Guys, I know that I don't typically attach author's notes at the beginning of a chapter, but I really need to attach some trigger warnings before I get to the chapter. I've done a few not-so-heavy chapters and some fluff and stuff, but now I can't put it off any longer. So, I'm going to pretty much throw you into the deep end and ease out of it instead of the other way around. This is is probably going to be the most intense chapter so far (no fluff).

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Bullying, self harm, implications of eating disorders

Outside POV

It had been two months since the Winchesters had moved into the Men of Letters' bunker, and the decision had finally been made to send Alice back to school. Of course, she didn't have much say in this, she was actually completely opposed to the idea, but it was happening nonetheless.

"I can't believe you're making me do this," she grumbled from the shotgun seat. Dean looked over.

"Ali, we've been over this. You've gotta finish high school. That's all I'm forcing you to do. I'm not gonna make you go to college if you don't want to, but you have to at least finish high school."

"Why? I already learned this stuff on my own," she defended.

"Because people aren't very accepting of that method of learning. They wanna see a diploma before they'll start giving you any kind of respect," he paused with a faraway look in his eye. "My daughter is gonna have some respect in this world, whether she likes it or not."

Ali didn't argue anymore from there, but she really wasn't thrilled about going back to school.

The receptionist at the school was one of those ladies who smiles way too much upon first meeting someone, but you can tell she's a total bitch later on. Sam had filed all the paperwork Friday afternoon, and now all that was left was to figure out her schedule.

"Alright, Ms. Winchester, I think we've got your schedule all squared away, so I'll have someone show you where your first class will be," the receptionist explained. Dean grinned beside her. They had decided that since Ali was still technically a runaway, they would change her name for school. Winchester seemed like the best option, and damn did it feel good to hear his name attached to his daughter.

Alice was walked out by a male teacher who seemed more like an orderly, and Dean was left alone to sign the last of the papers. As she left, he crossed his fingers.

Please let this work out.

Alice's POV

As I was being led down the crowded hallways to my first class, I remembered something that I hadn't thought in a looong time: I hate school. I don't hate it for the classes or the books, I love those. I hate it for the people. I hate if for the smirks and the hair-pulling and the notes and the stares and the jokes at my expense. I hate it for the way a teacher decides that I should be a suspect in anything that happens even though I rarely even speak. I hate it for the resource officers stopping me in the hall for a "random" breathalyzer test. But most of all, I hate the questions.

"Where'd you get that scar?"

"Why don't you ever talk?"

"What's that tattoo mean?"

"Have you ever done drugs?"

"Are you an emo?"

It feels like a tidal wave of questions being hurled my way, and it's too much. I start to panic, and then it's all over.

"Ms. Winchester, are you alright?"

I looked up to see the man escorting me, Mr. Martinez, staring at me with a concerned look. There were a lot of people staring. I realized that I'd started hyperventilating and I tried to calm down. Deep, slow breaths. It seemed to work, and I hesitantly nodded before starting to move again.

When Dean picked me up at the end of the day, I was wearing the spare clothes I'd brought while my original outfit mildewed in my bag. Someone had "accidentally" knocked into me with their tray, spilling food and drinks all down my front. I knew it was on purpose. That's why I brought the extra clothes.

"So, how was your first day?" he asked as we pulled away from the school. I scoffed.

"Shitty. Are you sure I have to go to public school? I can do online classes if you want."

"Alice," he warned. "Come on, it couldn't have been that bad. Did you meet anyone?"

"Yeah. My math teacher, who told me I wasn't smart enough for sophomore math."

He was silent for a few minutes, and I was worried I'd upset him. But when he spoke again his voice was gentle, "Look, I know how much it sucks to be the new kid. You just have to show them who you are, give them a chance to warm up to you. It'll get better."

When we got home, Sam spent the night helping me with my math homework. Then I went to bed, got up, and drove with Dean to school.

"Hey, retard, how'd the math homework go?"

"Ugh, your hair is so fucking ugly. What'd you roll out of bed like that?"

"Your eyebrows are crooked."

"Freak."

"Skank."

I know, all of these insults were stupid and unoriginal, and they shouldn't have bothered me at all, but they were just enough to take what little self-esteem I had and flush it down the pipes. I was now reduced to scurrying down the hall with my hood up and my earbuds in, praying nobody would notice me.

I didn't talk in the car this time, and Dean didn't push. When we got home, I made a beeline for the bathroom and locked the door. Everything was different now. Every little imperfection, every freckle, every asymmetric detail seemed so massive. And, for the first time in years, I looked fat.

