From too much too soon, to a delay. (Sorry Shadow!).

Thank you for the reviews you awesome people!

Chapter 4

Dean Winchester resisted ripping the skin from his face. The fingers gripping too tightly were his own. He ignored the irony. It was instinct after all. Shoot a hand over his mouth and stop breathing.

'Dean, say something.' Sam sat just as motionless watching the pale pink and white blotches blemish his brother's cheeks. 'Please?'

He thought he caught a flicker of Dean's face twitch in an attempt to speak but upon hearing no sound, slumped back a bit more into himself. Seeing his brother this horror-struck didn't surprise him but it did worry him.

'It looks worse than it feels.' He tried, giving it another three seconds before he would be the one prying fingers from skin.

'What have you done?' Dean managed to mumble through a closed hand.

Sam glanced down at his shredded arms before returning frightened eyes to his brother.'I don't know.'

Dean's hand lowered and took hold of one of his brother's wrists, gently twisting to inspect the damage.

'You use a knife?' He asked breathlessly.

'No.' Sam replied quickly. 'No. My fingernails.'

'Your f…?' Dean's expression was one of pure disbelief but ran a fingertip over each one of Sam's nails regardless. Why, he asked himself, hadn't he noticed this before? Crooked and rough, sharp and ragged. These nails could just do it.

'God-dammit Sam!' He didn't mean to yell, he really didn't. It came out before he could think to stop it. Sam didn't flinch, just made the move to pull his shirt back on.

'Leave it off.'

'I-'

'We need to bandage it.'

Sam let the shirt fall again. He didn't know if he preferred Dean yelling at him or the thick silence that followed. Either way he felt uncomfortable and exposed. His white t-shirt offered no privacy, not where it really mattered.

'You think this is about the wall?' He asked interrupting the quiet.

'Do you?'

'I don't know.'

Dean Winchester felt sick, more than sick, like his world was crumbling beneath him. As if it was taking all and everything to keep him upright.

'Why?' He realized he'd spoken the word aloud and added a confused: 'You were itchy?'

'No. Not itchy. I can't explain. It just felt good.' Sam blinked.

'Good?' How could slashing at your arms feel good? 'What does that even mean?'

Sam only shook his head. Nothing about this was rational or sane. There was no perfect explanation. No words to help his brother understand.

'When?' Dean frowned, sure if he didn't keep speaking he wouldn't keep breathing.

'At night, when you're asleep.' Sam bit his bottom lip a little too hard. 'I hid it pretty well.'

'No you didn't.' Dean retorted with a snort, suddenly furious with himself. All past signs flashed violently through his mind; Sam's body issues, the light off in the bathroom, the endless nights he pretended to be asleep, the obsessive need for a jacket in the height of summer. Everything, all of it spelt out Sam was hiding an action rather than anything resulting from no fault of his own. Loud and clear. What the hell was wrong with him? Did he not want to see? Not want to face what was happening right under his nose or was he really just that stupid?

'Dean, stop.' Sam knew his brother. Knew without a doubt he'd be scanning his brain for reasons why he was to blame. Dean had nothing to do with any of it. In fact, if it wasn't for Dean, Sam didn't want to imagine what condition he would be in. 'I didn't want you to know. I would have done anything for you not to find out.'

As always.

Another secret, another lie, another problem left until it's too late.

Lumpy trails of mashed red lines upset Dean's eyes once more. First things first. Wounds needed to be treated, the possibility for more damage needed to be yanked and change needed to begin.

'We need a first aid kit.' Dean stood up and moved to the kitchen counter.

Sam's head dropped. That was his fault. Their first aid kit was probably lying haplessly in the lost and found tub in a back office of the last motel they'd stayed at. It was his job to perform the final check of the room while Dean packed up the Impala. He was usually the thorough one, but on that day, it was early, he was tired and obviously bypassed the bottom drawer of the bathroom. Now, when they really needed it, and needed it twice in one day, it was three hundred miles away.

'A gas station has to be open.' Instead of grabbing his car keys like Sam expected, Dean lifted the grubby table phone. Skeevy motels might not offer the same level of service as the top notch hotels down the road but if you knew how to swing it, magic could happen.

Dean knew how to swing it.

Money talks. Especially when the owner's two sons seemed the type to do anything for a quick dollar. The offer to pick up and deliver one first aid kit to room 'one-o-five' for two hundred and fifty cash sent both guys bounding out the door yahoo-ing before Dean could step back from the bathroom with a pair of nail clippers in his right hand.

Sam had no idea why his heart plummeted at the sight. It was the logical next step. There was just something about his older brother holding the silver clump of metal over him with strict determination that upset him. He didn't let on and reached out his hand.

'Cut them right down.' Dean insisted sitting on the edge of the bed to supervise every click. At times he instructed to cut smoother, sometimes to cut further but all the time resisted the urge to snatch the clippers out of his younger brother's hands and snap at the nails himself. Sam kept his patience. This was for his own good. He wished Dean would move away and leave him to it but he understood why that wasn't a viable option. He wouldn't try to sabotage but Dean didn't know that. So he had to be watched.

