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Dean would never forget that first time. It was permanently branded in his brain. He could still remember the way his breath had come in pants as he’d slumped against the wall of the motel bathroom, the tile cold beneath his hands. He’d locked the door behind him but he didn’t think that would be an issue. On the other side of the wood John was moving semi-quietly, sounds Dean recognized, he could predict the sequence. Glass clinking as it was set on the draining board, it would be cleared away tomorrow. Two thumps as the heavy boots were kicked off preceded the shuffling of socks against the cheap carpet. Rustling as clothes were discarded then another clink- a bottle on the nightstand in case he woke up wanting more drink. A groan of aged springs told Dean that his father was down for the night- he was sure to be out like a lamp, given the events of the evening.
It was stupid of him to feel upset, Dean knew that. He wasn’t a kid, his dad didn’t have to make sure he was safe in his bed before he went to sleep. Still, Dean couldn’t help the hollow ache in his stomach, John hadn’t even asked Dean if he was okay. He hadn’t apologised-or demanded Dean apologise for that matter. He hadn’t acknowledged him in any way since their fight, over an hour previously.
Dean had escaped into the bathroom first chance he’d gotten and there he’d stayed since. He held his breath for a moment, listening intently to the silence that had fallen in the main room. It would be safe to come out any time now, his dad was sure to be asleep. If the alcohol hadn’t been enough, he’d probably shouted himself into exhaustion.
“You’re useless, you know that? I should just drop you off somewhere, you slow me down.”
“I take care of Sam” Dean had hissed “More than you do”
“Watch your mouth” John had crossed the room in two strides gripped the collar of Dean’s shirt “You can’t even manage that! Do I need to bring up what happened last month?”
No, he certainly didn’t. The worst moment of Dean’s life- waking up and finding Sam gone. He had searched for weeks, to no avail and when John came home, he was unlike anything Dean had ever seen. It was something that Dean tried never to think about, yet, at the same time, it was always at the back of his mind. So it had been unnecessary for his dad to roar that reminder at him.
Dean had gone limp in his fathers grip and John had quieted pretty soon after that and shoved him off. Dean had slipped into the bathroom, thankful that Sam, spending some time at Bobby’s, had missed the argument.
John hadn’t even been drunk, Dean realised, running a hand through his hair, feeling the cold of the tiles seeped through his palms. Everything he’d said he’d meant. He’d drank afterwards to rid himself of the thought of his son.
His useless, worthless son. Dean knew it was true. Gripping the edge of the sink, he hauled himself to his feet. He stood in front of the mirror and lifted his eyes to the reflection. His eyes were rimmed with red, Dean hadn’t realised he’d been crying. Hopefully, that had only started once he’d hit the bathroom floor- Dean didn’t think he could handle his dad knowing he’d made him cry.
Of course he knows. You’re such a cry baby, always have been. You’re not the strong son he wanted, you disappoint him.
Dean was barely aware of what he was doing as he searched through the wash bag that sat on the shelf beside the sink. It was only when he saw the razor that he knew what he’d been searching for. Twisting his hand into the bottom of the bag he pulled out the pack of 5 disposable razors. At 15, Dean was disappointed to discover that he didn’t need to shave yet. It was something Sam had teased him about, saying that maybe the reason he was so pretty was because he was really a girl. Obviously it was a joke, but it still stung a little, because Dean had been called pretty his whole life and he was sick of it. Regardless, today the razor would finally get some use, one way or another.
Dean used a scissors to cut apart the surrounding plastic. It was cumbersome but it worked, soon he could remove the blades individually. Dean held one blade between his fingers, feeling the thinness of the metal. He ran it over the tip his left index finger experimentally. Light though the action had been, he felt a slight twinge. Swallowing hard, he wondered if he had jumped the gun on this. Then, like a poison, a voice whispered in his ear, crowded his mind.
“You can’t do anything right. Even when I give you orders you manage to fuck up. Is there anything you can do right?”
Dean crossed the room and closed the toilet seat. He slipped off his battered jeans until he was left in his boxers. He perched on the edge of the lid, spreading his knees. The light reflected off the razor, casting a shine on the floor.
Yeah dad, he took a shuddering breath, I can do this. Dean grit his teeth as he forced the blade into the skin of his left thigh. For a moment he felt nothing as he pushed the blade in deeper, moving right in the same motion. Then the pain hit him and it was so sharp it made Dean suck a breath through his teeth, before he let it go in a hiss. Tears sprung to his eyes, but he found he didn’t care. The blood was gathering in the gash as Dean made a second one, not as deep this time, but painful all the same.
