Hello Reader :D Thank you all so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows on this story. This chapter is very long but I hope you enjoy
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John silently sinks down onto the bed. He cannot believe what he just did. His son must hate him now. Not to mention Dean.
He looks up to see Dean glaring at him with clenched fist.
"Dean-"
"No. You hit my brother. You hurt Sam more than you know. How could you do that? How could you be so stupid"
"Watch it, Dean!"
"No! You watch it! Do you realize what you just did!? You hit your son!" Dean screamed, face bright red.
John put his hands up to stop Dean outburst. "Dean I know. I know what I did. And I am sorry. That kid rubs me the wrong way sometimes. If he just did what I told him-"
"He's a kid! No kid always does what their parent tells them! That doesn't give you the right to hit him!"
John suddenly stood up. Grabbing the Impala's keys, he strides towards the door. "I'll be back."
And then he's gone. Good Dean thinks. Now he can talk to Sammy alone.
Dean called out, "Sammy?" His ears fully registered the rushing gush of the faucet coming from the small en suite bathroom. A look at the closed bathroom door sent a ghost of a frown fluttering momentarily across his face - the light was on. Muttering something largely incoherent about using all the water and with a wistful glance at one of the room's two single beds, Dean trudged toward the door.
"Sammy?" he called. "You in there?" The question was largely pointless but Dean couldn't stop it from slipping from his big-brother mouth. "Sammy?"
Dean sighed and flung himself onto a bed. "What ever.." He knows Sam needs his alone time.
Dean could cope with twenty minutes.. after a hunt he could even cope with a forty minute alone time.. So as the time ticked on from twenty minutes to thirty Dean began to worry and at thirty-five Dean pushed himself off the lumpy bed and rapped hard on the bathroom door.
"Sam! Sammy! Are you ok in there?"
The big brother in him screamed. What was he doing in there?
"Sam! Sam, answer me!" Silence.. "Fine! I'm coming in.."
Dean slowly inched the door open. And the sight before him stopped him dead cold.
Everything happened within a split second. One second Dean was standing in the grimy doorway, the next he was in Sam's face, knocking the knife from his hands and shoving him hard against the tile wall.
Sam couldn't ever remember a time he had seen Dean this angry. His face was bright red, veins were pulsating on his forehead and to Sam, it looked as though he was ready to explode.
"What are you trying to do!? Where are you trying to go! I loved you loved me! Why are you trying to leave me! What I do if you left me here alone!" Dean screamed. Crying and sobbing, he could barely get he words out.
Dean had so much hurt and betrayal in his eyes, Sam had to look away. Dean's words instantly tore Sam's heart in two. Ripped open his chest and pulled it out.
"Dean-"
"No! Don't..don't fucking say anything."
At this point, both brothers had tears streaming down their faces sobbing, Dean released his death grip and sank down onto the cold, porcelain floor. He held his face in his hands and cried, gripping his hair with his hands.
Dean was angry and scared to hell. Demons, spirits, ghosts all these things were frightening sure, but he knew how to fight them. He knew the rules that governed their existence and he knew what to do. Or at least, he and Sam could always figure it everything they had been through Dean had never been so scared in his life until now and he didn't know what to do. He was at a complete loss in fact and that feeling scared him and angered him more than anything else. All he could do was sit there, lost in thought, lost in desperation. He felt powerless to act. Helpless and pointless in his life. There was nothing that he hated more than that. Dean knew he was failing and he couldn't see a way to change that for his baby brother.
Sam could only stare down at his brother in shock. He had never seen Dean freak on his like this, let alone cry in front of him. He had barely seen any emotion from his older brother which is one thing he had always envied about him.
Does he really care about me this much? Sam wondered to himself. Maybe i was being selfish. Only thinking about myself and how good the pain I was causing to myself, felt at the time. I would do anything to take it back..or to at least tried harder to keep it from Dean.
Pulling himself from his thoughts Sam now realized he was sitting on the seat of the dirty toilet, facing his brother. It took all he had not to reach down and pull his older brother into a hug, knowing it would only make everything worse.
Dean finally looked up and with horror realized blood was still dripping from his brother's wrist. Dean stood up so fast he had to brace himself against the wall to not collapse.
"Stay here."
Sam looked up through teary eyes when his monotone brother spoke.
He's leaving me. he doesn't care. He's so mad at me he doesn't care if i kill myself now.
Dean strode back into the bathroom carrying the first aid kit. In silence, he began to he began to clean and wrap his Sam's torn up wrist, silently deciding that they were not deep enough to require stitches. That's also when he noticed very recent, but older cuts.
