A/N: For some reason, my drafts keep evolving into these 8k+ chapters... I hope you guys will have fun reading this one as well.

"How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running."

- Neruda, Every day you play

By October, Benny is still harbouring his crush on Dean, but it's no more than a twinge in his gut now each time Dean comes to the garage smiling to himself. They work splendidly as friends, it would be a mistake not to enjoy that. It's futile to curb the disappointment when game nights get cancelled more and more often, but as long as Dean treats him as his best friend, Benny is happy. The only thing that bugs him is the fact that Dean dodges all his attempts to meet the mysterious boyfriend he's living with. Some people are private, sure, but Dean, who boasts about his track record with the ladies 24/7, is not one of them. Must be something else there. Maybe it's an identity thing, and Dean just needs someone to guide him into how glorious it is to be out and open about it in California. Benny will gladly tackle this task. He has some bars in mind that they could visit for that certain enlightening experience, but he can't deliver his invitation when Dean is nowhere to be found.

He walks up to Charlie and raps his knuckles on her desk. "Dean?"

"In the changing room." She pops her pink bubble gum. "With a customer."

"The changing room?" That's staff only territory. Why would he take a customer in there?

"Yeah. The guy wanted to see Dean's Impala. They went in for the keys." She types away at her computer, websites popping up and disappearing before Benny can get a proper look at them. "Hey, do you think I should get a TARDIS tattoo?"

Time to go. "I wouldn't know." He backs away before she could try roping him into some dress up fantasy game like last time. Playing an orc in a medieval roleplay is even less entertaining than it sounds. "Thanks."

When Benny walks into their tiny staff room, it's completely empty, but the whispers of a hushed conversation drift over from the locked door of the adjoining bathroom. It seems like Dean's none too happy with the man he lead in there.

"Are you out of your mind?" He hisses. Benny's arms flex - he's ready to break down that door and fight if the guy steps out of line. "You can't come here. If anyone sees you -"

A young, indignant voice cuts in. "They don't know me, Dean."

Something connects with the wall. Someone must have kicked it. "Yes, they fucking do! Rufus does."

"He never really shows his face anyway, you told me." Kid has a point there. All Rufus cares for nowadays are Johnny Walker and the Mustang convertible he washes every other day. The only thing that keeps this place running is the reputation he has. No one wishes to be held at gunpoint for slacking.

Dean snarls. "Didn't I mention how the whole fucking garage thinks I have a boyfriend called Sam?"

There's a second of silence, then a snicker. "You do. Have a boyfriend."

"Shut up." Dean whispers. Benny hears him pacing around, four steps forward, turn, four steps back, turn. "Shut the hell up, Sammy."

It has been obvious since the beginning that the boy is no customer, but the confirmation of Benny's suspicions makes his pulse race. Finally. In the doubtful part of his mind, he was beginning to think Sam was only an excuse for Dean to avoid confronting his feelings. But he is not, he is here in flesh and Benny is going to wait and see him, even if it means he has to eavesdrop a little longer. How does the guy look? Is he feminine or just as butch as Dean? Is he short? Perhaps he is religious and that's why Dean's keeping things secret and trying to pass them off as brothers. Or he's from a famous family. He's a Stanford student after all - he's either all straight As or he has someone to fund his ridiculously expensive degree.

"Want me to go home?" Sam asks after a long stretch of silence.

Dean sighs. He must be pursing his lips with this dark, resigned look in his eyes that Benny laughs at every time a customer asks for something ridiculous, like flames on an oldtimer. "I'm almost done for today." He says. "Get your ass in the car and do not talk to anyone or I'll kill you."

"Yessir." Sam replies, tone playful. Lock turning, the door cracks an inch open.

Damn it. Now what? Pretend he has just come in? Benny takes two steps back, but the hand on the doorknob stills. Dean's voice, now clearer, echoes between the walls.

"You can't - we have to be much more careful."

"I'm sorry." Sam murmurs. "I just wanted to surprise you."

Benny expects them to come out then, argument done and over, apology accepted, but however hard he's listening, the footsteps don't come and the door doesn't move. All he hears is his own breathing. Then his ears pick up on them - the sticky-wet sounds of an enthusiastic lip-lock and the heavy pants of someone who's getting thoroughly kissed against the door jamb. His face goes hot under his beard. Someone's hum ricochets on the tiles.

"Get out of here." Dean grunts and it's audible how he steps away. His keys jingle. "I'll be there in a minute."

Then the door swings the rest of the way open and out walks the tallest guy Benny has seen in a while. He is twenty at most and a freakin' giant. His boyish haircut makes his face look jailbait, but he's got a confidence in his movements that sixteen-year-olds just don't possess. For that fraction of a moment before he spots Benny, he's smiling, but then his jaw goes taut and his skin blanches until he's as pale as Benny usually is. Dean's arm brushes his waist as he walks around him, then drops when he raises his eyes and meets Benny's cold blue ones. You could hear a pin drop.

