A/N: Hi! So, I wrote this fic for Falchion (now Leandra Falconwing) my 100th reviewer on my story Batman. Prompt: clinically depressed Sam. I hope you guys like! And yes, the title is taken from the Next to Normal song. Unoriginal, but hey...it fits. Enjoy!
-Jaq
Trigger warnings: depression, attempted suicide/suicidal thoughts. Please take these with a grain of salt- if this has the opportunity to trigger you then please don't read! Thanks.
It started small.
At first, Sam didn't even notice it, really. Sure, he didn't sleep well- but he was a light sleeper anyways (his father had drilled that into him. Better to be restless at night than unawake and unprepared when the monsters come.), and the added insomnia and early waking didn't really mean anything. And okay, maybe he had more trouble concentrating, but he was at Stanford. Not exactly the easiesr school, and Sam was taking some pretty advanced classes, even for him. Loss of concentration and a less acute memory just...happened sometimes.
Then he began to lose interest in things. Yeah, he still went to the frat party on Friay, but it didn't hold as much enjoyment. He still laughed and joked with Brady and Josh and the rest of his friends, but his heart wasn't in it.
Jessica noticed it first. She had just begun living with Sam, and when he came home one night looking like his cat had just died, she spoke up.
"Sam, are you okay?" she asked, watching worriedly as Sam sat down on a chair with a sigh.
He looked up and managed a smile. "Yeah, Jess. I'm fine."
"You don't look fine, Sam. Please tell me what it is- I can help," she insisted.
Sam shook his head. "It's nothing. I'm doing fine in my classes, my brother texted me yesterday, and it's almost Brady's birthday. I'm happy. I just don't feel well, that's all."
"Do you want some Tylenol? Crap, you don't think you have the flu, do you? I heard it was going around. I'm pretty sure Melissa has it, and we shared an Icee the other day, I could have transmitted it to you..."
Sam smiled, genuinely, at his girlfriend. "No, Jess. It's probably just a bug or something. I'll take the Tylenol and be fine tomorrow."
She gave him an are-you-sure look before shrugging and turning back to where she was in the process of stirring microwave man n cheese.
Sam bit his lip. Why hadn't he told Jessica? She was his girlfriend. They shared everything- well, almost everything. Sam excluded the hunting thing- with each other. When Jess' grandma had died the previous April, Sam had been there to help her through her grief. Whenever Sam got too stressed out over school, he knew he could count on Jess to vent to.
So why was he having trouble talking now? "I think I'm going to go to bed," he said to Jess' back.
She turned, looking surprised. "It's 7:30, Sam. Either you do have the flu or something is majorly up."
"Nah, just tired. I stayed up late finishing my paper for Economics, remember?"
Jessica gave a half-shrug but didn't question as Sam went to the bedroom.
Inside, Sam closed the door and sat on the bed, holding his head in his hands. He'd stayed up more than late, he'd stayed up until four, but he had just been so distracted and unfocused, and he'd been worried about the paper, and he just really hadn't had the energy.
Sam sagged. What was wrong with him? He didn't seem to want to eat as much, he didn't have any energy, and he just felt downright bad all the time.
Not to mention the guilt that had recently begun to plague him. Who was he to leave Dean out there, hunting with their dad? Dean was strong, yeah- in fact, Dean was the strongest person Sam knew- but it had been hard on his brother to watch Sam go.
Sam remembered that awful last fight. Nearly in tears, he had thrown the acceptance letter in John's face, and then stormed out of the house. Dean had stood off to the side the entire time, disappearing into the bedroom of their newest motel. After Sam left the house in a rage, carrying all he owned, Dean had run out after him.
"Sammy! Sammy, wait up," Dean had said gruffly. Dean had been trying not to cry, Sam knew, and that was horrible. Dean never cried, not even when he broke both of his wrists landing badly after a fall.
Sam had stopped and turned around. "You come out to yell at me too?" he spat, blinking furiously.
"No- no way, man, I'm happy for you. Always knew that giant brain of yours would get you out of this life like you wanted. I just wanted to give you something." He paused, looking awkward. "It's stupid, really, I just- here." He dug out a cassette tape from his pocket. "I know you hate Dad and my music, so I made a tape so you could listen to it in the Imapala. Which you won't have to do anymore, but...I don't know. Happy college, Sam. It was gonna be for your birthday, but I figure now's as good a time as any."
Sam had taken the cassette, his jaw clenching as he nodded silently. This time, a tear did fall.
"Hey, hey," Dean had said gently, reminding Sam of when they were younger. "Don't be like that. College'll be fun. You know, wild frat parties, sorority chicks," he said raising an eyebrow and nodding at that last one. "But seriously. I'm happy for you, man. Getting away from this life? From Dad? That takes some major courage, dude. Go have fun. If I'm dying, I'll call you," he joked, but Sam didn't think it was funny. He nodded some more and sniffed, clutching the mix tape tightly.
