First off I want to say a massive thank you to everyone for reading the last chapter, also to those of you who left a review, thank you so much, you have no idea how much I appreciate your support! Also, for all of the favourites and follows, I'm so glad that you're liking it so far, I honestly wasn't too sure about it. And, as well, endless thank you the few of you (I won't mention names) who PM'd me to tell me about your own personal experiences with domestic violence, both male and female, I can't tell you how grateful I am of your insight into the topic.

This chapter is more of a look into the relationship between Sam and his wife (who I'm pretty sure you all already despise) and their life together. There isn't anything too upsetting in this chapter, but I can't say the same for future chapters, as there is potential for it to get a little darker further on. (At the moment I'm toying between two different endings, and one of them is a lot sadder than the other)!
But, as always, if it's a subject you are sensitive to, caution.

Thank you again, I hope you enjoy!

Men Don't Cry, They Bleed

Chapter Two: Secrets Tear You Apart

Sam gave a small sigh as he closed the front door of his house behind himself. Dean's words, the concern he had seen in his older brother's green eyes, it had stuck in his mind since the second he had set foot out of the diner. He knew when Dean got that look he wasn't about to back down, and that meant there was no way in hell that he was going to leave town, not until he had gotten an answer to satisfy his own perturb. Dean wasn't done with him at all.

All he could tell him was that he was alright, he was okay, everything was just fine. But that seemed to be all he ever said to anyone anymore, including himself. It was like he had some dark secret, deep down inside, and he just couldn't share it. Maybe that was because telling someone about it would mean he was truly admitting that it was true, and maybe he just couldn't do that, not even to himself. It was something that he kept hidden away within himself, something that would never see the light of day, it was locked away in a box, padlocked so that no one could get inside and discover it. But Dean was the type to come and start poking at that box, he would take a crow bar and jimmy it open if he really had to, and he wouldn't quit until he had seen every dark thing in there.

The sound of a shrill crying pulled him from his thoughts. Making an attempt to forget everything else, at least for the time being, he shook his head and headed through into the living room of the house. At the table sat his wife. There was a baby monitor placed in front of her, lighting up each time their daughter cried from upstairs, and each time she sat there completely motionless, as though she was utterly deaf to the sound.

He couldn't remember when she had changed into a person who could do that, or if that was the person she had always been. There was something about her that was just cold, a certain aura that came from her that anyone could feel, one that gave the impression that, at any moment, all hell could break loose. There was something about her that made a part of on guard, as though he could never fully relax when he was with her, just in case.

He was almost certain that she hadn't been like that all along. When he had first met her she had seemed kind, warm, compassionate—but that was all in the past. Her dark brown waves and deep blue eyes had been enough to draw him in, what had once been all charm and endearment had trapped him with her, and now, all of that was gone. He hadn't seen that version of his wife in a long time.

"Hey," Sam said from the doorway, his brows furrowed in confusion as if to ask what she was doing, but she didn't look up at him, simply stared down at the table. His eyes fell to the baby monitor on the table as yet another cry sounded throughout the room. "Has she been doing that all day?" she once again said nothing. "She probably just wants some attention, I'll go—"

"No." she cut him off sharply before he could even get his sentence out. "She needs to get into a routine. That's not going to happen if you go running up there every time she cries."

Sam blinked, a little taken aback, because wasn't that the kind of decision parents were supposed to make together? Suddenly she was telling him that he was supposed to just stand around there and listen to their daughter cry out for someone. As far as he was concerned, if his six month old daughter cried out for something, whatever that was, he was going to check that she was alright. He had to. That's what parents were meant to do.

He sighed, shaking his head slowly. "Chole—"

"I said, no." she told him, her voice was hard, unkind.

Sam turned away from her, before he said something that he would regret, and shrugged off his jacket. It was becoming harder and harder to bite his tongue with her, because he was sure that she was getting worse. If it had gotten to the point she could so easily sit by and listen to her daughter cry as casually as listening to the radio, there was a problem.

Suddenly, she appeared behind him. "Where've you been?" she asked him, nothing but accusation in her tone.

"Yeah, sorry about that," He hung up his jacket on the rail beside the front door and turned to face her. "I, uh, I just went for a walk."

Her eyebrows raised. "A walk?" she repeated, skeptical. "So, what, you haven't been with another woman?"

"What? No." he scoffed at even the idea of something so ludicrous. "Of course I haven't."

Even if Sam had wanted to go out and be with another woman, which if he tried he more than likely could find another girl to be with, he wouldn't. He wouldn't do that to his daughter, and he wouldn't bring another woman into their relationship because—even if it wasn't her fault—Sam knew that his wife would beat the other woman senseless just on principle, because that was the kind of person she was. She solved everything with her anger, her violence.

Chloe narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you sure about that?" she asked him, incredulous.

Sam clenched his jaw and fought back the urge to call her paranoid. "Yes," he replied, voice strained. "I'm sure."

Lately, he survived solely on the ability that he could keep his own emotions in check. He could maintain his composure and push everything she threw at him down. He kept it all hidden under the radar and skated through his life without drawing any attention to himself. It was as though he was living as a zombie, with the same mundane repetition each day. He wouldn't speak to many people unless he was spoken to, for fear that they might want to learn more about him, he didn't go anywhere other than work, he rarely left the house anymore. He lived in a way that didn't draw attention to himself, because that was what he had come to depend upon in order to keep the darkness locked away.

