WARNING! This story doesn't contain self-harm, but more like self-punishment. Basically; pain can be a releasing feeling. If this is a trigger or anything for anyone, please don't read.

YOU LEAVE THAT ALONE

TAG FOR 11.19 The Chitters

Sam knows it's his fault. He shouldn't have taken it for granted that Dean was okay. That Dean would tell him if he was hurt, because they might be closer than ever right now, but part of it was never Dean 'fessing up about being hurt. Sam should have never left it up to him. He knows Dean isn't so brilliant at taking care of himself.

It had been a weird hunt with the new hunters, and the unknown creatures and all the dead victims. The possibility of have some allies had been thrilling, it had been so long of just being alone. Just him and Dean. Sure there was Cas, but Cas wasn't there all the time and now he was gone too.

Meeting those two men so closely bound to each other had been refreshing, it had bloomed a small flower of hope in both the Winchester's chests. Sam had never felt more proud of calling Dean his brother than when he'd told the bold faced lie that he and Sam were set. That they didn't need help, that they were happily living out the rest of their lives beheading some fang, ganking some small town baddies.

Dean couldn't pull them into their cesspool of death, and lies, and divine power. Dean had done the right thing, the honorable thing. And Sam had been proud and sad, and they had said little on the drive back home. Dean knocking it out in one long haul, blinking stoically out the windshield lost in his headspace.

And though Sam generally worried about Dean, his older brother had been quiet and bookish about their predicament this time around and Sam must have let his guard down. Sam was learning to allow Dean space, learning that as long as Dean didn't shut him out it was okay for his brother to be silent about stuff. Learning that Dean going quiet wasn't denial, wasn't blaming Sam it was just him dealing.

He would probably blame himself too much, hell, Sam knows he will. But that was a part of Dean and his character. He felt better if he could blame someone, usually himself, but it did make him feel better and it would fade. Or at least it faded on the outside, Sam would hate to see his brother's soul and the harm he'd done to it himself.

So Sam left Dean alone, they listened to music, laughed with the windows down, sipped on milkshakes and when Dean drifted Sam let him. After all Baby was his happy place, and Sam never saw him more relaxed anywhere else. He felt like when they were in the impala he could let go a little, it was both of their happy, safe place.

Dean knew it was probably messed up and wrong, but he found just a little pain was good. It was releasing, it eased his guilt, it let him rest. It made things feel maybe a little more fair.

There had been so much pain on this hunt.

Jesse lost his brother, never had him back, never had a chance to get him back. Cesar had followed him all the years helping him get revenge; Dean knew the pain and the unfairness of that. All those women and men had died, the sheriff had killed his own daughter and had to live with it all his life.

Dean and Sam rode through town again without really fixing anything. Sure they made sure it wouldn't happen again, but what had they healed, what had they made better?

And then there was Cas, and Amara, the niggling feeling he got that she was going to call for him, and he didn't know if he would be able to say no. He felt guilty about that, God he felt dirty and violated by her connection to him, but he couldn't fight it, couldn't cleanse himself of it. He felt guilty and wrong and that made him angry and tense and determined to do something right.

Nothing was going right lately.

So just a little hurt felt good, felt like someone was finally getting punished for the wrong, Dean didn't see why it shouldn't be him. It was releasing, put him to rest, eased the tense feeling in his stomach. Felt like if he was hurting then he could rest and not feel guilty anymore about all the things going wrong. Because if he was hurting he was paying his way, he was doing his part, things would be alright.

So he just chose to leave it alone. It would fade over a couple days, leave him feeling a little less tight, a little less guilty. He never put himself in danger on purpose or self inflicted pain, but he did choose to leave it alone.

He'd never hurt himself intentionally but he didn't say he didn't revel in it sometimes either; the blood, and bruises and violence of it all. When he killed a monster they were paying for the crimes and the lives they had taken, so when he received a wound or blow back he takes it as fair payment...for something.

So Dean's bruises ached as he drove home, his jaw throbbed, he was beyond exhausted. But he was still like a live wire. For the first time in days it was all fading away. The guilt of Cas and Amara and Lucifer, and everything he couldn't fix. And with the way his body ached everything else became numb, it was heaven. So he laughed and smiled with Sam, he relished in the way it was pure agony to laugh, as he jostled his ribs, and stretched his jawbone out.

It was definitely probably wrong, he couldn't bring himself to care.

When they get home, Dean surprises his brother by entirely bypassing the library and heading straight for a long, hot shower. Sam heaves a sigh of relief and heads too his own room to wash the road and the hunt off himself. He's hungry when he emerges so he goes in search of Dean, to see if he wants to cook, or go run and get something, or Sam's personal favorite...cereal.

He stops in Dean's door, and knocks on it even though it's already open. "Dean?" He asks.