This is what you deserve. This is all you’re good for. You’re useless.
Twenty minutes and a mass of sodden tissues hidden in the bin later and Dean unlocked the door and slunk into his bed. The tears were gone and all Dean was left with was a feeling of triumph.
Most of the time Dean was okay. It was an occasional thing, a way to punish himself or to feel in control, he wasn’t really sure and he didn’t really care. It took his mind off whatever was happening at the present moment and that was all that mattered. For a while he even stopped completely because at Sonny’s home for delinquent boys, strange as it was, he was happier than he could ever remember being. But then his dad had picked him up and that very day Dean had cut into his forearm, something he avoided doing, so that he could wear t-shirts. His anger and disappointment carved a cut that yawned wide and left a fat, angry scar.
After a particularly bad day Dean might cut into his wrists, his forearms. Most of the time he stuck to his thigh, all but perpetually hidden beneath his heavy jeans, away from prying eyes. His upper arm was an indulgence, for when his thigh was covered with fresh cuts. It was always the left, he hadn’t realised it at first, but soon it became part of it. Soon his left leg was covered in scar tissue, his left arm taking up a similar appearance. Slashes to the left side of his hip, he liked that he could see them easily, all he had to do was lift the hem of his shirt to get a peek of the scars beneath.
That was what it was all about. The scars. They reminded him of his place, reminded him of his worth. With every cut, every scar, Dean felt that the outside was closer to matching the inside. The pain was punishment, bandaging himself up was a reward. It was something he could control, something that was no one’s but his, this was something his dad could not take away from him.
He would watch blood run in rivulets down his arms, before it was washed away by the water of the shower. Sometimes, he might have the privacy of a room, if the house they were squatting in was big enough. Then he could take his time, make every cut matter.
Dean was careful not to let his dad see and never to let Sam see. Once his baby brother had caught a glimpse, Dean had been careless, made the cut too far down his arm. It had poked beneath his sleeve as Dean reached to fill his brothers glass. The panic of having to fence off Sam’s curious questions had actually made Dean stop, for a time.
But that was all before.
The day Sam left for Stanford was the worst of Dean’s life. Even in the days leading up to it Dean held out some kind of desperate hope, that it wouldn’t happen, that Sam would change his mind, that something would happen that would change Sam’s mind. He even considered giving Sam a reason to stay, but, for whatever reason, he couldn’t bring himself to go that far, he couldn’t do that to his brother. That was how he found himself watching a car fade into the darkness, taking Sam with it.
His dad hadn’t even come to see Sam off. He’d told Sam he’d want nothing to do with him if he left so, Dean supposed, it wasn’t surprising. But, in the Impala, parked on the darkening highway where Sam had met up with his ride, Dean couldn’t bring himself to start back, to face John, without Sam. Dean’s breath was coming in gasps, of panic or sadness, he couldn’t tell which. The thought entered his head and once it did he couldn’t control it, couldn’t forget it. Putting the car in gear, he pulled away and continued down the road, away from the motel where John was staying, away from everything.
“Dean?” the voice was uncharacteristically unguarded. It was late, Bobby must have been asleep when Dean rang.
“Bobby” Dean managed, his voice slurring. He cleared his throat before he continued, eyes gripped shut “Bobby, I fucked up. I need your help.”
“Where are you, son? Are you close by?”
“I was on my way to you. I stopped at the motel outside of town, room 17. Bobby please, I didn’t mean to, it was an accident...”
Dean trailed off not knowing what to say. On the other end of the line Bobby was assuring him that he was on his way. Dean let the phone slip from his grasp, not even hanging up the call. It should only take about 5 minutes if Bobby left straight away, he’d make it, he had to make it...
Dean was curled up on the bathroom floor when Bobby kicked the door in. The older hunter took in the sight in front of him, momentarily at a loss. Dean had a towel held between his wrists. A large circle of red was spreading out along the white material, even as Bobby looked on it seemed to grow. There was a moment of horror before Dean stirred on the floor beneath him, then Bobby sprang into action, ripping another towel from the shower rack and clamping it over Dean’s forearms. He initially thought Dean was unconscious but then his eyelids fluttered open, just for a second. It was enough.
