Not a deathfic!

Warnings: (see previous chapter), self-harm

Two days after

"SAM!" Dean screamed, frantically shaking his brother's unconscious body. Sam's tense hand loosened up, only to reveal the empty pill bottle fall heavily onto the floor.

Eleven days before

Monday.

Friday's Wendigo hunt was still affecting Sam. The Wendigo had ripped his shirt and left a nasty crimson stain on it. He remembered when they arrived back at the motel. He had walked straight into the bathroom, double checked that it was locked, and lifted his shirt. Four great gashes across his stomach revealed themselves. Fortunately, they weren't too deep.

After an exhausted sigh, he re-checked his throbbing ribs. They hurt much more than before, which was really saying something. Sam gingerly swept a hand across the blue and yellow blotches. He sucked in a breath. Yup, definitely broken, he thought while tugging his shirt down.

SPN-SPN-SPN

Sitting up with two broken ribs was agony. He kept on hearing his obnoxious alarm ring loudly, but was in too much pain and too tired to do anything about it. He heard his brother groan and saw him reach his sloppy arm over the bedside table, to turn off the alarm.

"Sam, get your lazy ass out of bed and... school," he grumbled into the pillow. He had received a severe punch to the head, and ended up with a concussion. Everything from getting prepared for the hunt, to that morning, seemed like a surreal blur to him. Of course John blamed Sam for not running fast enough.

After a lot of effort, Sam finally got up. Getting dressed was even worse. He wished that somebody could help him tie his damn shoes, because bending forward shot pain through his side, but knew that no knight in shining armour would barge in and save his petty ass.

"Sam, you can handle a knife but you can't even tie your own shoes," Dean said rolling his eyes.

"It's hard, there are so many knots and loops," the seven year old complained back. A loud tramping sound, made both the boys' heads snap towards the source. Their father stood in the doorway. He seemed different. He seemed tougher, even though Sam didn't know how that was possible. Dean was the first to speak.

"Hey dad, what happened?" He asked cautiously, knowing that something was wrong.

"Not much, just found something out about your mother's death." He deadpanned emotionless. It took less than a split second for the whole room to fall dead silent. John sat down sluggishly on a hard chair at the table. Dean didn't know what to say and just decided to finish tying Sam's shoes mutely. Sam watched as Dean tied them way too hard, but didn't say anything. He could feel his father's piercing eyes on the back of his neck. What had he done wrong? Was it because he couldn't tie his shoes?

Sam waddled for the door, his brother and father were asleep too heavily to notice his unsteady walk. Sam knew that John wouldn't care if he was in pain. Instead he'd be angry and would tell him to suck it up. For a moment Sam doubted if Dean cared. He shut the door, letting the cold morning air bite his face.

SPN-SPN-SPN

Sam entered the classroom and slumped down onto his usual seat in the back. Even though he was one of the few people who actually enjoyed waking up at the crack of dawn in November to go to a school, he sat in the back. This was to avoid bringing unwanted attention to himself. Chatter filled the classroom soon afterwards, but ended when the teacher walked in.

"Therefore x is fifty-two over two, but write twenty-eight, as that would be a better answer," the teacher ended in a patronising tone. To Sam, everything seemed like white noise. His mind kept returning to Friday night's events.

He ran, shouting so that the Wendigo would run after him, until he couldn't. His aching body slowed him down and soon he could feel the Wendigo's claws against his stomach. That's when he heard an, sadly, familiar sound; Dean had struck the Wendigo in the back with a silver knife. He knew that it wouldn't kill the beast, but it would slow it down. The Wendigo shrieked.

"Are you okay, Sammy?" Dean asked worriedly, but with a hint of spite in his voice as he had argued against Sam being bait, and now look how that turned out.

The next thing the brothers knew, was that Dean was hit in the back of his head, hard. Sam grabbed the half-conscious Dean and scuttled away, when he saw his dad arrive, late, with a lighter and gas.

The bell rang. Everyone hurried out of their seats and made way for the next class. Sam was the last one to get up, as shifting, even a little, shot a sharp pain on his side. He was still pondering over what had happened on the hunt. Why had John arrived late? What would have happened if Dean hadn't shown up? Would John had left him there? Sam shuddered at the thought, but wasn't surprised if that was why.

SPN-SPN-SPN

The bell rang again, this time for lunch. Again, everybody leaped out of their seats and left the room. A quick departure was what Sam's class specialized in. Sam followed his class to the cafeteria, where his friend Louis waited for him, as usual.

Something, more like someone, heavy bumped into his shoulder on the way.

"Watch where you're going, freak!" One of the three "trying to be tough" guys, shouted after him.

"Yeah, now what do you say when you walk into people, freak? Or are you too stupid to answer that?" Another one - a short person with short hair with a graphic, sexist t-shirt - contributed, and Sam couldn't help roll his eyes at his pathetic attempt to diss Sam. He couldn't help his next words either, when he snapped right back at them.

"Yes, but I don't know what to say to fucking pigs."

All three boys halted.

The first one, the one who had walked into Sam, turned bright red.

"Shut the fuck up, emo freak!" He pushed Sam into a locker and forcefully grabbed his wrist. "At least I'm not the one who cuts himself, attention whore." The boys snickered.

Shit, I completely forgot about those, Sam thought, mentally kicking himself; how, of all people, did they find out? Sam had always made sure to wear long shirts and jeans, he had even gone through the discomfort of wearing them in the summer. He winced as the asshole dug his fingers into the recent scars, letting the blood flow freely.

"Now run off to your boyfriend, Louis, before I get suspended from hurting a freaky fag." Sam stared into the jerk's grim eyes. He just didn't care anymore. They couldn't verbally or physically hurt him like John.

"I didn't know you had anything against gay people, especially since I saw you defend your boyfriend just a minute ago."

Pain in his stomach.

Pain in his head.

Six fist.

Swollen eye.

Taste of blood.

Sam rinsed his new wounds in the vandalized bathroom, before making his way to the cafeteria. He ate silently and mechanically in the corner of the room. He was sure Louis didn't want to eat with him, when he looked like this. Who would want to be seen with a freak like him? He licked his lip once more, stopping the blood that had decided to start again. Sam hesitated on the subject of return home after school. He had to face John there.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

If you want to make my day, please leave a review or a fav. ^^

Thanks a bunch, if you've already done that! :)