Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dean woke up, choking on small sounds of horror. He could barely draw breath, and when he did it came in gasping, whining wheezes. He had to calm down or he’d wake Sam up, the rational part of his brain said. It also said he was okay, it was just a nightmare. He told that part to shut the hell up and let him freak out in peace and quiet. Then he got out of bed and snuck into the bathroom to hide. He avoided looking at himself in the mirror as he scrubbed his hands and arms over and over again. He could feel the stickiness of blood drenching him, could feel it spatter his face with hot drops that ran in heavy rivulets down his face like bloody tears of supplication.

He didn’t even know why he’d done it. He’d already lost his soul; otherwise he wouldn’t be in purgatory. For the longest time he’d clung to the thought that he’d saved Sam from this fate, that something good had come out of it. Then he’d found that the picture of Sam, so clear in his mind’s eye, was starting to fade. The physical pain of the torture he was being put through was dulling the memories of his Sammy. And he just couldn’t allow that. So he got off the rack.

Finally he couldn’t avoid the mirror any longer. He looked up at himself, cringing at what he saw. Tear tracks stained his face; his eyes were a bit puffy and red. That he could live with. But he saw the abyss staring back at him from the depth of his eyes. He would never be able to clean that stain from his soul. He didn’t even know why he bothered trying. He turned the heat of the water up and started scrubbing his arms and hands again, trying to clean away the invisible blood.

If he didn’t know what was awaiting him he might have given up a long time ago. Sometimes he felt he deserved to go back to hell for what he’d done. His biggest fear was that he’d be given the same choice again, and that he’d take it again. Otherwise he might forget Sam, and that was the one thing he couldn’t allow himself to do. To forget Sam would be to give up everything he was. So he stayed, tried to put on a brave face and make it through the day. He hated himself for cracking in front of Sam, for telling him what he’d done. Sam had been understanding, comforting and forgiving. It made Dean want to scream.

How could Sam even bear to look at him when he knew what Dean had done? How could he be so kind? Dean could feel tears threatening again, and he was so fucking tired of crying. He’d shed more tears in these last six months than he’d done in his entire life. Maybe it would be better to just shoot him.

“Dean? Are you all right?” Sam’s voice was groggy and thick with sleep. Dean opened his mouth to tell him he was just fine, but all he could manage was a small sound. It sounded suspiciously much like a whimper. He hoped Sam hadn’t heard it, but the door swung open. So much for that hope.

He looked at Sam in the mirror. His hair was sleep-tousled, strands stuck to his cheek and forehead. His eyes were narrowed against the glare of the light, making his slanted eyes more cat-like than ever before. Dean could see a faint greenish glint of hazel, furthering the similarities with cat’s eyes. As they fell on Dean they widened and Sam’s entire face paled.

“Oh my God, what are you doing? Stop it Dean, for fuck’s sake!” Two quick strides brought him to Dean’s side and he grabbed at his arms, shaking him. “What the hell are you doing? You’re hurting yourself!”

Dean was just about to argue that he was just washing his hands when he glanced down I the sink. The sight made pain make itself known and nausea swept through him. The water was near scalding, pruning his skin, making it pinkish red. It almost matched the red of the blood swirling down the drain. He’d scrubbed his hands and underarms so long and so rough that he was bleeding. It wasn’t a small scratch either, he’d full on flayed himself. Or pretty damn close to it, anyway. He looked down at the meat of his arms and swallowed thickly.

“Sammy, I think I need to sit down.”

Sam took one look at his pale face and pushed him down on the seat of the toilet, pushing his head down between his legs.

“Let me know if you’re going to be sick. I’ll just go get the first aid kit.” Dean sat looking at the floor, hyper-aware of his blood forming a small pool at the base of the toilet. He could hear Sam moving in the next room. By the sounds he was royally pissed off, probably borderline furious. Dean could tell by how much noise Sam made how bad it was. Judging by the banging and shuffling Dean was probably best off to just apologize and then shut up.

His little brother came storming back in like some sort of avenging god. Face dark with fury he bent down and started cleaning the wounds. His scowl vanished as he cleaned the skin up, slowly being replaced by a puzzled frown. His movements became more gentle as he stopped swiping at the blood and begun dabbing instead. Finally he grabbed a couple of heavy gauze pads and pressed them against the skin of his hands and arms. When he saw it wasn’t bleeding heavily any more he wrapped gauze around the hands and lower arms of Dean. Only then did he look Dean in the face.

“What did you do to yourself, Dean? I thought you tried to kill yourself!” Dean wondered if it hadn’t been better if he’d done just that. His arms and hands throbbed and stung, he was still slightly nauseous and he felt stupid as hell. The humiliation was almost enough to burn the last of the horror of his nightmare/memory away. He wondered how he’d weasel his way out of this. “Tell me the truth Dean; I’ll know if you lie to me.”

And sometimes it was a pain in the ass to be so close to his brother. Sam must have seen on his face that he was about to lie to him. If he tried to do that now he would be totally screwed. He swallowed hard, feeling humiliation burn in his chest. He hated admitting weakness of any kind.

“I… I had a nightmare again.” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “There was so much blood. I had to get it off me; I had to wash it away. I couldn’t get the stains out, so I had to scrub harder…” He couldn’t continue, and even though he closed his eyes he could feel tears squeeze out thickly, running down his face. He drew a breath, and it hitched, becoming a full out sob. Once he’d begun he couldn’t stop, his grief and anger was a force of nature. He sank down to the floor, not even aware he’d done so as tears coursed down his face. He couldn’t breathe, choking on sobs, on guilt, on despair.

