Title: Orphan Boy
Author: Jace22
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: incest, character death
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys of Supernatural. If I did there would be a lot more touching involved. Hugs? Would be the least of their worries.
Summary: Sam knows he won't sleep well again. Written in the second person.


When you woke up there was blood in your mouth, in your eyes, on your hands and arms, and you wondered if there was enough blood left inside you. Despite the harsh ache of your body, the weight of your limbs, you moved to check on your father and Dean.

Your father was closer, but you checked Dean first. You won't forget that.

Dean's pulse came alive under your finger, like it came back just because you were touching him. You shivered and held your hand there until you were sure—sure of what exactly? If he had a pulse he was alive. But you couldn't take your hand away. You looked over at your father through the matted bloody hair that kept falling into your eyes and knew without touching him whatyou would find.

No pulse came alive under your hands. And what made it worse was that if he was going to die anyway, you could at least have let him die with the satisfaction of destroying the demon that plagued your lives.

You know you won't sleep well again. There are too many nightmares to be had.


Orphan boy.

Orphan- a child deprived by death of one or usually both parents.

Are you considered an orphan when you aren't a child anymore? You want to ask Dean, because Dean is older than you are, Dean would be able to answer that. But Dean looks at you, desperation and need in his eyes, and you are scared because you know your own eyes reflect that need.

You are not allowed to touch. This is your repentance.


You heal together. Wrapping each others bandages, tending to each other's wounds. You tell yourself that this is okay, but even the brush of fingers against his back makes you feel like you are trying to take something that you do not deserve


Sometimes you think you catch Dean looking at you with disappointment, out of the corner of your eye. When you look, though, he is always looking the other way, so you're never quite sure.

You are stuck now, without a car, without a father, without certainty. Dean finds a job, the motel room becomes the bleakest home you've ever seen, and you reject any comfort he might have to offer.

The walls are familiar; you fall asleep counting the flowers on each strip of peeling wallpaper.


Dean starts bartending at a nearby bar. He smiles charmingly at all the customers, makes friends easily, and flirts until he has a whole collection of numbers.

You are the only one who sees that his heart is not in it.

There is no familiar sparkle in his eyes.


You dream of fire and bones, people dying everywhere and you can't save them because you are incapable of saving. Because you are stuck here saving up for repairs. Dean does what he can, but he needs more parts. Needs more money.

Every night you wake up, drink some water, and return to nightmares. You are fairly certain that Dean wakes up most of the time and is watching you, pretending to be asleep when you look over at him.

Neither of you broaches the subject, though.


"Sammy," Dean taps your shoulder while you're brushing your teeth in the bathroom, getting ready to go to your job at the restaurant down the street. You realize it's been approximately a week since you've said more than three words to each other. "If you're gonna brush them, you might as well show those pearly whites off once in a while. Customers'll tip you better that way."

"I get tipped just fine, thanks." You huff, but Dean's right. All the other waiters get tipped better than you.

You smile that night, your incentive is Dean and the money you'll be able to give him when you're done.

Your smile feels fake and forced, just the baring of teeth, but you shrug the thought off when you are counting your money at the end of the night.


You remember once after a kill you were high off adrenaline, you were so aware of every feeling in your body that you were convinced you could feel the blood coursing through your veins.

Dean's eyes met yours, relieved but concerned. You felt the blood pumping in your heart, fast and rhythmic. The only steady thing left.

He kissed you, his fingers digging into your shoulders, his tongue found your mouth and you fit together like you'd once imagined you would.

He never touched you the same way again. Sometimes you touch your lips and remember.

You fall asleep with your hand over your mouth, the nightmares hurt a little less.


The day you buried your father is forever burned into your memory. Not so much what you saw, but what you felt.

"Did you feel like this when mom died?" You ask Dean, hoping that he'll be able to offer some sort of insight into how to deal with this since he remembers your mother more than you do.

"Yeah. But this is different. I'm a different person, not a five year old kid anymore. This'll hurt like a bitch for a long time, but it'll fade. And me and you? We'll find what killed them. And it may not bring them back, but it's sure as hell worth it."

You reached over and touched Dean's arm, he shook under your hand. His eyes were red when he turned to look at you, but you saw no tears.

His eyes said I love you, Sam. And you knew then that you would never go back to the life that had been at your fingertips.

You held him, allowed yourself that touch because it wasn't comfort for you, but for him. And you would give up your world for him.


One night you wake up in a panic, sweat drips down your back, your cheeks are smudged with tears. Jess was calling your name, you can still hear the echo in your mind, fading gradually as you come to your senses.

Dean is up out of his bed fast, you were right to think he's been watching you every night. You know he's been waiting to do this, holding back, but Dean can only wait so long.

He strokes your cheek and whispers, "Sammysammysammy," over and over again until Sammy is no longer a word, just a sound that only Dean can make.

You resist his touch at first because, you tell yourself, you did not listen to your father. You did not shoot and finish what needed to be finished. You let him die in vain. Youyouyouyou. Dean won't accuse you of your crime, not ever, so you need to do it yourself. You do not deserve the only thing that could comfort you: Him.

But he keeps touching you, your lips, your cheeks, your shoulders, your hair. You let him, telling yourself it's for him and not you.

He kisses you like you've been kissing for years. He kisses the tears off your cheeks and tells you it's okay. Everything will be okay.

Everything that is wrong in your life is made right by him. You are not brothers now, because you have no parents to tie you together.

You are two orphan boys who, in a different life, shared a mother and a father.