“Dean! Dean stay with me, hey!” Bobby shook the younger man’s shoulder as he applied pressure to the wounds. He hadn’t seen them properly, given the towels that covered them, but Bobby was fairly certain that his suspicions were correct.
“Didn’ mean...accident” Dean breathed.
“Didn’t mean to...Dean are you telling me that you did this?” “M’sorry Bobby” Dean was barely coherent, Bobby feared he was about to black out.
“It’s okay son, it’s okay. I’ve got this, I’ve got you. It’ll all be okay.”
But, Bobby thought, as he pulled bandages and a needle out of his jacket pocket, suddenly painstakingly glad that he was such a paranoid bastard,it would take more than a few stitches to make this okay.
The morning comes and Dean eventually wakes. Bobby is alert, despite having stayed up all night himself, afraid that if he took his eyes off Dean he might die in his sleep, despite the fact that Bobby had stabilised him. He considered a trip to the hospital but figured that since it wasn’t actually necessary it would be best not to. Dean opened his eyes and groaned, gingerly feeling the wad of bandages covering his left wrist. From his chair at the bedside, Bobby watched as Dean raised himself so that he was half sitting in the bed.
“Bobby, I...I don’t...”
Don’t know what to say? How could he justify this. How could he have been so fucking stupid. He hadn’t meant to cut that deep, it genuinely had been an accident.
“I’d been drinking and I fucked up. I wasn’t trying to...I mean it’s not like I...”
“What?” Bobby thought he’d be angry but instead he found he could barely get the word out. “It wasn’t like you were trying to kill yourself, you mean?” “It was an accident Bobby” Dean was resolutely looking in the other direction and Bobby searched his face wondering when it had come to this. “Sammy took off yesterday and I got drunk and fucked up like the useless fuck I am. This is all just a stupid mistake.” “Son, most people don’t get drunk and decide to slash open a vein.”
“I know, Bobby and I’m sorry. Dragging you out in the middle of the night and everything...”
“Sorry for dragging me out in the middle of the night!?” Now Bobby was shouting, it served to startle Dean into looking at him, which gave Bobby the strength to continue “Dean if I had woken up and found out you were dead...” Bobby shook his head, the horror of the idea too much to bear “I think you need to apologise to yourself.”
Dean was silent, weighing the words. What he said next surprised Bobby, he thought he must have misheard.
“Don’t tell them” came the whisper.
“Dean”
“Bobby you can’t!” Dean’s face was drawn tight, but his eyes betrayed him. Wide and desperate, tears visible prickling in the corners. “Sam and my dad, please, promise me you won’t tell them.”
Bobby let out a noise of exasperation, rising from his chair to stand over the hunter.
“Dean” Bobby put his hand on the hunters head, smoothing the hair that was ruffled after the eventful night. “Promise me and I’ll promise you.”
“Promise you what” the touch was light, yet Dean was leaning into it. Bobby couldn’t help but wonder how starved for genuine affection the kid was.
“Promise me you’ll never do this again” Dean’s eyes snapped closed, his face distressed “I mean it. Promise me you’ll never do anything like this ever again. None of it, you understand me?”
Bobby was all but certain that this was not a once off event. No one gets drunk and slices open their wrists without having done it before. But he was giving Dean an out, he wouldn’t mention it, so long as Dean never did it again.
“Promise me that and I swear I won’t tell John or Sam.” It was a moment before Dean opened his eyes and it was then Bobby saw the tears running down the handsome face.
“I promise Bobby. Really, I won’t.”
Bobby couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped him. Stepping closer he pulled Dean’s head against his stomach, the best hug he could give, given the position.
“Good” he gripped Dean’s shoulder, all too aware of what could have been.
“Cause I don’t ever want you to scare me like that again, you hear?”
Bobby could feel Dean nodding against his stomach. His own eyes were wet as he turned away from the man that was like his own son.
“Okay so, how about some breakfast then?”
“On three...One, two, THREE!”
Dean was half lowered, half thrown onto the sagging couch. Sam stooped, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Beside him, Bobby was moving around, pulling boxes and tools from nowhere and anywhere. Pausing mid-reach, he turned to see the younger hunter watching him.
“Here” he threw a scissors through the air, Sam grasped awkwardly at it, letting it fall to the floor, rather than stab him. “Gotta get that shirt off him, the werewolf clawed him up pretty bad.”
