Two weeks after
Ines was relieved when she heard the news about Jessica being back, yet scared. She had no idea where her bravery came from when she confessed her feeling about Jess and was worried that Jessica would never talk to her again - never look at her again. With a heavy heart, she went to sleep. Hopefully Jessica would come to school Monday, but today was Friday and Ines couldn't bear not knowing what had happened to her or how she felt for an entire weekend when she lived so close by. She was positive, more than positive, that Jessica's parents were being overprotective to the point of being paranoid. Ines's parents were also worried at the moment and didn't let Ines go out late at night. She couldn't blame them. She just wanted to talk to Jess but didn't have the guts to pick up a damn phone. She tucked the sleeve of her sweater, a nervous habit, and took a shaky breath. She just wanted Jessica back. She just wanted things back to normal, maybe even before she told Jessica about her attraction. She wanted it back to Jessica having a secret crush on Sam. Sam. He was gone to, disappeared. A rumour had gone around town, that there was kidnapper who had both taken Jess and Sam, but apparently not, as Jessica had come back. But where was Sam? A senior, who hadn't known Sam, had spread another rumour saying that he saw a kid covered in blood and bruises being dragged into a black car by a guy who looked around nineteen. He also told he heard drunken yelling. People didn't, wouldn't, believe this as it just sounded too grotesque and outrageous. Surely Sam hadn't been beaten up by a drunk and then kidnapped.
Fifteen days after
"You ready to go?" Dean asked Sam who was sitting beside him in the Impala. Bobby had left yesterday to get the house ready for a frail Sam.
"Doctor's orders to keep him in a comfortable, clean environment," he said to Dean. Dean had nodded and thought back to the mess which was Bobby's house.
"Ready," Sam told Dean.
It was dusk and the road was dark. The ride was silent except from the music and short conversations. Dean didn't know how to act towards Sam as he didn't want to say anything to trigger or hurt him, and Sam didn't feel like talking much, being quite high on painkillers which Dean wasn't pleased with. He wondered how much Sam's liver could take. He nearly slammed the breaks when he unwillingly remembered Sam's attempt with the orange bottle not that long ago. He had told the doctor about it who checked if Sam was okay, which, luckily, it turned out he was, physically. He, the doctor, had prescribe him antidepressants and a physiatrist, but Dean didn't take the last offer as their money situation was tight and he wanted to leave so badly, and knew Sam did too.
Sam didn't quite notice the silence and before he knew it, they were back at Bobby's.
"John?" He asked Dean in a murmur.
"Bobby spoke to the cops, it's all fine Sam. Just relax. You'll be safe," Dean said with a one his rare comforting smiles that somehow always had a warm effect on Sam, a smile only Dean could pull. He stroked his brother's hair once more, a habit he had from when Sam was little and got scared.
They walked through the front door of Bobby's house. The usual smell of whisky was gone. It didn't feel much like Bobby's house anymore, but it still felt like home. Sam slumped onto the couch and closed his eyes. He was ready to drift off at any moment now, still being tired after the hospital visit and drugs.
"Um, Sam," Dean asked timidly. Sam opened an eye, getting a view of his brother. "You need to eat something."
"Okay," Sam said and stood up on wobbly and bruised legs.
SPN-SPN-SPN
Sam was tucked beneath the clean covers in the, now permanently his and Dean's, upstair bedroom. The bedroom door opened.
"Sammy, you awake?" Dean asked in a hushed tone.
"Mmm," Sam responded into his pillow. Why does Dean always want to talk with me, about me? Sam thought.
"Uh, Sam I just need to know. I don't want to deadpan this, but are you depressed?" Dean asked in a low voice as though he was scared of the word - the answer. Sam took a deep breath.
Please don't ask me this Dean, please, Sam pleaded silently.
"Sammy?" Sam didn't need to see Dean's face to know how devastated he looked. The older brother walked towards Sam in a manner that made Sam feel vulnerable, weak, pathetic.
