The Hero of His Own Story | By : unrequited666 Category: Supernatural > Slash - Male/Male Views: 4760 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Warnings: Dark, evil!Dean, non-con, violence, slash,
wincest, character death. Don’t like? Don’t read! No
flamers!
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Chapter Five
“Hey Sam!”
Sam turned, watching as Rich
hurried along the hallway to catch up with him. “Where were you?”
Rich made a face. “Coach wanted to talk to me about something,” he
said evasively.
“He’s been talking to you a lot lately,” Sam observed.
“Yeah… well…” Inspiration striking, Rich joked “Maybe he secretly
likes me or something. After all, I am a handsome fellow even if I do say so
myself.”
Sam snorted, “And full of himself too.”
Rich looked at him, his expression part surprise and part pride. “Do
my ears deceive me? Or has Sam Winchester – Mr I’m so serious all the time –
made a joke?” Rich clapped him on the back good naturedly as Sam ducked his
head and blushed.
“It’s not a big deal,” Sam muttered, although secretly pleased that
he made his big friend laugh. It left him with a pleasant, warm feeling inside.
“Hey, is that a pentagram?” Rich asked, gesturing at Sam’s chest.
Looking down, he saw that Rich was pointing to the protection amulet
which had dangled outside his shirt.
Self-conscious, Sam tucked it back into his shirt before replying.
“It’s just something my brother gave me.” Casting his mind for a change in
topic, he saw another student nearby eating a muesli bar. “I’m hungry,” he
blurted out.
Rich laughed again as he began telling Sam about an incident in the
school cafeteria the previous year. His mind elsewhere, Sam listened with one
ear, offering appropriate “Hmm” and “Uh-huh” responses when required.
This had been the fourth time Coach had talked to Rich alone. Of
course, it was none of Sam’s business what the two had discussed in confidence,
but Sam had rather hoped that the Coach had been transferring his empty nest
syndrome onto Rich, leaving him off the proverbial hook. Unfortunately, it
seemed that Coach Rowden was still interested in Sam and was continually
finding opportunities to talk to him as well; whether it was talking to him
after gym when Sam hadn’t been quick enough to the door, or when they met in
the corridor and the older man would once again recommend a good book he
thought Sam should read (although Sam had been quick to tell him that he wasn’t
interested in reading Sun Tzu’s The Art
of War).
Suddenly realising that Rich was talking to him, Sam broke himself
out of his thoughts. “Huh?”
Completely unperturbed at Sam’s apparent lack of attention, Rich
repeated “I said, did you wanna go to the game tonight?”
“Game?” Sam asked stupidly.
“Yeah, Coach has only been on about this for the last few days.
‘Come support our team’, ring any bells?”
Sam stared wistfully in the distance. Honestly, Sam had to admit
that he would like to go. It sounded like it would be a night of fun, junk food
and chatting with friends (or in Sam’s case, friend) and just maybe, watching
the actual game. And he had never been allowed to a game before. But he also
knew what Dean’s reaction would be. “Nah, I don’t think I’ll be going” he said
with finality, unaware of the forlorn look adorning his face or the fact that
his friend’s jaw had set in a determined line.
***
Dean Winchester left the apartment dressed for work at 7:35 PM exactly. At 7:45 PM, Rich jimmied the lock
from said apartment. He had seen the longing look on Sam’s face when he
mentioned the game and he was adamant that Sam should be able to go. It just
didn’t sit right with him that Sam couldn’t enjoy something as simple as
watching a school basketball game simply because his older brother had a few
screws loose.
Moving with familiarity through the small apartment, Rich knocked on
Sam’s bedroom door. Growing concerned at the lack of a reply, he entered the
room cautiously, his shoe scraping a thick line of salt lying on the floor just
in front of the door. Even though he had mentally prepared himself for what he
would see before he even set foot in the apartment, the sight of Sam shackled
on the bed still shook him to the core.
Rich approached the bed quickly, laying his hand on Sam’s arm and
gently shaking him. “Sam?”
