Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean turned thirteen a few weeks ago. John came home drunk and yelled at him because he was still awake. Sammy's too young to remember Dean's birthday and John apparently couldn't either. Instead of celebrating, Dean went to bed with new bruises on his skin. He should've known better than to expect anything good to happen, for someone to care about him.

Weeks later, John takes Dean on a hunt, leaving Sam with Bobby. It's a pack of werewolves and Dean tries his best but when John leaves him alone, Dean quickly finds himself trapped. He fights as best as he can but he's still a child, not yet strong enough to be an actual opponent for the werewolves. In the end, Dean is thrown against a wall and knocked out by the impact. John doesn't even notice until after the pack has been killed.

"Dean? Dean, where are you? I swear to god."

He finds his son unconscious, a gash on his forehead still dripping blood on his face.

"How useless can you be? I didn't raise you to act like a child. Come on. Get up."

It's no use. Trying to figure out if Dean might've been fatally hurt, John looks for other injuries. When he rolls up Dean's sleeves, he notices cuts along both his wrists, made with pristine precision, most of them stitched up. This was no werewolf. This was Dean. His son is so pathetic, he cut himself open.

"I showed you how to defend yourself against monsters and this is how you repay me? By cutting yourself? You ungrateful little bitch. I didn't raise you to be weak. I didn't teach you how to fight just so you can kill yourself. This is pathetic. You useless piece of shit. How can you do this to me?"

Dean doesn't reply, can't as he's still knocked out, still bleeding.

"I'll show you how to be a man. I'll show you real pain."

With no hesitation, John punches him. He doesn't care that his son is unconscious. He doesn't particularly care if he'll wake up again. If Dean wants to die, so be it. Hell, he'll help him get there if he so desperately wants to leave his family.

John throws Dean against the wall again, slapping his lax face until it turns red. Dean starts to wake up as John throws another punch at his abdomen.

"Dad?"

"How could you do this, Dean? Are you mental? Is that what this is? I always knew you were worthless but this? Taking a knife to your own skin? You're poison. Your mother didn't die for you to follow her. If you're so desperate for it, I wish it would've been you."

"I'm sorry."

But it's no use. John grabs Dean's arm, his fingers digging into the fragile skin of his son's thin wrist, sure to leave bruises before throwing it in his face.

"This? This won't fix anything. If you're hurting yourself, do it right. Kill yourself."

Dean's breath hitches. He's always known his father doesn't love him like he does Sammy. He hadn't wanted to admit that maybe he wasn't loved at all. But he didn't think his father hated him so much, he would rather watch him die than help him.

"I'm sorry. I'm trying. I'll try to stop. Please don't tell Sammy."

"Hell, I won't. He doesn't deserve a brother like you. He has it bad enough with you already, he doesn't need to know just how much of a failure you really are. I hope you're at least ashamed of yourself."

Dean nods, crying as John slaps him again.

"Did you plan this? Was this your way of asking for attention? You take up so much space already. I'm so tired of you, of cleaning up your mess. I always knew there was something wrong with you. Your mother would be so ashamed."

"No. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Oh, I'll teach you how to be sorry."

With no further warning, John's fists start to rain down on him again. Every inch of skin that hadn't been bruised by the werewolves is covered in blemishes now. The wounds Dean had tried to hide start bleeding again. John doesn't stop when Dean starts sobbing, begging him to stop, pleading with him as blood starts trickling from his lips. He hadn't cared any other time before and his kid's cries still fall on deaf ears.

As the blood starts showing on Dean's skin, he's sure it's not just from the broken skin of John's knuckles. He can feel his skin breaking, burning. For a brief moment he wonders if this is it. If his father will really kill him this time as his breathing turns laboured and his father's fists relentlessly punch his face. Dean’s tired in all the ways but he tries to stay awake for Sammy. He’s trying not to close his eyes again, trying not to entirely lose control although it's tempting. This could be his way out, his final relief, a chance to rest and be at peace. No matter how badly he wants to die, he still can't bring himself to leave his baby brother to fend for himself.

