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Sinful Desire
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Published:
2015-04-18
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2015-04-18
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3/3
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Riot Gear

Summary:

Shortly before they ganked Dick Roman Sam became pregnant. He either knew and didn't tell Dean because he didn't want to give Dean any more pressure or he had no idea at all. The stress and trauma of seeing Dean and Cas disappear along with Crowley taking off with Kevin sends Sam into a downward spiral. The added stress from hitting Riot causes Sam to have a miscarriage. Sam spends time recovering physically, but not emotionally, with Amelia who knows not to ask about the baby.

When Dean gets back and reams Sam out for not looking for him, Sam can't bring himself to tell Dean what happened. He thinks Dean will blame him for losing their kid and that it'll be the final straw. Maybe Sam sneaks out to visit the grave and Dean follows, but up to the author how Dean finds out. Cue guilty!Dean and hurt!Sam who has to relive the painful memories from the last year.

Notes:

Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at Sinful-Desire.org. To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on Sinful Desire collection profile.

Chapter 1: Riot Gear 1/3

Chapter Text


Author's notes: the story is complete. also posted at here: http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/66638.html?thread=21109326&


BEFORE:

 

Sam's first thought after Dean and Cas, after Kevin and Crowley and a room full of slime had become a memory embedded in his mind like shrapnel, didn't come until he was three states away staring out of the Impala's cracked windshield.

 

'This is all I have left then.'

 

-----------

 

He tries research. He tries looking for something, anything, to get Dean and Cas back. He eats, sleeps, reads, eats sleeps reads, eatssleepsreadseatssleepsreadseatssleepsreads, rinse and repeat, until one day a month has passed and he has nothing to show for it but a boiling frustration that erupts in bursts of rage he takes out on the paisley motel walls.

 

He breaks six of his knuckles.

 

All the angels he knows are dead so there's no trying that one. Not like they'd come for his prayers now, after everything.

 

Most hunters want to kill him, have killed him in fact, so taking the padlock off the door to those connections isn't happening.

 

He calls Death and gets bupkis. The Horseman had always liked Dean better anyway.

 

-----------

 

What Sam doesn't do, is deal. He does, surprisingly, get propositioned in Huston by a banjo-playing low level with something to prove in the big city. It's not even at night. Early morning, actually. He's just ordered his fruit cup with toast and orange juice when a tall man in plaid, thickest bayou accent he's ever heard, slides into the other seat at his booth. Then there are greasy fingernails sliding across the table, leaving four smears on the tacky surface.

 

When Sam looks up he sees a smile that's missing teeth. He pulls Ruby's knife from his belt, folds it in front of his stomach.

 

"Can I help you?"

 

"Why yes, I do think you can." Black eyes turn down and eye Sam's face, his chest.

 

Sam's gut.

 

"You see there's talk about what you're carrying around, Abomination, and I'd like in on that. Trade maybe. Mutually beneficial and all that."

 

Sam puts a twenty on the table and walks out with Black Eyes trailing closely at his back.

 

He ganks the little shit behind the building and drives away from Huston, newly acquired black eye be damned.

 

He may be an Abomination, but he's not a monster.

 

-----------

 

Sam doesn't sleep.

 

-----------

 

He keeps losing weight.

 

-----------

 

Sam's propositioned for the fifth time in a diner outside of Kermit, Texas and all he wants is to drink a beer and sleep forever and goddamnit why can't he finish a meal in peace anymore? When Ruby's knife drives home through the girl's chest, young and innocent looking with miles of golden ringlets trailing down back, Sam's stomach is lurching. The same lurching it did this morning when he puked par for the course, but with something sharper beneath it. It's an unusual tingling that comes with black spots around the edges of his vision and pinpricks in his lungs and he needs to lie down now, he thinks. Yeah. Now would be good.

 

-----------

 

He hits a dog.

 

-----------

 

Sam dreams of blood. Pools of it around him during a vamp hunt. Green goo from a radioactive octopus back when he was barely thirteen. Splatters from a gunshot victim in Oklahoma that the police called 'a dog-splicing experiment gone wrong'.

 

Dripping black slime not even borax could burn away.

 

Rivulets down his leg. Staining his jeans. Making his shoes squelch when he takes a step forward to ask if the dog is alright.

 

When he cracks his head open on the linoleum of the vet's office.