"Yeah?" He hears from the bathroom. That door's also open, there's a low mantel of fog hanging in the air, and Sam smirks.

"Hungry?"

Dean enjoys his shower like he hasn't in a while, relishing in the hot water trailing down his aching muscles. Then he stands in front of his mirror in a pair of jeans looking at his torso. It's mottled with blue, purple and yellow bruises, he drifts fingers over them, feels some irregularity over a rib. Shit. Cracked again, please god not broken. The ache isn't unmanageable, it's kind of pleasant, just a dull throb making him feel like he's done something right. Because most of the time you have to pay for the stuff that goes right.

Hard work gets rewarded.

There's light bruises coming up over the left side of his face but nothing serious. His neck is a little sore from being choked, but not too bad. Like he said it's a comfortable ache. Sam knocks at his door and he smirks, knows the little brother is surprised at his actions. But Dean is feeling loose and happy and he wants go get something decent to eat. He's been living off the Sammy diet of cereal, coffee and beer lately and he's ready to break his fast.

Sam's voice comes blessed from his bedroom door in a question about food.

"Hungry?"

God, yes! For a burger, for some French fries...for something more than cereal and coffee, for more...he's just hungry for something more.

"Yeah," he answers, "Let's go get something!" He pulls his t-shirt over his head, over the bruises, and the cracked rib, and walks out, to see Sam standing in his door looking surprised.

"Really?" Sam asks, not sarcastically, but like he can't believe it.

"Yeah," Dean says, slowing down a little, not wanting to give Sam whip lash. "I mean, we're not getting anything done here, we got nothing to go on, and we just had a successful hunt...lets go out and get some real food and have a few shots and then home to a long, long night of sleep."

Sam raises his brows, "Well...okay, let me go get changed." He gives Dean a real smile.

Dean is about to give Sam whiplash, he's sure of it. The younger Winchester has been trying to somewhat relearn his older brother since he died and the mark of Cain was removed from his arm. And it's not just him, he's sure of that. Dean is different.

He is still loud, inappropriate, violent, compassionate Dean. But he's different too. He is often just calm...like a gorgeous day out at sea...smooth. That was something Dean had not been for a long time. Maybe his soul enjoyed being more gentle again after the mark was removed from it, maybe he was simply too tired. Either way, Sam knew his brother was changing.

But even Sam knew you had to go out and get rid of the responsibility and the weight of the world sometimes, so he smiles at Dean's suggestion because honestly he was starting to miss go-getter, happy-go-lucky, shoot-first-ask-questions-later Dean. And he knew his brother was closing himself up as punishment for not being able to help Cas, or kill Amara. So he thinks maybe Dean is letting it go, maybe he is realizing there's nothing that they could really do right now.

Sam changes into some jeans and a button up, grabs his wallet and coat, and meets Dean in the map room where his brother is waiting, bent over his phone, arm held tight to his side. Sam thinks nothing of it. Dean is laughing even as he hears Sam's footsteps.

"Crowley's stilled pissed about being on the run. Trying to get me to invite him here, I think."

Sam snorts. "In his dreams."

Dean agrees with big eyes, typing out Sam's very words. He's sniggering over Crowley's' expected heated, witty reply.

"Are we going to dinner, or being Crowley's besties?" Sam asks.

Dean wipes the mischievous smile off his face and ducks his head as he puts his phone away. "Let's go Sammy-boy, been too long since I been out on the town with you."

That doesn't sound good. "I thought it was just dinner." Sam says, following his brother up the stairs.

Dean laughs, "Don't worry Sammy, if I was really going out on the town, I wouldn't tag you along." He dodges Sam's exasperated punch, slipping out the door, smiling goofily. "I'm about beat," he confesses, "And I just want some actual good food. It's just been so long since we've done anything like this, it might as well be going out on the town."

Sam agrees, without Dean pushing for them to get out and about they might as well become hermits. Sam's going to have to look out for that, he can't let Dean shut himself off. He wouldn't thrive like that; Dean thrives on the open road, nasty, greasy food and and saving the day.

And Sam loves that about him.

He closes and locks the bunker door behind them and joins his big brother in the impala. Dean cranks her up, and they're off towards town. Dean's thumb tapping on Baby's wheel, a small, contented smile quirking his lips as he lets a little wind in through his cracked window. Sam can't help but feel this is better, this is the way it's supposed to be.

Dean can be a nuisance and unbelievably immature but Sam has missed this part of him. He guesses the successful hunt and letting Jesse and Cesar go loosened his brother up some, and he's absolutely thrilled. He knew things had to be looking up for them soon. And now Dean was happy and acting 'alive' and there was no freaking way Sam was taking that for granted.

