Keep Holding On

The rest of the day went better than expected. Everett didn't make any smart-ass comments about Dean and his contact in the lunchroom and Dean avoided him completely. Of course Sam wanted to see him, but he did not want to hear any lectures. So he walked the halls of Hamilton until 2:20 p.m. and then walked the few miles home.

Sam could hear the Impala before if pulled up next to him. The deep rumbling sounding like home. That big, black, shiny, boat had been home since Sam was old enough to hunt. Just another fucked up thing about the Winchesters.

"Get in the car, Sammy. It's three miles to the apartment." Dean's eyes were pleading as he creeped the car with his brother's pace.

"I can walk it, Dean. It's not like it's fifteen degrees outside. It's a really nice day and I think I'll walk. Thanks." Sam didn't even glance at Dean. He knew he was hurting his brother, but he could not risk the possibility of a talk about the bullying which would lead to the root of the problem.

Before Dean could make some face and force Sam into the car, Sam 90-degreed into an alley that he knew would eventually lead to a street he could use to get home.

+++++

The ice pack was cold and heavy on his eye, but he knew the end result would be better with it. Dean hadn't said anything since Sam had gotten home other than "Have you done your homework?" and "Fuck, Sam, don't leave your shit in the floor. I almost died."

Sam was okay with this. He hadn't been feeling himself lately. A sick feeling was building in his gut, almost like anxiety. He didn't know why. He had school tomorrow, but he faced that shit everyday. Why was he feeling so nervous tonight?

Around ten, Sam could hear Dean rustling around in the bathroom getting ready for bed. In his mind he could see his brother, naked but for a towel, water dripping from his skin. A quiet moan slipped through his open mouth and he got off the couch, heading for the bedroom.

WrongwrongbadSamwrongbadnonono

He repeated mantras to himself everyday. Everyday Dean would do something, say something that just did it for Sam. He was pretty sure it was those fucking hormones that teenagers got a massive dose of this time in their lives, but that didn't mean it was right. Dean was his brother, for chrissakes.

Sam smacked a palm against his head, sure he was losing his mind and he just needed to wake up or something. The good thing was their dad was out of town so Dean slept in the master bedroom and Sam got a bedroom all to his self. That meant he could stay up late reading or watching the small TV they had in their room or...

Sam's mind slowed to a crawl. He could, couldn't he? Today was a shitty day, he was feeling shitty and anxious and he knew it would help. His frown deepened as he thought about Dean walking in, but he needed it.

Double-checking the lock on his bedroom door, Sam pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled apart the front credit card slot. Inside was exactly what he was looking for. The glint of the silver shone in his eyes, and for a moment, he felt guilty for wanting it so bad, but it soon went away when he ran his finger across the blunt edge of the trapezoidal blade.

The first cut was shallow, just enough to feel what the blade could do. No blood. Just a white line across his skin. This particular blade had been used before and it was dull enough to hurt and to bleed.

A tear fell from a hazel eye as Sam rolled his pant leg up and looked at the scars and cuts from previous "episodes" as his counselor liked to call them. He had told Mr. Davis about his habit and, luckily, his dad wasn't in town and didn't find out. But Mr. Davis was still worried about him. Sam had told him not to worry. He wasn't going to off himself or anything. He may be a Winchester, but he didn't have the balls for that.

The blade cut into his skin and blood welled to the surface almost immediately. He could almost feel a weight being lifted off his shoulders. The pain of the razor in his skin took his focus away from everything and he sat back and smiled for a few minutes before starting a particularly deep and long one on his shin bone. It hurt, but that was the point, right?

The endorphins rushed through his brain and he stashed the blade back into its rightful place in his wallet. He lifted his pant leg and awkwardly walked over to his bed where he plucked a few tissues and pressed them against the deepest cut.

He could hear Dean walking through the hallway as he put his jeans back down.

"Bitch, go to sleep." Dean hit his fist against the door and stayed in front of the door. Sam saw his shadow move after a few moments of silence and he felt relieved Dean hadn't tried to come in.