John stops at one point when Dean's close to blacking out again. He isn't really sure his father stopped, his body in too much pain, his mind all fuzzy. He’s trembling all over but he tries to still, tries to make himself seem smaller, hoping John won't want to strangle him until his face turns blue if he just takes up less space. He doesn't remember a day in his life he hasn't been terrified of his father but he figures he deserves it.

Dean curls into a ball, trying to breathe through the pain but the movement on his ribs only worsens it and he can't help the sobs leaving his bloody lips. He starts panicking, his breathing’s getting out of control, fast and unsteady. His ribs and lungs burn as he's gasping for air.

John just shakes his head and goes to the car, trying to cool of and waiting for Dean to get out of his stupor, cursing at him.

When they get home, Dean's sporting bruises everywhere, his nose is broken, his left eye swollen shut. He never figures out if the concussion is a consequence of one of the werewolves throwing him against a wall or from his father hitting him afterwards. Sammy has never found out either, staying oblivious to the hatred his father has for Dean.

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Letting Dean convince him into looking for John might've been Sam's biggest regret yet. He'd run away back when he was a kid and they were staying in Flagstaff. It was short lived but it made him feel free in a way he couldn't be when he was home. His family suffocated him. Once he could, he'd left for Stanford without looking back. And now he's back hunting, back in their mess of a family. Sam's not even really sure he wants to find John, being certain that it'd only end in yet another fight and Dean would inevitably take dad's side like he always does. Dean's conditioned into doing whatever John asks of him, unable to think for himself. Sam is sick of it.

He's picking countless fights with Dean because he's nervous about leaving Jess behind. Sam's got a bad feeling about all of this. And it turns out, he's right to be.

When Jess dies, Dean's there to pick up Sam's pieces and hold him as long as it takes to get himself back together. And yet, he starts lashing out at Dean even more.

"Why are we even looking for dad? Didn't you hunt together?"

"No, we separated so we could cover more ground." And so he wouldn't have to deal with me, Dean thought.

"Right but for all we know, he's fine. I mean it's dad we're talking about. And once we find him, he'll try to pull me back into this life. I'm tired of it, Dean."

"At least let us find him first to make sure he's okay."

"Fine but the second we do, I'm leaving."

"Noone said you had to stay."

Sam only huffs. Right, as if that had ever really been a choice for him. The minute he decided to live life the way he wanted, he was abandoned.

Except, Dean had called and texted countless times until he got the message when Sam's short answers of "yes" and "no" stopped coming altogether.

Sam keeps fighting Dean about everything. The research, the hunts that feel like a waste of time, dad, Jess, everything.

He's hurt and Dean understands. It still pains him to know nothing has changed.

"You always pick dad's side. Aren't you tired of being his little soldier? You follow every order blindly as if you couldn't think for yourself. Dad doesn't care about us. You have got to know that. You can't be that stupid."

"Sam, leave it. I know you're hurting but now is not the time. We can have this fight when we find him. Okay?"

"No, not okay. Why are you always running away from confrontation?"

Dean just shakes his head and goes for the motel room door.

"Dean, wait."

Sam grabs his arm. The touch isn't even harsh or meant to be painful like John's is but Dean's so unused to being touched in a way that doesn't leave him hurt, he flinches away. Besides, Sam's fingers press right into his fresh cuts. Dean knows Sam would never intentionally hurt him but in this very moment, fear clouds his better judgment.

"Look, I know I always make mistakes and that I'm stupid and everything is my fault and I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry if I make things harder for you, I'm just trying my best, man."

Sam doesn't consider the meaning behind the violent flinch, the terror in his brother's eyes or the words spoken. He just knows he's tired and grieving and filled with rage because Jess died and they won't be able to bring her back.