Well, Benny's got nothing to hide, it's evident he heard most of the conversation. He's not going to pry if Dean is so adamant on hiding his personal life, but he isn't forbidden to have a chit-chat with his boyfriend, is he? He holds out a hand. "I'm Benny. Heard a lot about you, Sam."

That's a stretch - Dean only talks about his boyfriend when there's something he can complain about, Stanford's administration, crazy class schedules, inedible cooking. But what else is there to say?

Sam, distrustful and scared at the same time, accepts the handshake. "Nice to meet you."

"How's it going? I reckon Stanford isn't much of a Sunday drive."

"It's great."

"No kidding, he loves it." Dean chimes in, carefully positioning himself between Benny and his boy. It would be sweet if it wasn't so inexplicable. Why so protective? Benny doesn't bite. (Well, unless he's asked to.) He's just curious. "He sets up camp at the library whenever we have a game night."

"Just don't forget to take a break sometimes, kid." Benny gives the boy his best smile. He's not about to mention his idea of a gay bar just now, Sam looks uncomfortable as it is. "Dean here keeps yapping about how boring our poker parties are getting. Come along next time, see if you can beat the resident champ."

Sam ignores the warning glance Dean sends him and nods. "Sure, why not?"

"Good." Benny inclines his head, interest now somewhat satisfied, and turns to leave them alone to sort out whatever mess he has stepped into, but Dean calls after him.

"Benny, what you heard here -"

"Your business, buddy, I will keep my nose out of it."

Dean looks like the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders. "Thank you." He clears his throat and pats Sam on the back, urging him towards the door. "I, uh, wanted to ask you about that lime green Ford, you know the one. Let's go check it out before I go home."

Benny smiles. "Sounds like a plan, chief."

The first (and probably last) time Dean says yes to a college party starts with something like this: Sam, lying on his stomach with his limbs splayed, shirt missing and mouth open around a snore, and the alarm just ringing and ringing this shrill sound that splits through Dean's brain.

"Make it stop." He growls.

Sam huffs, swings an arm over the edge of the bed with his eyes resolutely closed and swipes his phone off the bedside table by accident. It hits the floor with a loud bang, its pieces whooshing across the space between the bed and the door. Sam's head drops onto Dean's chest. "Happy now?"

Dean grunts. His brother is getting way too heavy for this human blanket business. "If you broke it, I won't pay for a new one."

It takes about five sleep-laden breaths for Sam to mumble a reply. "Gonna get a job."

It would be the easiest thing to slip back into dreamworld. Dean's so goddamn sleepy he's not even aroused by Sam's hand resting on his lower belly. This gotta be the end of the world. A wretched morning when he can't even call in sick because a customer asked specifically for him to work on his precious car. Sometimes it sucks to be good at your job.

"Tired of me supporting your ass?" He digs a knuckle into the muscle lining Sam's spine.

It's an instant wake-up call; Sam jerks away from the touch with a snort. "Support it all you want."

"Innuendo, Sammy?"

"Just tryin' to sleep."

"You're gonna be late." Unable to resist, Dean strokes a hand down Sam's back from his nape to the edge of his pants.

Sam's body curves into his palm like a cat's, then tenses, shivers through a groggy stretch. A bone pops. Sam sighs. "You too."

"Hm."

"Dean?"

"Hm."

"I'm invited to a party tonight."

Dean spares a mournful thought for sorority girls, then tugs on Sam's ear, just to hear his annoyed scoff. "Have fun."

Sam props himself up on his elbows and yawns into his hand. "You could come with me."

"Bad idea."

"Please. We haven't gone out together in months."

And for a good reason. One misstep can ruin their lives and sentence them to prison for years. How would they look their parents in the eyes then? Dean shudders thinking about it. It's easy to see how much of a risk this party would be. But he can't deny he wants to… he just wants to know what it's like. A small piece of this wonderful experience Sam is going through. Don't get him wrong, he doesn't want to be in Sam's place and start studying again. High school was quite enough, thanks. But not being a part of Sam's journey feels wrong. It hurts that he doesn't understand most of the problems Sam is going to face, that he can't relate to the news he brings home. Can't help the way he used to. All he can provide is his presence, which is… not much. He's surprised Sam hasn't yet shown interest in moving on.

"I really want you to come." Sam kisses the corner of his mouth and stares at him with the most innocent expression Dean has ever seen on a grown-ass man. Goddamn him. He knows Dean like the back of his hand. How could he deny him anything?

