Characters: Sam and Dean
Summary: Sam's guilt finally catches up with him and he does something drastic. Dean is left to pick up the pieces.
Warnings: Attempted suicide, some cursing
Notes: This is my first Supernatural fic, so I'm not too sure that it's any good. Plus, I'm pretty sure Dean is a bit OOC, but hopefully that won't bother anyone too much.
Disclaimer: I only own these gorgeous boys in my mind... :(
It was a fitting way to die, really. The demon blood that ran through his veins was the cause of this, of everything. The anomaly in his blood system, placed there by Azazal when he was only six months old, had ruined his life, his brother’s life, and the lives of countless others.
So yes, Sam thought, as he drew Ruby’s knife through the skin of his wrists, this was a fitting way to die.
His blood looked almost beautiful as it soaked through his shirt and dripped down to the cold, tiled floor of the bathroom, forming pools around him and he couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. How could something so evil be even close to beautiful? Then again, he thought, resting his head back against the cool surface of the bathtub, looks can be deceiving. After all, he had fought many a monster in the form of a seemingly innocent human. He himself was a prime example. A monster, wearing human flesh.
He giggled slightly at this, a twisted sound that came out almost as a sob. When had he fallen so low? All that was left of Sam Winchester was this empty shell, the remnants of this tortured soul, destined for the fiery pits of hell.
With shaking hands, he extracted his cell phone from his pocket. He had to explain, needed to make Dean understand why he was doing this.
Dean didn’t pick up, but, Sam thought, that was probably for the best anyway. He left a message on his brother’s voicemail, hoping that Dean would actually take the time to listen to it.
A wave of nausea hit him and black spots appeared in his vision. It wouldn’t be long now. He would leave behind this God-forsaken life, for good this time. Dean could be happy now. He wouldn’t have to worry about his pain-in-the-ass little brother anymore. No more watching out for Sammy. No more pretending to care for the freak who had stared the a-fucking-pocalypse. Sam was many things, but blind, he wasn’t. He had seen the carefully concealed hatred in his brother’s green eyes.
Things were better this way, for everyone.
He closed his eyes and shifted slightly on the hard floor, his limbs heavy from blood loss and his head spinning slightly.
Not long now.
He would amend for this God-forsaken life.
As the darkness descended, his mind wandered to Dean, an automatic response because even after everything that had happened, he loved his brother more than anything. His death would be the ultimate gift, and it was all he had left to give.
It was for Dean. It had always been for Dean. Sam drew comfort from the knowledge that Dean would be happy. And as he began to drift, he felt a sense of peace envelop him.
For Dean. Always for Dean.
He let go.
Dean felt his phone vibrate in his pocket as he downed yet another shot of whatever it was he was drinking, he had stopped paying attention about an hour ago. His fingers felt heavy as he fumbled for it, only just realizing how much he had been drinking. The screen on his phone was too bright and Dean had to squint to read it.
Dean rejected the call. The last thing he wanted was to talk to his brother. His phone vibrated again, telling him that Sam had left a voicemail. Dean slipped the device back into his pocket and signaled to the bartender for another drink.
She was quite the looker, blonde hair, skinny waist, blue eyes that seemed to shine unnaturally bright in the dimness of the bar. Definitely something Dean would be interested in had the circumstances been different. All he could think about was Sam, and that was definitely not something he should have on his mind when trying to flirt with a pretty girl.
He couldn’t help but snort, which was completely natural and totally not alcohol-induced, at the thought. Sam was killing his game. Again. Except, this time, it wasn’t due to his youth and innocence. It was not longer the fact that his dad was out hunting and he had babysitting duties. Quite the opposite actually. Sam, the young, gangly kid who had depended on Dean for so much was dead. In his place was this full-grown man who no longer really needed Dean. It scared him to know that he could no longer protect his little brother. Sam was not a child. He had made his own decisions, and he would have to pay for them.
Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. He was tired. So damn tired.