Having retrieved the scissors, Sam moved to his brother’s side. Dean was pale and a sheen of sweat glimmered on his forehead. He was unconscious but he hadn’t received a head injury so that wasn’t a major concern. Sam quickly cut through the material of the shirt. Opened like this, the shirt could be shrugged from Dean’s chest. Sam focused on the wound on Dean’s chest, handiwork of a werewolf. It wasn’t as bad as he feared, but he didn’t blame Dean for passing out all the same. With the wound cleaned and almost fully patched up Sam sat back on his haunches and waited for Bobby to bring the last bit of bandaging tape.
That was when he saw them.
First, it was the hip. Starting from the hip bone and moving gradually up Dean’s waist, were several red lines. Short, straight, regular. Sam wondered what kind of creature could leave scratches like that, what would have the time and patience. Only one thing came to mind but, Sam thought, it couldn’t be, not his big brother. No.
Quickly Sam pushed himself to his feet. He stood over Dean for a moment before, grapping the scissors again, he began to cut up the sleeve of the ruined shirt.
Nothing. Sam actually felt relief wash over him. He didn’t even feel there was a point in opening the other sleeve, but he figured he might as well get the entire shirt off his brother now. He wasn’t even watching as he ripped through the material, he only looked down to pull the shirt from Dean’s shoulders.
Scars covered the skin from shoulder to just above the elbow. Red and pink sat atop a layer of white, lines that crissed and crossed in what once might have been a pattern. Some scars had been made further down, they were sporadic and mostly isolated, though a cluster was visible on the wrist, just before the hand. But most noticeable of all, now that he was looking, was a thick vertical line, running down Dean’s forearm, mostly white but tinged with pink.
Sam couldn’t even breathe as he looked down at his brother. Bobby’s heavy footsteps stopped abruptly and Sam realised he was standing beside him. He turned to the older hunter. His face was white. “God.” He looked stricken, Sam knew he must look as bad. “Oh my god.”
“Bobby” Sam felt tears prickling in his eyes that he hadn’t known were there. “Bobby, what...Dean...”
“He promised me” the words were low and leveled, his eyes never leaving the man in front of him. “He promised me he wouldn’t.”
“Bobby, what do you mean? Did Dean...did he tell you...?” “You were at Stanford” Bobby closed his eyes, running a hand over his forehead. “He was in bad shape, real bad. He called me from a motel outside Sioux Falls. He...he said it was an accident, that he hadn’t meant to...”
“What, Bobby, what?”
“That” Bobby pointed to the massive scar racing down Dean’s wrist “I had to fix that up. He was bleeding so bad. Curled up on the floor of the bathroom. I knew it probably wasn’t an accident but I never knew-” Bobby’s voice broke and Sam saw that tears were streaming down his face. “I thought he’d stopped. I never knew it was as bad as this. ”
Sam shook his head wordlessly. How could he not have known about this, how had Dean kept it hidden from him. He’d left for Stanford 4 years ago. Had this been going on since then? It was the blanket hitting his head that shook him out of his reverie.
“Put that over him” Bobby’s voice was gruff, thick with suppressed emotion. “It’s all we can do right now.”
Dean’s face was so young in sleep, it was hard to believe he was 26. Wrapping the blanket around the strong shoulders, Sam’s fingers brushed over raised skin, the pattern that had been hidden for so long. Dean shrugged in his sleep and Sam brushed his hand over his brothers head, smoothing the hair from his hot face.
“Yeah Bobby, okay.” It would all be okay in the morning, Bobby would make it okay. Dean would be okay, he wouldn’t have to suffer like this anymore...
“He’ll be okay.”
Dean blinked in the bright sunlight coming through the filmy curtains. He could tell, by the lumpy cushions beneath him, that he was at Bobby’s. It must be late enough in the morning, given the brightness. He wondered, briefly, why he’d been allowed to sleep so late. Sitting up, he felt a burn in his chest and found his answer. Peeking beneath the blanket that was slipping down his torso, Dean saw that his chest was heavily bandaged. The werewolf had been one nasty sucker.
The blanket was rough, it was scratching his skin. As Dean woke up, he became aware of the fact that he was shirtless.
Holy shit.
Dean allowed himself a moment, rubbing his hand over the bicep that so rarely saw daylight. He raked his eyes around him, searching for a shirt, a jacket, hell, he’d wear a garbage bag right now. In the corner of his eye he spied his ruined shirt and groaned. All this happened in about three seconds, then Bobby slouched into the room.