"First rule: you can't get plastered. Second -"

"Yeah!" Sam's face brightens with an ear-splitting grin, a picture of joy, and he throws himself into a kiss that clears Dean's mind of any other rules he would have wanted to enforce for the evening.

The party is a blast. The booze is cheap, the girls are sexy and in the overexcited, buzzed crowd Sam can be as handsy as he wants. The music is too loud to hear each other's shouting - no one even acknowledges Dean with anything more than a nod, let alone ask for his name. He might as well be a random frat boy who caught Sam's eye, his friends don't give a fuck about him. It's incredibly nice to let go and pretend he is a happy freshman like them all without a care in the world. If this is college life, Dean has been missing out on a lot.

At one point, the DJ announces they are gonna flick on some UV lights and carry on that way. It gets batshit crazy from there. Everywhere Dean looks a hundred different neon colours pop up, people are screaming and laughing. Sam's teeth glow blue-white, a beacon that draws Dean up on his tiptoes for a kiss, however undignified that is. He's not used to this, his experience is more or less limited to bars and local dumps back home, but this - this is awesome.

Yeah, well. Then it all goes to shit.

It comes down to the throngs of people (like Dean) who came basically uninvited. The place is only big enough for a certain number of students before it turns similar to a tin of sardines. They go way past that critical number and it gets close to impossible to dance. Dean's alarms go off, blaring mayday mayday mayday in his mind. Someone steps on his heel. He spins around to shoot daggers at the culprit and the stout kid backs away, probably fearing his life, but the satisfaction of a bigger breathing space evaporates when Dean turns back around, and Sam is nowhere in sight.

"Sam?" He calls out, even though he knows it's futile to think anyone will hear it. "Sammy!"

He shouldn't be this worried, Sam can take care of himself, but it's ingrained in him, the need to know with absolute certainty that his brother is safe. And while neither of them drank too much, Sam had just enough to lose some of the control over his capacities. Dean is going to flip his shit if someone tries taking advantage of that. With his pulse pounding in his ears, it takes him approximately fifteen minutes to give up on scouring the dance floor and go to the exit instead, hoping Sam had the same idea when they lost each other. He shoulders his way out, shrugs off a hot chick with barely a glance at her ample cleavage, then heaves a deep sigh of relief when he spots Sam just a few feet away, hunched over a trash bin. The poor boy is puking his guts out.

Dean's rush of joy is short-lived, however, because he gets a good look at the woman standing next to him and his blood boils at the sight of her calculating smile. It's that brunette co-ed living on the second floor of their apartment building. The one who wouldn't stop trying to steal Sam away from him, the one Dean was foolish enough to piss off. Ruby.

Sam fishes a tissue out of his pocket to wipe his mouth, fingers shaking so bad he has to tighten them into a fist to keep them steady. "Hands… touching me everywhere." He mumbles, brows drawn together in an almost physical pain.

Behind his back, Ruby purses her lips and rolls her eyes. "It must have been a drink that upset your stomach. Come back inside with me."

She puts a delicate hand on Sam's back, way too fucking close to his nape, and Sam jerks away from her with a violent jump. "Don't." He gasps, then glances up at Dean and a fraction of the tension eases off his shoulders. "Dean."

He staggers forward and curls his arms around Dean's waist, forehead clammy from cold sweat. Despite the fright and his irritation of bumping into that evil bitch here of all places, Dean squeezes back, running a hand through Sam's hair. "Easy, easy."

Sam sags into the embrace like a sack of potatoes. "Let's go home, okay?"

Ruby crosses her arms, glaring with a put-out expression. Dean feels a perverse urge to grin at her just to see if she can combust.

"You promised a dance." She tries to get her way one last time.

One hand still holding on to Dean's shirt, Sam pulls back and offers her a weak smile. "Sorry, Ruby, I can't. Rain check?"

She huffs, shaking her long hair out of her eyes. "Okay."

"Thanks."

"Anytime, Sam." She gives them a tight smile, then turns on her heels and marches back into the crowd. Dean sends a smug glance after her disappearing figure. Yeah, go dance alone, stupid bitch.

Sam smacks him in the chest and takes off down the road towards their car, still a bit wobbly. "Stop being childish."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

Dean scowls and kicks a rock. It rolls a few steps ahead, to Sam's half of the sidewalk. "Did you really have to befriend her?"

Sam gives him a sideways look and kicks the little stone back to Dean's half. "She's not as bad as you think. Just because she roasted you after you hit on her without meaning it - I know, I know, that's your way of being friendly, I get it. But has it ever occurred to you that most people don't?"

"That's not why I hate her."

"Then please, enlighten me. Because I fail to see what your problem is."

"She's all over you. I don't like it."

"She knows very well that I'm taken. Don't worry."

