Chapter 4:
2005
Dean hadn't seen Sam in four years, and he was both happy and sad to see Sam so happy. Happy because it had been so many years since he had seen Sam look so satisfied with life. Sad because Dean could never make Sam that happy, no matter how hard he tried.
It had been six years since Dean had found out about Sam's need to hurt himself whenever he felt stressed or angry. Sam had stopped, and then had left for Stanford when he turned eighteen. They hadn't spoken since, but the minute he asked Sam to come with him he had, and that proved what they had always promised: they were still brothers.
Having Sam by his side again made him feel better than he had in a long time. Over dinner Sam was in a t-shirt, it seemed he was finally over his fear of people seeing his scars, but they were still there. White marks marred his left arm just like they did 4 years ago, but no more had been added. Sam still had kept the habit kicked. Sam seemed great, at least until his apartment burned down.
Jessica's death brought back that hole in Sam, and Dean was afraid he was going to lose his brother for good this time. Sam was withdrawing; he worked case after case, researched constantly and barely slept. If that wasn't bad enough, Sam was constantly scratching at the scars at his arm. Like he was trying to open them back up again. That scared Dean more then anything else. But he didn't know how to comfort his brother anymore, he wasn't a teenager anymore, he was an adult and Dean wasn't sure it was his place to help. Dean was just coming back from the diner and Sam was still on his laptop.
"Come on Sam, put that thing away, dinner time."
Sam didn't even look at Dean.
"I'm not hungry Dean."
"I don't care, you haven't eaten anything in two days. Coffee and protein bars don't count."
Sam was picking absently at his arm and Dean grabbed his hand.
"Stop that, Sam." Dean grabbed the laptop off the table and put a salad in front of Sam. "Eat."
Sam grumbled but did as he was told. Grumbling and short sentences seemed to be all he could get out of Sam these days.
Once they were done eating they watched TV for a while, then Sam went back on his laptop looking for cases in the vicinity of where they were.
"I think I got a case Dean."
Dean jumped; he was half asleep when Sam started talking.
"Mmmmm, what's that Sammy?"
"There is a house in Wyoming, last thirty years every family that has lived there has had at least one member of the family found dead. Doors locked from the inside, no signs of forced entry. Nobody has lived there since 1998 but the property had been bought by the bank and is going to be resold. We should stop it as long as we are close."
"Fine Sam, we will head out there tomorrow, but you should really try to get some sleep."
Sam stared at the wall and picked it his arm.
"Yeah you're right, I should. Good night Dean."
"Night Sammy."
Dean waited until he heard his little brothers' breath even out and then drifted off to sleep. He woke up a few hours later to the sounds of Sam whimpering, that was happening a lot lately. He was having nightmares about Jessica and it broke Dean's heart. The only reason he had been happy that their mother had died when Sam was so young was because Sam wouldn't remember her dying in his room. Now he remembered Jessica burning on the ceiling, and he would remember that for the rest of his life.
Normally Dean woke up when he heard Sam whimpering and waited for Sam to wake up, normally it would take a few minutes, then Sam would roll over and go back to sleep. Sometimes he would cry, but Dean would leave him alone, knowing Sam didn't like to be coddled. But Sam wasn't waking up this time, he was gasping for breath and Dean sat up.
"Jess…. No…" Sam said choking on air.
Dean walked over to Sam's bed and put his hand on his brother's shoulder.
"Sammy wake up, you're dreaming."
Sam continued to gasp and toss and turn. Dean grabbed both his shoulders and shook him.
"SAM!"
Sam sat up with a gasp and looked at Dean.
"Dean?"
"You okay? You were dreaming."
Sam nodded, and scratched at his arm again.
"Sam, please stop that."
Sam looked confused, then realized what Dean was talking about.
"Sorry Dean, I don't know why I am doing that. I don't even notice most of the time."
Dean sighed and sat on the end of Sam's bed.
"Look, I know a lot has changed since you left for school and stuff. I mean, you aren't a moody teenager anymore, and I have probably gotten harder to talk to, but if you ever do need to talk, I'm here."
Sam sighed.
"I know you are." Sam whispered. "I just don't have anything to say right now."
"Okay kiddo, go back to sleep."
Sam nodded and rolled over away from Dean, and Dean went back to his bed, it had been a rough couple of weeks, they both needed some rest.
The next day they had a hunt to do. Turned out the house was haunted by the ghost of a nineteen year old girl who had been killed by her step mother. It seemed like the ghost was going after people who betrayed their family. One man had an affair; a daughter stole her mother's credit card. That was the terrible thing about being a ghost; even the most minor infractions seemed like a terrible thing. Spirits get confused when they become vengeful. Her grave was simple enough to find, just a plot in a local cemetery. All they had to do was dig her up and salt and burn her body. Simple enough, except it was never that simple for the Winchesters.
"What the hell did they do, bury her in clay?" Dean said.
He stretched his back out; it hurt from digging this endless pit.
"Stop your whining Dean. I just scraped the casket, time to get this show on the road."
Sam pushed the shovel underneath the lid of the coffin and heaved it open and Dean dumped the salt over the bones.
"Leave me alone!" The ghost said when she appeared on the edge of the gravesite.
"Shit, Dean finish with the body I'll keep her away."
Sam jumped out of the grave and swung the iron shovel at the spirit. She disappeared and appeared behind Sam and pushed him up against a tree.
"Sam!"