Once finished, Dean sighed exaggeratedly and slumped against the wall, refusing to look at anything but his hands.
Sam broke the silence, "Dean.."
Dean looked up as if any other sound but silence shocked him.
"I know your mad at me. maybe you even hate me right now. and I know your not ready to talk..to understand. But i need you to do something for me."
This made Dean lift his head and finally make eye contact with his broken brother. Sam noticed how red and puffy Deans eyes were.
"Please don't tell dad..he can't know Dean. he has enough going on to worry about his stupid, suicidal son."
Dean scoffed.
"Let's just keep this between me and you..please Dean. We will take care of this..I will-"
"Sam.." Dean spoke, cutting his brother off, "Protecting you is the greatest thing i will ever do in my life..Please don't take that away from me. Please don't make me live without you." Dean was sobbing by the end of expressing his anguish, shoulders shaking.
"Dean.." Sam stared at his brother wide-eyed and shocked. Then he slid down off of the toilet and sat beside his big brother, pulling him into his scrawny arms. "I'm so sorry..I'm sorry Dean."
Dean and Sam sat just like that for a while. Crying and sobbing. Until finally Dean could not handle it anymore.
"Please Sam..I can't..I..just need to be alone for a while," Dean stated, slowly pulling away from his brother's grasp.
Sam looked at Dean for a moment longer before giving him one last hug and standing up.
Staring at each other through bleary eyes Sam waked out and shut the door behind him.
Dean knew his brother. He knew he loved him without question and he knew he'd die for him if he had to but he also knew that Sam wasn't thinking about their father too. John Winchester had lost so much, his wife, his entire life, given it all up to try to help prevent other people from suffering as he had. Dean knew that as much as Sam cared about Dean, he wasn't thinking. So there had to be something else. Some actual reason to make Sam feel like he deserved to die and Dean was going to figure it out.
The bathroom door opening pulls Dean from his thoughts. He sees Sam stumbling out of the doorway. He looks as though he is ready to fall over. "Sam, you need help?"
"No." Answered Sam too quickly with a shaky voice. His head was pounding. He had stood too suddenly from the bathroom floor and as pain lanced through the back of his skull he staggered, throwing out a hand to prevent him from falling and found Dean suddenly by his side to stop him.
"Easy there. I've got you." Dean steadied him as Sam clung to him briefly, but tightly. Gripping his t-shirt in the darkness and feeling Dean's heart beating strongly through the thin material gave Sam the reassurance he needed for the moment. Sam broke contact finally having his breathing more under control, his headache eased into a dull hum in the back of his head. Sam pushed away from Dean, irrationally embarrassed and guilty.
Dean let him go, watching him worriedly and then Sam retreated to the bathroom once more. Sam splashed water on his face, revealing in the cold bite of the liquid chilling his skin. He could barely make out his reflection in the blackness of the bathroom but he was sure his eyes were haunted and misty. He was sure he looked a mess and he even tried to straighten out his hair a little bit because he was also sure that Dean was waiting for him on the other side of the door. Waiting for an explanation. Sam sighed to himself somewhat dreading this coming confrontation. He would have given a lot to avoid trying to explain this. He couldn't quite explain it to himself. He just needed it. He opened the door slowly and made his way to sit on the bed across from the one Dean was currently on. He stretched out his long legs and lean up heavily against the wall. Suddenly, Sam couldn't breathe. He's scared, scared to talk about this. He just wants it to be over.
"Sam, what the hell?" Dean asked anxiously, moving quickly to Sam's side.
"I just want it to end," came the reply. Dean put his hand on Sam's face and turned his head towards him.
"What do you want to end, Sam?"
"Everything."
Dean backed away from Sam in horror. Was he really so depressed that he wanted to end it all?
"You don't mean that," he said weakly. Sam paid no attention and stared off ahead of him. "Sam, stop it. You're scaring me." Sam didn't seem to hear him at all, it was like he was in a trance. "Sam, can you hear me? Are you okay?"
"Sam!" Dean yells, and finally Sam looks at him and his breathing slows down.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, just…"
"You are not doing this. You do not get to do this."
Sam sighed. He sounded so tired, so spent. And Dean realized that this wasn't some lame ass pity party or hot-headed decision on Sam's part. This was Sam, totally at the end of his endurance. At the end of his hope. And Sam had once been the most hopeful person Dean had known.
Finally, Sam shook his head. "Dean, you know this is for the best." Dean couldn't speak around the tightening of his throat. He just shook his head. He could see from the corner of his eye, Sam turn to look at him. "You need to let me do this. I won't ask you to do it, but it has to be done." Dean just closed his eyes, dropped his head and tried to breathe. Sam's hand landed on his shoulder, gave a gentle squeeze. "Just, come back in a couple of hours."