 

When Amelia screams.

 

And screams.

 

-----------

 

Sam dreams of Dean's smile.

 

-----------

 

CHAPTER 2

 

----------

 

It's a well established, proven fact that whenever a Winchester is in the hospital, serious shit has gone down. If it's a stay that lasts more than one night, more than one hour really, it's probably life and death.

 

Sam's there for a little over a week.

 

When he comes to, it's been a day and a half already. It feels like he's rising up through wet sand, like he's breathing through cotton laced with glass. His eyes are taped down and for a second he starts to freak, flailing and thrashing as best he can in his condition. He coughs up thick yellow mucus from the back of his throat and nearly chokes. He doesn't think he's wearing pants.

 

All in all it's a sad sight.

 

After he's been restrained, after he's given water and wiped down by a handful of nurses, doctors pile in the room. This is a teaching hospital they explain, and students will be stopping by with each visit. They ask if he minds. Sam can barely shrug.

 

The chief, Dr. MacDonald talk about ripping and tearing; his pelvic floor looks like it went through a shredder, like he lost a fight with a dog and talk of sexual assault is momentarily brought up in a way that's probably supposed to be delicate.

 

Sam thinks he looks constipated.

 

They had to perform a c-section to get the fetus out, but it didn't have eyes yet, didn't have skin that fully covered its muscles, it's organs were a mess. It makes sense the baby died, they say. Underdeveloped and stress and malnutrition are words that are mentioned, but Sam begins tuning doctors out after the first few minutes. On purpose at first, then slowly darkness pulls him under again and he welcomes sleep as an interruption.

 

----------

 

This time Sam dreams of bloody children clawing their way out of his stomach like in 'Alien'. He's on a table and Dean's watching through a rounded glass window. Sam's skin is grainy like the pictures from a motel television. He's in a bubble and he's screaming and all Dean does is watch, eat popcorn and laugh at the cheesy effects.

 

----------

 

When Sam wakes up the second time Amelia's there, sitting in one of the hospital rocking chairs they keep in the maternity wards. She's staring at her toes, pushing herself gently forward and back in a blue dress that swishes against the old wood with soft brushing sounds.

 

Sam's asleep again before she notices he was awake at all.

 

----------

 

What Sam doesn't expect is for Amelia to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness. She's crying into his bedcovers and he has no idea why until the muffled words 'sorry, so so sorry' escape from the sheets.

 

"I didn't mean to upset you! It's just I was so angry about the dog and that seems so stupid now, but I just-... there was so much blood."

 

Sam looks at her, confused, "How are you allowed in here?"

 

"I... I told them you were my boyfriend. Sorry." She sends him a sheepish grimace, "I just wanted to know you were going to wake up. You almost dented my floor you fell so hard."

 

"I'm sorry. I'm kind of a big guy."

 

"No!" Amelia takes his hands in hers, "It's not a big deal. It's just a floor. I just wanted to make sure you were ok."

 

'Huh.' Sam thinks, 'Her hands are warm,'

 

----------

 

Amelia doesn't leave.

 

Sam doesn't really mind. He hasn't had a girlfriend in years.

 

----------

 

By the end of the week, Sam's drugged up to ease the freshly-stabbed feeling in his abdomen and he's learned more about Amelia than he has about anyone in seven days. With all the moving in his life he's never had time to make friends and hunters, even friendly ones, tend to keep things close to their chest. Sometimes they don't even trust their family. Samuel's proof enough of that.

 

So Sam rides wave after wave of morphine and learns about Amelia. He learns she likes an excess of limes in her margaritas and that she graduated middle of her class in English Lit. She knows how to bust a man's face open with her knuckles, curtesy of her dad because 'A girl's gotta know how to defend herself Amy! Now untuck your thumb, you'll break it if you hit anything with it curled under your fingers!'

 

He learns she likes fair trade shoes and skinny jeans, that she has naturally curly hair and loves the color yellow.

 

----------

 

She's named the dog Riot.

 

She never asks about the baby.

 

----------

 

When he's discharged Amelia's got her hand on his knee and women are whispering to her about what to do now he's going home. How they understand she can't have children and what a nice boyfriend to be willing to take on that gift for her. Does the donor want to know what's happened?

 

Even with a lifetime of experience, Sam's amazed at her smooth way of lying. A nod here, a smile there; never giving too much information, just enough.

