A/n: Wheeeee! So this the first chapter of a sequel to 'The Feeling'! The updates for this will probably be slow. Not gonna lie. My priority at the moment is getting 'The Cat Came Back' done. But when I get ideas for this I'll update. A few warnings, this story will deal with things like self harm so I caution readers who may have or do indulge in self harming activities, some parts could be triggering. Also this will eventually turn into a Sam/Dean story. And when I say Sam/Dean I actually do mean Sam/Dean... As in Sam on top, Dean on bottom. I don't know if anyone else has noticed but for some reason in this fandom I often times find things that are labeled as Sam/Dean but then end up being Dean/Sam... Why yes there is a difference. At least in my mind there is Sam/Dean implies that there will be a Top!Sam and Bottom!Dean where as Dean/Sam implies the opposite... but maybe that's just me. And the line breaks in this story will be quotes from various movies! Lol

("The harpy's as real as you are, and just as immortal. And she was just as easy to catch, if you want to know.")

"Are you sure this is alright, Dean?"

"Yeah, not like she's home or anything."

"That would be why it might not be okay, Dean. You don't just go into people's homes while they're gone."

"Eh, she wouldn't mind. She'd probably be happy someone was in here taking care of things. Besides, you said you wanted a break from hunting so we could really sort stuff out right? Well this is the place to do it. Give me a boost."

Sam and Dean are standing on the porch of a small house, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. It is completely surrounded by trees and there is a clothes line in the back yard. The porch wraps all the way around the house. The house itself is has wood siding on it and it is painted a shockingly bright yellow and the roof is green tin. There are baskets of flowers hanging from hooks along the ceiling, a swing, chairs, and even a few ceiling fans on the totally screened in porch.

Dean is standing under one of the fans, staring up at it with his eyes narrowed. With a little shrug Sam moves over and laces his fingers together, hands cupped so that Dean can put his booted foot in them. With a grunt Sam holds Dean up while he inspects the top of the ceiling fan.

"HAH! Found it!" he calls, and Sam lets him down. The older man is grinning broadly as he holds the key to the door that they have been looking for these past twenty minutes.

"She hides her key on top of a ceiling fan?" Sam asks, watching as Dean moves over to the door, pulling open the screen one so that he can unlock the heavy wooden one behind it.

"Not always. She moves it around. Last time I was here it was in the morning glories, the Pearly Gates," he says, vaguely motioning to the white flowers off to the left.

Dean pauses to take his boots off outside the door before going inside and Sam does the same. The colors inside are just as shocking as the ones outside. The door leads straight into the living room, the walls are painted a bright, turquoise blue and the kitchen, separated from the living room by a bar has more golden walls that match the comfortable looking couch that Dean is settling himself on. Sam feels somewhat awkward, being in another person's house like this but Dean has never looked more relaxed.

The man is leaning back on the couch, feet propped up on an old, slightly battered steamer trunk that has been turned into a coffee table.

"She likes color doesn't she?" Sam says, shifting from foot to foot and taking in his new surroundings.

"Yeah, you should see her room. It's purple. Dibs on her bed, by the way," Dean answers brightly, just letting his head fall back, not reaching for the TV remote or anything.

Sam busies himself by moving over to a wall and starting to look at the pictures there. Most of them have China Cat in them, though she seems to have a different hair color in almost everyone and there are almost always at least two or three people in the photos with her. A majority of the pictures look like candid shots.

There is one with China cat has bright purple hair and is standing next to a girl with black hair who is grinning at the camera. The smaller girl's arm is around China Cat's shoulders holding her close and she looks startled.

Another, this one a bit bigger than the last has the same two girls, though China Cat's hair is green and brown in this one, though it looks surprisingly good on her. There are also two men, one tall, lean and blond, and the other broader, more stocky and with red hair. The girls are sitting on the men's shoulders, their arms wrapped around each other's shoulders as they throw victory signs at the camera.

The pictures make Sam smile slightly. Then he comes across one with Dean in it. The two appear to be lying in opposite directions with their heads side by side. They are both smiling and considering the glimpses of arms in the picture they are both trying to hold the camera above their faces to take the picture.

"That was taken just before I ended up leaving. We were outside, lying on the ground," he says and Sam tilts his head to the side then bites his lip. His brother looks so happy. "Come on, let's go get our bags and bring them inside," he said, heading for the door.

Sam follows after, noting that it is starting to get darker outside. Crickets and frogs are starting to chirp. Sam likes it here, he just feels awkward as hell invading someone's home like this! Dean doesn't seem to mind at all. He looks like he feels at home as he wanders outside in his bare feet and pops the trunk so that they can get their bags from the back.

