Save me 2/?

Save me
Characters: Sam Dean John OC
Pairing: none
Teenchester Sam 15, Dean 19
Rating: M language non-graphic violence

The voice mail from an unknown number had not been a priority for Dean, so it had been there for several hours. The instant Dean heard the familiar voice he stopped and sat down heavily.
"Dean?.... It's Sam. I need some help..... I'm in jail."

Possible trigger- highlight to read non-graphic underage non/con object insertion

Chapter 1-     http://jasmineisland.livejournal.com/1638.html






Sam stood in the hot shower, holding on to both sides to stay on his feet. For the first time in two days he stopped trying to fight his feelings and let it go. Falling to his knees, his mind replayed everything that had led up to him being in a cell for two days.

After gym class, Sam had retreated to the shower to rinse off before walking home. It was his last class, so he wasn't in a hurry, but had waited until all of the others had gone before him and he thought he was alone.  As he was reaching into his locker for his jeans something grabbed him from behind and slammed his head into the locker. For a moment, everything grayed out and he couldn't make his body react to the hands that were dragging him back to the shower.
"Get him on his knees, come on, hold him!"
Finding the strength, Sam kicked out and felt his foot connect with a body. He jerked his arm and twisted away from the boy holding him to try to hit the one on the other side. Another boy kicked him in his back and he fell forward. Before he could move, three of them grabbed him and pushed his face into the tile of the floor. Something was shoved into his mouth so he couldn't scream.
"Watch his legs, man. He already kicked me once, will you fucking hold him!" When Sam felt hands grabbing at his underwear, he panicked. He twisted violently, desperate to break the hold the boys had on him. Before he could even get his hands under him, one of them kicked him in his ribs so hard he thought he felt a sharp crack as the breath left his body.
He fought to draw a breath, but when it finally came, it left him again in an agonized scream that was muffled by the gag. He had no idea what they were using, but it was hard, sharp, and felt like it was tearing him apart inside. His struggles to free himself only made them laugh harder and increased the pain. Unable to stop himself, he began to cry.  The laughter echoed in the shower and Sam wondered if they were ever going to stop. Finally it was over and one of them leaned down to his ear.
"You ever tell anyone about this, the next time we'll use a knife. We'll shove it so far up your ass you'll choke on it and they'll never find your body." The hands released him. For a brief moment Sam fell to his side, trying to breathe through the pain. Then he saw it. A hockey stick. With his blood on the handle.
When Sam swung the stick at the first boy, the other five took a few seconds to realize what happened. But they were no match for the years of training fueled by the rage coursing through Sam.  It was over in just under two minutes. He'd taken a few blows, but nothing that actually did damage. Any more damage.
When the coach came into the locker room to see what the commotion was Sam was getting dressed, ignoring the six boys on the ground bleeding nearby. Sam couldn't force his mind to comprehend the questions being fired at him, and his instinct was to run. But his physical condition was failing quickly and slowed him down enough for the coach to grab him and shove him into the wall. His head made a hard connection with the wall again and he fell to the ground. By the time he was able to even attempt to get to his feet the Sherriff and several deputies were there. Again, lots of questions that Sam couldn't answer and it didn't take much for the authorities to decide that Sam was going to jail. When the deputies tried to push him to the ground to handcuff him, Sam panicked. All his mind could comprehend was that he was being pushed down again for God knew what and he struck out. He landed a few blows, but his weakened condition was no match for angry deputies with nightsticks.

Sam's stomach rolled and he didn't fight it. He'd had nothing to eat in over two days, so all he could manage was weak dry heaving between sobs that he prayed Dean couldn't hear over the sound of the shower.
It had been over thirty minutes when Dean finally knocked on the door. "Sammy?" When he didn't get a response, he knocked louder. "Sammy? I'm gonna kick this door in if you don't let me know you're okay."
Just as he lifted his foot, he heard Sam's voice.
"I'll be out in a minute."
That one sentence had taken most of Sam's energy, but he turned the water off and yanked the curtain back. Wrapping a towel around his waist he stepped out of the tub carefully and looked around. When his eyes spotted his clothes on the floor his breath caught in his throat and tears threatened again. His jeans and briefs were laying there, the blood in them an obvious sign of what he'd been unable to stop and he snatched them up before Dean came in and saw them. His long jacket had – thank God- hidden anything that might have shown through the outside of the jeans. Shoving them into his duffel, he dressed as quickly as he could and stepped out of the bathroom to the worried face of his brother. 