Dean thrived on the people around him too. Sam had been trying to be positive when everything was going so bad for them and the brothers were being there for each other like they hadn't been for years, but there was only so much Sam felt like he could do. So as they pull into Dean's favorite bar, that Sam knew he loved the burgers at he was genuinely happy, and more than thrilled to be there with him.

So Sam doesn't mention his change in mood, the way his step seems lighter, doesn't ask why. He's too afraid to break the spell. So he leaves it alone.

Dean feels the best he's felt in a long time.

He does feel momentarily guilty, speeding free down the highway towards beer and burgers, while Cas is somewhere locked inside his vessel with the Devil. But he's sore, he can feel that rib pushing against the skin of his stomach, it hurts, and they had helped put things to right for Jesse and Cesar and he thinks he deserves a quick break, just for a burger and a beer with his brother.

And Sam needs a break too. It wasn't as hard on him, but this was going to tell on Sam in the end. Amara and Lucifer were out there, and they were coming. Dean knows in his heart of hearts she's coming for him, she's going to call for him soon and will he be able to deny her? Will he be able to say no? He's not sure, but he's feeling uncomfortably lenient towards God's sister.

"I don't now why you like this shit hole." Sam supplies cheerily beside him. And Dean smiles, because yes! distraction.

"The food is amazing, Sammy!" He nearly gushes.

"I don't know how anything cooked in this grease pit is amazing." Sam says, looking critically at the front of the joint, and it's neon lights and beer logos.

"Aw cmon, this is nice joint," Dean whines, "Just try it, besides they got El Sol."

"You know I hate that stuff."

"You also know it's not my fault you have sucky taste in beer."

Sam opens his mouth to supply a witty answer, but Dean stops him.

"If I remember," he mocks a thoughtful look, a finger placed primly on his chin. "I proposed this outing and that you are simply 'tagging along' so," he claps his hands together loudly. "We can go have a burger and a beer or you can sit in the car and wait for me to be done, like the good old days, eh Sammy?"

Sam grimaces remembering the days Dean would leave him in the car while he went and hustled pool, and drank and picked up a 'companion' for the night. He had not desire to go back to that. No matter how bad the beer, or the food, or the bar Sam would much rather be with Dean then sit and research something they can't fix while watching Dean get drunk off his ass.

"I'm coming," he says meekly. And Dean flashes him a 500 watt smile that's been far too long since Sam's seen.

He follows his brother in and slips onto a bar stool beside Dean, who appears a little uncomfortable, shifting around on it, arm still held awkwardly to his side.

"You okay?" He asks, even as Dean motions for two beers.

"Yeah, just a little sore...hey Donny." He smirks up at the bartender who smiles at him. Sam gathers they know each other.

"Been a while, Dean," Donny says, popping the lids off their beers.

"Life keeps you away from the good stuff, yeah?" Dean chuckles to himself, and Donny laughs too.

"What'll it be?"

"Me and Sam'll both have the burger special."

"Oh, so this is Sam?"

Sam raises his eyebrows and glances over to his brother, "Yeah, nice to meet you too," he offers his hand. Donny shakes it, and leans towards Sam confidentially, smirking at Dean.

"Your brother comes in here drinking, makes you two sound more like an old married couple than pissed off brothers."

"Hey!" Dean objects, "Less talking, more cooking, I'm starving." Donny laughs and so does Sam, he looks fondly over at Dean as Donny walks away, enjoying the way the lights are sparkling in Dean's eyes.

"What?" Dean asks, a little defensively.

"Just, I haven't seen you this happy in a while, is all."

Dean only grunts in response. Sam notices the hand farthest from him, fisted around the edge of the seat of his bar stool. Worry shoots through Sam for the first time.

"You sure you're okay?" He asks again.

Dean doesn't grow defensive or annoyed which was a big red flag.

He shrugs, "Got a little knocked around, just a few bruises, it's fine."

Sam closes his eyes in sudden regret. Why hadn't he checked with Dean before they even left Colorado? He knew better than to trust Dean to volunteer the information that he'd been hurt. Sam should have looked him down himself. Suddenly Dean's improved mood, didn't seem like such a blessing; Sam tenses.

"Dean," he starts in a low, dangerous tone. He's about to be pissed at his brother.

"Jesus, Sam," Dean cuts him off. "If I was bad hurt I'd let you know, okay? Leave it alone. Man can't even have a beer, gawd!"

Sam huffs an annoyed breath, "Sorry. It's just you didn't tell me you even got beat up."

"It was just a few punches, Sammy," Dean soothes over, "Then I severed its head with a shovel...wicked, I know. Though nothing is ever going to beat Gordon Walker and Super Sam." Dean giggles over his own joke as Donny brings their plates. And Sam finds himself smiling fondly at Dean, watching his laugh lines rise and fall.

