Trigger warning: underage prostitution, brief mention of self harm
He was sixteen, wide-eyed, sitting on a bed in a dark motel room. Sammy was alone and hungry at another motel nearby and Dean was out of ideas for getting cash. It wasn't the first time he'd done something like this. It was the first time the guy had rented a room for it. Whatever he wanted out of Dean, he could take, as long as he'd be able to buy Sammy some food after. He'd listened to his brother cry himself to sleep from hunger and he wasn't going to do it again.
The door opened and the guy walked in, stripping off his jacket and shirt as he slammed the door shut behind him. Without a word he walked over and shoved Dean onto the mattress, flat on his back, kissing him softly, running his hands through his hair… suddenly he slapped Dean, twice, hard. The ring on his hand cut Dean's cheek and blood flowed into his mouth. The man leaned over and licked at Dean's blood, making the cut sting, and fumbled with his zipper…
Dean woke up, startled, staring at a ceiling he didn't recognize. He rolled over and saw the man from the night before. He sighed. He remembered bits of last night: finding a bar, sharing too many drinks with the young, hot guy now asleep next to him. On a better day Dean would have stayed and maybe bought him pancakes. As it was, he rolled out of bed quietly, rinsed his face and hair in the bathroom, found his clothes and scribbled a quick thank you note before heading out to the Impala. He didn't leave his number.
He drove quickly back to the motel where he had left Sam and went inside. The door was unlocked and Sam was in the kitchen, cooking on the stove. As he turned and glanced at Dean, he poured the eggs and bacon from the pan onto a plate and motioned toward Dean; he picked it up and set it on the table. Sam poured a cup of coffee and sat down across from him.
"So," Sam said, "are you ok?"
"What the hell does that mean?" Dean asked with a mouthful of food.
"Well you left suddenly last night, and I just want to make sure you're alright."
"I'm fine, Sam."
Sam sighed and took a sip of his coffee. He knew better than to ask where Dean had been.
"Did you have any nightmares?" he asked instead. Dean frowned at him.
"Yeah, one. Nothing special."
Dean quickly finished his breakfast and got up to rinse his plate in the sink.
"So, we'll dig up that grave tonight and take care of the haunting. You looked for another case after this?" he said. Sam just shook his head.
"Well we can do that till nightfall. I'm gonna take a shower first."
"Dean?"
"What?"
"You told me about your self injury the other night."
Dean paused on his way to the bathroom. He didn't look back at Sam.
"I don't want to make you talk about it, unless you want to. I just want to tell you that I understand, and I want you to tell me if you… I just want you to tell me from now on. Ok?"
Neither of them moved, Dean standing in the middle of the floor, and Sam staring at his back, waiting for him to say something.
"Please, Dean?"
"Fine," he said sharply. He walked into the bathroom and locked the door behind him.
Turning on the fan, he sunk to the floor with his back to the door, shaking. He tried to even out his breath as he began to sob.
They spent the rest of the day on their laptops without talking, digging around for leads. They didn't find anything near them except one or two college disappearances and a killer gator. That night after the sun set, they went out for burgers before driving to the cemetery.
The burning went by without a disturbance, but when they got back to the motel, Dean stopped in the middle of the parking lot without parking.
"Get out, Sam," he said.
"Where are you going?"
"Out," Dean said, without looking at him. Sam sighed.
"I'm just worried about you," he said.
"I know. It's ok, Sam."
"I had an idea, though, about the mare. We could try it tonight…"
"I'll be back before I fall asleep," Dean said gently. Sam nodded and pulled his bag out of the back of the car before getting out.
"Don't get too drunk," he said, leaning in the window. Dean waved him off and drove away.
He came back too drunk. He was staggering, and giggling as he walked into the door jamb, and he collapsed on the bed.
"Splaghaletti," he said, and laughed. Sam walked over, pulled the shoes and jacket off of him and tossed them on the floor.
"Go to sleep, Dean," he said after pulling a blanket over him.
"K, Sammy," he said.
Sam sat down on the other bed with a bowl full of oil and herbs and waited.
It took an hour or two of sitting in the dark before Sam saw the mare appear beside the bed across from him. Before it sat next to his brother, he carefully stood up and walked around the creature, trying not to alert it; as it started to sit, he tossed the oil from the bowl over it and followed it with a lit lighter. The oil combusted. The mare spun around and hissed at him as the flame died, and then it disappeared. Sam stomped on the floor, where the edge of the rug had caught fire.
"Sammy?"
Sam turned to see Dean leaning up on the bed, watching him.
"Did it work?" he asked quietly. Sam just shook his head and watched the disappointment come over Dean's face. Dean rolled over and fell quickly back to sleep, and Sam stood in the middle of the room, staring at the burn mark on the floor.