The second Dean saw Sam he knew damn well the hoodie and sweatpants were to hide any injuries that Dean might want to see.

“Wanna get some sleep, Dean. Please?”

“Look at me, first.” Dean stared into Sam’s eyes. He was looking for signs of a concussion, but what he saw in his brothers’ eyes worried him. There was definitely something that Sam wasn’t going to discuss at the moment.

“I’m fine.” Before Dean could say anything else, Sam curled up on his bed and closed his eyes.

Quietly, Dean moved to Sam with some Tylenol and a glass of water. “Might make it a little easier to sleep?” He barely heard Sam’s whisper of thanks before he swallowed them.

Dean had been watching Sam sleep for about an hour when John’s voice accompanied his loud knock on the door. Sam stirred and Dean opened the door quickly to keep his father from announcing his arrival again.

“Move your stuff.” John’s order was abrupt and he threw his bags down in the room.

“Dad?” Dean was confused. They hadn’t shared one room in almost two years.

“What, you think they let your brother out of jail free? Bail wasn’t cheap, Dean. Pretty much broke us.” John’s tone was just as irritated as it had been when he’d left hours ago. “We’re sharing for now.”

Dean turned to Sam, hoping he was still asleep, but suspecting he was alert and listening. He pointed to the door, but John shook his head.

“Sammy needs to hear this, too. So get him up.” Before Dean could reply, John disappeared into the bathroom.

“Sammy?” Sitting down on the bed, Dean touched Sam’s shoulder gently. The brief feel of taunt muscle just before Sam flinched from his touch confirmed Dean’s suspicions.  “Might as well listen up. “

John exited the bathroom, reached for a bottle of Jack Daniels from his bag and sat on what was now his bed.

“Gotta tell ya, Sammy. When you fuck up, you don’t do it half-ass, kiddo. Six counts assault with a deadly weapon, one count resisting arrest, and, the icing on their god damn cake, they’re trying to get the D.A. to go for two counts attempted murder and charge you as an adult.” He slammed the bottle on the table. “I want to know what the fuck you were thinking? You should have been able to get out of it without using the fucking stick. That is what changed everything. That’s not even knowing about how well you were trained to fight. I taught  you to fight things that fight a hell of a  lot better than six stupid football players. Suddenly you need a hockey stick to get your point across?”

“Dad, they came at him with the stick.” Dean tried to defend Sam, who obviously had no intention of responding for himself.

“You’re both smarter than this. You break the fucking stick and kick their asses. You don’t try to kill them over a locker room fight.” John wasn’t going to give Sam an inch on this. “Answer me, Sam. What were you thinking?”

After a long silence, Sam almost whispered. “I wasn’t.”

“Damn right you weren’t. Now I have to figure out what the hell we’re going to do. I’m going to have to run up to Clayton to get some cash and supplies.” He took another shot. “Apparently the only thing this hell hole has going for it was a state champion high school football team. And Sammy shot that to shit by taking out six of their starting players. Plus they’re all friends or related in some way.”

“Great. Inbred mother fuckers.” Dean shook his head.

John shot Dean a glare. “Point is that I have to go a few towns over. We need a cash advance on the rest of our cards, and supplies. Don’t even want to order a drink around here. They’ll fucking spit in it.”   

“Why don’t we just get out of here, Dad?”  Dean was more than ready to put this town in his rear view mirror.

“Because the little bit of cash I have left won’t get us far. We won’t be far enough away for the bench warrant that will be issued as soon as they realize Sam’s gone. And since one of Sam’s victims happens to be the Sherriff’s son, he WILL come after us. That son of a bitch is out for Sammy’s blood.”

“Then I’ll go with you.” Dean was worried about getting food back as fast as possible, knowing that Sam most likely hadn’t eaten since his arrest. “I can help get whatever we need.”

“You will stay here and keep him on lockdown.” John swung the bottle in Sam’s direction. “He goes nowhere.  You stick inside, too. I don’t want you running into trouble over his fuck up.” 

