One day, Dean came home from work and saw Sam sitting on the couch. In the excitement of finally seeing his brother, Dean lost control of his strength and slammed the door. Sam flinched at the sound.
"Hey, Sammy!" Dean practically yelled. He noticed that Sam was cringing in his seat. "Hey, buddy, what's up?" Dean asked with a softer voice.
"Nothing," Sam said without his usual joyful tone. He and Dean spent their evening at opposite ends of the couch, eating their dinner and watching TV in silence, then going to bed.
****
Sam was in the bathroom, using cheap makeup he borrowed from a friend to cover up some bruises on his arms and wrists, like he's done every morning for the last couple days. Dean banged on the door a couple times.
"Sammy! You've been in there forever. Hurry up or you'll be late," Dean said from the hallway.
"Coming," Sam said, checking in the mirror at his face. He looked fine, other than the dark circles under his eyes. He opened the door and gave Dean a small smile.
"Sammy, are you okay?" Dean asked, following Sam to the front door.
"Yeah, why?"
"I heard you last night. You had another nightmare, I could tell. Is there something you want to talk about?"
Sam swallowed the sense of panic that rose to his throat, "No. I'm okay, Dean, I promise."
"Alright... but you do know that you can come to be if you have a problem, and I won't be mad, right?"
"Yes, mom..." Sam groaned jokingly.
"Have a good day," Dean replied in an exaggerated sing song voice, happy to be joking with Sam again. His worry eased for a moment, just a moment.
Dean's world fell apart around him just the next day. He went through the typical routine with Sam. He tried the bathroom doorknob instead of banging on the door. Sam, unlike before, forgot to lock the door. He was greeted by Sam standing above the sink, a blade in his hand, and blood coming from his bruised arm and wrist. Sam looked at him in shock, then shame and sadness.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Dean yelled in surprise. He didn't mean to yell, but he couldn't believe what Sam was doing. His sweet little Sammy...
Sam's face reddened as he wrapped his wrist. "Dean—"
"Sammy, what the hell would make you want to do this to yourself?" Dean asked, unable to stop the tears that appeared in his eyes.
"I'm just—" Sam thought for a second, "stressed, is all. It's okay, Dean."
Dean wanted to explode, "This is not okay, Sammy! What makes you think this, any of this is okay?" He couldn't stop his voice from croaking.
"I gotta go to school," Sam said quietly as he tried to get around Dean.
"Okay, but when I get home from work, you and I are sitting here and talking about this. Don't you even think about locking yourself in your room. I will break down your door and drag your ass out of your room, you hear me?" Dean said just as quietly as Sam. Sam nodded solemnly as he walked out the front door.
Once he left, Dean let himself sink down to the floor and cry. How could he not see Sam was struggling with something? If he would've noticed earlier, he probably could've stopped it. Dean gave himself a few minutes to get himself together before leaving for work.
Later that day, Sam came home from school. He sulked around for a bit, dreading when Dean would come home to talk to him. He wandered into Dean's room. He looked around the room for a couple seconds when his eyes landed on a framed picture on the bedside table. With a small, now rare, smile, Sam picked up the frame. It was a selfie Dean randomly took a few months ago. He had Sam in a headlock, and they both were smiling goofily at the camera. Tears were suddenly running down Sam's cheeks. When did he start crying? He went to wipe his face on his sleeve went the picture frame slipped from Sam's fingers and shattered onto the floor.
Dean walked into the apartment. "Sammy?" he called. No answer. Dean walked toward his and Sam's bedrooms, hoping that Sam listened to him and wasn't holed up in his room. He stopped when he heard sniffling. It was coming from his room. "Sammy?" he asked quietly as he stepped into his room.
It took him a second to see Sam. He was cowering into a corner of the room, obviously panicked about something. His face was a ghostly white.
"Please don't hurt me, I'll do anything," Sam begged. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, it was an accident." Sam ran his words together, making them unintelligible to Dean. He knelt next to Sam.
"Sammy, why would I ever hurt you?"
"I broke the picture frame."
"What picture frame?"
Sam pointed to the pile of broken glass and frame shards on the floor. Dean didn't know how he missed the mess. He immediately knew which picture it was, though.
"Aw, Sammy. It's just a stupid frame. I can always get a new, better one." He raised his hands, and wanted to cry when Sam flinched. He pulled Sam in for a hug. Sam ended up more or less sitting in Dean's lap as they hugged.
"Sam, please tell me the truth. Is Dalton hurting you?" Dean asked, hoping that his suspicions were wrong.
A sob overtook Sam, hindering his ability to confirm Dean's question. The sob, though, was all Dean needed. A rage filled him. Sam could feel him shaking with anger.
"I'm gonna kill him!" Dean said between gritted teeth.
"I tried to break up with him. He only made it worse," Sam said.
"Sammy, why the hell didn't you tell me. You didn't have to let it go this far." Dean thought about what he said. "No, actually, it's my fault, too. You're young, and teenagers can be really stupid with things like this, okay? I knew something was up when I met the guy, but you were too head over heels already, and I knew you weren't going to listen to anything I said."
"I'm sorry, Dean."
"It's not your fault Sammy, it's okay. Just remember in the future that I'm always here for you, and please, please stop self harming,"
Sam hugged Dean tightly saying, "Thanks Dean. I promise, never again."
"Now, get in the Impala. I'm going to beat some sense into your now ex-boyfriend," Dean said.
Sam gave him a small, but finally genuine small, "Just don't kill him, please."
Dean looked at Sam with exasperation. "Please tell me you still don't feel something for this guy."
"No, I just don't know what I'd do if you would go to jail on a murder charge."
The New Boyfriend
Start from the beginning
