That Ache
Chapter Two

Author's Note: I don't know how pleased I am with this, but please do drop a note; good, bad or ugly.

Summary: He had to do something to relieve that ache. Warnings: deals with self harm; discussion of suicide; some language.

A bleak drizzle stained the windshield, obscuring the endless fields revealed through the windows. The overcast was heavy and weary, weighing upon wire fences and long grass.

Dropping a small sigh, Sam crossed his arms tightly across his chest, trying to keep himself from scratching at the bandages. He blinked tiredly at the light rain, wishing it would lull him to sleep as it had when he was a child.

Shifting frustratedly, Sam pushed up his sleeve, rubbing at the gauze wrapping his forearm. His fingers caught the lip of the bandage, accidentally tugging it down.

Sam froze, stare set on the still-vicious lines decorating his skin so horribly. His fingers trembled as he reached toward his wrist, slowly tracing the scarlet lattice; back and forth, back and forth.

"Sam?"

He jumped, having forgotten entirely that he wasn't alone. "Yes?" he whispered, unable to break his stare with the slashes.

"You all right?"

"The pain comes back, right?" His fingers slid across the marring lines. "It doesn't fix anything?"

"Yeah, that's right, Sam." Dean kept his tone gentle. "It always comes back."

Intently, the younger traced the healing cuts nearest his wrist, murmuring to himself, "A little deeper… A little deeper, a little longer… The pain's gone forever…"

"Sam!"

His head jerked up, Sam turning sluggishly to meet his brother's worried eyes.

"You are not a suicide."

The younger closed his eyes. "It would be so easy…"

"Not easy!" Dean's knuckles were turning white around the wheel.

"No?" The voice was soft and achingly fragile.

"Jessica would go unavenged. You'll never apologize to Dad like you wanted to."

Sam was quiet for a long moment, "Don't most people get the 'there's too much beauty' speech?"

"Sam…" Dean bit down hard on the inside of his cheek.

Sketching the lines with his nails again, the younger whispered, "There is no beauty for us… No warmth, no light from the sun… It passed us by…"

"Sammy," the elder took an unsteady breath. "There is beauty. Is that what you're looking for?"

"I… don't know…"

Dean reached out, squeezing his brother's shoulder. "There is too much in this life to lose it all."

"Dean…" He hesitated. "Did… Did you ever try… to take it further? To just… finish it?"

"With the cutting?" The elder gripped the wheel with both hands. "No."

Sam nodded distantly, "Dean… I…" He gnawed his lip, then frowned. "Other than the cutting?"

The elder didn't reply, staring straight ahead at the wet asphalt.

"Dean…" Sam shifted. "Please… I… I really need you to be honest with me… You… You said to come to you if…" He lowered his eyes, "If I feel the need to slash myself apart…"

Dean dared a glance to his brother, taking a deep breath. "Once."

"But you weren't going to cut your wrists?"

The elder shook his head slowly.

"When you were with Dad?"

"When I was fifteen."

Sam's eyes widened. "What?" He squeezed his lashed shut – he'd never known. "Why?"

"I was a kid…"

"Dean… Why?"

The elder gripped the steering wheel violently, "I… thought I'd killed you."

Sam frowned, puzzled, "What?"

"Outside Baton Rouge," he began quickly. "That spirit…"

"Oh right…" The younger sighed softly. "Put me in the hospital." Sam rubbed his eyes. "There is no way that was your fault."

"I should have been keeping a closer eye on you. I was too slow…"

"It wasn't your fault."

"I was a kid."

Sam risked a glance to his brother, "What did you…"

"I… took your Beretta and locked myself in the bathroom. Waited for them to confirm that I'd killed you. Put my teeth on the barrel to chew a bullet."

"Fuck, Dean…" Sam propped his elbow on the window, burying his face in his hand. "Did Dad know?"

"No one knew."

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. I was selfish." Dean saw the younger turning to face him in the corner of his eye. "I'd have left Dad alone and I didn't care."

Sam sighed, easing his forehead back into his palm. "So, it's guilt that keeps us alive. Not beauty or something worth living for…"

"Worth living for? Sam-" he clutched his brother's sleeve. "We help – we save – innocent people. Is that not beautiful?"

"You really believe in this, don't you?"

"Yeah, Sammy. I do."

"I'm just…" The younger sighed, "I'm so tired, Dean."

