I Will Protect You

Part 2

As soon as he stepped into the shower, Sam turned the temperature of the water up until it was scalding. He grabbed a bar of soap and a washcloth, and scrubbed until it hurt--and kept scrubbing. He tried not to cry, he really did, but he just couldn't hold it back anymore. He felt tainted. He felt dirty. He felt like nothing more than a piece of fucking meat.

He didn't get out of the shower until the water ran cold. He dried himself off slowly and pulled on the sweats Dean had left for him on the counter. He could feel Dean's worried gaze on him when he emerged from the bathroom, but ignored him and crawled back under the covers. It was still dark out, and he figured he'd have at least a few more hours of sleep.

***

Dean tried not to stare at his brother. He knew Sam wouldn't want to be coddled, or treated like he was made of glass.

But hell if Dean didn't want to hold him close and never let go--chick flick moments be damned.

What had happened to Sam was not like any cut, or burn, or illness. It wasn't something that Dean could slap a bandage on, or attack with a few pills.

Sam was damaged. Sure, it had only been one time, but one time is all it takes. Dean didn't have a single fucking clue how to fix this.

Dean waited to make sure Sam was asleep before stepping outside. He pulled out his cell and scrolled through his contacts. Dad. His thumb hovered over the send button.

And he hit "End" and went back inside.

Dad hadn't picked up the phone the first few thousand times, not even when Jess died. Why would he now? Dean thought bitterly, thinking back to all the times he heard his father tell Sam to "Suck it up."

This is my job, because Sammy is my kid. Dean quietly padded over to stand next to the bed, running a hand through his brother's floppy chestnut locks. Even in his sleep, Sam turned towards his big brother, quietly murmuring Dean's name. Dean felt a strong surge of love and affection that made his chest swell. "Don't worry, Sammy," he murmured. "I'll fix this."

***

Sam had expected to be woken the next morning by the alarm, but when he opened his eyes the sun was already up and shining bright. Dean must have let him sleep in.

He heard a toilet flush, and the older Winchester walked out of the bathroom. "Welcome back, sleeping beauty," he grinned, although it didn't reach his eyes. "I got breakfast." He pointed to the takeout bag sitting on the table.

"'M not hungry," Sam mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"Dude, you gotta eat something."

Sam just shook his head and went to the bathroom. Locking the door behind him, he took this brief moment of privacy to allow his impassive exterior crumble. He sank to the floor and took several deep breaths. Not gonna cry. I'm not gonna fucking cry. God, why was he being such a baby?

He felt a flare of anger and grabbed onto it, using it to chase away the tears threatening to come.

Sam flushed the toilet as an excuse for his time in there, composed himself, and walked back out.

They spent most of the morning in silence. Dean tried not to stare, and Sam tried to think about anything except last night.

Once they had their bags packed, Sam started to head for the door--only to be held back by Dean's hand on his wrist.

"Sam, wait."

Sam sighed, trying not to sound irritated. "What?"

"We need to talk."