A/N: This is my very first story that I have published and all reviews are more than welcome. Also, English isn't my first language so there might be some spelling mistakes, especially since I have no beta.. :D

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, unfortunately.


The younger Winchester was sitting quietly on the cold floor of the bathroom staring at his bleeding arm so intently that the didn't even register the sound of his brothers voice from the other side of the door.


The slow flow of the blood and the pain that faded little by little with every beat of his heart was lulling Sam into a sweet oblivion that was soon to be disturbed by the knocks on the door followed by a concerned voice of a certain big brother.

"Sam, everything okay?"

Sam's head snapped up and he hastily answered his brother with a quick "Yeah, yeah of course, why?" while scrambling up from the floor.

How long have I been sitting here?

"Dude, you've been in there for like a half an hour!", exclaimed Dean through the door.


Crabbing a bunch of toilet paper Sam carefully wiped the blood stains from the floor and then his hands before putting his arm under the faucet, wincing as the water came in contact with his newest wound. There were at least ten cuts in various stages of healing, scattered around his arms. They stood out from the rest of his scars that came with the hunting job, as they were all straight and neat and didn't look at all accidental. They weren't caused by an angry spirit, or a pissed off demon, but by Sam himself.

Cutting was something Sam had discovered years ago when he had just started at Stanford. He had been alone, without his brother for the first time in his life. His father had basically thrown him out, telling him not to ever come back. Feeling depressed or alone hadn't exactly been new to him, but this had been different. He had had nothing to distract him from his feelings and they had been slowly suffocating him. At least when he had lived with Dean and his father, there had always been the distraction of a hunt. The constant action in his life. Now with that missing, he had needed something new. That's when cutting had come to the picture.

At first Sam had only cut about once a month, when he had really needed the distraction. It hadn't taken long though, for the need to became more frequent. By his first Christmas at Stanford, Sam had been cutting once a week, his cuts getting deeper and deeper, bleeding more and more. Thinking back, Sam was sure that if it hadn't been for Jessica, he would have eventually ended up in the hospital, seriously hurt. Maybe too seriously.

But Jessica had saved him. Not only did her presence distract him from the feelings he had been trying to escape from, she had slowly made them go away entirely. She had been his saviour, his angel, his reason for living.

And then she died.

It had taken a lot of restraint and determination from Sam to keep from cutting again after that. The need to cut had been overwhelming and he had almost given in, but once again Jessica helped him fight it. Sam knew that Jessica wouldn't have wanted him to do that and he didn't want to disappoint her anymore than he already had. He had already failed to save her, he wouldn't fail her like this too. He had to find the thing that killed her, and couldn't afford to be distracted with cutting while doing it.

But Jessica hadn't been the only thing that had kept him from cutting. In fact, if Sam was honest with himself, she alone probably wouldn't have been enough. It was Dean. His brothers absence had, after all, been the reason for the cutting in the first place. Now with Dean back, Sam was able to deal with his grieve for Jessica without resorting to cutting. Dean had always been there to save him, ever since he was a kid. Dean had always been there when he needed him, had always patched him up when he was hurt. Sam thought he would never lose his brother again.

But then he died.

And not only did Dean die, he went to Hell. And there was nothing Sam was able to do to get him out. For the first two months Sam had spent all his time and energy into trying to find a way to save Dean. He had tried everything, absolutely everything, but nothing had worked. Dean was rotting in Hell, and it was because of Sam. Then he just couldn't take it anymore. He started cutting again two months after Dean died, two months before Dean came back.

And hasn't been able to stop since.

Dean has been back for months now and Sam still cuts. It's not that he can't stop, he just doesn't really want to. It's not like he is doing it daily, he barely does it once a month anymore, actually. Just when he really needs it. When they are staying in a crappy motel room with nothing to hunt, when he happens to find himself alone in the bathroom with his beloved knife. Just like now. With someone banging on the door. Shouting his name. ..Wait what?


"Sammy! I swear to God if you come out right now I'm gonna-!" Dean didn't get to finish his threat as Sam interrupted him.

"Calm down man, I'm coming in a minute!"

I really need to stop this spacing out thing. Has he been at the door the whole time?

"Calm down? I have been banging this damn door without getting an answer for so long I was sure you had somehow managed to drown your geeky ass in the toilet!"

And he really need's to stop answering my thoughts!

"Sorry, I was just coming out of the shower" lied Sam, throwing the toilet paper in the toilet and flushing it.

"Uh huh, then why didn't I hear the water running?", came Dean's suspicious question from the other side of the door.

"Umm... I meant... I took a bath?" Sam mentally cursed himself when his pathetic attempt at lying came out more as a question than an answer.