“You’re awake” Dean pulled the blanket tight under his chin, tucking his elbows against his sides. Sam followed Bobby into the room, they halted opposite him. Neither hunter had been injured in the struggle the evening before, Dean decided to point this out now.
“Well, you guys look well rested, unlike me. Maybe you should leave me, to sleep it off you know. I’m kinda cold though, could do with some warm clothes.”
Dean wondered if he was being too obvious. He supposed it was only obvious if you knew what to listen for. Bobby and Sam exchanged a look and Dean wanted out. He considered making a run for it, the blanket, wearing the blanket like a cloak and dashing past them, but he wasn’t even sure if he was wearing pants. A quick check told him he was, but by then it was too late. Bobby and Sam were pulling up chairs, blocking possible escape routes. Dean was uncomfortably aware of how close they were, how easily exposed he would be. On impulse he gripped the blanket tighter around him, snuggling back against the misshapen cushions.
“Dean, we had to patch you up last night” it was Sam who broke the silence, he wouldn’t meet Dean’s eye, which was definitely un-Sam like. Dean swallowed hard, contemplating how he could wriggle out of this one.
“I had to cut your shirt off, to get at the wound properly” Sam continued. Dean saw his chance.
“Yeah, I see you butchered my favourite shirt, thanks bro. Let me know if you’d like to compensate me with cash or a new shirt.”
“Dean, when I was working on you I saw...Dean, I saw all these”
Oh dear lord.
“All these what, Sammy?” Dean kept his tone innocent, he knew he was fooling no one. But maybe, just maybe, they’d back off if he pushed hard enough against them. “You saw my secret freckle didn’t you? You know, I’ve only showed that to a few special ladies and they were all delighted to have the opportunity.”
“Dean, stop please”
“Stop what? Stop talking? Okay, I’ll see you fellas later then. Let me know when you-”
“You promised me!”
The roar shocked both Sam and Dean into silence. Bobby was red in the face, the chair knocked to the floor. Dean had never seen the hunter look like this, it was horrifying.
“Do you remember Dean? Do you remember that night? Because I have never been able to forget it, not for one day, not ever”
Bobby’s chest was heaving, hands balled into fists at his sides. There was a lump in Dean’s throat, he could barely get the words out.
“I never...I never did that again Bobby.”
“Dean” Bobby was pulling at the blanket, Dean pulled back. Glancing at Sam, seeing his expression, Dean felt something break inside him, a wall crash, a defense crumble. The strength went out of him and he let Bobby yank the blanket away. Dean closed his eyes letting the horror of the moment wash over him.
If Dean were to choose a nightmare situation, this would be it. He could feel Sam and Bobby’s eyes on him and he instinctively folded his arms across his chest. The movement aggravated his chest and he let them fall back against the couch. He had never wanted Sam to know about this, he had never wanted anyone else to see this. Slowly he opened his eyes.
Sam had his head in his hands. Bobby had him fixed in a stare that Dean found he couldn’t meet. Slowly and deliberately, he ran his hand over his upper arm, a gesture he’d done a thousand times before, this time giving it a new meaning. He could actually see understanding in Bobby’s eyes. Sam raised his head and Dean saw that he was crying, when he saw what Dean was doing he closed his eyes. Dean decided to grab the bull by the horns.
“Seriously Bobby, I’m not lying. I never did that again.”
“Was it an accident. That day?”
Dean gulped. He’d never been sure of that himself.
“I don’t know. Kind of, I guess, kind of not. But I meant it when I promised you, I never...never”
“Were you doing this back then too?”
“Doing this?” Dean was buying himself time to think.
“Were you harming yourself, were you cutting yourself like this all those years ago.”
“Yeah, I guess so”
“I didn’t see...back then, I didn’t see any scars, I thought it was a once off thing?”
“Yeah, well” Dean ran a hand down his thigh absent mindedly, something he regretted immediately.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” “Bobby”
“Boy, just talk to me, please” Dean was absolutely shocked at the tear that rolled down the hunters cheek, getting trapped in his rough beard. “You don’t have to carry this anymore.”
“I don’t want you too...it’s a bit...”
“Dean” Bobby’s voice was determined. Dean decided that he might as well kill all the birds with this giant, accidental stone, while he had the chance. Huffing off the couch, he got to his feet and started to fumble with the belt of his jeans.