"Hey, Dean, why did you say this was the place to take off from hunting for a while?" he asks, following his brother and getting his own bag, then closing the trunk as he turns to follow him back into the house.

"Because nothing happens here, there are ghosts but they are benevolent, and there are monsters but they are kept in check," he says with a little shrug and Sam stares in slight disbelief. Dean grins. "I know, right? It's weird. It has something to do with this family that doesn't live too far from here or something. That is what China Cat told me, anyway."

"Actually I was more surprised that you knew the word benevolent," Sam teases, earning a playful punch to his arm for his trouble.

"Shut up," Dean says with a smile, taking his bag back past the kitchen and down a short hallway. Sam follows for long enough to watch as his brother disappears into a room with a plain, wooden door that has some sort of skull hanging on it. "What do you want to eat for Diner?" Dean calls.

The door isn't all the way closed and from where Sam is standing he can see deep, eggplant purple walls and a large bed with a blue and white patch work quilt on it, and a red and black blanket. Dean pops his head out of the door when he doesn't get an answer and perks a brow at his brother.

"Sam?"

"Oh! Uh… Sorry. Just whatever…" he says, waving a hand dismissively as he steps closer and pushes open the door so he can see the room. Dean snorts quietly and shrugs, moving back over to the bed and plopping down on it.

Sam watches his brother sink into the mattress then just looks around. There is a book shelf that looks hand made with books practically pouring off of it. A dream catcher made from a rack of deer antlers is hanging from a shelf above the bed. The bed itself is massive and covered in pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals that don't really seem to correlate with one another but still make an inviting looking nest. Dean grins, feeling somewhat proud of the room, even if it isn't his and there is paper all over the floor, making it seem messy. The air in the room smells sweet but slightly smoky and a glance at the small table by the bed answers the question as to why. Three is a mason jar full to bursting with colorful sticks of incense and an almost over flowing ash catcher.

"Come on, sit down," Dean says, patting the other side of the bed. Slowly Sam comes over and eases himself down on the bed. He has to bite back a moan as he sinks into the soft mattress. This is such an improvement over motel beds. "Now I seriously need to know what you want to eat so I can cook."

Sam perks up and turns his head to look at his brother, smiling.

"You're going to cook?" he asks, a bit excitedly. Dean just grins.

They might not have gotten to do it often when they were younger but any time they got a place with a kitchen Dean would cook for them and Sam had always loved his cooking. He didn't know where he had learned to do it, though.

"Yeah, I'm going to cook but if you don't tell me what you want I'm just making tacos," he says, laughing quietly. Sam shrugs.

"Tacos sound fine for me. I love everything you cook…" Sam says, and he doesn't see it but Dean blushes a little at that comment.

("I'm the most dangerous man in this prison. You know why? 'Cause I control the underwear.")

Sam has decided that he loves to watch Dean cook.

He is sitting on the couch, the TV is on but his attention is drawn by his brother in the kitchen, at the moment dicing up a tomato. The smell of cooking meat and spices fill the air. Without a word Sam gets up and slips up to the counter separating the living room from the kitchen. He seats himself on a bar stool and continues watching his brother until the older man takes notice of him.

"You want something, Sammy?" Dean asks, curiously, putting the tomato in a bowl and then pushing it off to the side with the others. There is a bowl of onion, another of lettuce, a third with shredded cheese, and the last one has sour cream in it.

"How did you learn to cook?" Sam asks, picking up an orange from the bowl of fruit at his elbow. He starts to gently roll it from one hand to the other.

"Trial and error mostly," Dean says quietly, shrugging a shoulder as he takes a wooden spoon and stirs the meat a little bit. "You have to remember some of it. You were six when I first started trying to cook. Remember when we were living in that little apartment in Utah? You walked into the kitchen and there was smoke everywhere and steam billowing out of the sink? That was me dousing a burning dish rag and some seriously charred pancakes..." he explains, taking the meat off the burner and checking on the taco shells in the oven.

Sam watches his brother as he pulls the taco shells out of the oven as well, putting them on the counter. He plucks them up, despite the fact that they're hot and quickly fills them with the steaming, ground meat he puts two on one of the bright yellow plates by the stove then sets it in front of Sam along with the bowls of toppings. He places them one by one then goes back to getting his own tacos made.

"Thanks," Sam says, glancing up at his brother as he tops off his tacos with lettuce, cheese, and tomato.

Sam doesn't really know what to think of his brother any more.