Dean grumbles but decides to leave it alone for now. He's not the jealous type, that's Sam's resort. As long as it's him Sam is walking home with, kicking a rock back and forth, he will manage. He's just concerned. Something is wrong with that woman. But if Sam says he can deal with her, Dean gotta try trusting him on that, right?

It's warm outside and the blanketing darkness surrounds them like a veil of intimacy. Dean tips his head back to relish the light breeze ruffling his hair and lets his hand brush Sam's every other step or so. He has no reason to be jealous. She does not get to enjoy this quiet stroll. She does not get to have this. This is all Dean's. "What was that about hands you said back there?"

Sam clears his throat. "Nothing."

"You just wanted to say hi to your dinner again?"

"Can we drop it?" Sam mutters just as they reach the Impala.

He goes to climb in on the passenger side, but Dean presses him up against the car and cages him in with his arms before he can open the door. They frown at each other. Sam's fist finds the hem of Dean's shirt again, a nervous tick. Dean's features harden. "So when it's my problem, you are all let's share our feelings and comb each other's hair, but when it's yours, you want me to drop it?"

A myriad of emotions flash in Sam's gaze until his expression settles on the most peculiar one - shame. Dean's frown deepens. That's not something he gets to see on his brother's face every day, and it sure isn't a good sign. He wants that look gone.

Sam casts his eyes down. "It was my old thing." He mumbles, dusting imaginary lint off Dean's shoulder just to do something with his free hand. "That touch phobia. Looks like I still have some limits."

Face bathed in the yellow light of the street, he looks defenseless and frighteningly young again. His pallid skin reminds Dean of all the times he had to cure him back to health as a kid. He's surprised the thought doesn't make him sick the way it used to. God, it has been what, ten months? Not even a whole year, and he's already getting over it. What does that make him?

He lets his arms drop, swallowing. "Do you want me to-" Stop touching you, is what he intends to say, but Sam is having none of it.

He leans forward and fits himself into Dean's arms like a child seeking shelter from cold. "No. This is fine."

Dean pulls him close, shuts his eyes, and imagines they are normal people sharing a normal embrace, not damaged goods clinging to each other for salvation.

As January comes to an end, so does the golden idyll of absolute love Sam has been basking in for months. Things get grittier between them, harder. They fall out of sync. Despite their newfound freedom in the bedroom, Dean gets snappish and unpredictable more and more often. He feels cornered and it's Sam's fault, he knows. There's only one thing that could cause this much frustration, the lack of relief. But he can't just throw in the towel and say 'Alright, go ahead, beat yourself bloody', because Dean probably would after this long a withdrawal. Even though it's not enough, Sam keeps his eyes open, uses his tricks and does the best he can to alleviate the stress Dean hoards on himself. He knows no other way to handle whatever it is that they are going through. Dean is an adult, by no means can Sam force him to seek out therapy if he is freaked out and doesn't consent to it.

There are other issues to consider too. Classes start up again as the next quarter begins, and Sam is up on the figurative treadmill of college, running his lungs out only to be told he didn't get half a step closer to the finish line. The nooks and crannies of Stanford's library network welcome him back like best friends. He meets a bunch of new people, grows to despise just as many stuck-up snobs, eats crappy food, stays up all night writing assignments, listens to boring car stories and practices hobby cartography on Dean's back. Rinse, repeat. After the rush of open-mouthed exhilaration his first semester was, the patterns begin to stand out and make an extraordinary experience mere habit. It's not fun. And it's decidedly not something he should be put on a pedestal for. Stanford or not, Sam doesn't want to mooch off Dean and their parents for his entire time here. He agreed to take a break, God knows he needed it, but Jody may insist all she wants, he can't stand to see everyone working their asses off around him while all he does is daydreaming through tedious lectures and fooling around with his own brother. If someone's ought to feel guilty, it's him. Being a devoted bookworm does not entitle him to be a freeloading slacker. He has to find a job. It's not as easy as it sounds - out of the sixteen thousand people who enrolled for the semester, he is just another fish in a tiny pond.

That's where Ruby comes into the picture again. Sam is in the middle of a heated argument with Dean about whether he should strain himself with work or not when she comes down the stairs to the mailboxes Sam's leaning against. He hangs up as fast as he can, but she overheard it already, judged by her flirtatiously raised eyebrow.

"Looking for a job, huh?" She stares at him like she wants to devour his soul. "Don't listen to that control-freak, if you want to work, do it."

"Yeah, well. I just ran it past him. It's my decision." Sam replies, clutching their mail to his chest with a strained smile. He would have to make up one hell of a lie if she saw the surnames on them. Is it plausible to say they eloped in Vegas? "He thinks I'm not fit to study and work at the same time."

She snorts. "You're way stronger than he thinks so."

"Thanks."

