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“Fuck.”
Dean hissed against the sharp pain, the way the knife dug far deeper than it was supposed to and the skin gaped apart, a yawning mouth. The blood didn’t want to rise at first. But within a half second, the blood was there. And then it was filling the cut and dripping down his arm, a little river.
“Dammit, fuck,” he growled.
“Dean?”
He froze, heart hammering away his chest. He glanced down at the blood on his arm and felt the color drain from his face, down his neck.
“Dean, you okay?”
Sam was knocking on the bathroom door now. The cheap wood rattled in its frame under his fist. Dean hissed through his teeth, sifting through believable lies at a frightening speed.
“Yeah, I forgot to grab a shirt when I went to shower,” he called back.
“Oh,” he heard Sam say. “I don’t see why that matters, it’s not like I’m your brother.”
“Just get me a shirt, dumbass,” he said, trying to keep his normal demeanor but goddammit his arm burned in a way he wasn’t used to. He grabbed at toilet paper now, letting it soak up the flowing blood, but there were little red-stained trails of skin rolling gently down his arm.
Dean turned the water on in the sink.
The knock this time was gentler coming from Sam. Dean wasn’t sure how to take the shirt though. His left arm was – indisposed for the moment being. So he did the awkward thing, wrapping his left hand around the doorknob, twisting it and reaching through the minimal gap with his right hand.
He groped open air for the shirt only to find Sam’s hand. Sam gripped his wrist and shoved the door open with his shoulder. Dean was shocked, thankful to have at least pulled his boxers on. Not that they really hid anything at this point in his life.
Sam’s face was hardened at first, but it softened, and he made little stuttering sounds, mouth quivering. He let go of Dean’s wrist and gently pulled his brother into his arms, only to crush him against his chest. Dean grumbled, trying to push him away. But Sam held fast.
“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Sam whispered, one hand gripping hard over his shoulder. Somehow, even that pain was comforting.
Dean pushed him away, knowing his arm was still bleeding.
“Go away, Sam.” His voice was gruff, choked. “Let me take care of this.”
“No, let me,” Sam insisted, taking the first aid kit off the counter. As he did this, a tiny razor fell to the ground. It was rusted. No, Sam noticed as he knelt to pick it back up. It was dried blood. “Dean, we need to talk about this.”
“No we don’t,” he snapped, placing the toilet paper over his cut and pressing down.
Sam sighed and dropped the blade in the toilet. Dean sucked in a breath through his teeth, chest tightening. His first blade. It wasn’t even sharp anymore, but it’d been his best friend for the last four years.
“Yeah,” Sam insisted. “You see your legs? You see your arms and shoulders and chest, Dean? We need to talk about this – and you need to quit.”
“Leave me alone, Sam,” Dean barked, reaching out to grab the first aid kit from Sam, but as he did so, his own arm lugged his body weight forward and he crashed into his younger brother, knocking them both against the counter.
“Shh,” Sam soothed, setting him up to lean against the wood. He pulled himself around, taking hold of Dean’s arm, fought the urge to vomit and set to pulling it together with butterfly bandages.
Dean was absolutely covered in cuts, and his left arm was crisscrossed all over in wounds of various healing stages. There were a handful of burns and deep purple bruises in the coupled rows, as if from hard pinches.
Sam put a large gauze square over the cut and taped it down before wrapping another covering of gauze over that. The center was already staining rose.
“What the hell did you do, Dean?” he whispered, prodding under his brother’s jaw to bring him back. Dean’s eyes were rolling shut and he looked so exhausted.
“I just wanna sleep, Sammy,” he mumbled, eyes only half open to view his brother. Afterwards, Sam swore he heard him mutter ‘forever.’
“And you can,” Sam answered. “Let’s just watch a movie first, and get some water in you.”
“Do we have to?” Dean muttered.
“Yup,” said Sam and pulled him to his feet. “And for Christ’s sake, put some damn pants on.”
“I’ll put pants on if I feel like it,” he grumbled but shoved his feet into the sweatpants he had brought with him. Sam had waited while he did so, and then they both stepped out of the bathroom.
Sam grabbed a hold of his hand, like he did when they were so much younger and he toddled around and tripped so easily. Back in the man part of the motel, he dragged Dean into his bed and flipped the TV on. He handed the remote to Sam and let him flip through the different TV stations the crappy motel managed to pick up on. He hovered a half second longer over the one porn channel they got and then kept going, finally landing on the last forty minutes of Tomorrow Never Dies.
Dean fell against Sam’s shoulder, curling up around him. Sam let him, allowing his hand stroke his hair. He had so much to try to piece together about Dean’s problem – his abuse on himself. Sam didn’t realize as the movie rolled its credits, he was so lost in thought. He didn’t notice when Dead’s arm slipped around his waist, falling asleep.
“I promise I’ll make this better, Dean,” he whispered, still stroking his brother’s hair. And he had to. If he didn't, what kind of brother would he be? Dean had protected him his entire life, making sure he was fed while their father was on a hunting trip, trying to keep him happy. Now it was his turn, and Sam slid from Dean's grasp after he was sure the other was asleep and went into the bathroom, finding all of Dean's little razors and tossing them out, making sure to put them where Dean couldn't get a hold of them again, and then he moved Dean's knives, keeping them with his, hidden in his clothes.
Of course Dean would need them during hunting trips, but for now, he could keep them as hidden as was necessary.
With this done, he crawled back in bed with Dean and the older brother quickly found Sam, throwing an arm around the male's waist and Sam stroked his hair again, listening to the start up of the next James Bond movie with next to no volume until he himself was asleep and maybe they could start to put this behind them.