“Is this your way of getting me out of my jeans?” he joked, but it was a half-hearted attempt. Dean watched as Sam drew in a shuddering breath, the sound loud in the tense quiet.
“Okay then” Dean pulled the jeans down his hips, letting them pool at his ankles. He could hear Sam gasp as he stepped out of them, even Bobby let out a noise of shock. Dean let them take in the sight of his ruined thigh. He knew they couldn’t even see most of it, his boxers were covering a good deal of the damage, but it was enough. If they had thought his arm was bad, Dean could only imagine what they thought of this. Running a hand over the disturbed skin, Dean traced individual scars, newer ones. Beneath these he could feel the thick scar tissue that years of cutting had left him with. Dean had grown up with this, had watched as the thigh became gradually more scarred. He had once chosen where each cut would be made, how long it would be, how deep. How it would be, to see this for the first time, like this...Dean couldn’t imagine it. He blew air through his teeth, hissing in the sudden cold.
“You guys done? It’s pretty cold in here.”
“Jesus”
“Call me Dean, really.”
The hunters across from him were dumbfounded. Shrugging slightly, Dean crouched to pick up his jeans. Some scars whitened obscenely as he did so, stretching with his muscles. Dean sat back on the couch, his jeans in his hands and pushed his feet through the legs, one after the other.
“Why?”
Ah, the one question no one wants to hear. Dean would prefer to tell Sam how, or when he cut himself. Anything but why.
“Why?” not knowing what to say “That is the question, Sammy.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the time after I went to Stanford?”
Now that Dean hadn’t been expecting. His eyes darted between Sam and Bobby, but neither man’s expression budged an inch. Dean wasn’t sure where he stood as to this situation.
“What exactly did you tell him?” Bobby was stoic in answering him.
“I told him that I found you after you slit your wrist deep enough to bleed out.”
Dean huffed a sigh.
“Tell you what, Sam? That I was so selfish, so pathetic, that I wanted my baby brother to stay with me, that I didn’t want you to have the opportunity of a lifetime at Stanford? How could I do that Sam, how could I be like that? I didn’t want you to know, so I didn’t tell you.”
“How could you want to kill yourself Dean?” Dean averted his eyes, looking anywhere but at the kid in front of him. “Really, I don’t understand. How could you do this to yourself?”
Dean tried to steady himself, but it was no use. His voice shook when he spoke and he felt a tear leak out of the corner of his eye.
“All my life, the only thing I was good for was looking after you and I couldn’t even do that right. I let you down and you left me. I let dad down and, oh yeah, he left me. I just...I don’t know...this helped for a while, but then it was too much I guess, I don’t know, I’m not explaining this right, I can’t explain it! Ever since we were kids I’ve been screwing up, letting you and dad down and sometimes this is the only way I can deal with it.”
“Hang on a minute” Bobby’s voice was sharp, it startled Dean into looking at him. “Ever since you were kids...how long has this been going on? I figured it started a while before Sam when to school.”
Dean couldn’t help the laugh. It sounded all wrong but he couldn’t help it, it kept going. Finally he calmed down enough to go on.
“You think I could do all this in, what, 4 years? Come on Bobby...” He trailed off, not wanting to answer the question, but of course, Bobby didn’t miss it, he tended not to miss things like this.
“How long, Dean?”
“You don’t want to know”
“How long?”
“Well gee, I guess the first time was around the time Sam ran away. You remember that Sammy, you had the time of your life, away from dad and me for a couple of weeks?”
All the colour drained from Sam’s face “Dean I was...I was 11 years old. That was over 10 years ago!”
“Yeah, I know. Normal people grow out of this kind of thing when they’re still a kid. Something else I did wrong.”
“Dammit boy” Bobby’s voice was gentle despite the harsh words “Would you stop being so hard on yourself. This is what this is all about, isn’t it? John put too much on your shoulders and this is how it manifested. Well listen up kid” Bobby was standing again, cheeks flushed with emotion “Because you boys are the only thing I have in this world and I want you in one piece, you hear? You won’t have to deal with this by yourself, son.”
“I don’t think it works like that.”
"What?”
“It’s not like a switch that I can just switch off. Bobby-” Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to say what he was thinking. Throwing caution to the wind, he continued. “Bobby, I feel like I deserve it. I like doing it”
“You’re going to get through this Dean. You’ve got me and Sam. We’ll just take it one day at a time, okay?”
