Song of Ruin

Sam's limp body leaned heavily against Dean as he tried to hold his brother up and open the back door of the Impala at the same time. The awkward weight against his shoulder made his cracked ribs throb in time with his pulse, but Dean ignored the pain and worked double-time to keep Sammy alive.

After Sam was carefully sprawled in the backseat, Dean took his position behind the wheel and drove away from the cabin as fast as he could.

"That goddamn werewolf. Fuck it!" Dean glanced into the rearview mirror for what seemed like the fiftieth time in one minute. Sam was so still. "Come on, Sammy."

A week ago, Sam had found signs of a werewolf in Chilicoth, IL. The brothers jumped in the car to go as soon as their breakfast was down.

After holing up in a hotel room, Sam started his homework, only leaving the room to take smoke breaks (which Dean adamantly hated). Sooner rather than later, the two of them were outside a cabin in the middle of nowhere, keeping their eyes peeled for movement.

Out of the blue the thing jumps out from behind the house and pounces on Dean.

Sam was on it in a flash. No gun, no blade, just Sam.

A flash of anger coursed through Dean. What the fuck had Sam been thinking? There were perfectly good weapons at his fingertips, and he jumps the thing?

That kid had a death wish…

Now Sam was laying in the backseat, getting the Impala's upholstery all nice and bloody for Dean.

The motel was only a few miles away from the cabin, and thank God for it. Dean looked back at Sam again to find him in the same position. Fuck.

Getting his brother out of the car was way more difficult than putting him in. His limp limbs were even ganglier than they normally were, and Sam being a few inches taller didn't help one bit.

Dean needed Sam to help him out.

But he mostly just wanted him to wake up.

Maneuvering through the room had been easier than expected. Sam's descent onto the bed was slowed by Dean's hands on his shoulders and locked legs. Even when Dean got Sam onto the bed and called his name and shook him… Nothing.

His eyes were wide as he backed himself into a chair in the corner of the room.

"C'mon, Sammy. Pull through."

A moan sounded from the other side of the room and Dean was bounding over to the bed in milliseconds.

"Sammy. Sammy. You okay? You good?" Dean sat on the edge of the bed and watched Sam's face as it scrunched with pain.

It was obvious Sam wasn't going to hang around long enough for Dean to know the extent of his injuries. The only bad one he could see was a row of deep, still-bleeding gashes on his side where the werewolf had reached around and hit him with his claws.

Sam winced and locked his hand around Dean's arm. His green eyes weren't showing, but he could feel every nerve in his body screaming with pain.

Dean placed his own hand over his brother's and squelched down his emotions. He had to help Sam.

He reached down to Sam's feet and started untangling the muddy laces. A shower. That would wake Sam up enough to stay alive and maybe get all that dirt from underneath the wound.

Shoes and socks off, Dean went up top and first slit the blood-stained jacket off of Sam's shoulders, then went for the buttons on his shirt.

Dean frowned when he got to the second button. Sam had too many scars from too many fights. Maybe Dean should have left in Palo Alto. Then he wouldn't have to see his baby brother beat to shit like this.

A third button came loose over Sam's chest and green eyes were suddenly staring up at Dean, fear flowing through them.

A hand shot up and Dean found himself falling off of the bed. He caught himself before he hit the floor, but almost fell over again when he saw Sam trying to sit up.

"Woah, woah! Hold your horses there, Sammy. Wouldn't want your guts all over the floor, would we?" Dean reached forward to push Sam back down, but his hand was immediately slapped back.

"What the fuck, Sam? I'm trying to help."

Sam tried to sit up again and Dean stayed back, pissed enough that he wasn't going to try and help him.

Pain flashed across his brother's face and Dean reached his arm forward, anger vanishing fast.

"Come on, Sammy. Just let me help you. You're hurt bad."

Something passed behind Sam's eyes. Fear? Anger? Whatever it was, it shouldn't have been there.

"Just… Fuck off. For, like, five minutes. Just let me do this." Pleading green eyes stared back at Dean and all he could do was shake his head and walk away.

That kid definitely had a death wish.

The light in the bathroom seemed too bright as Dean locked the door behind him. If Sam wanted to be a stubborn asshole, then so be it. It gave Dean a chance to check out his own wounds anyway.

