In my death...
Could it be possible?
Could it be that simple?
What if it was wrong?
Sam glanced at his brother's sleeping form across the room from him, Dean's face smooth and seemingly free from worries. How Dean could be so at peace with everything that was happening, everything that was coming... Sam shook his head. He couldn't imagine being without Dean, living the rest of his life with his older brother. Never hearing his voice... never hunting together again... never fighting again... how could Dean have ever thought he would be able to survive?
The same way you wish I had let you die so I could live, little brother, Dean's voice spoke inside his head. But how could you think I would be able to live when everything I had ever done was to keep you safe?
Sam closed his eyes and turned away, unable to bear looking at his brother while knowing what was to come. He knew what he had to do, what he was going to do.
He knew he had to try.
Sammy, don't, Dean spoke in his mind again. Sam gritted his teeth, trying to push Dean out of his mind unsuccessfully. If you do, my sacrifice will have been for nothing... I saved you, little brother. I can die knowing you're safe. It doesn't matter where I go.
Sam felt a hard lump rising in his throat, painful as if it was going to burst through his skin and erupt in a flood of emotion. He forced it down once again, practiced at it now. Every day since he'd found out, every day... every minute since he'd discovered what Dean had done for him.
Dammit! Sam was pissed as hell, and he couldn't let it out, couldn't show it. How could he? Dean was giving up everything for him!
And Sam was losing everything...
He opened his eyes, feeling hot tears welling quickly as he sought sight of his bag sitting against the wall, not quite in his reach. He pulled himself from his bed, where he had been faking sleep for the third night in a row. He grabbed his bag and sat on his bed again, careful his movements didn't wake the oldest living Winchester. If Dean woke, everything would change. They were packing up and shipping out in the morning. If Dean woke now, Sam would have to wait at least another few days and he had waited long enough. Almost a week had passed since he'd found the obscure reference in one of Bobby's most ancient and dusty texts.
And time was of the essence...
Sam had left his bag unzipped earlier, risking his plan fall apart entirely should Dean go into his bag for some reason so he wouldn't have to risk waking Dean by having to open the zip while he slept. Now, glad that they had an unspoken rule about going into each others bags, Sam pulled it open and reached inside.
He pulled out a bottle.
Sam Starch. Sam Brown. Sam Black. Sam Hills.
And finally, because he wanted to, just once, be himself...Sam Winchester.
The final bottle he pulled from his bag was much larger. Tequila. It would speed up the process, it would complicate the damage done and make sure it was done properly.
This had to work, it had to.
Dean woke with sun in his eyes, blinding through the torn curtains in the tiny window. He closed his eyes and rolled over, not wanting to get up and face the day but glad to be out of this crap-heap of a motel. Sam had become particularly thrifty with his motel choice this past week, claiming he had to start saving money for... well, for the future.
Opening his eyes, Dean was met with an empty, rumpled bed across from his own. Sam was often the first one up, but usually his bed was made immaculately by now, and their bags packed and waiting. He'd been especially quiet, as well, so Dean knew something was bothering him. He didn't want to jump in and solve all Sammy's problems now... well, now that Sam was obviously starting to accept what was coming and what he was going to have to learn to live with.
He was going to have to fend for himself soon anyway.
"Sammy, you're never going to be that pretty, no matter how much your preen in front of that mirror," he called, not really feeling as light and cheerful as he sounded. When there was no response from the bathroom, he sat up. The door to the tiny bathroom was standing open, and it was empty. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Dean hurriedly did his morning 'business' and washed his hands.
Breakfast, of course! He'd gone out to get... but then again, he wasn't eating that much lately, either, Dean realised. Sam hadn't gone to get their breakfast once this week, and Dean had had to stand over him to make sure he ate – although a few bites of a granola bar hardly counted as breakfast.
"Sam?" he called again, stepping out of the bathroom. His eyes immediately shot to the door.
It was open.
Not completely open, but open just the same. It had been locked the night before, Dean checked three times!
"Sam? C'mon bro, this isn't funny," Dean called, walking over to the weapons bag and grabbing his gun before heading for the door. He moved slowly, his heart racing as his mind rapidly considered all the possible foes that could have gotten to his little brother in the night.
Suddenly he froze.
"Sam?" Dean's voice shook this time, he heard it. "Sammy?"
Oh God, just above the shoe... jeans! A leg... a knee...
Dean pulled the door open as realisation gripped him in a cold vice.
"Sammy!" Dean holstered his gun quickly, dropping to his knees by his brother's unconscious body. Sam was lying face down, so Dean rolled him over and pulled his head into his lap. A pool of vomit, cold now after however many hours had passed, was nearby. "Shit, no! Sam, come on, don't do this to me!"
Closing his eyes, Dean pressed his finger to Sam's throat, feeling desperately for a pulse. At first he couldn't find one and he felt sick...