He held that secret, held it so tight and so far inside that it became a part of him. It dominated his thoughts, prayed constantly on his mind, looping around in perpetual circles, it was in every move he made, almost like another heartbeat within him.

Chloe scoffed at him. "I don't believe you." she muttered, shaking her head as she turned away from him.

"You never believe me." Sam retorted, not even thinking about it. And that was it, something so small was enough to set her off. Her anger came from nowhere.

She turned sharply and slapped him hard across the face. "No, because you're a fucking liar!" she yelled in his face.

Sam clenched his teeth, hard, and took a sharp breath, anything he could to hide away the anger that was quickly building up inside him. The way he had been raised, the way he had been trained, everything was about reflex. He had been built into someone who could respond to the smallest of attacks almost instantly, it was programmed into him that the second he so much as felt someone near him had an intention to harm him, he attacked. It was a strange thing to take a hit and not automatically respond, because he had spent so many years doing just that—his life had depended upon it.

"You need help." he told her bluntly, his voice was calm and quiet, but there was a darkness to his tone.

He couldn't be angry, he just couldn't, because every time he so much as raised his voice to her she made herself out to be the victim. She could hit and punch and scream and shout at him without remorse, but the second he rose his voice and stepped forward she backed away from him like a coward. She wore a look on her face that made him feel like nothing but a monster, she made herself appear terrified, and he knew that she was fully aware of what she was doing to him, he knew she didn't fear him at all, but that didn't change the fact he couldn't fight back. He couldn't hit her, not someone half his size, he didn't have it in him.

At the look on his face, when she could see him seriously contemplating his next move, her face softened, the way that it always did in that situation. She sighed, as if she was remorseful. "Sam—"

"No," he held up his hand to stop her before she could reason herself out of blame. "This is getting out of hand, Chloe. I can't trust you." Her face formed a frown, as if confused by his words. "I can't trust you around Leah, not anymore."

She opened and closed her mouth, at a loss for words for a moment. "What?"

Sam shook his head at her. There was a lot he could put up with from her, hell, there was a lot he had put up with from her. But the second that their daughter became involved, when it was no longer just Sam she wanted to hurt, that was when he had to draw the line. He could take her anger, he could take her ignoring him and yelling at him and treating him like her property, but not Leah. The first sign of danger towards her and that was when he knew he had to put his foot down. "You were sitting there just listening to her cry, don't you see something wrong with that?" There was emotion in his voice, more than she was used to hearing from him, and that was when the look of realisation washed over her face, because she seemed to catch on that he wasn't backing down this time. She knew what he was going to say.

"You are not taking my child away from me, Sam." she stepped forwards and her face turned hard, serious, dangerous even.

"Get some help," Sam almost whispered the words, unable to find his voice. "And then we can talk about you seeing her. Until then, until I know she's safe with you—"

"You're not taking my child." she repeated, harsh. "I'll tell everyone you hit me. You'll be in prison and I will make sure that you never see Leah again."

Sam frowned, nothing but taken aback by her threat. Even he hadn't thought she was that cruel. "You can't do that." he challenged, but she only smirked.

"What?" Her eyebrows raised. "You think I wouldn't black my own eye just to make a point?" she shook her head. "Pathetic." she spat. "You're no dad to her. She needs me, Sam, you both need me."

And just like that, she smiled, a satisfied look as if she knew she had him beat. She had him wrapped around her finger, manipulated into believing almost anything she said. He watched as she grabbed her jacket from the hook beside the door and pulled it on without a word.

"And where the hell are you going now?" he asked, almost offended that she felt she could just walk out on him in the middle of such a serious conversation. Yet, it didn't surprise him.

"I'm going out." she replied bluntly. "And you're going to watch Leah."

With that, she turned and slammed the door behind her, loud enough that three seconds later another high-pitched cry came from the floor above.

Sam shook his head to himself and sighed as he turned to the stairs. He half knew where she was going, and he half didn't care. There was a part of him that knew she went out and saw other guys, he didn't know what happened when she did—whether it was just flirting or something more—but for weeks he had said nothing about it. He had taught himself not to care, the way he had done regarding most things his wife did. If he didn't care, it didn't hurt, and that was the way it had to be.

It was twisted, it was warped and it was wrong—he knew that—but it was the only choice he had. If he wanted to live there, if he wanted to be with his daughter, even if it was just to make sure that she was safe, he had to keep the peace. He knew that she was right, one phone call and some fake tears to the cops would be enough to land him in police questioning, enough to give him a bad name around their small town, and he sure as hell wouldn't put it past her to work at a story long enough that he would end up locked away for good. He couldn't risk it.

As he stepped into his daughter's room, he slowly approached her crib. With a soft sigh he reached down and picked her up, instantly stifling her cries. "Knew you just needed some attention." he murmured softly, he couldn't understand how a woman who was supposed to be a mother could be so cold towards her own child. She barely held her anymore, barely paid her attention. She did the basic duties and that was as far as it went.

As he descended the stairs, Leah still in his arms, there was a loud knocking at the front door, to which he groaned. He wasn't in the mood for whatever he was going to have to deal with next at all.

Hesitantly, he pulled open the door to his waiting brother.

Dean smiled at him and nodded. "Heya, Sammy."