Author's Note: So this is my first long one shot – can't wait to hear what you think. So this didn't really start out a song fic, I just happened to be listening to this song while I was writing and I thought it kind of fit. The song is called Where You Belong by Huckapoo. (Just so you know, I did leave out a few lyrics)
Also, Diary of A Nobody is one of my favorite books. It's a story about Mr. Charles Pooter who is a lower middle-class man who thinks he better than everyone else written by George Grossman. It's a very funny book – I highly recommend it.
Also, for those of you who have been following it- the next chapter in my other story, The Hunger Games, should be up later tonight now that my computer is once again working.
Warnings: Mild swearing, and self-harm.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or it's characters. I also don't own Where you belong by Huckapoo or Diary Of A Nobody by George Grossman.
Ages: Sam 14, Dean 18
You stand apart
Alone you are
Workin' on your masterpiece
They laugh, they stare
No one would dare
Invite you to hang out with them
Look around, nowhere to go
And can't you tell
'cause you'd just like to know
Where you belong
Just looking for the place that you fit in
You're too cool, too weird
It's always something
Try hard, but you can't seem to get there
Where you belong
So what, so what
If you're different
It's what you is, not what you isn't
Someday, it'll be so clear
Where You Belong
Sam slowly shut the bathroom door behind himself and locked it. Not that he really needed to. His dad was away on a hunt and Dean was still at work, probably would be for at least an hour.
Sam grabbed the switchblade from his pocket. Dean had given it to him a little over year ago when he first turned thirteen. His first weapon. Not that he hadn't handled weapons before, but this was the first weapon that belonged to him and boy had he put it to use.
Sam unfolded the blade and put it up to his wrist. He really didn't like deceiving Dean, but ever since he had started cutting, Sam was kind of addicted. Sometimes it was the only thing that got him through the day. He was constantly picked on by bullies, both verbally and physically. Dean had always made it very clear to people not to mess with his little bro, but now he wasn't in high school. And now that he wasn't in high-school, he went on more and more hunts which meant Sam was home alone more and more. Of course, Sam could tell Dean, but he didn't want to admit weakness, didn't want to be more of a burden.
Sam slowly pushed down on the blade.
He hated being a burden to his brother.
He hated being a disappointment and hindrance to his father.
He hated that the bullies always got the upper hand in fights (though it was six of them vs. just one Sam)
He hated that his grades were slipping because between training, hunting, cutting, and bullies he was too damn tired to do his homework (especially knowing it would likely be stolen anyway.)
He hated when he was alone for days, sometimes even weeks at a time.
He hated that ever since Dean got out of high school, they had become more distant from each other.
What didn't he hate?
Dean. The answer rang through his head. He most certainly didn't hate Dean. He would have given his life for Dean. Or for his father for that matter. He cared about both of them a lot, but he really didn't see much of either any more. The few hunts Dean did stay home from, he was always working so there would be money for Sam when he did go on a hunt.
If Dean knew what he was doing, he would not be happy, in fact he would be pissed, no beyond pissed. Sam felt a stab of guilt.
He pressed the knife in deeper. It wasn't really making him any less of a burden, but it was the only relief Sam could get.
Sam felt the pain start to kick in. He slowly got up, pressed some gauze to his wrist and began cleaning the knife. He turned back to see if any blood got on the floor. He was shocked to see a fairly large amount of blood on the floor. He had been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn't realized how long he had been sitting there slicing his wrist open. Sam suddenly felt very light-headed and after a few shaky steps forward, he collapsed into a world of unconsciousness.
Dean turned the ignition off and slid out of his precious car. He locked the car and entered the motel room.
"Sam?" he called, but he quickly spotted the bathroom door closed, light coming from underneath. Dean went into the kitchen to grab a beer. He flopped onto the couch, cold-one in hand, and began flipping through a car magazine and was soon lost in an article.
After finishing the article he looked up and realized he'd been home for about eight minutes and Sam was yet to come out of the bathroom.
"Sammy, you okay in there?" Dean asked. After getting no response he rose from the couch and knocked on the bathroom door. He was starting to panic a bit.
"Sam, answer me damnit!" The frustration in his voice really just a mask for the worry and concern creeping into him. "Sam, if you don't open this door right now, I'm going to break it down," he paused for a moment, "fine have it your way." With that he threw his weight against the door. The weak bathroom door lock stood no chance, and the door easily gave away. Dean froze at the sight before him.
Sam was lying on his back, head tilted to the left slightly. In his left hand he had a loose grip on the hunting knife Dean himself had given him. His other arm was laying out stretched a bit more. His hand and wrist were surrounded by a mini pool of blood. Some gauze lay half-on half-off Sam's wrist, clearly having slipped off when Sam's hand hit the ground. But it was the thin, but clearly deep, cut on Sam's wrist that scared Dean the most. It was obviously self-inflicted as were the numerous scars criss-crossing the pale flesh. Dean quickly came to the conclusion that this had not been a suicide attempt; Sam had just gotten a bit carried away.
