Sammy

13. On the mend

Sam, Dean, Melody, and Bobby arrived at the latter's home during the early hours of the next morning.  Although he was tired, Dean insisted on assessing Sam's condition, just to make sure there were no catastrophic wounds.  Melody also forced herself into helping, much to Dean's disappointment.  

"You really should sleep," he told her as he stripped Sam's soiled shirt from his thin chest.

"I promised I'd help, didn't I?  Besides, I know what they did to him more than you do."

"Except for that month and a half."

"He wasn't harmed during that month, not severely at least," she whispered, noticing Sam was beginning to stir slightly.  She began to run her fingers through his hair, apparently calming Sam back to sleep.  Dean hadn't really noticed until now how uneven his brother's hair was.  Large sections of hair were left long while others were shorter.  He'd have to even it out sometime in the next few days.  

"How do you know?" Dean asked haughtily.

"I just do.  Now can you get me some hydrogen peroxide and a warm washcloth?"  Dean glared and mimicked her as he walked to the upstairs bathroom.  Despite his resentment to Melody's aid, he found what she asked for quickly.  Sam wasn't going to get any better from him being childish.  He gave the items to Melody, who had already stripped Sam and was starting to place bandages on top of some of his cuts.  

She worked silently with Dean, wincing every now and then from what Dean thought was sympathy or empathy.  Which was which?  He could never remember.  As they were patching up his little brother, Dean could understand a small bit of what went on in their seven years apart.  

Thin scars covered the majority of his chest and stomach, while deep, faded burn marks dotted his arms.  The skin on his thighs was warped from exposure to boiling water.  Ages old pinprick-like discolorations decorated his feet with a sick pattern not unlike connect-the-dots.  A thick scar ran along the inside of his forearm, and a series of long thin lines traced his wrist.  Dean felt sick--how could they do this to someone on a suspicion that they may not be totally normal.

Regardless of how he felt, Dean and Melody continued on treating him as best they could.  Most of everything seemed scarred over, and he Melody to thank for that.  She had helped him recover from whatever he had gone through while she was helping in the hospital.  You know that's not what happened.  I know, I just really don't want to consider the alternative.  You already have--it's the only reason Sam would have been hurt like that.  Okay, okay, but what about Melody?  It would actually explain a lot, what with her knowing where Sam was and guessing at how dangerous it would be.  Didn't that ever cross your mind?  Now that you mention it, maybe once, but she was there for a while....  How do you know?  I don't.

Dean rubbed his temple as watched Melody run her fingers over his disfigured thighs.  "There's nothing you can do about those," he muttered, "or anything else really."

"Why do you say that?" she whispered sharply.

"It's all scarred or scabbed up.  Everything that we could do we've done.  He only had a few really bad cuts on him and all the other stuff was just too old to treat here.  Nothing's broken, dislocated, sprained, not from what I can tell at least.  The most we can do for him now is get him some meds.  I think we should call it a night. You look half dead anyway."

Melody opened her mouth in protest, but quickly closed it.  Her eyes swept over Sam's once more before grabbing his shirt and pajama pants from the foot of the bed.  Dean helped her dress Sam before he went back to the bathroom to return some of the things Melody had insisted on needing. 

He looked at himself in the mirror and couldn't help but smile.  Today, well yesterday, started a new chapter in his life.  Of course, there would be some struggles and not everything would just snap back in place, but it was a start.  As soon as I can I'm getting a job, Dean decided.  I'm going to put them through school as best I can and repay Bobby everything he ever spent on us.  Maybe we can get a house someday.  Dean's eyes began to droop and he yawned as he continued to consider all his possibilities.  He walked down the hall and into his room at a glacial pace; he couldn't help he was so tired.  He didn't even see Sam and Melody curled up together in bed, not that he would have really cared anyway.  Dean drifted off into a peaceful slumber without a care in the world and a smile in his face.  

Melody POV

I held Sam close and he held me back, both of us immersed in silent happiness. I could feel the joy an relief radiating off Sam and I'm sure he could feel the same from me as well.  It was only a month and half we were apart, but it wasn't easy.  I could feel everything they did to him--the sting of the insults, the stabbing pain of hunger, the rough treating of his wounds, and worst of all, the burning desire for me or Dean to come back to him.  Sam may not have been through much physically, but there was a damage done to him mentally that was so much harder to be broken.

I was with him through everything and have seen and felt far too much torture, probably enough for four lifetimes, five if I get anymore.  I felt the fiery oil burn his skin and he felt the whip slice at my breast.  I felt the affects of healing him, and he nearly knocked himself out when he reset my fingers.  They always made us heal each other once they figured out the physical extent of our bond.  It must have been something enjoyable, to see a young girl and boy touching each other's wounds so carefully as to not hurt themselves in the process.  Oh doesn't that just reek of pleasure?  I could still feel some of the things and all of the memories were perfectly intact with crystal clear recollection.  Sam got lucky. From what he says, he's been able to block out most of his imprisonment by putting up a mental wall or something.  I tried to do the same, but I only came up with more memories, memories that I didn't even know I had.

I remember a woman with one very dark eye and a nest of brown hair speaking in hushed tones to nothing but air.  I once recalled a soft accented voice calling my name and singing to me. There was a man who looked a lot like a younger Bobby throwing a ball to me in some empty field.  I remember a person with long, mahogany hair looking down at me.  I saw something through a haze that looked like a man coming in from a hunt and squeezing me to his chest while a little boy watched.  

As I began to fall asleep, one thought consumed my mind--the hope that Dean would continue to be so oblivious.  If he took anything Gordon had said as truth, even though it was, there would be a storm of questions that I don't know if I could answer.  Recalling a memory is one thing, but being forced to remember it is another.

A literal filler chapter because there was not enough explanation of what happened after Sam was rescued.  This probably won't make sense if you've been following the story since I started it.  You new readers are lucky.-Stella