That Ache
Chapter Four
Author's Note: I want to thank everyone for the reviews. They've inspired this chapter. I'm wide open for another if anyone's interested. Please do leave suggestions as to what you'd like to see, or a note; good, bad or ugly.
Summary: He had to do something to relieve that ache. Warnings: deals with self harm; contemplation of self harm; COARSE language.
For a misleading second everything was quiet and still, the night contemplative and gentle. The door slammed a heartbeat later, Dean flinching with the force as he turned to face his brother, Sam following him into the room.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" Sam dragged his hands over his face and through his hair. "Holy fuck! Shit. Shit. Shit!"
"Sam, it's okay. Calm down, man. It's over."
"No. No, no, no! It's never over! It's never over!" The younger's eyes were wide and wild, flashing across his brother's countenance never settling. "Fucking… Fuck, shit! How the fucking…"
"Sam…"
"No!" He threw his arms out, whirling full circle with the force. "Oh man, oh man, oh man…"
"Sam, it's all right. Just calm down."
"Dammit, dammit… Fuck!" Sam ripped at the cuffs of his jacket, clawing at his arms. "Stop. Make it stop! Dean… Dean! Please!"
"Sam!" The elder grasped his brother's arms securely, trying to still the flailing movements. "It's okay!"
"No! No, please! You… you have to let me let it out!" Sam struggled feverishly. "Please! Just this once! Just once!"
"No, Sam. We're controlling the cutting. No more. We're stopping."
"Please! Please, Dean! Oh fuck! Please! I… It aches! It just fucking aches so bad! I have to do something! I have to stop this! It's not in my control! Please! Fucking… please! Please!"
"I am not letting you slash at yourself, Sammy. No!"
A tearless sob tore from the younger's throat. "You said you'd do anything! Anything to stop this from destroying me!"
"You can't just throw that back at me…"
"It's destroying me, Dean! Fuck! Please just let me stop the pain!"
"We'll stop it. But you're not cutting."
Sam shouted, jerking against his brother's hold. "Please!"
"Sit down, Sam," Dean dragged his brother around, shoving him onto the nearest bed. "Sit on your hands. Do it!"
"This is torture!"
"Sit on them!" The elder gripped his brother's shoulders tightly. "I'm going to get something. I'll be gone one minute. One minute, Sam!"
The younger opened his mouth to protest, to scream, to beg, his eyes wild, Dean not giving him a chance to do any of them.
"One minute. Just sit still. Don't you move." He looked pointedly into his brother's eyes. "Just sit there. And if you've scratched yourself open or have something sharp in your hand when I get back, I swear I'll kick your ass."
"Threats? This doesn't help anything! You said you'd help me! You promised! Help me, Dean! Help me by letting me…"
"No!"
"Just this one time! Just one fucking time!"
"No." Dean stepped back. "Don't move."
Sam bit his lip hard, kicking out his legs uselessly as his brother hurried from the room. He crossed his arms tightly, squeezing them against his chest, pressing his eyes shut.
Minutes that became taffy hours later, Sam jerked as the door banged open, frantic eyes looking up at his brother hopefully. He felt as though he were about to collapse into himself, Dean holding an ice bucket in one hand.
"Please…"
"Sit at the edge of the bed. Now. Move!"
Sam felt himself complying without the desire to, something in his brother's tone leaving no room for argument.
"Jacket off." Dean shirked his own over the back of a chair. "The flannel too. Come on."
Dropping the clothing to the floor, Sam buried his hands in his hair. "Fuck, Dean, please."
The elder slipped onto the bed behind his brother, sliding forward to sit directly behind him, his legs on either side of the younger's body. "Take this," Dean pressed a rolled up shirt into Sam's left hand. "Squeeze it. Hard as you can."
"What?"
"Turn your arm," Dean grasped Sam's right wrist turning it that his fisted palm faced the ceiling.
"Tell me you have a knife."
The elder didn't reply, reaching across his brother's body to hold the underside of his wrist. "Keep still."
"You're doing the cutting for me? Fine… Fine, that's fine." Sam closed his eyes. "Just hurry… Just do it. Let the ache out…" His eyes flashed open at a cold, tingling sensation on his flesh. "What?"
Dean held an ice cube from the bucket, tracing it over the nearly-healed line closest to his brother's elbow. He felt the younger shiver against his chest.
"What are you doing?"
The elder hushed him, dragging the ice over the next slash, mimicking the motion of metal in skin, a thin trail of melting water dripping like spilled blood.
