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

Triumphant

Guys... I am so sorry I took so long to update. Like Chuck said, endings are hard. And I'm afraid we've reached the end of this story. I really hope you like it because it took me forever to write and I feel like this is a satisfactory way to cap it off. 

This has been an amazing journey and thank you all for being with me and all your patience and understanding. If you got anything from this story I hope it's the knowledge that you can save yourself and that asking for help is never a bad thing. So I need you to always keep fighting because this family loves you. We'll always have your back. 

If you're ever struggling you can text "GO" to 741741 for somebody to talk to. I know there's a million other places you can turn to as well so don't be afraid. You got this. And remember, you're not making mistakes. You're not losing. You're either winning or you're learning. 

Casey went on a walk around the bunker after suffering cabin fever for too long. She wasn't sure if she was going to strangle her brothers if they were stuck without a hunt much longer, but the papers had been dry. The only crimes they could find were completely human orchestrated. There wasn't even a drop of a clue to go on. Two weeks without a hunt. She'd gotten Sam to drive her to the library a few times and they'd gone fishing once, much to Casey's annoyance, but there wasn't anything that could satisfy them like a hunt could. They were hunters.

So she'd been gone for almost three hours. She'd already texted both her brothers back multiple times after getting worried messages, then ended up talking on the phone with Dean so he could make sure it was actually her answering the phone and not some villian. She walked into a silent bunker, though. What was the point of texting her a million times if they weren't even going to be home?

"Sam? Dean?" She waited a moment before calling again. "Boys? Are you home?" She thought about calling Cas, but the odds of him being home if nobody else was were slim to none.

Casey tossed her jacket and angel blade on the table, a girl could never be too careful, especially if they were a Winchester, and went to her room.

She couldn't immediately tell what was different, but there was definitely something off in her room. Maybe the boys had gone snooping? But what would she have to hide that the boys would want? She didn't have anything to hide that the boys wouldn't want even- at this stage in her life she was an open book. Casey backtracked to the study and grabbed her angel blade, never too careful, then went to reassess the room again.

Everything looked normal up front. Her pills were on the counter and the television and iPad were where she'd left them, which meant that she wasn't worried about a robbery. The worst thing would be an angel. Demons weren't easy by any means, but they were easier to get rid of than an angel. Herpes were easier to get rid of than an angel. But, just in case, it would still be quicker to take down a demon with holy water. Casey gave the room and the hallway behind her another brief once over then quickly lifted her mattress to retrieve her flask of holy water.

And the old knife Dean had given her was lying beside it.

Casey's eyes grew wide and her breathing stopped. She hadn't seen that knife in over a year. She was almost afraid to touch it. It was so beautiful. The leather case with her initials burned into it and the deep cherry wood handle that fit in her palm perfectly. That knife had held its own throughout the years and the fit hadn't changed as she grew, but for some reason she knew it would feel different in her palm this time- if she were to touch it. She wasn't sure if she was ready for that. Sam and Dean had given her knives on hunts and there was always an angel blade laying around for emergencies or if she went out on her own, but this was different. She was alone with it and there was nobody to take it away from her. Sam and Dean were gone and who knew where Castiel was; she was alone with her knife.

Too afraid of her addiction, she let the mattress fall from her hand to cover the knife and slowly set the angel blade on her nightstand. It was unnecessary at this point because the difference in her room was obvious. But if her knife was back.... She reached her palm underneath the bed and held up by a holster was her gun. She recoiled like she'd been bitten. That was her gun. Not one of the ones that stayed in Baby. That was her's. A beautiful Smith and Wesson nine millimeter SD9 that she'd taken from a demon a few years back. What the hell was it doing underneath her bed again? And if that was under her bed, was her revolver in the nightstand again? She whirled around to check and that was there too. Along with a bottle of ibuprofen that had been locked away since before she'd started seeing a psychiatrist. She shut the drawer with shaky hands and sat on her bed, careful to avoid the spot where she knew her knife was. Not because she was afraid of it, but because she couldn't stand and was all too excited by the thought of it being that close to her again.

The boys trusted her again. Her brothers trusted her again and they gave her weapons back. She would bet money that the big knives were back in the kitchen drawers and that Dean's walls were decorated again too. It made her chest ache. She had immediate access and could do serious damage to herself. There were no body checks anymore and sharp blades all over the bunker. She could get away with it so easily and nobody would ever have to know. There was obviously the issue with Castiel, but he was around so infrequently and tried to stay out of people's heads unless he was invited, there was a good chance he would never find out either. There were places on her body that her brothers would only see if they were swimming for whatever reason. She could do it there. Were her wrists itchy? Casey wrapped her arms around her torso in an attempt to block the craving.

Why the fuck would they do this to her? Obviously she couldn't live her life away from sharp objects, but they'd placed them around her so blatantly again with no warning or easing into it. Sure, she'd been clean for a while, but she wasn't fixed. She was still medicated and filled out a DBT sheet once a week so she'd remember to use her skills. Every day was still a fight. They'd essentially filled a drug addict's bedroom with blow and said "here goes nothing".

But staying clean was everything now. Sixteen months of hard work and crying and frustration and learning how to open up and trust people with her emotions and struggles in life was everything. She knew relapses were part of recovery, and God, did she want to relapse, but was it worth it? Would it even have the same effect that it did before? The answer was probably no. A relapse wasn't worth it. Would it ruin her recovery if she did? No, but if she didn't have to relapse then why should she? The only difference between yesterday and today was that now she had access. Nothing else had changed. No painful life events, no bad hunts, not even very many negative thoughts all day. She'd gone on a walk and now she was home and had her brothers' trust again. If anything, it was a better day. So why should she relapse? And even if it had been worse, did she really deserve to be hurt, especially by her own hands?

The bunker door slammed shut and two pairs of boots clomped down the stairs. "Case? You home yet?" 

Casey exhaled and unwrapped her arms, setting her palms on her lap and finally able to breathe normally again. She'd made her choice. And if she was having such a difficult time in her bedroom and that might compromise her clean streak then she had no business being in there. She stood up, grabbed the book from her nightstand and walked out to greet her brothers with a small, triumphant smile on her face.