Ever since the werewolf had landed on his chest, he knew that something wasn't right with his ribs. Every time he took too deep a breath or twisted the wrong way, a burning pain shot up his side and hit him straight in the heart.

Upon revealing the injury, Dean could see a bruise already formed. It was nasty and black. They weren't broken, though. He knew what broken ribs felt like, and this was not it.

A loud thunk came from the other room and Dean almost broke down the door trying to get out of the locked bathroom.

Sam was lying on the floor in between the two beds, eyes closed. Dean scrambled to reach his brother and assess the situation.

Sam's chest was bare and the wound was clearly meant to be a killing blow, but damn him if Dean was going to let Sam die.

Instead of trying to hitch his brother onto the bed again, he just grabbed a pillow from the bed and carefully slid it under Sam's head. Dean re-arranged Sam's arms and legs to make more room for him to sew up the gaping, bleeding wound.

The first aid kit was in Dean's duffel which was, thank God, within arm's reach. Dean got to work threading and closing up the four slices on Sam's side. A large gauze pad got taped over the finished results and Dean sat back against the bed, wincing when his ribs hit just the right spot on the frame.

Now all Dean had to do was drag the big lug into the bed and let him sleep it off. That was the hard part. It was one thing to get a passenger out of the backseat of a car, but off of the floor? Dean prayed his balance (and his ribs) would hold out.

Dean straddled his younger brother and wrapped his hands around Sam's biceps, pulling up. When he got Sam into a sitting position, Dean wrapped his arms around him and pulled him forward into him.

There was something on Sam's back. Mud or dried blood, maybe. Dean ignored it and grounded himself before pulling Sam up and onto the bed.

Both men made an oomph noise as Sam hit the bed.

Dean turned and fell face-first onto his bed. Sam was breathing and patched up. He was fine, until the next time he made a dick move like attacking a werewolf without a knife.

Dean situated himself on the bed and drifted toward sleep almost instantly; one ear open just in case Sam decided to wake up.

= = = Next day

Dean awoke to a dip at the bottom of his bed.

"Sammy?"

His voice was groggy with sleep and he couldn't seem to get his eyes open. It had to be Sam, though.

"Yeah, Dean. Go back to sleep. I'm just going to take a shower."

Dean's eyes opened and he pulled the covers off of him. Sam's hand was pushing into the bed, obviously for support. His face showed no pain, but he was obviously hurting by the way he stood.

"Lemme help." Dean sat up and went to stand.

"No, I'm fine. I'm a big boy." A quiet laugh escaped through Sam's lips.

"Don't be a retard." Dean stood and grabbed Sam's placed his hand on his brother's back.

Sam flinched and shrugged Dean off his back.

"What the…" That's when Dean noticed it.

Scars, old and new, were scattered across Sam's back. And there was no way that they were all from hunting. Unless a poltergeist took the time to light up a smoke then put it out on Sam's back. Long, thin scars crisscrossed over shoulders and lower back. Yellow and purple bruises blossomed on Sam's sides and back. Some of the wounds couldn't be more than a week old. A fat burn mark dribbled down his right side. The only thing that could do something like was a… a fucking lighter.

Sam whimpered and started toward the bathroom when Dean reached forward, speechless.

The door slammed and Dean could hear the lock engage; a gunshot in the silence.

A ringing began in his ears and his vision blurred as he fumbled around, looking for a place to fall.

His back of his knees collided with Sam's bed and he sat down on the bedspread.

What the fuck?

Outside of his thoughts, Dean could hear the shower turn on and banging which could possibly be Sammy throwing shit around the bathroom.

What the fucking hell?

Dean pressed his fingers into his thighs, trying to clear his head. This was why Sam had been so withdrawn. Obviously he was hurting himself, like some fucking emo kid. But he wouldn't have been able to hold a lighter to his skin from that angle. Someone was helping.

Dean's fingers dug harder into his thighs, suppressing the urge to kick down the bathroom door and ask Sam who was hurting him so he could kill his ass.

Deep down, though, Dean knew the truth. Sam wanted it. Why else would he throw himself into fights barehanded?

That kid had a death wish.

He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the water in the bathroom to stop running.

Tears flowed down his face as Sam stood in the shower. He was caught. Dean was probably in the room, prepping to kick Sam's ass down the street and back.

