Sam thinks Dean doesn't know.
The taller Winchester sits on the edge of the bed, sweating and anxious, listening to the shower hissing in the bathroom as he takes the small thin blade from between the pages of the paperback book he's been reading over the past few nights.
He holds it up to the light, hypnotised at the way the cool steel shimmers and shines as he toys with it between his fingers.
One more check at the closed door, steam curling through the small gap at the bottom, his older brother humming to some nameless tune in his head.
Just a small cut tonight. The pressure so strong and overpowering within him will have to be satisfied; even though he can't bleed too much with Dean around.
A small hiss from his lips as flesh is sliced and blood pools and flows like a river.
His head dips, a long snaking tongue lapping almost lovingly at the coppery taste before him.
Eyes flutter, breath ragged. So good, just what he needs. He needs more. Of course, he always needs more.
The latch clicks.
Dean comes out.
A frantic Sam tries to stem the cut and hide the blade.
So far so good.
"You left a bit Sammy"
Wide eyes to his brother…."w-what?" Dean wipes at the corner of his lips, and raises his eyebrows. "I said you left a bit"