The Middle of Nowhere
AN: I would like to thank Elizabeth Goode and her story 'What Might Have Been,' for giving me the inspiration to write this story. I am using the idea of Sam's suicide attempts to get the conversation started. I have no idea where things will go from there. I hope you enjoy! JL
Sam was not one to get drunk. He never had been. He would drink beer, but he had always known when to stop. But tonight he had not, and Dean had found out things about his brother that had angered and terrified him, all at the same time.
Dean helped his staggering, stumbling brother into their motel room. And it would have been a lot easier and a lot less cumbersome if he 'little' brother was not the size of a tank. The elder Winchester let gravity do the work and Sam fell onto the bed. He sat there for a few seconds before he fell over the rest of the way, his head coming to rest just below the pillows. Dean turned his brother over onto his back when he saw that Sam's feet were hanging off the edge of the bed.
Dean then went to Sam's side. He tried to wake his brother up just long enough to get him to scoot himself up in the bed. But the young Winchester was not waking up. Dean thought for a moment. He then grabbed the top of the comforter and tried to pull it toward the head of the bed, pulling Sam up in the process. It didn't work.
"Help me out here, won't you, Samantha?" Dean pleaded with his unconscious brother as he tugged and pulled and moaned and groaned trying to get his gargantuan brother's body to move, even an inch. He went from one side of the bed to the other until he had worked the comforter up enough so that Sam's feet were actually on his bed.
Dean woke to noise the next morning. He looked over to Sam's bed to find it empty. Sam was already up and in the shower. Dean made himself busy. He made some coffee and then hurried out to the diner next door to get them breakfast. He returned just as Sam was finishing getting dressed.
Dean didn't really say anything to his brother until they had been eating a few moments at the cheap Formica table that went with their little kitchenette.
"You got drunk last night, Sammy." Dean replied as casually as he could. "That's unlike you."
"Yeah," Sam admits. "…been a rough couple of weeks."
Dean looked at Sam like he knew something more. "This goes back more than a couple of weeks."
Sam just looked at his brother. He racked his brain trying to figure out what it was the Dean was speaking of, and he had no idea. He had just remembered drinking too much. He had no idea what he had said, or who he had said it to.
Dean knew Sam had no idea what he was talking about. He decided to give his brother a small hint. "It was heavy, Dude, really heavy." Dean then let it drop. But they would be talking about it later, for sure.
The Winchesters finished their breakfast. They then packed before heading out on the road again. They drove in silence for about an hour. Then the elder Winchester abruptly pulled off the road. He turned off the engine, got out of the car and grabbed himself a beer from their cooler. He went to the back and leaned against the trunk as he took a long swig. He couldn't get what Sam had told him out of his mind. Even though it was probably just the alcohol talking, he needed to know if it had been a thought that had crossed his brother's mind, even if it was only for half a second.
Sam had no clue what was going on. He didn't know why Dean had decided to pull over, but he went ahead and got out of the car. He grabbed himself a beer and leaned against the trunk also.
Dean took another swig then cleared his throat before he asked his question. "Why would you try to kill yourself?"
Sam immediately spat out his beer onto the ground in front of him. He turned and looked at his brother as he wiped his mouth.
"What?"
"You heard me." Dean replied, acting as if he had asked what time it was.
Sam replayed the previous night in his head, but he just didn't remember that conversation. But then, how else would Dean have found out? He had not told anyone about those incidents, until last night, anyway.
Dean watched the emotions as they played across his brother's face. He saw through Sam's reaction that it was true.
"Where did you…?" Sam said, trying to play it off.
"I got it from you, Sam. You! The drunk you, because apparently the sober you is suicidal!" Dean said. He sounded angry. But he was more scared than anything else. He was not going to lose his brother that way. Not if he could help it.
"Dean. I…." Sam started.
"No, Sam!" Dean stopped himself. He took a deep breath. This was not the time for him to come across this way. He needed to calm down. He took another pause before he spoke again. "I just need to know what you're thinking, Sammy. That's all."
"Dean, that was…that was a long time ago, before…before Stanford." The young hunter explained. "I just…I didn't have it like you and Dad did. I didn't have the fire, the spark you two did, like you still do. I just…."
Dean listened. He processed. What did Sam mean…before Stanford? How long ago? When Sam was still a kid? The thought of his kid brother wanting to end his life made him feel very sad and extremely guilty. All those times, Dean thought back, when they had returned from hunting and Sam had looked like he had been crying. Had he been thinking about it just moments before Dean and John had walked through the door? What if they had been 5 minutes later?
"Sammy, I had no…." Dean began.
"I know you didn't know. I just…I felt trapped in a life I wanted no part of. I wanted to choose what my life would be. I never got that chance. Then I left for Stanford. And after Jessica died, I chose to come back. I chose to hunt Jessica's killer. At college I had an outlet. I had a way to channel things. I put it all into taking classes and just being a college kid." Sam paused. "Dad couldn't accept, he didn't understand my way of dealing with things. But you and he got along so well because he understood your way, drinking and chasing women. That was something he could wrap his mind around. But me…." He shook his head.
"He was proud of you." Dean stated.
Sam nodded. "I know that, now. But then…I just. I felt like a failure. I was no good at hunting. I just...I wasn't picking up the things he was trying to teach me."
Dean was stunned. "How far back does this go, Sam?" He asked, almost afraid of the answer.
Sam sighed. "Twelve years old, Dean. I was 12 when I first thought of killing myself."
Dean opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He just looked at his brother for a moment. He finally found his voice. "…twelve years old, Sammy, oh, my god!"
Neither said anything for a few moments. When Dean looked up at Sam again, there were tears in his eyes. "I said some awful things to you back then, Sammy."
"You had no way of knowing what I was going through." Sam replied as he hugged his brother.
"You're my brother." Dean said, as if that applied some cosmic connection. "I'm sorry." He then stepped back. "Tell you what, next time you need to talk…if you need to be Samantha, then I'll be Deanna for a while, okay?"
Sam and Dean disposed of their empties and then got into the car
Sam looked at Dean. He smiled. He knew that they had come to a new understanding. But he also knew that there were some things that Dean just couldn't pass up.
Dean drove a few miles down the road before he spoke again. "Then maybe I'll braid your hair and do your fingernails."
"Shut up, Jerk!" Sam said, grinning at his brother.
The End