Cigarette Flowers
The first one he did it out of rage.
He was a smart kid, and when he found his older brother smoking behind their motel room, Sam had thrown a fit. He yelled and tried to reason with his brother over the dangers brought by nicotine. The addiction, the increased possibilities of cancer, the high blood pressure that could potentially damage his heart, he explained it all. Maybe his choice of words- fucking little shits- weren't the most eloquent, but even if he had made a poem out of it, Sam's words of precaution would have still fallen on deaf ears.
So yeah, the first burn was caused by the anger that his older brother's casual dismissal cooked up within him. For every cigarette Dean smoked, Sam would have a mark of it.
The second, third, and fourth was just to prove his point, to demonstrate his commitment.
The fifth, sixth, and seventh was to establish a routine, make it something he worked with on daily basis.
The eighth, ninth, and tenth was because he simply, without making the whole explanation difficult, liked the feeling. Enjoyed the black, red, likeable round scar it left.
People got tattoos, Sam got cigarette burns.
The point of the whole endeavor had shifted.
Rage turned into a pursue of control, of power. Something that the boy clearly lacked in his life. He never got a say in anything that truly mattered.
So Sam had no trouble convincing himself that his actions were out of a need for fairness.
Dean was addicted to nicotine, he was addicted to burning himself.
Apparently Dean didn't agree with Sam over the matter though.
The way that his brother found out about his secret habit was so stupid that it's not even worth mentioning in Sam's book.
(The new sweat pants he'd bought after his last growth spurt simply hang too low.)
"The fuck?" Dean exclaimed towards Sam, his voice dripping in surprise and anger.
Sam simply stared at his brother dumbly, unsure of what had brought forth such a sudden and strong reaction. The truth only dawned on him after he followed Dean's pointing finger to the edge of his lower abdomen and saw the flowery red petals of the scars.
"What the fuck are those Sam?" Dean questioned with that voice he sometimes got when his overprotective big brother side came out.
"Scars." Sam responded passively.
"I know they're scars, damn it!" His brother exploded with a growl. "What I want to know is how the flying fuck they got there!"
At this demand Sam opted to keep his mouth close. One angry brother was more than enough at the moment.
The silence stretched, the only thing penetrating it was the sound of Sam's watch, and for some reason being reminded of the passing of time made the situation even worse.
"Did someone do this to you, Sam? Someone at school? Or maybe...maybe here? Was it...was it Dad?" Dean finished his sentence with a whisper of a voice. Sam could only stare at Dean in horror at the suggestion.
Sure, John Winchester was a hard man, but he loved his boys, and they both knew that fact. But just the fact that Dean- John's star son- had brought it up the possibility that it was their own father and the man that Dean admired most, made Sam eyes go wide and his jaw slack.
"What?! No! Of course Dad didn't do this to me!" He said quickly, watching as a little of the tension melted away from Dean's trembling shoulders.
"Then who Sam? Was it some punk ass kid at school? Oh God, I'm gonna rip his damn lungs out!"
"No! No one at school has done anything to me." That would have maybe been a bit of a white lie if Dean had been referring something other than his cigarette scars.
"Damn it Sam! Tell me then, how the fuck did you get these burns!" Dean yelled, his frustration becoming more and more visible per second.
"None of your fucking business." Even if Sam wanted to flinch at the hurt reaction his words had on his brother, he had to congratulate himself on the smoothness and even sound of his voice. Dean apparently, wasn't going to join in Sam's 'let's keep our voices at a reasonable level' idea.
"How is you being hurt not my fucking business?! Especially those-!" Dean's jaw snapped shut as he touched one of the scars on Sam's lower belly, eyes scanning the area wildly.
"Those are from cigarettes. But you don't smo-" Another pause, "You used my cigarettes." There was no need for Sam to agree with his brother. He hadn't asked anything, but had come to the conclusion on his own.
"Are you burning yourself with my smokes Sammy?" Now that was definitely a question, and when Dean looked up to stare tearfully at Sam, the teenager couldn't help but almost involuntarily shake his head with a short nod.
"Oh my God Sammy." Dean inhaled sharply, "Why?"
