Fix You
Title: Fix You (Chapter 6)
Author: beatlemaniac9
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Warnings: Mentions of Drug Use, Attempted Suicide, Wincest
Summary: At sixteen, Sam Winchester is turning to drugs to cope with his unrequitted love for his brother. Can Dean stop him before it's too late?
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1| Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Sam couldn’t bring himself to care that he felt cold as the blood dripped out of the vertical cut on his arm. It wouldn’t take too much longer, as the chill of the air, and the rain pouring down on him assisted. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought of it before; suicide may have been the coward’s way out, but he’d already hit rock bottom. The drug use simply seemed like a jagged rock on the way down.
Dean would miss him, sure, but he needed to move on. Sam wasn’t worth his time, if that was how he’d treat him. Bobby and Dad wouldn’t understand, but they’d get on alright. He hated doing it to Dean, but it was the best way to protect him. Their relationship would send them straight to the special hell, reserved for incestuous fucks and rapists. Really, the difference for them was miniscule. Dean had always given Sam what he wanted, so why would a relationship be any different.
He didn’t deserve Dean; the man, despite his mistakes and cheap one night stands, was far better than he. Similarly, his brother didn’t deserve him, either. He deserved a happier life, one in which he didn’t have to worry for his pain in the ass little brother. Thus, the numb he began to feel throughout his body was a relief. Someday, maybe Dean could forgive him.
______________________________________________________________________________
Dean dashed through the woods, scanning the area for any hide or hair of Sam. When he picked up the trail, he sped up, despite the protest of his limbs and lungs. Finally, he spotted a dark figure in a clearing ahead, which he rushed to. Somehow, the feeling in his gut fueled him to go faster. He knew that it was bad. Sam looked limp, even from as far away as he was.
“No…” Dean whispered, unaware of his vocalization.
He dropped to the ground beside a pale boy, the shadow of his brother. Blood was everywhere, and it was plentiful. His eyes were closed, and his body was motionless. Dean gasped at the sight, still in shock of it all. His Sammy looked like death. The realization prompted the older boy to press his fingers on the younger one’s neck, finding that there was indeed a pulse. It was feint, but enough.
The sight of the cut along his arm, coupled with the pocket knife lying beside his other arm, made it all obvious. Sam had done it to himself. It hurt to know that something as small as a talk with Bobby could make him freak out so badly; that he’d turn to this. Dean wasn’t sure if it was out of need for relief, or for an escape, but either way, this was bad.
Dean quickly stripped his upper half, using his shirt as a makeshift pressure wrap, and his jacket to curl around him. He pulled Sam up into his arms, using one hand to push his brother’s excessively long locks out of his face.
“Don’t worry, Sammy. We’re going home.”
______________________________________________________________________________
Sam vaguely heard his brother’s voice through the fog he assumed was death. The voice was worried, but so familiar that it was a comfort, nonetheless. This must be what heaven’s like, he thought. Suddenly, he felt the warmth surround him, as if he were being held. It was pleasant.
And then it hit him. The pain in his arm returned, and he felt himself jostle. He knew that he was being carried, and he was unfortunately alive. It really was Dean, and he would have had to have seen the cut. Shit.
It was hard to say how long it took before he heard the other voices, and felt the press of a soft surface below him. It was nothing like the comfort that Dean gave him, but it was a welcomed change. His back ached from lying on the hard soil from before. The numb was a distant memory, and he was willing to take any sort of reprieve he could.
______________________________________________________________________________
John arrived at Bobby’s mere minutes before Dean was dragging his little brother through the front door. He hadn’t even had time to ask about what had happened. Bobby had been somewhat vague on the phone. It was as if he were hiding something. In any event, the moment a rather panicked Dean barreled through to the living room, setting the boy down on the sofa, he no longer had time to think about it.
“What the hell is wrong with him?” John demanded, fearful of why Sam was unconscious, blue-lipped, and pale as a sheet.
“When I found him, he was bleeding pretty badly. He slit his wrist. I tried to stop the bleeding, but I don’t know if I’ve found him in time. He hasn’t woken up.” Dean was staring off as he spoke, almost as if trying to disengage himself from the scene before him.
“Did he cut sideways, or up?” Bobby queried.
“Up. It’s what you do when you’re trying to kill yourself.” Dean’s calm voice hit John like a brick. He was worried that Sam had run away, and now he was dying on the couch. It was like a bad dream, suddenly made reality. Panic weaseled its way into his very core, causing his knees to buckle. He made no attempt to get up, staring straight at eye level at his younger son. He looked so peaceful, and yet, he seemed so gone.
