Saturday, 12 May

The weekend after Sam's first week of school, John announced that he would be spending a few days away and would be back on Friday. Sam sat on the couch and purused his notebook while he half listened to his dad rattling off the usual precautions; lock the door, lock the windows, stay together, don't answer the door unless you know who it is. They all knew the routine up and down and sideways, but that didn't stop John from repeating himself every time anyway.

Dean waited until he heard the Impala rumble away before walking to the fridge and retrieving a beer. It wasn't that John didn't know Dean drank, but it was something neither of them really wanted to have a direct conversation about, so Dean tried not to give John a reason to bring it up. He returned to the living room and sat down next to Sam, who scooted away to sit with his back against the arm of the couch.

"What, Sam, do I have the goddamn plague or something?" Dean snapped. Sam immediately looked hurt, which immediately made Dean feel bad. Sam held up his book and pen and gave Dean a bewildered look. Dean shook his head and waved a hand at Sam. "I know, I know, I'm sorry I snapped. That's fine, I'll respect your privacy." He patted Sam on the knee and before he could move his hand away, Sam grabbed ahold and interlaced their fingers, letting their hands sit atop his bent knee. Dean looked over but Sam was already busy scribbling away, his lips pressed into a thin line, indicating he was not going to talk about what he had just done. Dean left it at that and turned his attention to the TV.

They sat in silence for half an hour or so. Sam kept pulling his hand away every few minutes to scratch at the same place on his arm. Dean was curious about this, but he kept quiet. He had finished his beer and was waiting for Sam to take another itch break to get up for another one, not wanting to be the one to break away. It was a rare occurrence lately for Sam not to flinch when touched. The second he felt Sam pull away again, Dean stood and walked to the fridge. On his way back, he noticed a spot on Sam's sleeve. He was about to inform his brother that his precious flannel shirt had acquired a stain, when he noticed the spot looked wet. It looked like… blood.

"Hey, Sam, I think you're bleeding," he said, pointing. Sam jumped, sending his book and pen flying, and clapped a hand over it.

"I must have just scratched myself too hard," he said quickly, starting to get up. Dean stepped closer and blocked his path.

"Well, what's itching you so much you scratched a hole in your arm?" he asked, reaching for Sam's arm. "Here, let me see." Sam dodged him and ducked under Dean's arm, quickly making his way towards the bedroom. "Sam, what the fuck?" Dean called after him. He set his beer down and followed, wondering why the hell Sam was acting so strange. He saw that Sam was headed for the bathroom and took a few jogging steps, squeezing in front of Sam and planting himself in front of the door. "What, Sam? Would you just let me see?"

Sam shook his head violently and took a step back, his hand still clamped over the bloody spot on his sleeve. Dean went after him and managed to grab his brother's wrist. Sam struggled as hard as he could, twisting himself about in an effort to get away. Dean backed Sam into the side of his bed, attempting to push him down onto it. Sam's sleeve rode up as they struggled, exposing a few inches of his arm. He made a reluctant noise and relaxed his muscles, allowing himself to plop down on the mattress. Dean gave him a puzzled look, panting slightly. Sam felt his gaze slowly shift to his exposed skin. Dean loosed his grip and used his other hand to unbutton Sam's sleeve and gently push it up.

Sam stared at his lap and waited for Dean to say something. Dean stared at his brother's arm and waited for Sam to say something. There was a row of uniform cuts up Sam's arm, and they were clearly not accidental. The blood was coming from a particularly large and deep looking one with a thick scab over it; it seemed that Sam had picked part of it off when he scratched himself.

"What is this, Sam?" Dean asked quietly. Sam pulled his arm away and returned his sleeve to its normal position. Dean let go easily and sat down next to his brother. He cautiously rested a hand on Sam's shoulder, and when Sam didn't run for the hills, began rubbing his back gently, waiting for an explanation.

"I don't want to talk about it," Sam said after several minutes.

Dean sighed. "Why would you want to hurt yourself?

"I… I guess distracts me from feeling bad."

"Well… what do you feel so bad about?"

Sam just shook his head.

"Have you done something wrong?"

"Not exactly… I mean, not really… I don't know. I guess… sometimes, I want to do things that I know are wrong."

"I'm not sure I understand."

Sam rested his face in his hands. Dean waited for a minute or so, in case Sam was going to respond, before speaking again. "How long has this been going on?"

"Uh… two years or so, I think."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know how."

"You can tell me anything, Sammy Sam. I would have helped you."

Sam let out a long sigh and raised his head, staring at the wall. "I don't think you can."

Dean moved his hand from Sam's back and carefully took his hand instead. He furrowed his brow and observed thier hands resting on the bed, wondering what he should say, or if he should say anything at all. He didn't expect to get much out of Sam if he pushed him. It was usually better to allow Sam to open up on his own.

"Hey, why don't we get out of here for a while?" he finally said. He stood up and tried to pull Sam off the bed. "C'mon, get a clean shirt and let's go. I found a spot the other day that I think you'll appreciate." Sam reluctantly stood and headed to the dresser for another shirt, rolling up the sleeve to make sure he wouldn't bleed on this one as well. Dean went into the living room to put on his boots. After a moment of hesitation, he grabbed a plastic bag and threw four beers into it.