Dean wanted to scream or cry or both. He couldn't believe Sam had spiraled so out of control without him noticing. Guilt started eating away at him.
But Dean didn't cry or scream. He wouldn't, at least not yet. He shoved the emotions at discovering Sam's new "hobby" down and decided it was best to treat this like any other flesh wound.
He bent down to examine Sam's cut, shocked to find even more blood hidden under his arm. He looked at the cut critically and decided it was deep enough to need a few stitches. It's a good thing he passed out or the kid probably would've cut his wrist right off at the rate he was going.
After completing three neat and even stitches, washing the blood off Sam's arm, and carrying Sam to bed, he finally took a minute to listen to the thoughts running wild through his mind. Why had Sam done it? Had Dean become so distant that he hadn't noticed how bad his baby brother was hurting? Obviously so. An new wave of guilt crashed down on Dean. He slowly put his head in his hands. You're going to have some serious making up to do for letting it get this bad, Dean told himself. He heard a small groan from the bed causing him to look up from the chair next to Sam's bed.
"D'n" Sam mumbled without opening his eyes.
"Yeah, Sammy, it's me. Come on, kiddo, open your eyes for me." Slowly, after much flickering, his eyelids slid open revealing two exhausted hazel eyes. Dean had never felt so glad to see those two puppy-dog eyes.
Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "Why? Why would you do this, Sammy?" When he got no response he barreled on, "Was it because of me? Dad? Did we do something? Come on, dude, you got to give me something to work with." He paused. "How could you do this, Sam? Did it ever occur to you how wrong it is? Did it even cross your mind how I might feel about this? Or how Dad would feel? Were you thinking of anyone besides yourself?" Dean was yelling by the end. He didn't mean it, but, same as John, Dean best expressed concern and worry in the form of anger.
Sam's eyes shown with hurt a moment before he rolled over, back to Dean, curled up and began trembling slightly.
As soon as he saw his little brother's distress, Dean's anger was gone.
"Sam, roll over, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, it just slipped out. Please talk to me. Help me take the weight off your shoulders." After getting no response, Dean went around to the other side of Sam and cupped his chin in his hand, forcing Sam to look at him. There were so many emotions in those two expressive eyes. Sadness, loneliness, hurt, pain, but they flashed in anger as Sam yanked out of Dean's grip.
"Just go away, Dean." Sam said before burying his head in the pillow and beginning to cry.
Dean felt like his heart had shattered into a million little pieces at his brother's words. He knew Sam wasn't selfish, in fact he was pretty selfless and Sam didn't need Dean telling him otherwise, especially not now. Dean knew his anger had gotten the better of him and he resolved not to let it happen again.
Dean slowly got up, following his brother's wishes and walked to the door with a quiet "I'll be right outside if you need me, Sammy." Once on the other side of the now closed door, Dean leaned against the wall as the dam broke. The dam of tough, never-cry Winchester pride broke and the waters of emotion spilled out.
Fifteen minutes later found Dean in the exact same spot, having not moved a muscle. He just didn't know what to do. He had to apologize to Sam, but obviously Sam didn't want to hear it. Dean took a deep breath and stood up. Hopefully a quarter of an hour was enough for Sam to cool down a bit. Dean slowly knocked on the door.
"Sam, look, I'm really sorry about what I said earlier. I honestly didn't mean it. Please, can I come in?" No response. He went to turn the knob, but found it locked. "Sam?" He called shaking the knob viciously. With a jolt Dean realized he had left the knife in there on the bedside table. "Sam if you don't open this door right now, I'm going to break it down." Dean said repeating his threat from before. He hoped like crazy he wouldn't bust the door open and find Sam dying in a pool of his own blood. After a momentary pause, Dean threw his weight against the door, just as he had done earlier, and stumbled as it gave. Thankfully a bloody body was absent from the scene, however two other things were also absent: the knife and Sam.
The wind blew cold against Dean's skin. Wait a minute, the window wasn't open when I left. An open window and an absent Sam could mean only one thing…
Sam walked aimlessly down the street. He hadn't really thought running away all the way through. It was only when it started to rain did Sam pick a destination. Using his knife, Sam managed to open the locked back window. He slipped in with ease and stared at the rows and rows of beaten books. Sam had always loved the library. He quickly searched the rows until found one of his favorite books. He sat down in one of the cozy armchairs and began reading Diary of a Nobody by the pale moonlight.
