FicWad

John Winchester watched from the doorway as Dean and Missouri tended to Sam. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins as though he was running for his life from a demon or a werewolf or a vampire. His son, his Sammy - the little boy he could see in his mind's eye in footy pajamas, digging in a cereal box for the prize - wanted to die. Worse yet, his Sammy had confessed to thinking about killing himself at twelve, and had gotten so far as to hold a gun to his own head at fourteen. John shook his head in an attempt to clear it.

Twelve! At twelve, I was playing baseball and riding my bike! Not thinking about doing myself in! Then, it hit. At twelve, Sam was helping track and kill supernatural beings of evil. At twelve, Sam was helping with research, trained in fighting, and capable of handling a gun and of chanting in Latin. Sam had never even owned a bicycle, never played on a sports team, and had never lived in any one place long enough to make a friend. At twelve, Sam was moody and secretive, hiding his novels and textbooks among his demonic reference tomes and Latin dictionaries. Instead of the occasional bad dream about showing up to school naked or falling from a cliff, Sam dreamed of blood, gore, malevolent spirits and beings, and his desperate fear of losing his brother or father. Was it possible that these visions his son now suffered had begun in childhood? Was the demon they pursued messing with Sammy's head, and had it been doing so even through his dreams when he was a child?

"Dad! Dad, I could use your help here. In case you didn't notice, your boy here is busy telling us that he needs to die." Dean frowned, opening his arms in a gesture of frustration.

Dean sounded angry, but John knew his son well enough to know that he was not angry, but afraid. Paralyzed by fear and indecision, John didn't move, not until he heard a choked sob from Sam.

"You don't get it, Dean! I - I saw it in my dreams, in visions! I have to die, it's the only way to stop this demon! It wants me, that's why it went after Mom and Jess. It will kill everyone I know until it gets to me. I can't live like this, Dean! I can't! If I don't ... do it, I'll have to live the rest of my life on the run, and so will you! I'll never be able to have friends or - or fall in love again, or anything! It'll kill everyone I love, including you and Dad, and I'll be alone. I'd rather die, Dean. I'd rather die! If I do it myself, at least the demon won't get to use me and my - my abilities to hurt anyone!"

The worst part for John was that his mind was so warped and twisted from his life of hunting that Sam's words held a certain kind of logic. If the demon was after John the way it seemed to be after Sam, he could imagine himself blowing his own brains out to spite the demon, and to protect his boys. Sam was thinking like him, and that very scary fact was what finally broke through his emotional shields.

"No! Samuel Winchester, you listen to me and you take what I say to heart. These are orders I'm giving you, and you will do as I say, am I clear, son?"

Surprised, Sam stared at his father.

John continued, "If the demon was capable of defeating us, he would have done so already. Even without your 'gift', we've been able, granted, with some difficulty, to evade it. It's scared of us, of me and Dean, but especially of you. We need to understand and hone this ability of yours, and use it against the demon. My boy is no spoon-bender. My boy is going to learn to throw knives with his mind. My boy is going to lift a goddamn car if that's what it takes! My son is not going to take the easy way out and blow out his own brains when he can put his mind to better use. Do you understand me, Sam?"

Tears poured unchecked down Sam's pale cheeks, and Missouri wrapped her arm around him, pulling him close, his head resting against her shoulder. "No, baby. You can't think things like that. I'll know the minute you do. You mustn't let that abomination have this kind of power over you! Your daddy's right. The demon wants you either under its power or dead because it fears you. The Winchesters, and especially you, Sam, have the power to destroy it."

Dean made eye contact with his father, and John knew that his oldest boy would be Sam's salvation. Through grim determination alone, Dean would keep his brother alive. But, it would certainly help if they could somehow convince Sam that killing himself was out of the question.

"Sam, Dad's right. We're together now, and we're always stronger together, you know that! With you and your Master Yoda on Dagobah routine, we can kick some demon ass! And the sooner we end that soul-sucking parasite, the sooner me and you can spend some quality time getting massages from bikini babes in Tahiti."

At that, Sam managed to make a sound that was almost like a short laugh. Missouri disentangled herself from Sam's embrace, and helped him lay back against the soft pillows.

"His mind is still a mess. After he sleeps some more, he should feel better. This time, he shouldn't have any dreams - I don't usually use my abilities to suppress emotion, especially in someone else, but it was for the best, this time."

John nodded in agreement. Standing next to his son's bed with Dean, he reached out tentatively to stroke the soft, brown hair, something he hadn't done in years. It pierced his heart when Sam's body tensed at the touch. Had it really been so long since he had touched his youngest son with fatherly affection? Sam's visions might be causing and amplifying his emotional distress, but John knew the root of the problem was his own fault. With so many factors eating away at Sam's confidence, he knew his cold, distant behavior had not helped. Right there, at his son's bedside, he made a decision. If they managed to kill this demon and free Sammy from his guilt and pain, he would be the father he'd always meant to be. And if that meant letting Sammy go, dropping him off at Stanford himself, then that was what he would do.