"Sam, shut up." And Sam's hand dropped from his shoulder. Dean opened his eyes. Still couldn't look at his brother. "Just shut the hell up. This is not going to happen. Not tonight, not ever."
Sam, again with the sighing. "Dean, that's not your choice to make."
"Yeah. Actually, it is my choice." He finally looked at Sam. "And I'll tell you why. I'll skip all the usual for now. You know, you're my brother, one of the only person on this earth that I really care about, and the only one who cares about me. Whatever. Boring family shit, right? I don't care what you say. I'm not letting you do this."
Sam looked up to the ceiling. "I know. I don't want you here when I do it. I'm not trying to hurt you, Dean…"
"Bullshit." Sam's eyes snapped to his brothers. Dean felt the fury return. "Bullshit. You are trying to hurt me. You're humiliated and pissed at dad and ashamed. You don't know how to deal with whatever emotional shit you've got going in that freaky head of yours, so you're just gonna check out. Super-smart Sammy fucking giving up? Well, I call bullshit on that, Sam. You don't do this, you don't end it all, because dad, me or anyone."
Even if he had to torture his little brother to get it. Time to bring in the big guns, honesty. "So you didn't think about how Dad would feel then? Loosing you?" Sam stopped moving, his back rigid. Dean took a breath, prepared to be cruel.
"Look me in the eye, Dean and tell me that I would ever do anything to hurt Dad. That I would purposefully try to destroy him? Tell me that I'm capable of hurting the people I love? This isn't about that Dean!"
"Then fucking tell me, Sammy! What the fuck is going on?" Dean knew he was close and he also knew that he couldn't back down. Apologize later, he needed Sam back now.
Sam broke their eye contact. "It's okay Dean."
"God Sammy, is it not okay." Dean knelt on the ground between their beds, his eyes wet. "It's not okay. Cause apparently you are doing even more fucked up things than I realized!" Dean fully recognizes his answer makes little sense, but it doesn't matter. Why Sam isn't laughing and telling Dean it's some ridiculous misunderstanding and he's perfectly well-adjusted. Except for the whole anger-issues thing, but anger makes you want to kill other people, not yourself.
"Dean." And wow, Sam is being remarkably calm. "It doesn't matter."
"Of course it fucking matters, Sam!" Dean, on the other hand, can't seem to stop yelling. "It matters if you tried to kill yourself!"
Sam was still looking away. "What do you want me to say? Every time I try to talk to you, you do something to push me away."
"I know, I know I do… I just, I don't know how to do this. I don't do this." Dean made a wide gesture, desperate now to get Sam to understand.
Sam squinted. "You don't … do this?"
Dean sighed. "Talking. Bonding, what the fuck ever we're doing right now. That's what I don't do. I can't. But I'm not going to let you die." Then almost too quietly for Sam to hear he whispered. "I'm not losing you."
So there it was. Dean's real terror and quite a revelation to Sam. Dean was scared of losing him? Sam wants out, wants to die more than live this life...Dean knows that. But he's not going to let that happen.
"So if it's my time, I'd rather end it now."
"Sam?"
"No, I'm done, Dean. I don't want to keep fighting anymore. So just leave it be. Let me go in peace."
Dean rubbed his eyes. He tried to sort through his fear and anger and confusion to find the words that would get through to Sam. "Sam, I'm going to lay it out for you, okay? As clearly as I can. And then, if you still want to do this fucked up thing, well, we'll deal with this together."
"What? No, Dean, you're not—
Dean let out an exasperated breath, rolling his eyes. "The night of the fire, when dad gave you to me and told me to take you outside, I took hold of you and ran. I could leave mom and dad in that burning house, and just run outside without looking back, because I had you. You looked up at me with these scared eyes, right on the verge of losing your shit, and I told you not to worry. 'I've got you, Sammy. You and me, we'll be okay.' And from that day on, I had something to fight for. I had lost mom, but I had been given you. You and me were going to get through whatever nightmares life threw at us, because, well, because we were. And we have." He turned to look at Sam, rested a hand on his knee. "And, we'll get through this, Sammy, ok? Enough is enough. You need to knock this shit off right now. This whole hopeless-I'm-giving up crap. Its gone to far. It's annoying, alright? I'm sick your mopey Hemingway emo bullshit. Yeah. Times are bad. It's real bad sometimes. I get that. But you know what? Dad taught us not to be quitters. You are not a quitter. It's about time you pulled your head out of your ass and get over it. We don't give up, because that's just not what we do. We do what we have to and shut up about it. I'm not going to sit around while you try to fucking off yourself. I care Sam. And if you really feel that i don't then you might as well start digging your grave, because i don't know what else I can do." He stormed away, face bright red and eyes full of anger.