"I work at the tattoo shop a few blocks down. You should drop by next week. Lucas, my boss, was talking about hiring a new cashier the other day." She saunters closer, voice dropping to a low and sensual tone. "I'm sure he'd like you."

Sam backs into the boxes behind him. "I will, uh, think about it."

"Maybe I can persuade you into getting a tat yourself." Her lips twitch in amusement as she steps into Sam's personal space. "I can give you a discount for... certain areas."

Jesus Christ. "I'll pass."

"Come on, Sam, embrace your inner devil."

Sam shakes his head, side-stepping her as carefully as he can. "Tattoos aren't my thing."

Her gaze sweeps over him and stops at his chest again. Sam's face heats up. "What a shame."

"See you later." He stammers and escapes her at last, runs up the stairs taking the steps two at a time. Holy hell, she's a weird one.

If she's weird, her boss is downright creepy. The moment they meet, he asks Sam to call him God, then punches him in the shoulder and laughs it off as a joke, offering him the job without a second thought. It should make all his alarm bells go off, yet it doesn't. He wants to prove himself so much that he would probably work for Satan himself. Sam knows that Dean is going to bite his head off, but he has been told so many times that he can't do this that he has to say yes. He has to. Besides, it's a good position - part-time, but with an amazing salary that will let him save enough to compensate for the money he's going to stop taking from his parents. With this, he and Dean could be a hundred percent independent. They could do anything they want. It might even make Dean feel secure enough to go on a vacation with him. How wonderful would that be? This is an opportunity Sam can't possibly let go. So, he takes it.

It starts off without a hitch. Dean isn't tetchy for more than a day, which he counts as a win. Managing two things at once is exhausting and awkward at times, especially when Lucas comes out of the back room and whispers disturbing things in his ear, but he figures the guy has an odd sense of humour and it's only a matter of getting used to it. Ruby turns out to be a surprisingly nice friend once she gets over the fact that Sam isn't into her. Sam is happy and feels more accomplished than ever in his life - it feels like he can finally do something, earning his own living, instead of being the passive party who has to lean on others, unable to support himself.

However… he kind of forgets that Dean more or less operates for that alone. To take care of him. And he doesn't remember until it's too late, until it blows up into his face and threatens to ruin it all. Until Dean relapses.

It happens on one of those weekends when Dean is dead on his feet and needs to sleep until noon to resemble a living human. Sam has things to do, though. He plans to meet up with his best friend, walk by the library to take some of his textbooks back, buy Dean a sugary pastry and bribe him into a trip to the beach. Except, he doesn't count on Eileen's tag-along friends - well, acquaintances, really - to show up with her at his doorstep.

"Hey, Sam, buddy, what's up?" Ed all but exclaims, thumping Sam on the chest and most likely straining his back to look bigger than he actually is. It falls quite a bit short of being impressive. He comes up to Sam's chin. "We were lurking around the neighbourhood, you know, promoting our new Youtube gig, Ghostfacers, it's a big hit by the way, you should check it out, so we were nearby when we saw your girlfriend here and thought, why not to say hi? And uh, now that we did, Harry sort of has to go, so if you would be kind enough to let us in..."

Sam makes a bewildered face and takes note of the way Harry shifts from feet to feet, expression pinched. What the everloving hell? Did they come up here to… use the bathroom? Eileen just looks like she wants to die on the spot, even though she had no way to know what Ed rambled about, standing where she is.

"Eileen isn't my girlfriend." Sam says in a bit of a daze, but opens the door wider to let those goofballs in. What harm could they do in the ten minutes, tops, they will spend in here?

Pretty damn much, it turns out, because the first thing that halfwit Harry does in his desperation is running straight inside without asking Sam for directions. And from the two doors he could have chosen, of course he decides to try the wrong one. Sam sees it in slow motion - their bedroom door banging into the wall, Dean's eyes snapping open in fright, and the picture frame on their bedside table hurtling through the air straight towards Harry's forehead. The jackass has just enough time to duck. The glass hits the doorjamb and shatters into shards in front of their eyes.

"Oh - Oh, crap, sorry, uh, I'll just -" Harry stutters and retreats, then dashes through the other door and locks himself in before he honest-to-God wets himself from the look Dean gives him.

Sam cringes. He is fucking done for. Dead. "Guys, uh… Make yourself at home, I'll be back in a minute." He says to the other two in the doorway and takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

Dean wastes no time to cut to the chase as soon as the door is closed. He jumps out of bed, eyes bloodshot and chest still heaving, and hisses into Sam's face. "What the fuck, Sam? Tell me you didn't just bring half a football team to our apartment."

Sam wisely refrains from rolling his eyes. "I didn't bring them, Dean. They came uninvited. I didn't tell anyone that I have a boyfriend, they all thought I lived alone." God, it still feels so good to say. Boyfriend, his boyfriend... If only he could say it more often. "We'll be going in a minute. You can go back to sleep."

