Sorry, for taking so long, I was majorly busy studying and what not.

Warnings: Bullying, self-harm, swearing
Disclaimer: See chap 1
Beta: Little Miss Artist
Word Count: 2,300
Chapter: 19/ 20 or 21
Next Update: Wednesday

Textus
Chapter 19: Stand By Me

Sam's leg bounced nervously, foot tapping quietly on the beige carpet. Two days had passed since the fateful car accident. Sam had dwelled on it almost constantly; how things could have changed. Would things just keep going like that? A never ending story of self harm and mental belittling? When would it end? When he was finally pushed over the cliff and ended it all? That was quite a frightening thought. It scared Sam stiff and sometimes he was thankful for what had transpired. At other times…

"Knock it off, you're driving me mad!" Dean cried, glaring at Sam and his repetitively tapping foot.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled quietly. He got to his feet and shuffled into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. Sam plopped down on the couch and stared blankly at the TV. But even the less than captivating TV plot line couldn't hold his attention for more than a minute and soon he was tossing and turning restlessly.

The pull was becoming too strong. The desire to release it all in the small trickle of blood was overwhelming. Dean knew it too, that was why he had patiently put up with Sam's madness the last few days.

Since Sam was suspended and Dean had taken the day off from work they were both home all of Monday. John had gone to met up with Bobby for some small poltergeist hunt nearby. Sam knew Dean would rather be off hunting with John than back babysitting him, but they were probably scared Sam would off himself the second they left him alone. They certainly acted like it anyway. Dean had even requested to sleep in Sam's room, claiming he got lonely sleeping in a different room than his brother.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You're doing it again," Dean said without drawing his eyes from the TV screen, hands mechanically wiping a gun barrel with a rag.

"Doing what?"

"Taping your finger on the couch arm again."

"Oh," was all Sam could offer as he realized he had indeed been tapping the soft fabric without realizing it. "So-"

"So help me God, Sam, if you end that with sorry, I will kick your ass myself," Dean warned.

"Sor-"

"Sam!"

"S-I mean, got it." Sam very nearly apologized for apologizing, but managed to catch himself at the last minute.

"You know," Dean said with a sigh after a minute of silence, "it's not really the tapping that's bothering me."

"Okay," Sam said quietly. He knew what it was, but he'd really rather simply avoid the topic.

"It's knowing that you're sitting there wanting nothing more than to hurt yourself and you're tapping your finger because you can't."

"Okay," Sam said again.

"Do you wanna…I don't know, go the movies or something?"

"Dean, we can't spare the money-"

"Chill, dude, I got some spare change from the garage. Lets go, right now, you and me." Sam sighed, resigned to the fact he would be going.

"Fine, give me a minute to find some socks," he said before turning and heading towards his room.

"Uh…" Sam turned around to see Dean standing seemingly unable to decide whether to follow Sam or not.

"Dude, I'm not gonna do anything, just need to find some socks," Sam said, both frustrated and touched by Dean's super-protective streak that had flared up.

"I'll grab you some," Dean finally said. Dean brushed past Sam and slid into Sam's room. Rolling his eyes, Sam snagged his jacket off the hook next to the door and was just putting it on when Dean came back out.

"What's this?" He asked with a confused look on his face. Sam's eyes traveled down to the item in Dean's hand.

It was his sketchpad.

"What…where did you get that?" Sam asked, sounding more accusatory than he meant.

"It was in your bag, I was grabbing socks," Dean said like a five year old trying to explain why he took the cookie from the cookie jar.

Dean brought it closer and started to open it sending a flare of panic through Sam.

"No!" he cried, launching himself forward. Like the ninja he was, Dean swiftly dodged and dashed into the kitchen.

Sam tried so hard to get there before Dean could get the cover open. But try as he might Dean beat him to it and flipped open the cover, eyes widening slightly in shock.

The first picture in the sketchpad was one Sam knew almost better than the back of his hand. They had been taking a break from hunting for a few days at some cabin up by one of the Great Lakes. Sam and Dean had gone fishing one afternoon, just the two of them. Sam had gotten up to grab a soda then turned back and had seen the scene he had produced onto the very first page of his new sketchpad. Dean had been sitting on the edge of the dock, facing away, pole in the water, beer at his side. The water had shimmered, showing no signs of the fish race for the bait taking place below the surface. It had been so peaceful. And Sam had wanted to stand there forever, just looking at Dean, who hadn't looked so relaxed in years.

And now Dean was looking at that very picture. Sam wanted nothing more than to know what Dean was thinking right then, but Dean was a hunter and let no emotion slip past his mask. Was Dean amazed? Was he thinking Sam was pathetic? Or weak? Maybe he thought Sam was just plain old stupid for taking the initiative to draw something so pointless.

