Warning mentions of Suicide.
Sam groans. His head is mildly helped by the cold porcelain of the toilet. But, it is definitely not going to be helped now that Jess has come into the bathroom.
"Really, Sam. Drinking? I thought you had just as much of a problem with it as I did." Sam's pretty sure Jess' voice has been fine-tuned by the Gods to split his head in two. "Maybe, your brother really is a bad influence. Just what did he say that made going out and getting drunk so appealing? Did he need your help in one last long con or something?"
"He said that Dad died." There's a long pause as Sam contemplates weather the saliva building in his mouth means that he has to hurl again. It does.
"Good." Sam stares at her. "No, Sam after all he's done to you. I'm glad." This time Sam tries to stand and walk away. Of course she doesn't understand, hell you barely understand. Sam is back on his knees and dry heaving into the middle of the room. "Shit, Sam I'm sorry. I know this has to be hard for you Sam. You must be feeling really conflicted" Leave it to Jess to psychoanalyze."Have you called your therapist yet?"
"Not yet." Sam is slowly trying to compose himself.
"Here, I'll call for you. I'll call your professors for you too. Should I call Tony?"
"Yeah, if you could. Tell Claudia I'm gonna have Dean come to therapy with me Wednesday. And don't call Tony. Live Dad or dead Dad rent is still due." Sam gives up and just slumps against the bathroom wall. "But, call them after your class. Don't make yourself late on my account."
"Sam, it's close to noon. My class has been over with for a while." She leaves to make the call. Awkwardly passing Dean on her way out of the bathroom.
"I have slept on a lot of shitty motel beds in my time. And I mean a lot. And your futon should be labeled a torture device." He walks over and nudges Sam towards the door with his foot. "Get out of here I gotta piss." Sam just groans not moving from his spot. Dean shrugs and turns around to pee. He notices the toilet seat already up. "Really dude. You hold your liquor like a girl. That is not the man I raised."
"That was the first time I drank in three years, Dean." Sam can actually gather to his feet now.
"Really? I figured in college you'd be partying it up?" Dean flushes and helps Sam leave the bathroom. Gently shoving Sam onto the torture device Dean had spent the night on.
"Well, you get to college by actually doing homework Dean. You stay there by continuing to do homework." Dean stands and heads back to the bathroom opening the medicine cabinet.
"Really genius I would've never guessed. But, seriously you never take a load off with a beer or anything?" He throws Sam a bottle of Tylenol. Even hung over Sam's reflexes take over and he catches it.
"Alcoholism runs in our family. And in Jess' she doesn't really like having booze around." Sam takes two pills dry. "Her Dad just got his twelfth year of sobriety under his belt. Unfortunately not long enough to make her forget about the four years when he was a drunken bastard."
"Her Dad like ours?" Dean has suddenly become very interested in the coffee table.
"No, thank God. Just an ass." Dean begins to fiddle with the remote.
"But, it never bothered you when you were younger." He opts to take the batteries out for no apparent reason.
"Guess, I had a reason to drink when I was younger." Dean sets the remote down on the table and gets up to stare at the photo-collages lining a few of the walls. He notices one set of pictures in particular. Sam with some friends and a huge bottle rocket. There's scientificy portions to the collage like close-ups of the altimeter and such. But, Dean can't get over how childishly excited Sam looks in all of the pictures.
"That thing went two vertical football fields high." Sam states seeing what peeks the older man's interest.
"Hey do you remember fourth of July that one year? When we bought all those illegal fireworks and set them off in the field by that high school." Sam'smiling just like in the pictures. "And we had to get the smell of gunpowder out of our clothes before Dad found out."
"And we couldn't find a laundry mat so you decided to wash our clothes in the tub at the motel. You flooded the damn room." Sam snorts a little at the memory.
"It was your idea to wash the clothes in the tub. I only took the fall for you with the hotel manager." Dean's face is in mock anger. "I ended up being the maid's bitch for the rest of the stay."
"Come on Dean it's not that bad."
"Says you. She didn't speak any English, I had no idea what she was telling me to do half of the time." Dean goes to sit back down on the couch. Setting his feet on the coffee table.
