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Mary Winchester's A+ mothering

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        “I was raped.”

        He didn’t want to ever admit the truth aloud. Didn’t want to make it real to himself that it had happened, never wanted to revisit the memories of shame and embarrassment again, but if his mother was going to work with the people that hurt him she was going to do it knowing exactly what they did to him. He could, and would, shove aside his own discomfort long enough to make her realize how important her next choices were going to be- the biggest downside was that Dean was right there to hear every awful detail.

        “I refused to give them information, not even names,” he wanted to stand tall and look his mother in the eye, wanted her to see the pain and disappointment in his gaze, but it was draining. His hands framed his forehead, gaze remained fixed on the table as he spoke, he didn’t dare glance away for even a moment in fear his unsteady ‘confidence’ would leave him and he wouldn’t be able to speak of it any further.

        “You saw what they did, physically at least. Mental torture doesn’t often leave a physical mark.” He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, a presence beside him and he closed his eyes while he soaked in the comfort his brother was offering. “They drugged me. I saw my failures; I saw my loved ones die again while reminding me why it was my fault, every single mistake I’ve made, thrown back in my face.”

        “I faked slitting my throat, can’t talk if I’m dead right? Couldn’t even get that right, I should have killed her when I had the chance but I fucking let her live.” With his eyes closed it was easier to fall into the memories, easier to recall in vivid detail the chill that never left his bones; the ache of his injuries, the hopelessness of the situation. “Big mistake there.”

        “Sam-”

        “I’m not finished yet.” It was the sound of her voice that drew him back to reality. That made him finally look at her, teary red-rimmed eyes meeting equally teary ones, but he didn’t stop revealing the truth about what happened to him. “I woke up safe. Warm, no more freezing showers because they knew Lucifer burned cold and it would remind me of him; no more blow torches, no more hallucinations. I was happy and she was there, she-”

        Sam drew in a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself, his hands were beginning to shake with emotion and anxiety- he had to continue, had to keep telling the truth even if it triggered a panic attack or worse. “We fucked. I thought I chose her, that we were together. Only, it was just another hallucination; she was just trying to get information from me and when she realized I wasn’t under her spell anymore? She fucking asked me if it was good for me.” 

        Anger gave him the strength to stand, the action sudden and forceful enough to shove his chair away from himself before he slammed his hands down on the table. “They don’t care about us, they probably don’t care about the lives you’ve been saving. They wanted names from me and you’ve been out gathering hunting friends- what’s going to stop those pieces of shit from hurting your friends? Will you finally decide they’ve crossed a line then?” Tears had finally fallen down his face but he wasn’t done yet, wouldn’t allow himself to truly cry until he was alone in his room and could fall apart in private.

        “I get it. Saving people, hunting things, the family business- saving lives is important, it’s what we do, only it’s the family business. Me and Dean may not be the little kids you knew in Heaven, but we’re your sons and they hurt us. If that isn’t enough for you to stop trusting them and stand with your children then, then...” Shoulders sagging, anger fading leaving a bone-deep exhaustion in its wake, Sam huffed out a sad sigh before turning his back to his mother and scrubbing a hand over his face. 

        “You’re my mother and I love you, but I’m not going to let them hurt me anymore- especially if they’re using you to do it.” He was cold, a headache was beginning to throb and fatigue was setting in. He knew he should stick around to finish the conversation, listen to what she and Dean had to say, but... It could wait until tomorrow. With that thought he brushed off any advances to speak with him, gave a half-hearted wave, then ambled off towards his bedroom with the intention of burrowing under a heap of blankets and sleeping until nothing hurt anymore (or at least until it hurt less).