#sam is oblvious

[trekkiehood]

Title: “I’m Not Going to Hit You”

Fandom: Supernatural

Chapter: 2006 - Sam

Part: 3/3

Words: 1,673

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

TW: Implied Child Abuse

Summary: Three times Dean was told, “I’m not going to hit you.” Three times the people in Dean’s life realize that there might be more going on in Dean’s life than the kid is willing to admit. A Christmas Present for my friend @pricelesstrashpanda <3

Part 1

Part 2

(I rearranged the chapters to make them chronological so if the authors notes seem backwards it's because they are.)

Ao3 Link

Wow it's been a hot minute.

Sorry... I started this chapter months ago and just never got around to finish.

But here it is!

A bit of a warning, Sam starts off kinda self centered and a bit of a jerk. This is not a "Sam Bashing" fic... but be warned he's a bit of a jerk to Dean in parts of this story. No flames. If you come at me for the way I portray Sam I'll just delete the comment. Because you've been warned. (I've been told it's not bad and in character I just wanted to ensure that no one comes at me lol.)

Anyway....

Here she is!!

This was originally gonna be the last chapter but I accidently wrote an epilogue. So there will be one more after this... hopefully up soon but I'm not making any promises.

Hope you enjoy @pricelesstrashpanda <3 (and everyone else too ;)

~TH~

Sam felt conflicted. He wanted nothing more than to get blackout drunk. He wanted to drink until he could forget the date. Forget the week. Forget everything. Then he’d picture Jessica’s disapproving glare, telling him that this was not what she wanted for him. But of course then he was picturing Jessica and flames and the whole cycle started over.

Right now, he was on his second beer. It was starting to take the edge off. He just wanted the day to go away. A few more hours and November 2nd would be over. The mark of the one-year anniversary of the love of his life burning to death on the ceiling.

Dean had disappeared at some point. He had been annoyingly clingy all day. Dean had barely spoken, remaining silent but hovering over Sam, wanting to please him. Sam had ended up shouting at him to just get out and leave him alone. Dean had looked surprisingly relieved, grabbing his keys and rushing out the door. Sam had been alone since then. He didn’t know when Dean was going to get back, he didn’t know if he honestly cared. He just needed today to be over.

It was almost midnight when the door opened and Dean stumbled in. Sam’s concern warred with his desperate anger as the severity of Dean’s drunkenness sunk in. The anger inevitably won.

“Dean! Where have you- where’s the car?!”

Dean blinked twice at him, “Uh, back at the, back at the bar. Walked back.” A small giggle. “Too drunk to drive.”

Concern again fought for a place in Sam’s mind. It took a lot for Dean to get drunk and an even more ridiculous amount to get him so drunk he wouldn’t drive. That he would leave his Baby in the parking lot of some bar. But the anger and grief he was feeling left little room for much else.

“Really Dean? Really? You go out and get black out drunk today of all days? What’s your problem?!”

Dean flinched slightly before pushing past Sam towards the bathroom. “I can get drunk if I wanna get drunk.” It wasn’t much more than a mumble. It only caused Sam’s anger to rise.

“What reason do you have to get drunk, Dean? This is the anniversary of my girlfriend’s death! You didn’t even know her!’

Dean’s eyes had glazed over half-way through his speech and Sam had no clue how much of what he said had gotten through.

“I’m allowed to grieve too.” It was said slowly, as if he was trying to force himself to sound sober.

Sam snapped. “You have no one to grieve, Dean! If anyone should be grieving, it should be me!”

“She was my mother and if I wanta get drunk I will!” Dean shouted back.

Sam stood dumbstruck, feeling a cold weight fall into the pit of his stomach as the pieces fell into place. Of course. November 2nd. The night of the house fire. Not just Sam’s apartment, but Dean’s childhood home as well.

He should have known - remembered.

November 2nd was a sort of a morbid holiday in their home growing up. Dad would get drunk (even more than usual), Dean would sit quietly waiting for dad’s drunken orders (trying to predict them before their old man even issued them), and Sam would head to school and then be sent to the library with a few bucks for dinner (provided by Dean of course.)

It was one of those things he’d intentionally forgotten about. One of those memories he’d locked away in hopes of not revisiting.

Before Sam could respond, Dean’s eyes widened and he took a stumbling step back. “Crap I, I didn’t mean - ‘m sorry I didn’t mean-”

“Dean man, hey,” Sam said placatingly, recognizing the lost, drunken look in his eyes. “It’s fine I wasn’t thinkin’. You didn’t-”

Dean wasn’t listening, still rambling on, nearly tripping over himself in an attempt to put distance between him and his brother. “I-I swear I didn’t mean for it please don’t- I just- I miss her too!”

“Hey, Dean, it’s okay,” Any residue anger had evaporated at the sight of his now terrified and grief stricken brother. “Really, just, just take a deep breath man.” Sam took a step forward and Dean let out a strangled gasp, taking another step backward and banging his head against the wall in the process.

“Dean!”

“Don-don’t please don’t- jus’ don’t - ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry.”

