Title: Scars
By: Ivy
Pairing(s): none really but there is some implied Dean/Sam (if you squint)
Rating: G
Warning(s): none really
Summary: Sam sees something in the evening light.
Author's Notes: this is someting I whipped up in 20 minutes. it's just something off the top of my head so excuse it for any errors. also I rarely ever write fanfiction so it might be a little basic.


There was fire under his eyelids.

Burning, Stinging, consuming.

Voices called out to him in all directions. Descending on him in invisible waves as he felt himself being torn apart in every direction. Unsure where to go.

Sam snapped up in a huff, hands sweating and grasping the dull blue comforter tightly. The itchy wool material wrapped itself around his leg while the overly starched yellow sheets grasped around his other leg.

Sam focused on taking deep breaths to slow down his heart beat. He wiped his hands messily on his shirt and kicked his legs to loosen the fabric that snaked around his limbs. The room was filled with a gray light streaming in from the covered window and Sam could just feel the night air seeping in through the cracks in the walls and doors and slowly making its way around him. Sam felt hot on the inside, so hot that it seemed like his insides were burning, and yet he was desperately cold on the outside.

The clock on the table read 4:37am. Sam shook his head, clearing the thoughts of another nightmare and slightly content that his heartbeat was starting to slow down. Turning to his right, Sam sees Dean sleeping. His face half hidden in the pillow's shadow and chin tucked into the crook of his own arm. Dean's arms were underneath his pillow like they were every night. Sam smiled, even without having to actually see it, Sam could picture the long fingers tightly wrapped around the knife, prepared at any moment to attack if anything was to appear before the two of them. But Dean couldn't attack the things in Sam's dreams.

A sliver of light managed to invade its way through the flimsy blue curtains and fall like a gash of blue blood across Dean's back. Diagonal and apparent, it seemed to illuminate Dean's bare skin like an angel's halo. Sam stared at that gash of light, suddenly very aware of the smooth skin of his brother's back.

Dangerously white in the light, Dean didn't seem to be moving at all and Sam suddenly began to worry. Dean didn't wake up when Sam woke up. Dean was usually awake when Sam opened his eyes but Dean wasn't even flinching in his sleep. What if something had gotten to his brother?

Sam scrambled out of his bed, kicking at the sheets, frustrated with the seconds it took before his feet hit the cold floor and Sam was crossing the small distance between the two beds and standing over Dean.

Sam couldn't make out his brother's breathing. Sam could hear it and when looking for the rise and fall of his chest, Sam panicked to see that there was no movement. Just before Sam's outreached hand touched his brother's cool skin, Dean finally moved. He switched his right hand with his left underneath the pillow to grasp the knife. Dean flexed his hand a few times before tucking it beneath his comforter and turned his head to face the window, still deep in rest.

Sam let a breath he didn't know he was holding and suddenly noticed that despite the light, Dean's skin wasn't smooth. In fact, just a few inches from the tips of Sam's fingers, a raised white scar dashed its way right under Dean's right shoulder blade. Sam didn't remember that scar being there. Dean didn't have it when Sam left for Stanford and all these months they've been together, Dean was never hurt there. That could only mean that Dean got the scar when Sam was at college. When Sam left Dean by himself.

Sam's chest tightened a bit at the knowledge that seemed to always stand at the back of Sam's head. The look that sometimes Sam thinks Dean is giving him. A look that spoke more words then Dean's witty comments and wise ass jokes could possibly state.

You left me.

Sam moves across the back and takes in more scars. Most of them he was familiar with, ones that he's seen since childhood, that Dean use to proudly collect and grin in the mirror when it would turn out harsh.

But there were ones that Sam's never noticed before, ones that Sam could tell were recent and he begins to wonder why Dean had never told him about. Sam's chest tightens even more as he sees scars he knew. It was fresher then the rest, still slightly pink even in the evening light and seemed to scream out against the white skin.

Marks from the Wendigo that Dean didn't make a fuss about, just went into the bathroom and cleaned them up himself. Sam wonders if Dean is as gentle on himself as he was with Sam. Dean still cleans Sam's wounds for him, despite the fact that Sam states he isn't six anymore. Dean uses tender touches and slow rhythm and sometimes Sam thinks Dean is hurting more then Sam is. The jokes and comments don't fall from his brother's lips and all Dean does is breath and stare harshly at the wound that Sam has accumulated on their latest adventure.

And then Sam understood right then. Standing over his brother and staring at the scars that dotted the back.

Dean always carried Sam's scars like they were his own.