"Sam, if you don't open this door in three seconds, I'm gonna kick it in! One.. Two...-!" Shouted Dean clearly not believing a word of what his brother told him.

"Geez, will you back off, I'm coming" Sam once more checked the the bathroom for blood stains and finding it clean, he took a deep breath and opened the door to face the suspicious big brother on the other side.

As soon as stepped in to the main part of their small motel room, Dean looked at him suspiciously, as if checking him over for injuries. Apparently he passed the scrutiny as Dean huffed and pushed past him to check the bathroom.

Really, what did Dean think could happen to me in there? A rubber duck attack?

Nevertheless, Sam just had to follow Dean in to the bathroom, although he was pretty sure there was nothing for his brother to find that could give him away. But when has he ever been that lucky?

"Why are the towels not wet?", asked Dean, raising his eyebrows at Sam.

"Umm... Excuse me?", sometimes his brother was just weird.

"Why are the towels not wet?", repeated Dean taking a step towards Sam.

"Umm... Because we haven't just washed them?", suggested Sam, playing dumb although he could see where this was going. At first he cursed himself for not being more careful, but then again, who would have thought that Dean would really check for something so stupid?

"If you just took a bath, there would be a wet towel in here. Also, your hair should be wet, and you wouldn't be wearing the same clothes you did before you came to the bathroom.", Dean listed, taking a small steps towards Sam, who in turn took a couple of steps back, his heart starting to beat a little faster.

This is ridiculous.

"Now, why would you lie about taking a shower or a bath?", wondered Dean, mostly to himself.

"And why would you lock yourself in the bathroom for almost forty-five minutes?", he continued "I mean, I can certainly think of a couple of reasons-", Dean arched his eyebrows meaningfully, "-but, with you looking pale, sweaty and generally like shit, and the way you are clearly trying to hide something, it has to be something more interesting."

"You are crazy Dean, you know that?" Sam said a little nervously, taking another step away from his brother.

"Well, I'm not the one trying to hide something" Dean said, suddenly looking a little too serious. "I mean, it's not just now, you have been acting weird for a while now"

Sam didn't know what to say to that, but he felt his heart rate pick up again. True, he had been feeling a little more depressed than usual after the hunt in their old high school, but he had never expected Dean to take notice. He hadn't cut for a moth before now and was actually doing quite well fighting the urge until the memories from his time in school and the guilt of possibly ruining his bully's life pushed him over the edge.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Dean. And I'm not hiding anything!" Sam tried to sound convincing, but the panic of possibly getting caught cutting by his older brother was clear in his voice.

"Oh come on, Sam. Will you cut the crap already!" Dean said frustrated by his brothers stubbornness, then calming down a little he added; "Weren't you supposed to be done hiding things from me, Sammy?"

Sam was taken aback by the tone of Dean's voice more than the sentence itself. It wasn't accusative, more worried and tired. For a second Sam almost considered telling Dean everything. Almost. He knew he should, he knew that his brother would want him to, and he knew it would probably help him. But he couldn't. He couldn't watch the devastation in his brothers eyes when he found out what he had been doing to himself. Or maybe he wouldn't be devastated? Maybe he would be angry? Or disappointed? What if Dean thought he was weak for not being able to handle things without resorting to something as stupid as cutting?

No, Sam couldn't take the risk. He couldn't tell Dean the truth, but with the look in his eyes right now, he couldn't lie to him either. So Sam did the only thing he had the courage to do, turned away.

Or at least that was the plan, but his brother clearly wasn't fond of his plan and had one of his own, as he crabbed Sam's arm and rather forcefully pulled him back.

"Where do you think you're go-..?" Dean stopped short when he heard the pained gasp from his little brother and saw the look in his eyes, a look of sheer panic. He immediately let go of the arm and took a step back, looking concerned and confused.

Sam took advantage of his brothers distraction and turned his back on him, stepping out of the bathroom. He walked to his bed and sat down, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He had to get away from his big brother, he couldn't let him know what was going on. He'd have to make up a believable lie, something that wouldn't have Dean asking millions of questions.

Sam didn't have a lot of time to come up with anything though, before noticed his brother sit down on the other bed, opposite of him. He didn't want to look up, but after almost a minute of silent sitting he raised his head to figure out why he wasn't already drowning in questions of a worried and pissed off older brother. He was surprised to find Dean looking silently down at his hands, and was about to ask what he was doing before he was beat to it.

"Sammy.." Dean slowly raised his head from his hands, looking at Sam intently. "Why is there blood on my hand from where I touched your arm?"