"Dean, I don't need," I do, I really do, "you swooning," help me, I don't know what to do, "over me," I feel so worthless, Sam said, the words contradicting with his racing thoughts. Dean sighed and sat by Sam's bed.
"Dean, you missed your bed by like three meters," Sam said.
"If you don't need me-"
I DO! SO MUCH, YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW!
"-it's fine. Just tell me what's going on. Please," Dean said.
Sam nodded.
"What is that a yes for?" Dean asked with a voice sounding like he was dangerously close to a wild animal.
"Sad," Sam muttered. He couldn't do this right now, it was too overwhelming, but he had to. He needed, desperate needed, Dean's help. It was like he couldn't be happy although how hard he tried. He knew that Dean would break down if he pulled any self-harming tricks again. Self-harm. His wrist itched at the thought and he slowly, unintentionally, began scratching a scar. As soon as he began, he felt another hand on his his wrist, pulling it away. Dean's. Dean shook his head at Sam. He remembered, and didn't want to, the conversation with the nurse when she found the scars.
Two weeks after
"Dean Winchester and Bobby Singer?" The nurse voiced in a clear tone. "I'd like to discuss a few things with you," she said - commanded.
"Okay, sure," Dean said, taking a gulp.
"We found numerous bruises and scars on Sam, as expected of course due to certain… events," her voice trailed a little off. She coughed and tried to continue professionally. "But some of the scars, they look self-inflicted. Am I wrong in my assumption?"
"No," Dean answered bitterly.
"And, as you told me before, he had attempted to take his own life, and therefore this hospital would like to offer a… counselor," she said, taking caution with every word. Dean didn't look like a person who like the word "psychiatrist" when is involved his brother.
"Um, thanks but I think we've got this covered," Bobby said calmly, bringing a hand around Dean's shoulder. They couldn't let Sam talk to a psychiatrist, they would force him to bring up his life, and thus forcing him to bring up hunting. Hunting. Only a few would like the sound of that, especially when it involved a depressed teen.
Fifteen days after
The first questions that appeared in Dean's mind was "why?", but it was superfluous. Sam had so many, too many, reasons. But now John was gone. Out of sight, although not out of mind.
Sam yawned.
"Okay Sammy, we'll cheer you up tomorrow," Dean said, brushing Sam's hair back. Sam was already asleep.
Sixteen days after
Sam didn't bother getting out of bed. He lay curled on his side, staring into the wall. He was very awake, but didn't feel up to do something, anything. He wanted to lie in the bed all day, but he didn't. He didn't know what he felt like doing. He wasn't motivated to get out of bed, to eat breakfast, hell, even going to the bathroom seemed like an impossible task. His thin skin on his arms, hips, knees, started prickling. He did the best to ignoring as he didn't want Dean to add more to his worries. He had already been enough of a burden to the family.
Fifteen minutes later, Dean opened the door.
"Sam? It's one thirty, you should get up while it's still light out," Dean said.
"Okay," Sam said, not seeing a point in arguing, not seeing a point in anything. Dean smiled and left the room so that Sam could change.
Sam pulled a thick shirt on as it could have started snowing at any moment. It was starting to get seriously cold. He quickly covered the white scars and headed downstairs.
"Hey Bobby," he said in a casual manner, when he saw the older man sitting on the couch in the living room.
"Hi Sam, hungry?" He asked.
"Sure."
"Help yourself," he said, gesturing towards the kitchen. Sam nodded a thanks. He went to the kitchen although he didn't want to eat, he just went to make the others pleased. He was feeling worse and worse.
SPN-SPN-SPN
It was three o'clock and it was snowing heavily. Dean and Sam had just got outside when the first snow started to hit.
"It's late this year," Dean commented as it was already December. Sam nodded with an expressionless face.
They started walking, hands digging further into their pockets even though they had gloves on.
"When did it become so cold?" Dean asked rhetorically. Sam shrugged. Dean looked at him.
