#sociopath!sam

Dean had kicked Sam out about forty-five minutes ago so he could ride their current town's bicycle. Sam had brought his science book outside with him to work on his homework, but he didn't make it past their motel room's window before he stopped and sat down. As jealous as he was of all the girls Dean fucked, he could never pass up an opportunity to hear the moans and grunts of his big brother as he came inside of them. Sam was a romantic like that.

Dean was his first kiss, for educational purposes only, of course. Dean was the first one, other than himself, to jerk him off. As far as Sam was concerned, Dean really was the only one. The only one that mattered anyway.

Their father had started to get suspicious of their time spent alone together. Maybe he had caught Sam staring one too many times as Dean would be getting dressed after a shower, or maybe he had woken up to Sam wrapped around Dean as they slept. None of that bothered Sam, but the way their dad would fight with him was becoming an issue.

Dean, ever the obedient little soldier-boy, would do whatever it took to appease the man, but would try to keep them from fighting. Sam was never quite able to put anything before his brother, which had grown to include their predominantly absentee father.

“Sam's old enough to stay on his own now; you should be coming with me. Help me on this hunt.” John had been looking directly at Sam the entire time he was talking to Dean.

“Dad, he's still in school, people will notice if he's living by himself in a motel room,” Dean had argued.

John had only glanced at Dean before fixing his gaze back on Sam. Sam gave as good as he got, his glare never wavering, nor the smirk that accompanied it.

“It's just a salt and burn, you don't need me anyways,” Dean had added in an attempt to break the mounting tension in the room.

John couldn't argue that, so he placed his hand on Dean's shoulder and looked him straight in the eye as he delivered his warning, “Watch out for Sammy.” Then he was gone.

That had been two days ago. Dean had been a little more distant than usual with Sam after their dad left this time. He slept in the other bed, closed the door to a crack when he showered, and didn't hack the TV to pick up porn their first night alone like he typically did. Their dad had put a rift between them; Sam had to fix it before it was too late and he lost Dean for good.

The sound of choking called Sam's attention back into the room and his dick stood at attention as he strained to hear the struggle he knew was going on. The scrape of nails on the cheap motel sheets, the soft drumming of fists on hard, toned skin, the final grunt of Dean's orgasm, and finally, the limp thump of a lifeless arm on the mattress.

Knowing it was safe for him to reenter the room, Sam folded his papers and pencil into his book and stood. Before he could open the door he heard the water running, then the unmistakable sound of the Impala down the street.

Sam burst into the hotel room, holding back his scream, “Dean!”

“Sammy, what the-” he stopped himself, listening.

“Dad,” Sam hissed, turning to the bed to find the bicycle laying haphazardly across the mattress, arms splayed out, legs still spread open. “Dammit, Dean.”

Dean's face went chalk-white as he stared at Sam, eyes as wide as saucers. “Fuck, Sammy.” He ran his fingers through his hair and looked at the girl's body. “Fuck!”

The Impala pulled into the parking lot and Sam sprung into action. He ran to the bed, picking the slut's clothes up as he went, throwing them on top of the girl before pulling the discarded comforter over her and turning her head on the pillow; she could be sleeping.

Dean's eyes looked like his heart was going to break, just like his voice did, “Sammy.”

There wasn't time for anything else as the motel room door swung open and their father stepped in. Dean stood ramrod straight, wide eyes glued to his commander. Sam had taken a seat in one of the chairs at the table and opened his book back up to where his homework was still waiting to be finished.

John's eyes scanned the room and landed on the girl tucked into his own bed. “You boys have a party while I was out?” He leveled his gaze on Dean.

Dean tried for a guilty grin, but failed miserably. “I met her down playing pool last night.” Truth, “We didn't get a lot of sleep; I didn't have the heart to wake her up.” Lie.

“Yeah, well, you should know better than to do that sort of shit with Sammy around.” John took a step toward the bed and Dean shot a panicked look to Sam.

“I'm sixteen, not twelve. It's not like I've never seen boobs before,” Sam sneered, succeeding in drawing their father’s attention away from the fresh corpse.  

“That's not the point.” John's voice was hard, and his eyes dangerous when they turned on Sam.

“Dad,” Dean interjected, as always trying to take the brunt away from Sam, which unfortunately, was becoming a regular occurrence.

“What are you even doing here, need a shower before you hit the bar?” Sam was seething, matching John's tone.

“You watch your mouth, son,” John yelled. He jerked as if he'd done something wrong, then turned to look at the girl.

Sam winced, knowing that anyone would have stirred at their outbursts, drunken slut or not. The girl remained unmoving. Dean took a step forward when John reached out to put his hand on the girl's shoulder.

He barely laid his hand on her when he knew that she was gone and jerked it back. He looked to Sam and then launched himself at Dean. “How could you do this?” Sam heard the crunch of bone as John's fist made contact with Dean's face.

“Dad!” Sam yelled from the other side of the room.

“You fucking killed her! Sammy's here!” Punch after punch landed on Dean's bloody swollen face as John pummeled him.

Dean wasn't even trying to fight back, and Sam couldn't take anymore. He dug through his father's army duffel and pulled out his own handgun. It had been his birthday gift that year, but John didn't trust him to keep it himself. The metal was cold in his hand, and the white marble handle shone in the little sunlight that was streaming in through the tacky motel curtain. With practiced hands he checked the cartridge, cocked the barrel, and took aim.

“Stop!” His voice was steady, and he had thankfully not cracked when he said it; his voice still in the process of maturing.

John stopped mid-swing, turning his head to see the gun aimed at him, and let go of Dean. Sam spared a quick glance as he watched his brother slump to the ground, spitting blood from his busted-open lips.

John turned slowly with his palms up, facing Sam. “Now, Sammy.”

“Don't placate me!” Sam's voice was full of rage, but his hands were steady and his aim was true.

“Just think about what your doing, son.”

Dean groaned from his place on the floor as he tried to crawl away. Sam had never seen his big brother afraid of anything in his life. That alone was enough to set Sam's resolve.

“We're in a small room in a crowded motel. Even if you did shoot me, where could you go? What would you do?”

“Sa-my” Dean coughed, his eyes were pleading, probably for him to not shoot.

Sam kept his eyes on his father and the gun aimed while he reached over and grabbed the pillow out from under the slut's head. He doubled it over and held it in front of the gun. “We're gonna salt and burn your bones.”

Then, just as John lurched forward, Sam squeezed the trigger, just like his late father had taught him.

Part 2

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