"Bet, you know a lot more Spanish now though. Living in New Mexico and all." Sam joins him.
"Yeah, la cama.Means bed." He elbows Sam suggestively.
"Nice." Sam's laying on the sarcasm thick.
"Your professors say you have the next two weeks off. And Claudia said she's gonna double your time with her to encompass Dean."Jess states walking into the room. Sam quickly takes his feet off the table and shoves Dean's feet down as well.
"Who's Claudia your personal escort? Cause I'm touched man, but I don't take your sloppy seconds. Nor do I do brother's threesomes."
"Gross." She gives Dean a dirty look for the joke. She catches Sam's eye and sees what he is trying to tell her. "I'm gonna head out. There are some people I wanna see before I go to work. Call me if you need anything Sam." Her tone gentle and soft with him. He smiles sadly at her. She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and leaves.
"Claudia is... my therapist." Sam holds his breath waiting for his brother's reaction.
"I thought you forgot about that." Dean groans. Wishing for not the first time that Sam was the kind of drunk to get blackouts.
"Well, I didn't. You're still coming with me right?" Sam knew this would happen. One little push to get Dean to open up. To heal. But, of course, it would be pulling teeth.
"I don't know, Sam. Therapy?" Dean rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.
"You promised!" Sam sounded like he was ten again.
"I know but, what are we even gonna talk about?" He's not looking at Sam anymore. He's staring out the window, vacantly.
"Our childhood." Dean shifts with renewed energy.
"See Sam. That's exactly why I don't want to go. Why do you always have to bring stuff like that up? Dad's dead now. End of story. Why do you keep reliving it? Why would you want to do that to yourself?" Dean's rant ends. Sam is left running his hand through his hair.
"It's like a catharsis Dean. Talking about it. Not feeling trapped in silence anymore. You'll see. I know you'll feel better. I do." Better. Dean's head ran the word over and over again. It was the second time he said he was better. Better than what?
"But, Sam you don't need therapy. There's nothing wrong with you. There was something wrong with Dad."
"There was something wrong with me Dean. I came to college I thought I got away from it all. But, I didn't. I had nightmares. A guy drinking whiskey got to close to me at a party and I decked him. I wasn't able to sleep at night. I kept thinking that I was gonna be woken up in the middle of the night getting dragged out of my bed by my ankles." That last part got to Dean. He sat next to Sam gripping firm but, not hard on his shoulder. Both of them lost for just a moment.
Eight-year-old Sam hanging onto Dean for dear life waiting while their father turns the key in the lock. Smelling distinctly of whiskey he stands over the two, eying them. Sizing them up. He makes his decision and pulls off the motel comforter. He grabs Sam by the ankles and yanks him off the bed. Sam grasping hard for Dean. He can hear Dean pleading trying to reason with the man. But, John's mind was made up.
"It was bad. Really bad." Dean stares at Sam still unconvinced. Sam takes a deep breath. He promised himself he'd never do this. Exploit the worst moments of his life for gain. But, this was for his brother's gain too. He just had to remind himself of that. "I tried to kill myself, Dean." He hated the way his voice had come out. His eyes already welled with tears and he stole a quick glance to see Dean's eyes narrow with fury. Sam slowly rolled up his shirt sleeves. Letting Dean notice the near white scars on his arms from his wrist to his elbow. They're too perfect. Coming from Sam's years of training with knives. Sam is ashamed of them even now. Ashamed of not being strong enough.
"Now, why the hell would you go and do something as stupid as that?" Dean sounds pissed. But, he's grabbing Sam gently by his wrist and inspecting the old wounds like they're going to start bleeding at any moment again.
"I thought something was wrong with me. It felt like I was being haunted by the past. I thought... I thought I was never going to get better. But, I did. Therapy and a group Claudio holds once monthly for survivors. And now, I'm happy Brady found me when he did." Dean looked up at Sam questioning everything. Seeing his brother was in just as much pain as he feared.
"This therapy thing. It helped you?" Dean voice was scratchy. He was fighting back tears.
"Yeah" Sam's voice was so soft you could barely hear it.
"I guess we could squeeze it in while, I'm here." Dean wasn't looking at Sam. He didn't need to be to see the smile that crowded Sam's face.