What Doesn't Kill You

Talk To Me, Sammy

Three hours later, Sam began to stir on the couch, slowly gaining consciousness. He felt his head throb almost immediately when trying to sit up and instinctively brought a hand to his head in reaction to the pain. After the throbbing whittled away to a dull ache, he looked around the room to try to figure out where he was.

Dean turned the corner right as Sam remembered where he was and he panicked. He was really hoping Dean wouldn't try to talk about why he passed out, or if he did, that he could at least come up with a believable excuse.

When Dean saw Sam sitting up on the couch, his face lit up with a small smile, relief washing over him as he sat down at the other end of the couch. His brother sat up quickly, almost flinching as Dean sat down. He looked like he was ready to run. Dean had to approach this conversation carefully in order to avoid Sam bolting.

Sam looked at his brother with what he hoped was a calm, neutral expression on his face.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said, slurring in his speech, almost to the point of them not sounding like actual words.

Because of everything that had been going on over the past five and a half years with his dad, Sam had built up walls, guarding himself from anything and anyone. So it was almost instinct for him to shrink back into the couch as his brother stared back at him, almost sympathetically.

Sam sat there waiting for Dean to say something, anything. As the silence lingered on, the more uncomfortable Sam became. He wasn't a huge fan of having all of someone's attention on him. "So...," Sam said, in an attempt to get Dean talking.

"Sammy, you okay?" Dean asked, gently. Sam looked hesitant.

"Um, y-yeah, Dean, I'm good. Thanks for carrying me down here. S-sorry about that whole thing." Sam didn't look at Dean while he was speaking and trying to shrink back even more, which made him flinch in pain.

"Sammy, I found your spiral notebook" Dean said, gently watching his brother closely.

Almost immediately Sam's face morphed from one of being on edge to terrified and embarrassed. "What?!" he practically squealed.

"No, Sammy, it's okay. I'm not mad or whatever you're thinking. I just - I need to know, Sam." Dean paused. He felt like he was dealing with a frightened animal ready to take off at the first sign of trouble. "Has dad been hurting you?"

"N-no," Sam responded immediately. "No, he wouldn't do that." The words came on instinct, drilled into him everyday for years.

"Then why would you write about it in your notebook?" Dean tried not to sound condescending, but instead genuinely curious.

"I - I - you must have just misunderstood what -"

"No, it was pretty clear, Sam. Listen, man, you don't have to lie to me. I'm your brother. You can trust me."

Sam looked up at Dean like a deer in headlights before looking back down at his sleeve-covered arms. "People say the same thing about dads."

Now it was Dean's turn to be facing the headlights. It was one thing to read about it, but it was a whole other thing to have it spoken out loud from Sam himself. And the way he said it... Dean was suddenly filled with red hot anger. Kids are supposed to be able to trust their dads. Sam should be able to trust their dad, not live in constant fear and anguish.

Dean was gonna kill him.

But he had to focus for now. He needed to focus on Sammy.

"Look at me, Sam." Dean gently lifted his brother's chin with his pointer finger. "Have I ever hurt you?" Sam shook his head slightly, his bangs falling to cover his eyes. "Do you think I would now?" Another small shake of his head. "Do you trust me?"

Sam didn't move this time, seemingly trying to figure out if he did actually trust his brother or not. After a moment he lifted his head just a little bit higher and said, "Yes." Dean smiled softly.

"Okay. Then I need you to tell me what happened."

"Okay," Sam sighed after barely having to second guess himself. He knew he could trust Dean. He was the only person Sam could trust. "I'll tell you. But you can't tell dad, okay?"

"Yeah, Sammy. Promise." Dean breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Sam took a moment to breathe, to calm himself. This was okay. This was Dean.

"He, uh - he beats me when he comes home drunk." Sam rolled up his sleeves slowly to show his brother the bruises scattered along both arms and then lifted up his shirt slightly. "A lot of times I pass out from - from the pain or when he would hit me on the head. I always kinda preferred being knocked out though because if I was awake, I could feel him... he - he would rape me. I hate being awake f-for that. He's aggressive and mean, and he told me that you were angry with me and you hated me and that's why you moved away." Sam didn't realize he was crying until Dean wipes away the tears from his cheek gently and wraps his arms around his brother in a warm hug.

"You know that's not true, right, Sammy? That could never be true. Ever." Dean sounded frantic, like he needed Sam to believe him, to understand, a few stray tears falling down his face. Sam nodded his head against his brother's chest and wrapped his hands around Dean's torso.

"He told me you never wanted to see me again." Sam's sobs were uncontrollable now, wracking his body.

"Shh, Sammy. I got you. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere, you got it?"

Sam didn't really respond, just seemed to settle in his brother's hold. They stayed there for a long time, neither moving except the slight shift in leg positions so they could still feel their limbs.

They both eventually fell asleep in each other's arms.