Dean's eyes flash. HIs body seems so soft and sleep-creased, it's tempting to shut him up with a kiss, but Sam doesn't have a death wish. It's quite bad as it is - Dean looks about ready to give him a shiner. "Did you lose your mind? One mistake and we are toast!"

"I'm aware." Sam scowls. This isn't his fault, dammit. The only person he ever brought here in nine months is Eileen, the only real friend he has. Accidents happen, Dean can't pull this on him. "Look. You don't have to be on edge all the damn time. Relax. They have no idea who you are. Poor Harry didn't even dare look at you after you threw our picture at his head…"

He reaches out and snags Dean's right hand to calm him down, but it kind of goes to stir things the other way. Dean's nails claw into his hand. "I'm not cut out for this. It's you who are supposed to be the reasonable one."

"I am reasonable. You are paranoid."

"Don't you - why don't you understand?"

Dean isn't in any condition to argue with at the moment. He's too tired, it would just come to blows.

"I'm not getting into this with you. We'll talk after you had your first coffee." Sam says with a placating gesture, then turns to walk back out and usher his schoolmates away. So much for going to the library.

The instant he reaches for the handle, though, he has a gut feeling, call it sixth sense, that something is going to go seriously wrong. It takes less than a second to realise what it is, but it's too late to prevent it from happening. He hears a dull thud that vibrates through the room and something heavy drops to the floor behind him. He whips around and finds Dean sitting in the corner, knees drawn up and face hidden in them, and a sizeable dent in the gypsum board above him. There's a spot of blood smeared on it. Shit. He punched the goddamn wall.

"Dean!" Sam yelps and rushes over to him, stroking his palms down shaking shoulders, trying to pry Dean's injured hand away from the cradle of his other one. Dean resists, breathing like a racehorse after a run, still hiding his face. Sam bites his lip. "It's okay. Let me look at it."

In the end, he has to pull it away from Dean's lap by brute force, using both his arms to bend Dean's in the other direction and get a glimpse of the injury. As soon as it's uncovered, Dean chokes on a sob and goes limp, giving up. Sam hopes he isn't crying or he is going to tear up too. It has been so long… They made it so far… He can't believe that such a stupid, incidental thing could erase half a year's worth of progress.

"I'm not mad." Sam murmurs to nip all other self-deprecating thoughts in the bud before they could result in anything worse.

Dean's right is sickeningly red and trembling, his knuckles swollen and scraped. When he brushes his fingertips over them, Dean flinches and grunts, jerking his head up. His wide green eyes lock on Sam, filled with unshed tears, but almost… almost happy. Christ, he is glad he busted up his hand. He's glad Sam gave him a little more pain by touching it. He wants him to do it again.

"No. Dean, no." He shakes his head, crushed. This runs even deeper than he thought, it's even worse. Did he make it worse? He wants to scream, but what good would that do?

"Can you curl your fingers?" He asks instead, blinking rapidly to ward off the dampness under his eyelids. Dean squeezes his eyes shut in pain, but his fingers move and grab onto Sam's pointer the way they are supposed to. Sam's exhale ruffles his bangs. "I don't think you broke it."

"Broke the wall, though." Dean mutters, voice hoarse. He looks calmer than he has been in weeks. Sam wants to smash something into pieces.

"I'll bring you an ice pack." He says and lets Dean's hand go. What a start to his Saturday. Fuck his life.

It's later that day, when he goes for a quick jog to calm down, that he runs into Ruby again and makes the mistake of his year, probably. He agrees to go inside her flat.

Two shots and some comfort food later, he is spilling the beans about his failure, about wanting to help someone who hurts themselves and just making things worse by trying. She strokes his hair and asks, is it him? And Sam nods, lets it come out in drunken fits and bouts, tells her almost everything that the unnaturally murky haze over his mind doesn't block even from himself. She nods along, says she knows people like that, tells him she knows ways to help and he gobbles it all up, wanting to believe more than anything. And the longer he stays, the more she tricks him into drinking, the more alcohol he tosses back the hungrier he gets, and it's not long before the world goes completely clouded and black. He doesn't remember more from that night.

By the time it gets dark outside, Dean feels like utter crap. He didn't want to lose control like that over a few kids who disturbed his sleep. It was pathetic to lash out just because he was taken by surprise. It reminds him of dead week, back in December. He and Sam drove each other nuts. It reached a point when it got so out of hand that they spent an entire week without sleeping in the same bed. They made up at the wrong time too - going home for Christmas was an absolute must or Jody would have come and dragged them back herself, but home also meant being full-time brothers and censoring the intimate familiarity they had developed over the previous six months. Sam was subdued the whole time they spent there, moping in his favourite armchair while Bobby was spouting vitriol at archive baseball games. That was three months ago. Unbelievable. The days go by so fast.

