AN: Hi! First Supernatural fic, so be kind please. I would appriciate reviews and I hope you like it!

Past pain and future pain.

The knife was in his hand, it's edge sharp and catching the light, reflecting it and somehow calling to him. He had thought that this feeling was gone and that the last time had been the last time but obviously it hadn't been because here he was.


He grabbed the knife's handle, moving the sharp edge closer to his arm and he let it rest against his wrist. The cool metal against his skin made him shiver sending goose bumps and making the hair on his arm stand up.

He looked at the old scars, some off them had faded but most off them were still there like a road map over his emotional state over the years.

No one had ever seen them, hidden under his wrist band that he never took off, no one would ever see them if he got like he wanted and he was prepared to fight for that.

Because they were prof that he was weak and not really the big, strong and though guy everyone thought he was. But it wasn't about having scars that made him do it, they just were the aftermath, because for him it was about the pain.


The pain that made him feel alive when he felt dead inside and the pain was familiar. When you grew up on the road, a car closest to having a home and your father always leaving you to take care of your brother while he was out risking his life, you hold on to the things that are familiar.

And that was the pain for him, a close friend, an ally that wasn't far away since it presented itself to him when he was six years old.

His father had taken him on his first hunt two months after he had turned six, they had left Sam with an old friend of John's and went into to the woods nearby.

As his dad had said: it was time that Dean would learn to hunt, learn about what sort of things that were out there.

He never remembered what they had hunted but he remembered the dark, feeling scared and the pain from his left that had been broken and what his father had said when the six year old complained over that his arm hurt.

"Suck it up, Dean. We need to kill this thing or it will hurt Sammy."

So he had sucked it up because Sam meant everything, he was everything, tears were trailing down his cheeks but they had hunt it down and killed it.

When they arrived at the house, John took a closer look at his son's injuries, sure that it was just some bruises but he noticed that the six year old's left arm was broken. For a moment he was disgusted by himself for not noticing it and that he had forced his son to hunt a demon for hours with a broken arm. He looked up at his son as he felt a small hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, dad. We couldn't let that thing hurt Sammy. He is just a kid." Dean said seriously as he saw the guilt in his father's eyes. "It's our job to protect him."

John smiled at that, reached out, tousled his sons hair, lifted him up and took him to the ER to out the broken arm in a cast.

"Dean! Are you finished yet?!" Sam's pounding at the bathroom door and yelling made him return to the present.

"In a minute, Sammy boy!" Dean yelled back and his focus turned back to the knife that still was against his wrist.

The need to feel the pain from the knife cutting through his skin became stronger and stronger. So he gave into it.

He let out a small hiss off pain that turned into a sigh as the sharp knife cut through his skin and drew blood that slowly ran down into the sink. The cut wasn't to deep but not to shallow either, making the need lessen as he stared at the blood and he embraced the pain.

"Dean! I really need to go!" Sam yelled and pounded on the door. "Like right now!"

"Yeah, baby face." Dean said out loud, then muttered quietly to himself as he took a little toilet paper, pressed it against his cut and put the wrist band over it. He looked himself in the mirror, shook his head and opened the door. "Just don't pee in your pants, kiddo."

"Jerk." Sam said as he pushed himself by his older brother.

"Bitch." Dean said back with a smile.

The bathroom door closed and the smile disappeared as he walked over to one of the beds. He laid down muttering about crappy motel beds.

The front door opened and John stepped inside carrying on a paper bag that held food. John looked at his oldest son, raising an eyebrow in question.

Dean sighed, tilted his head towards the bathroom making John nod and walk into the kitchen area.

The bathroom door opened and Sam stepped out looking around. When he saw his fathers back in the kitchen, he stared at it for second before turning and walked over to a couch, sat down and took out his computer.

Dean shook his head, he really hated this, sat up and tried to beat down the urge to go inside the bathroom again to continue his date with his knife.

He and Sam had met up with their dad to hunt a demon and they had killed it. Then Sam and John had start to fight again, what about Dean had already forgotten but it was probably about The Demon.

But there was always something to make them fight and he really hate it when his brother and father fought.

When he listened to them arguing, he tried to make peace between them but usually they ignored him making an uneasy feeling creep into his stomach that progressed to a numbness.

He knew that it was normal for a son and a father to fight but it felt really wrong when they did it, like someone was sporting them against each other.

And that wrongness made him feel dead inside.

As he looked at his brother and father ignoring each other his thoughts went to the first time when he had found his relief.

It had been an accident, he stood in the kitchen of some crappy motel 12 years old chopping food as Sam and their father fought each other loudly.

Then Sam retreated to the bathroom banging the door close making Dean jump and cut himself in the hand between the thumb and finger.

He watched mesmerized as his blood oozed out from the deep cut and sounds of his father and brothers fight faded and all he could hear was the pounding of his heart in his ears.

After a couple of minutes John noticed that he had cut himself, then he stitched it while telling him to be more careful but Dean didn't really listened because he had found a way to become free of the dead feeling.

Back to the present, Dean noticed that he was starring at that scar so got up from the bed, walked over to Sam and tapped him on the shoulder.

The younger brother looked up at him and Dean tilted his head towards the kitchen area. Sam looked that way, turned back to his brother and shook his head.

Dean rolled his eyes, swatted his younger brother a little harden on the shoulder and glared at him.

Sam gave up, got up and both brothers made their way into the kitchen to set the table.

Then all three Winchester men sat down and started to ate in silence.