A/N: After listening to the great song by The Fray called 'How To Save a Life,' I got an insperation for this story. It is a bit angsty, and there is reference to suicide. Spoilers to 'Born Under a Bad Sign' and prior eppys. Enjoy!
Disclaimer:You know how it is...
"Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewehere along the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life"
-from "How To Save a Life" by The Fray
To Save A Life
Sammy stood in front of their father's grave, the empty shell that only stood as a memorial since they burned the body months ago. Tears dripped slowly down his face, hot and fast. Dean sat in the car, angry that he even had to be here. He knew that John Winchester wasn't there, so why the hell did they have to visit every Saturday? Sam and his convictions. He just could not understand the point of going to a grave, even when a person was buried there. Dean had not gone to seen his mother's grave in almost nine months, and the guilt trip Sammy gave him was enough to eat a hole in his heart.
Sam kneeled down to the stone and touched it. This caused more tears to relinquish their hold on his eyelashes, and fall to the snow below.
"I'm sorry dad, sorry for not being a better son. I wish that we could have been closer, that you and I had the relationship you and Dean seemed to of had." He wiped at his eyes, sniffing quietly. Dean watched from the Impala, growing steadily impatient. They had been there for over an hour. Whatever Sammy had to do, or say, he better get it over with PDQ, or else Dean was gonna drag his sorry ass back into the car whether he wanted him to or not.
"Ever since you passed, Dean has been so hard, so quick to snap." He stole a glance at his brother, who waved angrily at the car. Sam ignored him and continued.
"He just seems to have lost any faith he may have had. I know you made him that way, but damn it, he acts as if God has fucked him over royally. You'd think I would be the one to tell God to take a hike. Dean is just so hard to read sometimes." Sam sighed then stood, wiping pine needles and snow from his pants.
"I just had to get that off my chest Dad, and no one else listens anymore when I talk. Dean keeps shutting me out, and with being on the road all the time, it leaves no time for a relationship." Sighing again, he turned away from the grave. Dean was frowning now, and had the radio blasting. Sam closed his eyes, now pissed. What was Dean's problem? It was like pulling teeth with him just to get him to come here, and then when he did, he argued and fussed the entire time.
"You know what, maybe next time I'll just come by myself. Maybe then it'll save you the hassle of having to get so pissed every weekend!" Sam yelled over the music, skirting past a plastic bag on it's merry way in the winter wind. Dean turned the radio off and glared at his baby brother. It was unlike Sam to snap at him, and when he did, it meant business. Sam opened his door and sat, turning the radio back on. Some slow rock song came on, one Dean never heard before. Sam turned it up and eyed Dean.
"Is there something you are trying to tell me here?" Dean crossed his arms. A moment passed, then he turned the music down, just low enough to where he could barely hear the lyrics. Sam rolled his eyes, but did not press the matter.
"Sam, I think we need to talk." The older man gripped the steering wheel, the sound of creaking leather emanating throughout the Impala. Sam turned to his brother, indifference on his young face.
"Things have been so complicated between us since dad died, and I think that here, now is the best time for us to get this out in the open." He let go of the wheel, and let his hands rest on his thighs. Looking out into the graveyard, chills ran down Dean's spine. Ever since he was kid, cemeteries spooked the hell out of him. Even though he had to go and salt and burn bodies in them on occasion, he did not like it. He knew the souls were gone, (usually walking the earth looking for them) and all that was left were bones, yet that was enough to give him the creeps.
"I am sorry, but we have had plenty of opportunities to talk about this, and I am tired of it." Sam huffed and threw his door open. The midday air blew into the car ruffling Sam's hair around his face. He grunted, swiping at the inconvenience now in his way. Dean cracked a small smile, but immediately wiped it off when Sam glared back at him. He slammed the door shut, rattling the window violently. Dean was no longer in the mood for this.
'What the fuck is your problem?" Slamming his own door, he stepped out and set down hard on the trunk. Sam had his back to his brother. He was more hurt than upset. He hated all this arguing they did, and it was giving him an ulcer.
"You, that's what my problem is. I just..." He trailed off. He fiddled with something, but Dean's view of it was blocked.
"You know what I realized after we helped Father Gregory? After my faith was tested?" He did not turn around, but his hands dropped to his sides. In his right hand was Dean's automatic. Jesus Christ. The kid's Swiss Cheese had slid off it's Ritz. It was cocked, and Sammy's finger was dangerously close to the trigger.
"I realized that I was just kidding myself, that there are no miracles, no angels. Only devils and daemons. And I'm one of them."
Dean slid from the trunk, not sure how to approach his suicidal brother. Sam had talked about dying for so long now, it was like a second skin. Yet for him to actually consider doing it, right in front of his older brother, that was unthinkable.
"Sam, please, you're not making any sense here." He suddenly wished he had a video camera, for this was not the Sam he knew. Sam turned toward him, the gun still hanging loose at his side. His eyes were closed, and tears were slipping past them. Dean wanted to hit his brother, but at the same tine wanted to hold him. He was torn, watching the only thing he had left, the only thing he had any sort of control over, begin to slip from his fingers.