“We need to get some blood in ‘im.” Bobby broke the silence, trying his best to think for the three of them. “And we need to get him out of the wet clothes. He needs to warm up.” Without prompt or permission, Dean stalked over to the sofa and began to strip Sam of all of his wet garments, leaving him only in his boxers. The least he could do was offer a shred of dignity while Bobby was fetching something else for him. Then, he wrapped himself around his brother, careful of his self-injured arm, in order to provide temporary warmth.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Sam was internally perturbed at the cold sensation of what he was almost certain was nudity, but couldn’t bring himself to care any longer as he felt another warmth. Skin against skin- he was sure of it. By the smell that accompanied it, it had to be Dean. He wanted so badly to touch, to comfort, but he couldn’t get his body to move. He was (partially) there mentally, but that was all. There was no way he could let Dean know that he appreciated whatever it was he was doing.
“I’m so sorry, Sammy. I should have been there.” Dean whispered into his ear.
Its okay, Dean, you were. He wished he could say; tried, with no avail.
“I’m supposed to protect you, bro. I failed.” A single tear, one that was not his own, ran down Sam’s cheek.
Please don’t cry. You did protect me. For a very long time, you’ve been protecting me. Now, it’s my turn. I failed.
“I love you, Sam.” He mouthed, practically pressed against his lover’s ear lobe. If John heard anything and though anything of it, he was kind enough not to say.
I love you too, Dean.
______________________________________________________________________________
Bobby came back, nudging Dean to let him know. The elder hunter gave him the stack of blankets and backed away, allowing the young lovers some space. He watched, heartbroken, as Dean carefully placed the blankets, layer by layer, over Sam, tucking them as best as he could. John, now standing beside him, watched with the same regard.
Sam looked so small, wrapped in his cocoon of comforters and quilts. One arm rested above the mass, elevated to keep the blood away. He was a teenager, lanky and awkward ordinarily. Now, he was reduced to this. None of the seasoned hunters had ever been so frightened, for Sam meant so much to them.
Dean’s behavior, as brotherly as it was, made the situation seem even more dangerous. He was expressionless, and running on autopilot. Never before had he appeared more broken. Bobby and John watched him in awe, but also in anguish.
“If we need to give him blood, you can use mine.” Dean spoke, much to his elders’ surprise. “I have the same blood type as Sam.” Bobby nodded at this, and went back upstairs to fetch his medical supplies.
Chapter 7 --->
Author: beatlemaniac9
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Warnings: Mentions of Drug Use, Attempted Suicide, Wincest
Summary: At sixteen, Sam Winchester is turning to drugs to cope with his unrequitted love for his brother. Can Dean stop him before it's too late?
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1| Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Sam couldn’t bring himself to care that he felt cold as the blood dripped out of the vertical cut on his arm. It wouldn’t take too much longer, as the chill of the air, and the rain pouring down on him assisted. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought of it before; suicide may have been the coward’s way out, but he’d already hit rock bottom. The drug use simply seemed like a jagged rock on the way down.
Dean would miss him, sure, but he needed to move on. Sam wasn’t worth his time, if that was how he’d treat him. Bobby and Dad wouldn’t understand, but they’d get on alright. He hated doing it to Dean, but it was the best way to protect him. Their relationship would send them straight to the special hell, reserved for incestuous fucks and rapists. Really, the difference for them was miniscule. Dean had always given Sam what he wanted, so why would a relationship be any different.
He didn’t deserve Dean; the man, despite his mistakes and cheap one night stands, was far better than he. Similarly, his brother didn’t deserve him, either. He deserved a happier life, one in which he didn’t have to worry for his pain in the ass little brother. Thus, the numb he began to feel throughout his body was a relief. Someday, maybe Dean could forgive him.
______________________________________________________________________________
Dean dashed through the woods, scanning the area for any hide or hair of Sam. When he picked up the trail, he sped up, despite the protest of his limbs and lungs. Finally, he spotted a dark figure in a clearing ahead, which he rushed to. Somehow, the feeling in his gut fueled him to go faster. He knew that it was bad. Sam looked limp, even from as far away as he was.
“No…” Dean whispered, unaware of his vocalization.
He dropped to the ground beside a pale boy, the shadow of his brother. Blood was everywhere, and it was plentiful. His eyes were closed, and his body was motionless. Dean gasped at the sight, still in shock of it all. His Sammy looked like death. The realization prompted the older boy to press his fingers on the younger one’s neck, finding that there was indeed a pulse. It was feint, but enough.
The sight of the cut along his arm, coupled with the pocket knife lying beside his other arm, made it all obvious. Sam had done it to himself. It hurt to know that something as small as a talk with Bobby could make him freak out so badly; that he’d turn to this. Dean wasn’t sure if it was out of need for relief, or for an escape, but either way, this was bad.