He deserved it, though. It had been more than a year since Jess died, and he was pretty much over it. But he couldn't stop. When he was facedown on some stranger's carpet, or pushed against some grimy bathroom wall, it all went away. Everything. The demon blood, Jess's memories, his own failures.

Until he went back to Dean and the job.

God, Dean.

Sam shut the water off and stepped out of the bathtub. Grabbing a towel, he stared at the doorknob, expecting it to wiggle and shake. Strangely, nothing happened. This fact just scared Sam even more.

Maybe he didn't say anything.

Pff, yeah. Sam had turned and seen Dean's face before locking himself in the bathroom. His brother had definitely seen it all.

Fresh tears started falling down Sam's cheeks. He stumbled over to the door and turned his back to it.

There was no way he was walking out there. Especially when he didn't have any clothes on. Fuck.

He slid his back down the wooden door and winced a bit at the pain still biting into his side. Dean had done a good job stitching that up. Sam knew he had been in bad shape, but it didn't really hurt much now.

Probably the adrenaline-causing fear coursing through his vein.

Sam crossed his arms over his knees and put his head down, waiting for the motel room door to open, telling him Dean had given up and left.

It had been too long. Sam had been in that bathroom with the water off for too long.

Dean was panicking. What if something was wrong? What if his wound had popped a few stitches and he was bleeding out?

He stood and walked toward the door, ready to bang on it for Sam to open up, but stopped, knuckles in air.

What if Sam was… Dean couldn't even think about it. Sam wouldn't. Not with Dean right there.

How many times had Sam been doing something when Dean was only a door away? When the hell had this even started. Dean guessed it was all started with Jess. It would make sense.

Dean shook his head, angry again, and hit the door with his knuckles.

Nothing.

Panic and fear slid through him. His hands grabbed the doorknob and shook it, but it was locked.

"Sam! Open the fucking door." Dean couldn't hear anything but dead silence. As he started to back up to kick the door in, he heard the soft click of the knob unlocking.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips, despite his anger. He quickly tried the knob again and found he could only open it a couple of inches. Something – someone – was up against the door.

"I'm not coming out yet." As if that explained everything. "Can you just…" A cracked sigh. "… Leave me alone for a few?"

Dean's anger resurfaced, flooding through him faster than a speeding train.

"Of course I can't leave you alone? You think I'm gonna leave you alone after seeing that? Sammy, c'mon." Dean's voice cracked at the end. What was he going to do?

The door suddenly opened to Sam standing there with a towel around his hips.

"Then will you get me some clothes?"

The request was so random Dean had to stop. He just stared, not comprehending his little brother's words.

"Clothes. Right."

Dean turned toward Sam's duffel, ears beginning to ring again. As he dug through the duffel bag, pulling out a shirt and jeans, he saw Sam out of the corner of his eyes. His brother was obviously ready to lock himself back into the bathroom and never come out, so Dean hurried and threw the clothes at Sam.

Sam caught everything and immediately pulled on his shirt, before turning his back to Dean and dropping the towel to put on his pants.

Dean watched Sam's movement and thought about his wound from last night. It had looked good when Sam opened the door, so Dean forgot about it and started to panic over their approaching conversation.

Sam never even glanced at Dean as he took a seat on the bed across from his brother.

"I guess you wan-"

"Shut up, Sam. Just… shut the fuck up and let me think."

Sam ducked his head and leaned back, farther away from Dean.

Eyes boring into Sam's skull, Dean opened his mouth, trying to get what he wanted out.

"Wha-? I don- I jus-"

Obviously it wasn't working.

Dean turned and looked to the stained carpet.

"I have absolutely… no fucking clue what to say, Sam. I don't even know… Wha-? Why, Sam?"

The only answer Dean got was silence. He picked his head up and looked toward his brother.

"Sammy?"

Blue eyes were staring into Dean's. Emotion raced through them. Fear, anger, sadness. They finally chose one and a tear slid down Sam's cheek.

"I'm sorry, Dean." His voice was quiet; almost a whisper.

Rage flowed through Dean's veins. He stood and clenched his fists to keep from pounding his brother in the face. But he would probably like it. Damn it!