"Sam, did – did you do this?" Sam leapt forward and ripped the pad right out of Dean's hands, not noticing a paper fall out and land softly on the floor.

"Give me that!" he screeched. He drew the book tight to him and wrapped his arms around it like a shield.

"But, Sam-"

"No!" Sam cried, eyes started to tear up. Great, more proof of what a stupid girl he was.

"Sam-"

"No, don't say it! Don't say it!" Tears ran down his cheeks and Sam wanted to scream. He spun on his heel and ran to his room as though Dean was chasing him with a knife. Sam closed the door, locked it, then dragged the small chair from the corner of the room and shoved it under the knob – Dean could pick locks, after all.

His knees folded and he slid down the door, coming to rest against the side of the chair, sketchpad still held to his chest.

Sure enough, not five minutes later, Sam heard the knob jiggle and then a shove against the door.

"Sam," Dean called, voice muffled by the light wood. Sam curled in on himself even tighter.

"Sammy, please, please open the door." Sam ignored him. There was a sigh from the other end, then after a moment's pause, the sound of footsteps heading back down the hall.

Sam laid the sketchpad down in front of him and tentatively opened it as though it might sting him. Each page brought a memory, so perfectly preserved through graphite. His fingers traveled the lines on their own accord while his mind worked to attach the picture to a moment in time.

There were birthdays, single faces with eyes so carefully constructed to show the emotion of the moment and there were simpler things, empty bottles, flowers, animals…and of course, the dog. There was something strange about that dog, Sam decided. What it was, he may never know, but there was something…

On the next page was a picture that used to always elicit a smile from Sam. It was one of few that solely had Sam in it. Sam's face was slightly scrunched up in a perfect bitch face, tiny drops dangling from the ends of his wet hair. The soda can was still in his hand. Sam had remember how pissed he'd been at Dean. His first soda in weeks and Dean snuck up on him, startling him mid-sip causing Sam to jolt and slosh soda all down his face. But then afterwards, Sam had laughed just as hard as Dean, taking one for the team. They needed laughter and Sam was more than willing to be the item of humility if it meant a good laugh with Dean.

But that had been then.

The sound of voices floated down the hall and Sam marveled at how long he had been, looking through the photos, if his dad was already home.

Silence fell on the house again and Sam found himself subconsciously holding his breath so not as to make any noise. Then the sound of footfalls came again and shortly after there was another knock on the door. Sam hoped to God it wasn't his dad because that would be much worse than if it was Dean.

"Sammy?" Dean asked softly. Sam closed his eyes and curled up slightly. "Sam, I know you're there, I can see your shadow…please, Sammy, just open the door, we need to talk."

"No," Sam said quietly, willing himself not to cry more.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, practically pleading.

Sam wasn't even aware of his decision, but he soon found himself slowly dragging the chair away from the door and unlocking it. But he still needed some time; to collect his thoughts and get his emotions reigned in.

Very slowly he opened the door and said simply, "Shower," then brushed past Dean into the bathroom. He heard Dean quickly intake a breath, but Sam ignored him. He wasn't going to do that. He truly just wanted a shower.

Finally, almost twenty minutes later, Sam stepped out of the shower feeling relatively calmer. He'd reached a decision, well sort of. It was more like he had come to terms with the situation. What would be, would be. If Dean laughed in his face and said he was a stupid girl, Sam would laugh along and say he didn't like drawing anymore anyway.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open his bedroom door. He could have sworn he saw Dean shove something in his sketchpad just as Sam entered, but he probably imagined it.

They stared at each other for a few minutes, Sam still standing by the door with his hand still on the knob.

"So."

"So," Sam said, wishing Dean would just spit it out. Hanging in suspense was killing him.

"Sam, I think you know what I'm gonna say." Sam wanted to cry. Despite all his mental preparation, he had still held out hope that Dean wouldn't think it was stupid. God, Sam was the stupid one. He had even dared to hope that maybe Dean would be proud. Sam was so pathetic.

"I know," Sam rushed to explain, feeling that if he proved that he too thought it was stupid before Dean even got a chance to say it then maybe it would redeem Sam a bit in Dean's eyes. "I know it's stupid, I was just messing around, just bored. And they don't matter, they're horrible anyway and-" Excuses spewed from Sam's mouth, ignoring Dean's ever widening eyes.

"Sam, stop!" Sam froze. This was it. Dean was sick of his excuses; didn't believe them. He was about to chew Sam out.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Sam choked out.

"Sam!" Sam was so confused. Why wouldn't Dean just admit he was ashamed of Sam? Why was he putting up this act? Delaying the inevitable?

