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

I Am Strong Enough

It had been a full week without a hunt, without researching the Knights, or even looking up crap about angels, Casey's least favorite subject. It had pretty much been a week full of fake smiles and constant asking of the question "are you okay?". The Rules stated that Casey had to be out of her room most of the day, but there wasn't even a TV in the library. She loved reading, but only fiction, which the library was seriously lacking in. She couldn't count the times she'd read the Wizard of Oz series within the past week.

Casey sat on a chair besides Dean's bed that he had dragged in so they could watch movies together. He'd offered to let her sit on the bed and she'd almost taken him up on it, then remembered that there was no way of knowing what had or hadn't been done on those sheets. It didn't matter how many times they'd been washed, they were still impure, so she declined and sat next to the bed instead.

Dean sat on the bed with an enormous carton of Milk Duds, completely immersed in the adventures of Dr. Sexy, MD. Casey really didn't mind the show and was glad Dean had splurged and bought eight seasons on DVD the night before. He insisted he'd bought them for her sake, but she'd seen him eyeing them in the store before. Now that they actually owned televisions, he'd been waiting for an excuse to get them. Her everlasting boredom over the week had become the perfect reason. It was interesting and actually funny sometimes, but one could only binge for so long. She didn't think that was possible before.

"Dean?" Dean's eyes didn't move a centimeter, and she was almost positive he hadn't heard her either. It made sense, though. Dr. Sexy was having a heart to heart with a lung cancer patient and trying to get him to stop smoking. It was emotional, but Casey really didn't care. Her legs were going to explode with energy. "Dean!" She threw the pillow in her lap at him.

"What?" he snapped, and paused the program. He made a big show of putting down the remote and acting exasperated.

Casey rolled her eyes. "Whatever, drama queen?"

"Drama King," he corrected, smartly.

Casey rolled her eyes again with a spectacular level of exaggeration. "Fine. Drama King. I'm bored, and we need to go on a hunt. I can't sit around like this anymore. I feel like I'm going to explode." Casey pouted. She didn't often use her big eyes to get her way, but she figured once wouldn't hurt. She was going crazy sitting inside. "Bunker fever, Dean."

Dean sighed. "Case, we can't go hunting. You aren't strong enough."

Casey felt her cheeks blaze. How was she "not strong enough"? She'd been strong enough to kick his ass sparring yesterday. She was strong enough to keep her brothers in check when Bobby was shot. "I'm not strong enough? How the hell am I not strong enough?" she demanded. Dean was not getting away with that remark.

"You've only been clean for a week, Casey. You still won't talk about it-."

"That's because there's nothing to talk about," Casey injected, her voice thick with annoyance. She folded her arms and legs to show she wasn't going to play. His comment stung.

"There's plenty to talk about, kiddo. We can go to a diner instead. Or there's that Italian place a couple miles away," he suggested. Food could usually deter him, but he knew that she wasn't the same. Her and Sammy had already gone to the bookstore at least five times, he couldn't bring himself to suggest it again.

She huffed and stood up. "Dean, if I have to eat another stupid diner burger this week my arteries will burst, and I will make sure the blood hits you first."

"You sound like Sam," he pointed out, another attempt to distract her.

"Dean! I'm serious. We can't stay in like this anymore!"

Dean sat up from his slouched position on the bed. "Well, what do you want me to do about it? We aren't going on a damn hunt."

"I'm not gonna run in front of a werewolf. I won't even keep the knife afterwards." Dean cringed at her offer. He didn't like thinking of Casey even holding a knife anymore, just the thought shot a surge of hurt through his brain. Casey ignored his unsettled look and continued. "We have to do something with a purpose. We're just floating along in here like some day at the lake. I need to do something that actually matters." Then, she added in a whisper, "I need to matter."

Dean's head shot up from his fists on his lap. "You need to matter? You do matter. People think you matter too much to me and Sam, but screw them. Family matters. You matter. You act like you're this annoying, ugly, awful human being and you're constantly punishing yourself over it. You hurt yourself over something that isn't even right. It's wrong! And the only part of you that doesn't matter is the part of you that hates yourself. The only stupid or ugly or annoying thing about you is whatever monster in your head that's telling you this crap!" Casey opened her mouth to speak, but Dean didn't stop. He needed to say what'd been eating at him all week. He'd been censoring himself so he wouldn't snap at her, but if she said she was strong enough, she was strong enough hear what he had to say. He was the last danger she had to worry about. "I don't want to be in this Death Star forever either, but I suck it up because you matter to me. Sam sleeps in your room on a couch that is way too small for him while you nap because you matter to him. Cas is trying to fix freakin' heaven and shove all the angels back up while they try to kill him again and again, but he still makes time to stop in three times a day to see you. Because you matter to him. Hell, he stops in while you're sleeping too. He sits there for hours so that Sam and I can sleep and not check on you every thirty seconds to make sure you're still alive. He's damn angel, Casey, and you matter to him.

"Do you know how scared he is, too? Not because of the other angels or Crowley or anything like that, no. He's scared because of you. Do you know how many texts we've gotten asking how you're doing? Do you know how often Sam and I text each other just to make sure we can both tell that you're okay, in case one of us doesn't notice something? We're scared. We're all scared because we don't want to lose you. And, yeah, you didn't try to die, but it's pretty goddamn terrifying when you see your sister with arms screwed up to hospital level badness." Casey's jaw dropped open. How could he say that? He swung his legs over the side of the bed and leaned close to Casey's face. "It's pretty freakin' craptastic. We're scared. We're afraid that we're gonna walk in your room and find you bleeding out on the floor or hanging from the vent. You keep saying that it's all peachy, but it ain't. It ain't peachy at all. I haven't had a drink in days in case you need me sober. Sam hasn't eaten more than an apple at a time, that I have to shove down his throat, because he can't because he's sick to his stomach worrying about you. Don't you dare tell me that you don't matter!"

The vein in Dean's neck was sticking out and his face was red. He was pissed. She hadn't seen him pissed in almost two weeks because they were acting calm and happy for her sake. And she'd honestly thought that she missed it. She was wrong, because she was terrified. She leaned away from him and pushed the chair back with her legs, then pulled them up to her chest. She didn't want him to be within touching distance. Her eyes were wide, almost an exact copy of Dean's. She was stunned. How the hell could he just say all that to her? How did he say that? Why would he say all of those things?

Then she began to cry.