Warnings: (see chapter one and two)

Ever since the day he had turned twelve and a half, Sam had always slept with an eye open, except when he was next to Dean. There, curled beneath the duvet, and only if he was alone, he'd been crying silently ever since his father first laid an unwanted hand on him. Now, he didn't cry anymore. He thought he deserved it.

"It's your fucking fault! You KILLED her, you made her BURN on the ceiling!" Hot tears were streaming down Sam's face.

"How would you like to burn, huh, Sammy," he continued. "You're a nuisance! Absolutely useless! A disgrace! An abomination to this family!"

"Christo," Sam whispered as a last resort before receiving another blow.

That was the day Sam learned he should stick to long shirts.

Later that day (eleven days before)

He struggled down the front steps of his school and walked the walk of shame back to the motel. As he walked, hood down below his eyes and shoulders slumped forward, he couldn't help but turn his eyes red and puffy. Sam knew he must have looked like he was on drugs, but didn't care. Why should he care? What did he have to care about? He halted a lot of times while walking, to take a few breaths so that he could get through the pain in his side, not to mention the rest of the aches.

Stop pitying yourself, idiot, Sam thought, irritably kicking a small rock in front of him forcefully. It flew far ahead and into a girl's heal.

"S-sorry," Sam stuttered. Again, stuttering. How pathetic.

He was so stupid. He never did anything right. Why did he even exist when the only thing he'd accomplished properly, was killing his mother?

That was the thing Sam resented the most about himself; he had let John's words get to him.

"It doesn't matter… Are you okay?" The girl asked, looking generally concerned. Sam knew he had seen her before; wavy blond hair, blue eyes… Jessica from his class.

"Yes, I was clumsy and fell," Sam said, knowing that she was looking at his bloodshot eyes, and his bruises and slit lip induced by the jerks from school. If she could see the wound on his stomach, Sam was sure that she was going to run away from him. Him, the freak. He bit his lip so that he didn't scream out in pain when he took an awkward step, making his ribs hurt to a further extent.

"What, fell into a gang of assholes?" Jessica said, taking a step closer to him. "Sam, you know everything they say to you, it's utter bullshit."

Sam looked up at her, why was she lying to him? Or did she actually believe it? He knew that she wouldn't have spoken to him if she had her friends around. This, for once, wasn't Sam's dreadfully low self-esteem talking. At school, reputation was sadly everything.

How she could sound so sincere and comforting while swearing, was another mystery.

"Yeah, I know," Sam said, timidly although not meaning one bit of it. He gave a weak smile, keeping his mouth closed. Even though he had washed out all the blood from his mouth, he didn't want to take any chances. He didn't want her - anyone - to see the extent of the damage the bullies, and his father, and himself, had caused.

Jess's smile was warm, contradicting Sam's.

A wave of nausea hit Sam, breaking the moment.

"Sorry, I have to go," he said nearly doubling over.

"Okay… Are you sure you're alright?" Jessica asked.

"Having the time of my life," Sam said, barely audibly, before a quick nod and a painful walk.

Jessica wondered how the boy could keep a sense of humour, when he was in such obvious pain.

SPN-SPN-SPN

Dean had been suspecting something for ages, he just didn't know what. He knew something was terribly wrong with Sam, but didn't want to jump to conclusion before he was absolutely certain.

His brother had always been an odd type. He had always preferred long shirts, even during the summer, which Dean suspected was because he was ashamed from his hunting scars. Dean hadn't seen Sam's body in... He didn't remember anymore, but he seemed to have more scars than when Dean was his age. Sam had also always so secretive, never telling Dean exactly how he felt. Another peculiar habit he had adapted, was dragging his duvet over his head every night. He always preferred being alone, and sometimes when he was alone, he wasn't doing anything. Just sitting there, alone with his own thoughts. Dean had tried stepping into his shoes, but couldn't. Sometimes it was as though he barely knew his brother. He didn't know how Sam felt, and that made Dean so damn frustrated.

Dean stopped for a moment. Had his brother really always been so secretive? He tried to remember when they were kids, but it was hard because of all they'd been through, and he was, sadly, getting used to how Sam was now. He remembered how Sam had smiled the other day, and his eyes seemed soulless.

He wondered if Sam had ever really been happy and if it was a horrible play he had put on. Doubt and paranoia devoured him. He made a decision. He was going to confront Sam about his suspicion when he had enough evidence to back up his theory. There was a huge issue though; he didn't have a theory. His cluelessness drowned him.

