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Warning: Self harm
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Sam [But I wish I did to give him a big hug!]
Takes places sometime in Season 9, pretty much when he starts to realize something is up, if you couldn't tell.
He knew it was wrong, that changed nothing.
He knew it would hurt Dean, which still changed nothing.
If he knew he was worth something, that would change everything.
Every day was a battle with himself. Never was there a day to rest or be purely happy. He wasn't going to completely give up yet but he knew the time would come soon.
Having demon blood in him was no help and the trials didn't purify him. What else was there to do?
He knows Dean is hiding something from him.
Lately bits and pieces of his life have been missing. Random pieces of a puzzle and he couldn't figure out the picture. Nothing made sense anymore. He was at a point where there is no such thing as "making sense." Now things just happened and there is never a need for an explanation anymore.
He sat on the shower floor in the bathroom of their Men of Letters bunker. The shower head spurted icy water on the top of his head. It ran down his face and the rest of his naked body as he shivered against the cold tiles. He picked up his knife, freshly sharpened and looked at it. He saw a reflection in the shiny metal, a reflection of a broken man—a tired and broken man who wanted out with the world but knew it wasn't quite his time. He ran his fingers along the edge of the blade and pushed his skin on it harder allowing blood to draw but having it soon swept away by the water. He then grabbed the knife handle with his right hand and faced his left wrist up. He took in all the scars running horizontally up and down his wrist and forearm and found a small spot clear of any marks and dragged his knife deep along his wrist. The same was done on his opposite arm. He dropped the knife and watched the blood flowing freely.
He wished he could be free too, have control of his destiny. Not have anyone get hurt because of him or have his brother fly in from who knows where to save his ass, to have something worth living for. This was the only control he had in his life so far. This was the thing he could do to mask his pain, create more pain. See, no explanation, no sense, just some control. If anyone were to find out they probably wouldn't understand. But that's okay he doesn't need understanding or comfort, he just needs to be gone. Maybe his time go is actually now. Maybe just a millimeter deeper of the knife will allow that. Maybe he just needs to wait. But for how long? How much more can he take? How much longer must he mask pain with pain? Maybe not much longer.
Dean would only mourn for so long, I am worthless anyway…
He may end up not caring at all…
Just a millimeter...
Maybe my time to go is now, with just a millimeter deeper…
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