"Where are you going?" Sam called out. "Dean, please."
"I've had enough. You want to kill yourself, fine. Just leave me the fuck out of it," Dean spat, opening the door and slamming it behind him.
Sam flinched at the sound, sighing once more in regret.
The crippling depressive emotions swarmed their way back into Sam's heart and soul. And he knew he needed the knife again. Dean was mad at him again. He hated him. He pretty much told Sam to go kill himself. He hated this feeling, but in a small demented sort of way, he encouraged it. That way, if his brother was still a little irate about things, he might possibly become distant, and that would make the parting so much easier. He hated to think that way but sooner or later he was going to cause Dean more heartache. Might as well speed up the process. Though Sam knew Dean would follow him. It was something they'd never discussed, one of many things they hadn't needed to; it was a simple, unspoken fact. Where Sam went, Dean eventually followed, and vice versa. That's probably why Sam isn't afraid there in what he knows will be final moments. Of course, there's a split, millisecond of panic when he'd realized once and for all, this was it, but then Dean's image had presented itself before his fading vision, and all fear was gone. Dean may not have been physically with him, and Sam knew that that was the part that would torture Dean the most, but they belonged so totally to each other - were so much one being - that they were never really separated, and that had comforted Sam.
I have to end this now. Dean is furious and maybe he will be glad to be rid of me..his baggage. It ends now.
Storming into the the all too familiar bathroom, Sam leans to pull the knife from his sock in one swift motion. Slamming the door behind him and locking it. Sam turns and ends up staring straight into the person he has become. He rips the bandage from his arm. Sleeves pulled up, poorly tended cuts on his wrist showing, dark bags under his eyes..He stands and stares for a minute..Maybe five. Time is irrelevant to Sam now. He knows it will all be over soon anyway.
Pounding was all he could hear. Sadness and anger was all he could feel. Cutting was all he could think about. It was a part of his mind, his body, his soul..It was an addiction. It had pulled him in so deep, he was addicted like it was fucking heroin. Immense throbbing pulsed and rang throughout his ear cavities, reminding him of the constant battle he had with himself. Raging inside him. He was tired. And now it was time to get it over with.
Placing the knife on his wrist, Sam reopens every scab on his arm first. Then he places it vertically at the very top of his wrist and begins to drag it down his arm. He digs the knife deeper then he has before and actually cries out at the feeling. It hurts. Really hurts. But he can barely feel it. Inside he is happy. He knows this is what's right and what needs to happens. Dark blood immediately pours from the large gash. Sam is suddenly hit with light headedness. Breath coming in short gasp he moves the knife to his other arm with a shaking hand. He barely is able to make the knife steady as he places it against his arm and drags it downward. Sam is shaking all over. The knife suddenly drops to the floor and his vision goes blurry.
He felt hot all over, and the room began to tilt but Sam pays it no mind, he looks at himself in the mirror and smiles one last time at reflection out of sheer stupidity.
He knew he was done for…
He grips the sink tighter as he feels his knees weaken beneath him, he sways back and forth and his head clashes with the mirror
"Dean!" He tries to yell.
But then everything goes black.
Dean was on his second round walking around the motel. The Imapala was still gone. His father was probably at a bar drinking away his problems.
Dean didn't mean those things he had said to Sammy. But he was worried. And scared. More scared than he had ever been in his life. He has to get back to Sammy. To apologize and make things right. He speeds up and pretty much runs the rest of the way to their motel room. Once he is there he sighs before he open the door. The room is empty. The bathroom door closed.
Oh god.
He ran for the door, trying the handle. "Sam?" he called frantically, eyes widening when the door wouldn't open. Sam had locked the door, then.
"Sammy, answer me!" he demanded, trying to keep calm. He had to get the door open. That was the first thing he needed to do. Sammy, don't do this to me. Please don't do this. Oh god oh god ohgodohgodohgod...
He should've known. He should have known Sam would do this when he was gone. FUCK!
"Sam!" Dean shouted, pulling at the handle. "Open the door, or I swear to god I'll knock it down if I have to!"
"Oh god," Dean whimpered, refusing to give into the hysterical sob that was threatening to overwhelm him. "Don't do this Sammy don't do this-"
"Sam?!" Dean called out to his brother through the closed door yet again.
Dean stepped back and threw his body into. With a crack, the crappy door burst open. And there it was. His baby brother laying on the cold tile floor, blood surrounding the lower half of his body, still leaking from his wrist. Dean has never in his life reacted as fast as he did in this moment.