Sam had been leaning quietly against the headboard, his eyes down on his fidgeting hands.

“You gonna say something, Sammy?” John’s voice was demanding an answer.

At Sam’s negative head shake, John stood. “God dammit, Sam! You are not going to sit back and pretend this doesn’t concern you when this entire shitstorm is your fault!” 

“Dad-“ Dean started to intervene.

“Shut up, Dean.” John began to shout. “That Sherriff wants to put Sam in a maximum security prison for the next 20 years.  I think we’re beyond anything you can say to make this better. He needs to stop acting like a pouting brat and fucking talk to me!”  Reaching over, he gripped Sam’s arm and dragged him over to the side of the bed. Sam struggled, but John wasn’t about to let him off the hook.  “I want you to say something, Sam. I want you to tell your brother and me why our last few dollars are sitting in a Sherriff’s office and we’re about to run to keep you out of prison. I want to know what the fuck you were thinking! What the hell was going through your head?”

Sam stared up at John, trying to think of a way to avoid the conversation. Finally he replied in almost a whisper. “A hockey stick.”

Dean saw the blow coming, but there was no way to stop it. John’s hand crossed Sam’s face and sent him sprawling back onto the bed. “You ungrateful fucking bastard!”

Sam’s ears were ringing, but he knew the conversation was over. He’d rather take the physical blows from John then be forced to discuss what had happened in that locker room with either of them.  He felt John’s hand clench in his hoodie to pull him back up. When the hoodie pulled tight on his neck and he started to choke, he realized he might have miscalculated just how angry he had managed to make his father.  

“I should take you right back down to that station, get my money back and let you take your own chances.  See how far that attitude of yours gets you with them!”

Both boys knew John would never do that, but Sam could feel his father shaking from the anger he’d instigated.

Dean watched the entire scene play out in front of him. John rarely hit either of them as children, and, other than sparring, he hadn’t in over a year now. Both brothers learned quickly that alcohol made the odds of getting hit pretty high, so they both learned to stay out of his way when the bottle was open. He knew Sam was aware of the consequences of what he’d said but it hadn’t stopped him. There had to be a reason, but Dean knew he had no chance of finding out at that moment. So he stayed quiet, hoping things didn’t get too violent between his father and brother. 

The hoodie pulled tighter on Sam’s throat, and he felt himself being dragged back across the bed. His mind suddenly slammed him back to the locker room floor and he began to panic. Before he could stop himself he struck out with his leg, catching John on the hip.

The kick took John by surprise. Neither boy had ever raised their hand to him and John’s alcohol enhanced anger went up another notch.  “You think you’re gonna take me? You better think twice, Sammy, about what you’re doing. I won’t take this shit from you and you will be out on your ass. You think you’re tough enough to take me we’ll see how tough you are sitting here alone. We’ll leave you in this shithole.” Not letting go of Sam’s hoodie, he reached for Sam’s side to flip him over.

When John’s hand came in contact with the rib that was most likely cracked from the kick he’d taken, Sam tried to scream, but the hoodie was too tight around his throat. He twisted and began to struggle against his father’s hands.  Still thinking Sam was fighting him, John gripped the boy tighter and pulled him towards the edge of the bed. By the time Sam was sliding off the side of the bed he was desperately struggling to get away from John. Another kick landed on John’s knee and he drew back his own foot. When it connected with Sam’s thigh, a sharp spasm ran through the muscle. John knew exactly where to kick to cause the least amount of damage but the most pain. Sam still couldn’t manage a sound around the hoodie, but he tried to crawl away from his father.

“Not so tough, now, are you?” John knew Sam’s leg was cramping from the kick.

Shaking his head, Sam actually whimpered. His body was already so sore that John’s blows had completely shattered what self control he’d managed to attain. The boy finally broke free and crawled under the table next to Dean and curled up in a ball.

John stepped towards Sam, but Dean stood in his way. “Dad, enough.”

“Stay out of this, Dean. Sammy’s decided he’s a tough guy.”

“Dad, he’s cowering under a table! That’s not a tough guy, that’s your scared son. Enough.” Dean lowered his voice, hoping to get through to John and not draw his anger. But if it took drawing John’s anger to get him away from Sam, that’s what he’d do.