How was I supposed to go to school like this?

Dean's POV

"Alice, dinner's ready! Come eat!"

No response again. Great.

Alice had been going to school for almost three months now, and I was starting to wonder if I'd made the right call. She wasn't smiling as much anymore, wasn't speaking, wasn't eating, she'd stopped wearing those dresses and blouses she liked so much, replacing them with oversized hoodies, baggy jeans and long skirts. I'd even caught her counting calories in a notebook today, and there were less than eight hundred written down for the last three days. We were gonna have to talk about that.

I knocked on her bedroom door with the intention of dragging her to the table by force if I had to, but when I opened the door, I was met with an empty room. My next stop was the bathroom next door; she might be waxing her face or whatever it is girls do, but there was no response when I called her and the door was unlocked. So, I let myself in.

The first thing that hit me was the smell: an almost nasty mixture of blood, sweat, tears, and alcohol. That was something I'd associate more with myself than with Alice, but here it was in her bathroom. I cringed, opening the door the rest of the way and poking my head in. The sink was streaked with blood, a small knife lying abandoned in the basin.

Even though I was telling myself that it couldn't be Ali's blood, my stomach churned at the sight and I froze. What if this was my kid's blood? What if something got into the bunker? What if she did this to herself? What if she was dead? What if she was bleeding out?

A small hiss from a few feet away pulled me from my thoughts. Ali was here. I swept back the shower curtain and found her laying curled up in the bathtub, her wrist cut deep. Blood was pouring from the wound while Alice sat staring at it. She wasn't even putting pressure on it, which didn't make sense until I noticed the vacant look in her eyes.

I was shaking at this point. She couldn't die again. I wouldn't survive it this time if she did. Hell, I'd barely survived it last time. I had planned to kill myself. Ali had been what brought me back from that edge.

The door swung open again and Sam rushed in. Once he'd taken in the sight in front of him, he shoved me out of the way and wrapped a towel around Ali's wrist, holding it tightly between his hands.

"Dean, get out of here," he ordered. When I didn't move, he raised slapped me with a bloody hand and repeated himself. "I said get out!"

I didn't argue. Why would I? I mean, I felt like I was gonna be sick and there wasn't much I could do to help like this. I just hoped she didn't fight us.

Sam's POV

I got Ali stitched up fairly easily, and she didn't fight me at all. She didn't speak or blink or move or anything, it was almost creepy. It was fairly obvious that her wounds were self-inflicted which surprised me considering how much she'd gone through without hurting herself like that. Or had she?

I realized that we really didn't know all that much about her. Alice had always been guarded, putting up a carefully constructed wall around any subject that might make one of us uncomfortable. My heart sank as I realized that she still didn't trust us.

"Alice," I called as gently as I could, taking her hand. "Honey, tell me why you did this to yourself."

No reply.

"Ali, you can't hurt yourself like that. You could've killed yourself."

"Wouldn't have been the first time I've tried," she whispered. While I was thrilled to get any answer at all, that wasn't anywhere near what I'd been hoping for. It was actually about as far as it possibly could've been from anything I wanted to hear, but it was an honest answer.

"What do you mean?" I tried to coax another answer out of her, but she was done talking for the night. Eventually, she fell asleep and I carried her to bed. Before I shut the door, I took the dagger from under her pillow and any other blades and weapons I could find. I knew she'd be pissed about it, but I'd rather have her pissed than dead.

"Did you get her to tell you what happened?" Dean asked as soon as I closed her bedroom door. I shook my head.

"It looks like she did it herself," I explained quietly, waiting for Dean to flip out. He did.

"Well she didn't!" he shouted. "She's not some bratty chick looking for attention. Hell, Sam, she was hiding from something!"

"Probably from us," I was trying to be calm Dean, cutting isn't a ploy for attention, not always. It's usually a screwed up coping mechanism."

Dean looked like he was gonna be sick, "Coping with what?"

I shrugged, "Probably with a lot of things. She had a rough childhood. Hell, it may have been even worse than ours."

He made a face, and I knew that he was thinking that nobody had a childhood worse than ours. But we'd always had a bed to sleep in and each other to trust. Neither of us had been "bad touched" or anything, and Dad had kept us relatively safe from damn near everything. Alice hadn't had that.

I remembered how she'd looked talking about the Andersons, the raw pain and disgust in her eyes. And the last thing she said about it: "His days of attacking girls are over." It had bothered me since she'd said it.

Until now, I had avoided telling Dean what she'd said about the Anderson family. Now I didn't see any other options. He had to know what'd happened to her or he couldn't help her. It was that simple.