Don't tell them (Supernatural)
Title: Don't tell them (Part 2/2)
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. .
Warnings: Rape. Nothing too graphic but it is there.
Word count: Over a thousand.
Life goes on. It's been two months since it happened. Sam learned how to take all his emotions and pain and to just push them down his own head. Never let them resurface. He learned how to smile again, even if most of the time the smiles are fake, forced. He learned how to not make Dean worry. How to function normally again. He's better at pretending now. It's been two months since it happened and yet he's unable to move forward. He doesn't want to. Because he thinks of the other boys like him, the other boys that could have been hurt by the same man before. But the worst part is when he thinks of the other ones after him. That, he can't get past it. Those boys are his responsibility. The silence is not only costing him but costing them. Sam is letting other kids potentially get hurt. He's not saving people anymore. He's a coward now. The guilt keeps him awake at night sometimes. When he can almost hear those boys crying for help. A help they won't receive because Sam is not willing to speak up. He wants to tell them. To explain them how in his world there is just no place for weakness. How he loves his family and is ready to never tell them what happened just so he can remain Sammy in their eyes. Sammy who is a geek boy, who loves reading just as much as Dean loves hunting. Those are excuses, Sam knows. But there are excuses that matter to him.
He needs a plan, anything to keep that man from ever hurting anyone else. A plan that doesn't involve him speaking the truth.
In the end he doesn't have to make a plan. Life interferes. One day is what happened.
That one day changes everything. That one day Sam and Dean are sparring. Joking while doing so. Laughing even. Sam is getting better at laughing. Dean wants to try something new. A new move. So Sam is just happy to help. Because these days he's willing to do just about everything to please his brother. He shouldn't have agreed. He shouldn't have, because the next thing he knows, he's on the ground, face against the cold grass. Dean above him with his knee pressed against his back.
Shh, don't tell them.
Sam isn't here anymore. He's not sparring in an empty field Dean found. A perfect place to train. He's not safe laughing with his brother. He's back there. Back where it happened. He's suffocating. Dying. How many times will he have to die for it to finally just be over. Before he can't stop himself he's yelling, crying, begging:
“Don't touch me. Don't you fucking touch me. Get off me. Please get off me. GET OFF ME.”
The world freezes for a second. Or was that more? Sam doesn't know anymore. Sam isn't functioning anymore. Sam isn't Sam anymore. He's just a scared little kid, a hurt little kid.
Dean backed off immediately. Like he's been burnt. After hearing the first sounds of distress of his little brother, he released him immediately. He doesn't know what happened. Doesn't know how he screwed up. Just that he did. Big time. He's good at that, screwing up, just ask his Dad. But then the words register. The words Sam said. The words that his brother shouldn't have need to say. Not ever. And everything makes sense. Everything just makes fucking sense. He's been wondering for two months what was wrong. Jesus Christ. He doesn't wonder anymore. He knows. And all he can think is: No no no no no, not Sammy.
Sammy. Sammy who seems to be far gone. Sammy who he needs to help, to get out of here. He doesn't know what to say. So he says the only thing that comes to his mind, the only word that he can manage to let roll off his tongue:
“Sammy.”
Sam hears that word. Knows that word. He will recognize the person saying it among thousands of people. Sammy. This word holds so much more meaning than just a nickname. The way his brother said it. Like it means everything. It's okay Sam, it's okay, just breathe, it's Dean. It's Dean. Come back to Dean. Sam stands up really fast. Breathing hard. Face down. He can't look at his brother. Won't look at him. He thinks Dean knows. He knows.
Shh, don't tell them.
And then without a warning, Dean is here. Here, hugging Sam. Hugging him like he hasn't been doing in a very long time. It brings back memories to Sam. Other kinds of memories. Good ones. Memories from when they were kids, way much younger than now. And Dean used to hug him when Sam was sad. Sad is kinda what he feels right now. God he almost forgot what good memories tasted like. Sam wondered if Dean knowing will change anything. He thought Dean would hate him, despise him, be disgusted if he knew. But with his brother holding him like that, like he's trying to fix him just by holding him. Sam doesn't wonder anymore. Because Dean is Dean, and Dean would never hate him. No matter what he did. No matter what was done to him.
No words are exchanged. There is no need. Some hugs are just enough.
They're in the car, driving back to the motel room they're staying in. Sam doesn't know exactly when they left the field and went back in the car. Dean drives silently, no doubt glancing at his brother every two seconds. But Sam won't look at him. He has his face pressed against the window, really hard. Eyes closed, trying to fight off the memories assailing him. He's been doing that for the past two months. He's been getting really good at it. But today it's like he can't. He just can't get the images out of his mind. But he has to. For his brother, he has to. And because he's still a Winchester after all, he manages to control himself. To not shrink and cry and panic. He manages to just stay still against the window of the car, the impala. To stay there and breathe. If he can still breathe then maybe there's still hope.
The sound of things breaking is what brings Sam back to the room.
When did they get back to their motel room?