"Come here, you big baby," said, holding his arms out. "What, not gonna give big bro a hug?"
After the hug, Sam had turned and continued walking to the bus stop. He was pretty sure Dean didn't think he heard, but he did.
"I'll miss you, Sammy."
Yeah, a lot of guilt. A lot. Leaving Dean, leaving Dad, disappointing them both, having to lie about his past to his friends...it was a lot.
Sometimes, Sam just wanted it all to be over, to blot out everything he'd ever done. It was hard.
That night was spent nearly sleepless, like the many before it. And the many after it. While Sam continued to feel worse, he never let it show.
One night a couple months later, he'd had enough. Sam didn't know what tipped it, but the bucket of rocks hanging above his head just collapsed, and all of a sudden he couldn't deal anymore.
He only saw one option, really. He was a wreck- hopeless, guilty, helpless...just worthless, over all. Completely and utterly worthless.
Jess was out with some of her friends to celebrate a birthday, and she wouldn't be home for hours. The apartment was empty.
Sam took a deep breath and pulled out several pages of printer paper. He really only had two notes to write- one for Jess and one for Dean. The two people that would miss him. Well, that was okay. Jess had lots of friends, she could find another boyfriend in time. Sam was a crappy boyfriend anyway. Being asexual, he'd never slept with her, and whioe he knew she was okay with that, sometimes he thought maybe he should. Just to be normal, to be a good boyfriend. He swallowed hard. Too late now.
Dean...well, Dean had gotten along fine for three years without Sam, so he was in practice. It wouldn't be much of a difference for him.
He pulled out a pen.
Jess-
Hi. It's Sam. This is goodbye. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry. I know that I'm a selfish bastard for doing this, and I'm sorry. I love you so much, Jess. You're pretty much the only reason I've hung on this long, and I love you for it.
Don't be too sad, okay? Hang out with your friends, get a new boyfriend who isn't depressed and you can love better. There's so much that I want to say, but I don't know how. Last month, it was me that misplaced your razor. I'm sorry, again. Goodbye, Jess. I love you.
Sam
He sighed and pulled out the next sheet. This one would be harder.
Dean-
I'm sorry I couldn't hang on for you. You were the best big brother I could ever dream of having, and more like a dad than Dad ever was. I'm really sorry. You might miss me, but promise you won't do anything stupid. You know what I mean.
You always hated talking about feelings and all that, but I gotta say it. I love you, Dean. You're pretty much the only family I've ever had aside from Dad, so thanks for being a great big brother. I love you. Goodbye, Dean.
Sam
Sam picked up the papers, walking over to the kitchen slash dining room. He placed them on the counter where anyone who entered the house would see them immideately, and went back into the bedroom, locking the door.
Pills. They were easy, and less messy, and frankly Sam just wants the easiest and least painful way possible. He searches through the medicine cabinet and returns with a bottle of sleeping tablets- the ones perscribed for him a month ago when Jess finally convinced him to get something to help with the insomnia.
He fills a glass of water to the brim and slowly walks back to the bed. Suddenly, a thought struck his head. He dug out the Walkman he still had and put in Dean's mix tape. As always, it started with a recording.
Hiya Sammy, it's Dean. Guess what? I can record myself and put it on a tape. Dude, I am so cool! Anyway, happy birthday. I'm making this in...damn, July. Yeah, I'm pretty excited. It's a bunch of those weird pop songs you get such a kick out of. Maybe one day if I go deaf or something you can play this in the Impala. Hope you enjoy. Oh, and the last song's Stairway to Heaven, which I know is breaking the alternative and pop pattern, but hey. Zeppelin rules, man, what can I say?
The first song began, and Sam relaxed. He was almost calm as he started to unscrew the pill bottle.
Suddenly, he heard a scream come from outside the bedroom door. He set the bottle to the side and unlocked the door.
Jess ran up to him and hugged him, fiercer than Sam can ever remember. Tears are pouring down her face, smearing her mascara and eyeliner.
"Sam," she sobs, burying her face into his chest. Sam pats her back, detatched.
"Sam. Please, Sam, talk to me. Sam, you can't- you can't kill yourself, okay? You're the best boyfriend I've ever had, and you're amazing, and I love you, okay?"
Sam nods. Her words don't make him feel any better, though.
"Lauren got sick, so we all left," Jess explained. "If I'd been five minutes later..." she shudders, a new wave of tears running down her face. "Sam, let's go to the car. Please, okay?"
Sam nodded numbly as Jess lead him to her little blue Coupe.
He sat in the passenger seat and didn't say a word as they drove. After about fifteen minutes, they arrived at a small building. Jess ushered Sam inside.
