This is actually one of my favorite chapters so I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do. Also, THANK YOU soo much for the reviews! I broke a hundred! Makes me feel so giddy! So on that note I'm gonna go write some more!

Warnings: Self harm, swearing and bullying
Disclaimer: See chapter 1
Beta: Little Miss Artist
Word count: 2,500
Chapter: 9/21
Next Update: Hopefully Tuesday but maybe Wednesday

Textus

Chapter 9: Consequences

Grounded. As punishment for carelessly leaving the bacon cooking, Sam was grounded. Not that it really mattered to him. It's not like he went anywhere besides his room and school anyway. It was his fault.

He shouldn't have let Mike get to him. What was he thinking? Like Mike would actually come to his house. Sam scoffed at himself, what a ludicrous notion. He was an idiot, a total fucking idiot.

Sam paced around his room like a caged animal. It was funny how much free will made a difference. Even though he spent almost every day since they'd arrived alone in his room, it didn't bother him until he couldn't leave his room. It wasn't like there was anything out there that he really wanted or needed at that moment but he still wanted out. Badly. He needed to do something. Not just walk angrily in a circle destroying anything that fell across is path.

Draw, that's what he'd do. Drawing always helped get his emotions in check. He grabbed his sketchpad and pencil from the bottom of his duffle and tossed them on the bed. He flopped down next to them and flipped open to the dog.

The ears were the next thing that needed to be done then the eyes. Sam always did the eyes last as they were often the hardest. Eyes held so much emotion that it was hard to capture with graphite. Sam stared at the empty space that would soon be an ear, waiting for the image to come to him. He couldn't draw it if he couldn't picture it in his head. He had to know what the ear had looked like originally.

But he couldn't picture it.

He couldn't remember the dog. The details were gone, now a fuzzy image. The dog suddenly seemed like the most important thing in the world. What had the ears looked like? Sam couldn't finish the picture if he couldn't remember. He had to get it right.

How could he not remember? It hadn't been that long ago! Sure it wasn't something so important that it'd stick to the forefront of his brain, but still…he was always able to recall the details, it was what enabled him to draw so well. Sam felt like he had forgotten a long time friend.

How could he just forget? Sam wanted to kick himself.

But maybe…maybe he hadn't truly forgotten…maybe it'd come to him in a few days…yes it would come to him soon. Sam let out a sigh of relief and, feeling significantly better, began to find something else to occupy his time.

So instead, he spent the entire day doing homework and reading to pass time while listening to the radio. If he got bored or his head started to hurt, he'd just stop and relax for a bit, sometimes even falling asleep a few times.

"Dinner!" John called from the kitchen. As if on cue, his stomach gave a small growl. He was pretty hungry. For lunch he'd merely grabbed an apple then retreated to his room, not wanting to spend any more time than necessary in the burnt kitchen.

The kitchen had been cleaned as much as possible. The stuff from the fire extinguisher had been cleaned up and the counters had been wiped down. The only thing left was the scorch marks on the cabinet doors.

Sam walked quickly as possible into the kitchen. It was just something he always did after he and his dad fought. He'd go out of his way to fulfill orders as quickly as possible. Sometimes he went overboard just because he knew it annoyed his dad. Like once John had told him to go out and run laps even though it was dark. So, despite Dean's protests, Sam went out and ran. He had run and run and didn't stop until he ended up throwing up in a bush.

Sam sat down at the table awkwardly. It appeared they were having some type of cooked chicken with some mashed potatoes. John always put more effort in if they were staying longer. Once again everyone at the table was reading - John his journal, Dean a car magazine – and Sam cursed himself for not bringing his book. He was nearly finished, only a chapter or two left.

Sam fiddled with the steak knife while he chewed on a piece of the chicken. It was actually pretty good, not too tough. Without even realizing it, Sam ran his thumb along the edge of the serrated knife, not hard, but enough that he could feel it. He liked to fiddle with things.

"So what are you planning on doing tomorrow?" John asked without looking up. Sam mentally cringed. In truth, he wanted to go to the library to do some research, but he knew John wouldn't like that answer.

"Um, I'm not sure," Sam said casually, focusing on cutting more chicken.

"Soon you and Dean will have to get back into training." Yup, saw that coming. Still, Sam tightened his grip on his silverware to keep from retorting back with something less than pleasant.