"Really? Really Dean, because I think I'm making perfect sense." He lifted his arm, it was visibly shaking, and pointed the gun at his head. Dean tried to move forward, but his feet were cemented to the ground. His heart fell to his stomach, and his lungs failed to take in air. He was nauseous, and his face took on a pallor appearance.
"Sammy, I beg of you, you don't have to..." Dean's words were barely a whisper. Sam opened his eyes, utter defiance in them. He pressed the gun tighter to his temple, and Dean wanted to scream.
"What, what about dad? What would he think?" Dean tried to pull Sam back, tried to throw him some sort of lifeline, anything to get him to come off the edge he was precariously perched on. Sam lowered the gun only an inch, making Dean's heart beat faster.
"Dad? You realize that I just lied to my own father?" He chuckled, then swung his empty hand toward the grave site he had just left.
"I told him that you were the only one to give God the old heave ho. Guess what Dean old boy? Your little Sammy has told the great man in the sky to shove it, to take his glorious tidings and go fuck himself." Returning the gun back to his temples, he closed his eyes once again. Dean fell against the car unable to believe the words that were seeping from his baby brother's mouth. The blasphemy. It was so unlike him, that Dean was tempted to open the trunk and grab for his shotgun, when Sam said something that hit him harder than anything he had said prior.
"Dad wanted you to kill me, that was your job. The daemon wants me for whatever reason, and I'll be damned if he is going to defile me for his own sick pleasures." He now stared fast at Dean, the gun slipping from his head. Dean prayed he was rethinking this, hoped it would be over.
"I know you'd never do it yourself, you told me so when I had been possessed. You said you'd rather die than do it. I understand your need to hold my life in your hands, but Dean..." The gun was back at his head, and now his grip was strong, his face placid. Dean felt that if he didn't do something right now, he would lose Sammy forever.
"You no longer have a hold on me, you can't control me or my actions anymore. I am so sorry Deany." A single tear slipped down Sam's cheek, and before Dean could react, before his feet could move, the shot resounded through the cemetery. Dean screamed, and rushed to his brother's side, the spell broken.
He scooped Sam's limp body into his arms and cradled him like a baby. He sobbed loudly, not caring if anyone could hear him. The only thing that mattered was his baby brother. Blood flowed from the fresh wound marring the snow at Dean's knees. It turned it a light maroon, and made his stomach lurch. He screamed his brother's name, then saw the gun laying at his side. He eyed it, then before he realized what he had done, the gun was at his own head.
"I am the one's who's sorry Sammy. I love you." Then closing his eyes tight, he pulled the trigger.
"You, that's what my problem is. I just..." Sam trailed off. He fiddled with something, but Dean's view of it was blocked. "You know what I realized after we helped Father Gregory? After my faith was tested?" He did not turn around, but his hands dropped to his sides. In his right hand was Dean's automatic.
Dean shook his head, not knowing what the hell was going on. Sam was standing in front of him, alive and kicking. Dean breathed hard, and surveyed the situation. He knew what was coming next, bracing himself.
"I realized that I was just kidding myself, that there are no miracles, no angels. Only devils and daemons. And I'm one of them."
Dean ignored what his brother had said, and before this could end in blood shed, he rushed at his brother. Sam's eyes went wide, the gun falling from his hand. It hit the snow without a noise. Dean landed hard on his brother, knocking the wind out of him. Sam struggled to sit up, but Dean held him there.
"You are not, tonight or ever, going to leave me. If I have to tie you to the hood of the car like a flying lady hood ornament, then so be it." Dean panted like a dog, holding his brother's arms at his side. Sam struggled again, tears of anger falling from his eyes this time.
"Get off of me you bastard, you can't.." Dean finished for him.
"I can't control you anymore, I don't have a hold on you. Yada yada yada. It's all Dr. Phil bullshit. As long as you're my brother everything you do will be controlled by me! Got it?" He sat up, and Sam pushed him back, knocking Dean on his ass. He grabbed for the gun, but Dean was faster. He had it uncocked and shoved into his jacket pocket. Sam got up on his knees.
"Why? Why couldn't you let me do it?" He wiped at his nose, then looked away. Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder, gripping it as hard as Sam would allow.
"First off, that is a stupid question. Second, you need me. Third, if you leave me I will follow right behind your sorry ass. Do you get that? I won't even think twice about putting a bullet in my skull." He let go of his brother and stood. Sam watched him walk back to the Impala and open the trunk. He pulled the mag from the gun and popped all the bullets out on the ground, then the single remaining one from the chamber. Replacing the clip back in the gun, he tossed it in the trunk.
Sam stepped up behind his brother and set a hand on his back. Dean turned and Sam saw a tear threatening to fall.
"I'm sorry Dean, I'm just not strong enough." Dean put a hand in front of his brother's face, stopping him.
"And that's number four. You have to stick around. You are the foundation of this relationship. You keep me sane and out of trouble, most of the time. I know it sounds chicky, but you're my rock kid. If I didn't have you I'd be lost in this world. It's like we're two parts of a whole, yin and yang...okay scaring myself here. You get the point." Dean chuckled lightly, running a hand through his hair. Sam smiled back at him, the first time since before they came on this trip. Dean gripped his brother's shoulder again, then slammed the trunk shut, as if putting an end to the tragedy that had been thankfully avoided, at least this time.