Worth Living For

by Swanseajill

Part Thirteen

Dean was still asleep and Sam still sat stiffly in the chair beside him when their father returned almost four hours later. When he heard the door lock click and his father walked into the room, Sam got to his feet.

"Dad! Where have you been?"

He had started to worry after the first couple of hours and tried Dad's cell, but it had been switched off, as usual. He had been convinced that something had gone wrong.

John closed the door quietly behind him and walked across the room, coming to stand beside Sam. "How's your brother?"

Sam glanced down at Dean, who had been sleeping soundly for the past couple of hours. "He woke up awhile ago. He was pretty out of it, said his head was hurting. He remembered what… he tried to do. He was upset, but I don't think he'll try to hurt himself again."

John stood and looked down at his eldest son for a long moment. Then he turned away and sank down onto Sam's bed, rubbing his hands over his eyes."

"Dad? What took you so long?"

"When I drove past the cottage, the sheriff's car was parked outside. I heard him talking to a neighbor – turns out she heard noises from the cottage earlier, asked him to come and look around. I got the feeling he didn't believe her, but he went through the motions. After he left I waited for a couple of hours, until the neighbor went to bed and I was sure he wasn't coming back."

"But you got the job done?" Sam asked anxiously.

"Yeah, son. Jamie won't be hurting anyone else."

Sam sighed in relief.

John glanced across at Dean again, then turned to Sam. "I should get moving."

Sam looked at him in utter disbelief. "You're taking off again? Now? You're leaving before Dean even wakes up?"

Dad's voice took on a familiar note of impatience. "I told you it isn't safe for us to be together with Manson out there. I need to find him."

"Yeah, that'd be right. Because nothing's more important than the hunt, right?" Sam couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Dad's face darkened. "I'm doing this to protect you and Dean. You got a problem with that?"

"A problem?" Sam laughed. "Dad, I wouldn't know where to begin."

Dad's eyes narrowed and Sam could see the familiar anger mounting. "Sam, if you have something to say to me, why don't you just come out and say it?"

"You sure?" Sam spat, voice rising as he continued. "Because you might not like what I have to say!" His eyes flicked to Dean as he saw his brother stir.

"Keep it down!" Dad snapped.

Sam glared at his father, but moved away from bed, gesturing for Dad to follow. Then he went on in a lower voice, "I know I deserve my fair share of the blame for what happened to Dean, but I'm not the only one at fault here. Why do you think Dean was fair game for the ghost?"

He watched his father closely, but Dad's face was expressionless. "Back in that warehouse, you told him you were going to sacrifice him to save me. You showed him he wasn't important. Then you just left without any explanation, nothing. How did you expect him to deal with that?"

His father looked at him strangely. "Dean knows why I made that choice."

"It doesn't matter what your reasons were. You still chose me. No wonder he thinks you love me more than him."

"What?" Dad was visibly startled. "Why would he think that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Sam said, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Maybe because you walked out on him two years ago with no explanation. Maybe because you didn't even bother to call when I told you he was dying."

"That's not fair!" John snapped. "I wanted to come... it wasn't safe--"

"You could have called! At the very least, you could have sent a text!" Sam's voice was rising again, and with a quick glance towards the bed, he brought the volume down with an effort. "Then, in the cabin, he heard your voice telling him he isn't needed, that I'm the favored one--"

"That was The Demon talking."

"And all demons lie, right?" Sam knew where his father was headed. "But how could Dean be sure it wasn't picking up some of that stuff from your mind? And then you choose to sacrifice his life for mine. He's followed you blindly for years, never questioning, always obeying your orders, but he isn't stupid, Dad. He's finally done the math, and it doesn't add up!"

He was faced off with his father now, the two standing nose to nose, fists clenched. Then, suddenly, Dad seemed to deflate. He sank down onto Sam's bed.

"Is that what you think?" Dad asked, uncharacteristically hesitant. "What you both think? That I don't care? Sam, you and Dean – you're all I have, and I love you both."

Sam felt his own anger abate in the light of his father's uncharacteristic uncertainty. "Don't you see how hard it for us to believe that?" he asked softly. "You never tell us what you're doing, you never explain anything. I know you chose me for 'practical' reasons--"

Dad shook his head. "That's not true. Son, I didn't tell you the truth. You jumped to that conclusion and I let you believe it because it was easier. I chose you because Dean…"

"Because Dean what?"

His father closed his eyes. "Sam, his whole life your brother's looked out for you and protected you. It's part of who he is and I encouraged that, because I knew I wouldn't always be there for you. What do you think it would have done to Dean if I'd chosen you to die?"

That stopped Sam in his tracks. "So," he said quietly, "you think I'd have dealt with Dean's death better than he would with mine?"