As Dean reached Sam's side, realisation struck him like a sledge hammer. There was the knife, one that Dean recognized as being from their duffel, laying beside Sam. Also Sam was bleeding profusely from a head wound. Probably a result from the crack in the mirror.
"Sam! Shit! Sammy!" Dean exclaimed in horror at the sight before him, his first thought was that Sam was dead, that he'd screwed up so badly, not seen how bad what was happening to his brother, and now his baby brother had killed himself. But then Sam's chest rose, he was still alive.
Oh thank god. Dean thought as he scrambled down onto his hands and knees beside Sam, trying to asess his condition, ignoring the emotions and pain that threatened to drown him.
"Sam.. Sammy?" Dean yelled, screamed, slapping his brother harshly across the face. "SAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!" It was a moan.. a desperate cry.. a plea.. whether to heaven or to hell it didn't matter.
Dean's eyes fall to Sam's wrist and there, right there, bathroom light, is a perfect little line, cut diagonally from the bottom of Sam's hand to a spot several inches up his forearm. It's straight and neat and practically fucking surgical in it's preciseness.
Dean grabs the pink towels the hotel provides from their hanging spot and wraps them around his brother's bloody wrist. Dean lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Once he's sure that the blood flow has slowed, Dean fishes his cellphone out of his pocket, and dials 911.
"Hello, how may I help you?" An emergency services operator answers the phone.
Dean can't believe the words coming out of his mouth as he says. "My brother slit his wrists. I found him in the bathroom ...There's so much blood."
In a calm tone, the woman on the other end of the phone asks. "Does he have a pulse?"
"Yeah, but it's pretty weird, really slow and weak." Dean tells her, turning around so that he can see Sam.
"Okay sir. I'm going to send an ambulance. What's your address?"
Dean pauses for a moment to remember what their latest motel is actually called, then answers. "Room 6, Wood Acres Motel."
"Okay. The ambulance will be there soon." Dean hangs up the phone as soon as the words leave her mouth, and turns back to his brother. He hates how still Sammy is.
Barely controlling his panic at seeing his brother in such a state. "Why did you do this Sammy?"
Dean stays sitting right there, keeping pressure on both his arms, whilst talking mindlessly to Sam, anything he can think of to avoid the reality, Sam tried to kill himself, and if Dean hadn't gotten back when he did, Sam might have died, he still could.
Oh god Sammy. What did you do? I should have been here! I'm so sorry Sammy. Please don't die.
Just as Dean hears a siren in the distance, the faint, but reassuring sound of Sam's breathing comes to a halt. "Sam!" Dean shouts, shaking Sam's limp body.
Realizing that Sam is going to die if he doesn't do anything, Dean starts doing mouth to mouth resuscitation, and doesn't stop until there is a knock on the door.
Dean jumps up, and runs to open the door, and then leads the paramedics back over to his brother.
As one of the paramedics, places a mask over Sam's face, and forces much needed oxygen into his lungs, she asks Dean. "How long ago did he stop breathing?"
"...Maybe a couple of minutes. I did mouth to mouth." Dean tells them, unable to look away as the other paramedic, starts IV lines in both Sam's arms, above the slits, and pushes in as much saline solution as possible, while he retrieves a laryngoscope, and an endotrachial tube from one of the kits.
"Claire?" The male paramedic asks.
"That's good, Mike." Claire says reassuringly as she takes away the mask, and skillfully puts in the breathing tube, before reconnecting the am bu bag to the tube, and squeezing it to give Sam oxygen.
Mike brings over a gurney, and he and Claire gently, but quickly lift Sam onto it, and begin moving towards the door. "We need to get him to the hospital fast, he's lost a lot of blood." Claire turns briefly to look at Dean, who is still standing by the bathroom door, too shocked to move.
Mike takes over maneuvering the gurney down to the ambulance, while Claire grabs a blanket off one of the beds, and wraps it around Dean as she guides him gently over to the ambulance.
In the ambulance, Dean rides in the back with Sam, watching as Claire monitors Sam, and pushes medications into his broken body.
While working on Sam, not looking up, Claire asks Dean. "What's his name? And yours?" After she realizes she doesn't know.
Dean thinks for a moment, he can't think of which alias they have been using, so he simply answers. "Sam. And I'm Dean."
They're just kids, where are their parents? "Can we call your folks?"
God how is dad going to handle this? Dean thinks bitterly, before replying. "I'll call him when we're at the-"
Dean's sentence stops abruptly as the monitors start to shriek, and Kate calls out to her partner. "He's crashing!"
A/N Please review :)