I should be doing homework right now, but if I have to solve one more polynomial long division problem, I'm gonna kill myself. So I'm gonna write about Dean wanting to kill himself instead.
The doctor had warned them it might be a while until Dean woke up, but Sam and John refused to leave his side.
Sam glanced at his father. This had to be a record; normally they couldn't be in the same room for ten minutes before starting an argument. It had been almost two hours, and they'd barely spoken at all.
A slight change in the rhythm of the heart monitor caught their attention. They stood over the bed, watching his every move as Dean gradually rose to consciousness. The minute those green eyes opened, Sam breathed a sigh of relief. A part of him had worried the doctors were wrong, and his brother would never wake up.
Dean blinked slowly, looking slightly confused. His unfocused gaze landed on their father, who was gripping his hand tightly. John's eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, and a look of guilty realization suddenly crossed Dean's face.
"Dad, 'm sorry," He said, still slurring his words thanks to the anesthesia. His voice was hoarse, and Sam wondered if it was because of the tube they'd had to shove down his throat to pump his stomach...
"Don't you ever do that again." John's voice wavered.
Dean looked away.
"We almost lost you, man." Sam said quietly.
"I know," These words, barely above a whisper, were spoken with genuine regret. "Didn't want you to miss the hunt 'cause of me."
"You're more important than revenge, Dean."
"But-"
"Stop," John shook his head. "Just don't. I know you don't believe it now, but someday I hope you will. We called Bobby, he's gonna keep an eye on you while we go after the demon."
Dean frowned. "You told Bobby? Dammit...he shouldn't have to babysit me."
"We're not really seeing a third option here." Sam shrugged. "I mean, we could always leave you in the psych ward."
"No." Dean said firmly, an emotion close to fear in his eyes. "No."
"Alright, then Bobby will be here in the morning to take you back to his place."
"What did he say? When you told him." Dean asked nervously.
"He's worried about you." Sam answered. "We all are."
Dean couldn't meet their eyes. He was so uncomfortable with all this attention. "Sorry," He mumbled again. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."
"Will you though?" John asked with a hint of anger in his tone. "Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you don't wanna try again?"
Dean swallowed hard. "No," He admitted. "Won't try pills again though, that sucked ass." He said, a lame attempt at humor to lighten the moment. It didn't work.
The sick feeling in Sam's stomach returned. He knew for a fact that if Dean chose another method of suicide, he would succeed. They'd been around guns and knives their entire lives. His brother knew exactly which veins to cut, and how much time he'd have before he passed out. And with a gun...his chance of survival was zero.
"Just...please don't try anything." Sam was shaking ever so slightly, and Dean squeezed his hand.
"I'm sorry, Sammy."
"Me too." He pulled his hand away, clearing his throat. "I need coffee. Dad, you want anything?"
"Yeah, get me one too."
"What about me?" Dean joked, although his stomach protested. "Some pie would be nice too."
Sam rolled his eyes. "I'll have to clear it with the doctor." He walked out, closing the door behind him.
John sat back down in the chair beside his oldest son, but didn't let go of his hand. Dean would never admit it, but he was thankful for the comforting touch, the strong grip of his father.
After a few moments of silence, John finally spoke.
"You know, when you were a kid...I'd come home from a hunt. And after what I'd seen, I'd be...I'd be wrecked. And you, you'd come up to me, put your hand on my shoulder...and you'd look me in the eye and you'd say, 'it's okay, Dad.'" He sniffed, and Dean realized that he was crying. He didn't know what to say, so he just squeezed his father's hand.
"Dean, I'm sorry." He quickly wiped the tears from his eyes. "You shouldn't have had to say that to me. Hell, I should've been saying that to you. I put too much on your shoulders. I made you grow up too fast. You took care of Sammy, you took care of me...and you still do. You never complained, not once. I just want you to know that I am so proud of you."
With those words. Dean felt his own eyes fill with tears. He'd wanted, needed to hear that for so long. But hearing them now...he didn't deserve to.
"You shouldn't be." He said, voice thick with emotion.
"Dean-"
"I'm such a fuck-up, I can't even kill myself right."
"Dean Winchester, you listen to me." His father leaned in close. "I cannot lose you. Neither can Sammy. Haven't we lost enough already? You're not...you're not a fuck-up, you're my son. You may be hurting right now, but we'll get through this. I promise."
"Yeah, if you and Sam make it out alive..." He shook his head. "God, I'm so stupid. I should be there, in this fight with you."
John just looked at him sadly. "I wish you'd quit talking about yourself like that." He coughed. "Anyway, we'll be fine. We always are. I wish you could be there with us too, but you're hurt. It's okay, things happen."
Before Dean could reply, Sam came back with the coffee.
"What, no pie?"
"Nice try," His brother's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "But the doctor said you probably shouldn't start out with a bunch of sugary foods. Your digestive system is gonna be messed up for the next few days."
"Great." Dean sighed. He could already feel it, he felt nauseous and his stomach was cramping. Even the thought of food made him want to throw up.
Just then, a nurse came in with a clipboard. "Mr. Winchester?" She looked to John apologetically. "Could we get you to fill out some paperwork? Just insurance information, it won't take long."
"Sure thing." He stood and followed her out the door. "I'll be right back."
Sam leaned against the wall and sipped at his coffee. Dean could tell he was trying hard to hide his anger and concern.
"Sammy, are you okay?"
His brother laughed. "Better than you."
"You know what I'm talking about. What's wrong, man? Talk to me."
"Seriously?" Sam glared. "You almost fucking died, that's what's wrong. Did you really think I'd get over it?"
"I-"
"No. Cause let me tell you, Dean. Losing Jess might have messed me up, but losing you? I could never...never get over that."
"Sam, I'm sorry...it's just..." He struggled to find the words, but he couldn't.
"How long?" Sam asked quietly, finally walking over to Dean's bed and sitting down next to him.
"How long...?"
"How long have you been suicidal? I've been...thinking back, and...and I'm pretty sure this started before I left for Stanford. I was just too wrapped up in my own issues with Dad to notice."
Dean sighed. "It's not like I wanted to kill myself all the time. Sometimes I'd just get in this funk where I didn't really care if I lived. Don't know why." He shrugged. "It got worse when you and Dad were fighting. The first time you ran away was the first time I actually considered..."
"Killing yourself?" Sam looked like he was gonna cry.
"Yeah. Hey, it's not your fault. Okay, don't think for one second this is on you. It's just me. I'm fucked up."
Sam shook his head. "It is my fault though. At least partially." He ran a hand through his hair. "When you came to get me at Stanford, I knew something was off. You were different. I thought it was cause you were worried about Dad. I should've realized..."
"You couldn't have known, Sam. Really."
"Can I ask you something?"
"If I say yes, am I gonna regret it?" Dean smirked.
Sam rolled his eyes but asked anyway. "All those times before, when we were kids...At first you would try to get between me and Dad, try to help us figure out our crap. But when you realized you couldn't...you'd just sit there, really quiet while we screamed at each other. You wouldn't say a word, you'd just kinda stare at the wall. You were thinking about it then, weren't you? Thinking about killing yourself."
"Huh. I didn't know you noticed that...yeah, most of the time." Dean admitted.
"Why didn't you?"
Dean raised his eyebrows.
"I mean, I'm glad you didn't. But...what kept you alive back then? Maybe the same thing can help you now."
"I uh, thought you needed me." He said quietly. "I'm supposed to look out for you, Sammy. But you don't need me anymore."
"Dean, you're my big brother." Sam's voice broke. "I'm always gonna need you."