Dean checked and double checked the locks before they headed out. It was warm out, about 80 degrees. A gentle breeze surrounded them under a cloudless sky. Dean scrunched his eyebrows up as he looked at Sam's shirt, wondering what their dad would think when he returned. Today was the first day it had been this hot, the previous weeks being in the 60s and low 70s. Sam was definitely not dressed for the weather, and John would start to notice soon. Dean shook his head and tried to put it out of his mind. For now, he just wanted to enjoy himself.

They headed towards the mountains behind the motel. Sam silently hoped that they weren't about to go hiking up to the top; he was already sweating. Thankfully, Dean led them around the side of the mountain instead. They climbed down a short hill that opened up to a grassy area and a small body of water. Dean looked at Sam and smiled when he saw his brother smiling.

"Do you like it?" he asked. Sam nodded and started looking for the perfect place to sit. They sat near the edge of the water and dipped their feet in. Dean leaned on his arms and tilted his head back, closing his eyes against the sun. He felt Sam's hand slide over his.

"Hey," Dean said suddenly, "you wanna go swimming? The water's not too deep but you can get in up to your waist or so." Sam shook his head, pulling his hand away and drawing his arms around his chest. "No one will see, Sam," Dean said quietly. "Trust me, no one comes down here. Even if they did, you'll be in the water. No one will see." Sam considered this for a few moments before responding.

"Okay, I guess if I have to," he said as he stood up, but Dean saw a hint of a smile. "Just...turn around until I'm in." Dean nodded and turned away from the water, peeling off his own clothes. His jeans dragged against his sweaty skin as he yanked them off. He dropped them in the grass near the bag of beers. "Alright, I'm in," Sam said behind him.

Dean turned around and walked into the water. Sam was bobbing around, squatting so that the water came up to his ears. The water was pleasantly warm from the sun since it was so shallow, but still cool enough to be refreshing. Dean waded over to Sam and kneeled in the sandy dirt beneath the water. It was bright and clear in the sun, and Dean could see an alarming collection of red lines on Sam's skin. They covered both arms, although the left arm was significantly worse. They continued down his upper thighs, only a few visible where the water had lifted the hems of Sam's boxers. There were even a few on his stomach. Dean felt a wave of guilt wash over him, wondering how he had been ignorant of this for two whole years. Why didn't I notice? I should have been paying more attention. He pulled his eyes away and tipped himself onto his back, floating on the surface of the water. He knew Sam wasn't going to talk so there was no use in dwelling on it right now. He wanted the two of them to enjoy the weather and the water without the burden of difficult conversation.

They stayed in for probably three hours. As the sun started to go down, the water and air temperature began to drop, and Dean suggested they get out before it got too cold. They shook themselves dry as best they could and pulled their clothes back on before sitting in the grass again. Dean retrieved the plastic bag and cracked open a beer for each of them.

"Too bad we don't have a camera," Sam said, nodding towards the sunset. The sky was a brilliant red with swirls of milky pink and stripes of orange. The light oozed over the red mountains and made them look like they were on fire.

Dean shrugged. "This sort of thing doesn't really look right when you take a picture," he said. Sam nodded silently. They continued watching until the sun disappeared under the horizon. Dusk settled hazily over the water, the sounds of the night buzzed around them. Dean savored this, a rare moment of peace shared between them, free from tension. At least right then, nothing was going wrong. Sam looked at him, and Dean seemed to be a thousand miles away.

"So… Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you gonna tell Dad?"

Dean shook his head. "No, I don't think we should. I… don't know how he'll react." He paused for a moment and readjusted himself so he was facing Sam, their legs parallel and their faces about two feet apart. Dean noticed that Sam had never buttoned his shirt after putting it back on. He found himself examining the exposed skin for a minute before shaking himself back to reality and continuing: "I'm not really sure how you're going to hide it either. And I'm worried that he's gonna start feeling weird about your flannel situation pretty quick. It's getting hot, Sam, and we're in the desert. It's only gonna get hotter." Sam looked down and started picking bits of grass out of the ground. He didn't say anything. "We don't have to talk about it right now if you don't want to," Dean added. Sam nodded.

They chatted idly for almost an hour; it was pretty much dark now, except for the moonlight. The moon was about half full. They were both about halfway through their second beers when Dean pulled a quarter out of his pocket and flipped it, Sam calling heads as it swirled through the air. Then Dean passed it to Sam and Sam flipped it while Dean called. The unspoken rule whenever they did this was that the person who had racked up the most wins by the end was exempt from dishes and trash duty for a week. Dean suddenly noticed that Sam's torso seemed to be much closer to his than it was an hour ago. He hadn't noticed Sam moving forward though. He was a little puzzled by Sam's sudden desire for physical closeness after shunning Dean for months. Dean wondered if the reason Sam had been distant was because he was worried Dean would discover the cuts if he touched him. However, that had only started less than a year ago, and Sam had said the cutting began at least two years ago. He figured that meant it had recently gotten worse, or more widespread. The thought sat heavily in his stomach.