At first, Sam shrugged, trying to avoid the scrutiny- hurt- of his brother's gaze, but after a moment of feeling Dean's hand shake, the younger boy simply crumbled.
"At first, it was to teach you a lesson, you know? I thought that every time you smoked one, I'd burn myself with the bud. Maybe...maybe that way you would listen to me. Maybe even quit. After a while though...it became a habit of some sorts. It's not like I enjoy the pain, that part always sucks, but it helped to concentrate. When I study, it keeps me awake. Before a hunt, I get an adrenaline rush. Or just...if I have too much time on my hands, too much time alone, I guess it gives me something to do." Sam looked at Dean, half expecting his brother to cluck him straight on the chin after his speech. To Dean, his reasoning probably sounded like shit.
But Dean remained quiet, simply taking in the information concerning Sam's motivation behind his actions.
"So…all of this..." Dean's fingertips grazed upon his scars, "Began so I would stop smoking?" The silent question came out with such sadness that Sam had the urge to wrap his arms around Dean and tell him that this whole thing was stupid, that Sam was stupid, and Dean had nothing to do with his stupidity. The only thing that he ended up doing was giving another nod.
"At the beginning, yes. I...I was mostly angry back then." Sam admitted, a bit ashamed.
More silence followed the admission, and once again, after a few uncomfortable moments, Dean broke it.
"Can we compromise on this?" He asked, looking at Sam to continue. As Sam shook his head in agreement, he realized how much of an equal footing Dean's question provided. He wasn't demanding Sam to stop, he was asking. No power or control over each other, but coming up with solutions to a problem together. Sam had to admit to himself that he liked that.
"I will stop smoking. I will never touch any form of tobacco ever again and you stop hurting yourself. Does that sound okay?"
Before responding, Sam took a deep breath and let it out, feeling a bit relieved at the future lack of cigarette smoke aroma.
"Yeah. Yeah, Dean. That sounds amazing." And this time, Sam did reach out to hug his brother and Dean embraced him against himself tightly, as if he wanted to protect Sam from all the evils of the world.
Finito
He was a smart kid, and when he found his older brother smoking behind their motel room, Sam had thrown a fit. He yelled and tried to reason with his brother over the dangers brought by nicotine. The addiction, the increased possibilities of cancer, the high blood pressure that could potentially damage his heart, he explained it all. Maybe his choice of words- fucking little shits- weren't the most eloquent, but even if he had made a poem out of it, Sam's words of precaution would have still fallen on deaf ears.
So yeah, the first burn was caused by the anger that his older brother's casual dismissal cooked up within him. For every cigarette Dean smoked, Sam would have a mark of it.
The second, third, and fourth was just to prove his point, to demonstrate his commitment.
The fifth, sixth, and seventh was to establish a routine, make it something he worked with on daily basis.
The eighth, ninth, and tenth was because he simply, without making the whole explanation difficult, liked the feeling. Enjoyed the black, red, likeable round scar it left.
People got tattoos, Sam got cigarette burns.
The point of the whole endeavor had shifted.
Rage turned into a pursue of control, of power. Something that the boy clearly lacked in his life. He never got a say in anything that truly mattered.
So Sam had no trouble convincing himself that his actions were out of a need for fairness.
Dean was addicted to nicotine, he was addicted to burning himself.
Apparently Dean didn't agree with Sam over the matter though.
The way that his brother found out about his secret habit was so stupid that it's not even worth mentioning in Sam's book.
(The new sweat pants he'd bought after his last growth spurt simply hang too low.)
"The fuck?" Dean exclaimed towards Sam, his voice dripping in surprise and anger.
Sam simply stared at his brother dumbly, unsure of what had brought forth such a sudden and strong reaction. The truth only dawned on him after he followed Dean's pointing finger to the edge of his lower abdomen and saw the flowery red petals of the scars.
"What the fuck are those Sam?" Dean questioned with that voice he sometimes got when his overprotective big brother side came out.
"Scars." Sam responded passively.
"I know they're scars, damn it!" His brother exploded with a growl. "What I want to know is how the flying fuck they got there!"