“I think you’ve had enough,” the cute bartender told him, placing a glass of water on the counter.
He glared at her. What did she know? His little brother, his Sammy, who had started the apocalypse, was falling farther and farther over the edge while Dean could do nothing but watch. He deserved a damn drink.
“Sorry hun,” She said, smiling sympathetically, “I’m sure there’s a reason, but drowning in alcohol isn’t the answer. Is there anyone I can call to pick you up?”
Dean felt his heart skip a beat when he realized that there wasn’t. Not anymore.
“’m fine,” He mumbled, shaking his head, “Stayin’ at the motel. I can walk.”
Her brow furrowed with uncertainty, but she took one look into Dean’s eyes and relented. “Walk safely,” was all she said in parting.
He nodded and slid out of his seat, finding himself surprisingly steady on his feet. The walk back to the motel was short, as expected. He found the room easily, he wasn’t that drunk thank you very much.
After fumbling with the keys, he finally got the door open and stumbled into the empty room. He blinked in confusion, taking in his surroundings. Sam’s bed was unmade and his duffle was still sitting against the right wall of the room.
“Damn it, Sam,” Dean growled, tossing his keys onto his bed. He had specifically told his brother to stay put.
Suddenly, he remembered Sam’s phone call and quickly pulled out his phone, dialing his voicemail. Maybe Sam had, for whatever reason, needed to go out to get something and thought Dean would rather he left him a message than sneak out. That sounded like something Sam would do. But Dean’s confusion only grew as the voicemail started and no sound could be heard. He was about to hang up when he heard it:
Dean pressed his phone closer against his ear. Sam’s voice was faint, and it sounded like he was in a considerable amount of pain.
“Dean…I’m sorry…for everything. ‘S’all my fault, the apocalypse, Lucifer…us. I screwed up…I know, and saying sorry won’t change anything. But I just want you to know…it was for you…all for you. I would do anything for you. That’s…that’s why I have to do this. When you find me, it’ll be too late. I wish…I could’ve explained. I wish I could’ve made you understand. But…all I can say is I’m sorry…”
Dean’s heart was hammering furiously in his chest. Something was horribly wrong. It was then that he realized the bathroom door was closed, and the light was on.
“I’m sorry Dean…” Sam whispered in his ear.
“SAM!” Dean yelled, letting his phone slip from his limp hand and throwing himself towards the bathroom. He had the door kicked in and was in the room in a matter of seconds. He nearly vomited at the sight.
Sam was slumped against the bathtub, his chin resting limply on his chest. Blood was welling from three long vertical slashes on each of his wrists, coating his arms and splattering the white tiled floor with crimson. There was too much blood and Dean found himself completely frozen, unable to look away.
With herculean effort, Dean snapped out of his daze.
“Sam!” He gasped, dropping to his knees beside the limp form of his brother, trying to ignore the feeling of blood…Sam’s blood…soaking through his jeans. He pressed two shaking fingers against Sam’s throat, praying to anyone or anything that would listen that he would find a pulse. Relief washed over him as he felt it, faint and fluttering beneath his fingers, but there.
“Sam, hey, Sammy!” He called, patting his brother on the cheek none too lightly, “Sammy, wake up! Come on kiddo…don’t do this to me…wake up!”
Sam moaned weakly, his eyelids fluttering.
“That’s it Sammy, come on,” Dean’s voice dropped to a soft murmur, hoping to ease his brother into full awareness, “Open your eyes.”
“D’n?” Sam whispered, his voice barely audible.
“The one and only,” Dean said, forcing a shaky smile.
“’m sorry,” Sam whimpered, his eyes beginning to close again.
“No! Sam, hey, stay with me kiddo,” Dean pleaded, shaking his little brother roughly. Sam didn’t reply. Dean noticed that his eyes were closed again. “Sam!” Dean shook his brother harder, “Come on, Sam, don’t you do this to me! Don’t you dare do this to me! Sam!”
