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

That's Textbook, Sweetheart

Casey sighed and sunk deeper into the chair. She pulled her arms from around herself and set her hands on her lap. “I don’t know. I’m just tired.”

“You aren’t taking a nap right now, Casey. We need to talk about this,” Sam insisted.

Casey shook her head. “No, not like that. I’m tired mentally. Not even tired; I’m exhausted. I’m exhausted mentally. I’m working and working and working so hard on being happy and I’m exhausted from it.” She’d just barely scraped the surface of what was wrong, but already she felt a million pounds lighter. Not like she was any less sad, but more like the pressure of holding on to the sadness was gone. Like her sad burden had been shared. She supposed it was a little selfish, but she needed to be selfish. She needed to take care of herself.

“You don’t have to force yourself to be happy. You don’t have to be anything. You just have to be here.”

“I know.” Casey finally looked up and into Dean’s face. His eyes were sad, but also fierce. He was in protective mode. He looked ready to fight anything for her. The intensity was almost funny, until she remembered that the ferocity was both for her and against her. She was split in two: the fighter and the flighter. Dean was ready to throw down against the flighter for the fighter in her. She felt an odd separation in her brain as the two parts of her made themselves more individual, stepping apart from each other and screaming at one another from opposite sides of her head. She pushed her elbows into her knees and rested her hands in her palms, partially because she was ashamed, but also so she could put pressure on her skull without looking like a lunatic. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like I’m broken or something. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“You aren’t broken, kiddo. Just hurting. You’re right, though. It does feel crappy, but we’re here for you and willing to do whatever you need,” Dean offered. He had no idea how to make somebody feel not-suicidal, but he knew that he wasn’t doing a great job. The best thing he knew that he could do was offer support and love.

Sam cleared his throat. Casey looked up. His expression was pained and she could tell he was about to say something that left a bad taste in his mouth. She grimaced and braced herself for whatever was coming. “Maybe…,” he began cautiously, “we should bring you to a professional?”

Casey slammed both her feet on the ground and stood up to tower over her brothers, quickly enough to where she would have gotten terrible head rush if she hadn’t just been thoroughly flushed in rage. “I am not seeing some head shrinker. I’m not crazy, so you can shove that idea right back where it came from and figure out another solution.”

Sam knew that there was a strong possibility of this happening, he only hoped that his suggestion hadn’t pushed her away from them. Even if she said no, this was still something they needed to continue talking about. “I don’t think you’re crazy, and seeing somebody doesn’t mean you’re crazy. A lot of people have therapists but that doesn’t mean something is messed up with them; it means that they have something that they need to work through.” Casey’s face was brilliantly red. He needed to de-escalate this fast. “Case, it was just a suggestion. We aren’t gonna make you do anything you don’t want to do.” She finally exhaled. Her fists were still clenched and she was still obviously livid, but he could see the signs of her anger starting to cool down by tiny degrees. “You don’t have to. It’s just an option we can look at- if you want,” he added quickly.

Casey’s eyes had changed. They’d been shooting daggers at him before, but now they were panicked. She could see that she was at a bad point now in Sam’s eyes too. He thought she was nuts too. She looked at Dean, searching for anything that said he completely disagreed with Sam. His face was unreadable. A perfect mask of contemplation. When he looked back at her, he said something that left her feeling completely alone and betrayed: “It’s not a bad idea, actually. He has a point. It doesn’t mean you’re crazy. It just means that you might need a little extra boost to get through this. Even if it’s like an antidepressant or something. It could help a lot.”

Casey’s chest puffed up again. “I’m not depressed,” she hissed.

Dean, in all bluntness, snorted. “I beg to differ. You just told us you were feeling suicidal, that’s textbook, sweetheart.” His nonchalance was both infuriating and comforting. It pissed her off because he was acting like this was a normal suggestion, like they were talking about where to eat or what movie to see. But it was comforting because he wasn’t babying her. It let her know that while he might think she was depressed, a word that felt dirty even in her mind, he didn’t think she was freak. “Look, all I’m saying is that maybe popping a pill every day for a little while ain’t such a bad thing.” He leaned toward her, all seriousness now with penetrating eyes. They made her feel small and cared for at the same time. “Depression is a chemical thing. If a stupid pill can help balance some of that out and make you feel better where’s the harm in that? What’s so wrong with taking that? Why do we take Tylenol or NyQuil?” Casey didn’t answer, she was busy looking at her shoes. “Why?”

She grumbled, “Because it makes you feel better.”

“Exactly! So what the hell is the difference?” Casey tried to think of an answer. The only difference was that this was in her brain and not her sinuses or ankle or some other thing. And it really did hurt… She shrugged. “Exactly.” Dean leaned back in his chair, satisfied. He looked over at Sam, who was looking at him in awe. “Sammy, wipe that look off your face and book us an appointment.”