Trigger warning, graphic depictions of Self-harm

Bobby paced back and forth in his study, wracking his brain for something to say to Sam. He hadn't seen the boy in almost two years, since he'd left for Stanford. He couldn't believe John's youngest son would do something like this.

He heard the familiar sound of the Impala pulling up to his home. Within minutes, both Winchester boys were standing in Bobby's front entryway.

"It's good to see you two." Bobby hugged Dean first, then paused in front of Sam. He would never get over how tall the kid was. He'd shot up after he turned 12, surpassing both his father and brother. "Sam," Bobby gently cuffed him upside the head. "Ya idjit, come here." He gave Sam a tight squeeze, surprised at how skinny he was.

"Damn, son. Are you eating at all?"

Dean glanced at his brother. He hadn't notice until now, but Sam's lean build seemed more thin and lanky than usual.

"Yeah, you know me. High metabolism."

Well that was a lie. Dean and Bobby exchanged a concerned glance, but left it alone.

"Here, let's get your bags in the spare room," Bobby lead them through the house and into a room that held many fond memories for the brothers. When John was away on long hunting trips, he would leave them with Bobby. They stayed in this room, and it became the closest thing they had to a home besides the Impala.

"So what do you have on Dad?" Sam asked Bobby.

"Uhh," Dean started to speak, realizing that he hadn't told Bobby that Sam thought the reason they were here was because Bobby supposedly had a lead on John.

Bobby shot a subtle glare at the eldest Winchester. "We can talk about it later. Sam, you get settled in. I need to talk to your brother."

Sam looked at them suspiciously, but didn't argue.

"You didn't tell him."

"What was I supposed to say? That we're staging an intervention?" Dean shifted uncomfortably.

Bobby sighed. "I don't know, but if you keep hidin' things from each other it's not gonna help."

"I don't know what to do, Bobby," Dean ran a hand through his hair, and Bobby could see how distraught he was. Poor kids had been through enough, now this? They didn't deserve any of the shit happening to them.

"It's okay, we'll figure something out, boy."

"I know what this is really about, Dean. I'm not stupid."

It was later that night and the brothers were lounging in Bobby's living room, watching TV and enjoying a couple beers.

Dean shrugged. "Well? What am I supposed to do, Sam? Ignore it? Pretend like it never happened?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I want you to do." Sam set his beer down and faced Dean. "Look, it's not hurting anything. It's just how I cope. It's not affecting my ability to hunt, so what do you care?"

A flash of anger crossed Dean's face, and he struggled to keep his composure. "What do I care? Sammy, you're my brother. I don't want you to be hurt." He scowled. "And besides, I think it is affecting your ability to hunt. You're not at your best if you're injured. You cut really deep. Lost a lot of blood. You're gonna get both of us killed out there."

"I didn't mean to cut that deep, you startled me."

"So now it's my fault? Wow." Dean abruptly stood and stormed out of the room, just as Bobby came in, holding another beer.

The older man watched in concern. Dean was frustrated and scared, and Sam was depressed and in pain. He wished there was something he could do, but he'd never dealt with this before either. When John lost Mary, he had been depressed as well. But his friend turned the pain into anger and focused it on revenge. He didn't understand why Sam would turn the rage inward at himself.

Bobby sank into the couch next to Sam, who was staring blankly at the TV. "He's just worried, you gotta understand that."

"I know." Sam said softly.

"He's been lookin' out for you since you was kids. This scares him cause there's no monster to save you from, nothin' he can do."

"I don't know what to do, Bobby." Sam dejectedly put his head in his hands. "Dad's gone, he might be dead for all we know."

"I think he's still alive. You'd know if he was dead, he'd turn up someplace. Besides, it takes a lot to kill your old man."

"Dad," Dean had called John's phone again, not surprised when it went straight to voicemail. "Please, we're at Bobby's place." He took a shuddering breath. "I need you, Dad." He hung up, and resisted the urge to throw the phone at the wall. What the hell was he supposed to do? How could Dad just abandon them like this?

"Dean,"

He jumped as he heard Sam's voice. "Geez, you trying to give me a heart attack? I didn't even hear you come in,"

"Sorry," Sam looked anxious.

"What is it?"

"I didn't mean to imply that it was your fault-"

"Sam, stop. It's okay. I know." Dean awkwardly looked at his feet. "I'm sorry too."

John Winchester sat in a dingy motel room, studying his notes taped all over the walls. He was getting closer to finding the son-of-a-bitch that killed Mary. But he'd hit a dead end. The trail just went cold. He sighed and looked at his phone, blinking blue. He had another message.

"Dad, please, we're at Bobby's place. I need you, Dad."

He felt terrible. His boys needed him and he wasn't there. He had been heartbroken to hear that Sam had turned to self-injury. He couldn't believe it. But surely he wasn't suicidal. The boys would take care of each other, like they always had. They didn't need him.

Sam stood in front of the bathroom mirror. It was the middle of the night, and Bobby and Dean were sleeping. He tiredly ran a hand through his disheveled hair. He looked so pathetic. He was so pathetic.

Dean had put everything on hold to deal with his little breakdown. They'd stopped hunting, stopped looking for Dad. His brother would be better off without him.

Sam clutched the broken piece of glass in his hand, gripping it tightly until the sharp edges cut into his palm and drew blood. He held his hand over the sink, watching with sick pleasure as his crimson blood dripped onto the white marble countertop.

He was so messed up.

This needed to end.

The next chapter is gonna be intense. *evil laugh*