Dean doesn't mean to be annoying, but it's just so hard to… He doesn't have anything to offer for someone like Sam. He knows he is not stupid, he is clever enough in his own way, but it's nothing close to Sam's level. Every now and then he wonders if he should try getting a degree just to be a little less disappointing as a partner. At least, the sex is good. Angry, comforting, fast or slow, Dean is on board. That's the only segment of this messed-up relationship where he doesn't feel inadequate. He knows he is blowing this out of proportions, but he can't help it, sometimes this negativity hits him like a ton of bricks.

While Sam's days are packed with new experiences, he has nothing to give back, nothing to reciprocate with. Sam doesn't give a fuck about cars, he can barely tell them apart. He listens patiently every night to whatever boring anecdote Dean is able to bring up from his day, but there's not much more than politeness to it. And while Sam seems to gather more and more memories without Dean, things that define him outside of the things connected to him, Dean feels like he has nothing that doesn't hook him to Sam. He is useless. Sam doesn't even need his financial support now, not really. There's no reason for him to need Dean in any capacity. And on top of all this, Sam gets so jealous at times that Dean has no doubt that they have some serious trust issues as well.

Something keeps going off track between them and he doesn't know how to get it right. He tries to cover it all with over the top confidence, but Sam is not exactly the easiest person to fool. They both know these problems are Dean's fault. He's dragging Sam back, away from a normal life. Sam could be happy, yet here he is, struggling with him. They should… they should think this through. Find a solution that suits them both. Dean could stay at Benny's place or at a motel for a few days and they could catch a break from each other, think it over with clear heads.

come home

He texts Sam, staring listlessly at the old X-files marathon he's been watching ever since Sam left. Come to think of it, it must have been, what, five hours? Six? Hell, it shouldn't take that long to come back from a jog. Where did Sam go?

didnt know there was a curfew

Is the message that comes back half an hour later. Dean frowns at it, blood pressure rising fast. That doesn't sound like Sam. Whenever Dean - well, whenever he has an episode and Sam notices, he is sweet and attentive the whole day, almost repentant. As though he inflicted the wounds with his own hands. He would never act like a prick. If he couldn't come, he would have told Dean why. And he always uses proper punctuation. Something is wrong.

Dean rises to his feet, his instincts howling at him to run and drag Sam back home from wherever he is.

where are you?

wouldnt u like to know? find me if u can asshole

Asshole? The gears in Dean's brain screech to a halt, then start working again, turning double time. This isn't Sam, can't be. Someone else is using his phone. Did they steal it? Nah, not likely. Why would they text back, then? Sam went out for a run. Where could he end up going to? Eileen? No, she does not seem like the type to play such a game with Dean's head. Where else...

"Son of a bitch."

Dean has to pound on Ruby's front door for a half a minute before it swings open to reveal her in nothing but a tank top and short shorts. She groans. "I thought it was the pizza."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know what -"

He has no time for this shit. Dean elbows her aside and barges in, through the hallway and straight into the living room, where he finds Sam sprawled on a sofa bed, chomping on orange segments and giggling to himself.

"Hey, you can't just march in there." Ruby protests, but it's way too fucking late to stop him.

He runs over to Sam's side, leaving dirty footprints on her carpet, and cups Sam's chin with his good hand. "Sam!"

Sam boops him on the nose. "Dean, I'm not feeling too well." He slurs through a grin, eyes rolling around without once focusing on anything.

Dean's bruised knuckles crack as his fingers curl into a tight fist. He snarls. "What the fuck did you give him, bitch?"

Ruby sneers at him. "Don't get your panties in a twist, it's just weed."

"Weed, my ass. Did you roofie him?"

"He ate some brownies, that's all. He didn't know -"

"How many?"

She shrugs, swaying in place. She's probably drunk too, if not something worse. Dean is a hairsbreadth away from strangling her on the spot. Abruptly, one of the doors opens behind them and an older guy comes out of the bathroom with a razor in hand. Tall with ratty, calculating eyes and sandy hair. He doesn't have a shirt on. There are tattoos all over his arms and chest, skulls and some vague satanist sigils.

"You should know best. Big boy, big appetite." He has the gall to smirk at Dean, wiggling his eyebrows and pushing his tongue into the inside of his cheek.

The muscles around Dean's jaw tick. "I'm gonna say this only once." He says, voice low and threatening. "I don't know who you are, but you take one more look at him and I'll slit your fucking throat with your own razor, you understand me?"