Sam didn’t know what he was seeing. Dean seemed to be in some form of shock. Some form of alcohol induced panic mixed together with grief. Sam moved forward grasping Dean’s face in his hands. “Hey, hey look at me, man.”

Dean’s eyes slammed shut and his breathing became shallow. “Don-don’t - not the face. Please. Don’t- Sammy will see!”

Sam froze. He felt sick. Like all the air had left his lungs. Like something had just happened that he needed to process and analyze. Something had just happened that his brain just couldn’t get to click into place. Something he really didn’t want to process or analyze or click into place.

“Dean, Dean, hey Dean, look at me! I’m not-” He felt the words stick in his throat. “I’m not going to hit you.”

Dean let out a whimper, too drunk or too upset to comprehend. Sam adjusted his grip, letting his hands trail down his brother’s neck until they reached his shoulders.

“Hey,” he squeezed Dean’s shoulders, trying to draw his attention - or any form of awareness. “Dean,” A small shake. “Come back to me man. I don’t know where your head is but you gotta come back.”

When there was still no response aside from Dean’s frantic breathing, Sam pulled him forward and shoved him down onto the bed. The older Winchester melted into it, not even attempting to get up. Lying motionless while his brother watched on in concern.

Sam ran a hand over his face. Trying not to think about what had happened - what was happening.

“‘M sorry - sorry.” Dean was mumbling again. He struggled to push himself up. “Dad ‘m sorry I didn’t mean ta- ta-”

Sam pushed him back down. “Shh, Dean, it’s okay. Dad’s not- he’s not here.” Dad was dead. And if he wasn’t Sam would kill him himself. If the floating pieces in his brain were forming the picture he thought he was seeing.

“”M sorry.” Dean was now speaking barely above a whisper. “‘M sorry, I didn’t mean ta- ta get drunk. ‘M just so… tired.” His voice broke on the last word. The sleepless nights and lack of self preservation catching up to the eldest Winchester on the worst possible night. “‘M so tired, Sammy. ‘Nd I miss - I miss ‘em.”

“I know, Dean. I miss them too.”

“But they’re both gone, S’mmy. They’re both gone.” There was a small breath of a laugh. “We’re orphans.”

“I know Dean - just- just try to get some sleep, okay? Sleep it off. We can talk in the morning.”

“Don’ wanna sleep. Can-Can’t. Needta, ta, take care of Sammy.” He half pushed himself up, only for his arms to give out as he collapsed back into the pillows.

“I’m fine Dean. You don’t need to take care of me right now, just sleep.”

“But-”

“No, Dean. You need to sleep. You’re drunk. You need to sleep it off. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“But Dad-” But Dad would get angry. Because it was becoming more and more abundantly clear to Sam that Dean was the caretaker - the father and mother - of the home. That one misstep by either one of them would likely result in Dean taking the brunt of Dad’s anger. But he never - he wouldn’t have- He yelled a lot but did he ever -? “Can’t sleep.” Dean muttered, barely conscious. “Dad-”

“Isn’t here. You’re okay Dean. You’re safe.”

Dean hummed something not quite recognizable as speech before falling completely silent. His breathing evened out and his eyes closed. Dean finally drifted off to sleep. Sam did not.

Jessica had all but left his mind. The sadness was still there, lingering in the back of his mind, threatening to bring him down, but his forethroughts had been replaced. All he could hear was his brother begging him not to hit him. But no. Dean hadn’t begged Sam not to hit him. He’d begged him to not hit him where Sammy could see.

If dad wasn’t already dead, Sam would have killed him.

He knew he shouldn’t jump to conclusions but what else was there?

Grown men don’t just give specific instruction to ensure little brothers don’t see the bruises without some massive trauma. Without some horrendous implications.

And Sam had never even noticed.

Sure he’d been sent away every November 2nd, but… something about it just didn’t feel right. There’s no way this was a once a year thing. Dad was drunk more than once a year.

And now that he thought about it… Dean had always had strange bruises and scratches, even when he wasn’t hunting. Dean had always explained them away but was it possible…

It was the only answer. The puzzle finally clicked together with a finality that sent Sam reeling. He stumbled back into one of the chairs. He stared at his sleeping brother. Their father had hit Dean. Had abused him plain and simple. He’d caused Dean pain. Given him bruises. All of this had gone on while Sam complained that he was sick of eating Mac’N’Cheese every night even though he knew it was the only thing left in the room.

His hatred for his father was immaculate, but his hatred for himself wasn’t far behind.

Sam waited. He didn’t dare sleep. He wasn’t sure if he could. Wasn’t sure that he wanted to. He didn’t know what would haunt his dreams tonight, whether it would be Jessica burning and bloody, or his brother crying out for help as their dad beat him with Sam only standing silently to watch?

Both were plausible. Both had already happened.

~TH~

Notes:

So that's that!

Like I said, there is one more chapter that's gonna tie up all the stories (I think it would be perfectly fine to leave it like this but I wrote a "Sam confronting Dean" scene and didn't use it so we adding an epilogue lol).

Anyway, check out @pricelesstrashpanda's fics! We have a similar writing vibe and have even co-authored a Walker (2021) Fic!

Make my day and leave a (non-flame) comment!!!!

God bless,

Jamie