I have decided to continue with this story…and what was originally intended to only be a few chapters long, is probably going to end up being a full-length piece. I hope you enjoy the latest developments!
A/N: I added the anecdote about the song "psycho killer" by the Talking Heads, due to a joke my best friend and I have about whether they should use the song in an episode of Supernatural. So Jeni, this is for you!
--
Dean fidgeted in the passenger seat of the Impala. He had been sitting there for hours, bored out of his skull. Sam and Bobby had gone off to do a salt and burn, leaving Dean alone. He desperately wanted to be out there with them, but Bobby insisted he'd be better off waiting in the car. He'd been telling Dean that for the past three months, since he tried to shoot himself.
Over and over, Dean insisted he was better. He'd been telling Bobby for a while now that he was ready to get back in it, that they could trust him with a gun in his hand without trying to turn it on himself. Bobby didn't seem to hear Dean. He had a one-track mind about the situation. Dean's head wasn't on straight. How could he be trusted to blast an angry spirit with rock salt, or even carry his own .45 in his coat?
To calm his nerves, Dean tried turning on the radio. The slow vibes of "Psycho Killer" filled his ears. As the song played, he started twirling around a buck knife his Dad had given him for Dean's 18th birthday. John told him it was a family heirloom, that it belonged to Dean's grandfather. Dean never knew his grandfather, so he just took his father's word for it at the time. He ran his fingers over the carved initials, SW. Samuel Winchester. He remembered the stories John used to tell him about how he and Sam were named, Sam after their grandfather, and Dean just because Mary liked Dean Martin.
As his fingers roamed the blade of the knife, which Dean sharpened three times a week, Dean's thoughts took a new turn. He wondered how it would feel if he sliced into his wrist right then. Would it hurt? Would he die quickly or slowly? He thought of Bobby and Sam.
They have each other now. What do they need me for? I'm useless to them with a gun. Sam doesn't need me. He can survive without me around. He and Bobby have proven that.
Tears slipped down his cheeks as he put the tip of the knife just under his wrist. He was going to finish what he started three months ago, and Bobby wasn't here to stop him.
--
"How long have you
been burning corpses, Sam?" Bobby asked as he and Sam trudged out
of the woods.
"Come on, Bobby. You know the answer to that."
"Then tell me why it took us so damn long to find the grave,
dig the hole, and burn the body? I can do that in a half-hour alone!
We've been out here for three hours, Sam."
"I'm sorry,
OK? I guess I wasn't very prepared for this one. It won't happen
again." Sam opened the trunk of the Impala and threw the shovel and
supplies inside. "Let's just find a motel. I'm ready to
collapse." He walked around to the driver's side and opened the
door. As he sat down, he realized that his brother wasn't moving.
His eyes roamed down to Dean's hand. A bloody knife was hanging out
of his right hand, and there was blood everywhere.
"Bobby!"
Sam jumped out of the car and started running toward Bobby's car.
The older hunter got out as Sam ran up, tears streaming down his
face.
"What's the matter?"
"Dean—he—blood—"
"Sam, calm down and tell me what the hell is wrong."
"Dean. He—we need to get him to a hospital. He cut his
wrists, Bobby."
Bobby stood there for a moment, speechless. Is
this really happening right now? Finally , he
got up the courage to say something.
"Okay, where's the
nearest town?"
"Ten miles away. They have a hospital there."
"Okay let's go. Don't stop for anything, not even gas,
okay?"
"Yeah, got it."
Sam got back into the car and
pealed out toward the highway, with Bobby practically tailgating him.
--
Sam screeched to a
stop in front of the ER entrance of the hospital. It was enough noise
to attract the attention of two EMTs on a smoke break. They
immediately went to help, and within minutes Dean was being wheeled
into the hospital.
"Is he going to be all right?" Sam asked
the doctor as he ran beside the gurney.
"He's still alive,
but we can't tell just yet. He's lost a lot of blood." Dean was
wheeled into a trauma room. "You'll have to wait out here, son.
I'll let you know as soon as we stabilize him, okay?"
Sam
nodded and turned around. Bobby was standing several feet behind him,
with a blank stare on his face.
"He's still alive," Sam
muttered, taking a few steps closer to Bobby. The older hunter
nodded. Dean was alive. That was all that mattered.
"Sam, can
you get me a cup of coffee?" he asked slowly, giving him a few
dollars. "Get one for yourself too, son." Sam nodded and walked
off toward the vending machines.
Bobby went up to the trauma
doors and looked in at Dean. They were trying their hardest to
stabilize him. He wouldn't even be in here
if it weren't for me.
Slowly, he
turned away and walked toward the waiting area. It was going to be a
long night.
