Dean burst through the doors. Still pissed his father shooed him away from Sam. He glanced over to where his dad was and then noticed Sam was peacefully sleeping under the covers. Dean smiled fondly at him. Sam always looked younger when he slept. This Sam that he was staring at was his Sammy. His Sammy that was always trying to be just like his big brother… His Sammy that was gentle and caring, full of love… His Sammy that Dean could not live without.

"How's he holding up? Did you… uh. Did you get anything from him?" Dean almost didn't want to know. He wanted everything to go back to normal. Before Stanford…

"He said he never told anyone how bad it was because he didn't want to seem weak to us." His father spoke solemnly as Dean set down the diner bag full of food on the table.

"How bad what was? I don't understand… How bad the depression was getting? I know that after Jess it must have been hard, and he's always been a kind of moody kid… But cutting yourself?" He trailed off in disbelief.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am for not letting you know where I was for a while there. I should have never left you… I shouldn't have let Sammy go off to that damn school… I-I just don't know anymore. Maybe if I were a better parent?"

"Dad, you weren't a bad parent. You did the best you could and Sammy and I both know that… Let's just talk to him, okay?" Dean took his father's silence as permission and went over to where his little brother was sleeping. "Sammy? Sammy wake up. We need to talk little bro." Just the slightest shake of his brother caused Sam to bolt upright. "Sam? It's okay… I'm not mad anymore. I never was really, just shocked." Sam cast his eyes down to his hands that were folded in his lap. "Can I see?" Sam shot him a confused look so Dean cautiously grasped Sam's left hand in his own and slowly turned it over. In the corner of his eye, Dean saw his father creep over and sit facing them on the opposite bed.

His entire arm from the wrist to half way up his forearm was covered in short, one-inch scars varying in stages of healing. If he had to guess, there had to be at least twenty, probably more. Now that he had a closer look, there were some that criss-crossed over each other creating almost a tally system. "How long have you been…?" Dean didn't finish his question.

"Dean…" Sam pleaded. Dean knew that he didn't want to answer, but he just needed to know.

Dean shut his eyes, still holding his brother's hand. "Please." It was but a mere whisper and yet it held such agony.


"Since I was fourteen." Sam spoke so low, neither his father nor brother heard.

"Since you were how old? To be honest Sammy, the fact that you aren't just using weeks or months is kind of freaking me out…"

"You really want the truth?" The hesitation from Dean seemed to answer Sam's question.

"No, I don't… But I need it."

"Fourteen." Sam spoke quickly.

His father spoke this time. "F-fourteen years old? How… How've you kept it a secret for eight years? What happened to make you do this to yourself Sammy?"

Sam went into the story of the wendigo hunt eight years ago. He told them everything except his fated suicide attempt. Some things he needed to keep to himself.

"I remember that." Dean was the first to speak. "I woke up and you weren't there. Dad said you went for a walk or something…" Dean peered at Sam suspiciously then looked to their father who only shrugged. "Where did you go? I never got an answer out of you then, and now that we're in the sharing mood…" Dean hedged.

"Damn it, Dean. Haven't you heard enough? What more do you want from me? Huh?" Sam's sudden outburst shocked the entire room.

"Here, let me start from the beginning. It's my fault mom's dead," Sam ignored the protest he was receiving from his father as he continued on his list, "It's my fault Jess's dead. Everything is and always has been… My. Fault. That's why when you got hurt because of my dumb-fuck mistake, I went to the edge of the cliff near the park and would have jumped. Unfortunately some fuckin' park ranger was on duty and pulled me from the ledge. Otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. I went back to that awful motel and slit my wrists in the sink. And yes, I did say wrists. Did you want to take a look at the other one too? Would that make you feel any better? Because it sure as hell made me feel better." Sam shoved his other wrist into the light. "So there. Are you happy that now you can see proof of how much of a fuck-up I am? It's all written out across my arms."

"What about that…?" His father, who was significantly shaken, gestured towards the gauze covering where Sam had stabbed himself with the Jack Daniels bottle.

"Whisky bottle. I smashed it and took one of the shards of glass and punctured my arm with it. Nobody did this to me, except me. Was trying to off myself then too. I can't even kill myself right. I am just done. I am done with everything. The pain, the guilt, the hiding…" Sam pulled his arms in and wrapped them around his midsection staring up at the water stained ceiling.

"Sammy… You can't keep doing this to yourself. It's not healthy." Dean began.

"Don't give me some stupid lecture. I obviously know it's not healthy otherwise I wouldn't have been hiding it. I… I just don't know if I can stop. Cutting helps me with keeping my emotions in check. If I can't do that-"

"We'll be there to help you. Always. You don't need cutting when you have us. Dad and me will be there for you whenever you need us. So just please…"

"Dean I-" Sam started to protest, but the look in Dean's eyes stopped him. He knew he could count on him, no matter what. He'd always have him. "Okay. I'll try." Sam said he'd try, but if things got too much to handle… He just didn't know if he could stop. It's been a part of his life for so long…

"Now… Let's eat something. Dean brought everyone some breakfast so lets eat before it gets cold." His father smiled broadly at Sam.

"Yeah. Let's eat." They made there way over to the table and delved out breakfast sandwiches to everyone. Before digging in, Sam looked up and exchanged glances with both his father and brother. "Thanks… For everything." He didn't need to hear a response from either of them.


The Winchester's ate in silence. Each member of the family lost in their own thoughts. But as long as they had each other, they would make it. And each one of them knew that. Another thing that they all knew was that in their line of work… Nothing lasted long. Not even themselves.


DONE. I hope that everyone enjoyed reading this story. I poured my heart into it. I did leave it open for a sequel just incase I wanted to add more to the story… But this is it for now! Please rate!