He wasn’t even aware that Sam sat down next to him, trying to calm him down. When he didn’t respond Sam must have drawn him into his arms, cradling him and rocking him, soothing him with whispered murmurs of reassurance.

He had no idea how long they sat like that, but he finally got a hold of himself enough to breathe normally.

Once he could do that he managed to calm down. He was sitting flat on the floor, drawn into the circle of Sam’s long arms, his back flush against Sam’s chest. He trembled slightly, feeling the tremors travel to his brother. He could also feel Sam’s breath against the nape of his neck, where he placed a soft kiss. The butterfly touch made Dean shiver anew and he turned slightly so he could look at his brother. Sam’s face was streaked with tears, hazel eyes sparkling. His entire face was a picture of horrified misery and Dean felt like the lowest scum on earth for putting Sam through it. He mumbled an apology and then cried out in a mixture of outrage and pain as Sam cuffed him in the back of the head. Hard.

“What the hell was that for? It fucking hurt!” He glared at his brother, who matched with a glare of his own.

“For being so damn stupid! I’ve tried; God knows I’ve tried to get you to talk about this. But out of sheer fucking pride and stubbornness you just keep it inside, hoping it’ll go away. Look how great that worked! You’ve damn near committed suicide by scrubbing, and wouldn’t that be the lamest thing ever written on a death certificate?” Dean couldn’t help himself, he huffed a slight laugh. Sam tried to keep a straight face, but he couldn’t keep a smile from creeping onto his face. He was still holding on to Dean, rocking him gently. “Seriously dude, I know you’ve got nightmares. Stop being so proud, talk to me. I’m not a kid anymore, and you don’t have to protect me. You need me, let me take care of you now.” As he finished talking he gently cupped Dean’s face, drawing him down for a slow, soft kiss. It was merely a brush of lips, like a flicker of a butterfly’s wings. It was still enough to make Dean’s breath stutter and his eyes flutter close.

It had been so long ago since they’d touched each other like this, and it had never been this much emotion involved. Oh, sure there was always love involved, there had been since they’d been kids. But whenever they touched each other like that they’d made sure to keep it to drunken groping. They’d never let it become real somehow. But when Sam kissed him now Dean could feel the emotions pouring over him, into him. It brought an answering rush from him and brought his hands up to tangle in Sam’s hair. And that brought a small sound of pain from him as his battered and burnt fingers protested.

“I meant it. Let me take care of you now. You need to relax and unwind, and I know how to do it.” He carefully pulled Dean to his feet and backed him out of the bedroom, lips scorching against his brother’s. Dean couldn’t help the small gasps and breathy moans that escaped him as he felt Sam deepen the kiss. It had been too long, he finally admitted, since he’d felt this. And without the haze of alcohol it was so much more real.

Sam gave a small shove and Dean fell down on the bed with a small “Oof” of surprise. Sam grinned, face shining with concern.

“I didn’t hurt you?”

“Huh, you’d think you’d know by now I’m not that fragile. Really Sammy, are you losing your touch?”

“I was thinking of your hands, jerk.” Sam’s words held no heat, and he still smiled slightly. “So you’d better keep them in check. You’re not allowed to move them or use them.” With that he started blazing a trail down Dean’s chest, licking along ribbed abs as he sought out his destination. He didn’t hesitate as he stripped Dean’s underwear off, nor did he hesitate to swallow his prize.

Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head as he felt Sam’s nimble tongue and soft lips work their magic on him. But it was different. There was more care, and less hurry, and just… more. And better. Sam gave his all, nipping and sucking, licking and nibbling. As he gently circled the tight entrance with a finger Sam pushed him over the edge. Dean had to close his eyes, squeezing them shut as sounds of pained pleasure tore from him. His entire body spasmed and shuddered as he shot his load down his brother’s throat. Sam took it all without hesitation. As Dean finally came down he squinted at Sam.

“C’mere. Please?” It was probably that unaccustomed “please” that did it. Sam gave a full-on smile and crawled up to him, spooning him. He could feel Sam’s erection poke him in the back and gave a slow leer.

“You want a hand with that?” Sam just laughed and shook his head.

“Not yours anyway, they’d be no good right now. No, I’m okay. This was about you. How do you feel?” Dean actually took a second to think, to feel. He was a bit astounded by what he found.

“I feel better, to tell the truth.”

“Heh, I knew it. Sex can cure anything.” He’d been given the perfect way out, but Dean decided not to take it. It was time to take that leap.

“No it can’t, but you can. Fuck, Sam, I love you.” As a declaration of love went it lacked a certain style and finesse, but then it went to a special person. Sam Winchester wasn’t anyone.

“I love you too. Now can you stop being so fucking stubborn and begin to open up? I don’t want to patch you up after every nightmare.” Dean gave him a light punch, and even that hurt. He cursed up a storm before answering.

“I don’t do chick-flicks, you know that. I hate opening up, singing Kumbaya and shit.” His face softened. “But I can talk to you. I’ll get better at it, I swear.” Sam smiled and captured his lips in another soft kiss. Once again Dean marveled at how right it felt.

“It’s a beginning. A new beginning, of everything. You told me you love me. You’re so screwed.” Dean gave a mock moan of despair that Sam swallowed with his amazingly talented mouth. Dean figured anew beginning might be just what he needed.