The first time Dean cut himself, he was sixteen. He was scared at first, but began to relish in the feeling of pain he brought upon himself. It was his little secret, which nobody else knew about. A few months later, though, he stopped. He realized that what he was doing couldn't be helping himself in any way. He needed to focus on Sammy, help him out with all the usual big brother things, like homework. girl advice, and, well...hunting. John Winchester wasn't exactly the nicest of people when he was sober, but when he came home from having a drink, and he breath stunk of whiskey, he was terrifying. Dean would grab Sam, though, and take him to his room. He'd tell him to lock the door and not come out until he came knocking. "Never answer it for anyone else," Dean had said. "Only me. You hear me, Sammy?" And then Sam would nod his head, bottom lip quivering out of the fear of not knowing what was happening. He always trusted Dean though, and that gave him the extra push he needed to carry on looking out for Sam and dealing with their dad. The next time Dean relapsed, he was 18. Life was getting hard, with his dad disappearing constantly and never providing him or his brother with food or money. He'd pay the motel bills, sure, but they couldn't just live off the warmth the rooms provided. Sam was fourteen, and just getting into girls. He'd had a girlfriend and they were the cutest thing he'd ever seen. He'd come home one day, tears streaking his face and ran into his room. Dean asked what was wrong, and Sam shouted at him to go away, that Vix had dumped him, that he wanted to die. Dean didn't know that Sam cut himself that night.
These were all thoughts that were running around Dean's head as he tried to sleep. He was twenty two now, and Sam was eighteen. He'd finished school, whereas Sam was halfway through his final year. And guess what? Dad was gone. He'd been gone for two months, and it had been the best two months of their lives. Dean hadn't cut, and Sam was doing amazingly in school. Dad wouldn't be around for his leavers' assembly though, so he'd vouched to Sam that he'd go for him. Even though John wasn't around and the boys were generally happy, there were still nights when one of them could hear the other crying in their sleep, and they'd wonder just how much longer they could go on like this.
Dean must have fell asleep, because when he opened his eyes after his long think, it was morning. Shit, what time is it? He thought frantically as he leaped out of bed to grab Sam and yank him out from under the sheets.
"No, no. Just two more minutes," Sam pleaded. Dean looked at the alarm clock. It read twenty past eight.
"Yeah, nice try, kiddo, but you've gotta be at school in twenty five minutes, so I suggest you get your lazy ass up." He said, slightly amused. Sam launched himself out of bed, long limbs flailing around as he gathered up all of his school equipment. Dean just watched him, suppressing a few small chuckles. He didn't laugh, though. He'd never noticed the way that Sam's muscles moved underneath his tight-fitting shirt before, and wondered how he'd missed something like that. Aw, man! Quit that already! He thought as he mentally scolded himself for thinking things like that about another man, let alone his brother. "Come on, Sammy, we'd better get you to school." He patted Sam on the shoulder before grabbing the Impala keys off the sideboard and exiting their dingy little room.
They arrived at the school just a few minutes before class was due to start, and they were getting quite a few odd looks from people. Not just because there was 80's "Mullet Rock", as Sam liked to call it, blasting out of a shiny black car, but because Sam was catching a ride from such a hot guy. At least, that's what he presumed.
"Hey, Dean. I'll, uh, see you later." He stuttered as he got out of the car.
"Sure thing." He nodded Sam goodbye, and drove out of the crowded high school parking lot. During the day, Dean occupied himself with simple chores such as doing the dishes and clearing the room of empty pizza boxes. However, he couldn't keep the thought of the way Sam had looked to him this morning out of his head. He had also noticed the way that the sun caught magnificently in his hair and made it look lighter than it actually is. Now that he thought about it, he realized that Sam was actually quite attractive, and that had him wondering why more girls weren't going after him. Maybe he just doesn't realize that they are, the nerd. He thought to himself with a light chuckle. He'd never tell Sam, but he was jealous of the way he looked. He flawless muscles and perfect skin, down to his height and the way his cheekbones curved in so flatteringly. Dean wished he looked like that. In fact, Dean hated himself. He hated the way he looked and he couldn't do anything to change it. He walked into the living area of the motel room, and took a long look at all his imperfections. He remembered why nobody loved him, he remembered why he was such a fuck up. He remembered why dad never came back. He knows that it was all his fault. After all, who would want to spend time with such a failure of a son? He felt a sweat break out on his neck from the heat of his criticism. and took his over shirt off. This brought his attention to the scars lining up his arms, their straightness and order the only perfect thing about him. He remembered the feeling of a blade drawing across his skin, drawing blood. His own fucked up way of being in control of his life. It was then that he recollected that he'd never thrown his pocket knife away. He crept over to his backpack, and rooted in the bottom of it until he felt the cool metal against his fingertips. He stared at it for a long time. So long that he began to feel detached from the world, and he needed an anchor. This was his anchor. He pressed the blade down lightly, and slowly dragged it along his inner arm, testing the water. When he felt that the damage wasn't good enough, he pressed harder, and dragged faster, creating a deep gash. He exhaled. He felt that this breath was all the tension flowing out of his body, and away. Up, up, and away. began to feel as if he were the one floating upwards, until he heard the front door opening.
"Dean?" Was the first thing he heard.
Sam's bag dropping to the floor was the next.
And then Sam falling after it.
He felt a pair of strong arms come to rest on his shoulders, one moving up to cup the side of his face. He could see tears threatening to spill from Sammy's eyes, and he didn't want to see him hurt.
"Why are you crying, Sammy?" Dean asked, rasping.
"You idiot! I'm crying because you're bleeding on the floor Dean! I'm not exactly going to waltz around the motel with a smile on my face!" He sobbed. Suddenly Dean felt light. He was scared that he was dying until he realized that it was Sam's muscular arms keeping him off the floor. In fact, he felt himself being carried. By Sam, his angel, come to lift him up to heaven. He smiled. But the pain that was to ensue felt like hell. Sam had laid him down on the bathroom floor and was wrapping a towel around Dean's arm, before doing the same with himself to Dean. "I thought I might have lost you," He sobbed
"You know I'd never leave you, Sammy" He smiled a sad smile, "My little Sammy."
Sam pulled Dean closer. "I love you," he said, not thinking about what his brother may have thought of him, because in this moment, he didn't care.
"I love you too," Dean smiled, a small tear escaping the corner of his eye. Sam reached down and removed it with his thumb, his hand lingering on Dean's cheek. Dean leaned up and pressed his lips softly to Sam's. "I really do."