Where would Sam go? Dean drove around town in the impala looking for any sign of Sam. He was yet to call his dad. Dean already felt crazy guilty. He didn't think he could bare their dad's wrath when he found out about what Sam had been doing and that he had managed to disappear on Dean's watch. Not only had Dean failed to protect Sam, but he had pushed him further away. Oh, Sam, I'm so sorry.
An average person might not have noticed, but Dean was a hunter and he recognized a broken-into window when he saw one. Of course! The library! He parked the impala and slipped through the open window. He spotted Sam asleep in a worn, red armchair, book hanging limply from his hand. "Oh, Sammy, thank god, I thought I might have lost you, kiddo." Dean scooped Sam into his arms and was happy to see that Sam was yet to cut his wrists again.
He set Sam in the passenger's seat and went around to the driver's side. A few minutes later, Sam began to stir. His eyes fluttered open. I'm in the impala. Why am I here? I didn't go to sleep here. Where did I go to sleep? Oh, yeah, the library. Damn, Dean must have found me!
"Sammy, please, please talk to me. I didn't mean anything I said before. I was just angry. Please, let me know what's been bothering you so much." Sam turned and looked straight into Dean's eyes, Sam's face completely devoid of emotion. Dean felt like he was being x-rayed and was glad he was driving so he had an excuse to break eye contact. As Dean looked back at the road Sam said quietly, "Not yet."
"What do you mean?" As soon as Dean said it, he realized exactly what Sam meant. He meant not until they were back to the motel. In the impala, there was nowhere to go, Sam was trapped. At the motel, if Sam felt the need to be alone, he could simply lock himself in a room and hide away. Dean's heart collapsed at the thought that Sam thought he might need to hide from Dean.
"Okay, Sam, but we will talk." Sam looked out the window. "Oh, and give me your knife."
"No," Sam said very quietly.
"Sam, please, just give me the knife." Sam looked like a kicked puppy as he reluctantly handed over the switchblade he had become to rely on as means of relief.
After a few minutes, Sam spoke up again. "Do you really think I'm selfish?" Sam said without looking away from the window.
"No, Sammy, of course not. You're one of the most selfless people I've ever met."
"You're lying to get me to talk aren't you?" Sam said once again giving Dean the kicked puppy look.
"No, Sam, I'm not, honest." Sam looked away again. "What I said before was total bullshit." There was an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. "How long?"
"How long what?" Sam said, stealing a sideways glance at Dean.
"How long have you been doing this to yourself?" Sam looked at Dean for a few seconds trying to judge what Dean's reaction would be.
"A little over a month." It was a good thing there was no traffic because Dean surely would have caused an accident when he slammed on the breaks.
"A whole damn month?" Sam nodded slowly.
"I'm sorry," he offered softly.
"No, don't be." Dean said, his voice once again gentle, "I'm sorry I yelled at you, I just, I don't know. Why didn't you tell me things were so bad?"
"I didn't want you to think I was weak." Sam replied after a moment's hesitation.
"Why would I think you were weak?"
"Because of stupid Tom Merin. Him and his goonies bully me. A lot. At first it was just two or three guys and I fought back, but the more I fought back, the more people there would be the next time. Eventually it got up to six of them. They would sneak up behind me when I was walking to or from school. Two of them would grab me from behind and Tom would punch me a couple of times and then steal my homework. Without my homework my grades started slipping. With hunting I didn't have enough time to redo it. Plus you were leaving me alone more and more. Normally this wouldn't bother me so much, but a few weeks ago when that demon got me alone it told me some stuff. It said you and Dad thought I was liability and a hindrance in hunting. I know demons can lie, but the next few days I started watching you guys to make sure it wasn't telling the truth. But all I got were more and more signs it was telling the truth. I mean Dad says it all the time. I'm a shitty hunter and you guys always have to save my ass."
"Dad never says that." Dean said, glad Sam was opening up, but horrified at what was coming out.
"Not directly, no."
"We don't' think you're a hindrance or a liability. You're a fine hunter, so don't worry about that. I'm sorry I've been leaving you alone so much; I've just been so excited to be hunting full time. And Sam, if you're grades are slipping because of hunting, tell us. Let us know you need another hour for homework, it's all good. As for Tom, don't worry about him. I'll take care of that." Dean said just as they pulled up at the motel. "Do you know where he lives?"
Sam hesitated. He wanted to tell Dean, but it probably wasn't the right thing to do. On the other hand, he was a jerk and deserved to be punished. Sam came to a quick mental decision.
"23 Maple Street, I think." Sam got out and Dean pulled away. Sam couldn't help, but smile. He felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he knew he wouldn't be cutting his wrist again anytime soon.
Maybe, just maybe, Sam wasn't so far away from where he belonged after all.
Author's Note: So, what did you think? Good? Bad? All reviews are deeply appreciated! Also, what is your opinion of an epilogue? Yes? No?