Tears were falling freely down his cheeks and he made no effort to wipe them away. Dean Winchester was crying, because when your little brother is bleeding out in your arms, you make a fucking exception.
“Sammy, please,” Dean whispered, “Don’t do this to me. Not again. Please…please Sammy.”
Sam was cold, too cold, in his arms and when Dean fearfully checked for a pulse, he was horrified but not surprised when he found none.
Sam was dead.
Dean’s baby brother was dead.
“Nononononono,” Dean whimpered, whatever was left of his usual strong façade gone, hot tears burning his eyes and blurring his vision. He pulled his brother’s lifeless body against his chest and buried his face in that unruly mop of brown hair, not even trying to contain his sobs.
Sam was dead.
In a way, this was worse than Cold Oak. It was no stranger’s knife that had cut his brother down. No, Sam had taken his life by his own hand this time, and the sheer thought of it made Dean’s chest constrict so tightly that it was painful to breath.
Dean felt a vital part of himself die as he held his baby brother. And he found that all he could do was hold him, his Sammy, and cry.
Sam didn’t know why he was still alive when Dean found him. Even worse, he didn’t know why he was even on the edge of consciousness, easily brought back by the sound of his brother’s voice.
Dean sounded scared. And Sam allowed himself a fleeting moment of doubt. Dean, the strong one; Dean, the hardened and ruthless hunter; Dean, his big brother, sounded scared.
“’M sorry,” Sam could only muster the energy to whisper his parting words.
He heard his brother frantically call out to him, but his voice sounded muffled, as if Sam was hearing through a wall of water.
‘I’m sorry, Dean,’ Sam thought as the darkness finally took him.
It felt like he was floating, weightless and completely numb, in some sort of dark river. The current carried him along, dragging him deeper and deeper as it went. Then, suddenly, he was thrust upwards and as he broke the surface, his eyes opened.
He was standing in a small clearing, encircled by tall, thin-trunked trees. The sunlight filtered through the leaves of the overhead canopy, casting its golden light on the forest floor, covered with grass and small patches of brightly colored flowers. There was a slight breeze that brought with it the soothing scents of the forest: moss and the sweet smell of the different kinds of flowers. It was beautiful.
“I always took you as rash,” a voice came from behind him, “But, I never thought you would actually do it.”
Sam whipped around and stared into the blue eyes of Lucifer’s vessel. He remained motionless, frozen in surprise and horror, as Lucifer stepped towards him.
“It’s touching, really,” the fallen angel continued, now only a few feet away, “Sacrificing yourself for your brother. Futile though.”
“What are you talking about?” Sam asked, finding his voice.
“Oh please, Sammy, don’t tell me you actually forgot.”
Sam just glared at the man before him.
“You did, didn’t you?” Lucifer chuckled, “Well, I recall that on our first meeting, I told you that if you killed yourself, I would just bring you back.”
Sam’s eyes widened and he felt the cold chill of horror creep up his spine. How could he have forgotten?
“Ah, so you do remember,” Lucifer shook his head slowly, “Did you really think that I would just let my true vessel die?”
Sam couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t supposed to happen!
“No…please,” he gasped, taking a step back as Lucifer took a step forward, “Please don’t, please.”
“Sorry Sam,” Lucifer had the audacity to actually look sympathetic, “But this vessel is running out of juice. I need my true vessel, born and raised just for me. I need you.”
To Sam’s further dismay and embarrassment, tears were beginning to burn at the backs of his eyes. He began to contemplate the chances of his escaping. If he could only outrun Lucifer, he could maybe get away long enough to figure out what his next move would be.
But, as if reading Sam’s mind, Lucifer suddenly lunged forward with the agility of a cat, pressing a hand against Sam’s forehead before he could protest. “Say hi to Dean for me,” he said.
The Devil’s smirk was the last thing Sam saw before his world, once again, went black.