Stopping, John stared at Sam for a moment. A brief look of guilt flashed across his face, but he turned to Dean. “I have to get out of here and get supplies. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

After the door shut behind John, Dean kneeled down to Sam. “Come on, Sammy. He’s gone.”

Sam inched his way farther back against the wall.

“Sammy, what the hell? It’s just the two of us, man. Come on out.”

Slowly, Sam forced himself to move. Limping to the bed, he climbed into it and hunched down under the covers.

After a quick trip down the hall for ice, Dean approached Sam with an ice bag. “Roll over. Let me see.”

“I’m fine.” Sam’s voice wasn’t much more than a whisper.

“Yeah, right. Dad hits like a fucking sledgehammer and you’re fine. Let me see.” Dean reached out and pulled on Sam’s shoulder, but let go quickly when Sam jerked away from him. Shaking the ice bag, Dean leaned back. “I’m not going anywhere until you let me take a look.”

Sam sighed and rolled over to face his brother. His eye was already swollen and a large bruise was forming on his face. But what stopped Dean was the bright red line across his throat.

“What the fuck?” When he pulled on Sam’s hoodie, he realized exactly what had happened. The collar was solid, with no give to it. “Jesus, Sam. You kicked Dad ‘cause he was choking the shit out of you.”

Sam nodded.

Reaching into Sam’s bag, Dean pulled another shirt out and handed it to Sam. “Put this on. We need to ice down your face and throat.”

With a shake of his head, Sam tried to turn back from Dean.

“No, Sammy. Not this time. Come on.” Dean reached to pull the hoodie up but Sam smacked his hand and moved to the edge of the bed. Knowing there was more to this, Dean slid closer behind his brother. “Okay, now you’re setting off my Spidey sense that something’s up with you. Come on. I’m not letting this go.”

Refusing to meet Dean’s eyes, Sam finally sat up and gingerly pulled the hoodie off over his head.

“God damn, Sam. Why didn’t you say something?” Dean stared at the bruises that littered Sam’s torso. Most of them were long and thin but one covered Sam’s side at his ribcage. Gently he reached out to touch it and his fears were confirmed when Sam almost yelped and pulled away. “That rib broken?”

“Don’t think so. Cracked maybe. S’better now.”

“Too late for ice for any of these. Put this on your throat, I’ll get another one for your eye. Hopefully you’ll be able to see out of it tomorrow. These from the hockey stick?” Dean knew Sam hadn’t started the fight, but this was what John needed to see. Until Sam answered.

“Nightsticks.” Green eyes continued to stare at the bed and refused to meet Dean’s.

“The fucking cops did this to you?” Jumping to his feet, Dean started to pace. “I’ll rip their lungs out! I swear, Sam, I’ll kill those fucking bastards.” Through his tirade, it took him a few minutes to hear Sam’s whispers.

“Stop. Dean, don’t. Dean, stop it.”

The sight of tears on Sam’s cheek stopped Dean. “Sammy, I need to know what happened. I can’t fix this if I don’t know what I’m fixing.”

“You can’t fix this, Dean. You’ll just end up in jail, too.” After pulling the new shirt over his head Sam curled up under the blanket.

 The tremors that went through Sam actually scared Dean. Grabbing the ice bags, Dean made a decision. He sat down on the bed behind his little brother and gently pulled Sam into his arms like he had when Sam was little.

The feel of Dean’s arms encircling him made Sam’s skin crawl at first. A sense of being held against his will flashed through him and he tensed. Sensing something was off with the younger boy, Dean loosened his grip and allowed Sam to situate himself. The feeling of being restrained passed, and Sam curled up in his big brothers arms. The thought that Dean would never touch him again if he knew what had happened terrified him, and he fought tears. Dean didn’t understand what was happening, but the hitch to his little brother’s breath told him exactly what he needed to do. When Sam felt the small circles Dean’s hand made on his back, he leaned back and accepted the ice bags to his face and throat.

“We’re going to fix this, Sammy. We’ll figure it out.” As it always had, Dean’s soft whispers soothed Sam and he slowly relaxed.

