tw: self harm, suicide mention, blood/injury, depression, neglect mention, parentification

word count: 2,212

notes: I don't know how I feel about this, but here it is anyway.

They all did some work around the farm until lunch, and afterwards, Sam retreated to do his winter break reading and Jim to finish sermon-prep for the Christmas Eve service that evening. Caleb and Dean turned on a football game, watching with relative apathy until Mac, who had been upstairs, came down with a medical kit in hand.

Dean immediately glued his gaze to the carpet. He'd known this was coming, but that didn't make it any less humiliating.

He scooted a little closer to Caleb to make room for the doctor on his other side, and his best friend glanced up at him.

"Do you want me to go?"

Dean swallowed hard, but shook his head a little. It wasn't as if the older boy hadn't seen them before. "Not unless you're gonna be a girl."

Caleb smiled slightly. "No girls allowed. Got it."

"I'd like to add no children," Mac put in with a small smile of his own. "If you two start squabbling, you're out."

"So many rules."

"I believe in you, Damien."

"Thanks, Deuce, I'll do my very best."

Smirk faded back to anxiety on Dean's face, but he dropped his arm into Mac's lap without looking at him.

The doctor carefully situated it faceup before beginning to peel back the bandages his son had set in place. He hissed lightly at the deep lacerations their absence revealed.

Dean kept his eyes glued to the football face and his jaw set tightly.

Mac uncapped a bottle of Isopropyl and deftly transferred some to a clean rag before gently beginning to clean the cuts.

After a moment of silence, he asked quietly, "Have you ever done this before, Dean?"

The boy shook his head quickly, and Mac allowed his gaze to rest on the scattered white scars he couldn't believe he'd never noticed before answering with a small, meaningful hum.

Dean held out for several long seconds before sighing heavily, his shoulders dropping in defeat as his gaze rediscovered the carpet. "It was a long time ago."
"Yeah?"

The boy bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. "I was like thirteen. I dropped a plate and cut myself cleaning it up. And it just... I don't know. It felt good."

He could feel his cheeks burning under the weight of the confession.

"I know that's messed up, but it just... helped. So I kept the shard and did it a few times just... when I needed it. But then Dad started getting suspicious. So I stopped."

He felt Caleb's hand on his shoulder, squeezing a little. "I told you last night, Deuce. It's not messed up. It's just hurt." He hesitated before adding, "And I told you this morning. Don't call my little brother a freak."

He hadn't verbalized the word this time, and he looked up briefly to glare at his friend. "Dude."

The older man held up both hands. "I'm not trying. You're kinda an open book right now."

"And who was it that wouldn't shut up about my mental Great Wall of China, huh?"

"Boys," Mac cut in meaningfully.

They let out identical breaths and muttered together, "Sorry."

"Caleb's right, though," the doctor added after a moment, his tone gentle. "You're not a freak, Son."

Dean didn't answer with anything other than another sigh, and Mac went on after another pause.

"I know you've probably already talked about last night much more than you want to," he said as he picked up a hand towel and began to lightly pat the cuts dry. "So I'm not going to make you talk about it more. But if you want to, or you need to, I'm here for you the same as Caleb and Jim."

Dean nodded slightly, his face tight.

"And I'd love it if you would let me get you some professional help..."

Caleb went as tense as the younger hunter at the suggestion, and his father went on quickly.

"But once again, I'm not going to make you. If you think about it and decide it could help, let me know and I'll make an appointment."

He didn't have to verbalize the part of the offer where he'd be paying for it in its entirety for it to be very much understood.

"For now, can you just tell me how long you've been planning last night?"

"Kind of since Dad left," the teenager said without raising his eyes. "But mostly since last week."

"What happened last week?"

Dean bit his cheek again, hesitating before answering. "Sammy was out when Dad called. It was past curfew, but he was on a date and I knew where he was going, so I went and checked and he was still there, so I decided to let it go. They were just talking... I didn't think it was worth a fight. But when Dad called and I told him... he got really mad. Accused me of not caring, of not protecting him. Said this is why I wasn't with him... cuz I couldn't follow a simple order. Then Sam got home and Dad yelled at him and Sam yelled back that if he actually cared about him at all, he'd be there."

The story had all come out in a quiet rush, and he stopped now, taking a deep, shaky breath.

"But it's not because of Sammy that he's not around... it's because of me. And I don't... me being a screw-up is making Sam think Dad doesn't care about him. So I thought that if I was out of the picture... I don't know. I know it was stupid, I just... I guess I was looking for an excuse."

Mac considered that as he used medical tape to set bandages more proper than the off-brand band aids Caleb had used before in place. "That's very self-aware of you to realize, Dean," he said at last. "That you were maybe looking for a reason to give up. Because I imagine you've told yourself for a long time that you can't leave Sam, haven't you?"

Dean nodded a little, his eyes welling with tears against his best efforts. "But Sam deserves better," he whispered to the floor.

Mac exhaled slowly. "Of course he does, Dean. Sam deserves a father who's there for him and a mother who's alive. But so do you. And you've made sure Sam never has to feel the level of aloneness you have for a very long time. It's not fair that you've had to do that, but you've done an incredible job of it."

"It doesn't feel like that," the boy replied softly.

The Scholar nodded a little, knowing there was nothing he could say to change that. "I know it doesn't."

