Dean walked through the door of the stingy motel room, hating the stench that invaded his nostrils. It smelled of stale beer and cigarettes, the usual for the Winchesters.
The room was dark and there were no lights on in the bathroom either. He only left for about an hour or so, where the hell did Sam go? He silently crept into the room, peering around for anything unusual.
Dean pulled out his cell and called speed dial one for Sam's cell and heard the unfortunate ringing coming from the dark bathroom. He had a bad feeling about this.
All of the sudden the door to the bathroom slammed shut and he heard the distinct clicking of the lock on the other side.
He rushed over to the door and banged on the paint chipped wood until it cracked and a flurry of white paint fell to the dingy carpet.
"Sammy, are you in there? Talk to me buddy! Open up… NOW!"
He was getting seriously freaked. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. No! Please answer. Come on damn it!
"Sam, open the door or I will." He threatened.
"No." A small voice coming from the other side of the door pleaded.
"Sam? What the hell man? You had me freaking the fuck out! Now get out of the bathroom, I gotta take a leak." He tried to sound calm to try and lure him out of the bathroom, but he knew something was messed up. He just wasn't sure just yet what that was.
1 hour earlier
"Hey, I'm heading out for a bit. Wanna tag along? I'm trying to get lucky though so you may have to walk home." Dean winked back at Sam with one of his cocky grins. Sam put on a small smile of his own to try to placate him, make it seem like he was fine so he would leave. He only needed to be alone for a little while, just an hour or so to get his thoughts together.
"Naw man, I'm good. Hey, have a good time. Don't worry about staying out too late; I've got a lot of research to do anyway so I won't be much company. I know how you get when you're bored." Sam rolled his eyes with as much energy as he could to make the familiar gesture seem genuine. He couldn't keep this up much longer, he felt so weighed down.
"What are you talking about? I'm adorable!" He walked past Sam and mock punched his shoulder as he exited the room in his favorite leather jacket.
He doesn't know how long he stood there in the middle of the room, staring at the empty space where he had last seen Dean's form. His legs began to shake underneath him as he found his way to one of the beds. Sighing, he placed his pounding head in his hands and squinted his eyes closed. The light was making everything worse so he flicked it off and lay in bed. Thoughts surrounding him in the silence.
What the hell is wrong with me? Am I so weak that I can't even tell my own brother that I needed him to stay with me? That I may need protection from myself, not the supernatural creatures that go bump in the night? With those thoughts, he found himself tracing the small raised skin on his left forearm. Tears pricked his eyes as he thought of each time he'd gone to the blade to calm his feelings. To keep from drowning in the thoughts that plagued his head everyday. And everyday it only got worse. The pain, the emotional and the physical. Every hunt gone wrong, every fight with Dad, after Jess… He flew off the bed and into the bathroom. Reaching into his back pocket, he felt the cool metal cover of his switchblade. He pulled it out and flicked it open, staring at the sharp edge.
Rolling up the sleeve of his over shirt, he stared longingly at the lattice of cuts. Dad would kill him if he knew what he was doing. Hell, Dean would kill him too… IF they knew… And that will never happen. He would never let them know how weak he was, how selfish and stupid he was.
"Ha." He breathed, "I'm barely a Winchester." With that last thought, he brought the edge down hard onto the tender flesh of his wrist. He bit down on his lip as the crimson bubbled to the surface and slowly ran down his arm and spilled onto the floor.
"It's no more that I deserve." He whispered as he brought the blade down again, and again and again. Four new cuts, devil red against his too pale skin.
There used to be a reason behind each and every cut. Mostly because of all the fights with Dad. Never knowing how to deal with them led to this. Now it was almost an everyday occurrence just to deal with life itself. Things were getting out of hand.
The fiddling of a key in a lock brought Sam out of his thought and into the real world. How long had he been in the bathroom? He looked down at the mess of his arm and the small puddle of congealed blood on the tile. Shit.
"Sammy?" The mantra of "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit." Repeated over and over again in his head as he thought of the best solution to get out of this without getting caught.