I need to cheer him up, he thought determinedly to himself.
"Hey, remember that time around the time you were twelve and dad left town, and we went for a walk in, where was it, somewhere in West Virginia, even though he told us not to, and we met that couple…" Dean said thinking back. He continued talking, and even though Sam wanted to listen, it was as though his brain switched off and Dean was just white noise cluttered by his thoughts.
"You bastard!" John yelled. Sam flinched, dropping his book.
"-and then they kept on asking who were laughing, when we were literally standing around the corner and couldn't control our laughter," Dean ended with a laugh. Sam forced a grin to please his brother. Dean couldn't read him like a book though.
The snow thundered down and they went back into the house. Sam forced his gloves off which seemed frozen on his skin after the bitting cold. Bobby made hot drinks for them.
SPN-SPN-SPN
"Can I use the phone upstairs?" Sam asked timidly.
"Of course, there's no need to ask," Bobby answered with a smile. Sam skipped up the stairs and dialed Jessica's number. He made sure no one would hear him when he spoke.
"It's Sam," Sam said when the phone was answered by a sweet voice. It was silent for a moment. Jessica took a breath of relief.
"Sam, hi. How are you?" She asked.
"Better," Sam answered. "You?"
"Good - great now that you're calling," she answered and Sam couldn't help but blush, especially when he heard her smile. She made him feel so fucking good, that why what was going to happen hurt so damn much.
"Jess. I like you, I really really really really do," Sam said and couldn't emphasize how much he really liked her. "I mean, I…"
"Sam?"
"I'm not returning to the school," Sam said. Jess was silent.
"I expected that," she answered in a disappointed voice that she couldn't hide.
"So you probably know what I'm saying," Sam said, his heavy heart matching Jessica's on the other end of the line.
"Sam, please," Jess pleaded.
"I'm so sorry," Sam whispered.
"Don't be, ever. Sam, after all you've been through…"
She heard a choked sob from the other end.
"I could visit," Jess said with tears streaming down her own face.
"Sorry."
"Sam…"
"I'm so fucking sorry you had to meet me, I'm a mess," Sam sobbed and hung up the phone.
Stupid fucking teenage 'love', Sam thought while kicking the wall. I did love her.
He thundered into his room, hoping that the others wouldn't hear it, but the TV was on loudly. He fell on his bed. He felt exhausted even after the medication had worn off. He felt pain where the stitches were, but was afraid of what would happen if he took some painkillers. What if he saw the bottle and-
He stood up.
I could move the pain, he thought.
SPN-SPN-SPN
"Bobby," Dean said when there were commercials.
"Yeah?" Bobby asked, taking another sip of his beer.
"Sam. He's so sad."
"I know." The answer was grave.
"I can't make him happy, anything I say, do… It's like he only smiles to cover up everything else."
Bobby sighed.
"Dean. Depression isn't a switch you can can flip on and off. Give it time."
SPN-SPN-SPN
The bathroom was small. Sam looked into the mirror thinking of how badly he needed a haircut.
Don't.
He opened the cabinet.
No.
It was lying on the top shelf, but with how much Sam had grown recently, he could easily reach.
The blade felt cool in his hand.
Sam gasped when he realized what he was doing. It was as though his thoughts wouldn't connect with his movements.
He managed to drop the blade.
It landed heavily on the bathroom tile.
Sam leaned against the wall and slid down.
The blade lay on the floor beside him.
"It can't do anything if I don't want it to," Sam murmured to himself.
It continued lying there.
Sam scrambled further into the corner of the room.
It was as though it stared up at him.
I failed everyone. Bobby, Dean, Jess...
The blade screamed, although it didn't, only in Sam's mind.
It's my fault. Jess hates me now, Bobby's annoyed, Dean thinks I'm a burden.
The blade still lay there threateningly.
A/N: Thanks for reading and for reviewing! Feedback is amazing, or even just saying hi totally makes my day. :)