Trigger warning: description of self harm
A/N: if you don't want to read the part with the SH in it, don't finish the chapter. There's a break line after Dean slams the door, and you can stop there. The only other thing that happens is that he drives away from the motel. Stay safe my friends!
"It's called a mare," Sam said.
Dean sat up on the bed across the room. "What?"
"It's a mare. It's a German name for a spirit or maybe an elf that sits on someone's chest and gives them bad dreams. That's why they're called nightmares."
Dean stood up and walked over to the table where Sam sat with his laptop.
"And you think that's what's happening to me? Why?"
"I saw it," Sam said.
"You saw it? And you didn't tell me?"
"I only saw it for the first time last night."
"You should've woke me up, Sam."
Sam looked up at Dean, who was standing over him and reading the open folklore pages on the laptop screen.
"Don't you remember last night?" he asked. Dean glanced down at him.
"You… you gave me some tea, and I fell asleep and had a nightmare. Why, was there something else?"
Sam shook his head and looked back at the laptop.
"No, nothing else," he said. Dean stared at him for a minute before refocusing on the laptop.
"So it's a mare," he said. "How do we kill it?"
"That's the bad news," Sam said. "I haven't been able to find anything on killing it. Lore says if you point the toes of your shoes toward your bed then it'll leave you alone, but that's about it."
"Well that's bull. There's gotta be a way for it to die."
Sam shrugged. "I'll keep digging."
"I'm counting on you, brother. So I'm gonna take a shower then we can go out on this job."
"You go ahead," Sam said. "Just a standard police run for now, you can handle it."
Dean paused. "You don't want to come?"
Sam shook his head. "No, I'll stay here and research."
Dean shrugged. "If you say so," he said, heading into the bathroom.
Sam sighed, pushed away from the table and got up to pour himself another cup of coffee.
That night, after Dean had come back with burgers and fries and changed out of the cheap suit, he sat across from Sam at the table.
"So," he said, taking a large bite of his burger. He stared at Sam who took a sip of his soda.
"So," Sam said. "It looks like the mare is a fairy. Fairies don't like iron, which is why the iron bar worked on it and the rock salt didn't."
"I was going to tell you about the case, but as you don't seem interested…"
"Of course I'm interested, but I'm a bit more concerned about this at the moment, Dean."
Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair, opening a beer while he listened.
"I still can't find anything on killing fairies. I think there might not be anything on it at all, people think fairies are cute little monsters. Also it seems that they're usually tied to a place they've been summoned to, and you can banish them, but this one's been following you around so that doesn't fit. I have a few ideas though and I think one of them might work. It's worth a shot."
He looked over at Dean. "What do you think?" he asked.
Dean shrugged and leaned forward onto the table. "Now, if we're going to talk about the actual case…"
"This is a case, Dean."
"I think it's an ordinary haunting. I want to do a little more checking on it, but we'll probably go grave digging tomorrow night."
"Why do you always shove aside your own problems?"
"People are dying here, Sam."
"And you're not going to be able to save them if you can't even sleep."
Suddenly Dean shoved himself away from the table and grabbed his keys, heading to the door.
"Where are you going?" Sam asked.
"I can't deal with this right now," he said flatly, before slamming the door behind him.
He sat outside in the Impala without turning it on. Leaning his forehead against the well-worn steering wheel, he stared down at the knife he held in his hands. It was always so easy to pick up a knife, now the same as it always had been, never having to hide any blades because there was the obvious explanation of why he had them. To protect Sammy, to kill monsters. No one had ever told him to try to kill the monsters inside of him, to protect Sammy from those parts of himself, but no one ever had to. He knew on his own, and he did what he had to do.
He wasn't usually that short-tempered with Sam. He just couldn't help it today. Without thinking any more about it, he slipped up his shirt and traced on his skin with the edge of the knife.
He had a higher pain tolerance than most people, but somehow giving himself pain was sharper than an attack from someone, or something, else. He gasped as the pain sliced into his brain, quickening his breath as though he was under attack. In a way he was. He quickly snapped shut the blade, shoved it into his shoe, and started the car. After taking a minute to slow down his breath, he drove away.