It took Sam a while to notice. Too long. In his defense, there was a lot on his mind. Dad was missing. Jessica was dead, killed by the same thing who'd murdered their mother years ago. And it wasn't like it was obvious. Dean kept it hidden, and for good reason.
But despite all his efforts to hide this secret, Sam found out. It was late at night. Dean was passed out, but Sam couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Jessica burning on the ceiling. So he stayed up, reading through dad's journal.
Dean mumbled something about pie in his sleep, and Sam glanced over in amusement. And that's when he saw it.
His brother was laying on his back. Dean usually slept on his stomach, almost hugging the pillow. But tonight he was spread out, one arm hanging over the edge of the bed. The moonlight caught his wrist at just the right angle, and Sam couldn't think of a creature in the world that left a scar like that.
It was a vertical, jagged mark across the Ulnar artery. It wasn't new, but it definitely hadn't been there when Sam left for Stanford three years ago.
He tried to ignore the uneasy feeling in his gut. Maybe there was a different explanation. Dean got injured on hunts all the time...Sam would wait until morning, and ask about it then.
"Morning."
Dean blinked the sleep away. Sam was in the same chair he'd been in last night. It didn't look like he'd moved at all. "Dude, why were you watching me sleep? That's creepy."
"I was waiting for you to wake up."
"If you were in such a hurry to get going, you could've woken me up yourself." He swung his legs over the bed. "Did you sleep at all?" He was worried. Sam was obviously sleep deprived, but he could never get a good night's rest. Curse those nightmares. He hated seeing his little brother tormented by the pain of losing Jessica.
Ignoring his question, Sam asked one of his own. "What happened to your wrist?"
Dean felt his stomach drop. "W-what?"
"I saw it. Last night your sleeve slipped up, and I saw the scar."
"Was a hunt." Dean said shortly, tugging at his sleeves to make certain his wrists were covered.
"Are you sure about that?" In one swift movement, Sam was at his side, yanking up the sleeve. "That doesn't look like a typical hunting wound."
"Every hunt's different, you know that." Dean jerked his arm away.
"What were you chasing?"
Dean froze. "Dammit, Sam. I don't have to answer that. It's nothing. Drop it." His voice was a low growl.
"What did you do?" Sam asked quietly. His reaction had given it away.
"It doesn't matter. Can you just let it go?" Dean grabbed his clothes and headed for the bathroom, but Sam stood in his way.
"Dean, please." His voice had a worried, pleading tone to it. Like the first time he caught Dean smoking, and begged him to stop. He was pretty sure he'd be killed on a hunt before dying of lung cancer, but he quit anyway, for Sammy.
"I did something stupid. It was a mistake. End of conversation."
"Was it because of me?" Sam whispered.
Those words, coupled with his little brother's puppy-dog eyes, broke Dean's heart. "No! No, it wasn't like that."
"But I left."
Dean sighed, setting his clothes down. He ran a hand through his hair. "It wasn't your fault. It was my choice."
"What happened, De?" Fuck. Sam looked close to tears.
"Alright, sit down. I'll tell you everything, but only if you promise never to talk about it again."
Sam nodded in agreement, sitting on the bed across from his brother.
"After you left, things went to hell. Dad started drinking more, and...well, we both know how he gets. But that wasn't why." Dean added, seeing the look on Sam's face. "I fucked up on a hunt, and someone died. Dad wouldn't let me forget it. An innocent girl was dead, and it was on me." He swallowed hard. Sometimes her face still haunted his dreams.
"I couldn't deal with the guilt, you know? It just felt like everything was falling apart. I thought...I thought Dad wouldn't care if I was gone, and with any luck, you'd never even find out." Dean took a shaky breath. Sam was watching him intensely, sadness filling those hazel eyes.
"Dad went on a beer run. He wasn't supposed to be back for a while, but I wanted to get it over with so there was no chance he'd save me. I locked myself in that motel bathroom, and..." Dean couldn't even say it. He simply rolled up his sleeves.
Sam's eyes widened. He hadn't noticed that the other arm bore a similar scar, although this one was much longer; spanning from wrist to elbow. "Dean..."
"I cut this one first. I knew it had to be fast. Hurt like a mother, but it seemed like the only option. I started in on the other wrist, but it hurt too bad. I passed out. His voice was gruff. "I should have died. I would've, but Dad forgot his wallet. He came back in just as I collapsed against the wall. He heard the noise, and forced the door open.
"What did he do?" Sam asked softly.
"I guess he called an ambulance. I don't remember any of it." Dean shook his head. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital." He paused. "I'll never forget the look on his face, Sammy. I let him down. They kept me there for three days, and it was pure hell. Therapists, and nurses and shit. They weren't even hot."
Sam tried to smile at the thought of a therapist trying to force Dean to talk about his problems, but all he could think about was his brother bleeding out on some shitty motel floor. He felt sick. He should have been there...
"Anyway, they let me out, and we never talked about it again."
"You tried to fucking kill yourself, and Dad never talked to you about it?" Sam raised his voice in disbelief.
"He's never been the type to-"
"It doesn't matter, Dean! You were hurting, and he didn't do shit!"
"He kept an eye on me for weeks after that." Dean said in his father's defense.
"It's not enough." Sam shook his head. "God, I should have been there...why didn't you call me? I would've come straight home!"
"I know. That's why I didn't." Dean said quietly.
"What?"
"You got out. You had a chance at a real life, Sammy. I couldn't ruin it for you. Hell, I stayed away as long as I could. I'm sorry I dragged you back into this-"
"Stop." Sam's voice broke. "Just stop. You're my brother, Dean. I'm always gonna be there for you. I don't care what's going on in my life."
"Sammy..."
"Promise you'll tell me if you ever feel like hurting yourself again."
"Hey, you said you'd never talk about this again if I told you. That was the deal." Dean said defensively.
"And I won't. I won't bring it up, but if you need to talk, you better fucking talk." Sam was trembling. Hearing how close his brother had come to death...Dean was lethal. He'd been around knives his entire life; he knew exactly how to make a fatal cut. If their dad hadn't found him...he would have died. And that terrified him.
"Okay." Dean agreed, hating the hurt expression on Sam's face.
"I'm serious. I can't lose you, Dean."
"You won't." Dean said, voice rough. "I won't do it again, I promise." He pulled him into a hug, and Sam stiffened at first. They hardly ever showed any physical affection. But he clung to his brother in that short moment before they pulled away.
They'd both lost so much. It seemed like it was them against the world sometimes. And now that he had his little brother back, Dean wasn't about to leave him to face that world alone.