"It's fine, man. Let's just go to bed, it's been a long day."

A few weeks later Sam catches sight of Dean's arm while he's dressing himself. He notices the countless red lines and raised scars along his brother's wrists but pretends he doesn't. He knows this was Dean's doing and wonders why he did it. Years ago, he would've asked, would've tried to get him to talk about it, to stop. He would've been persistent and annoying until he could convince his brother to listen to him. But he knows Dean. He knows it'd only result in a fight and he has no energy left, he's too tired to keep trying to get him to open up, to be the responsible and empathetic one. Besides, Dean is strong and independent, he'll get over it and stop on his own.

Maybe Sam will ask once he's over Jess and has the capacity to care about more than his own grief and revenge.

Sam never asks but he starts staring and acting strange. It doesn't take long for Dean to notice, oblivious to Sam knowing about his little secret. He takes it as Sam planning to abandon him again as he'd threatened he would, just sooner than expected. Dean's certain that Sam has never and most likely won't ever care about him. At the very least not in the way Dean cares about him. Maybe he's right.

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Castiel first notices the unusual scars on Dean's wrists when he raises him from perdition. He doesn't understand how they could've possibly ended up on the hunter. They're too neat and careful to be from a monster. They look almost self made. Now, Castiel knows the art of tattoos and individualising your body but this? This he doesn't understand. They're not pretty, not an addition he deems worth it, especially since most of Dean's skin is already scarred and at least those are battle scars. This just seems like a weird waste of time. Castiel doesn't understand the depth of human emotions. He knows crying usually means pain, that laughing is often a result of happiness, that angry people tend to violently lash out. He doesn't know Dean cuts himself because he fears that's all that's left. Dean's seen Sam's back as he's leaving more times than he can count. John's never been around much anyway. Most people he cares about are already dead and he's sure he'll miss them every day for the rest of his life but if he were to die and not come back, noone would blink an eye. Not the brother who couldn't be bothered to pick up his phone once he made it out, away from hunting, away from Dean. Not the father who might've died for him but not out of love. Dean will never be worth being loved.

Castiel lets it go. Because he can't understand what he doesn't know.

One day, he's visiting Dean without warning and he sees him. Dean, on the ground next to his bed, a knife in his hand, his arm bloody and tingling, his face covered in helpless tears, trembling with the force of his cries.

Dean had tried being clean and he'd lasted almost a year, trying to force himself to be happy and drink less and not hurt himself. Trying to convince himself to stay alive for himself and not just his family. Seeing Sam's happy memories including Flagstaff broke his resolve. He'd given his entire childhood for his baby brother, trying to keep him safe, trying to care for him. Giving everything for him. His food, his clothes, his grades, his skin. And yet, Sam was happiest when he left him. Did he suck that much? He knew he could never be an actual replacement for their parents and they lost contact when Sam got into Stanford because Dean had stopped trying after continuously being left on read. But this? It brought him right back to the thoughts he'd tried to ignore.

Sammy doesn't care about me, noone does. I should just kill myself like dad told me to.

"What are you doing?"

"Cas? I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to see."

"Why are you doing this, Dean? You're hurting yourself. You're crying."

"I don't know what else to do. I can't do this anymore."

"Why? What happened?"

"It's hard to explain."

"You can try."

"Please just forget about this."

"Will you stop?"

"Yes."

Liar. He didn't even stop when his father tried to beat it out of him. It only made him cut deeper. Castiel knowing won't make him stop. Dean's not sure if Sam knows but either he does and couldn't care less or he doesn't because he doesn't care enough to even notice something so obvious. He isn't sure he wants to know which it is. Dean's always tried to protect Sam from everything, including this, but he knows he doesn't do a particularly good job at squashing any possible concern with over pretentious sarcasm and deflection. He's pretty sure that there is simply noone who cares enough to dig deeper. When Castiel nods, knowing the angel could easily read him like an open book, Dean knows he's right.