“Okay Bobby” Dean stood up, his jeans pulled up once again. He made to go but found Bobby’s hand stopping him.
“And Dean” Dean looked down at the older man, wondering at what age he had passed out “Uncle Bobby.” “You don’t deserve this. You don’t need to punish yourself for your dad’s mistakes. You’re not worthless, you’re worth everything to me.”
Then Bobby was pulling Dean into a hug and Dean couldn’t help but be reminded of the last time they had been in a situation like this. But this would be different. He wasn’t alone this time and he would make sure it was different.
“You mean it Bobby” he didn’t care if he sounded needy. He wanted to hear it again, it had sounded so nice the first time.
“Of course I do, son. We’re family.”
“Dean?” Sam knocked on the door of the bathroom. Dean jumped, then cursed under his breath, as the blade slipped between his fingers, falling onto the tile with a slight clatter. He waited, just a second, trying to think what he would say. “Yeah, Sam” Dean leant his head against the cool ceramic sink. Breathe dammit.
“Dude, it’s the middle of the night, are you ok?”
“Yeah Sam, just woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep” Dean hadn’t even tried to sleep, waiting for Sam to fall asleep so that he could steal into the bathroom and do what he had to. It’d been so long, it was like an itch and he had to scratch it, but he didn’t want to, no, he shouldn’t...
“Can you open the door for a minute?”
“Why?” Dean’s heart was hammering, Sam couldn’t know, surely he’d just assume Dean had gone in to use the bathroom...
“Just...please?” Dean could imagine Sam leaning his head against the door, his hand stretching up towards the ceiling. When had his little brother grown up so much?
“It’s not locked” his voice was hoarse, exhausted. Dean watched as the handle twisted and Sam pushed into the small bathroom. He stood framed for a moment in the doorway before his eyes dropped to where Dean sat, on the floor between the toilet and the sink. From the look on Sam’s face, he did know. Dean’s stomach lurched at the thought.
“Dean” Something crossed Sam’s face, Dean wasn’t sure what it was. Pity? Worry? Disbelief?
“Hey Sammy” Dean smiled up at the man towering above him. He, like Dean, was clad in a t-shirt and boxers. Sam’s eyes were cast down and following them, Dean looked at his own legs, which were crossed loosely beneath him. The contrast between the skin on the legs was still startling, Dean couldn’t imagine how Sam, who wasn’t accustomed to it, felt upon seeing it. The left thigh, completely covered with scars, some years old, others newer. He couldn’t help but admire it, almost. All those years of work.
Sam’s hand stretched out, reaching for the razor blade that had fallen beside Dean. Reflexively, Dean stalled his hand, shielding the blade from his brother’s touch. Sam was kneeling beside him now, his knees beside Dean’s right leg. Dean could feel his brothers eyes searching him and he sighed, waiting.
“Did you...it doesn’t look like you did...” It was still a sensitive subject between, Sam was doing his best but he couldn’t help skirting away from addressing the elephant by name.
“No, I didn’t” Sam’s eyes snapped up to Dean’s. Dean could see the relief in them. “I was just thinking when you came barging in.”
“Thinking about..hurting yourself?”
“Yeah, Sam” Dean groaned. This never got any easier. “Really wanted to too. Probably would have eventually, if you hadn’t knocked.”
Sam looked stricken and Dean instantly felt guilty. Now Sam would feel like he had to constantly be watching him. Realising his mistake, Dean started to babble. “It’s okay Sammy, you don’t need to worry. Sometimes it gets bad. Right now it’s getting bad again, I’m not sure why. But I’m fine now, really.”
“No you’re not, Dean.” The words came as a surprise. Dean had expected Sam to take the out he was giving him. “Does this happen often, have you hurt yourself since that day at Bobby’s...?”
“See for yourself” Dean held out his arm, inviting Sam to examine it, something he had never willingly done before. Sam saw what Dean knew- there were no fresh cuts on his arm or thigh, or anywhere else for that matter.
“That’s really good, man” Sam ran a hand through the hair that was getting longer every day. He’d have to let Dean cut it some day. “I’m really proud of you, you know that?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever” Dean brushed off the praise, but he felt a warmth in his chest at the words. Sam would probably never understand just how much he meant to Dean. “I guess I’ll go back to bed now.”
