Don't tell them (Supernatural)
Title: Don't tell them (Part 1/2)
Fandom(s): Supernatural
Characters: Sam Winchester. Dean Winchester
Pairing(s): Gen
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Something happened to Sam. Something bad. Something he won't talk about. Can't talk about.
Genre: Hurt/Comfort. Angst. Teenchester.
Warnings: Rape. Nothing too graphic but it is there.
Word count: Over a thousand.
Dean is 19 and Sam 14 in this. It's mainly Sam's POV with a little bit of Dean's POV.
Don't tell them
Shh, don't tell them.
He's awake now, breathing hard, so hard it hurts. A nightmare, it's okay, just a nightmare. Except it's not, not really.
He can't help but feel cold, so cold. He puts the blanket closer, his arms wrapping around himself. But he can't get to warm up. Why, why can't he just be warm.
Hands, he can feel them.
Shh, don't tell them.
Sam's alarm go off, time to wake up, put on a show face. Just another day, Sam, just another one.
He wonders all the time. Can they tell the difference ? When he looks around in the street, looking at the people walking by, looking at him but not seeing him, he wonders. Can they tell what happened ? Is it that obvious ? How can I look normal again ?
He's trying really hard not to change anything in his behavior now. The smallest change may indicates that something is wrong with him. Dean will notice. Oh my god, Dean can't ever know.
Cold hands touching, demanding, hurting. Please make it stop.
Shh, don't tell them.
School time. In school he can stop, drop the act sometimes, when he's at the library, alone, surrounded by so many words, he can stop pretending. That's when the pain comes, the sadness. Because he's so fucking broken. When did he got so broken? And sometimes, when everything is just too much, he lets the tears fall, can feel them on his cheeks. It's wet, disturbing, but he lets them fall anyway. He's powerless against that too. Somewhere along the way he became weak. He hates being weak.
The lady at the desk starts to notice the sad silent boy that comes here every day, she has a worried look on her face. He can't let her get worried. Worried adults lead to questioning. Questions lead to the truth. He will have to find another place to crack. Sam stops going at the library to cry.
Surprisingly the hunts help. They help him focus, focus on something else. They give him back a sense of control. He knows this. He's being doing it all his life. He can prove himself out here.
The killing helps too. It helps when, for the first time, he slides a monster's throat, feels the blood dripping on his hand. He lets a little bit of the anger out. He didn't know he was angry. He doesn't know much these days. But only for a brief moment does he feel better. Because it's not the blood of the right monster. Or his own blood. He wants it to be his own. And when he looks at the face of the monster that he just murdered, his victim, he can't help but wonder : « Did my face look like that too ? Who am i killing here ? »
The pain, it all comes down to it. Pain and hands, hands fucking everywhere. And then, the ripping, he feels it. Feels all the damage it does to his body, feels this weight on him and wants to escape but can't. He thinks of hell and death and blood. He thinks please just kill me.
Shh, don't tell them.
He goes to public places. The park, the museum, this nice fountain near a really creepy building. When his brother is out, drinking, having fun with a new girl, just living. Sam sits there and watch people.
Pick one, anyone, just pick one and tell him, tell her. Tell them how much it fucking hurts. Tell them how you lay awake at night and can't stop thinking about all the blades and guns and your dad's razors, and every other goddamn weapon in the house. Tell them how you weren't always like that. How once upon a time, you were a simple, happy, broody teenager. Tell them how even though back then you complain a lot about your lifestyle, complain a lot about the lack of normalcy in your life, you'll give anything, anything, to just go back to being that boy again.
Shh don't tell them.
Dean is starting to notice something's wrong ...
He doesn't say anything right away, because he is busy preparing the next hunt with Dad, because he's a Winchester and Winchesters just don't believe in words most of the time.
But then he asks. He asks because for the love of god, he's Dean, just Dean, Sam's older brother. And that means something, that fucking means everything to Dean. So he asks.
“Is everything okay ?”
That's not the real question though. Sam knows that, he knows what is brother is really saying here. “Are you okay? Tell me what's wrong and I’ll fix it.”
He doesn't know what to respond to that. Well, he knows but just can't. He can't just spit it out. He can't get the words, the right ones, to come out of his mouth. When did talking become so hard? He stares at his brother for a second, he has to say something now. If he doesn't, Dean will worry. A worried Dean is bad. A worried Dean means that he will have to tell the truth. It all comes down to that too, the truth. But maybe if he doesn't say it, doesn't speak the truth, then maybe he can pretend it never happened. Maybe he can forget. Forget. Such a simple word, and yet it held so much power here. He needs it. Needs it so badly.
