To Be Loved
Title: To Be Loved
Author: pyrokitten77
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R for content
Spoilers: None
Word Count: About 1,500
Warnings: Cutting, angst, and a hint of Wincest.
A/N: This was written for darkmerrick who requested cutting and Wincest over at the Fall Fandom Free For All. Which was a LONG time ago. I'm so sorry! *pinches self* Beta'd by
kaz_tiel .
Summary: "It's just what I do when shit starts getting out of control."
-----*-----
Dean lightly drags the sharpened blade along the soft inside of his wrist, relishing the pinprick of torn skin when the jagged serrated edge bites into his flesh. The slow oozing of blood is bright against the pale skin and he smiles.
It's a hollow smile, hollow just like his chest feels and he doesn't even begin to wonder why.
He presses the knife harder and the flow quickens, droplets of blood dripping down onto the clean, white tiles. He drags the knife across another patch of flesh.
Blood pitter-patters like rain on the floor and it's hypnotizing. Of course, that might have a little something to do with the rapid blood loss, but Dean's never been the smart one. Dean's the brainless sidekick, the brute force.
A frown tugs at his lips and the hollow feeling is back, accompanied by the aching sadness. Another cut makes the frown go away and the flying feeling is back. He sways on the edge of the bathtub and drops the knife and the clatter it makes on the ceramic floor sounds dull to his ears.
He blearily opens his eyes, doesn't know when he shut them, and the room is fuzzy and warped.
I'm going to die, he thinks.
Instead of the panic he was sure would come at that thought, the sadness hits him full force. Like it's getting him back for feeling some sort of relief from the pain he feels every day.
Stupidpatheticdisgracefulloser. Noonewouldcareifyoudied. Noonecaresnoonecaresnoonecares.
His breath hitches and he's crying, tears spilling over on clammy cheeks and he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. He's so tired of caring. He just wants it all to stop, to go away. He wants relief and freedom.
Weakinferiorgutlessworthlessuglyfuckup.
He falls back into the bathtub, head cracking against the wall and he curls up into himself wishing the bright light in the ceiling would just shut off already so he can go to sleep. He whimpers and covers his face with his unscathed arm, feels the warmth of his tears trickle down his cheeks and his lips. The edges of his vision are going black and he knows what that means.
If not death, then sleep.
And all is silent.
-----*-----
Sam knows something is wrong when he calls Dean's cell for the 31st time, and he still doesn't get an answer. He presses the gas a little harder and prays that nothing has happened. A dread fills his heart when he sees the motel.
Something's wrong.
He tears into a parking spot, and shuts the car off quickly. As he hurries around the front of the car, he tugs the motel key out of his pocket and shoves it in the slot. It blinks red, red, red, then green and his heart is beating so loud inside his ears.
Somethingiswrongsomethingiswrongsomethingiswrong.
The room is quiet and Dean is nowhere to be found. The light is on in the bathroom and he runs to it, pounding on the closed door. Somehow, somewhere from in his frenzied mind, he thinks to try the doorknob instead of kicking it down, which is what he almost does. He's glad he doesn't, because Dean didn't lock the door.
The first thing he sees is Dean lying crumpled in the tub. The second thing he notices is the blood he almost slips on trying to get to his brother. He pulls his brother's arm away from his tear stained face and grimaces at the horizontal, red slices on the other and his heart hurts so bad from beating so hard, he thinks it's going to pop out.
"Dean?" He slaps his brother's face lightly, then harder when that gets no response.
"Dean! Please, wake up! Dean, you gotta open your eyes."
He's kneeling in his brother's cold blood while he ties a towel around Dean's forearm and his fingers are pressed tight against the pulse point at the other wrist. There's a pulse and it's faint, but it's there.
He stands up and gets his arms behind his brother's neck and knees and slowly lifts him up. After a lot of struggling and near falls, he gets his brother to a bed and digs through his duffel bag to get the first aid kit.
He carefully unwinds the towel after sitting in a near panic for ten minutes waiting for the blood flow to slow. Dean's forearm is still bleeding, but the wounds are closing and he's so full of relief, he's almost dizzy with it.
Sam dresses his brother's arm properly, and blinks the tears away when they well up in his eyes. He lies next to his unconscious brother and curls up at his side. He brings Dean's limp arm to his mouth and kisses the tender skin at the wrist, praying that Dean's gonna be okay.
-----*-----
The first thing Dean notices when he comes to is that his head hurts like a bitch. He doesn't open his eyes, just lays there hoping the pain will subside after a moment. The second thing that registers in his mind is that there is a furnace burning hot against his side.
Dean realizes that it's not a furnace after just a moment of confusion. Smells too much like Sam's cologne. Sam's home. Well, it's not home, but it's where they're holed up at the moment.
Sam's always produced plenty of body heat to keep anybody warm in any weather. Dean grimaces when he remembers that one really fucking hot summer in Georgia and they had to share a bed. And there hadn't been any air conditioning. Yeah, that wasn't fun.