Dean quickly stripped his upper half, using his shirt as a makeshift pressure wrap, and his jacket to curl around him. He pulled Sam up into his arms, using one hand to push his brother’s excessively long locks out of his face.
“Don’t worry, Sammy. We’re going home.”
______________________________________________________________________________
Sam vaguely heard his brother’s voice through the fog he assumed was death. The voice was worried, but so familiar that it was a comfort, nonetheless. This must be what heaven’s like, he thought. Suddenly, he felt the warmth surround him, as if he were being held. It was pleasant.
And then it hit him. The pain in his arm returned, and he felt himself jostle. He knew that he was being carried, and he was unfortunately alive. It really was Dean, and he would have had to have seen the cut. Shit.
It was hard to say how long it took before he heard the other voices, and felt the press of a soft surface below him. It was nothing like the comfort that Dean gave him, but it was a welcomed change. His back ached from lying on the hard soil from before. The numb was a distant memory, and he was willing to take any sort of reprieve he could.
______________________________________________________________________________
John arrived at Bobby’s mere minutes before Dean was dragging his little brother through the front door. He hadn’t even had time to ask about what had happened. Bobby had been somewhat vague on the phone. It was as if he were hiding something. In any event, the moment a rather panicked Dean barreled through to the living room, setting the boy down on the sofa, he no longer had time to think about it.
“What the hell is wrong with him?” John demanded, fearful of why Sam was unconscious, blue-lipped, and pale as a sheet.
“When I found him, he was bleeding pretty badly. He slit his wrist. I tried to stop the bleeding, but I don’t know if I’ve found him in time. He hasn’t woken up.” Dean was staring off as he spoke, almost as if trying to disengage himself from the scene before him.
“Did he cut sideways, or up?” Bobby queried.
“Up. It’s what you do when you’re trying to kill yourself.” Dean’s calm voice hit John like a brick. He was worried that Sam had run away, and now he was dying on the couch. It was like a bad dream, suddenly made reality. Panic weaseled its way into his very core, causing his knees to buckle. He made no attempt to get up, staring straight at eye level at his younger son. He looked so peaceful, and yet, he seemed so gone.
“We need to get some blood in ‘im.” Bobby broke the silence, trying his best to think for the three of them. “And we need to get him out of the wet clothes. He needs to warm up.” Without prompt or permission, Dean stalked over to the sofa and began to strip Sam of all of his wet garments, leaving him only in his boxers. The least he could do was offer a shred of dignity while Bobby was fetching something else for him. Then, he wrapped himself around his brother, careful of his self-injured arm, in order to provide temporary warmth.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Sam was internally perturbed at the cold sensation of what he was almost certain was nudity, but couldn’t bring himself to care any longer as he felt another warmth. Skin against skin- he was sure of it. By the smell that accompanied it, it had to be Dean. He wanted so badly to touch, to comfort, but he couldn’t get his body to move. He was (partially) there mentally, but that was all. There was no way he could let Dean know that he appreciated whatever it was he was doing.
“I’m so sorry, Sammy. I should have been there.” Dean whispered into his ear.
Its okay, Dean, you were. He wished he could say; tried, with no avail.
“I’m supposed to protect you, bro. I failed.” A single tear, one that was not his own, ran down Sam’s cheek.
Please don’t cry. You did protect me. For a very long time, you’ve been protecting me. Now, it’s my turn. I failed.
“I love you, Sam.” He mouthed, practically pressed against his lover’s ear lobe. If John heard anything and though anything of it, he was kind enough not to say.
I love you too, Dean.
______________________________________________________________________________
Bobby came back, nudging Dean to let him know. The elder hunter gave him the stack of blankets and backed away, allowing the young lovers some space. He watched, heartbroken, as Dean carefully placed the blankets, layer by layer, over Sam, tucking them as best as he could. John, now standing beside him, watched with the same regard.
Sam looked so small, wrapped in his cocoon of comforters and quilts. One arm rested above the mass, elevated to keep the blood away. He was a teenager, lanky and awkward ordinarily. Now, he was reduced to this. None of the seasoned hunters had ever been so frightened, for Sam meant so much to them.
Dean’s behavior, as brotherly as it was, made the situation seem even more dangerous. He was expressionless, and running on autopilot. Never before had he appeared more broken. Bobby and John watched him in awe, but also in anguish.
“If we need to give him blood, you can use mine.” Dean spoke, much to his elders’ surprise. “I have the same blood type as Sam.” Bobby nodded at this, and went back upstairs to fetch his medical supplies.
Chapter 7 --->