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

Five Stages

Hey, guys. I'm really proud of this update. It's super personal to me because it's something I'm struggling with right now too and it feels awesome to put it to the page and maybe someone else can gain strength from this too.

 But we are nearing the end of this story. It bums me out to write that because this truly is my baby and I love you guys and talking to you and reading your comments and messages so much. You're family and it's awesome. I love you all and I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. <3 <3 <3

Casey placed the pill bottle back on Dean's dresser and washed her med down with Mountain Dew. "Health is an essential." She smiled to herself, then put the can back on his nightstand. She wasn't thirsty enough to get her own can and she figured they shared enough DNA to where it wasn't gross.Either way, Dean mainly drank it as a chaser, so his lips would be covered in booze. And alcohol was sterile.

Casey walked back to her room and sat on the edge of the bed. Three hundred sixty-four days. A record. That was nuts. How was she three hundred sixty-four days clean? Casey pushed up her sleeves and stared at her inner forearms- just as clean as the day Cas healed them, but she could still see every line. Especially the ones that they'd tried stitching up. That day was ingrained in her head. Those scars would never leave her. It ended up being a turning point in her life, but that didn't take away from the trauma of having her deepest secret revealed to everyone she loved in one night. It didn't take away the horror of Sam getting angry at her or being hunted down in the woods after running away. It didn't take away the shame of daily body checks. No matter how many days, or even years, passed, she would never be able to erase those moments from her life.

She also couldn't erase the love from all the hugs she'd gotten, or the looks of pride every time she was clear for body checks. Their never ending gratitude those first few weeks they fought to get her to take her medication. They couldn't be erased, but she wouldn't even if that were a possibility. Every time one of those thoughts popped into her head a warm feeling flooded her stomach.

There was so much pressure now, though. In one day she'd be a full year clean. She hadn't planned on relapsing in a long time, but now there was a burden on her shoulders she wasn't prepared to bear. It was like after being a year clean she couldn't go back even if she wanted to. She'd have to stay clean for the rest of her life. That was a commitment. It was a really big one, one that a person couldn't take lightly. It almost sounded better to just self-destruct so she could still go back, it wouldn't be as final. She hadn't really wanted to stop in the first place. She'd been forced to. But after so many months, staying clean and using new coping skills and continuing to fight for her safety and her life every day it almost felt natural. Not like it wasn't difficult, but she was becoming used to the fight just like she'd become used to the sadness before. It was exhausting. On days where things were particularly bad in her head she would go to bed feeling like she'd just fought ten werewolves on her own even though she was drained from a mental fight instead. Those days her brothers would come and sit in her room until she fell asleep. It wasn't because they didn't trust her anymore; it was because they knew she would fall asleep quicker and that it would help keep the nightmares away. Plus it alleviated some of their worries.

They were always worried, and Casey didn't think that would ever stop. It was natural for them to worry about her to an extent, but ever since her Incident they were more worried about her than any other problem they were facing. They didn't voice it as much anymore and she was down to monthly body checks and could spend as much time in her room as she wanted as long as the door was open, but she could see the way they watched her from the corner of their eyes. How they would make silent exchanges with each other when she did something that might potentially indicate a hint of the possibility of the tiniest lack of okay-ness. It didn't take a genius to know that every time Castiel showed up and asked about her they assumed it was because she'd called him for extra support. They were running themselves into the ground with concern for her. They were finally sleeping again, though, which Casey was extremely thankful for. Sometimes they'd even get six hours- at the same time. Their doors were always open at night now, in case she needed one of them, but they no longer felt the need to take shifts being awake.

Castiel was... Castiel. He expressed worry in a different way- with about the same level of subtlety as a gun. Every now and again if she became especially frustrated, she would receive a text from him. Always along the same, uncomfortable lines. 'Do you need support?' 'Are you safe?' 'Are you going to harm yourself?' 'Should I alert your brothers that you are upset?' If it wasn't so frustrating, Casey would be impressed at how good Cas had become at texting, but it was mainly just frustrating. Frustrating and awkward.

Did her brothers even know her year was coming up? She was sure they at least knew it was around that time. She was sixteen now, a birthday that had made both of her brothers groan because they felt truly old, especially because Dean was now thirty. They'd passed every holiday and the seasons had changed. They'd come full circle. Castiel was excellent with time, although he hadn't mentioned anything. The word "anniversary" hadn't so much as slipped through anybody's mouth. It honestly was hurting her feelings a little bit. She was hurt and scared, but ultimately she was proud.

With that pride, she knew she wanted to celebrate this accomplishment. She had no idea how, but it was going to be freaking celebrated. Maybe they could go to a nice steakhouse or they could buy her some booze that didn't taste like fresh death. Dean could get her drunk and Sam could let her go binge shopping at a used bookstore. Cas could get her a really awesome hand of God. Okay, that was a reach, but he could get her some black sand or something cool from a land she'd never see. A souvenir from the Titanic would be nice, the movie or the boat. It didn't matter if she got presents, really. She just wanted this day to be more celebrated than her birthday. She didn't have to try to age, whereas for this she'd had to work her ass off. She deserved the world, and she knew it.

But that weight was sitting on the back of her neck and it felt like a million pounds. It kept reminding her that if she made this anniversary there was no way out. She could never relapse again. Casey tried to push them out of her mind because she was not going to relapse again anyway, but they kept sitting there, sinister and disgusting. She'd been having these thoughts for a couple weeks and hoped they'd go away as she neared the date, but they were only getting stronger. It was scary as hell, but she persisted. She would not disappoint her family. Not again. It hurt her brain to accept her loss, but it was time. She'd gone through four of the five stages, now maybe this last day could be filled with acceptance.