tw: suicide mention, depression

word count: 2,125

notes: I've decided on one more regular chapter and then an epilogue. Final answer. Probably. Also I thought this chapter was half-done for about three days and then got on today and checked the word count and was like you know what? It's fine.

The anxiety was rolling off Dean in wave after wave, but Caleb wouldn't have needed it to know the kid was freaking out. His face was tight with panic, his hands were clenched tightly at his sides, and his leg started to bounce every time he stood still for more than a few seconds.

His green eyes were locked onto Caleb's, pleading like a little kid. "Can't you just do it?"

The older man exhaled heavily. "Deuce..."

"I told your dad for you!"

"Deuce."

He waited until he was sure the kid was listening, then went on, his voice steady.

"This is Mac and Jim we're talking about. I know this is hard, but you don't need to be afraid of them."

Sam was upstairs, on the phone with Katy, and Caleb had seized the opportunity to talk to the two present Triad members about what had happened the night before. They were waiting for them in the living room... he was just trying to get Dean to actually go in.

"Damien, I... I know that...'' the teenager was saying now, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I just... I just can't, okay?"

Caleb looked at him for a long moment, feeling his resolve breaking down. "Do you really want me to tell them for you?" he asked tiredly.

"Please." Dean was almost crying.

He couldn't say no to that face. He let out a long breath before making a small, freeing gesture with one hand. "Okay. If that's really what you want. But you know they're both gonna want to talk to you about it?"

"I know," he confirmed, his voice choked. "I just... I just can't do this."

"Alright. Then you're right... you told Dad for me, I'll return the favor. You can go."

Dean turned to flee like the devil was behind him, but Caleb held up a hand to forestall him.

"But Deuce..."

The boy turned back to look at him, his face wary.

"Don't do anything stupid up there. Keep that door open. Yeah?"

Dean's eyes dropped back to the floor, but he nodded.

"Okay. Good."

And this time, the boy did disappear into the next room, his footsteps evidence that he was taking the stairs two at a time.

Caleb ran a tired hand over his face before following him through the doorway. He was greeted by the worried, curious gazes of his father and The Guardian. Dean had been forced to dash past them on his way to his room.

"Does someone need to go after him?" Mac asked mildly.

His son shook his head a little. "I told him he could go. I was hoping we could talk to you guys together, but..." He shrugged helplessly. "He was freaking out. Wanted me to do it. Wasn't going to force him."

They both nodded slightly, their gazes expectant of the long-awaited explanation. Caleb dropped into an empty chair, allowing his head to fall into his hands.

"He almost shot himself last night."

The confession was greeted with two gasps, two murmurs of disbelief.

"He... you mean on..." Mac asked, obviously knowing exactly what he meant, but not wanting it to be true.

Caleb nodded. "Yes. On purpose."

Jim's hand came up to his forehead, his eyes misting with tears. "I should have known," he said softly. "When he asked me if I'd take care of Sam... I should have known."

"Yeah, I heard that conversation," Caleb sighed. "Just one of the many red flags that kid was throwing."

"What happened? Did he come to you?" Mac pressed, his eyes searching his son's for answers.

"We talking about the same Deuce?" the younger man scoffed sadly. "No. That Wall of China in his brain gave enough to wake me up. Thank God all the doors in this house take the same key. Talked him down long enough to get it outta his hands."

"Did he tell you why?" Jim pressed. "I mean... did you talk about it after?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we talked for a long time. Apparently he's been casually suicidal since he was twelve." He swallowed hard, struggling to keep his composure as he rehashed everything the boy had told him the night before. "But what Johnny did this time just... pushed him over the edge. He thought if he was outta the picture, he'd come back and start actually being there for Sam."

"It takes a very hurt Dean to believe that," the pastor sighed.

They all knew losing his older son would make John anything except more present for the younger.

"Yeah," Caleb confirmed. "It does." He hesitated before nodding in the direction of the stairs. "I told him you'd both wanna talk to him. He just... didn't want to tell you himself."

They both accepted that with small nods of their own. It wasn't exactly a surprising move from the closed-off kid.

"So where did you leave it?" Mac asked after a pause. "I mean, is he... how close do we need to be watching him?"

"His son exhaled slowly as he considered the question. "I don't know, Dad," he said finally, his voice small. "His weapons are in my closet right now. I told him to leave his door open before he went upstairs. I don't wanna suffocate him or make him feel like we don't trust him, but... last night, after I got the gun away. He apologized, and I told him to just never do that again. And all he did was apologize again. He... he won't even say he won't... And he told me he'd try to let me help him. But he's still so ashamed of all of it, and I just... I don't know."

"So we keep a close eye on him," Jim cut in simply. "But not like he's a child. Just like we love him."

"Yeah." Caleb took a steadying breath. "Exactly."

"Good," the pastor confirmed, then looked at the young man in front of him more directly. "I'm proud of you, Caleb. Not only did you save his life last night, but it seems you made some very good progress with him after you did. You're an exceptional brother to him."

The psychic managed a weak smile. "Thanks, Jim. But I'm just returning his favor to me." He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "Literally, in this case."

