So, i posted this story on another site and it was banned, although i cannot see how a survivor's story should be looked at as offensive in any way, shape or form, and so i am posting it here for all those who asked me to continue on with it. A warning for all who read, story deals with sexual abuse...although i will be dealing with it delicately and respectfully. Thanks for reading. let me know what you think as i really live for reviews...bambers;)

Silence

Chapter One

At the sound of the front door creaking open and then slamming shut, Dean glanced up from cleaning his .45 and saw Sam throw down his books on the floor and rush toward the bathroom. Dean was on his feet in a shot and headed toward the direction his brother had just disappeared to.

"Sam," Dean pounded on the bathroom door, "where the hell were you after school? I waited around for you for nearly an hour." When Sam failed to respond, Dean banged even harder, the old wooden door rattling with the force he exerted. "Damn it, answer me, Sam. You've been gone for over four freakin' hours an' you have no idea how close I was to callin' Dad."

From inside, Sam leaned his forehead against the door, and pressed shaky hands against the splintering wooden surface. "Ummm . . . j-jus' met a couple friends . . . l-lost track of time." Damn it, Sam, stop your freakin' stuttering. You're okay . . . nothin' happened.

Nothing. Happened.

"You knew I was gonna pick you up from school. You should've waited for me."

Should've waited . . . why the hell didn't I wait? Sam raked his fingers through his tangled mess of hair as he tried to reason out why he hadn't just listened to his brother. Stomach lurching, Sam darted for the toilet, threw open the lid and heaved violently. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead, dripping into his eyes as he continued to throw up. Slowly his stomach began to settle, and on shaky legs he headed to the shower and turned on the water.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked, concern now evident in his voice.

Sam wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then balled his trembling hand into a fist.

"C-can we not talk about this right now, Dean. Gonna take a shower."

"Sammy, let me in." Dean rapped more insistently on the door, but Sam refused to open it.

"I said I was gonna take a shower."

Noticing for the first time that his flannel shirt was on inside out, Sam yanked it off and threw it on the floor, kicking it away from himself. Sam slowly slid off his dirty, faded blue jeans, wincing at the pain the subtle movement caused. Seeing blood on his pants, Sam snatched them up, and then glanced in the direction of the door.

Shit . . . shit, shit, shit. Can't let him see this. If he does, he won't let it go.

From the cabinet under the sink, Sam grabbed a bristled cleaning brush, and then carefully climbed into the shower. He snatched the soap off the ledge, brushed it across his jeans a few times and began scrubbing furiously. The water turned a faint rusty color as it dripped off his soddened jeans and made its way down the drain. Sam wrung out the jeans as best as he could and then hung them on the rack just outside of the shower to dry.

Tears stung at Sam's eyes, but he refused to shed them. To let them fall would mean that something had happened. Nothing happened, he repeated over and over again under his breath as he scrubbed the brush over his bruised lower torso. Harder and harder he scrubbed, his skin turning bright red above deeply bruised purple.

The water's not hot enough. He turned down the cold lever, and more steam filtered through the already sweltering bathroom. His fingers curled tighter around the brush as he scrubbed his legs and inner thighs. God, this water's just not hot enough . . . why the hell isn't it hot enough? Sam turned the cold water off, stood beneath the spray of boiling water, and shivered violently.

Get a hold of yourself, Sam. You're a freakin' Winchester for Christ sake.

Sam set down the soap and brush, and grabbed the shampoo. Squeezing some into his hand, he brusquely raked his fingers through his hair. Soap dripped down his forehead and stung his eyes, but he scarcely noticed as he rinsed off. Once finished, he poured more soap into his hand and began washing his hair again. When he was done for second time, he stood beneath the water and let the soap run down over his face and body.

He went to turn off the water, but hesitated with his hand on the lever. Sam eyed the bar of soap for a moment then snatched it off the ledge, and scrubbed it over his entire body again. The water slowly cooled as he rinsed off for what seem like at least the fifth time. Although he was certain that he'd missed some part of his lanky frame, he knew he had to get out of the shower.

The second he stepped out of the shower, and grabbed a bath towel off the rack, Sam realized his mistake. He'd been in such a hurry to take a shower, he'd forgotten to get a spare change of clothes. His pants were now soaked so there was no way he could put them back on without Dean questioning it. Frantically, Sam looked around on the ground for his boxers, and it struck him suddenly that he hadn't removed them before he'd gotten into the shower. His mind raced for a plausible explaination as to why he wouldn't be wearing any, and finally settled on the one that seemed to make the most sense.

I was in a hurry this morning. Dean was rushing me, an' I just plain forgot to put them on.