"Helloooooo?" Sam called. Dean had zoned out, lost in his thoughts, and forgotten to catch the quarter after he flipped it. Sam waved a hand in front of his face, then laughed and leaned over Dean's legs to feel around in the grass for the coin. "Found it," he said, and started to push himself back up. But then he paused, hovering in front of Dean, their faces only inches apart. Dean blinked. He scanned Sam's face in the dim moonlight, and he was wearing that same unfamiliar expression from the other day, when he was looking at Dean outside the high school. Sam's gaze slowly moved from Dean's eyes, to his lips, then back to his eyes. Dean blinked again, harder, as if he was suddenly going to open his eyes and be able to understand what was going on. Sam showed no sign of moving. If Dean didn't know any better, he would think Sam wanted to kiss him. But that wasn't possible.

The breeze blew a lock of hair in front of Sam's eyes; without thinking about it, Dean reached up to push it back behind Sam's ear. He let his hand linger there, his fingertips just barely brushing against the skin. He felt his heart start to pound in his chest as he moved his hand to cup Sam's face, brushing his thumb back and forth over his brother's cheek bone. What are you doing? he asked himself. Sam's gaze hadn't wavered. And he hadn't moved. Sam doesn't want to kiss me, he's just being weird, Dean insisted. His heart felt like it would break right through his ribs. Then why do I want to kiss him? He felt himself leaning in. What are you doing? he asked himself again. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! But it was already too late. Their lips met, and Dean knew he should pull back, get up and walk away before this went any further. But he couldn't. He slid a hand into Sam's shirt, up his back, and pulled him closer. Dean tried to snap himself back to reality, get his brain to direct his body to get up and get out, but all he could think about was how soft Sam's skin was. How delicate but confident his lips were.

Dean pulled Sam's shirt off in one swift movement, moving even closer so they were pressed against each other. He ran his hand up the outside of Sam's leg. Sam grabbed Dean's hand and started redirecting him towards his crotch. Dean was too out of it to realize until he felt his brother's erection through his jeans. And finally, a sliver of rational thought fought its way through the fog of lust clouding his brain. He jerked his hand away and broke the kiss, scrambling backwards in the grass. They stared at each other, bothing panting a little bit. Then Dean turned and started putting his boots back on.

"Dean?"

"I - I'm sorry, Sam, I shouldn't have done that."

"I wanted you to."

"No, Sam, you didn't," Dean said sharply, standing up and looking down at Sam. "You didn't want that, okay. You're just…" Dean trailed off and rubbed at his face vigorously. "Look, I know that our… lifestyle, hasn't always been easy for you. I was always better at the picking up and moving out than you were, it didn't bug me as much. And I know you've had a hard time making friends cause you're shy and we're never in one place too long. So I understand why you're… more attached than maybe you should be to your brother. I'm the only constant in your life. And now that you're… older, it's normal to have… urges," he paused again and kind of spun in place for a moment, horrified at the whole situation and not really sure what he wanted to say. "You just… you can't act on them with me. I'm sorry I didn't pay more attention, I shouldn't have let us be so physical. It's just how we grew up I guess… It's hard to know what's normal between siblings when you have nothing to base it off of… and that goes for both of us," Dean sat back down and rested his head in his hands, staring at the ground. He took another minute to gather his thoughts. "Dad didn't exactly help… you know I love him but the man hasn't been the most attentive father… Christ, Sam, you were mutilating yourself and he didn't notice! I didn't notice!" Dean's voice cracked and he launched himself to his feet again. He began pacing back and forth in the grass behind Sam. "You just… you're just confused. We've both had a rough day, and we're -" he gestured at the empty beer bottles - "we're not thinking straight," he said, knowing full well that he wasn't drunk and neither was Sam. "Let's just go home."

Dean marched towards the motel without waiting for Sam, blinking back tears and adjusting his dick, which seemed to be misbehaving just to spite him. Sam followed soon after, but made sure to stay several paces behind the whole way back. He hovered in the parking lot while Dean unlocked their room, and headed straight for the bed once inside. He shucked his clothes onto the floor and climbed into bed before digging under his pillow for his little book and beginning to scribble vigorously in it.

Sam waited up for a while but Dean never came to bed. Later he heard the clink of what sounded like several empty beer bottles being knocked over, and soon after, snoring. Sam picked at a scab on his arm and wondered if he should go check on Dean. He didn't want to risk waking him; he wasn't sure how they were supposed to talk to each other.

Sam also wasn't sure whether he should be mad at himself or at Dean, or at both of them. He hadn't been upset about the whole thing, but Dean definitely was. He wasn't sure what had made him stop and hover in front of his brother's face the way he did. Whatever his intention had been, it certainly wasn't to make his brother have an existential crisis and drink himself to sleep on the couch. He hadn't really expected for it to turn into a kiss, although he couldn't say he didn't think about it. Sam eventually exhausted himself and decided to turn in. He fell asleep clutching his book in one hand.

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