushed with anger. “He was having a panic attack. I was trying to get him to snap out of it!”
“A normal panic attack? Sure. But your boy was just beaten and tortured for two days and you really think slapping him around is gonna make him snap out of it?”
John opened his mouth…and closed it.
“He was clearly having some kind of post-traumatic flashback—and you went and made it worse. He’s laying on the floor begging for help, and his daddy comes and hurts him some more. Nice job, John. Good one.” Bobby was furious, eyes narrowed to tiny points. The sight of that anger directed at him from affable, mild-mannered Bobby stunned John into silence.
John stared at the far wall, and exhaled. “Yeah. That was the wrong call.”
“Now get the hell downstairs and call the doctor. Do something that’ll actually help your boy, for a change.”
Bobby went back to the bathroom. The boys were breathing in tandem now. “He doing better?”
Dean nodded. His face was wet, but not from the bath water.
“What do you say we get Sam into some dry clothes and get another pain pill into him?”
“Yeah. Ok.” Dean looked almost as exhausted as Sam.
“I’d like to give you a hand with that. If that’s ok with you, Dean.”
Dean looked up at Bobby’s request. “Sure. You can help.”
Bobby knew exactly what Dean left unsaid.
Bobby and Dean helped Sam to his feet. Dean dried Sam off, and together they dressed Sam, limp and still panting, in clean dry clothes. Bobby sucked air in through his teeth at the sight of the violent bruising all over Sam’s body, turning purple and green.
Dean lowered him onto the reclining love seat, and draped a blanket around him. “Be right back.” Sam just shivered and pulled the blanket close around him.
Dean threw an armload of towels onto the lake of water on the bathroom floor, and stripped off his sodden jeans and boots, putting on dry sweatpants, socks and his sneakers. When he emerged, Bobby was there with Sam’s pain pills, a glass of water and two mugs of steaming liquid. “It’s just chicken broth from powder.”
Dean blinked in gratitude. “You’re the best, Bobby.”
Sam took a sip, his hands shaking so hard he barely avoiding spilling it all over himself. Dean took a drink and set his on the table.
He sat next to Sam, took the cup and held it to Sam’s lips. When Sam had drank half the contents, he set it down and gave Sam a pain pill, bringing the water glass to his lips and helping him drink.
Dean draped his arm over Sam’s shoulders. Sam tilted his head toward Dean. Dean picked up the notebook from the end table and put it on Sam’s thigh.
Bobby sat on the edge of the bed, facing them.
“Sam. What happened?”
Sam shivered again. Stared at the notepad. Finally, he picked up the pen and wrote something.
When Dean read it, he closed his eyes and wouldn’t open them for a long moment. “Oh god. Sammy.”
Dean handed the notepad to Bobby, and curled himself around Sam, holding him as close as he could without hurting him, burying his face in Sam’s shoulder.
Dean started to cry, trying hard to hold the tears back.
Sam whimpered, and held onto Dean, stroking his hair. When he realized that Sam was trying to soothe him, Dean burst into sobs.
Bobby read the note, and turned pale.
They nearly drowned me. Stuck my head in a bucket. Over and over.
Bobby left the boys’ bedroom and shut the door behind him. He walked slowly down to the kitchen.
John was slumped at the table, bag of ice pressed to his nose. He glanced up at Bobby. “Doctor’s on his way. Be here in an hour.”
Bobby handed the note to John.
John read it. Dropped it to the table. Stared up at Bobby in shock.
“Yeah.” Bobby’s voice was grim.
“That… the bucket… that’s exactly…”
“Exactly what we did to Spivey’s kid.”
“But… he was dead. We left him dead. We made sure.”
“Yep.” Bobby rubbed his mouth. “So how the hell did Spivey know exactly what we did to him, if he wasn’t alive to tell anyone all the details?”