Jim was well-aware of what had happened with Caleb and Dean and the gun all those years ago, and Caleb knew it was close to the front of both his and Mac's minds.

The Guardian offered him a small, sad smile of his own. "Just proof as to how much you boys need each other." He got to his feet and began to turn towards the stairs. "I'm going to let you two talk and see where I get with Dean."

Caleb nodded appreciation of both sentiments. "Good luck."

When his footsteps had faded upstairs, Mac spoke up.

"Jim beat me to saying it, but I'm proud of you, Son."

Caleb swallowed hard. "Thanks, Dad."

"Are you okay?"

A small nod. "Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

The younger man sighed slowly. "I mean... I took a gun out of my little brother's hands to keep him from shooting himself with it last night. Found out he's been wanting to check out for seven years and never told me. Had him ask me if his dad even loves him. It..." He shook his head a little, blinking back tears. "It breaks my heart."

Mac nodded a little, his face saying he felt the same way, but also knew he would never feel it to the level that Caleb did.

"But as for me?" Caleb finished. "Really. I'm okay."

His father accepted that with a small inclination of his head. "Okay. Good. Let me know if you're not."

"Yeah. Will do."

Dean stared straight ahead, foot tapping against the wooden floor, trying to remember how to breathe.

It was never supposed to come to this.

Either he toughed it out like he always had, or he did it and did it right.

This was his worst nightmare come true.

Except for the part where Caleb wasn't planning to tell his dad. At least he had that.

But he was still realizing how necessary his best friend's confiscation of his weapons had been. If he had them with him, he'd be slicing his arm open again at the very least.

The very least.

He settled for driving one nail into his wrist, hard.

This wasn't happening.

This couldn't be happening.

He jerked upright at a light tap on the frame of the open door. His eyes locked with Jim's. He thought he was going to be sick.

"Can I come in?" the pastor asked quietly.

The question was genuine. Dean knew he could tell him no and he'd leave him alone.

But he nodded slightly anyway as his eyes dropped back to the floor.

The Guardian returned the gesture, crossing the room and slowly sitting down on the foot of the bed.

"I want to apologize to you, Dean," he said after a pause. "When you asked me if I'd take care of Sam the other night... I should've known something was wrong."

Dean could feel his cheeks burning. "I didn't ask to get your attention," he said without looking up. "I just wanted to make sure."

"I know that, my boy," the older man replied evenly. "But you gave me a very clear clue, and I didn't see it for what it was. It makes me wonder how many others I've missed over the years."

"It's not like that."

"So tell me what it's like."

"I just..." He swallowed hard. He couldn't cry. "I just couldn't take it anymore."

It was so undeniably pathetic when he said it outloud.

"What couldn't you take?"

"Just..." He faltered. "Life. Feeling like... like there's something wrong with me and I'm nothing but... but a burden and... I don't know. Feeling like Dad hates me."

Jim sighed sadly. "People say some terrible things when they're drunk, Dean. I know it's hard not to listen, but he didn't mean it."

"Or he's meant it for a long time and it just took him getting drunk to actually say it."

"Your father loves you, Son," the minister countered gently. "More than you'll ever know. But that doesn't mean he didn't hurt you."

The teenager didn't trust himself not to start crying if he answered, so he stayed quiet. Jim went on after a long moment of it.

"And even if he didn't. Your brother and Caleb and Mac and I all care about you more than we could ever possibly tell you. You know that, don't you?"

Dean frowned at the wood floor, still desperately fighting tears, for several seconds. Then, a slight nod and, "I'm sorry."

Jim laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed a little. "You don't have to apologize," he said gently. "Just tell me what I can do to help."

"I don't... I don't need help," the boy said, his face tight against barely restrained tears. "I just... I just need to... I don't know. This wasn't supposed to happen." The last part came out a whisper.

"You mean Caleb stopping you?"

He knew he shouldn't, but he nodded.

Jim considered that quietly for a long moment. Dean knew he was tearing out his heart, but he didn't know how to stop.

"I know this wasn't what you planned, Dean," he said at last. "I know it's making you feel... exposed... in the worst way. And I know you have some complicated feelings about God. But He's not surprised by any of this. He loves you enough to get you the help and support you couldn't bring yourself to ask for."

The teenager's eyes squeezed shut in a final defense to the tears which he could no longer keep from welling in his eyes. He rocked forward under the weight of a heavy sob, feeling pain and shame wash over him in a fresh tidal wave, so suffocating he thought he might get lucky and choke on them.

Instead, he realized a moment too late to make himself resist that Jim had caught him before he toppled forward off of the bed. The pastor's arms wrapped around him now, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head and guide it to his shoulder.

He told himself to pull away, to pull it together, with each sob, but with each sob only found himself clinging to Jim's shirt that much tighter.

"I can't..." he gasped. "I don't..."

He couldn't find it in himself to finish, but Jim seemed to understand.

"We can," he countered simply. "We do."

Next chapter will come with the obligatory Mac injury check... and a revisit of the "poetry" Dean was writing. I'm so sorry for the spazzy updates right now... it's been a really long week... month... year... life. Anyway. Please let me know what you think! Love you guys.

- Line