 

Then he's handed a box. Smooth brown wood screwed into a soft velvet bottom that's no larger than a DVD case. He runs his finger over the cool surface and Amelia's hand tightens gently on his leg and they handed him a box and these people are sorry for his loss and it's policy to wheel patients out of the building and they handed him a box and if he could just sit in the chair so they could get him outside and there's a box in his lap and it's cool brown wood and is his stomach upset this is all that's left of Dean there's this box that has what's left of him and Dean together and would he like some ginger ale and he thinks Amelia is crying and there's this box and everyone is so so sorry.

 

Something in Sam snaps. Breaks in him like a worn string. The last tether to every emotion he's had in the last five months falls into a hole so deep it doesn't have a bottom. It's a nice, neat space that's been filling since Dean imploded and this is the last straw. Sam lids it. He closes off everything he's been feeling.

 

He fucking salts and burns it in his mind.

 

----------

 

Amelia cries in the elevator.

 

Sam doesn't remember how.

 

----------

 

When they get to the front door, he asks Amelia if she knows any motels that allow pets.

 

He doesn't look back.

 

-----------

 

CHAPTER 3

 

------------

 

Sam holes himself away in a small motel outside of town. One that has familiar smells and tables, that looks like home to him. There’s another lodge up the road that allows pets, but this one drew him in.

 

It helps that Amelia is staying seven doors down.

 

They often eat dinners together, sometimes lunch when she can get the time off. He doesn’t get much down, but it’s nice to have someone to talk to, to break up the never-ending silence of his double bedroom, every now and then.

 

After a while, and a few questions as to where exactly he’s been getting his money with no obvious source of income, he takes on a job as motel maintenance.

 

It’s easy. It’s safe.

 

Riot seems happy enough, anyway.

 

---------

 

Sam fixes sinks. Dishwashers. Light fixtures and leaky windows. He changes the batteries in smoke detectors and catalogues damage done to bed frames and walls.

 

He fixes things, then charges people for the damage.

 

In his own room, however, Sam lets things fall slightly to disarray. There are chairs with uneven feet and his sink is always dripping. There’s an air vent that won’t stop rattling when he turns on the bathroom light.

 

The small noises make him feel less alone. The broken pieces make it seem like someone’s there with him.

 

---------

 

In the bathroom he’s taken down the mirror. It had brown stains on it and there were chips in the corners of the frame, but mostly it showed his sunken in body. Sam looks like a skeleton wearing a skin suit. He’s a sack of walking organs. When he looks in the mirror all he can see are his bones and a chest that struggles to breathe.

 

He sees his c-section scar.

 

So he takes the mirror down.

 

---------

 

Amelia threatens to kick his ass if he doesn’t start taking care of himself.

 

Sam finds out a week later, she really does have a pretty mean left hook.

 

---------

 

Box stays in the portable wall safe with his gun and Ruby’s knife.

 

---------

 

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want, Sam, it’s just-… I feel like I’m always talking and you’re just sitting- no, Sam Winchester you’re going to eat that whole sandwich if it kills you- and I kind of want to know more about you. A girl’s got needs you know, so stimulate me.” Amelia flashes him a smile and pushes her fries at him from across the table.

 

“I’m not going to get out of this am I?” Sam means the food.

 

Amelia shakes her head. “You’re a growing boy-“

 

“Of thirty.”

 

“A. Growing. Boy. Sam Winchester and you need to get your strength up. After what you’ve been thr-“ Then Amelia freezes and looks at her hands, which were up until that point gesticulating wildly between them.

 

She inhales sharply. Sam isn’t hungry anymore.

 

“I mean. No, you don’t have to tell me anything it’s alright I’ll just go put these away and you can eat the rest later it’s no big deal.” Amelia stands and brushes her hands off on her pants. She’s halfway to the built-in kitchen when Sam chokes out Dean’s name. Amelia doubles back like he’s on fire.

 

“What?”

 

“Dean. My brother’s name is Dean.”

 

“I don’t unders-“

 

“He’s dead. I lost him like you lost Don. Suddenly.”

 

“Oh.”

 

They don’t talk until Sam leaves, and then it’s just to say goodbye.