Less than a month ago he found out that his brother hurts himself and he just doesn't know what to think. He has been turning it around in his brain for weeks, trying to find a way to make it make sense to him. Sam can't figure out how cutting into one's flesh like that could possibly comfort someone. He shudders slightly at the thought He's picking at his taco shells when Dean turns around with his own plate and starts dressing his tacos with a little bit of everything. Sam laughs quietly when he sees that his brother's got four tacos crowded on the plate and tilts his head to the side.

"What's so funny, Sammy?" Dean asks with a grin, moving around the half wall and sitting by his brother. He starts digging into his tacos with gusto and Sam just watches for a moment before he digs into his own.

They eat in silence until Dean is midway through his third taco.

"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" he asks quietly, looking down at his plate and idly tearing apart what is left of his third taco, pulling the shell apart and letting the meat and everything else spill out onto the plate.

Sam freezes.

"Don't pretend you're not. I can feel the way you're looking at me like I'm some sort of masochistic freak," Dean mutters, lifting half of his taco shell to his mouth and nibbling on it. He looks sad and nervous and for a second Sam just opens and closes his mouth like a fish.

"I don't think you're a freak," Sam finally says, looking down at his plate and then at his brother. "I… I just don't understand it, Dean," he says quietly, reaching out to roll up the short sleeve of his brother's chest, exposing his shoulder.

His fingers tremble slightly as he traces his fingers over the mass of thin, white lines that cross over each other. He bites his lip when he touches four scars that are pink and fresh, not yet healed months later after the cuts they were born from were made.

Dean is tense as his brother touches his scars He feels so vulnerable with them exposed like this.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, looking down at his plate. He feels Sam's hand move so that his fingers aren't lightly tracing the scars any more.

Now his hand is placed flat against his brother's shoulder, warm palm covering the mass of lines. He gently squeezes it then reaches out and takes his brother's chin in his hand, turning his head so that he's looking at him.

"Dean look at me," he says, waiting until his brother drags his eyes from his mutilated tacos and looks up at him. "You don't need to be sorry I'm not mad. I'm just worried and… I don't want you to feel like this is what you have to do to make yourself feel better," he whispers the last part quietly before he slowly lets go of Dean's chin and lets him look away again.

They are silent again, Dean eating his mess of meat, shells, onions, sour cream, cheese, and tomatoes, and Sam finishing off his tacos. When he's done and Dean has managed to clear his plate Sam picks them up and takes them to the sink, figuring he can do dishes if Dean is the one that cooks. They busy themselves, washing dishes and putting away leftovers then Dean finally breaks the silence.

"So you just ate Bambi's mom," he says, glancing at Sam who fumbles with the pan he is washing.

"What?" he asks, looking at Dean, confusion clear on his face. His brother just grins and holds up the bowl of taco meat.

"Venison! Haha, China Cat eats a lot of deer meat when it is available," he says, leaning down as he puts the bowl in the fridge, pulling out a beer for himself that he uncaps and takes a drink from.

"How can you tell it was deer? It tasted like beef to me."

Dean points to plastic bag beside the stove.

"The baggie I found it in is labeled."

Sam wrinkles his nose.

Dean laughs.

("A woman without love wilts like a flower without sun.")

Sam falls sleep on the couch and despite the fact that he doesn't really fit on it the furniture is surprisingly comfortable. Dean is in curled up in the middle of China Cat's bed, or he is supposed to be. But Sam has the distinct feeling that his brother is not curled up in bed, based on the amount of times he has heard the toilet flush within the past ten minutes. The not so quiet mutters of 'shit' and 'fuck' and 'damn it' only add to his theory. With a quiet groan the lanky man on the couch gets up and wanders toward the bathroom door. He gently knocks.

"Dean, you okay in there?" he asks, for a moment everything is silent and then there's some hasty shuffling and bumping around and then Dean cracks open the door, sticking his head out to smile up at Sam.

"I'm fine," he says but Sam feels like something is off. He lifts a hand and gently pushes on the door, not entirely surprised when he feels Dean holding the door right where it is. The older man's smile falters a little.

"You sure?" he pushes again and Dean frowns, pushing back.

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm fine!" he says, sounding a bit frustrated now.

Sam waits for just a second, staring down at his brother who just can't seem to meet his eyes. Then he pushes his shoulder against the door and, after a brief struggle with Dean, he muscles his way into the bathroom with his brother who quickly crosses his arms over his chest. Of course it really does little to hide the problem. Dean has his arms crossed, one hand on each shoulder but the thin trickle of blood running down his brother's bicep is evidence enough of what was going on.

Sam feels something inside of himself break and he wants to whimper.