"I know you're still having trouble sleeping…"

"Not only that," Sam muttered into his palm. "I'm tired of all this. I'm tired of being on the move; of hunting; of needing to find Dad when he doesn't want us looking..." He sighed heavily. "I'm tired of this hopeless quest to avenge Mom, to avenge Jess…"

"We'll find them, Sam. I promise. I swear."

The younger seemed to fold in on himself. "You've never broken a promise you made to me…"

"I don't intend to start. But, Sam, I told you, this'll take a while."

"Dean… You've never broken a promise… Can…" He choked. "Can you promise the pain will fade? The guilt? Can you promise this won't destroy me? You can't…"

The elder slammed the brakes, veering hard off the road. "Sam." He grabbed his brother's shoulders, physically turning him from the window. "Sam, I promise we'll find Dad in the end. I promise we'll get the thing that killed Jess. And – I do – I promise this won't break you!"

"How can you promise that?"

Dean's eyes were deep with a desperate sincerity. "Because I am going to do anything to ensure that promise is kept. Sam… I will die; I will rape, murder and kill. I will hand you my knife and give you pointers on how to cut if you need these damned slashes to stay sane. I will turn this car around and drive, without stopping, back to Stanford and bribe, blackmail or fuck everyone I have to, to get you into that course starting tomorrow!"

Sam swallowed, "Could we… just stop for the night?"

"Yeah. Of course. Any place you want!"

"Just the next motel…"

"Okay." Dean squeezed is brother's shoulders. "It's going to be all right, Sam."

The room was small, but clean; a simple stroke of luck both were glad for.

Sam sat obediently in a wire-frame chair as his brother changed the dressings on his arms, waiting until the elder finished to whisper, "Dean… I'd really like some time alone…"

The elder's eyes flashed up, full of suspicion and concern.

Sam grinned gently, "I'm not going to kill myself. Take all the weapons with you."

"I wouldn't leave you defenseless... And it's easy to find a weapon…"

"Dean, I'll be here when you get back. No worse for wear. Scout's honor."

The elder gave a nervous sigh, "Sam…"

"You trust me?"

"I'm worried about you."

"I'll be here. I just need some personal space… time… Please." When his brother hesitated, Sam whispered, "You said you'd do anything…"

Dean left reluctantly at the statement, going only as far as the motel bar, where he drank only Pepsi and was barely aware of the bottle-blonde waitress in her too-short skirt. When he could no longer stand being away, Dean paid the tab without looking at it, trudging back to the room with fear in his heart.

Holding his breath, he unlocked the door, jaw set so fiercely that it ached. Worry bled from his system when he spotted his little brother turned on his side on the far bed, chest rising and falling evenly.

There was no blood, no blade, no shell casing taunting his destruction.

Sighing, Dean draped his jacket over a chair, padding silently across the room. He perched on the edge of the mattress beside his brother, allowing his fingers to dance comfortingly through Sam's hair. His thoughts drifted, the elder unaware how long he sat thus.

At length, Sam drew a long breath, stirring beneath his brother's hand. He blinked sleep from his eyes then sighed, curling against the mattress, "You're back?"

"I was gone a fair while. Do you want me to leave again?"

"Stay," Sam whispered. He pressed his head toward his brother's fingers. "You haven't done this since I was nine."

"Is it bothering you?"

"No… It never did…" The younger closed his eyes. "I'm sorry about before."

"Don't be. I told you to say whatever you need to say whenever the fuck you need to say it."

"That didn't count as getting kushy over nothing, huh?"

"Sam…" The elder couldn't quite manage a grin at the statement, continuing to sweep his fingers through his brother's too-long locks. "Do… you want me to take you back to school?"

"Would you if I said 'yes'?"

"Yeah…"

"Do you want me to go?"

Dean closed his eyes. "I want what's best for you. Honestly, I do."

"I know…" the younger trailed off, setting his thoughts on the gentle touch in his hair.

"Sam… Do you? Do you want me to take you?"

"No."

"You don't have to decide right now…"

"I have decided. I decided the night Jessica died." He swallowed. "You and me… We're seeing this thing through. I meant it…"

"Sammy…"

"I'm all right, Dean… Really. It's just… hard… some days…"

"I know."

"It's been the same since we were kids…"

"There'll always be monsters."

Cam cuddled against the blanket and his brother's palm, "And you'll always save me…"

"What?"

"I'm not trying to make a sappy moment. I just… Thanks."

Dean drew a long breath, "You know I'm here for you, right, Sam? Always."

"I know." Sam let his lashes drift shut. "It's the one thing I could count on…"