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

The Ugly Ballerina

The patience you guys have is never ending and I appreciate it so freaking much. You have absolutely no idea how much I love you guys. Thank you for waiting and thank you for reading!!!

“Cas?”

“This is my voicemail. Make your voice a mail.”

Casey sighed and hung up the phone. How many times could someone call before it was annoying? She supposed she would be irritated after two times, but Castiel was hardly the average Joe. Who knew what his limit was? It would be nice, though, if he could text her back, bare minimum.

Within the three weeks alone they’d done three salt and burns and taken down a small nest of vampires and killed a demon. Once again, Casey had everything she could want. She was saving lives and killing bad things in the process. What else was there to make her feel good about life? There was no way she wanted a family; she was too young and knew that it was an impossibility anyway, so she never bothered to even entertain the thought. The small family she did have, and loved immensely, was finally letting her act like a normal-ish person. She now had an allotted two hours -that must be separated- of alone time in her room per day, and steak knives for dinner if they were necessary. Still, though, there was that same ache in her chest that was all loneliness and pain. The inside of her skull almost felt like rats were clawing to get out, yet there was an invisible pressure on the outside of her head always crushing in. The sensations were so vivid she could almost really feel them, enough to the point where if they became too strong at night she would wake up one of her brothers to sleep on the couch in her room so she wasn’t alone.

Casey put her hands over her ears, squeezing her head so there wasn’t anymore pain. It was a poor substitute for cutting, but the pressure was almost enough to hold her until the feeling passed. Why was she so damn miserable? She had the best family, the best job, an amazing home, she helped people, and she was decently smart. What the hell was wrong with her?

Well, there was the fact that she was ugly. Her nose was huge and her eyes were the color of green olives with hardly any eyelashes. And her hair was scraggly and mouse colored, with every end split to pieces. Then there were her boobs, or lack thereof. It was damn near impossible to find a swimsuit she could hold up herself or to find a bra that didn’t have frog print or a little satin bow in the middle of it. She was freakishly tall, and positive that she was nowhere near finished growing. She was also annoying. She even annoyed herself, with all the babbling that never stopped in her own head. Then, to make matters worse, her babbling always seemed to flow out of her mouth and annoy everyone else around her too.

The worst part about all of everything, though, was that there was no end in sight. No finish line. No final product. It would always be fighting. She would always be fighting until one day she died. There would be no growing old and dying peacefully in her sleep. She would go out fighting, like they all did. It hurt to know that there wasn’t a break anywhere in sight- that her and her brothers and Cas would always be going and going and going until something finally killed them. Casey would have no happily ever after. None of them would. And even if all of the monsters in the world disappeared suddenly and the gates of Hell were closed and the angels finally got their crap together, she would still always be fighting. There would be no break. If it wasn’t monsters, it was the bull going on in her own head to throw fists against. Non-stop fighting. It was exhausting and she was supposed to do this for the rest of her life? She was supposed to keep on being miserable for no good reason until she finally croaked? How could anybody expect her to do that? That was no life for anybody to live. From nine years old to whenever she died she would always be battling against the sadness.

Casey drew her knees up and laid her her forehead against them, wrapping her arms around her legs feeling the sadness and devastation swirl in around her like a fish trapped in a tide pool. Crap. This is not ideal. She needed to tell somebody. She might not be self harming, but the way her thoughts were heading were starting to scare her. She’d thought about suicide before, but more as a novelty -something that she’d never actually do, but was nice to dream about- and not as a legitimate possibility. But there it was for real, dancing in her head like an ugly little ballerina. An escape from all of life’s big and little troubles that was right in front of her. She could almost reach it. The thought rubbed against her like a cat trying to gain affection and be pet, soft, but also deceiving. She knew this cat would claw.

But maybe she wanted to be clawed…

No. Not an option.

Casey gasped, pulling her head up into the fresh air. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. Casey felt the edges of her lips pull down, tears began to sting in her eyes. This was crappy. It was really, really crappy. Casey leaned her head back and waited until the tears were gone. If Cas couldn’t talk, it was time to talk to her brothers, and if she approached them while crying from the beginning they would take away her alone time. She knew that if she didn’t talk about this while it was a fresh feeling, it would grow and fester until she couldn’t talk about it with anyone until something really bad happened. She refused to even think about what that something might be. It wasn’t going to happen, period.

Rolling with the momentum while she still had it, she swung her legs off the bed and hopped down, shutting her door behind her. She should stop and look in a mirror to make sure she didn’t look like the hysterical mess she felt like, but if she stopped anywhere she would stop for good and not talk about this. She kept walking, her fists balled up and brow tight while looking directly in front of her. To anybody else, she looked like she was getting ready for a fight. She was, of sorts. She was fighting with the sad part of her that was telling her to hush up and not bother anybody with her stupid problems. There was also the fight that was probably about to come with Sam and Dean. They would want to protect her from herself and go crazy with all their restrictions again and she couldn’t stand that. She would have to make an argument that made it clear that she was physically safe and they wouldn’t need to do that because it would make her feel like a freak again. They would also want to take away hunting, which was a big no-no. Sitting around the bunker idly would make her lose what was left of her mind. Everything would have to be phrased delicately. They might have thought she was fragile, but, when it came to her, those boys were touchier than porcelain dolls.

Casey walked into the library to see both the boys at the table, Sam on his laptop and Dean on a tablet. She had no idea what they were looking up, but whatever it was, it didn’t matter. She had to say this and she had to say it now.

Sam looked up at her entering and smiled at her, then looked at the clock. His face was surprised when he looked back. “Your hour isn’t over yet?” he pointed out, assuming she was confused about the time.

“Yeah, I know,” she said shortly, looking at the ground and clenching her fists tighter. This is not ideal.

Dean picked up on her tone and set down the tablet. “You wanna go out to eat or something?”

“No, I do not.”

“Casey?” Sam’s tone was cautious. She kind of wanted to punch him in the mouth. An unreasonable urge, but each word they said to her was making this even harder. It was forcing back another lie about being fine and okay that her brain was trying to push past her lips in order to protect itself.

“What’s up, kiddo?” Dean asked, his tone sincere. That little nickname of his, that term of endearment. It made her stomach melt. It made her feel loved.

Which is why she had to do this.

She looked up and into the eyes of each of her brothers, unsure of where to settle them. It didn’t matter. Both of them were good, and where she looked wouldn’t change either of their reactions. She squeezed her fists even tighter, her nails digging painfully into her palms. Here goes nothing.

“You guys, I’m suicidal. And it feels like crap.”