"C'mon, dude, you can't do this!" Dean looked at his brother's pale face, wondering what had happened. What had Sam done? Jesus, don't... please, don't... Dean prayed silently, desperately searching for a pulse. "Sam, please!"
Finally, a weak pulse shuddered beneath his fingers and Dean let out a shaky breath. He wasn't too late.
"Hang on, little brother," Dean told him, lying his head down gently. He pulled his shirt off and rolled it up, tucking it under Sam's head carefully. "I'm right here, Sammy. Okay? I'm right here, I'm just going to get my cell, okay? Don't go anywhere, Sammy... God, please, don't go anywhere!"
Dean hurried back inside, and grabbed his cell, pulling his jeans and boots on while he dialled 911.
"I need an ambulance, I think my brother's taken something..." Dean rushed, panic making him feel faint. He gave his location.
"An ambulance is on its way... what has your brother taken?"
"I don't know... I, wait, there's something in his bag..." Dean saw the top of an alcohol bottle sticking out of Sam's backpack across the room. Was Sam simply drunk? It wasn't like him, but it was possible... especially lately. He pulled Sam's bag onto the bed and pulled out the empty tequila bottle. "Oh, Sammy..." he whispered. He upended the bag and its contents onto the bed and sifted through about eight bottles as his heart thudded. These were heavy-duty meds... crazy scary meds! Where had he gotten them all? "He has taken lithium and morphine," Dean said into the phone, looking at all the labels. "And something here that I cant pronounce, but it looks like some kind of tranquiliser..."
There was a pause at the other end of the phone.
"When did he take the drugs, sir?"
"I don't know... sometime during the night."
"Has he vomited?"
"Yes, he was lying in a pool of it."
"Okay, look... the ambulance is only minutes away, okay? It's okay, just stay with your brother, help is on its way."
Dean's heart felt cold. He hung up and pocketed his cell, grabbing a clean shirt and racing for the door to be with his brother. Filled with dread, Dean knew things were bad... whatever Sam had done to himself, this was serious stuff.
"What were you thinking, Sammy?" Dean moaned, resting his hand on his younger brothers chest, hoping to feel something that would indicate Sam was still with him. A heartbeat, the gentle rise and fall of breath... any sign of life at all. "You hang in there, Sammy... you are not allowed to die!"
What am I going to do?
How am I supposed to deal with this?
I'm not going to be here in a few months! What then?
His he just going to do it again? Is he planning on following me to hell?
What am I supposed to do?
Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket and hit speed dial 2...
"Bobby? I think you'd better get down here..." Dean said, his voice catching.
"What is it?" Bobby asked.
"I – I don't know what to do!" a sob escaped from Dean's lips as he saw the ambulance turn into the parking lot. The siren screamed for a moment, warning anyone who might be in the way to move. It stopped right next to Sam and Dean and two men jumped from the vehicle and rushed to them. "Bobby, I cant handle this, I don't know how."
Dean ended the call and pocketed the phone again.
Help was here, but that didn't mean much... Sam wasn't looking –
Suddenly, Sam's body was shaking and thrashing around, knocking Dean's hand from his chest. Foam formed around Sam's lips and a sound similar to a grunt escaped from his voice. Dean jumped to his feet and stumbled away, fear holding him tightly in his grasp.
"What's happening to him?" he yelled over the medical jargon shouted between the paramedics.
"He's seizing," one answered, trying to stabilise Sam's head to prevent him from doing any further damage to himself. "What's his name?"
Dean didn't answer. He felt cold.
"Did you know he was suicidal?" the other asked, holding an oxygen mask over Sam's nose and mouth to make sure he was deprived of oxygen on top of everything else.
"What? No," Dean shook his head, wishing he could look away from his brother. "He wouldn't... he would never..."
Never what, Dean? Kill myself? Sam's voice spoke to him, so clear in his mind that Dean almost looked over his shoulder as if Sam stood behind him instead of fighting for life – or death – on the ground before him. Don't you remember, Dean? Don't you remember?
"He wouldn't do that, he wouldn't," Dean repeated, desperate to believe it.
Like you, you mean? Like you wouldn't? You said it was suicide, you told me it wasn't worth it... you said it mattered to you... but what are you doing?
"That's not the same," Dean muttered.
It is. It's exactly the same.
"No," Dean whispered, refusing to believe it. "No, no, no..."
Finally the seizure passed and Sam was limp and still. The paramedics checked his vitals and secured the oxygen mask on his face, loading him onto a stretcher and into the back of the ambulance quickly.
"Are you going to ride with him?" the driver asked as the other medic continued to work on Sam in the back of the ambulance.
Dean nodded and climbed in after his brother, securing the belt across his waist and watching the man trying to save his brother even as his brother seemed to fight for the right to die. His heart beat showed on the monitor, it was slow and desperately close to death. The pauses seemed to get longer and longer, and Dean prayed that they would hold on at least until they reached the hospital. At the hospital they could fix him, they could save him. As long as they made it to the hospital, everything would be okay.
God, please, let everything be okay...