Chapter Nine
Sam could only remember a few times during his childhood where he'd actually stayed awake all night to keep vigil over his brother. As much as they'd been hurt or injured as kids, very few of them had warranted an all-nighter. Sam had pretty much left that to their father, who would sometimes stay up and watch them all night even when they weren't hurt. But all those times, the times when Dean had concussions so severe he had to be woken every few hours, or the times when Sam had to stay awake and wait for Dean's fever to break, or even the times when Sam had to watch Dean to make sure the nightmares stayed at bay, none of those times of keeping vigil were quite like this one. Because Sam wasn't watching for anything particular; he was just afraid to close his eyes.
Sam wasn't even sure how Dean had gotten the gun into his room. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know. Just the thought of Dean having a gun at all was enough to send Sam into a fit. Both because he didn't like the idea of having a loaded gun where his kids could easily find it and because he didn't like the idea of having a loaded gun when there was nothing to shoot at.
Except yourself.
That's what scared Sam the most, he supposed. Sam had guns. He knew his children knew he had guns. And he knew they would never touch them because as much as he was a loving father, he could also be pretty scary when he was angry and he'd made sure that if they ever touched his guns, he would know and he would be angry. The fact that he kept them hidden high enough in the room that not even he could get to them without standing on a chair was a good indicator that his children would never touch them. But the guns Sam kept were for protection. They were so if anything ever did try to hurt them, he'd at least have a weapon to protect his family with.
Sam really wanted to believe that was why Dean had a gun so close and so loaded. He really wanted to believe Dean had it for protection and maybe that was part of the reason why he had it. But Sam couldn't get the image of Dean sitting there, looking so lost and defeated, with the gun pressed against his head. His own fucking gun pressed against his own fucking head. Whether Dean realized he was doing it or not, Sam didn't even care. It was the fact that it was being done at all. It was the fact that whether Dean was aware he had the gun against his head and had intentions of using it or whether he'd really let down his guard so much that he didn't realize a gun was aimed at his head, whether it was either of those didn't matter. The outcome was still the same. The outcome was still Dean pulling the trigger on himself. And Sam wouldn't have it. Never.
There was giving up and then there was giving up. The difference was whether you give up and just sit in sorrow, waiting for death to find you or whether you can't even handle that and you end it yourself. Sam knew he had made a mistake thinking Dean's version of giving up was the former. It just had never crossed his mind that Dean could possibly think about doing such a thing.
They'd talked about it once, when they were teenagers and things had been getting particularly rocky between Sam and John. It must have been two years before Sam left for college, but he could still remember the conversation clearly. It had been after a hunt for a spirit that had been making people kill themselves. They'd exorcised it and moved on. It should have been the end of it, like it normally was with hunts. The beat the son of a bitch causing problems and they move on. But something about this one had bothered both of them. Maybe it had just hit so close to home.
"Makes you wish that every suicide was caused by spiritual possession, huh?" Dean had asked out of the blue while they'd been unpacking their things in their bedroom, glad to be home from the hunt.
Sam had been caught off guard by the question and years later he would think that was the only reason they'd had the conversation at all. Because he could have just answer with a "yeah." But instead, he chose to answer with, "What, you've never thought of it before?"
Dean had thrown a shirt into the hamper before looking at Sam with a strange look on his face. "Thought of what before?" Then a frown crossed his face. An angry frown. "Suicide?"
"Well, yeah," Sam shrugged, unable to keep looking at Dean. He'd been confused as to how he'd gotten them into this conversation.
"No, I can honestly say I haven't," Dean said, voice stony. "Have you?" He'd slipped it in there, trying to be nonchalant but Sam could hear the desperation hiding behind it.
Sam titled his head to the side, "Well-"
"Sam!" Dean cut him off, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. Sam had been surprised at the emotion there, looking over at his brother, who'd turned to face him
"What?" Sam snapped back, defensively. "It's not like I would have done anything."
"You better not," Dean had quietly snuck into Sam's explanation. Sam ignored it for the time being and went on.
"I'm just saying, when things get bad, it's just…it's always there as an option."
They'd stared each other down for a moment, Sam uncomfortable beneath the look Dean was giving him. He thought maybe he'd have to say something else, but Dean took a deep breath to calm himself before saying, "No it's not."
"What?" Sam asked, confused.
"It's not an option for you. It's not ever going to be an option for you."
Sam sighed. "Dean, I didn't say that I was ever going to do it. I'm not suicidal."
"You better not be," Dean muttered.
Sam rolled his eyes and huffed, going back to unpacking. "Forget I said anything," he grumbled, annoyed with his brother for not understanding what he was saying. He wasn't going to kill himself, he wouldn't be stupid enough to do that. All he was saying was that if things got bad, suicide was an option. Not one that he would personally take, but sometimes people did take it. God, weren't they talking about possessions? How did this get to be about him?
