It's been a week since Dean got the job, and Sam is actually missing him being around. It makes him feel even more guilty for pushing him away. Dean was always so exhausted when he came home, too. He'd always go straight to his room, and Sam tried to make himself believe that it was because the job made him tired, and not that he was purposely not coming to check on Sam first.

It made that knot in the pit of his stomach tighten even more, really. He'd so successfully pushed his brother away, it made him want to vomit. That's not what he'd meant to do. He loved Dean. More than anything in the whole world, he loved him. Maybe more than he should. Maybe more than he could ever even dare to say. And he'd pushed him away.

It's not that Dean didn't talk to him or acknowledge his presence. But it was definitely different. Dean only ever asked how he was when Sam approached him. He only asked if he needed him to get anything if Sam said he wanted it first. There was no visit to his room at night. No coddling, no meals brought to him. No touching.

Hell, he didn't think he'd miss it this much, but he did. And it'd only been a week. Sam didn't realize how much comfort he'd taken in the little touches. When Dean would feel his forehead and put a hand on his back or arm while asking if everything was okay. Dean had stopped it all. And Sam didn't know what to do.

When Sam had gotten out of Hell, completely, he felt as though the suffering he'd endured down there in the pit had absolved him of his past sins. Like he'd gotten a beating for every bad deed he'd ever committed and that was punishment enough to let it be free from his mind.

The trials had felt a little like that, too. Or rather the stuff inside of him from the trials... But now he wasn't so sure. This stuff, whatever it was, had made his mind more clear and able to recall so much from their past. Things he didn't even think about in Hell or anywhere else.

There was a lot of good to remember. But there was also a lot of bad. Not super awful bad things, but just...every time he'd disappointed Dean or their dad, or every time he'd made things harder on them, purposely. Every time he'd made Dean feel guilty just to get his way.

And he remembered everything Dean had done for him, growing up and otherwise. Everything he'd given up for him, sacrificed, fought...everything. And how little Sam had done in return, in reality. More than one occasion that Dean practically had to beg to get Sam back with him on the road. Just back with him, being his brother.

Would life really have been all that great if he'd graduated and become a lawyer and had a white picket fence and a little house and a dog and Jess...? But all of that had been a lie, too. Well, all of it had been a set up. Jess never would've been with Sam if the supernatural hadn't intervened. None of that was ever meant to be. Al it turned out to accomplish was to show Dean how quickly he would abandon him for a 'better life'.

God...a better life... How much of an asshole could he possibly be? Basically he'd made it sound like a better life didn't include Dean. After all he'd done for him, that's how he repaid him. He'd done it again with Amelia, too. He was going to go back to her and leave Dean all over again. For that 'better life'.

"Fuck..." Sam let out a sob into his clenched fists. "Such an asshole..." he thought. "I'm a fucking horrible brother."

"Dude, you okay?" Kevin was suddenly at his door, peeking worriedly into the room.

Sam swiped the tears from his face and pushed himself up and out of the bed altogether. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said without looking at him, and made his way to the closet. "I just really need to get the hell out of here for a little bit."

"Uh...are you sure that's a good idea, man?"

"It's fine."

"I can go with you."

"No!" Sam looked at him, then. "No, it's okay. I can take care of myself. Just...just go to bed, man. You look exhausted."

"Just got a headache, is all. I'm fine. What're you gonna do?"

"I dunno," Sam shook his head as he looked through his clothes. "Maybe hit a bar or something."

"We've got stuff here-"

"I just...I need to get out of here for a bit, okay? It's not about the drinking."

The look in Sam's pleading eyes made Kevin sort of understand. More than sort of, really. "Okay. But at least bring your phone and...call once in a while and let me know you aren't being highjacked by angels or something?"

Sam's face softened. "Yeah, sure..."

.~*~.

Sam had grabbed a cab into the bar district. Sure, it wasn't far away to walk. But he wasn't sure if he could handle himself very well if he were to be jumped right now. Not that he wouldn't mind getting the crap kicked out of him or anything. He deserved it, after all. But Dean would never let him leave the lair again if that happened.

After paying the cabbie, Sam walked up the strip absentmindedly looking for Dean's car, trying to find a bar that wasn't so crowded, and thought about that whole 'getting jumped' idea that'd implanted itself in his head. Maybe he could just...get into a fight and let the guy get a few good hits in on him before Sam took him down. But there was always that danger of him not being able to handle it on his own, as much as he hated to admit it. He'd been pretty much in bed for a week. He was weaker than normal, and he couldn't let himself get seriously injured. That'd just be one more selfish thing he'd end up hurting Dean with.

Then suddenly it popped into his head. That club owner they'd investigated a couple weeks ago. The BDSM club. It was just a block or so from where he was right now. That would be perfect! But as the club came into his view just a few minutes later, he looked down at himself and what he was wearing. He couldn't very well stroll into the place in loose-fit jeans and a flannel button down that was a bit too big for him around. No. He needed to be desirable in the eyes of a dom. He knew how it worked. They needed to pick him just as much as he picked them.

Lucky for Sam, there was a shop right next door to the club, specifically specializing in this kind of club wear...

.~*~.

"Slow night," Bill sighed as he approached Dean at the bar. "For you, at least," he smirked.

"I'm not for everyone," Dean smirked back. He'd gotten a reputation for being the roughest of them all, which intimidated some of the younger ones, but didn't stop him from getting a few clients a night out of it, and a hefty wad of cash on his way out the door.

"You're still making more than any of the rest of us, you bitch," he elbowed Dean in the side.

"Hey, you recruited me. You should be proud, asshole."

"Oh I am, honey. I'm just sad you'll be leaving in a week."

"It's a good thing, trust me. If Sam knew what I was doing, he'd..." Dean shook his head, trying not to think about it. To the patrons of Crucible, Sam was his partner. That's how they'd introduced themselves when talking to the owner about the case. But they hadn't introduced themselves as officers. Just partners. And since Dean had needed a job there, he had to hope they'd come to a conclusion that would suit it best.

"Oh dear sweet baby Jesus," Bill practically sang, "Look at what just walked in the door. Fresh meat and a tall glass of water I could drink all...night...long..."

"Is that two people, or are you just...oh my god..." Dean finally caught sight of the guy.

"Told you."

He was wearing the same type of neoprene pants Dean had, and an extremely tight teeshirt. Hair pulled back into a ponytail as much as it could be with the ends that weren't quite long enough hanging at the sides of his face. And...good god was that...was he wearing eyeliner?

"Sammy..." Dean whispered, and Bill looked over at him with wide eyes...