Dean is breaking things, anything he can get his hands on. Lamp, chair, table, bottle of beer on the said table. Throwing a punch in the wall. Sam thinks that had to hurt. Dean is asking questions. No, not asking, shouting. Sam doesn't know what he's asking, he can't seem to make sense of the words but he has a good idea of what he wants to know. Then Dean is calm again. Or pretending to be. Breathing. Passing a hand over his mouth. He asks:
“A name. I just need a name Sammy. You don't have to tell me anything else, not now. Just give me a name.”
Shh, don't tell them.
Sam shivers but he can do that. He can give him a name. And so he does. And afterward Dean is looking at him with a pained expression on his face. Because he knows that name. That's the name of one of Dad's friend. Well, not really a friend. More like a fellow hunter Dad knows. Not close like Bobby or Caleb. Suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle come together and form the whole picture. Because two months ago Dean had to stay at Pastor Jim for three weeks to recover from a werewolf attack. And even though Sam wanted to stay with his brother, Dad needed him on a hunt. They tracked down a nasty ghost for almost a week before Dad dropped Sam off with that fellow hunter because he had something else to take care of, something he wouldn't talk about, not to Dean, not to Sam. Something that he didn't want Sam involved with. But he didn't want Sam to be alone, not with that thing out there. All of those variables played a part in having Sam alone with a hunter. A trained, dangerous, son of bitch, hunter. And Dean was thousands miles away, with Pastor Jim, recovering. Funny how life works sometimes.
There is a hundred different things that Dean wants to say but instead he just says:
“Stay here, lock the door behind me, and check on the salt lines. Don't go out. Wait for me. I will be back as soon as I can.”
He looks at Sam one more time, hesitating about something, like he wants to talk to him. Reassure him. But he doesn't, because he's a Winchester, and Winchesters don't believe in words most of the time. They believe in actions. And then Sam is alone in the motel room. For the first time in nearly two months he stops worrying about the other hurt boys, because Dean will take care of it. That's what brothers are for.
It takes two days for Dean to return. During those two days he checked on Sam half a dozen times. And then Dean is here, Dean is back. And Sam almost asks him:
“Did he scream? Did you make him scream? Did you hurt him as much as he hurt me?”
But he doesn't have to. Because he already knows the answers.
Dean is getting them drinks. Strong ones. He said so. He's looking at Sam in the eyes. Not asking him anything.
Shh, don't tell them.
It's the last time he will hear those words. He realizes now, he never had to tell for Dean to hear him. That's what gives him the courage he so desperately sought and convinces him to say:
“I'm ready to tell you about it...”
Because they're Winchesters, and Winchesters don't believe in words most of the time. But sometimes they do.
The end
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. .
Warnings: Rape. Nothing too graphic but it is there.
Word count: Over a thousand.
Life goes on. It's been two months since it happened. Sam learned how to take all his emotions and pain and to just push them down his own head. Never let them resurface. He learned how to smile again, even if most of the time the smiles are fake, forced. He learned how to not make Dean worry. How to function normally again. He's better at pretending now. It's been two months since it happened and yet he's unable to move forward. He doesn't want to. Because he thinks of the other boys like him, the other boys that could have been hurt by the same man before. But the worst part is when he thinks of the other ones after him. That, he can't get past it. Those boys are his responsibility. The silence is not only costing him but costing them. Sam is letting other kids potentially get hurt. He's not saving people anymore. He's a coward now. The guilt keeps him awake at night sometimes. When he can almost hear those boys crying for help. A help they won't receive because Sam is not willing to speak up. He wants to tell them. To explain them how in his world there is just no place for weakness. How he loves his family and is ready to never tell them what happened just so he can remain Sammy in their eyes. Sammy who is a geek boy, who loves reading just as much as Dean loves hunting. Those are excuses, Sam knows. But there are excuses that matter to him.
He needs a plan, anything to keep that man from ever hurting anyone else. A plan that doesn't involve him speaking the truth.
In the end he doesn't have to make a plan. Life interferes. One day is what happened.
That one day changes everything. That one day Sam and Dean are sparring. Joking while doing so. Laughing even. Sam is getting better at laughing. Dean wants to try something new. A new move. So Sam is just happy to help. Because these days he's willing to do just about everything to please his brother. He shouldn't have agreed. He shouldn't have, because the next thing he knows, he's on the ground, face against the cold grass. Dean above him with his knee pressed against his back.
Shh, don't tell them.
Sam isn't here anymore. He's not sparring in an empty field Dean found. A perfect place to train. He's not safe laughing with his brother. He's back there. Back where it happened. He's suffocating. Dying. How many times will he have to die for it to finally just be over. Before he can't stop himself he's yelling, crying, begging:
“Don't touch me. Don't you fucking touch me. Get off me. Please get off me. GET OFF ME.”
The world freezes for a second. Or was that more? Sam doesn't know anymore. Sam isn't functioning anymore. Sam isn't Sam anymore. He's just a scared little kid, a hurt little kid.
