Chapter Text
It wasn't hard.
Dean noted it numbly, somewhere in the back of his mind. He thought it'd be hard. It was supposed to be hard.
He tied a sheet to the ceiling fan using the knot Bobby taught him. He remembered Bobby yanking on the rope he had tied, leaning his weight into it. "Strong enough to hold a family of four and a dog," he'd said with typical gruffness.
It would hold.
Dean fished out a small stash of crumpled bills from the back of his sock drawer and took off the amulet Sammy had given him. He put them on the kitchen table.
(Thought about writing a note. Didn't. It would just upset Sammy.)
There was an assembly for suicide at school, once. Parents complained and it never happened again, but Dean remembered a blonde woman with florescent pink lipstick staring out at the ninth graders. She said stuff like "you matter" and "things will get better."
Dean couldn't believe it. Other people mattered. Sam mattered. Cas mattered. Dean was the person who messed things up for everyone else.
Not anymore, though.
Dean balanced a chair from the kitchen table on top of his bed. He had read that it was less painful to jump from a height, snap the neck in one go. (Maybe this wasn’t high enough, but Dean tried not to think about that.) He wasn't scared of the pain, really, was used to it, but it'd be nice to do something painlessly for once. Really nice.
Dean climbed up on the chair, wobbling slightly. His head brushed the ceiling. It was all ready. All that was left was to...
To wrap the sheet around his throat and jump.
And then there'd be no more pain. Sam could move away from their dad. Cas wouldn't be dragged into temptation. It'd all be over.
Dean tied the knot. His hands didn't shake.
But then.
But then he remembered jumping out of his window, jumping out of the treehouse. He remembered Cas's strong, warm arms wrapping around him and holding him close.
Dean still wanted to jump. More than anything. But he needed someone there with him, arms outstretched. Hell, even Jesus had angels to catch him. Dean just needed someone to tell him that it'd all be okay when the noose tightened around his throat, when he was at the mercy of whatever came next.
Because he knew it wouldn't be. It wouldn't be okay at all.
Dean's fingers fumbled to free himself from the sheets, quickly, quickly. He stepped from the chair to his bed to the floor, shaking.
Cas. He needed to see Cas.
Dean grabbed the keys to the Impala and ran.