"Oh, I'm terrified." The guy chuckles and raises his hands, wriggling his fingers. He is the only one who doesn't seem inebriated out of the trio, and something about that unsettles Dean on the deepest levels. They have to get out of here before that creeper gets even a step closer to Sam in this state.

He hooks his arms under his brother's armpits and hefts him up, practically lifting dead weight. "Come on, Sasquatch." He groans. "Let's get you home."

As though this day wasn't bad enough already, Sam has to be the type who comes down like the world is ending. Because of the mix of booze and weed those bastards fed him, as soon as the high leaves, he tosses and turns and sweats and cries until Dean brings him a cold cloth and drapes it over his forehead. The only reason why he discards the idea of a hospital is the speed at which Sam settles down after that.

"Mom…" Sam mumbles at one point, not long before midnight. "Mom, I have to meet… my friend, I can't go... to sleep. My friend… is coming."

If Dean has to stay up one more hour listening to this nonsense, he won't talk to Sam for a week. "Sammy. It's me, Dean."

"Dean." Sam grins, gaze dreamy and dumb from intoxication. "You're here!"

"Yeah, you junkie."

"What's in me, Dean? Something in my blood, it's…"

"Weed, buddy, a whole lotta weed." Dean sighs and wipes the sweat from Sam's brow. What a mess. "Blame your bottomless stomach."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault."

"It is." Sam sniffs. "I told her you hurt yourself."

He did, didn't he. "Mom?"

"Ruby."

Dean can't say he's surprised. It still hurts, though. Feels like a betrayal. It was his secret. He kept it for years, from Jody, from Cas, even from his brother. Then he let Sam see. And look where that got him, confiding in him, putting all his trust in the love they share - one of his most vulnerable points is bared to someone he hates to his core. What is he supposed to do now?

"I didn't mean to." Sam weeps, a single warm drop spilling from his right eye. "There's something in my blood, it made me -"

"Shh. Not your fault, Sammy." It really isn't. The only person at fault is Dean. If he didn't have this problem in the first place, everything would be fine. "Go to sleep."

"Okay." Sam readily agrees, eyes slipping closed. "Tell Mom my friend is coming. From beyond the trees."

Dean shakes his head, smiling despite himself. "Alright."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Of course, there's nothing to smile about come morning. They sit across from each other at the tiny table they used this whole year, sharing a silence that for one doesn't feel right. Sam nurses a terrible hangover, but his eyes are bright and lucid again, no trace of last night left. He doesn't ask what happened. The worst he probably knows.

"I'm sorry." He whispers when Dean starts scratching at the scabs on his knuckles. His big hand reaches out and grips Dean's fingers, the newly opened wound spilling blood on both of their skins.

Dean nods and watches the satisfying gathering of crimson between his bones. He can't say it's okay. Nothing is, nothing at all. Last night was more than enough proof that they need a breather. He knows Sam isn't going to like it. But it doesn't matter, they have to stay away from each other for a while, because this is ruining them. He bites his tongue to keep from talking and pulls his hand away.

Sam looks broken. He leaves his arm outstretched. "I swear I didn't realise what she -"

"I know."

"Then… are we okay?"

We've never been, Dean wishes to say, but that sounds too cruel to voice out loud. They are well aware of how fucked up they are, no need to put it into words. "No." He sighs. "This isn't about last night."

Sam's exhale quivers. He grabs Dean's hand again, desperate. "Dean, I - I know this is not what we expected when we decided to live here together, but… we, we try. Yes, we make mistakes, but who doesn't? And just - look, this is me, an idiot who can't even taste it when my food is laced." He swallows. "But I love you. I'm sorry, and I love you, and I'm asking you to give us some time. A second chance."

Fuck, Dean has to go now, or he won't be able to go through with it. "I called Benny while you were sleeping. I'm gonna crash at his tonight, alright? We need to think things over."

"Are you breaking up with me?"

How could he break up with his own brother? No way, that's how. He clears his throat and tries for his best 'I'm the oldest, I'm always right' voice. "You are better off without me, Sam."

"No. Don't say that to me." Sam's eyes water. "Don't you do that."

"I have to go." He says and stands, grabs the overnight duffel he placed on "his" bed when he got up today. He's in the middle of pulling on his boots when Sam finally comes after him, pleading without words. Dean can't look at him or he's going to waver, he knows. "I'll call you in a few days, okay?"

"You don't have to go away. We can work things out together."

Dean straightens up from his crouch, ready to go. "Be safe, Sammy."

It's every bit as expected as the puppy eyes that Dean finds himself slammed up against the wall, kissed within an inch of his life before he can even think about passing through the front door. "Three days." Sam says into his mouth. "You get three days, then you'd better get your ass back here or I'll hunt you down."

Dean pushes him away, a hint of his usual cockiness curling his lips into a smirk. "Wouldn't expect any less from you, little brother.