"I have to get some school work done," Sam added lightly.

"More school work? Isn't that what you did all day?" Dean asked, disbelief written all over his face.

"Well sort of, I read a lot too and stared at the ceiling for a while," Sam joked.

No one laughed.

"Right, well, you're going to have to start training soon," John said simply as he stood up with his plate. He flipped his journal closed and tucked it under his arm then rinsed the plate off in the sink and tucked it away in the dish washer. John went off to his own room leaving Dean and Sam alone.

Sam sensed eyes on him and looked up to see Dean watching him with an odd look on his face. He was worrying his lower lip between his teeth like he wanted to say something but couldn't get the words sorted out right.

Sam knew he should probably help his brother out by starting a conversation but he couldn't bring himself to care. At the moment he wanted nothing more than to be alone.

Eventually, Dean gave up and rose from his seat with a sigh. He washed his plate off as well before adding it to the dishwasher. With one final fleeting glance at Sam, Dean too left the kitchen.

Sam stared at the empty space where Dean had been standing for a long time. He knew John was mad at him, but he didn't know where he and Dean stood. Was Dean mad? Did he understand?

While Sam was rinsing off his own plate, he spotted something up on his thumb. He held it up in front of his face for inspection.

Blood. A single bead of crimson staining his pale skin. It slipped from a tiny cut in his thumb he hadn't even realized he'd made with the knife.

Sam stared, memorized by the tiny prick of liquid. It was weird to see, so tiny yet part of something so much bigger. It was his life, that tiny spot of red, sliding slowly down his thumb.

There was a tiny pick of pain, but it seemed justified. After all, he had set the kitchen on fire. In fact, come to think of it, that small pinch of pain wasn't nearly enough in comparison to all the shit he'd done lately. Arguing with Dean, arguing with his dad, losing the shoes, forgetting his homework…the list went on and on. And now he couldn't even hold his own against some bullies. What kind of hunter got the crap beat out of him by high school Neanderthals? His was a Winchester flunk out; a failure in their lifestyle. He deserved the pain. He deserved it all tenfold. That tiny prick? It wasn't nearly enough to make up for everything he'd done to Dean and John. Dean gave him chance after chance and Sam screwed it up every time. Dean deserved a better little brother, someone who'd actually make him proud. And his dad…his dad deserved another son who'd do what was asked of him without questions; deserved a son who could hunt. He failed as a son and as a brother.

Good Lord, how on Earth did Dean and John put up with him?

But for some reason that little drop of blood seemed to make up for it, if only for a moment. It gave Sam a small minute of relief; of control over his crazy life.

More. He needed more. More blood, more pain, more relief.

He stepped into the living room to find the weapon's bag.

"Hey, Sam, wanna watch some TV with me?" Sam nearly flew a mile with shock. He spun around so fast he nearly fell over.

"D-Dean? W-what…TV? Uh, no thanks, I'm gonna…gonna go do…something…" Sam said. Dean looked at him like he'd just grown another head. Sam shot him a nervous smile before walking quickly down the hall.

Damn, so close…but he would wait. He was a hunter, however bad he was, and had learned the art of patience. He could wait until Dean went back to his room, it'd be worth it.

His patience was rewarded when an hour later, Dean's sock feet padded softly the hall.

Sam slipped silently down the hall. As he passed both John and Dean's room, he held his breath. Midway down the hall, there was a loud creak. Sam froze. He could hear the heart racing. It was stupid really, he was just going down the hallway. Even if he was caught, it wasn't like his dirty intentions would be revealed.

After a minute of high anxiety, Sam realized that no one was coming.

Once he made it safely to the living room, he immediately went over to the weapons bag.

It seemed like every single sound was magnified a hundred times. Sam jumped at every noise that was ever slightly loud. Unzipping the duffle was like hell as it squeaked and creaked.

Once it was finally finished, Sam let out a breath, then freaked out at the noise. He stared down the hallway for almost a full minute, just waiting for Dean to step out and ask him what the hell he was doing.

When no one came Sam went back to the bag. He edged his hand in quietly and wrapped it around the knife he used the most often. It had a dark black handle that felt natural in his hand, like an extension of his arm instead of a knife. Leaving it sheathed, he slipped it into the waistband of his pants and very carefully re-zipped the bag. He stared at it for a minute, trying to make sure nothing was noticeable out of place.

