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

Deal?

"Okay," she said slowly. Nothing about 'ground rules' sounded preferable. "What kind of ground rules are we talkin' here?"

Sam looked at his hands resting in his lap, his face was full of perturbation. Dean didn't say anything either. Neither of them wanted to be the bearer of bad news. They both knew Casey would feel no remorse for shooting the messenger, because now they were also her jailers.

Sam was surprised when Dean cleared his throat. "Case," he began, but was unable to think of what he wanted to say. There were a million things he wanted to say, but there was hardly a way to say them. Personally, he wanted to tie Casey to a chair and make her watch Disney movies and Westerns and feed her burgers and pie until she was happy, but Sam said that 'wasn't conductive' for a healthy life.

Sam stepped up to the plate. Dean could see him bracing himself for the fit Casey was going to throw. "Casey, we need to make some changes. Because what we're doing right now isn't working and we want to do everything we can do to keep you safe."

"Even if it sucks," Dean interjected.

"Yeah. Even if it sucks." Sam stopped. Casey wasn't sure how to interpret their faces. They were cautious. Both Sam and Dean were stuck in their own volumes of words to figure out how to appropriately phrase whatever it was they wanted to say. By the time it was taking them, she didn't feel good about what they were going to do.

Casey didn't realize she was holding her breath until she gasped for oxygen suddenly. The boys looked up from their internal monologues, worried. If things hadn't been so serious recently she would've laughed at how nervous they looked just because she'd inhaled funny. They seemed to think that anything she did strangely meant she was going to run into a forest and hurt herself. She didn't exactly have the best track record lately of not doing that, but she found it ridiculous that both of them felt the need to make sure she wasn't dying just because of a gasp. "So. What's the verdict?"

"No hunting," Sam remarked.

Casey rolled her eyes. "We covered that, Sammy. What aren't you guys telling me? You look constipated."

"We're... clearing out some stuff for awhile," stated Dean bluntly. "We don't want you to hurt yourself so we're putting up some new rules. No knives, guns, lighters. None of that crap around the house for now." It was better to say straight up. No more beating around the bush. Casey was a lot like Dean in that way. She couldn't stand to be danced around like a wounded animal. She was a teenager, she could handle the ugly truth. Even if she didn't want to.

Casey didn't react. She stared directly into Dean's eyes, unreadable in her face. She was waiting for him to continue before she smacked him upside the head.

"And we want you to spend more time outside your room," Sam added circumspectly. She was too calm for his comfort. Her head snapped over to him. Her eyes were sharp. She was looking at him like an owl looked at prey, assessing for a good time to begin her descent. Sam looked over at Dean for support. Casey was right- he did look constipated. Sam felt constipated.

"No more hiding out in your cave. When it's daytime you need to be out. Kitchen, library, living room. I don't care, just not locked away in your room," Dean reiterated.

She looked down at the ground. She realized now that she was on suicide watch, just like she told Cas. Cutter watch. "No, thank you," she said quietly.

"No, thank you?"

"Yeah, that isn't going to work for me. I think I'm going to go to bed now." Casey stood. Dean was faster though and pushed her down with a hand on her shoulder.