All of the sudden the shrill ringing of his cell phone knocked all since out of him and before he could restrain his actions, he found himself reaching for the door and slamming it shut and locking it. His eyes grew large as he realized how stupid he was for doing that. He turned his back against the door and slid down in front of it, pulling his knees into his chest and wrapping one arm around them. He kept his other arm out to keep from bleeding on himself.
"SAM!" Dean yelled, his voice closer than before to the door as it began to shake from the beating it was getting from the other side. "Sammy, are you in there? Talk to me buddy! Open the door… Now!" He felt a lone tear fall at hearing his brother, hearing the concern thick in his voice. There was a short pause, no yelling or banging of the door. Just silence. "Sam, open the door or I will." Dean spoke in a low menacing voice. To anyone else, this would have sounded like anger in his tone. Sam knew differently, he could here the slight panic in his voice and that made everything worse.
"No." The youngest Winchester whispered, too choked up to breathe evenly.
"Sam? What the hell man? You had me freaking the fuck out! Now get out of the bathroom, I gotta take a leak." He joked, though as usual Sam could hear the other meaning behind his words. He wanted him to come out of the bathroom so he could see with his own eyes that Sam was in one piece.
Sam took a few breaths to steady himself and then made quick work of cleaning the bathroom of any evidence. When he was sure that all of the blood was taken care of on the floor he flushed the toilet and ran cold water over his arm to wash away any blood, though the bleeding had already stopped. Dabbing the cuts off he then rolled the arm of his sleeve down and fastened the button on the end. Realizing that Dean would be suspicious of him being in the bathroom with the lights off he reached up and unscrewed both light bulbs and tossed them in the cabinet under the sink before opening the door and walking out to a very brightly lit room and a very irritated Dean Winchester.
"What the hell was that all about?" Dean eyed Sam up and down, scanning for any injuries.
"Dude, I-I was just using the bathroom." He lied easily besides the slight stutter in his voice, as Dean mulled over what he'd just said Sam took the time to take a few more calming breaths.
"Why was the light off?" He stated simply. Sam thanked his rarely lucky stars he had thought about that and had taken care of the issue.
"Some jack wagon took the light bulbs out of there when they left I guess. Shows what quality motel we've chosen for the night." He chuckled softly, that got Dean in a better mood though he was still watching him.
He laughed out loud and went and sat at the foot of his bed and tugged on the laces of his boots. Sam wanted to call him out on not actually having to use that bathroom, but decided against it just incase he may have forgotten to clean something up. Hopefully they would make it to Bobby's within a reasonable time tomorrow. Sam wasn't sure how long he could take being cooped up in the Impala with Dean's loud music. Maybe Dad would actually meet them there like he had said that he would… The youngest Winchester kind of doubted that. He looked over at his brother and saw that he had already passed out on top of the covers, jacket still on.
"How many beers did you have tonight?" He spoke mostly to himself under his breath as he went over and carefully pulled Dean's jacket off and shimmied the blanket out from under him to cover him with. Sam shuffled over to his duffel and changed into some sweat pants and a sweatshirt while dropping a freshly cleaned pocket knife inside. It was kind of chilly in the room so he'd have the excuse of wearing sweats to hide the new additions to his collection of scars.
He sat at the edge of his bed and stared unseeingly at his brother. Why couldn't he be more like Dean? Dad obviously favored him, probably because he never fought with him or showed any disrespect. He was the perfect little soldier. Maybe he should have taken the hint and fallen in line.
Sam smacked his temple with the heel of his hand with a heavy force. Now Dad was gone and he didn't even know where he was, what if he could never make it up to him? What if he could never show his father that he loved him, that he'd be the soldier that he wanted? He probably won't even show up at Bobby's, what then? Another well placed blow to the temple and the world became a bit blurry. A sick thought crossed his mind as he began to continue the blows in a steady rhythm until all he saw was black. No pain. No nightmares. Just rest that he so badly needed.