Title: Adam's Song
Characters: Sam
Word Count: 606
Rating: R (M)
Warnings/Spoilers: Suicide. Teenager Angst. Language.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the universe they live in.
Summary: Sam has a plan to kill himself.
Sam's been planning this for a couple weeks. He gives himself time because he wants to make sure he actually wants this. He doesn't want to be seconds away and having second thoughts. And he doesn't want any mistakes. He's not a girl.
More men die from suicide than woman, even though more woman actually attempt suicide. This is because women tend to choose less lethal modes while men, well, they like a big bang.
Sam decided to do it when his dad and older brother go out on weekend hunting trip that Sam has managed to get out of. Sam's waited for this weekend. There will be no interruptions. He doesn't want his dead body gathering bugs, so he'll do it Saturday night. His dad and brother will find him when they come home Sunday.
It takes him a while to come up with a murder weapon. Yes, murder weapon. After all, what is suicide if not the murder of self?
He could gone with a gunshot to the head, slit wrists in the bath tub, a syringe of air injected into his blood stream, a bottle of sleeping pills chased down by a wide assortment of his father's alcohol. There's Dean's car in the garage. It isn't road worthy yet but Sam could just turn it on and let the exhaust do its work. Or he could light the whole fuckin' place up with gasoline and wouldn't that be a kick in the face to Dad and Dean. Finally, he decides on rope. His dad taught him how to make a noose. He knows how to do it properly so that his neck is instantly broken. None of that slow strangulation.
The last part of the plan is the suicide note.
He scribbles, I'm sorry
Sam's not feeling particularly sorry at this moment but it seems like something you should put in a suicide note. He doesn't address or sign it. It'll be pretty obvious who it is to and from. He sticks it on the fridge with a magnet, as if he was letting his family know he was going down to the corner store or out to the movies with friends.
That's where Dean stops reading. Actually, that's where Sam stopped writing. If Sam was here, Dean would slap him upside the head for writing this shit.
Dean looks around his brother's room, the room that had been his brothers, anyways. Dad was still to mad at his youngest son and had ordered Dean to clean out the mess. Dean hadn't exactly appreciated the order; he would have done it anyway but Dean didn't want to start an argument. There had been too many fights lately.
Besides, Dean couldn't have Dad finding things like this lying around.
The paper looked like it had started out as an assignment for Mr. Milan's grade 8 English class. Obviously Sam had been smart enough to realize this was a guaranteed trip to the counselor's office and decided to hand something else in. Or else, they moved before it was due.
Dean had found the assignment in a pile of Sam's junk that his little brother had spent nearly two years collecting. That's what happened if you stayed in one place too long. You started collecting junk. And then you left and someone else had to clean up that junk.
Dean debated which box to toss this paper. He wanted to junk it. It was a stupid piece of teenage angst. Still, it had to mean something, or else Sam wouldn't have kept it for four years.
Dean tossed the paper into the box marked Stanford.
End