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Damaged
By: Bmike, JayteKz
Papa: Dean
Daddy: Castiel
Little: Sammy
You ever have those days?
Y'know the ones I'm talking about...
The ones that hit you like a Mack dump truck. The ones where you just sit there, thinking. Thinking about all the what if's. Thinking about the past. And not the good past. Nope, that'd be too easy. So, you sit there, reminiscing about the bad past, the things that haunt you, and don't forget about the mistakes you've made. It all runs together, resulting in a shitty day. Those days...
That's the kind of day Sam's having. He woke up big; however, Cas and Dean keep hinting they want him to slip into headspace. It didn't work, despite their various attempts.
"How about we go get a happy meal, Sammy?" Dean asked, they had just finished a case in Woodburn, Oregon, so they had a long drive to the bunker. Their plan was to return to the bunker, and lay low for a few days. To regroup and focus on each other.
"M'not hungry," Sam mumbled from the back seat, eyes fixed on the blur of colors outside his window as they drove along.
***
"Oh, a park! How about we check out the swings?" Cas asked a few hours later, glancing back at Sam hopefully.
"No thanks," Sam shot the idea down.
***
"Dean," Cas whispered, looking back at Sam's sleeping form. They were about a hundred miles from the Oregon-Idaho border. "We need to find a motel."
"Why? I'm good to drive at least another two hours," Dean wasn't big on stopping at multiple motels when going from place-to-place.
"For one, you need your four hours. Two, I'm tired of sitting in this car. And three, for Sam."
"Fine," Dean agreed. Cas took a second glance at Sam, hoping stopping for the night would help his mood.
They pulled up in front of a motel twenty minutes later.
"You book a room, I'll get Sam and the bags," Cas said. He watched Dean go, and carefully grabbed Sam from the back seat. He then grabbed the bags quickly from the trunk (can't have their arsenal in the back be seen). After, he met with Dean in front of the #6 door, which opened up to a decent room. When you practically live in motels, you know when you've scored, and this was one of those instances!
Cas placed Sam on the bed farthest from the door (safety reasons), while Dean started settling everything else for the night.
"Papa?" Sam mumbled, half asleep, and unaware of his surroundings. "Daddy?"
"Right here, bubs," Cas sat beside him and rubbed his back.
"Where are we?"
"At a motel," Cas whispered. "I thought you deserved to sleep in a bed tonight, instead of the backseat."
"Just wanna go home," he rolled away from Cas, hmphing.
"Do you want something to eat?"
"No."
"Wanna take a bath?"
"No."
"Want cuddles?"
"No!"
"Sam, what's wrong?"
"Leave me alone," he yelled, shooting up from the bed.
"Sam, baby boy, talk to me," Cas tried again.
"NO! Quit acting like you care!"
"Don't yell at Daddy, Sam," Dean had come out of the bathroom upon hearing the noise, quickly using his Daddy-voice. "He's just trying to help. We both are."
"Well, I don't want your help," the boy's voice cracked at the end, making his tough guy facade that much more unbelievable. "I'm going on a walk." He tried to walk out of the door, but was quickly stopped by Dean.
"You're not going anywhere," Dean declared. Normally, as big Sam, he'd be allowed to leave, but not when he's like this.
"Move, Dean."
"That's Papa to you, little boy," he corrected. "Now, tell me what's wrong."
"No," Sam deadpanned, turning on his heal and walking to the bathroom, locking himself in.
"Samuel William open the door, now," Dean juggled the lock. "If you open it now you won't be punished."
Silence.
"Sam, baby, please," Cas pleaded, on the verge of tears.
Silence.
Dean ran a hand over his face, looking at Cas, who was pacing the room, "Cas, sweetheart, quit pacing. Come here." He took the bee into his arms, engulfing him and rubbing his back. Cas gripped his shirt.
"What am I doing wrong?" He mumbled.
"Nothing, sweety," Dean reassured. "It's not you, or me. Hell, it's not even Sammy's fault. It's everything we've been through, especially Sam. It always catches up with you." He felt Cas nod, but they stayed like that. Dean stared at the bathroom door, reminising. Thinking about all that him, his angel, and their baby moose has been through. More specifically: Sam...
Sam's had a shithole life...
At six months old, the yellow-eyed demon broke in and killed Mary. Then he was forced to travel here, there, and everywhere, which left Dean to raise him. He was bullied most of his childhood, which he never understood how the bullying was so bad at school, when he didn't stay at the same one longer than a month. At nineteen, he left for Stanford, which led to his dad practically disowning him. It was three years before Dean came and told him that "Dad was on a hunting...and hasn't been home in a few days." Then the whole 'finding Dad fiasco.' Not to mention the yellow-eyed demon's return, and Dad's passing. Then Bella, Lucifer, Lillith, Ruby. Everything in between. Damn, and those are just a handful of highlights.
Sure, there were good things, too! Dean, obviously. Cas, he's great also. But, there's more bad than good. That's just the hard truth.
"Papa," he heard a whine come from the bathroom, which the door was now opened. Sam was standing there, looking smaller than ever, and tears poured down his face.
"Oh, baby," Dean scooped him up, carrying him back to the bed. "Tell me what's wrong, now?"
"Mhmm," he nodded, pulling back a bit. "I's jus' thinkin' 'bout ebything. An' all da bad stuff. I wanna go home, Papa. Wan' me, you, an' Daddy to r'lax. Don' wanna hun' anymow." By the end, he was sobbing, fisting at his eyes. It broke Dean's heart, because there was nothing he could do to take the worry and pain away. The memories, those are always there...
"We're here, bubba," Dean rocked back and forth, comforting him.
"We're always here," Cas added.
-------------------------------------------
The ending's a bit weird, but it's fine.
This one goes out to those dealing with stuff (so everyone). It doesn't matter how small it is. From the point of your pencil breaking, to someone passing. IT DOESN'T MATTER! There's always someone willing to listen. It took me til just recently to figure that out. But, it's true.
And if no one around you will listen, I will! Trust me, I love to talk!!!!!
Speaking of, love y'all.
Mwah
- Your local badass