Dean was seventeen back when he made the decision of confronting Sam. At the age of nineteen, he still didn't have enough evidence to confront his younger brother. He had no idea what caused Sam to act so bizarre. Well, he had one terrible, awful, horrendous idea that he couldn't stress enough how ghastly it was, but he denied. There was no way in hell Sam could do that to himself. He was only a kid for crying out loud! No, that wasn't it.

If only he knew.

SPN-SPN-SPN

Everything happened so fast.

Sam collapsed onto the bathroom floor as soon as he entered the motel room. With his head bent over the toilet, he vomited.

Dean had been out for a walk and threw his keys on the bedside table, when he stepped into the motel room.

Sam didn't have enough energy to lock the bathroom door.

Dean heard a terrible sound, followed by a whimper. His face was puzzled as he went over to the bathroom.

Tears flowed uncontrollably down Sam's cheeks as he dry heaved. Dean's sheet white face met his brother's, in the tiny, tilled room. He crouched beside Sam's shaking body.

"Sammy… What happened?" He asked when he saw Sam's swollen eye, split lip and many bruises and cuts.

"My fault," Sam mumbled into the toilet. Dean's heart stopped.

"Sam. No. Was it The Three Doucheketeers?" Sam could do nothing but shake his head, causing the bile to rise again. Sam had encountered the bullies before, but not to this extent. Whenever Sam had seriously fucked up, and received a punch to the head from John, he always told Dean that either he had fallen - a lie Dean could see straight through - or had been pushed by the jerks.

"Sam." Dean said sternly. Sam nodded weakly. This time, one of the few seldom times, other people than John had hurt him, physically. Dean sighed before slamming his fist in the wall making Sam flinch.

A few minutes passed where Dean could think about nothing else than snapping the bastards' necks. Was that why Sam was acting so strange? Had he been bullied by a group of teens for ages? Somehow, that made perfect sense.

He hit the wall in frustration from his blind ignorance. It made perfect sense.

When Sam was done crouching over the toilet, Dean flushed it, before carefully helping his brother up, but failing when Sam wouldn't cooperate.

"Hurts too much," he said at last.

"I know, but we need to see the damage the fuckers caused, in a better lighting," Dean replied, tugging at Sam's shirt before accidentally lifting it too far, only to reveal the four gashes from the claws of the Wendigo, and wrecked ribs. His alert and hurt eyes whipped up to Sam's unfocused glare.

"Shit, Sammy." He shook his head jumping to the most logical and partly right conclusion. "Why didn't you tell me the Wendigo hurt you?"

Is it me, or does Dean sound worried? Is this his head injury talking? He's still pissed at me, I'm such a burden. A nuisance, Sam thought, trying to look up at Dean but was too much of a coward to do so.

Sam kept silent, and soon Dean's eyes filled with an emotion Sam knew far too well.

"I asked you if you were hurt, and you said no!" Dean growled angrily. Sam stared at him with his famous puppy eyed glare. His eyes were burning with tears.

I fucked up, badly. I let Dean down, he thought, sending his watery eyes, towards his feet. I just didn't want him to see my scars. I'm so stupid, why did I do it? Why can't I stop? Sam thought, beating himself up. If Dean wasn't here, if he had a sharp object... The possibilities seemed endless. Dean knew what he had said had hurt Sam, but he couldn't help it. He was scared. His brother lying to him. Even though he knew that it was beyond normal for a teenager to lie to their family, he was worried. Why did he hate it so much, to the point of fear, when Sam did something that everyone else also did? Maybe it was because he was acting so strange.

"Sammy," Dean said, softly, holding Sam's face, before passing a quick hand across his brother's side and feeling the broken bones. "Shitshitshit."

Sam flinched away at his touch, making Dean look even more hurt, even though he had expected it. Broken bones hurt at the touch.

Sam could do nothing but roll into a painful ball of self-pity and loathing, when he reached his bed. Dean couldn't help but hovering over him.

Eight days before

Dean's mending of Sam's ribs, had helped the younger brother a lot. Hiding his self-inflicted cuts from Dean while doing so was hard, and the reason he had only worn button ups the next few days. By wearing button ups, he didn't need to take his entire shirt off, when getting his ribs and stomach checked. He wouldn't have to reveal his arms. The break of his ribs had luckily been a clean break and, even though he knew that it would take ages, seemed to heal quickly.

After the rib mending, which was basically rest and strong painkillers, Sam could actually move one leg ahead of the other now. Dean wondered why he hadn't taken any pills before.

Because I don't deserve them, Sam thought bitterly.

A/N: I hoped you liked the chapter as much as I had fun writing it. :)

Should I include Jessica more in future chapters?