It was time for bed, though. Sam yawned and stripped down to his boxers and plopped onto his bed, double-checking to make sure his cuts weren't bleeding onto the sheets. Soon enough, darkness flowed through his brain and sleep fell upon him.

+++++

Teeth nibbled along his jaw and he moaned at the caress of fingers splayed across his ribs. Sam closed his eyes and just felt. It was all he could do at the moment because his hands were currently attached to the headboard posts with strips of what felt like a t-shirt. Just the fact he couldn't touch his lover turned him the fuck on and he moaned louder.

His hair was gripped tightly, his throat exposed as the man bit down his windpipe, leaving Sam literally breathless. A trail was being made down his chest with a few stops to his nipples and bellybutton on the way. This guy was so good. He left Sam quivering, shaking, wanting more, needing release before his pants were even off.

But then the pants were off. Sam jacked his hips up to allow his jeans to be pulled all the way off and was given no time to adjust at all when a warm, wet, heat engulfed his leaking cock. A tongue slid across his slit and around his crown, taking its sweet motherfucking time to lick its way to Sam's base. The feeling of his cock down the throat of a this guy was too much. He tried and tried not to thrust too hard but he just wanted to fuck this guy's mouth so bad. He pushed forward and his orgasm hit him like a train. He could feel the man swallow every last drop and work him through the aftershocks.

As Sam lay there, trying to figure out how the fuck he got a guy like this in his bed, said man leaned forward and stared green, green eyes into Sam's hazel ones.

"Dean." Sam sighed and shut his eyes.

"Yup, Sammy. Dean."

They both turned their heads at the sound of pounding on their bedroom door.

"Sammy. Wake the fuck up? Why's the door locked? You're gonna be late for school. By the way, we don't have any Lucky Charms left. Early bird gets the worm."

+++++

Sam sat up in the bed to the sound of the door trying to come off its hinges. He dragged a hand down his face and grimaced at the wet spot on his bed. Dammit.

"I'm up, Dean. Jesus Christ! Hold on a second." Sam threw the covers off of him and onto the floor. He would have to deal with them later or get a lot of shit from Dean about it. He threw on the jeans from yesterday and a shirt from the drawer across the room. Socks and shoes complete the outfit and he's out the bedroom door.

Dean was sitting in the Impala, tapping his fingers on the wheel. Sam rolled his eyes, not ready for the Motorhead or Metallica he assumed was in the tape player. It was too early for that, but Dean wouldn't care what Sam had to say about it anyway.

Sam opened the car and out blasted Blackened by, you know who, Metallica. Sam mentally shrugged and slid into his second home.

"Sweet dreams, Sammy?" Dean looked over, eyes crinkling with a smile. Sam was sure he didn't know, but you could never tell with Dean. He was a curious character and was full of surprises.

"Yeah, sure... Freak." Sam smirked back at his brother and remembered his dream from the night before. Those beautiful green eyes staring at him from above. The feeling of that hot mouth on his cock.

Sam realized he was staring at his brother's mouth and Dean had a curious gleam in his eye.

"Let's just get to school, dude. I don't wanna be late. I have a test in first period."

Dean continued to stare and smile at his little brother, but soon put his baby in reverse and drove the route to the school.

The first thing Sam noticed when they pulled into their reserved parking spot was a group of guys centered around Everett. He prayed to the good Lord above that they weren't going to say anything while he was around Dean. He knew it was bound to happen eventually, but maybe they would move before Everett said anything.

Dean stepped out of the car and stared at Sam through the windshield. "Come on." he mouthed. Sam knew it would look suspicious if he just sat in the car. It would look like he was scared. And he was, no doubt, but don't let the enemy know you're afraid.

He stepped from the Impala and made sure there was a good yard between he and his brother as they walked into school.

