Chapter 3:

Dean chose not to say anything about what had happened that night in the bathroom. He tossed the Tylenol to Sam and left it at that. But that did not mean he had forgotten. He was keeping a close eye on Sam, waiting for the other shoe to drop like it had in the year before Stanford, but this time he was going to be ready. He was convinced that Sam was not going to be given the chance to kill himself this time.

Sam was not stupid. He could tell Dean was watching him, and though it was irritating he knew he had brought it on himself.

"Could you at least pretend you aren't staring at me?" Sam bristled.

The two brothers' were at a bar, attempting to wrangle up some cash, and while Dean was maintaining his level headedness; Sam seemed to be trying to get as drunk as possible.

"I'm not staring, I'm just counting your drinks." Dean replied coolly, putting away his pool cue.

"Fuck off Dean, we got the money we need, now I would like to relax for a little while."

"Mhmmm..." Dean sounded. "How does alcohol mix with those meds of yours anyway?"

Sam snorted, and threw some cash down on the bar.

"Are you capable of understanding that some shit isn't your business?" Sam snarled, walking out of the bar.

Dean closed his eyes and counted to ten before following Sam out into cold wind. He knew Sam was itching for a fight, and it was better for it to be his big brother then a drunk trucker.

Dean walked around the corner and watched as Sam lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke out into the stagnant air of the city.

"I thought you gave this up…" Dean whispered.

Sam scoffed and took another drag.

"You also thought I gave up being sad… shows what you know."

"Jesus… I don't care that you are sad Sammy, I just don't want to see you… hurt yourself again…"

Sam eyed his brother coldly.

"You can't even say what it was can you? I tried to kill myself Dean. I was such a coward that I slit my wrists in the bathroom instead of dealing with my girly emotions. Is that what you are talking about?"

"Screw you Sam. Don't project your thoughts on me. I never thought any of that."

"I don't need you to carry my scars for me Dean. They are mine to bare."

"I know that… I know you aren't weak, I just want to help you…"

Sam laughed coldly, and Dean was surprised. He didn't remember Sam being this mean when he was sick before.

"Saint Dean." Sam said sarcastically. "Patron Saint of lost brothers."

"Hey!" Dean snapped grabbing a hold of Sam's arm. "You are not lost, you idiot. I am not going to lose you!"

Sam pulled back but Dean would not let go.

"You already did! You don't even know me!" Sam said, tears starting to gather in his eyes.

"Bullshit, I know you. You are my little brother; I raised you while Dad was halfway across the country hunting monsters! Look, I am sorry about Jessica, but I can't go back and save her for you, so I am gonna do the second best thing and keep you safe, I just need you to stop fighting me."

The two men were quiet, and eventually Sam crashed back against Dean's chest knocking them both to the ground of the dirty alley.

"De- I am so messed up." Sam sobbed.

"That's okay… just let in, don't fight it… we'll get through it together."

Sam felt the depression hitting him in waves, but somewhere the back of his mind, he felt better knowing Dean was by his side.

"I'm gonna find you some help… I promise." Dean whispered.

"What about Dad?" Sam asked.

Dean just pat Sam softly on the top of his head.

"Dad can wait kiddo, you first."