It took a while to coax the deeply slumbering boy to awareness, but
when Sam finally opened his hazel eyes, Rich felt like throwing up. He knew the
story those eyes told. The telltale glazed look. The blown pupils. Sam had been
drugged. By Dean. By his own brother. His own flesh and blood.
“Rich?” Sam’s voice was hoarse.
“Dean drugs you?” Rich almost didn’t recognise his own quivering
voice.
Even drugged, Sam sought to defend his brother. “He’s just
overprotective,” he said sleepily.
“No Sam. Overprotective is forbidding you to go out, it’s locking
all the doors and windows. Chaining you up and drugging you? That’s completely
fucking crazy. I mean, what if someone breaks in? You wouldn’t even be able to
run!”
“That’s the point,” Sam said, struggling to continue the
conversation as sleep threatened to overtake him.
“Dean wants you to get
hurt?” Rich asked incredulously. He found that hard to believe. While Dean
certainly wasn’t all there in his
head, Rich knew Dean would never let anything happen to his little brother.
“No, he doesn’t want me to leave.”
“Sam, Dean can’t do this to you. This is wrong.”
“Is it?”
The innocent tone in Sam’s question just broke Rich’s heart and tears,
unbidden, began silently pouring down his face. Unable to look at the pitiful
sight any longer, he looked towards the window, noting a similar salt line on
the sill as in front of the door. “Y-you don’t know how wrong this is? Sam…”
“It’s better than being locked in the closet. I don’t like small
spaces.”
Whatever Rich was about to say next never left his mouth as he heard
the unmistakeable sounds of the front door being opened. Panicking, Rich dove
for the first hiding spot he could think of… under the bed. But as he settled
himself into the small space, ensuring that all his limbs were well hidden,
Rich felt like smacking himself over the forehead. Isn’t ‘under the bed’ the
spot where all chicks try hiding in the movies but getting caught right away?
Maybe he should change hiding spots.
Dean Winchester walking into Sam’s room and approaching the bed
answered that question.
“What are you still doing up Sammy?” Dean asked.
“I dunno,” came Sam’s confused voice.
His heart thudding painfully against his ribcage, as if it wanted to
get out, Rich hoped that Sam wouldn’t give him away. But considering his
current drugged state…
“I gotta leave again in a minute. Forgot my key card kiddo,” Dean
said.
Rich heard rustling overhead. What the hell was Dean doing? Rich
closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing.
“I think I was thinking about the game. People were talking about it
in school today,” Sam invented.
Rich slowly let out a deep breath, marvelling that Sam’s mind was at
least clear enough to thwart his brother’s questioning. God, he admired Sam’s
mind. But then again, it probably wasn’t his mind Rich was admiring…
Rich heard Dean sigh. “You can’t get too close to them Sammy, you’re
not safe from them.”
Sam must’ve heard the exasperation in his brother’s voice, because
he quickly said “I know, but they seemed nice.”
“I seem to remember having this conversation before when you were
seven and you met that little friend of yours – Benny?”
“Danny,” Sam corrected.
“Yeah, well look how well that turned out,” Dean said derisively,
“Don’t be naïve Sammy. Listen to big brother. The more you leave these outsiders alone, the better.”
Rich heard more rustling before he heard receding footsteps. The
front door slammed shut and moments later Rich heard the rumble of the Impala
as it drove off into the night.
Still trying to control his shaking, Rich waited a good ten minutes
before he dared to extricate himself from his hiding spot. Looking back to the
bed, he saw that Sam was asleep again, having given in to the drugs.
There was something so innocent in that sleeping face that made Rich
ache, that made him want to take Sam away from the nightmare he called a home.
(And if this curtailed with his secret desire to make Sam his, he gave it no
real thought).
He tenderly traced his fingers across Sam’s face and leaned down.
Slowly, tentatively, he kissed Sam’s mouth.
When he finally left the apartment, there were a myriad of emotions
brewing inside of him. Elation at finally having been able to kiss his love.
Depression at the fact that Sam had been asleep at the time and probably
wouldn’t even remember their night time conversation come tomorrow. Fear that
one day Dean might lose it completely and hurt the very thing he currently
seemed intent on preserving. And determination to help this boy in desperate
need of help – even if he didn’t know he needed it.
TBC
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