Sam was tense, his hand squeezed tightly around the T-shirt, strangling the dark fabric, the fist of his right firm enough to leave small half-moon shaped marks on his palm. "Mother fucker…"
"Sam," Dean said softly into his brother's ear. "Tonight was not your fault." He scratched the ice across flesh. "You did all you could. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault…"
The younger shuddered, "I should have…"
"No, Sammy. You did everything you could have done. Everything. It was not your fault." Another sweep of ice, Dean's words becoming a muttering. "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault."
Sam tried to jerk away, the elder keeping him still.
"There is no blood on your hands. It wasn't your fault. You did everything you could. It wasn't your fault."
"It aches," the younger whispered.
"I know it aches. I know. But it shouldn't. Not in you. Because you did nothing wrong. There was nothing more you could have done."
Sam shivered again, the cold stinging his skin. "Dean…"
"It wasn't your fault. It's okay. It's okay…"
The younger felt himself dropping backwards, the ice leaving a frigid path down his forearm.
"Lean back against me, Sam. It's okay. I'm here for you, Sammy. It's okay. Everything's going to be fine."
"Fuck," Sam's fist opened as the ice danced over his wrist.
"Take this," Dean set the ice cube in his brother's palm. "Squeeze it, Sam."
The younger shivered, letting himself recline against the elder's chest. He gripped the ice securely, relishing in the bite of cold against his skin.
"This was not your fault." Dean snatched another piece of ice from the bucket, staring at Sam's wrist and slicing harmlessly back toward his elbow. "It wasn't your fault. You did all you could. You risked your life. You fought. You struggled. You tried. You did everything right. You did nothing wrong."
"Fuck, Dean…"
"No guilt, Sammy. No guilt. No blood. No blood on your hands." He flicked the warming ice to the carpet, not caring where it fell to melt. "Turn your other arm," Dean coaxed his brother to twist his left, the T-shirt having fallen from his lax hand a brief time before.
Sam took a sharp breath as the frozen liquid slicked over the marks on his arm, burning slightly in the chill air of the room.
"It wasn't your fault. Not your fault." Dean iced the fading lines, reaching the younger's wrist. "Say it, Sammy. Tell me it wasn't your fault. You know I wouldn't lie to you, right?"
"It wasn't my fault… I… we tried."
"That's right. That's right. Good."
"Fuck…" Sam breathed.
The elder tossed the mostly melted bit of ice to the floor. "Feel better?"
"A little…"
"You know you're a good person, right Sammy? And you aren't alone."
"I know…" Sam whispered. "I know."
Dean laid a palm on each of the younger's wrists, rapidly rubbing his hands over the chilled, wet skin.
Sam let his eyes fall shut. "This is a strangely intimate moment, huh?"
The elder smirked, if Sam allowed a jest than he could as well. "Dude, if this is 'intimate' you have serious relationship issues."
"It is a chick flick, though, isn't it?"
"Nope. 'Chick flick' is weeping about nothing. Cutting isn't nothing."
"I feel better," Sam admitted, turning his eyes up to his brother, not able to see much more than his chin. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, man," Dean allowed his hands to slow gradually, still running his palms along the younger's forearms, but without the fervor of before. "I'm okay. Don't worry."
"I don't get it. This hunt drives me to the brink and you're fine…"
"Yeah, well, the last one left me slashing and you fine. It's why we're a team not each a solo act."
"Tell me I don't have to do this alone."
"Never. I'll do anything. Just like I promised. But I don't want to see your blood again; not caused by anything – especially not your own hand."
"I'm trying."
"I know it's not easy," Dean let his hands fall still, holding Sam's wrists gently, but secure. "Especially not with the job… with the things we have to keep seeing…"
Sam nodded, the motion awkward with his head propped against the elder's chest. "We just keep trying."
"Right."
"Thank you." Sam turned his face slightly toward his brother's neck, not wishing to try to break the steady grasp that held him. "Thank you so much."
"How do you feel?"
"Good." The younger actually smiled. "The ache is gone… I mean, maybe it's temporary, but I feel okay again…"
Dean felt a swell of relief. "Good, Sam. That's good."
"This is so familiar…"
"What is?"
"Just sitting here like this. It reminds me of when I was a kid…"
"I don't think we ever sat quite like this, Sammy."
"Not exactly… But it… It reminds me of all those times… Where all it took to make feel safe was my big brother…"
"That familiarity… that safety probably helps."
"Probably." Sam sighed wearily, "I'm so tired…"
"It was a long night." The elder let his chin rest atop Sam's shaggy hair. "Think you could catch some sleep?"
"Yeah…"
"Okay," Dean squeezed the younger's wrists reassuringly. "Why don't you lie down for a while?"