"Hi," she told the receptionist, "I'm Jessica Moore. I mnow we don't have an appointment or anything, but my boyfriend just tried to-" Jess swallowed, "-kill himself. We really need to see a doctor."
The receptionist looked up. "We don't have any open slots, I'm sorry..."
An older man that had been sitting nearby stood up. "I've got an appointment with Doctor Clarke in five minutes, at seven o'clock. I can reschedule that, let the girl and her boy see the shrink instead," he said in a gravelly voice.
Jess looked at him, relief writ all over her face. "Thank you so much, sir," she implored.
"It's okay." The man turned to Sam, who was standing slightly behind Jessica and staring at the ground. "Hey. It may seem like there's nothing to live for, son, but trust me. It'll turn out alright."
Sam listed his head in a barely imperceptible nod. He desperately wished he wasn't so damn tall, so conspicuous.
Five minutes later, Jess and Sam were ushered into a room with a kind-looking man who wore glasses.
"Hello, I'm Doctor Clarke," he introduced himself. Jessica and Sam both shook his hand.
"So, Sam," the doctor asked, "can you tell me about yourself?"
An hour later, the shrink perscribed medication for Sam. He diagnosed the young man with clinical depression, and told him that if he stuck to the meds he should be just fine.
Sam and Jess thanked him and drove back to the apartment.
"Let's burn these," Jess said suddenly, looking at the notes on the counter.
Sam agreed, and soon they had the gas fireplace burning. The paper burnt up, and it felt like an anvil was lifted off of Sam's shoulders.
"I'm going to call my brother," Sam said. The doctor had given him some medicine, and he was acting almost drunk. But he was doing okay.
"Sure. I'll just...I'll stand over here, alright?"
Sam nodded and hit the speed dial. Not really knowing what to say, he mumbled something about Dean being the best big brother in the world to the voicemail.
For the first time in a long time, there was hope. Sam had meds, and Jess would help him through it. Slowly, he would get better.
And he did. With use of the medication every day, Sam grew to be his old self again.
And then the worst happened. After Dean persuaded him to go along and try to find Dad, Sam returned home to find Jess burning on the celing.
Just like that, life became hell again.
He went along with Dean, forcing himself to push his feelings to the side and just focus on getting the job done.
One night at a motel room, his careful façade fell apart.
Sam was resting while Dean took a shower when he heard cursing coming from the tin-can bathroom.
"Hey, Sam- I grabbed the wrong stuff, can you grab mine...hey, what on earth...Sammy?" The water stopped, and a minute later Dean exited the bathroom clad in a towel and carrying Sam's bag of shampoo, conditioner, toothbrush, toothpaste, and razor. And medication.
"Sammy, what is this?" Dean asked, sitting on the nearest bed and pulling out the orange bottle. A hint of worry tinged his voice, which was soft.
"That's...Dean, does it matter?" Sam asked desperately, sitting up.
"Yeah, it matters. You take..." he squinted at the label, "anti-depressants and never told me? Sam, this is a big deal."
"Look, I'm fine as long as I take the meds. I swear."
"Swear all you want, I want to know why you didn't tell me. What if you forget? I'll help you remember, come up with fake ID's so you can get more when you need it..."
Sam looked down. "I'm sorry, Dean, I am. I just...I don't know. I really don't want Dad to know, okay?" he asked softly.
"I...sure, I won't tell him," Dean responded easily. "Why not?"
Tears were brimming in Sam's eyes. "Please, he'll- he'll think I'm weak, just one more problem with his screwed-up son, just one more issue that could screw up his precious neverending hunt!"
Dean sat, stunned. "Sammy," he began gently, but Sam cut him off.
"And I am weak, Dean, I am! I'm a liability! At Stanford, you know what happened one night? Remember that voicemail?"
Dean remembered, vaguely. The quality had been really bad, but he remembered Sam saying-slurring, really- that Dean was the best big brother in the world.
"I tried to kill myself earlier that night, Dean!" Sam shouted, tears finally breaking loose.
"Sammy, crap, Sammy...Sam, you are not weak, you hear me? Do you know how strong it is to even get help? To act like nothing's wrong? Sam, you're the strongest person I know, including Dad. Who gives a crap if he thinks you're a- a liability or whatever? He's damn wrong, and I swear I won't let him treat you like that. No matter what, I'll be here, okay?"
Sam just nodded, tears streaming down his face.
"Cheer up, Sammy. It's gonna be okay, you understand? I'll always have your back. No matter what."
A/N 2: Well, what did you think? Please leave a review with your thoughts- constructive criticism is welcome. A note on asexual Sam- I know it isn't canon. I know. But I still love it, okay? There really aren't enough ace headcanons, and I hold this one bear and dear to me. So, yeah. Thanks so much for reading and have a great day! In addition, if you want to see a oneshot happen, just leave a review or PM me with the details and I'll see what I can do. Thanks!
-Jaq