"In a way. Sam, you have to understand something. You're the youngest. You'll always be Dean's little brother, and nothing can change that. Don't you see? I love you both, but I knew what Dean would have put himself through if I'd made a different call."

Sam fell silent. He knew his father was right about Dean's love for him. It was what had finally forced Dean to fight against the ghost's control. The stark truth was that Dean didn't value his own life as much as his brother's, and Sam knew that. And so did their father.

Dean never would have forgiven himself or Dad had Sam lost his life in that warehouse.

Sam hated being the youngest, but he couldn't change it, and he couldn't change his brother's fierce protectiveness. He studied Dad's face for a moment. His father seemed genuinely devastated by what he'd said about Dean. Surely Dad had known how Dean had felt? Surely he'd realized?

Dad glanced across at Dean, and a spasm of pain crossed his face. "You're right, Sam. This is my fault. I knew he was hurt, but Dean's strong, he always knows how to cope. I thought he understood."

"You should have talked to him, explained."

"Yeah, I should have. I should have done a lot of things, Sam. I know I've been a lousy father. I've brought you boys up knowing how to protect yourselves, equipped to hunt down evil, but somewhere down the line I forgot how to be a father."

Startled by the admission, Sam flashed back to another conversation in another motel room, when they'd been on the trail of the vampires who'd killed Daniel Elkins. His father, regret etched on his face, had said, "You got to understand something. After your mother passed, all I saw was evil, everywhere. And all I cared about was keeping you boys alive. I wanted you prepared—ready. So, somewhere along the line, I, uh….I stopped being your father. And I—I became your drill sergeant."

The trilling of Dad's cell brought Sam back to the present. Dad flicked it open and glanced at the caller name. "I have to take this." He opened the door, stepped outside and pulled it closed behind him.

Still the secrets, Sam mused.

Dropping back into the chair beside his brother's bed he sighed, thinking that it was getting more and more uncomfortable the longer he sat in it. He put a hand on Dean's forehead; still a little warm, but no worse. He almost jumped out of his skin when a voice said, "Touching the merchandise'll cost, you, dude."

"Dean?"

Dean opened his eyes. "Expecting someone else?"

Dean seemed more alert this time. Far too alert for someone who had just woken up. Sam narrowed his eyes as he observed his brother. "Dean, how long have you been awake?"

Dean held his eyes. "Long enough."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Dean started to push himself upright, then his brow creased and he sank back down onto the pillow with a groan.

"Dean?"

"I'm okay. Just dizzy," Dean murmured.

Sam remembered that he'd been dizzy the night before as well; probably a result of the ghost messing with his head. "Just lie back and take it easy, then," Sam ordered. "Want some water first?"

"Yeah." Dean carefully raised himself up on one arm and took a few sips before sinking down again.

"Apart from the dizziness, how are you feeling?"

Dean groaned. "Like an evil son of a bitch ate me for dinner and shit me out after."

Sam couldn't help but grin at the colorful metaphor, but it stood in stark contrast to the weakness evident in Dean's voice. The grin faded as Sam studied his brother, not bothering to hide his concern. Dean looked pale to the point of grayness, his features etched with exhaustion. Sam had noted how even drinking the glass of water had been an effort. The ghost had really done a number on him. But his eyes no longer held that terrible look of despair and defeat. Now they were just tired and a little sad.

"Why don't you try and get some more sleep?" Sam suggested.

"Tell me about the spirit – about Jamie."

Sam had been waiting for the question. "I'll tell you everything, but it can wait until you've rested up a bit."

"No, it can't. I need to know, Sam." Dean's voice was weak but resolute, and Sam understood his need to know the truth.

Sam sighed. "All right. Well, after I talked to you on the cell, I got in to see Martin Warrington and he told me about his sons. He said that the younger brother, Jamie, fell apart when Brad died. When he killed himself, Warrington read back over his journal. It was all stuff about his life not being worth living and how he just wanted to die and be with Brad." He paused to gauge Dean's reaction. Dean's eyes were closed, but his right hand had tightened into a fist. "Anyway, he told me that Jamie was buried at the cottage, and I worked out that Jamie must be the ghost. He killed himself to be with Brad, but he got stuck in the house instead. I guess he was lonely, looking for people to keep him company."

Dean opened his eyes. "And he wanted people like him, people who thought their lives weren't worth living?"

"Yeah," Sam said carefully. "But, the people he chose, I don't think they were suicidal, Dean. I think they all had things in their lives they were dealing with, so they were emotionally vulnerable. Jamie – the spirit – he needed them to understand him, so somehow he magnified their pain to the point where they felt they had no choice but to take their own lives." Sam swallowed past a sudden knot in his throat. It had been easy before to talk objectively about the victims; it was not so easy now that his brother had become one of them.

Dean said nothing, so Sam continued. "I think that when it first tried to take you in the cottage, it left something – some thoughts – in your mind, and that's why you weren't... yourself yesterday." He paused. "Dean, why did you go back to the cottage?"

