Disclaimer: If I had a genie believe me owning Supernatural and the Winchesters would be one of my wishes, but unfortunately I do not have a genie, so sucks to be me.
Warnings: Language, um... attempted suicide and mention of suicide, hurt and limp Sam. Oh, and no beta.
Notes: This is for DreamHorizon at SFTCOL(AR)S for the second round of the Summerfic exchange. Hope you like Dream.
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Sam crept silently along the roof. He picked up the sound of soft sniffling and stalked closer. He saw a girl, wavy blonde hair being tossed in the wind. He approached from the side, deceptively far. Tense as he was, knowing what she would do, he could make it before she could step off.
"Hey, ma'am?"
She whirled quickly to the sound of the voice, a slim hand running along her tear reddened eyes.
Sam smiled gently at her. "Jessica right? You're in my poli sci class?"
The girl nodded, taking half a step back.
Sam stayed where he was, shifting lightly from foot to foot. "I'm Sam. You look cold, why don't you come down and I'll walk you to your room."
Jessica shook her head, taking another step back. Sam moved slowly, so slowly, almost imperceptibly closer.
"No, I-I'm tired of this. The pressure from my family, from this school, from life. I just want it all to end."
"No you don't," Sam said, tilting his head. "You give your feelings a night's sleep, and you'll wake up with entirely different thoughts on your situation." By morning, she would only remember this night as a fuzzy memory. Every six months, a young, pretty freshmen, smart, popular, well loved, jumped from this roof. It spanned back three years, when another freshmen, a girl who wasn't pretty and popular and loved, jumped when her scholarship at the school had been revoked. Instead of moving on, she sought out and destroyed the minds of the girls she'd envied in life, driving them to suicide.
"NO!" Jessica shouted, clenching her fists to her sides, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes. "Don't tell me how I feel, you don't know me."
"No, I don't. But I know how your family will feel if you die. I know what it could do to them." Sam swallowed past a lump in his throat, he could tell her, opening up may distract her. Sam caught the slow rise of her foot, toward the edge of the roof.
Sam dashed forward, tackling Jessica to the side, twisting in the air so she landed more on him than on the rocky roof top. He sat up holding the shaking, sobbing girl.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I d-don't-"
Sam held her, running his hand up and down her back. "Let's get you inside okay?" He helped her up, taking off his own jacket and putting it around her shoulders. Before they could take a step away from the edge, a pale and gruesome figure, her neck twisted at an odd angle, bone splinters poking out of one arm, her foot twisted almost completely behind her, and her brown hair matted and clinging to her forehead by dried blood from deep cuts and scrapes all across it.
Sam heard Jessica's gasp before the ghost blinked out. He hardly thought about it, pushed Jessica to the ground as he felt two hands pushing against his chest and flinging him back. He didn't touch the gravely dusty roof. He felt the backs of his legs hit the raised edge of the roof, flipping, falling through air. He blindly flung an arm out, grabbing for anything. His hand scraped out against brick, finding nothing.
Windows fell away, eight stories, he was going to die. Hot pain sliced his side, tearing through him like a dull knife. His panic and pain ended with oblivion
"A black preacher haunting the KKK, is that ironic or just morbidly funny?" Dean asked, walking alongside John to the Impala.
"Considering he was haunting them because one of their members shot him, I'd say neither. Racist sonsabitches kind of deserve it really. I wouldn't have even bothered if Jim hadn't asked."
"Why'd he send us anyway. The guy wasn't really hurting anyone, just scaring the crap out of 'em. Even he'd have to agree the guy was in the right."
"Preacher was a friend of his, he wanted him to rest in peace, not haunting his killers. Would you want my disembodied spirit floating around haunting people for an unknown eternity, even if I wasn't and never would hurt anyone?"
Dean grimaced. "Hell no, you'd probably haunt me. I love you old man, but I don't need you bugging me for the rest of my life. 'Dean, you're holding that shotgun wrong, the kickback's gonna knock your teeth out; Dean don't forget to salt that crack in the wall, Dean that's not the right pronunciation for that exorcism.' Probably kill myself to end my suffering."
John snorted, giving his son a half grin. "I would haunt you, follow you everywhere like some kind of back life driver."
"What about the bathroom?" Dean teased.
John shrugged. "Nothing I haven't seen before. Changed your diaper and gave you baths, not to mention those terrible twos where you waged war against your clothes and walked around nude. Couldn't keep a damn thing on you beside your blanket, got some great pictures though, your grandparents thought they were the most adorable things ever. Probably still floating around somewhere."
"Good lord take me now," Dean muttered, face as red as a tomato, hands covering his face.
Before John could tease him more, the ringing of John's cell phone interrupted them.
Dean sighed in relief. "Saved by the ring tone," he muttered.
"Hello?" John asked, still grinning. "Yes this is him." A lengthy pause as whoever was on the other end talked, the grin slowly fell as he listened. "ICU? He's going to live right?" John looked like someone had punched him in the gut. "Yes, I can be there in a couple days. You'll tell me more when I arrive? Yes, thank you Doctor... Abram, right? Take care of him." John closed his phone, marching quickly to the Impala.
"Dad? Whose hurt? Caleb? Pastor Jim?"
"Sam," John said quietly, sliding into the driver's seat.
Dean nearly dashed to the passenger seat, plopping in and staring at his father. "What's wrong with Sam? How'd he get hurt? Fucking hell, we never should've let him leave, he was safer with us," Dean growled.
"He's in critical condition, doctor didn't say much."
"And you didn't think to ask?"
"He said he'd tell us more when we got there."
"What, you're so angry at him you can't even stand to hear about your own son? Damn it, Sam could be dying, we could get there in time to choose cremation or burial."
"We'll get there." John snapped. "Sam's not going to die, not in a hospital in critical, he wouldn't go down that easy."
"Why, because he's your son and we don't succumb to mortal wounds?" Dean asked in sarcasm.
John didn't comment, just clenched his jaw, and sped down the driveway. Hopefully they wouldn't be pulled over for breaking half the state's driving laws..
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Sorry if it's a little short, I'll try to make the next chapter longer. Reviews are greatly appreciated. And any constructive suggestions to my writing make me happy.