I Really Messed Up, Guys: A Supernatural Self Harm Fic

The Scottish Lover

Hi guys! Thanks for reading so far! I'm going on vacation this week so there won't be another update until the night of the 27th (or 28th. I can't remember) of January. Thank you all for being so patient with my slow ass updates. I promise, Cas is coming up REALLY SOON. Like Probably the next part. Also, for any typos that are bugging you all PLEASE point them out! I try hard to make sure there aren't any, but these are also long chapters (sorry about that) so sometimes I miss. This chapter is also really vanilla with very little trigger warning after the first three sentences. 

Also should I start imagines? Like taking requests or something? I've never done it before but I don't think I'd mind trying my hand at it. 

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy! :) 

He felt his face sink along with his stomach. They were bad. They were probably around 3/4ths of an inch wide. He'd seen her scars from wounds like this, but it was completely different to see first hand. He didn't even want to bandage them; he was too afraid of hurting her. He placed her hand gently back onto her lap and shut the door. Casey was going to argue and he was sure she was not about to be happy if Dean heard. He sat on the lid of the toilet and ran his hand through his hair. There was no other way to say it. "Casey, these need stitches," he stated simply, bracing himself for her reaction.

The blood from her face drained. "No, Sam." Her tone was telling him to drop it, but Sam wouldn't bite.

"Casey, these need stitches and you know it. We're not going to glue these together. These need actual attention," he coaxed. Cuts of this magnitude were not going to slide by. He was already amazed by the fact that she'd created so many that bad before and not had to get actual, professional medical attention. Wounds like this were almost beyond Sam and Dean. The only reason he wasn't going to drag her to the hospital was because he knew she would never go to him again, even if it was a smaller cut that just needed to be doused in whiskey. Sam cringed. These were going to need a lot of whiskey, and she was about to hate him for it.

"Sam." Her volume was beginning to rise. "That's not happening. Either put a real bandage on them or go away," she bit. There was fire in her eyes, as well as fear. She was terrified. Her brothers weren't doctors and they didn't have anesthetic. They always just took a couple ibuprofen with a shot or two of Jack and sewed themselves up. She couldn't get stitches without some sort of pain killer, and she highly doubted they were going to go out and score some vicodin for her.

"Casey, this is either happening the easy way or the hard way and you know it. These are bad. I can't let this one slide." His eyes were pleading, but also firm. He was dead set.

Casey felt her lips began to pull down again. "Sam, I'm scared," she admitted.

Sam squeezed her shoulder. "I know. I've had stitches lots of times. It is a little scary, but it's better than having you skin necrotize." He shrugged. "It's not fun, but you aren't gonna take care of this yourself. These are sketchy, Case. If tonight wasn't already so hard I would drag your ass to the hospital." Casey's eyes grew and her chest began to puff out, but Sam kept going. "I'm not going to though." She deflated a bit and awkwardly leaned into his side again. "You've done a really great job today and we can take care of these here. No doctors. Just you and your two big brothers."

She pulled back and pressed her arms against her chest, almost as if she was protecting herself from being staked. Two brothers? "Dean can't see. He can't see these, Sam. He'll be so mad, he can't see these. These are too bad. He'll kill me. He can't see them, Sam." Her eyes were frantic. She looked around the bathroom, praying for some way to escape. Maybe a vent or something. If she tried to bolt out the door Sam would block it before she'd be able to stand all the way up, which would only succeed in pissing him off. She looked up at him. "Sammy, he can't see. Please, Sam, he can't see these. He's going to yell at me. He'll be so angry. I'm surprised he hasn't killed me already. Sam. Please. He can't know," she implored, grabbing his hand. She was desperate. "Please, Sam. Please." Her voice was low and she squeezed his hand even more.