kansaskissedlips:

I hate myself.

Dean swallows hard, staring at the big bold letters in Sam’s journal. He knows he shouldn’t have looked, but it was right there, open on the desk in the motel room. 

Sam probably hadn’t even realized he’d left it out; hell, he tucked that thing into the bottom of his bag to ensure that it never accidentally got left behind, or so that prying eyes couldn’t see it.

It’s my fault that Dad died.

Dean’s jaw clenches. He should move away from it, pretend he never even saw it before Sam gets back in here from grabbing coffee.

I can’t sleep. I feel too guilty.

Jesus. Dean’s heart races. He knows he’s been hard on Sam – fuck, all they’ve done is fight and lash out since their dad’s death. Maybe Sam’s been right – they need to make an effort to talk about their issues, or it’s all gonna come out in the worst way possible.

He’s about to finally tear his eyes away when he sees one more stark phrase:

I want to die. I’d be better off dead.

And that? Dean can’t ignore that. There’s no way he’ll be able to pretend he hasn’t seen anything, especially when something as alarming as that stands out.

He takes a deep breath, heart racing. He needs to talk to Sam as soon as possible. He doesn’t care how pissed he’ll be. Doesn’t care how they’ve been getting on lately. This can’t wait.

Before he turns towards the door, something else catches his eyes, but it’s written so much smaller than everything else that he barely notices it.

I started cutting again. 

It all starts to come together in Dean’s head: the need to change in the bathroom, the long sleeves – even in hot weather or at night. Fuck, fuck, fuck. No.

Sam suddenly comes through the door, a shy little smile on his face. “Hey, they only had medium roast, hope that’s…” He pauses when he sees Dean’s face. “Dean? You okay?” He glances around the room – and then he sees it – his journal wide open on the desk. 

Sam turns white as the Styrofoam cups he’s holding. “I –” he stutters. “You didn’t –?”

Dean’s gentle and cautious in his approach. “Sammy,” his voice cracks. “Let’s talk, okay?”