To say it had been a rough day for 14 year old Sam Winchester would be an understatement, it had been one of the worst days of his life.

He had been in this position too many times, sat leaning up the bathtub in some shabby Motel bathroom with a blade in his hand that he had swiped from Deans bag. He would rest the edge on his arm and without thinking twice, swipe across as many times as it took to feel satisfied. The cuts gave him a sense of control over something, he never had any control over anything else in his life; If his father was home he would have to take orders from him, and Dean tried his very best to give him control but nevertheless it was not enough.

Their father had not been back in two weeks, baring only a few phone calls to tell them he was okay; by them he meant Dean. He never asked even how Sam was nor did he ask to speak to him.

He grew up around people saying that God damn rhyme about sticks and stones, as if broken bones hurt more than the things that were said to him, and he got told them all. He grew up being told that he had to be a Hunter, he had to be like Dean, he had to do this and that. So eventually he came to the conclusion that he just wasn't enough and sadly, his belief in love slowly began to fade. Don't tell me that hurts less than a broken bone.

So he sits there for hours crying tears that no one ever sees, talking words that no one ever hears. It's not easy growing up in world war three, never really being shown what love can be.

It only takes a few minutes to get rid of the ache that has dug its way into his broken heart, he does it when Dean is hustling for money or something. He had done it, his arm was steadily bleeding; he would stop it in a minute.

A knock at the bathroom door made him literally jump up from his spot on the floor and smash his head off the sink, he let out a yelp and tried to cover at his arm before Dean came storming in. The door didn't have a lock on it; well, it did but it had obviously been broken off when someone smashed the door down.

"Y-yeah?" He stuttered in panic mode, he was going to get caught for sure. To start with there was blood all over his shirt that he didn't even notice, not even mentioning the amount of bloody tissues.

Dean didn't even hesitate to open the door, but froze on the spot when he saw his younger brother holding a two handfuls of bloody tissues and had multiple cuts on his arms. Sam tried desperately to hide his arms and pick up the bloody switchblade off the floor. He couldn't even hide the tears anymore, he started dropping the tissues and just sank to the floor once again, shaking and sobbing into his knees. He looked up to see a surprising scene, Dean was stood there with tears welling in his eyes and looking down at him.

Sam let out another sob and slid the switchblade into his pocket but Dean stepped forward instead. "Sammy, give me the blade," he demanded with a shaky voice. Sam didn't answer him and put a protective hand over the blade, no way in hell was he giving this over; it was his only escape and he knew that after this Dean was never going to let him near a fucking pencil let alone a blade.

"Sam, give me the fucking blade." He half shouted, taking a final step towards him and kneeling down next to him. Sam shook his head before being pinned down by his 18 year old brother. "Dean you're hurting me!" He let out another hard sob that shook his body whilst trying to wriggle out from underneath the older Winchester, he was putting an awful lot of pressure on his still bleeding wrist.

"Fuck, Sammy! Give it to me!" He shouted before letting out a sob of his own and pinning his younger brother down with one arm and using the other to reach into his faded black jeans and pull out the switchblade coated in blood. He closed the switchblade and slid it into his jacket pocket before looking down at his still wriggling and crying brother.

"Shh, calm down." At this point they were a pair of blubbering messes and Sam was near enough hyperventilating. "A-are we gonna get up?" Sam mumbled having calmed down a little but still openly sobbing.

"Well that depends if you've calmed down, Sammy." He sighed loosening his grip on his brothers wrists only to find his hands covered in blood, he still didn't let him get up though.

"M'okay Dean," Sam sniffled and whined before being let up gently. Dean kept protective hands around his brothers wrists and slowly led him out of the now blood covered bathroom to set him at the table. "I need to get the first aid kit, if I come back to see that you've even moved I'll have to beat some fucking sense into you," with that he power walked outside to the Impala.

He returned in record time and sat down opposite Sam with a stern look on his face, tears dried leaving marks. He dug out antiseptic wipes and cleaned out Sam's cuts before wrapping them in bandages and placing a comforting hand on his arm when he was done.

Sam looked into this green eyes and started to cry harder. "Why, Sam?," he asked, soothingly tracing circles on the now bandaged arm. Sam didn't answer and only shook his head in response making Dean sigh and begin to roll up his shirt sleeve.

Sam gasped at the collection of white scars that dusted his older brothers arms "...Dean," is all he could get out before burring his head in his arms and crying for all that he was worth.

"Sammy, look at me." Dean pleaded, stroking his younger brothers hair. Sam slowly lifted his head up to meet his brothers gaze. "You want to tell me whats going through your geeky head?" Dean asked softly, cupping Sam's jaw in his hand and tracing circles. Sam nodded and gave a shaky sigh whilst leaning into his older brothers touch.

"It's j-ust everything is just," Is all Sam could choke out before he started crying again, Dean nodded, he didn't need to know just yet.

"This stops now, Sammy." He began "It's me and you against the world."

A/N-

There is more to this, shall I carry it on? let me know

Re-uploaded:c