After almost a half hour, Sam finally fell asleep. Once Dean was sure he was in a sound enough sleep, he stood. The first thing he needed to do was figure out a way to get at least something for Sam to eat when he woke. It occurred to him that there might be enough change in the Impala for him to at least get Sam something out of the machine in the lobby. When Dean exited the hotel he realized there were three deputies in the parking lot, watching him cross the lot and get in the car. It didn’t take much for Dean to figure out they were watching for Sam to make a run for it. Dad was right. They were out for his baby brother’s blood.

After a thorough search, Dean came up with enough for a bag of chips and a soda for Sam. The lobby was deserted except for a desk clerk when Dean got to the vending machines. But when he turned back to the door, a man was standing there.

“You got a problem?” Dean’s defensive nature kicked in and he faced the man.

“Winchester?”

“What’s it to you?”

“You see all the cops outside?”

“How could I miss them?” The sarcastic tone of Dean’s voice didn’t help matters.

“I don’t need this kind of heat around here. Makes other guests nervous.”

“Well why don’t we just go ask them nicely to leave.”

The manager wasn’t amused. “I don’t know what happened, and I don’t care. I don’t want this kind of heat around here. I’ll give you until tomorrow, but you need to start looking for a new place to crash, man.”

“Great. I’ll get on it.” Taking the chips and soda, Dean headed back to the room. He was about half way to the door leading to their hallway when he spotted the same three and two more deputies standing too close together at the wall. Knowing this was not a good sign, Dean started to run back towards them. Sure enough, they were crowded around Sam, who was leaning against the wall and staring at the ground.

“What the hell?” Dean spoke loudly, drawing their attention from Sam.

“Don’t think we’re not watching you get ready to leave. Saw your father pack his stuff.”

“We’re changing hotels.” A bit of truth to throw them off, Dean almost smiled.

“And why should we believe you?”

“Well, seems you assholes are bad for business- and” One of the deputies took offense at Dean’s comment and punched him in the face.

“Stop!” Sam stepped between Dean and the officers.

Reaching for Sam, Dean gently pulled him until he was standing behind Dean and there was one again a barrier between Sam and the Deputies. “Sammy, did they touch you?”

“We didn’t put a hand on him. Just made sure he understands how long he’s going to be in prison and how just popular his scrawny little ass is going to be. He’ll be taking the beating instead of handing it out there, won’t ya, Sam? You’ll be a popular little bitch.” One of the deputies smiled at Dean and the older Winchester saw red. If Sam hadn’t been shaking so hard he was basically vibrating against Dean’s back he might have taken on all  five officers himself.

“We’re going back inside now. And when we decide which hotel we’ll be moving to, my father will be sure to let you know.”

“Just how old are you, son?” The condescending tone grated on Dean’s last nerve.

“Old enough to know I’m not your son. Thank god for small favors, right?”

“I’ve had enough of your mouth!” Once again, Dean felt a fist slam into his face and this time he tasted blood. “Where is your father?”

“None of your goddamn business.” Dean spit blood close, but not on, the boots of the officer that had hit him.

“Now, that’s where you’re dead wrong, you little son of a bitch.” Now the deputy grinned. “When your daddy posted bail and signed your little shit brother out of jail, the details of that agreement were that he was released into your father’s custody. That does not include your father going to the next town and getting ready to get you out of here.”

Sam’s fists clenched in Dean’s jacket and Dean began to see where this was going.  Turning to Sam, he gripped his shoulders. “Let’s get back inside. Dad will be back soon.”

The deputies blocked their way. “Now that’s where I know you’re lying. I have it on good authority that John Winchester was seen up in Clayton. Now that’s about five hours away. Suddenly you two appear in the parking lot. Don’t have to be genius to figure out what’s up with you three. You’re not going to get the chance to run on this one. Your father reneged on his bail agreement and-“ He pointed to Sam. “That psycho little shit goes back to jail.”

“No.” The soft, panicked, pleading whisper was all Dean needed to hear from his baby brother. Shoving Sam and yelling for him to run, Dean took several rapid swings at the deputies. Dean knew it was a losing battle, but he hoped Sam could get away. As a nightstick came down across the back of his head, he saw Sam on the ground with two of the deputies literally kneeling on him to keep him down. Then everything went black.


Chapter 3   jasmineisland.livejournal.com/2290.html