The guys knocking at the door were made to wait a few seconds. Dean's final fingernail check was well underway and he had no intention of leaving his position until it was guaranteed any kind of scratching was nothing more than a distant memory. Once he was sure, he left Sam with a heavy glare, opened the door to two smiling boys and exchanged cash for the half-assed first aid kit. After a tight 'Thanks,' he flung the door shut, slid one of the crappy chairs over to his brother's bed with his foot and sat down.

Every movement was stilted and stiff, aggressive and heavy. Sam wasn't sure if he was angry or distressed, stressed or disturbed but whatever he was, Dean was close to exploding. There was one more thing though. One thing that could just push him over the edge. Still, now was the time. There would never be another time.

'Dean-' Sam looked into the kit. It really was second rate compared to their old one. He wondered if it held enough bandage to cover both arms and one ankle let alone anything else.

'What?' Dean's lips pursed tight while he rummaged through the supplies.

'There's not enough for my legs as well is there?'

The older Winchester dropped every item in his hands, closed his eyes and leant back in his chair. Both arms flung up and landed on his head. With a deep breath in, a stare fixed to the ceiling, he prepared himself. 'What are you telling me?'

'Only my thighs.'

'Only?' With a sharp nod, he bolted upright and slammed an open hand down on the kitchen bench. 'Show me!' He stood furious and Sam almost unbuttoned his jeans right there and then.

'You don't have to see. I can do it myself.'

'Show me!'

'There's no need for you to see. I'm just asking-' Sam swallowed, his heart racing. 'I'm just telling you.'

Sam Winchester hated confessing, hated it more than hiding dark and shameful secrets, but the weight lifting from his shoulders would only serve to help him. He knew that. But what in the world would help his brother? Dean was struggling to hold on, fighting to remain strong. If he wasn't Dean Winchester, he would have dropped by now, Sam was positive.

The fear in Sam's voice eased Dean's rage. God knew he had to stay in control and God knew if anything could force him to stay in control it was a scared and wounded younger brother looking up at him. 'Okay.' He calmed himself and took his seat again, pulling it in closer to the bed. 'Dude you should have told me before. We could have gotten two of these.'

'Sorry.'

Dean's heart ached. These scratches hacked into scars; scars that had been lying dormant for months now. Every gash, every slice represented something hidden; a massive emotion or pain blocked behind a temporary wall. The odds he once depended upon diminished with every cross of the bandage. He should have expected it; his worse fears always seemed to play out right in front of his eyes. And nothing was ever permanent. The wall was coming down. His brother had been scratching. Scratching at something that was currently saving his life.

They had to fix this and they would. No way were they going to lose against this.

Even if they already were.

'Sammy does it hurt?' The anguish in Dean's eyes hurt Sam more. And Sam knew to tell the truth would only add to his brother's pain.

'Not at the time.' It was a spin, not a lie and Dean got it. He didn't need to hear how much the scratches stung and throbbed in the days following. Didn't need to hear how every slash did its job of reminding Sam of the screwed up mess he had become.

Dean nodded and fought the urge to scream.

Bandages can be deceiving and sometimes surprising. Dean was careful not to over-extend and Sam was left with enough to wrap both of his thighs himself. From the furthest corners of his eyes from the furthest corners of the kitchen, Dean continued to oversee the procedure, but this time remained subtle. It was never his intention to rip any dignity from his brother. That was the last thing he wanted.

By the time jeans and shirt replaced white-covered limbs, Dean was stepping over with two beers from the fridge and a plate-load of cheese and tomato sandwiches. Sam had a point, hiding those gashes did have advantages. It allowed Dean to function again.

'How're you doing?' The older Winchester asked passing a bottle to the younger and placing the plate on the bedside table.

'Okay.'

Sam felt the pull of the bandages. It was an odd sensation but with the material smothering his injuries he felt less broken. The shame still punched at his guts and the flush of his face remained, but now Dean was aware and aware of almost all, he felt a little more protected and secure.

But not completely.

There was more to this than the physical wounds, more that threatened his new comfort. So many questions; countless questions and fears bashing at his head, urging him to push for answers. Buried answers that would only serve to harm him rather than help him. He glanced over at Dean but Dean didn't have any solutions for this one, not this time. Probably not a single one. They were driving this bus blindly on a windy, uncertain road leading to a doomed destination left in the hands of the divine and unnatural.

There wasn't much hope.

'Sammy, you have to stop.' Dean told him rocking him from his trance. 'If this is the wall – even if it's not. It's no good. You can't hurt yourself like this.'

'I know.' Questions kept knocking. Especially one; over and over again until it became unbearable and he could no longer hear Dean's own words.

'Dean?' He felt some hair fall forward onto his eyelashes. It kind of felt good.

'Yeah?' Dean spoke the word softly, careful not to scare the question away.

'What happened to me before?'

(tbc…)