“Can I take it?” Sam caught Dean’s hand and Dean knew what he was asking for. He opened his hand, the metal glinting in the light.
“Sam, you don’t have to...it wouldn’t even make a difference...I could just get another...”
"Please?” and Sam looked so earnest, of course Dean wouldn’t refuse him. He let Sam lift the blade from his palm, his fingers closed carefully around it.
“Just remember, when you want to, that I have this, that I don’t want you to. Maybe that will help, I don’t know. We can try it anyway, we have to try...” “Okay little brother” Dean clapped Sam’s shoulder as he got to his feet. Sam copied the action. As he turned to exit the bathroom, Dean pulled him towards him into a hug.
“Thanks Sammy”
And that was enough for Sam to know that it had worked, that his brother was going to be all right, for a while at least. And he would be there when it got bad again and the time after that and the next time after that.
Maybe one day, there wouldn’t be any more bad days.
Sam wasn’t sure if he should just leave Dean alone. He didn’t think there was any real danger, but at the same time he wasn’t overly comfortable leaving him like this. It had been such a simple thing, a child had asked him what that thing on his arm was.
Dean had gone back to the motel and proceed to drink- a lot. Sam had seen him at it before, when he thought Sam couldn’t see him, running his fingers over the old scars, tracing old patterns, finding new ones amidst the mass. Now Dean didn’t seem to notice, or care, that Sam was there. He ran his index finger along the scar that had caused the trouble- the remnant of when he’d been at his worst. Sam crossed the room and sat on the edge of his own bed, facing Dean, who was either oblivious or ambivalent to his presence, Sam couldn’t tell which.
“Kids don’t have any boundaries” the words were slightly slurred but it would take a lot more for Dean to be drunk.
“She wasn’t trying to upset you Dean, she was just a kid”
“No, I know man” Dean kept his head lowered, continued tracing. The scar was so long, not for the first time Sam wondered how Dean had survived it in the first place.
“It’s great! I mean most people are either disgusted or afraid. This chick the other night backed off as soon as she saw this thing. That kid was just curious.”
Dean seemed to be holding something back. Sam wondered if he should press him. He didn’t want to scare off his brother either, it was so rare they openly talked about this.
“Sometimes I wish they weren’t there, sometimes I want to make more. Sometimes I forget they’re there, like today! You shouldn’t let me go out like that Sam, I don’t want to scare the neighbours”
“Dean, you don’t have to hide them. You don’t have to be ashamed of them.”
“I know, Sammy” Dean finally raised his head, his hand clamping down around his wrist, cradling it.
“But wouldn’t you be?”
Dean stood in front of the mirror. Looking, just looking. Even now, he didn’t like to wear t-shirts too often, he wondered if he should put on a jacket. He looked down at his arm, he still wasn’t used to the scars being gone. For some reason this had always been a trigger for him, wanting there to be new scars, more scars, there always had to be more. He wasn’t even all that conscious of pulling out his pocket knife then suddenly he realised he was tracing, in the air, the ghost of a scar. It would be so easy to, he wouldn’t, but wouldn’t it be so easy, just to push the knife forward a quarter inch...
He nearly jumped out of his skin at the appearance of Castiel in the mirror. Steadying himself, he turned to face the angel, nearly colliding with his nose. He’d have to teach Cas the finer details of personal space one of these days.
“Cas” Dean took in the angel before him. Was it possible, somehow, that he looked as if he had come in a hurry? Dean didn’t know if angels could rush, it didn’t seem likely. Lost in thought, he was surprised when Castiel reached out his hand. Dean stayed very still as the angel’s fingers brushed over his. He almost felt disappointed when the angel slipped the knife from his fingers, that that was all it had been about.
“I wasn’t going to...you know I don’t do that anymore.”
“I know” the angel wasn’t looking at him, which wasn’t that unusual. Neither was the intense stare he proceeded to fix Dean with.
“I was just making sure you were okay, I can never be too sure.”
“Yeah Cas, I’m good” Dean smiled, to his surprise the angel smiled back. Cas didn’t smile often, when he did, it was usually with good reason.
“Good” the angel’s voice was noticeably less rigid, Dean could hear the smile in his tone.
“Well someone’s in a good mood, huh?” Dean smirked, leaning back against the sink.
“You are happy and I can feel it. It seems to be catching”
Dean laughed. He wasn’t too sure what to make of that but it was true. He was happy and had been for a while now.
“Okay then, good”
“Good”