Shh don't tell them.
He knows what to say to be left alone. He knows what to say to appease his brother. Because that's how it is when you've been living with someone your whole life. That's how it is between them. Sam just knows his brother, so he says:
“I met a girl at school in the other town we were. I liked her.”
He says it because girl's troubles, Dean understands. Dean can help with those. Sam used to thing that Dean could help him with anything. He doesn't think so anymore. Some things are just unfixable. Some people too. Dean being Dean, he is happy to give Sam some advice about girls. How to not get attach, how to make sure they're happy when you leave them. But then because Deans is Dean, he says:
“You sure that's what has been bothering you?”
The way he said it makes Sam wants to cry. The way his eyes are just looking at him, really looking, like he's here, like he matters. Dean has always been the only to look at him like that. Him and Dad sometimes. He can't disappoint them. Can't let them down. So he says: “Yes, yes that was all.”
Sam never starts cutting, even when the need to do it becomes almost unbearable. Before it happened he never truly understood the need to cut in your own flesh. He never understood how people could hurt themselves that way. What good could it procure. But he gets it now. He gets it. And he wishes that he never did. He understands the primal need to cut, to be able to feel something. To take all the pain and focus it on one point, to hurt physically. But he never does it because he thinks about Dean, and his dad, and how he can't let them down. And because he thinks that if he starts cutting his wrist he won't be able to stop.
Shh don't tell them.
It's those words again. He hates those words, hates them like he's never hate anything before. Those are the words that “he” said right after. He hears them all the time. He hears “him” all the time. Whispering in his ears after it's over, taunting him, haunting him, killing him. It's the price he has to pay. Because he wasn't strong enough. Because he just wasn't enough. He didn't manage to escape, to fight “him” off. That's his penitence, hearing those whispered words all the time. When he sleeps, when he eats, when Dean tells him a joke.
Shh don't tell them.
He can't tell Dean or his dad. He promises himself that he will never tell them...
Read part Two here: http://frenchie93.livejournal.com/973.html
Fandom(s): Supernatural
Characters: Sam Winchester. Dean Winchester
Pairing(s): Gen
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Something happened to Sam. Something bad. Something he won't talk about. Can't talk about.
Genre: Hurt/Comfort. Angst. Teenchester.
Warnings: Rape. Nothing too graphic but it is there.
Word count: Over a thousand.
Dean is 19 and Sam 14 in this. It's mainly Sam's POV with a little bit of Dean's POV.
Don't tell them
Shh, don't tell them.
He's awake now, breathing hard, so hard it hurts. A nightmare, it's okay, just a nightmare. Except it's not, not really.
He can't help but feel cold, so cold. He puts the blanket closer, his arms wrapping around himself. But he can't get to warm up. Why, why can't he just be warm.
Hands, he can feel them.
Shh, don't tell them.
Sam's alarm go off, time to wake up, put on a show face. Just another day, Sam, just another one.
He wonders all the time. Can they tell the difference ? When he looks around in the street, looking at the people walking by, looking at him but not seeing him, he wonders. Can they tell what happened ? Is it that obvious ? How can I look normal again ?
He's trying really hard not to change anything in his behavior now. The smallest change may indicates that something is wrong with him. Dean will notice. Oh my god, Dean can't ever know.
Cold hands touching, demanding, hurting. Please make it stop.
Shh, don't tell them.
School time. In school he can stop, drop the act sometimes, when he's at the library, alone, surrounded by so many words, he can stop pretending. That's when the pain comes, the sadness. Because he's so fucking broken. When did he got so broken? And sometimes, when everything is just too much, he lets the tears fall, can feel them on his cheeks. It's wet, disturbing, but he lets them fall anyway. He's powerless against that too. Somewhere along the way he became weak. He hates being weak.
The lady at the desk starts to notice the sad silent boy that comes here every day, she has a worried look on her face. He can't let her get worried. Worried adults lead to questioning. Questions lead to the truth. He will have to find another place to crack. Sam stops going at the library to cry.
Surprisingly the hunts help. They help him focus, focus on something else. They give him back a sense of control. He knows this. He's being doing it all his life. He can prove himself out here.