There was still about half an hour before classes started. Kids were hanging by lockers, talking in their groups. Some were in the lunchroom eating breakfast or just chilling. Sam didn't have a "clique" so he just walked to his locker, separating himself from Dean. He glanced back to see his brother flirting with that Kathleen chick and he felt a pang of jealousy flow through him.

He also saw Everett walking toward him. He opened his locker quickly, not wanting his books strewn across the hallways. When he turned to look at his enemy's progress, Everett was nowhere in sight. Sam let out a relieved breath and closed his locker. He turned toward the restroom at the end of the hall. Gotta follow routine. Get to school, locker, bathroom, library until bell rang, class. Everyday it was the same. It's not like he had anything else to do. He couldn't hang around with Dean because he was his kid brother, and that wasn't cool. And it meant an increased chance of Everett popping out of fucking nowhere and laughing at them both.

The door squeaked as Sam entered. The bathroom wasn't that clean, smelled like a bathroom, and was, at that time, empty. Sam sighed, relieved. As much as they were on the road, public restrooms weren't his thing.

He walked to the second to last stall and pushed open the door. Before he could turn around to shut it, a hand shoved him against the back wall, his shins hitting the hard porcelain of the toilet.

"What the fuck?" Sam tried to turn around, expecting to see Dean there, but his brother wasn't standing behind him.

It was Everett... And he looked ecstatic.

Thoughts raced through Sam's brain. What the fuck was Everett doing? Was he gonna beat his head in on the toilet? Was he gonna just plain beat the shit outta him? All of the possible scenarios ran through his mind as he tried to push against the strong hand that was holding his torso against the wall.

His worst fear was confirmed when Everett bunched Sam's shirt in his fist and pulled him back, just to shove him into the side wall of the tiny stall.

Sam's fists flew back behind him, connecting with nothing. He knew what was about to happen and it couldn't. This couldn't be happening and it wouldn't. Tears sprang to Sam's eyes as he tried his hardest to kick and punch and wriggle out of the boy's grip.

Something cold and sharp was at his neck. A knife. The fucker pulled a knife on him. Sam stopped struggling and shut his eyes. It was gonna happen and he couldn't stop it. The stall was too small for Sam to block any shots. He was pinned to a wall with a knife at his throat by a huge guy. Fuck.

An unwanted sob escaped Sam's lips as a hand reached forward and cupped his crotch.

"Not one word, Winchester. It'll be over quick. I just wanna get my rocks off and you seem like the type to like it." He pulled the knife from Sam's throat and dangled it in front of his eyes. "So shut the fuck up. Now and after. I don't want to hear even a rumor, okay?" He palmed Sam through his jeans and dropped the knife from his victim's view.

Big hands fumbled with the button and zipper of Sam's jeans and he let another sob slip through.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is happening. Please, God, please, no.

His jeans were around his ankles and a callused finger was shoved in his ass. He let out a cry at the sudden and painful intrusion. The knife was at his throat again, a silent threat.

Sam could hear Everett's labored breathing in his ear. He blocked out everything. Apparently, the things his father had taught him about hunting could be applied in the real world. Good. It was working. Nothing was happening. Just blackness. He thought about Dean. His eyes and his freckles. How his skin practically glowed in the summer when he took his shirt off while working on the Impala.

Then it happened. He could feel the ripping, the tearing. He knew there was blood. It was like someone was ripping his soul in half. Sam came to the conclusion that that was what was really happening here. His soul was broken and now he would never be normal. Broken people weren't normal. He saw the way parents looked when told their children had been taken, killed. Broken.

Everett backed away and another cry left Sam's throat as his cock was removed. He could feel blood and semen dripping down his leg and he didn't care. He couldn't. The pain was too much. His brain stopped, couldn't think, feel. He was done.

He could dimly hear Everett laugh and feel a hand against his ass, a "thanks" whispered into his ear. But none of it was real. He slid his body down the stall's wall and knelt with his head against the cold metal, pants pooled around his ankles, blood on the floor.

Sam hit the toilet before he vomited all over the floor. He let it all out. He puked and cried and bled. Nothing would be okay now.