From past experience, Sam knew Dean would be camped right outside the door waiting for him. A torrent of fear and humiliation washed over Sam as he imagined the look of rage on Dean's face if and when he saw the bruises covering Sam's back and torso. Dean wouldn't care if Sam didn't want to talk about it, wanted nothing more than to forget about it, all his brother would see is that someone had hurt Sam and he would be out for blood.

Sam trudged to the door, and called out, "Dean?"

"Yeah, little brother?" Dean answered from right outside the room just as Sam had predicted he would.

"Think you could get me some clean clothes?"

"Is something wrong, Sammy?" Dean tried again, more than just a little concern now tinging his voice. "You can tell me if there is. I swear I won't tell Dad."

"I'm just tired, Dean. Had a bad day." A single tear slipped down Sam's cheek, betraying the brave front he was trying so hard to achieve.

"Wanna talk about it, dude? Promise it won't turn into any sort of chick-flick moment."

Sam hesitated for a moment with his hand on the doorknob. He hated keeping things from Dean, but somehow knew his brother wouldn't understand. No, this is my problem. I can deal with it on my own.

"Naw . . . I just wanna brush my teeth an' head to bed."

"Alright, Sam, I'll get your clothes for ya."

Sam pressed his ear against the door and listened until he heard his brother walk away. He then headed for the sink, opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste. With a quick swipe of his hand, he cleared away the steam on the mirror, and caught a glimpse of himself in the glass. Lightly, he trailed shaky fingers over his bruised and swollen lips. Vaguely he remembered biting down hard on his lower lip in an effort not to scream, and recalled the salty taste of blood in his mouth.

Shit, how am I supposed to hide this from Dean? There's no freakin' way he's not gonna notice.

As he carefully brushed his teeth, Sam tried to think of an excuse Dean would believe. His father was always so busy looking for the next big hunt, Sam seriously doubted the eldest Winchester would even notice the bruising. But Dean, one the other hand, would definitely make it his business to find out what happened, and Sam just couldn't let that happen.

I was playin' football with some friends, and I fell and bit my lip. That'll work. Dean should believe that.

A sudden rap on the door, startled Sam and he jumped. With heart pounding loudly in his ears, Sam made his way to the door, and opened it just far enough to grab his clothes. Dean held on tightly to them, forcing Sam to yank them out of his brother's hands. Clothes in hand, Sam slammed the door shut and hastily locked it.

Slowly he eased on his boxers and sweat pants, wincing at the pain the subtle movements caused. He tugged on his shirt, and then gathered up his dirty clothes. For a moment he stood there staring at his torn flannel shirt as he gathered the courage to leave the bathroom to face his older brother. Sam drew in a slow staggered breath, wiped the moisture from his eyes and opened the door.

Dean stood at the entrance with arms crossed. His stern questioning gaze was instantly drawn to Sam's lips, and his face contorted in anger.

"What the hell happened to you, Sammy?" Dean's voice rose a octave as he reached out to touch Sam's face.

Sam instantly recoiled from his touch, a shudder of revulsion reverberating through his entire body. Without a word he pushed past his brother and rushed to his bedroom. He tried to slam the door shut, but Dean grabbed hold of it, and forced it wide open.

"I asked you what happen."

"I w-was playing football . . . and fell and bit my lip." Sam lowered his head, not able to look his brother in the eyes.

"You were playin' football?" Dean gave a curt nod as he pursed his lips, disbelief clearly written across his features. "Huh, never known you to play football before."

"Can't you jus' let it go, Dean." Sam threw his clothes onto the pile of dirty laundry on the floor, and headed to his bed. Drawing back the covers, he slowly eased onto the mattress. Carefully he lifted his legs off the ground, and grimaced as jarring pain racked his lower body. Heat rose to flush his face as tears welled in his eyes, and he was forced to stifle a cry.

"Did someone hurt you, Sammy?" Dean took a seat on his own bed, and looked intently at Sam as he waited for an answer. "I really need to know if they did."

Swallowing hard, Sam shook his head. "No. I told you I was playin' football." Sam rolled over, drew his blankets closely around him and curled his legs up close to his stomach. "I'm not feelin' really well. I'm gonna get some sleep."

Dean stood, walked the short distance between the two beds, and placed a hand on Sam's forehead. Sam instantly shrank away from his touch. Fear and repulsion at his brother's simple gesture coursed through Sam, and he involuntarily shivered with dread.

"Don't touch me." The words tumbled from Sam's mouth before he could manage to stop himself. "Please," he entreated, "I just wanna get some sleep."

"'Kay, Sammy." Dean stood there for a moment longer, wanting desperately to say something more, but knew if Sam didn't want him to know what had happened right now, there was no way he was gonna pry it out of his little brother. He would find out though even if it meant that he had to follow his brother around until the truth came out.