Get a grip, Sam, you're being paranoid! He hissed to himself. He proceeded down the hall, staying on the edge to make sure not to step on any creaky spots. When he finally made it into his room, he nearly collapsed from relief.

Sam locked the door and dropped down onto his bed. In truth, the bathroom would probably be best place, but at the moment, Sam felt more secure in his own room. His own room…weird he'd never really had his own room before. It was a nice feeling…having something to call your own...a sanctum; a safety.

He grabbed a few tissues and placed them on his lap. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. No getting sloppy and leaving blood anywhere.

He positioned the knife over his injured wrist, higher than the slight discoloration. Might as well not make it any harder on himself and have two wrists to hide.

Sam channeled all his emotions into the silver blade and pushed it sharply into his pale open flesh. Blood immediately welled up in the cut and Sam watched memorized as it trickled down the side of his wrist.

It was beautiful in horrible way. That elegant crimson was the line between life and death. It was in his hands, in his control. Even though everything else may be spinning out of his hand, he would always have the choice to end it. Not that he would, he could never do that to Dean, but it was a mind blowing concept. So quickly a life could be lost, be it his own or someone else's. It brought into perspective how very small a person was. In the grand scheme of it all, did he really matter?

When the blood finally dripped off the edge of his wrist and dropped onto the tissue, Sam realized he had to stop. For tonight or for good, Sam didn't know. He tried to tell himself it was wrong and he needed to stop, but the relief and control overpowered it. Who was he kidding? He'd do it again. Tomorrow maybe.

But for now, he'd have to settle with that one little cut. It was getting late.

Sam set about cleaning up. The tissues went into the trash and, after changing into his pajamas, Sam went to the bathroom to wash the knife off and prepare for bed.

Once all was said and done, Sam tucked the knife under the mattress and laid down to sleep, his wrist wrapped cleanly in a white bandage.

TBC...

Review Replies:

Cartoon Cow: I cut my chin sledding. Brillant, huh? I was totally unaware until I went inside. Dean is like master of all things food. I felt that line wrapped the chapter up well.

supernaturalrenegade: Yay! Nothing makes me happier than to know my readers can feel what my characters feeling! What's better than a protective big brother? I love when he comes to Sam's defense in front of John. It doesn't that happen much but I feel that if it came down to it, Dean would choose Sam over his dad. It will indeed take its toll on Sam. Did you enjoy his spiraling?

sarah: It's my pleasure! I love updating and I try hard not to make people wait too long even if I'm stuck. I hate when you get to a really good story and then all of a sudden it just stops and you never get to find out what happens!

Gord and V: Yeah, I know what you mean. That's one of the best part of h/c stories, seeing the end when Sam is finally happy or safe or whatever. Sam's only getting worse sadly. Leave it to Dean to smell the bacon :)

judyann: John's a bit of a antagonist in this so I guess it's a good thing you're not liking him. I love those moments when Dean stands up to John in Sam's defense. Just shows how far Dean would go for his little bro.

where the wind blows: Lol yeah. Sam could be an interior designer! Yeah, it was kind of unexpected and I suppose it wasn't absolutely necessary for the story but I did want a way to make it so Dean wouldn't have a chance to really interrogate Sam about what happened to his nose.

1xadzy3dgftw1xLSNx3dg1xMGG: Okay first off, I'm getting better at your penname! I only have to look once or twice to get it all. Guess it helps to know what it means. Anyway, I agree, the Winchesters really have it rough. A lot of people don't think about the finer things, like getting certain types of food, so I really wanted to stick that in there. Sam's getting a bit paranoid about Mike, glad you picked up on that! John always seems to overreact when it comes to Sam. A few years ago I blew up the microwave with an egg by accident. My mom was mad but nothing at all like John (thankfully!) Sam's gonna hold out for as long as he can with his secrets (of course, I'll find a way to break him :) Good evil? I can live with that.

Casammy: Ah, yeah, such a funny image :) I done that a few times to (burning pots and such) and I too am very graceful at it ;)

caz21, LeighAnnWallace, Briell-W, Sparkiebunny, d767468: Thank you all so much, you have no idea how happy reviews, short or long, make me :)