 

---------

 

Amelia doesn’t ask about his life anymore, just waits for him to freely give up information. Information that’s so weighty and private, that Sam hasn’t been able to share with anyone besides Dean for years, that he has a panic attack the instant his door clicks shut after he tells her he loves Pearl Jam.

 

It seems ridiculous, but Sam can’t help but feel like telling her his favorite color is like giving away nuclear access codes. Like he’s giving her the knife she’ll use against him in a week’s time, maybe a month or a year, but eventually it’ll gut him all the same and he’ll have lost another person in his life.

 

It feels like he’s going to die.

 

---------

 

Sam doesn’t die.

 

Instead, things slow down and speed up at the same time. He and Amelia buy a house together, one with two bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen. It has a big backyard for Riot and a living room with a huge window facing the front.

 

At first Sam feels so out of place he can’t stand it. There’s too much room and not enough. He unpacks her things and throws his duffle in a room. They switch eventually though, because Amelia’s not a morning person and the sun rises on the left side of the house, so he gives Amelia the right.

 

They buy Sam a bed and sheets.

 

Sam has his own drawers, his own closet.

 

Then it’s been two weeks and they’ve moved into a house together.

 

It feels like ten years.

 

Sam wonders if he’s dreaming.

 

---------------

 

He and Amelia don’t sleep together, contrary to popular belief. They’re an ideal couple to all their neighbors. They have a house and a dog and are happy.

 

But they don’t have sex. He doesn’t think either of them could stomach it really.

 

---------------

 

By the end of the first month, Sam’s gotten pretty used to the idea of Normal. Of Safe.

 

The only supernatural proofing in the whole house is around Box, hidden under his bed. He’s surrounded Box in a ring of salt and silver; sat Box on a Devil’s Trap the size of a dinner plate. There’re the hoodoo protection charms he remembers from the haunted mansion up north, some new ones he picked up over the years as well. Some Norse runes, some Egyptian spells.

 

He angel proofs Box and sets up a wire-trigger to set off a few exploding rounds for any humans with sticky fingers.

 

Nothing is touching his kid.

 

--------------

 

Sam only thinks about killing himself once.

 

It’s before Amelia’s dad but after the call about Don and Sam’s might’ve had too much to drink to be making any decisions about life or death at the moment.

 

But he’s been to hell, can do again. Probably will end up there when he goes the final time, so he’s not too worried about pain.

 

Sam knows pain.

 

He gets in the Impala with his gun and rests it on his thighs.

 

He wonders if Dean would’ve had a bigger problem with the bloodstains or the dog hair.

 

It’s a pretty obvious answer, really.

 

Amelia is supposed to be at work, thinking about what to do now that Don’s back in the picture. Riot’s with her, always goes to the office to sniff around during the day and Sam got his first tax letter in over ten years this morning. It was nondescript and to the point. Somehow it caught him by surprise.

 

He always thought Dean’d be by his side when it came, that big brother would make a crude joke about Big Brother.

 

Or they’d both be dead.

 

Instead it’s on a Tuesday in the middle of a home he owns and he has curtains and a living room and a dresser all his own.

 

Then Amelia’s slapping her palm on the Impala’s window, a bunch of smacks in quick succession. Sam sees her face change from playful to frantic in a split-second.

 

He wonders why she’s home so early.

 

----------

 

Amelia had forgotten her stethoscope and she always hates using other people’s instruments. The earpieces are cesspools of disease and ‘why would I want someone else’s earwax in my ears Sam? It’s unsanitary.’

 

She yells at him for an hour. She cries and pulls at her hair and her face does this nervous twitch she has when she’s upset. Amelia calls him selfish and how could he do this to himself? How does he think she’d feel if she had to find him in that car? This can’t be about Don because you’re not that stupid Sam; I know you’re not. You’re a good person how could you! I love you, you idiot and I don’t want you to die!

 

Sam can only nod. He really is very sorry.

 

The feelings he has these days are so few and in between. He tries to remember, but he doesn’t even know why he was suicidal in the first place.

 

---------------

 

Amelia locks the bathroom cabinets. She takes his gun. She hides the knives. Amelia’s locked him out of the garage and the Impala alike.

 

“You won’t go to the hospital right?”

 

Sam nods.

 

“Well then we’re not going to give you a reason to.”

 

-----------------

 

When Amelia’s father visits, no one mentions why they eat dinner with spoons.

 

----------------