The killing helps too. It helps when, for the first time, he slides a monster's throat, feels the blood dripping on his hand. He lets a little bit of the anger out. He didn't know he was angry. He doesn't know much these days. But only for a brief moment does he feel better. Because it's not the blood of the right monster. Or his own blood. He wants it to be his own. And when he looks at the face of the monster that he just murdered, his victim, he can't help but wonder : « Did my face look like that too ? Who am i killing here ? »
The pain, it all comes down to it. Pain and hands, hands fucking everywhere. And then, the ripping, he feels it. Feels all the damage it does to his body, feels this weight on him and wants to escape but can't. He thinks of hell and death and blood. He thinks please just kill me.
Shh, don't tell them.
He goes to public places. The park, the museum, this nice fountain near a really creepy building. When his brother is out, drinking, having fun with a new girl, just living. Sam sits there and watch people.
Pick one, anyone, just pick one and tell him, tell her. Tell them how much it fucking hurts. Tell them how you lay awake at night and can't stop thinking about all the blades and guns and your dad's razors, and every other goddamn weapon in the house. Tell them how you weren't always like that. How once upon a time, you were a simple, happy, broody teenager. Tell them how even though back then you complain a lot about your lifestyle, complain a lot about the lack of normalcy in your life, you'll give anything, anything, to just go back to being that boy again.
Shh don't tell them.
Dean is starting to notice something's wrong ...
He doesn't say anything right away, because he is busy preparing the next hunt with Dad, because he's a Winchester and Winchesters just don't believe in words most of the time.
But then he asks. He asks because for the love of god, he's Dean, just Dean, Sam's older brother. And that means something, that fucking means everything to Dean. So he asks.
“Is everything okay ?”
That's not the real question though. Sam knows that, he knows what is brother is really saying here. “Are you okay? Tell me what's wrong and I’ll fix it.”
He doesn't know what to respond to that. Well, he knows but just can't. He can't just spit it out. He can't get the words, the right ones, to come out of his mouth. When did talking become so hard? He stares at his brother for a second, he has to say something now. If he doesn't, Dean will worry. A worried Dean is bad. A worried Dean means that he will have to tell the truth. It all comes down to that too, the truth. But maybe if he doesn't say it, doesn't speak the truth, then maybe he can pretend it never happened. Maybe he can forget. Forget. Such a simple word, and yet it held so much power here. He needs it. Needs it so badly.
Shh don't tell them.
He knows what to say to be left alone. He knows what to say to appease his brother. Because that's how it is when you've been living with someone your whole life. That's how it is between them. Sam just knows his brother, so he says:
“I met a girl at school in the other town we were. I liked her.”
He says it because girl's troubles, Dean understands. Dean can help with those. Sam used to thing that Dean could help him with anything. He doesn't think so anymore. Some things are just unfixable. Some people too. Dean being Dean, he is happy to give Sam some advice about girls. How to not get attach, how to make sure they're happy when you leave them. But then because Deans is Dean, he says:
“You sure that's what has been bothering you?”
The way he said it makes Sam wants to cry. The way his eyes are just looking at him, really looking, like he's here, like he matters. Dean has always been the only to look at him like that. Him and Dad sometimes. He can't disappoint them. Can't let them down. So he says: “Yes, yes that was all.”
Sam never starts cutting, even when the need to do it becomes almost unbearable. Before it happened he never truly understood the need to cut in your own flesh. He never understood how people could hurt themselves that way. What good could it procure. But he gets it now. He gets it. And he wishes that he never did. He understands the primal need to cut, to be able to feel something. To take all the pain and focus it on one point, to hurt physically. But he never does it because he thinks about Dean, and his dad, and how he can't let them down. And because he thinks that if he starts cutting his wrist he won't be able to stop.
Shh don't tell them.
It's those words again. He hates those words, hates them like he's never hate anything before. Those are the words that “he” said right after. He hears them all the time. He hears “him” all the time. Whispering in his ears after it's over, taunting him, haunting him, killing him. It's the price he has to pay. Because he wasn't strong enough. Because he just wasn't enough. He didn't manage to escape, to fight “him” off. That's his penitence, hearing those whispered words all the time. When he sleeps, when he eats, when Dean tells him a joke.
Shh don't tell them.
He can't tell Dean or his dad. He promises himself that he will never tell them...
Read part Two here: http://frenchie93.livejournal.com/973.html