At this demand Sam opted to keep his mouth close. One angry brother was more than enough at the moment.
The silence stretched, the only thing penetrating it was the sound of Sam's watch, and for some reason being reminded of the passing of time made the situation even worse.
"Did someone do this to you, Sam? Someone at school? Or maybe...maybe here? Was it...was it Dad?" Dean finished his sentence with a whisper of a voice. Sam could only stare at Dean in horror at the suggestion.
Sure, John Winchester was a hard man, but he loved his boys, and they both knew that fact. But just the fact that Dean- John's star son- had brought it up the possibility that it was their own father and the man that Dean admired most, made Sam eyes go wide and his jaw slack.
"What?! No! Of course Dad didn't do this to me!" He said quickly, watching as a little of the tension melted away from Dean's trembling shoulders.
"Then who Sam? Was it some punk ass kid at school? Oh God, I'm gonna rip his damn lungs out!"
"No! No one at school has done anything to me." That would have maybe been a bit of a white lie if Dean had been referring something other than his cigarette scars.
"Damn it Sam! Tell me then, how the fuck did you get these burns!" Dean yelled, his frustration becoming more and more visible per second.
"None of your fucking business." Even if Sam wanted to flinch at the hurt reaction his words had on his brother, he had to congratulate himself on the smoothness and even sound of his voice. Dean apparently, wasn't going to join in Sam's 'let's keep our voices at a reasonable level' idea.
"How is you being hurt not my fucking business?! Especially those-!" Dean's jaw snapped shut as he touched one of the scars on Sam's lower belly, eyes scanning the area wildly.
"Those are from cigarettes. But you don't smo-" Another pause, "You used my cigarettes." There was no need for Sam to agree with his brother. He hadn't asked anything, but had come to the conclusion on his own.
"Are you burning yourself with my smokes Sammy?" Now that was definitely a question, and when Dean looked up to stare tearfully at Sam, the teenager couldn't help but almost involuntarily shake his head with a short nod.
"Oh my God Sammy." Dean inhaled sharply, "Why?"
At first, Sam shrugged, trying to avoid the scrutiny- hurt- of his brother's gaze, but after a moment of feeling Dean's hand shake, the younger boy simply crumbled.
"At first, it was to teach you a lesson, you know? I thought that every time you smoked one, I'd burn myself with the bud. Maybe...maybe that way you would listen to me. Maybe even quit. After a while though...it became a habit of some sorts. It's not like I enjoy the pain, that part always sucks, but it helped to concentrate. When I study, it keeps me awake. Before a hunt, I get an adrenaline rush. Or just...if I have too much time on my hands, too much time alone, I guess it gives me something to do." Sam looked at Dean, half expecting his brother to cluck him straight on the chin after his speech. To Dean, his reasoning probably sounded like shit.
But Dean remained quiet, simply taking in the information concerning Sam's motivation behind his actions.
"So…all of this..." Dean's fingertips grazed upon his scars, "Began so I would stop smoking?" The silent question came out with such sadness that Sam had the urge to wrap his arms around Dean and tell him that this whole thing was stupid, that Sam was stupid, and Dean had nothing to do with his stupidity. The only thing that he ended up doing was giving another nod.
"At the beginning, yes. I...I was mostly angry back then." Sam admitted, a bit ashamed.
More silence followed the admission, and once again, after a few uncomfortable moments, Dean broke it.
"Can we compromise on this?" He asked, looking at Sam to continue. As Sam shook his head in agreement, he realized how much of an equal footing Dean's question provided. He wasn't demanding Sam to stop, he was asking. No power or control over each other, but coming up with solutions to a problem together. Sam had to admit to himself that he liked that.
"I will stop smoking. I will never touch any form of tobacco ever again and you stop hurting yourself. Does that sound okay?"
Before responding, Sam took a deep breath and let it out, feeling a bit relieved at the future lack of cigarette smoke aroma.
"Yeah. Yeah, Dean. That sounds amazing." And this time, Sam did reach out to hug his brother and Dean embraced him against himself tightly, as if he wanted to protect Sam from all the evils of the world.
Finito