Work Text:
"Sam."
Sam is coming out of the bathroom when Addie slams her hand into his chest and shoves him back. Sam thinks about digging in and not going anywhere; he's taller and heavier than Addie and, short of her springing a leg-sweep on him, she can't make him move anywhere he doesn’t want to go. But he gives in and backs up, jaw and belly clenching tight with anticipated tension. "What?"
Addie's fingers curl so her blunt, chewed nails scratch against his shirt. Her mouth is a hard line but her eyes signal nothing but uncertainty. "I want you to stop," she says, never one to mince words or sentiment. "I swear to God, Sam, if you don't stop…"
"Stop what?"
"Stop fucking up Dean!"
Sam doesn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't that. He yelps in startled laughter. "I'm fucking up Dean?"
Addie's hand flattens and she slaps him in the chest with the heel. Hard. "Don't," she warns, lips pulling back from her teeth. "Just leave Dean alone."
It hurts. Maybe it shouldn't; maybe he shouldn't care so much, get wrapped up in these stupid games of family politics, but it hurts, for her to be Dean's defender against him, as if Dean needs any such thing. "Maybe you'd like it better if I left you both alone. If I just left."
Her jaw tightens, then, darkness spilling into her eyes. "Why can't you just leave it alone, Sam?"
"I…" Sam doesn't have the slightest idea how to answer that. "Leave it alone," as if it's easy, as if it's better to ignore the fact that your twenty-seven year old brother is fucking your twenty year old sister. As if it's easy to be silent. To watch it happen to two people you happen to love, a downward spiral that goes nowhere but insanity. Sam doesn't understand how he can hate his father so much and still miss him so much, but if he blames anyone for all of this, it's John, enslaved to his obsession and selling his children in bondage to it as well. "I don't know how to do that," he says finally, hands spreading in defeat.
"He won't…he won't touch me." Addie's face looks strangely stark as she says it, cheekbones sharpened to blades beneath the skin. "I know it's you, telling him this is his fault, that I'm his fault."
"That's good!" Sam throws up his hands. "He shouldn't be touching you, Addie; he's your brother!"
She shakes her head. "You think this is all him, that this is something he did to me. It's not like that. You think you know. You think you know everything, but you don't know what it was like, Sam. Dean…" Her mouth moves from a childish line to a womanish one and back. "Dean didn't want this. I wanted this. I wanted…" Addie shakes her head, unwilling to follow that thought to its end, whatever it is. Sam would like to know, would like some statement on just what the hell she thinks it is they're doing, her and Dean, but Addie's like the rest of them in this; stop the already halting flow of her words and she might never start up again. This is probably the most she's said—about anything—since he came back.
Addie's gaze finds him again, desperate and angry—the two words he'd always use to characterize her. "You think I'm so helpless, so dumb…"
"I don't think you're dumb," he says softly, lost beneath her louder words.
"…You think I'm just like your mom or your precious Jess, some girl strung up on a ceiling…"
Sam shoves her before he knows he's even moved. Addie rolls with it, but still thumps into the filthy bathroom wall. "Don't," he warns, his own voice thunderous and shaking. "Don't talk about them like that."
"I'm not helpless!"
"I don't think you're helpless, Addie. I just…" Sam backs away from her, afraid of this, afraid of them, spinning around like an out-of-control car with no idea if they're going to slam into something or fly off the road entirely. He sags against the opposite wall, shoving his hands in his pockets to show them harmless. "What do you want me to say?" he asks finally.
"I don't want you to leave, Sam." From anyone else, the words would be nice, but from a Winchester, from Addie, it's so much more than simple; it's a major concession and one that hacks something loose in his chest, lets him inflate with a breath it feels like he's been holding for months.
"I don't want you to go," she says again, looking at his knees, at his feet, "but you make everything so hard." Her gaze jerks up. "Dean stayed. He's mine and he stayed. He always stays."
"Addie, you don't have to do this. You do get that, right? Dean… Dean's not going to leave you. Christ, I don't think he's physically capable of leaving you, even if you're not fucking him…"
"You don't know anything about it, Sam. You don't know why I do anything that I do."
"No, you don't know, Addie. You think that this is the only way to live, that you can't…" Sam claws through his hair. "Christ, I don't even know. Be loyal to Dad?"
Addie rolls her eyes and makes a thick, contemptuous noise in her throat.
He grabs her shoulder, tightening his fingers until she can feel it. "I get it, Addie; Dad made us all what we are, better or worse. But it can be different. You don't have do be stuck in this one place, this one life for the rest of forever. I can help you…"
Addie jerks away from him. "I don't want your help!"
"You know, I'm part of this family too, Addie. I'm your brother too. And since I'm not the one fucking you, I'd think that would give some credibility to the fact that I care about you!"
"I can't trust you!" Addie shouts, loud enough to deafen, loud enough—passionately enough—that Sam physically recoils, startled by its heartfelt nudity. Sam doesn't remember ever seeing Addie cry at a time when she wasn't also badly wounded…or maybe that's the point. Addie is badly wounded. It's just not anywhere that Sam can see it with the naked eye.
"Aw, Addie…" He reaches for her and she sidesteps and backs away as much as she can in the narrow confines of the little room.
Addie slaps her cheeks roughly, smearing her tears. "Don't you do that, Sam. Don't give me your puppy eyes like I'm some rube, like I don't know you better than that. You leave, Sam. It's what you do. And I'm not going to…." Addie breaks off, her face twisting in a way that wrings his heart identically. "Fuck you, Sam," she says roughly, her voice thick and deepened by the words she holds in her throat and never says. She lunges at him and Sam steps back defensively, crashing his hip into the stained porcelain of the sink. But it's a ruse; Addie just wants the space to wrench the door open and escape…which is not like her. Addie's never run from a fight before.
"Addie!" Sam steps into the dazzling rectangle of daylight after her and sees them through watering eyes, Dean and Addie. Addie's drawn up short; her body language is startled and tense, shoulders drawn back, fingers opened. Dean looks from her to Sam blinking stupidly at them both in the doorway and Sam can see—feel—the moment that Dean gets it wrong, drawing lines and conclusions that don't exist.
"Right." Dean's voice is flat, as flat as his expression becomes when he turns on his heel and stalks away across the searing asphalt. Addie gives Sam a single withering and hate-filled glance over her shoulder and then goes after Dean, stiff-legged and not quite running.
The asphalt ramps up into a sort of curb before it spills over into the weedy trash-filled lot beyond. Sam sinks onto it, both hands tangling-digging in his hair and laughs.