Dean had to turn away from Sam's eyes; his sad, pleading eyes. The eyes that always broke Dean down and made him do whatever Sam wanted.

"You're sorry? Sorry? Damn it, Sam."

He turned and looked at his brother again. He looked scared; really and truly scared. Like Dean was going to kick him to the curb or kill him.

The former was definitely a thought going through his mind at the moment.

"Sorry for lying to me about how you were 'fine' after Jess died? Sorry for not asking me for help? Sorry for making me sit here thinking you were fucking slitting your wrists in the bathroom while I waited? I can't think of anything you need to be sorry for, Sam. Jesus!"

Another tear fell.

"Just... I… Sorry."

Dean stopped and turned toward his brother and inhaled for another rant.

Sam shrunk back and hid his eyes from his brother.

Silence. Nothing.

Sam felt the bed dip down next to him and flinched when a hand showed in front of him.

A throaty half-sob came from Dean's throat as he took his hand back.

"Please, Sammy. Don't do that. I just… God, I don't want you to leave me."

Sam carefully looked toward Dean and saw a few tear tracks flowing from his eyes.

The brothers just stared at each other for what seemed like eternity until Dean made a move. His arms wrapped around Sam, one going under the back of his shirt, tracing his scars.

"Why, Sammy? Why do you…" Dean let out a laugh-sob and caressed the fat burn mark with his thumb. "Why?"

Sam sat still and flinched at the touch of his brother. Tears were flowing down his face faster now. Like there were so many he had kept holed up so long and now they had a way out.

"I…" Another sob. "Jess… And then Dad… So much shit, Dean. It's so much, Dean."

Dean's arms loosened around Sam as he talked. Dean toughened up and put on his big brother mask. He let go of Sam completely and pulled his hand away from his damaged back. Wiping his face, he picked Sam's chin up and turned his brother to face him.

"Sam. You gotta listen to me. Hear me out."

Sam wiped his face with his sleeve and nodded, abruptly serious.

"Please… I don't know why or when or how the hell you've been doing this, but Sam…" Dean's voice hitched as he said his brother's name. "Sammy, please… Don't. I need you here with me."

Sam chuckled under his breath then stopped and looked at Dean.

"I'm not suicidal, Dean. I mean, I was at a time, but that hasn't even crossed my mind in over a year. I'm not going anywhere."

Dean let go of Sam's chin and sighed.

"Then why the fuck do you do that?" Dean gestured toward Sam's back and looked puzzled.

It was Sam's turn to sigh as he thought of how to explain it to his brother.

"It was a way to get away from things. It helped me forget. I… I liked it. It was an escape. Now… Now, it's just… Dean, I don't know how to explain it. I'm over Jess and everything, but there's always something shitty happening to me; to us."

Dean reached forward, wanting to touch Sam again, but put his hand back on his own knee.

"Sam… I know that Jess's death was hard. And Dad's hurt us both. But you can't go running around with strangers, trusting them not to slit your throat in a gas station bathroom."

Sam cringed at his brother's words, knowing they were all completely true. He had no clue who the men and women he had had sex with were. And every time it happened, Sam let up his guard and surrendered fully to whoever was with him, giving them access too his life.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

A quiet whimper came from Dean's throat and Sam turned toward him.

His brother looked from Sam's eyes to the back of him; back and forth. He reached forward and placed shaking fingers on the bottom of his t-shirt. Sam felt cool air across his lower back as Dean lifted the shirt and just stared.

"Dean…" Sam wanted so much to grab Dean's hand and pull him away, but he knew that wouldn't go over well.

A warm finger traced over a scar on his lower back, then followed the tracks up to Sam's shoulderblades.

Dean finally pulled his hand away and then turned away from Sam.

"Sammy. Please… Don't. Will you stop? I don't want to lose you… Ever."

Blue eyes met green as Dean looked back at his brother, close to more tears. He just knew that Sam was going to get mad and storm out of here, leaving him alone. And then go out and get killed. Dean knew it.

Sam's brow furrowed and then a corner of his mouth lifted, just a touch.

"For you, Dean."

A/N: Okay… Well, then. I know it was kinda mushy and not at all Winchester-y, but I felt like we needed some angsty smush-ness… There will be a third one in this series. That might be the last one. We'll see what comes to me later.

Thanks for reading!