Suddenly Dean sprung up from the bed, causing Sam to jerk back slightly, his back slamming into the door.

"Woah, Sammy!"

"Just spit it out!" Sam cried. He was sick of being given the run around.

"Spit what out?"

"I don't know! Whatever you're gonna say, whatever ridicule you have to dish out, whatever mockery you want to lay on me. Just do it!"

"I – what? Sam, no. I – I…I was gonna say that they're good. Amazing actually. I'm stunned beyond believe by them, though now I'm worried about why you'd think that I would make fun of you."

"Well, it's not exactly a manly sport now is it?" Sam scoffed. He was just waiting for Dean to scream gotcha and burst out laughing.

"Why does it matter if it's manly? There are just as many men artists as there are woman. What about that dude who painted that ceiling somewhere…or, or that guy who made the-the-you know, the one with that woman who's like smiling, but not…"

"The Mona Lisa?"

"Yeah, that one! I mean, Sam, those drawings were incredible. How could you think I'd laugh at you? I'm proud as hell that my little brother could make something so awesome! You've got some serious skill!"

"Yeah, but it's not something hunters do-"

"Says who?"

"I don't know!" Sam cried out. He was so confused. Dare he hope that Dean was telling the truth?

"Sam, man, you're my brother. I will always support you because if it matters to you, it matters to me. Hell, you could be friggin' ballerina and I'd be there cheering you on!"

Sam could help but snicker.

"A ballerina, Dean, really?"

"Hey, I was on the spot alright?"

"Whatever you say, Dean."

"Shut up, bitch. I'm gonna go get some dinner ready and while you're waiting, you should really comb out your hair," Dean said as he rose to his feet and headed for the door.

"What?" Sam's face scrunched up in confusion. "I just combed my hair!" Dean reached out and messed Sam's wet hair up.

"Really? It doesn't look combed to me," Dean said before leaving.

TBC…

Sarah: I'm with you, I like emotional chapters a lot, sometimes more than action-y ones.

Nyx Ro: Thanks! That's a very good point, but I'm not 100% sure I agree with the statement that self harm is less damaging than smoking or drinking. I'll agree that it's silly that people don't seem to view those as dangerous in comparison to self harm, but I'd put them on the same level. I might mention the second point in the last chapter, as it works well with where I have it going, but no promises.

judyann: I do know you have been waiting for that! Did you enjoy some more brotherly shmoop? Dean just might, after all, I can't imagine Dean would let Mike get away with it. Did you like the premiere? Oh man I loved it!

Raven: Why did you read if you didn't like? I'm sorry, but I don't see how you feel Sam did not self harm. I know too, so don't think I don't have some idea what I'm talking about. All chapters were written out ahead of time and writing these replies takes time because I like to put time and some thought into them. That's a difference of 5 minutes to post or 30 minutes to write these replies. I do have a life outside of writing, I go to school and have homework and all that and if you feel that it's strange that I didn't have enough time to write replies, than I would say you have a bit too much time on your own hands. I apologized in the chapter for not having time to review and I did say I was very glad for all the reviews, so I fail to see how you feel I was taking all the reviews for granted.

Supernaturalrenegade: Eye feeling better? You will get a little dose of John in the next chapter, so not too much longer and you'll know the answer.

Hummingfox: Yup, big bro Dean is back! Of course, Dena won't let Sammy take anymore hits! You'll find out about John in the next chapter. Mike is a little unaware of exactly what he has gotten himself into ;) You were right, it was the dog. Did you get your paper all done?

Fledglingfeathers: Sorry, for the longer wait! There, even more brotherly love! And there'll probably be even more to come!

Supernaturalmad: My story is already written out, so it's too late. Sorry. Why don't you write a story with yourself in it if you want it to be written so badly? I'm not trying to be mean, I'm just curious.

D767468: Who doesn't love the two brothers one the same side? Oh, you're good ;)

Cartoon Cow: Same here, I live for weekends. Did you have a good time? It was the dog, that'll be explored further the next chapter.

Sammy4evacausehesawesome: Well thank you, though I do apologize for the cliffhanger. :P

TinTin11: Thanks! It's not easy to initiate a chickflick mo without getting out of character. And yes, the premiere was fantastic. :D

Nadiadino23: Thank you! It might be a while before I update Taking Over Me, but you have renewed my interest in it – I hadn't realized anyone was actually into that story. I'll try to get working on that and see if I can't update soon ;)

Cocainesluts, LeighAnnWallace, Sparkiebunny, Melly (What does that first part mean?) Lizzieten, caz21: Thanks, they all mean so much to me!