Dean starts. Sam's fucking home. A panic stabs inside his chest and his eyes fly open. Sam's curled up tight against his side and Dean almost falls off the bed when he notices the bandages on his arm. His breath catches in his throat and he dislodges himself from his brother and barely makes it to the bathroom where he upchucks what's left of his breakfast.
He sits on the freezing cold tile and rests his forehead on the equally cold toilet seat.
What the fuck is he doing back?
Dean flushes the toilet and stands to shut the door. He brushes his teeth in unhurried motions, because he knows Sam's awake and he doesn't want to deal with that right now.
He's never really been afraid of anything, besides losing Sam, but he's terrified now. And he feels such shame. It never even (seriously) crossed his mind that he could be caught. It's always been a nagging worry in the back of his mind that someone was gonna find out, or catch on or catch him, but it never seemed plausible to actually happen.
He's always been so careful and he really doesn't know how he's supposed to handle this.
A knock sounds on the door and he's so startled, he nearly drops his toothbrush. He spits the minty foam out of his mouth and breathes in a couple of deep breaths before opening the door and stepping out.
Sam moves aside to let his brother through and gives it all of four seconds before he opens his mouth.
Dean counted.
"What the hell is going on, Dean?"
Dean sits on his bed and hangs his head.
"It's nothing."
"You're gonna tell me that you lying in a tub with cuts on your arm is nothing? Why don't you try again?"
Dean flinches. He can hear the disappointment and worry in his brother's voice, wishes he hadn't put it there. "What do you want me to say, Sam?"
"I want to know why, Dean!"
Dean lifts his head and stares at the open hurt in his brother's eyes. He shifts his gaze to the ugly motel comforter on Sam's bed and bites his lip.
"It's just what I do when shit starts getting out of control."
"Why can't you come to me, Dean?"
"It's not your problem. You've got your own shit to work out. You don't need mine on top of it."
"That's bullshit and you know it. You think I'm so self-centered that I would rather you hurt yourself than come to me with your problems?"
Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head. He doesn't think that at all, just hates himself for being such a fuck-up.
He hears Sam move to kneel in front of him. Sam's large hands cradle his face and he presses their foreheads together.
"I love you so much, Dean. I don't know what I'd do without you, so please don't hurt yourself anymore. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."
Dean opens his eyes and stares into Sam's, feels a tear roll down his cheek. Sam brushes it away and leans in closer, closes his eyes and presses his lips to Dean's. Dean's eyes flutter shut and another tear is swept away by Sam's fingers.
He opens his mouth and lets his brother in and feels that flying feeling and that hard to obtain relief.
He can't promise Sam he won't do it anymore, but maybe there won't be a reason to do it anymore. He's loved and he's needed and that's all he's ever really wanted.
~End.
Author: pyrokitten77
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R for content
Spoilers: None
Word Count: About 1,500
Warnings: Cutting, angst, and a hint of Wincest.
A/N: This was written for darkmerrick who requested cutting and Wincest over at the Fall Fandom Free For All. Which was a LONG time ago. I'm so sorry! *pinches self* Beta'd by
kaz_tiel .
Summary: "It's just what I do when shit starts getting out of control."
-----*-----
Dean lightly drags the sharpened blade along the soft inside of his wrist, relishing the pinprick of torn skin when the jagged serrated edge bites into his flesh. The slow oozing of blood is bright against the pale skin and he smiles.
It's a hollow smile, hollow just like his chest feels and he doesn't even begin to wonder why.
He presses the knife harder and the flow quickens, droplets of blood dripping down onto the clean, white tiles. He drags the knife across another patch of flesh.
Blood pitter-patters like rain on the floor and it's hypnotizing. Of course, that might have a little something to do with the rapid blood loss, but Dean's never been the smart one. Dean's the brainless sidekick, the brute force.
A frown tugs at his lips and the hollow feeling is back, accompanied by the aching sadness. Another cut makes the frown go away and the flying feeling is back. He sways on the edge of the bathtub and drops the knife and the clatter it makes on the ceramic floor sounds dull to his ears.
He blearily opens his eyes, doesn't know when he shut them, and the room is fuzzy and warped.
I'm going to die, he thinks.
Instead of the panic he was sure would come at that thought, the sadness hits him full force. Like it's getting him back for feeling some sort of relief from the pain he feels every day.
Stupidpatheticdisgracefulloser. Noonewouldcareifyoudied. Noonecaresnoonecaresnoonecares.
His breath hitches and he's crying, tears spilling over on clammy cheeks and he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. He's so tired of caring. He just wants it all to stop, to go away. He wants relief and freedom.
Weakinferiorgutlessworthlessuglyfuckup.
He falls back into the bathtub, head cracking against the wall and he curls up into himself wishing the bright light in the ceiling would just shut off already so he can go to sleep. He whimpers and covers his face with his unscathed arm, feels the warmth of his tears trickle down his cheeks and his lips. The edges of his vision are going black and he knows what that means.
If not death, then sleep.
And all is silent.
-----*-----
Sam knows something is wrong when he calls Dean's cell for the 31st time, and he still doesn't get an answer. He presses the gas a little harder and prays that nothing has happened. A dread fills his heart when he sees the motel.
Something's wrong.