"Okay," Sam slipped to his feet, changing into sweats and a fresh T-shirt while Dean cleared the ice from the bed, not bothering to retrieve the pieces that were all but puddles on the thin carpeting.
Flopping bonelessly onto the hard mattress, Sam burrowed under the blanket, not having realized the extent of his exhaustion. "I could sleep for a month."
The elder grinned. "I'm gonna grab a shower, all right?"
"Sure…"
"If you need me, just yell or bang on the door."
"Hey, Dean…" he stopped his brother.
"Yeah?"
"Look, I mean…" Sam paused, "That night… that you found me in the bathroom… I did want you to catch me. I… needed help. I didn't know how else to let the pain out… and I… I didn't know how to tell you about it. I didn't know how you'd react… What you'd say…"
"Sam…" the elder came to stand beside the bed.
"I… I thought… I was afraid you'd be pissed or disgusted or…"
"Sam," Dean let his voice become firm, though comforting. "I am the last person in the world who will ever judge you, ever condemn you, for anything. And I will never disbelieve you either."
"I know…" Sam lowered his eyes. "We're good then?"
"Of course."
"Because…" Sam looked away. "I couldn't have done this alone. I'd have lost it by now. Um… It's just… even without the cutting… This job and the visions – or whatever… I'd have completely lost it."
"Look, Sam," the elder stated. "You won't ever have to do this alone."
"Dad bailed."
"I won't."
Sam smiled. "I know."
"Get some sleep, dude. And no freaky, shining visions tonight, okay?"
The younger snorted without animosity. "I'll do my best."
"And tomorrow we'll try to bend the spoon again."
Sam shook his head gently, "Fuck you, man."
Dean grinned. "G'night, Sam."
The younger curled into the pillow, " 'Night."
Lips quirking into a smile, Dean slipped into the bathroom, closing the door securely behind him. He stepped to the shower, cranking the water on full blast before falling back against the wall, sliding down to the floor and drawing his knees up.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Fucking, fucking shit! Sweet fucking hell. Oh shit! Oh fuck!
How could anyone be all right after the night they had? How could anyone be sane?
He wrapped his arms about himself, grinding his forehead into his knees.
Dammit, dammit, dammit! Shit! Fucking shit! Mother fucker!
All he could do was swear. Furiously, Dean rubbed at his arms, tearing at his clothes without ripping fabric.
Damn! Damn! Shit!
Fuck, how he needed the slashes! Just one time! Just one night! Just to get this pain out! Just to relieve the guilt that pressed so violently against his chest. Hell, he'd hidden it from his father for years, he could hide it from Sam for just one, tiny, insignificant night!
No! No, don't you dare!
He threw his head back. You promised him! You promised him you'd stop! You promised Sammy.
If you could say anything about Dean Winchester, you could say he was a man that was good to his word – especially if it was given to his little brother. He had never broken a promise to Sam, not even as a child.
And he'd always been better at helping Sam than helping himself.
He could scratch at his arms. Even short nails would tear skin eventually, if he grated them hard enough against flesh. It wasn't cutting… It wasn't…
Sammy would never see a difference. There wasn't really a difference. He could slam his head against the wall, punch the counter until his knuckles bruised and bled, could scald his flesh with the lighter in his pocket…
Stop it! Stop it! Stop! You can't! You can't!
Ice had never helped him. It just pissed him off, made the urge to cut burn brighter. He'd been surprised that it helped his brother… but, hell, whatever worked.
He couldn't do anything. Couldn't scream – it would wake Sam. Couldn't try to run it out of his system – he wouldn't leave Sammy alone. Couldn't leap in the car and drive – even if it wouldn't leave his brother on his own, Dean was such a piss-poor driver on nights like this that he was more likely to kill himself than find relief.
Gritting his teeth, Dean braced his hands behind his head, rocking slightly on the cold linoleum, squeezing his eyes shut. 'Trauma rocking.' Who the hell had said that?
Shit! Fucking, mother fucking shit!
He felt like he was being torn apart, turned inside out. The pain was suffocating, crushing, debilitating.
Please, please, please! Fuck, fuck!
You wouldn't even need it if you weren't so fucking pathetic! If you weren't so fucking useless! If you didn't always fucking fail! At everything! You damn, fucking, useless son of a bitch! No wonder no one ever bothers with you! You don't deserve it!
Just two twin slashes. The last pair hadn't fully healed yet. He could just trace them again…
Just break your promise then! No one should trust you anyway! You don't deserve trust! You don't deserve love!
You are guilty! You caused this! All of this! Damn you! Damn you!
Dean squeezed his eyes shut as he was paralyzed, strangled, crushed. As the pain swelled behind his eyes.