Sam watched Luci pace on the phone. He nodded enthusiastically as he listened. Sam didn't even know who was on the phone. He leaned his ankle on the arm of Luci's beige couch.
His boyfriend quickly hung up the phone and smacked Sam's foot off the couch with a whack that shot pain all the way up his leg. At first, when Luci had started being overly aggressive and a little too rough, Sam had thought it was one of the many phases that his boyfriend had gone through trying to discover his masculine identity. There had been a whole month where Luci had worn something made of leather at all times. Unlike the leather, the causing Sam pain thing hadn't faded with time. Sam knew better now than to exhibit any signs of pain; it only made his boyfriend keep going and hit harder.
Luci plopped next to Sam on the couch.
"That was Ruby. She and Meg are at a club on Polk and want us to party with them," he said.
Sam grimaced, "Well, you can go if you want, but my ankle hurts too much for standing or dancing at some club."
"I still can't believe you sprained your ankle," Luci laughed, "I didn't push you that hard."
"Still I'd rather not party with them tonight," he repeated. Luci stood up, pouting his lip, and looked at Sam.
"Please?" he asked, whining a little. Sam rolled his eyes.
His boyfriend dropped to his knees before his and held his ankle gingerly in his hands. Luci asked, "What if I made you feel better?" Sam stared at Luci's hands in apprehension and made no move to reply.
Luci grinned and twisted Sam's ankle sharply to the left, making Sam gasp in pain.
"On a scale of one to ten, one being a cut you didn't notice and ten being you fed your arm through a wood chipper, how much pain are you in?" he asked. Sam gripped the edge of the couch tightly as Luci twisted Sam's ankle further.
"Six," he gasped, trying not to cry or shout out in pain.
Luci straightened Sam's ankle and rubbed it gently, nearly eliciting a moan of pleasure from Sam just from having the pain stop. Nearly. The last thing Sam wanted to do was encourage this kind of treatment.
"Only a six?" Luci laughed, "You could easily come dancing."
"I just don't want to," Sam pressed. Luci turned Sam's ankle quickly in the other direction. Sam bit his lip hard and clawed at the fabric of the couch.
"Considering how swollen this is," Luci said, "Your ten must be ridiculously high." He paused and stretched Sam's ankle painfully. Sam finally cried out in strangled anguish.
"Come dancing with me, Sam," Luci said.
Sam gasped, "Let go."
"Then, say yes," Luci countered.
"Let go!" Sam shouted.
Luci turned his ankle more.
"Say yes!" he barked.
"Yes!" Sam yelled.
Again, his boyfriend straightened his ankle and soothed it with gentle rubbing. Sam was so caught off guard by the sudden gentle touch, he almost cried remembering when their touches were all this gentle, this loving, this intimate. He still foolishly hoped things would return to the way they were before the bruises and sprains and pain. Luci helped Sam off the couch and supported his weight as he tried to use his abused ankle to stand.
"I don't expect you to dance with me," Luci said quietly, "I see your ankle is pretty bad. But I'm glad you're coming with." Sam could almost hear a 'thank you' in there. He stood on his own and followed Luci towards the door, careful to not favor either leg.
He smiled at Luci, "I wish I could dance with you."
As they left Luci's apartment, his boyfriend said, "You'd better be careful on the stairs. Remember, there's always a new ten." A chill ran down Sam's spine.
Luci smiled with mock innocence, "Oh, come on, Sam. I'm not going to push you down the stairs again. That last time was a total accident." Slowly, they made their way towards the stairs.
"Plus," Luci added, "I might accidently kill you if I did that. And if you weren't here, I'd probably end it. And that wouldn't be fun for anyone."
"You'd what?" Sam asked. He could feel the horror building in his gut. He couldn't be saying what he thought he was saying.
Luci clarified, "I'd kill myself if I didn't have you here."
He said it like it wasn't even a question. As they stepped out into the cold city air and headed for the club on Polk street, that certainty in Luci's voice frightened Sam the most.
Just after midnight, Dean carried a sleeping Ben like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder as they arrived at Lisa's front door. She opened the door and took her son to his bed, leaving Dean standing just inside the doorway.
When she came back she said, "You're a bit late." He felt her sarcasm slither over his skin. Lisa had gotten home around 11pm, so saying he was 'a bit' late was much too generous to possibly be sincere.
"Yeah, I know. He fell asleep, so getting his jacket on took a while," he said.
"He wouldn't have needed a jacket if you'd been here," she argued. She folded her arms across her chest and fixed him with a strong stare, practically daring him to fight back. He didn't want to do this.
"It's Tuesday. You know it's game night at my place," he said defensively.
"If you're needed here," she said coolly, "I would hope we come before game night in your priorities." Seriously?
He shook his head and said, exasperated, "But I wasn't needed here. Ben was fine at my place. I don't see what the problem is." He saw the tired anger in her eyes and braced himself.
"The problem," she said, practically gritting her teeth, "Is that you don't want to be here at all."
"That's not—"
"Why don't you want to move in here, Dean?" she pressed.
"Can we not—"
"I know it's not Ben, because I know you love him."
"Lisa, I just don't—"
"You don't what, Dean?"
"I just don't think we'd survive it if I moved in," he blurted.
He quickly examined his shoes. He hadn't wanted to do this tonight. Honestly, he hadn't wanted to do this ever.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked. He shook his head and turned towards the door. He needed space.
But she needed answers.
"We're broken, Lisa," he said, "I don't know when that happened but we're broken. If I moved in here, it would only get worse."
"Dean," she said softly, putting a hand to his face, "It's not broken. We're not broken. Not irreparably anyway. We can fix it. I just think it would be easier to fix if you were here." He stepped away from her touch.
"We would fight even more, and you know it," he countered, "I think we're not strong enough to handle it."
He knew it sounded like he was just giving up. But he tried for so long to make it work for them, for Ben. He knew it wouldn't work out. He knew they didn't work the first time they got together back in high school. He knew they wouldn't work now.
He'd only stayed this long for Ben. He knew how badly Ben wanted him as a father figure. And he loved Ben as if he was his own in return. And that made the present situation that much more terrifying. He could feel the end coming, but the thought of losing his kid, even if he wasn't his, stopped his heart cold.
"We could have a life here, Dean," Lisa said quietly, "And you don't even want to—"
Dean interrupted, "What kind of life would it be if we just fight all the time?"
Lisa quickly opened the door for him in two angry steps.
"You know what?" she said, "Get out." Dean wanted to backtrack as hard as possible.
"Lisa—" he tried.
"No," she cut him off curtly, "If you're not willing to try, get out."
"Lisa, please, that's not what—"
"We're done, Dean. Go."
Dean felt a hot, angry tear fall from his eye. How had they gotten here? There was a time when Lisa told him to go, so they didn't have to tell Ben that his mom had a boyfriend. There was a time when he would've ended a fight like this by pinning Lisa against the wall and stealing her angry words with his tongue.
But now, all he could say was, "At least let me say goodbye to Ben."
"No," she said firmly.
It made Dean think for an insane second that things weren't really over. How could Lisa not let Dean say goodbye to Ben unless it really wasn't goodbye? But he saw the hurt in Lisa's eyes, the hurt that Dean had put there.
"Please, Lisa," he said, "I just want to—"
"He's not your son, Dean!" she shouted.
He felt like he'd been slapped across the face. He was so stunned, he didn't move. She all but shoved him across the threshold and slammed the door in his face. Only for Ben's sake, Dean did not bang on the door in urgency to fix something, anything.
It finally started to sink in that this was really it. He walked down the block and sat on the curb, struggling desperately not to cry. Goddammit.