Dean frowned. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I felt… I just knew that I had to be there."

He said no more and Sam didn't push. He could guess the thoughts that had been running through Dean's mind. He need only recall the memory of Dean sitting on the bed that morning, knife in hand.

Even before Dean had returned to the cottage, he had been thinking about ending his life.

Dean shifted position and a grimace of pain crossed his face. He grunted at Sam's concerned expression. "Back's still sore, that's all."

Sam let that go and there was silence for a few moments until Dean asked, "Why's Dad here?"

Sam relayed their father's explanation, which brought his thoughts back to the earlier conversation. "So, you heard… everything we said?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Hard not to - you weren't exactly whispering."

Sam wasn't sure what to say. He'd wanted Dean to hear the truth, but directly from their father, not secondhand through an almighty argument

"Don't worry your freaky little head," Dean said, perhaps sensing his mixed feelings. "But you two gotta stop fighting like that every time you meet up. It's getting old, Sam."

Sam was saved from answering when the door opened and their father walked back in, shoving his cell back into the pocket of his jeans. He stopped abruptly when he saw Dean awake.

Seeing his father, Dean made an effort to sit up, and Sam resignedly helped him, plumping up the pillow and easing Dean back against it. He couldn't blame Dean for his reluctance to look weak in front of Dad. Dad had never had much sympathy with weakness or injury, expecting both sons to jump right back up as soon as possible, whether they were fully recovered or not.

Dad hesitated, then walked slowly across the room as Sam stood up, relinquishing his seat. He sat down heavily, leaning forward with elbows on knees, hands loosely linked.

"How are you feeling, son?"

"Better, thanks."

Dad nodded. "Head?"

"Down to a regular headache."

"He's feeling really dizzy," Sam put in, ignoring Dean's frown.

"I guess you're pretty wiped out, too?" Dad asked.

"Yeah."

"You can't tangle with a ghost the way you did without some side effects. They'll pass. You need to get some more rest, son."

He looked down at his clasped hands for a long moment, then seemed to gather himself and looked up at his eldest. "Dean," he began, in the same hesitant tone he'd used earlier. "Son, we need to talk, I need to explain--"

"Dad, it's okay," Dean interrupted. "You don't have to explain anything. I understand."

Dad shook his head. "I'm not sure you do."

"I heard. I heard you and Sam talking," Dean said quietly, eyes fixed on his father's face.

Sam watched Dad's reaction to that as first irritation and then relief crossed his features.

"I meant what I said to Sam, Dean. I know I've made mistakes, but you boys – you mean everything to me. Both of you."

He steadily held Dean's gaze as he spoke, and Dean nodded.

"I get it. There's nothing more needs saying."

"We're okay, then, you and me?" Dad asked.

"Yeah, we're good."

Listening to the exchange, Sam felt like strangling the two of them. If there were ever a competition for people who refused to discuss their feelings, they'd come in first and second. Yet… maybe, for them, it was enough.

Dad cleared his throat. "Listen, I just got a call from a contact. He says Manson's been sighted just outside Buena Vista. I need to leave, catch up with him and find out what he's planning."

"Dad--" Sam started to protest, but Dean interrupted.

"No, he's right, Sam. He should go."

Sam shook his head, feeling his jaw clench in response to his frustration. "We keep coming back to this. I thought we decided that we're stronger together than apart."

"Sometimes we are," their father agreed. "But there are times when it's best that we separate, and this is one of those times. You'll just have to trust me."

Trust. That was what it always came down to with their father. To trust that he knew what he was doing. To trust that he was telling the truth when he said he loved them. Sam was sure that for Dean, it would always come down to a simple choice in the end. To trust Dad and follow orders, or to turn his back.

For Sam, it had never been that simple. He loved his father and he could accept that Dad loved him, and Dean, too. What he couldn't understand was that even now, even after Dad had admitted that he'd made mistakes, he still wasn't willing to change, to try to make things right. To keep the family together.

But he held his tongue, because this was Dean's call.

"Go, Dad," Dean said. "Just… keep in touch, okay?"

Dad nodded, and swallowed. He seemed to be about to say something, but instead simply reached out and gripped Dean's shoulder for a long moment. Then he turned and walked quickly out of the door.

Sam followed him, catching up as he was getting into his truck.

"Dad— "

"Not now, Sam." Dad's expression was unreadable. "I know you think I'm making the wrong call. I just hope one day I can prove you wrong. You just have to try and trust me on this one."

"Fine." For Dean's sake, he'd try. "You'll call when you find Manson?"

"Yeah. In the meantime, watch your backs. And Sam?"

"What?"

"Take care of your brother."

Sam stood and watched with mixed emotions as the truck disappeared down the highway.