He nods his head to Donny and picks up his burger, Dean's already bit into his sighing like all is well in the world. Sam lets out his own sigh, a sigh of resignation and he bites in. It's not bad, it could be a lot worse. But not as good as Dean's, definitely not what Sam would have picked.

But Dean is raising his eyebrows and nodding at Sam, daring him to say anything else than 'this is amazing.' So Sam shakes his head, smiling and swallows his first bite, washing it down with beer, which actually makes it lots better.

Dean has gobbled up his burger in record timing even for him and is leaning against the bar, nursing his second beer as Sam finishes. There's a light sheen of sweat raised on his forehead, but it is rather warm, and Sam is happy to see that lively sparkle back in his eyes.

Sam wipes his hands and sighs, finally feeling full and satisfied. Dean smirks at him even as the words come out of his little brother's mouth.

"That was actually really good," he says, even as he regrets saying the words, Dean is looking disgustingly smug.

"Shut up." He says.

"I didn't say anything," Dean defends, smiling.

The song on the jukebox switches, something soft and croony. Dean smirks over at Sam, "Dance with me Sammy?"

Sam laughs and nudges him with his elbow, but doesn't catch the way Dean grimaces. His arm sneaking up to wrap around his rib cage.

"Yeah, you're right of course," Dean muses, "You're too big for the dance floor."

"Am not," Sam refutes.

"Are too."

Sam rolls his eyes smoking and giving up. "Wanna play a game before we go?" He asks, motioning towards the pool table.

Dean shrugs, "Sure, though I'm not sure they'll having any sticks big enough for you. I don't know why you bother, I'll always win."

He's slipped out of his seat and making his way over to the pool table before Sam can get a witty retort in so he just laughs and follows after him.

Dean knew the moment Sam nudged him in the ribs something was wrong. It hurt. Like hurt bad. His breath rips from him for a moment, his arm voluntarily wrapping around them in protection. His breath never really comes back fully. He picks out a stick, and proceeds to beat Sam's ass at pool.

His sight is lessening with his shortness of breath, everything going violently bright to dim and smokey. He leans on the table a little, puts a little more weight into his shot than he meant to...then Sam is beside him shouting in exultation.

Little brother can't wait to have ONE victory. Sam shoves him, all be it gently, out of the way to make his shot, but it's enough. There's a table there, high enough to hit Dean's ribs as he moves with Sam's push, Laughing at Sam's joy.

Then he's not laughing.

Searing pain laces up his side and in his chest. He's heaving shallow breathes, loud in his own ears even as he struggles to stay on his feet.

"Sam," he chokes out, just as he tries to catch himself on the pool table and then plummets towards the floor in a blurry fog. Thinking this was why he must have felt so good, because enough bad would happen to him tonight to make up for the time off.

Sam should have known something was off. Dean wasn't playing such a hot game. His smiles were getting more and more stretched. Sam just though he was getting tired. Maybe he could finally get a win in, even though Dean being tired and sore would kind of disqualify it.

When Dean misses his shot Sam knows the game is his. "Yes!" he shouts exultantly, coming around the table, smiling at Dean's exasperated laugh.

"Move over, jerk, let the winner take his last shot." He's expecting a reply about his being a bitch, and the odds being in his favor. Instead he hears a soft 'ungh' from his brother like all the air had been knocked from his lungs.

He looks up in the blink of an eye to find Dean white, a hand reached out towards him, trying to keep his feet under him.

"Sam," his brother chokes out, amidst futile attempts at breathing, the shallow dry sound of his lungs wrapping Sam's heart in fear.

Sam throws himself forwards as Dean goes down. He catches Dean by his broad shoulders and gently lowers him down, letting his upper body and head rest on his thighs.

"Dean?" He calls, a little hesitantly, entirely blindsided. His trembling fingers try to feel a pulse, and finds a thready one. But it's Dean's blue lips and nearly nonexistent breaths that scare him.

"Some one call 911!" He demands not even looking up.

Hasty fingers push Dean's jacket and over shirt aside, then pushes his t-shirt up. He frowns at the light mottled bruising, gentle fingers drift down his sides and finds the same bump Dean had.

Stupid bastard. Sam grits his teeth. Why? He wants to ask Dean, wants to shake him. What was it in his brother that thought his pain wasn't important, that it shouldn't be treated, that he shouldn't be cared for?

Donny's voice comes to him vaguely, saying the ambulance is on it's way.

Please hurry, Sam thinks frantically.

It's not right, it's not natural. Dean shouldn't be this still, shouldn't be this white. It reminds him of other times, other times when ambulances couldn't help, when nothing could help. He grabs Dean's hand and squeezes it.

"Stay with me Dean." He begs...please, please don't leave me here alone.

Maybe Sam shouldn't have left it alone after all.

tbc...

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