"Dean," he says softly, reaching out to pull the other man's hand away from his left shoulder. Dean allows it, knowing he's been caught. "Why?" Sam frowns and looks around the bathroom for something to stem the flow of blood.

He crouches down, pulling open the cabinet under the sink. There's a small pile of white wash rags sitting on a shelf there and he snatches one up. After wetting it in the sink he presses it to the little red lines carved into his brother's skin, one dribbling blood more than the rest.

"It's been bleeding longer than it usual does," Dean says quietly, looking away and letting his brother take care of his arm.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sam asks, looking up at Dean who just gives him a look that says, 'Really?' Sam blushes a bit and ducks his head. "Right…" They are quiet for a few minutes and when Sam pulls the rag away to check on the cuts there he winces slightly.

There are three going horizontally across Dean's shoulder. The last one is the deepest and it's slowly starting to clot. Sam lets out a quiet sigh of relief then gently wipes the dried blood off of his brother's arm. When he is done they stand there in silence, Dean wrapping his arms around himself and focusing on the floor while his brother just watches him.

Surprisingly Dean is the one to break the silence.

"Well go on," he hisses, not looking up at his brother.

"What?" Sam asks, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

"Go on! Yell at me, get mad… I… I donno!" Dean throws his hands up in the air and turns away from the younger man.

Sam just stares at him again.

"I… I'm not mad. I'm just. I'm worried. I don't know what to do…" The giant of a man bites his lip, opening and closing his hands, wanting to reach out and try to comfort his brother somehow. Instead he settles for just gently brushing his fingers over the new cuts. Dean flinches away from the soft touch and Sam's hand shakes a little. "I don't know what to do, Dean. I want to help but I just… I don't know how…"

Dean is quiet and eventually Sam lets out a sigh and reaches up to run his fingers through his hair.

"Can you at least tell me why?"

Dean looks at him, then looks down and lets out a tired sigh of his own. He lifts a hand and runs his fingers through his hair then glances over his shoulder at Sam.

"Can we not do this in here?" he asks quietly and Sam nods eagerly. Even though his brother is putting off actually talking he's just happy that the other man is even willing to try talking at all.

So Sam waits while Dean takes a cotton ball and swabs his sliced open skin with some rubbing alcohol on the sink. The man hisses quietly and wrinkles his nose as he throws the cotton ball away and pushes past his brother to get out of the bathroom. Sam follows closely behind him as the older man goes back to the bedroom. He crawls into the middle of the bed and takes his time wrapping himself up in a thick red and black blanket. Sam sits on the edge of the bed and they fall into silence once more.

They seem to be doing that a lot lately.

"It's like… When I get stressed or upset or I feel anxious and I just can't make it stop. If I… If I cut myself," he closes his eyes and squirms a bit. Admitting it like that makes him feel so vulnerable. "It's like everything bothering me and all the negative feelings just bleed out of me and I feel calm," he says, looking down and biting down on his lower lip. "It's just… Since you found out. I… It's complicated I don't know how to describe it," he says quietly, looking down at his lap.

Sam stays quiet and just waits. Even if this is all the explanation he gets he'll be happy. It's something.

"Everything feels different now and… It kind of scares me," Dean won't look at his little brother and he fidgets a bit, feeling uncomfortably exposed.

Sam doesn't know what to say. He can't remember ever hearing Dean admit that he was scared of anything.

"What about me knowing scares you?" Sam asks gently.

Dean just looks away and squirms a bit.

That's fine.

Sam won't push.

He takes his brother's silence as answer enough and just looks around the room for a moment.

"Hey, can I sleep in here with you?" he asks and Dean just looks at him, brow quirked.

"What, Sam, you scared of the dark?" Dean teases, and just like that the sharing and caring moment is over.

"No! I'm just too big for the couch. Come on. We've shared a bed before!" Sam coaxes and his brother snorts and shrugs.

"Whatever, just don't turn into a damn starfish on me!" the older man says as he detangles himself from his blankets and curls up on one side of the bed, back facing Sam. "And turn off the lights."

Sam smiles and gets up, turning off the lights before he gets into the bed alongside his brother. Things aren't perfect yet. Dean isn't 'cured' and he still doesn't quite know what to do to help but he feels like they're a step closer now. He smiles softly in the dark closes his eyes. Maybe everything can be alright if they just keep moving forward a little bit at a time.

("28 days... 6 hours... 42 minutes... 12 seconds. That... is when the world... will end.")

A/n: The line breaks for this chapter are quotes from the following movies: 'The Last Unicorn'. 'American History X'. A translation of a quote from 'Amelie' ('Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain' is the original title). 'Donnie Darko'.