He tears into a parking spot, and shuts the car off quickly. As he hurries around the front of the car, he tugs the motel key out of his pocket and shoves it in the slot. It blinks red, red, red, then green and his heart is beating so loud inside his ears.
Somethingiswrongsomethingiswrongsomethingiswrong.
The room is quiet and Dean is nowhere to be found. The light is on in the bathroom and he runs to it, pounding on the closed door. Somehow, somewhere from in his frenzied mind, he thinks to try the doorknob instead of kicking it down, which is what he almost does. He's glad he doesn't, because Dean didn't lock the door.
The first thing he sees is Dean lying crumpled in the tub. The second thing he notices is the blood he almost slips on trying to get to his brother. He pulls his brother's arm away from his tear stained face and grimaces at the horizontal, red slices on the other and his heart hurts so bad from beating so hard, he thinks it's going to pop out.
"Dean?" He slaps his brother's face lightly, then harder when that gets no response.
"Dean! Please, wake up! Dean, you gotta open your eyes."
He's kneeling in his brother's cold blood while he ties a towel around Dean's forearm and his fingers are pressed tight against the pulse point at the other wrist. There's a pulse and it's faint, but it's there.
He stands up and gets his arms behind his brother's neck and knees and slowly lifts him up. After a lot of struggling and near falls, he gets his brother to a bed and digs through his duffel bag to get the first aid kit.
He carefully unwinds the towel after sitting in a near panic for ten minutes waiting for the blood flow to slow. Dean's forearm is still bleeding, but the wounds are closing and he's so full of relief, he's almost dizzy with it.
Sam dresses his brother's arm properly, and blinks the tears away when they well up in his eyes. He lies next to his unconscious brother and curls up at his side. He brings Dean's limp arm to his mouth and kisses the tender skin at the wrist, praying that Dean's gonna be okay.
-----*-----
The first thing Dean notices when he comes to is that his head hurts like a bitch. He doesn't open his eyes, just lays there hoping the pain will subside after a moment. The second thing that registers in his mind is that there is a furnace burning hot against his side.
Dean realizes that it's not a furnace after just a moment of confusion. Smells too much like Sam's cologne. Sam's home. Well, it's not home, but it's where they're holed up at the moment.
Sam's always produced plenty of body heat to keep anybody warm in any weather. Dean grimaces when he remembers that one really fucking hot summer in Georgia and they had to share a bed. And there hadn't been any air conditioning. Yeah, that wasn't fun.
Dean starts. Sam's fucking home. A panic stabs inside his chest and his eyes fly open. Sam's curled up tight against his side and Dean almost falls off the bed when he notices the bandages on his arm. His breath catches in his throat and he dislodges himself from his brother and barely makes it to the bathroom where he upchucks what's left of his breakfast.
He sits on the freezing cold tile and rests his forehead on the equally cold toilet seat.
What the fuck is he doing back?
Dean flushes the toilet and stands to shut the door. He brushes his teeth in unhurried motions, because he knows Sam's awake and he doesn't want to deal with that right now.
He's never really been afraid of anything, besides losing Sam, but he's terrified now. And he feels such shame. It never even (seriously) crossed his mind that he could be caught. It's always been a nagging worry in the back of his mind that someone was gonna find out, or catch on or catch him, but it never seemed plausible to actually happen.
He's always been so careful and he really doesn't know how he's supposed to handle this.
A knock sounds on the door and he's so startled, he nearly drops his toothbrush. He spits the minty foam out of his mouth and breathes in a couple of deep breaths before opening the door and stepping out.
Sam moves aside to let his brother through and gives it all of four seconds before he opens his mouth.
Dean counted.
"What the hell is going on, Dean?"
Dean sits on his bed and hangs his head.
"It's nothing."
"You're gonna tell me that you lying in a tub with cuts on your arm is nothing? Why don't you try again?"
Dean flinches. He can hear the disappointment and worry in his brother's voice, wishes he hadn't put it there. "What do you want me to say, Sam?"
"I want to know why, Dean!"
Dean lifts his head and stares at the open hurt in his brother's eyes. He shifts his gaze to the ugly motel comforter on Sam's bed and bites his lip.
"It's just what I do when shit starts getting out of control."
"Why can't you come to me, Dean?"
"It's not your problem. You've got your own shit to work out. You don't need mine on top of it."
"That's bullshit and you know it. You think I'm so self-centered that I would rather you hurt yourself than come to me with your problems?"
Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head. He doesn't think that at all, just hates himself for being such a fuck-up.
He hears Sam move to kneel in front of him. Sam's large hands cradle his face and he presses their foreheads together.
"I love you so much, Dean. I don't know what I'd do without you, so please don't hurt yourself anymore. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."
Dean opens his eyes and stares into Sam's, feels a tear roll down his cheek. Sam brushes it away and leans in closer, closes his eyes and presses his lips to Dean's. Dean's eyes flutter shut and another tear is swept away by Sam's fingers.
He opens his mouth and lets his brother in and feels that flying feeling and that hard to obtain relief.
He can't promise Sam he won't do it anymore, but maybe there won't be a reason to do it anymore. He's loved and he's needed and that's all he's ever really wanted.
~End.