The first thing Sam noticed when he opened his eyes were the strong arms wrapped tightly around his body. He was pressed against Dean, his chin resting on his shoulder, in a firm, almost painful, embrace. He closed his eyes again, allowing himself a moment to take in his brother’s familiar scent. He reopened them, however, when he realized Dean was shaking. Slowly, as his head cleared, Sam’s hearing returned and his stomach lurched as he listened to Dean’s heartbroken sobs. He tried to speak, to move, but his mouth felt as dry as chalk, and his limbs as heavy as lead.
Finally, finally, Sam managed to croak out, “Dean…”
His voice was so quiet that Sam was sure Dean hadn’t heard him. But then, Dean stiffened and slowly pulled back from the embrace.
“Sam?” He whispered. Dean was a mess. His eyes were red and bloodshot and his cheeks were shining wetly with tears.
Sam swallowed, trying to clear his throat so that he could speak. But Dean beat him to it. “Oh God, Sam!” He cried, pulling Sam into his arms again.
“Dean…I…” Sam whispered, his voice grating painfully against his throat.
Dean pulled back again and put both hands on Sam’s shoulders. “Why?” He asked, his green eyes still shining with tears.
“I thought…I thought…you…you would,” Sam stumbled over his words.
“I what?” Dean growled, his expression suddenly turning from one of grief to one of anger. “What Sam? That I would want this? That this would make me happy? That this would solve anything?”
Sam took in a shuddering breath, tears beginning to leak out onto his cheeks, “I thought that…if I was dead, Lucifer wouldn’t…he wouldn’t be able to use me as his vessel. And you would…you would be safe.”
All of the fight seemed to leave Dean, as abruptly as it had come.
“Sam…” He murmured.
Sam shook his head and went on, all of his pain and frustration finally bubbling over, “I had to. it’s my fault this all started anyway! I screwed up, Dean! And you…you sold your soul for me, you went to Hell for me! And how do I repay you? By turning into a…a blood-sucking monster?”
“Sam,” Dean said, his grip tightening on his brother’s shoulders.
But, to Dean’s horror, Sam didn’t stop.
“All I ever do is bring death and pain to the people close to me! Mom, Jess, Dad, you…I’m cursed! You should have let me die at Cold Oak Dean! You shouldn’t have brought back this…this monster. And now, I’m even more of a freak! I can’t even kill myself! You should have just left me dead!” Sam was sobbing now, tears of frustration and grief pouring down his cheeks.
“Sam,” Dean snapped, shaking his brother, “Stop it, just stop.”
“But, Dean, I – ”
“Stop it Sam!” Dean nearly shouted. Sam abruptly stopped, his eyes widening at his brother’s tone. “Just listen,” Dean’s voice softened again, “Sam…how could you say something like that to me? How did you expect me to let you die, knowing that I could save you? Yeah, you’ve made some pretty shitty decisions lately, and, I gotta tell you, this whole demon blood thing freaks me out, but, Sam, you’re my brother. I know that I’ve said some things that I never should have said, and you need to know that I didn’t mean any of them, but, the truth is, no matter what you do, you will always be my little brother. I could never hate you. I may get mad, I may yell, and, hell, I may even take a swing at you every once and awhile, but it’s impossible for me to hate you. I love you Sam. I’ve loved you since Mom and Dad brought you back from the hospital.”
Sam had to look away. Dean sounded so heartbroken.
“And nothing,” Dean continued, cupping Sam’s face and forcing him to meet his gaze, “Nothing will ever change that. Got it?”
“Good,” Dean murmured, pulling him into a bone-cracking hug, “Never, never, do that to me again, Sammy.”
“’M sorry, Dean,” Sam whispered, returning the embrace.
“Promise me, Sam,” Dean ordered, his voice cracking.
They remained like that for an immeasurable amount of time. Sam relaxed into his brother’s arms and thought, for the first time in a long time, that everything would be ok. They would figure out this Lucifer thing and they would stop the apocalypse. As long as Dean was with him, everything would turn out ok in the end.
He smiled and closed his eyes.
Everything was going to be ok.