Dean went to drop the gas can, but Sam waved him off and told him to finish it. Dean wanted to go to his brother, but knew he had to finish it. He heard the ghost talking to Sam.
"You betrayed your family!" The ghost screamed.
Sam stopped fighting against her hold and stared at her.
"You betrayed you family, and the woman you loved. You got her killed!"
That is as far as she got, before she went up in flames. Dean had lit the fire in the grave, and the ghost was no more. Sam was lying at the base of the tree panting. What the ghost had just said was running through his mind.
"You okay Sammy?" Dean asked.
He leaned down towards his brother, pulling up into a sitting position.
"I'll be fine Dean, but there is something I would like to know."
"What's that?"
"Why the fuck do these bastards always insist on going to the heart, don't they know you shouldn't be able to grab someone heart like that?"
Dean laughed.
"Well next ghost we see, be sure to tell them that. C'mon little brother, lets get the hell out of here."
He reached down and pulled Sam up by his arm, and they walked back to the car. On the drive back Sam was quiet, picking at that damn spot on his arm again. Dean was concerned, he had heard what the ghost at said to Sam back at the cemetery, and he knew that only had to be building on the thoughts Sam already had going through his head.
When they got back to the motel Sam sat on his bed and began to take clothes out of his bag. Dean did the same and pulled the dirt encrusted t-shirt over his head.
"You want first shower Sam?"
"No, you go ahead. I can wait, just save me some hot water this time."
Sam looked up at his brother and smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. Dean walked over toward the bathroom and stopped.
"You didn't betray us you know." Dean said.
"What?"
Dean turned toward Sam.
"You didn't betray me and Dad by going to Stanford. You were doing what you needed to do. We aren't mad at you for that. Even Dad, I could tell how sorry he was for the things he said to you. And as far as Jessica goes, you didn't know something was gonna come for her, so you gotta stop carrying that guilt Sam."
Dean walked into the bathroom and shut the door. Sam felt a familiar itch growing inside of him. He rubbed his hand against the scars on his arms. He was angry about what his life had become. The love of his life was dead, his father was God knows where, and Dean was trying so hard to make him feel better and he wished he could feel better, but he just didn't know how.
Actually, the problem was he knew exactly how to make himself feel better, but he been clean for 6 years. Dean came out of the bathroom and told Sam to go get a shower. Sam grabbed his toiletries bag and his clothes and went into the bathroom. He turned the shower on and let the hot water soothe his tired muscles, but that ache in his chest wasn't going away. He stepped out of the shower and sat down on the edge of the tub. Water ran over his face from his hair and Sam made his decision. He wanted to feel better, and he knew how.
He opened up his shaving bag and took out a razor blade. He held it to his skin and zoned out, just like he used to as a teenager. He felt the blade sink into his skin and he felt the release he had been searching for, for the past few months. Sam sunk to the ground and looked at the damage. It was worse than it had ever been and he couldn't stop the bleeding. He began to cry, and he heard a knock on the door.
"Are you okay in there Sammy?"
Sam heard his brother's voice, and had to decide what to do. Sam didn't want to do this alone this time.
"Dean, I think I fucked up. I need your help."
"Okay Sam, I'm coming in."
Dean opened the door and looked around the bathroom, to his little brother on the floor.
"Jesus Sammy." Dean grabbed the spare towel off the back of the door and wiped the blood off Sam's arm. "These are gonna need stitches."
Sam seemed to be completely spaced out.
"It didn't work this time Dean. Why didn't it work?"
"It never worked Sammy. You know that. You know somewhere in your head that this isn't going to solve anything. C'mon Sam lets go into the other room, I got get you cleaned up."
Dean sat Sam down on the bed and began to clean and stitch up Sam's arm. Sam barely noticed, too busy going through the nightmares in his head.
"You should go to sleep, Sam."
"I'm not tired."
Dean sighed and put his arm around his brother's shoulders.
"What are we gonna do here? I can't watch you do this to yourself again. You don't deserve this."
"Yes I do." Sam whispered.
Sam leaned into his brother.
"Why do you think that?"
"Jessica died in the exact same way as Mom. Whatever took mom came to my apartment and killed my girlfriend. Doesn't that make all of this my fault?"
"No Sam, none if it is your fault. That blame lies with whatever came and killed them not you. And you don't deserve this pain."
Dean looked into his brother's eyes with absolute conviction.
Sam sighed.
"I think I just opened a can of worms I can't close, because it really did make me feel better, until I realized I had done so much damage."
"Sammy, how can you hurt yourself like that and not notice?"
"I don't know Dean, its like I zone out, and I don't notice what I am doing anymore. It doesn't even hurt until after."
"Did you ever do it when you were at Stanford?"
"I came pretty close a few times my first year, but after I met Jess, I never really felt the need to. She made me feel normal, didn't ask about the secrets she knew I kept. I miss that."
"I know you do Sammy. Look, I can't sit by and watch this happen again, you are gonna kill yourself one of these days. I mean, the nightmares and the picking at the scars, and not sleeping enough. You need to tell me when you feel like this so I can help you through it. I don't know care how late it is, or what we have to do. It'll be like when we were younger, when you would come to me and we would talk or go to the movies or something. Just give me a chance to be your brother again."
Sam looked at Dean and smiled, and this time it reached his eyes.
"I was always your brother Dean, no matter where I went, or what I was doing, you were always my brother."
"Okay, so we do this together, just no more cutting."
"Okay Dean, no more cutting."