Dean's quiet voice broke his reverie. "Sammy, if things ever get that bad, you come to me."
Sam looked up. Dean had finished unpacking and was standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, watching Sam with a skeptical frown on his face. Sam was ready to blow him off again, to just tell Dean that he was overreacting and misunderstanding and being a stupid protective older brother again, but the look on Dean's face, the emotion in his eye, made Sam hold back all those explanations, hold back all the teasing, all the complaining. Dean's worry was genuine. Sam hated that it was directed at him.
"Dean, I would never do something like that, man," Sam answered truthfully.
"I know," Dean answered and Sam frowned. If he knew, why the hell was he making such a big deal out of it? "Because I'd never let you." And then he'd left, leaving Sam standing still in the middle of the room, slightly surprised, but mostly feeling a rush of affection towards his brother. But he'd never tell Dean that.
When he'd gone down to dinner five minutes later, Dean was back to teasing him and tormenting him in the way older brothers do. And it was like they'd never had the conversation, but both brothers were well aware that they had.
The door to Dean's bedroom opening broke him from the memory. He turned to see Sarah standing there with the phone in her hand. Sam frowned and looked at the clock, realizing it was already eight in the morning. He'd sat up with Dean all night. Standing up, stretching his aching legs, he walked to the door and took the phone from Sarah, giving her a smile, remembering their small spat the night before. She smiled back, genuinely, which made Sam feel better.
"It's Kirby," she whispered as Sam put the phone to his ear. He nodded. Kirby was a co-worker at the law firm where he worked. Sam wondered what he wanted. He'd taken a week off of work, telling them he may need more. They seemed to understand when he explained about his brother.
"Hey Kirby," Sam said into the phone, closing Dean's door so they wouldn't wake up.
"Sam, man, sorry to call so early on your day off," Kirby said.
"It's not a problem, I was up anyway," Sam answered, watching as Sarah went back into the kitchen. Sam smelled bacon and eggs. "What do you need?"
Kirby sighed and Sam could already guess the answer. "The partners are really laying into the McAffery case. We need to finalize some details and no one knows this case better than you. I'm sorry, I know you got a lot going on but-"
"Kirby, I don't think I'm going to be able to come in-"
"Sam, the defense just hired some big hotshot attorney from Jersey. We really need you."
Sam sighed. "I'll see what I can do, Kirby, but I can't make any promises."
"That's all I'm asking for," Kirby answered. "I hope to see you in here, man."
"I'll try," Sam said. "Good luck."
When he hung up the phone, Sarah was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She took the phone from him and hung it up while Sam ran his hands through his hair, thinking about what he should do. They really needed this case to be as solid as possible. It was going to be a difficult one. And Sam really did know a lot about it, he'd been working on it for months. "You going in?" Sarah asked.
"I don't know," he shook his head. "I don't want to leave Dean alone."
Sarah reached out and straightened his shirt, more a nervous habit than anything. "Because you're afraid for him?" she paused. "Or because you're afraid for us?"
Sam frowned. "What?"
"He had a gun, Sam," she said in a low voice.
Sam guffawed and looked straight into her face. He couldn't really believe what he was hearing. Or maybe he didn't want to believe. He needed Sarah to be behind him on this, he needed her support. He couldn't do this if she wasn't helping him along. "Yeah, he had a gun, but he would never hurt you or the kids," Sam stammered. "He had it pointed at himself when I went in there, he was just confused last night." Sarah smiled, but Sam didn't seem to register it, nor the look in her eyes. "It's one thing for Dean to want to kill himself, and trust me I'm going to talk to him about that, but he would never hurt anyone else. I think that was his whole reason for doing all this and that's exactly what he wants to avoid and-"
"Sam," Sarah said and Sam stopped, noticing her smile for the first time. He frowned and tilted his head to the side. "I was just making sure."
Sam nodded, understanding dawning on him. She was testing him. Sly, Sarah. "You were just making sure," Sam repeated.
Sarah laughed and stood on her toes to kiss him. With their faces close together, she said, "This is never going to work if you can't trust him to be with us."
"The only person I can't trust him with is himself," Sam whispered back to her.
"He's not going to be by himself," she assured him. "I'll make sure he's still here when you get back."
Sam smiled and kissed her again. "Have I told you how awesome you are lately?"
She laughed and pushed away from him, turning him towards their room so he could change clothes. "Get to work," she said and then discreetly smacked his ass.
Sam jumped a little and turned to grin at her. "Oh, kinky," he said and she laughed. He turned back to the stairs and headed up to get changed. His smile faded as he got to the top of the stairs, his thoughts drifting back to his brother and all the things that were going wrong.
Dean, you better be here when I get back.