Dean backed off immediately. Like he's been burnt. After hearing the first sounds of distress of his little brother, he released him immediately. He doesn't know what happened. Doesn't know how he screwed up. Just that he did. Big time. He's good at that, screwing up, just ask his Dad. But then the words register. The words Sam said. The words that his brother shouldn't have need to say. Not ever. And everything makes sense. Everything just makes fucking sense. He's been wondering for two months what was wrong. Jesus Christ. He doesn't wonder anymore. He knows. And all he can think is: No no no no no, not Sammy.
Sammy. Sammy who seems to be far gone. Sammy who he needs to help, to get out of here. He doesn't know what to say. So he says the only thing that comes to his mind, the only word that he can manage to let roll off his tongue:
“Sammy.”
Sam hears that word. Knows that word. He will recognize the person saying it among thousands of people. Sammy. This word holds so much more meaning than just a nickname. The way his brother said it. Like it means everything. It's okay Sam, it's okay, just breathe, it's Dean. It's Dean. Come back to Dean. Sam stands up really fast. Breathing hard. Face down. He can't look at his brother. Won't look at him. He thinks Dean knows. He knows.
Shh, don't tell them.
And then without a warning, Dean is here. Here, hugging Sam. Hugging him like he hasn't been doing in a very long time. It brings back memories to Sam. Other kinds of memories. Good ones. Memories from when they were kids, way much younger than now. And Dean used to hug him when Sam was sad. Sad is kinda what he feels right now. God he almost forgot what good memories tasted like. Sam wondered if Dean knowing will change anything. He thought Dean would hate him, despise him, be disgusted if he knew. But with his brother holding him like that, like he's trying to fix him just by holding him. Sam doesn't wonder anymore. Because Dean is Dean, and Dean would never hate him. No matter what he did. No matter what was done to him.
No words are exchanged. There is no need. Some hugs are just enough.
They're in the car, driving back to the motel room they're staying in. Sam doesn't know exactly when they left the field and went back in the car. Dean drives silently, no doubt glancing at his brother every two seconds. But Sam won't look at him. He has his face pressed against the window, really hard. Eyes closed, trying to fight off the memories assailing him. He's been doing that for the past two months. He's been getting really good at it. But today it's like he can't. He just can't get the images out of his mind. But he has to. For his brother, he has to. And because he's still a Winchester after all, he manages to control himself. To not shrink and cry and panic. He manages to just stay still against the window of the car, the impala. To stay there and breathe. If he can still breathe then maybe there's still hope.
The sound of things breaking is what brings Sam back to the room.
When did they get back to their motel room?
Dean is breaking things, anything he can get his hands on. Lamp, chair, table, bottle of beer on the said table. Throwing a punch in the wall. Sam thinks that had to hurt. Dean is asking questions. No, not asking, shouting. Sam doesn't know what he's asking, he can't seem to make sense of the words but he has a good idea of what he wants to know. Then Dean is calm again. Or pretending to be. Breathing. Passing a hand over his mouth. He asks:
“A name. I just need a name Sammy. You don't have to tell me anything else, not now. Just give me a name.”
Shh, don't tell them.
Sam shivers but he can do that. He can give him a name. And so he does. And afterward Dean is looking at him with a pained expression on his face. Because he knows that name. That's the name of one of Dad's friend. Well, not really a friend. More like a fellow hunter Dad knows. Not close like Bobby or Caleb. Suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle come together and form the whole picture. Because two months ago Dean had to stay at Pastor Jim for three weeks to recover from a werewolf attack. And even though Sam wanted to stay with his brother, Dad needed him on a hunt. They tracked down a nasty ghost for almost a week before Dad dropped Sam off with that fellow hunter because he had something else to take care of, something he wouldn't talk about, not to Dean, not to Sam. Something that he didn't want Sam involved with. But he didn't want Sam to be alone, not with that thing out there. All of those variables played a part in having Sam alone with a hunter. A trained, dangerous, son of bitch, hunter. And Dean was thousands miles away, with Pastor Jim, recovering. Funny how life works sometimes.
There is a hundred different things that Dean wants to say but instead he just says:
“Stay here, lock the door behind me, and check on the salt lines. Don't go out. Wait for me. I will be back as soon as I can.”
He looks at Sam one more time, hesitating about something, like he wants to talk to him. Reassure him. But he doesn't, because he's a Winchester, and Winchesters don't believe in words most of the time. They believe in actions. And then Sam is alone in the motel room. For the first time in nearly two months he stops worrying about the other hurt boys, because Dean will take care of it. That's what brothers are for.
It takes two days for Dean to return. During those two days he checked on Sam half a dozen times. And then Dean is here, Dean is back. And Sam almost asks him:
“Did he scream? Did you make him scream? Did you hurt him as much as he hurt me?”
But he doesn't have to. Because he already knows the answers.
Dean is getting them drinks. Strong ones. He said so. He's looking at Sam in the eyes. Not asking him anything.
Shh, don't tell them.
It's the last time he will hear those words. He realizes now, he never had to tell for Dean to hear him. That's what gives him the courage he so desperately sought and convinces him to say:
“I'm ready to tell you about it...”
Because they're Winchesters, and Winchesters don't believe in words most of the time. But sometimes they do.
The end