Dean returned the gesture, desperately blinking back his tears, appreciating the acceptance of the statement.

There was another short pause as Mac finished taping the last of the bandages before patting the boy's knee.

"I'll check them again tonight, but they're looking alright."

His patient nodded again. "Thanks."

"And in the meantime," Mac continued, "I'm going to tell you the same thing I told Caleb. When you feel like hurting yourself, I need you to come to one of us. Even if you don't want to talk about it. Just let us be there for you. Please."

Dean pressed his eyes closed, but nodded, barely choking out, "I'll try."

Mac's hand found his shoulder this time. "That's all I can ask for. Just don't forget how much we care about you, alright?"

Another silent indication of understanding, and the doctor released him. "Good. Thank you. I'll let you two get back to the game."

When his footsteps had faded back upstairs, Caleb piped up from his other side.

"Hey, Deuce?"

"Yeah?" Dean asked without opening his eyes.

"I'm about to be a girl."

"Okay."

The older man's arms wrapped around him and squeezed hard for a long moment. Dean released a single sob into his shirt, then took a deep, shuddering breath and tried once more to pull himself together.

Caleb held on for another several seconds, his face hovering just a centimeter above the boy's hair, then pulled back, though his hands remained on his friend's shoulders. He shook his head a little, blinking back tears from his own eyes.

"God, Deuce," he said with a sad little laugh. "I'm beginning to miss that barricade."

Dean managed his own trembling smile. "Now you know what I've gotta deal with."

The psychic nodded, sobering quickly. "I do. And I got you."

"Yeah. I know you do."

time-skip sponsored by homemade tortillas

Christmas morning was always a strange mix of tradition and the macho need to act like no one really cared. Jim was up early to fix breakfast, and the rest of them filtered down at their speed, eventually gathering in the living room to throw messily-wrapped gifts at each other.

Sam retained his teenage attitude of annoyance with the holiday up until the moment he opened his gift from his older brother, at which point he lit up like the talkative six-year-old they all remembered so well. Every few minutes, he was rushing over to Dean to show him a newly-discovered feature on the computer.

As Caleb had expected, Dean gave the coffee to Jim and matching bottles of whiskey to Mac and Bobby.

As for him, there was a small box which opened to reveal one note on top of a pile of Christmas cards.

I was gonna give you my jacket and necklace, but since I'm not dead, the next time we go out, I'll buy all your drinks.

Caleb had swallowed down a rush of tears with a serious effort, forcing a smile in the kid's direction. "Oh, you're gonna regret that."

Dean hadn't quite met his gaze. "Yeah, I know I will."

But it was the second part of the note... and the cards under it... that had him standing outside the younger boy's bedroom now, at the completion of a long day of baseball reruns and Dean beating them all at poker again.

p.s. Since you hated the Christmas cards so much, you get all of them now. Please just pass them on if anything ever happens.

The psychic took a deep breath before tapping on the door.

"Yeah?"

"Me."

"Oh." The hesitation in the boy's voice made it clear he knew why he was there. "You can come in."

Caleb pushed the door open, but only entered the room a step. "You busy?"

Dean didn't turn around. "Not really."

"Great. We're taking a walk."

The younger hunter's shoulders dropped, but with a heavy sigh, he finally did turn that way, silently following Caleb downstairs and outside.

A few steps off of the porch, the hand that wasn't holding a stack of Christmas cards found the kid's shoulder while the other held them up briefly. "These were a bit of a heavy read, Deuce."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm glad you trusted me with them."

"Oh."

"I just really didn't like the part about passing them on."

Dean didn't say anything.

"You wanna tell me exactly how worried I should be?" he prompted finally.

"I don't know, Damien." The kid's voice sounded weak.

Caleb nodded slowly. It wasn't what he wanted to hear, but it was honest.

"Alright," he accepted heavily. "That's fair."

A long hesitation. They reached the small fire pit they roasted marshmallows over in the summer.

"I love you, Man," Caleb said at last. "But I'm not holding onto your suicide notes."

It was Dean's turn to nod slightly, accepting the answer as fair enough.

Caleb returned the gesture, took a deep breath, and dropped the cards into the fire pit in front of them. Then, he drew a small box of matches out of his coat pocket and held them out to the younger man.

Dean stared at them for a long moment, not making a move to take them. His face was as conflicted as the emotions rolling off of him.

"I'll wait," Caleb said quietly.

It wasn't a statement of impatience, but the opposite. He would. As long as it took, he would wait.

After another heavy pause, the boy beside him finally took the box from his hands. But when he had, he simply continued to stare at them in his own.

Caleb wasn't sure how long they stood there in silence before Dean finally drew a match out of the box. He swallowed hard, glancing up at him.

"This isn't a promise, you know."

"I know," the psychic confirmed steadily, though his chest throbbed a little as he did.

Dean nodded again, then finally struck the match against the box, bringing a small flame into existence. He only hesitated a second longer before dropping it on top of the stack of cards.

Caleb wasted no time in wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him tight against himself as they both watched the notes ignite.

They were quiet for a minute before he asked quietly, "You want the couch or the chair?"

"Couch."

There was actually relief in the boy's voice, albeit mixed with shame.

"Great," he confirmed. "Someone should be playing Die Hard."

"Best Christmas movie."

"Dang, Deuce, you gotta stop making me proud."

Only the epilogue to go! Please let me know what you think!! Love ya.

- Line