Sam Winchester Imagines

Scared

A/N: First of all, this story was requested by Lucifers_own. Second, there is a big trigger warning, eating disorder and self harm/suicidal thoughts. Please read with caution, also, stay strong for Sam and I, okay? And if you are struggling, I suggest you read the end A/N.

You look up at yourself in the mirror, mascara and eyeliner streaking your face. Your perfectly straightened hair now a mess, hanging over your face. Your eyes now bloodshot and swollen.

"I'm sorry," you tell yourself, looking down at the now red sink in front of you. You turn on the faucet and watch as the water carries away the blood.

"It's eatin' time, Y/N!" You hear Dean yell up the stairs.

"I'll be right down!" You yell back, hoping he doesn't hear your voice crack.

You clean the makeup off your face and pull your hair back, hoping no one comes to the bunker or they want you to come out.

You give yourself a once over in the mirror and grab a sweatshirt, pulling it over your head as you walk downstairs.

"Hey," Sam says, hanging you a plate.

"Thanks, but I came down to tell you that I'm really not feeling well. And I ate a really big lunch today," You lie about both things.

"You should go lie down then, Y/N," Sam says. "I'll bring you up something to drink. Does tea sound good?" He asks.

"Sure," You say, clutching your stomach to make it seem more realistic.

You turn around and begin walking back upstairs to your room. You look at over at your private bathroom. The very one you just hurt yourself in.

You hear a knock at the door. "It's me," Sam says.

"It's open," you say.

He walks in and hands you a mug full of the warm liquid.

"Thanks," you say, setting it next to your bed.

He stands there, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his feet.

"I'm... Going to get some sleep," you say.

"Oh- uh... Yeah, sure. Okay, okay," he says, starting to walk out the door.

You wait and count the steps.

"10, 11, 12, 13," you say in your head. "Thirteen. That's it."

You push yourself of your bed and into your private bathroom. You open the medicine cabinet and open an empty will bottle, dumping them into your sink after closing the drain, making sure the blades don't go down the drain.

You set one on the edge of the sink, and then you just stare at it. You go back into your room and grab the cup of tea, walk back into the bathroom, and dump it down the sink.

"Y/N! Could you come down here for a minute?" Dean yells up the stairs at you.

You don't say anything back, you just make yourself look neat and walk downstairs.

"What's this?" He asks, holding up a sheet of paper.

"Paper?" You try.

"It's your report card. Do you know what your averages are?"

You lie, "No."

"Well, you have a 57 in freakin' math for starters! 64 in English! Your gym, for pete's sake! Science 59!"

You start to cry, knowing how disappointed he was in you.

"And you're failing History! Freaking history! We do research for a living, Y/N! How dumb could you be!?" His words stung. You weren't sure if he meant what he was saying or not, but you thought they were true.