The One He Let Go

9.

((TW: mention of depression symptoms & self harm.))

Jimmy was relieved to find his mother hadn't been doing any self-harm to herself when he had gotten home for the next few days. He believed his prayer from the night it happened had worked, and he didn't think he'd have to see his mother hurting herself again. Fortunately, he didn't. Unfortunately, something else started hurting her. Her depression started taking an even more severe toll on her weary body. It slowed down her immune system, and she started getting sick, even more sick than she was before. Jimmy stopped playing outside the moment he noticed his mom wasn't eating to try and take care of her as best as any nine-year-old could take care of their broken mother. Sadly, Jimmy's best efforts were not rewarded. He didn't know the severity of her condition, but she told him everything would be okay. She made it clear to him not to make any calls to the police or the hospital. Being young, naïve, and too thoughtful of his mother's wishes, Jimmy did as he was told and stayed away from the phone. He didn't want to upset her any more than she already may have been, but little did he know, his mother's immune system was almost completely shut down, her body was aching all over, she was never hungry, and seeing Jimmy struggle to help her and attempt to stay strong for her only chipped away at the remains of her already damaged heart. He thought it would be a good idea to try to take her mind off of things, so he spoke of the good times he would have with his best friend Dean. His intentions were well, thinking that telling his mom these stories would maybe warm her heart. Instead, they only amped up the guilt and disgust she felt for herself. Jimmy should be out enjoying his time with his friend, not sitting in a room with a heavy cloud of sorrow lingering in the air, but this would become their lives for the next long seven days. She felt like a burden and she couldn't bear to watch as Jimmy cried himself to sleep at her bedside, thinking she wasn't still awake. What Jimmy didn't know was, she never slept. She was too sad to sleep. She was too sad to do anything much of anything but be tormented, night after night, watching and listening as her little boy sat in the chair he pulled up next to her bed, held her hand, and talked to her, quietly, about anything else but her problems until he wept.
After the second day Jimmy wasn't coming outside, Dean went by and visited to talk to him and see how he and his mother were doing, but Jimmy never wanted Dean to stay long. He had a feeling that something bad was going to happen soon, and he didn't want Dean to be around for that. He also wanted to spend as much time alone with his mother as he could before the time came.
Dean wasn't stupid though; he knew something bad was going to happen. He and Jimmy were thinking of the same bad something. Jimmy's mother was dying, and every time Jimmy shooed Dean out the door, he would sit on their porch and wait until his dad would call out for him to come back home. Before Dean would leave though, he'd take one more glance and lean in to listen for a moment longer, just in case. He never liked to leave Jimmy's house knowing he might not be around when Jimmy suddenly would be alone. He wondered why Jimmy hadn't called anyone to take his mom to the hospital. He wondered if he should call someone himself. Deciding against it was one of the most regrettable decisions of his life.
It was the sixth night and Jimmy had just finished dumping out the food his mom hardly touched, again. The only sounds heard in the house were the labored breathing of his dying mother, the water running from the sink as Jimmy washed the dishes, and his quiet sniffles. When he finished washing the dishes, he wiped his nose on his sleeve and heard a knock at the door. He knew it was Dean. He looked at the time. 6:47pm.
"Heya, Jim." Dean offered a small smile. "How is she?"
"She's okay," Jimmy shrugged. The answer was always the same. He opened the door wider for Dean to come in. "Did you have dinner yet?"
"Yup." He asked that question every time Dean had come by. Dean brushed past him and plopped down on a chair in the living room. "So..." Dean started as Jimmy made his way over to sit on the sofa across the room from him.
"So," Jimmy replied, picking at his fingers, nervously.
"Come on," Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His face had worry written all over it. "Now would be a good time for one of those grown-up talks we have."
Jimmy shrugged. "I don't have much to talk about."
Dean clicked his tongue, impatiently, wanting a different answer. "Really? Nothing at all?" He pressed on.
Jimmy looked toward the stairs and thought about telling Dean how sick his mom really is, but turned back and just shook his head, stubbornly.
"Oh, come on, Jimmy!" Dean raised his voice and startled the younger boy. "I know she ain't okay like you say she is! And I know you ain't okay either!"
Jimmy stared at Dean, eyebrows furrowed and lips in a tight pout to keep them from trembling. Dean's expression softened. He didn't mean to upset Jimmy, but it was upsetting him to see his best friend in such bad condition. "Jimmy," he tried again, voice quieter this time. "Talk to me, buddy. Come on. We're brothers." Jimmy wiped a stray tear as Dean sat on the other end of the sofa. Dean didn't want to force Jimmy to tell him anything if Jimmy didn't want to, but he had hoped that his friend would open up after he had told him he's there for him in a way only Dean Winchester would say it. We're brothers. Jimmy heard the statement echo in his mind, but he didn't say a word. Dean sighed, heavily, feeling defeated and a little hurt. Jimmy glanced up at the stairs again, then looked at Dean. Dean's gaze averted to the stairs before returning back to Jimmy. "That my cue to leave?" He asked, a fake smile plastered on his face. Jimmy gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry, Dean."
Dean threw his hands up in a surrender. "Say no more. I'll let myself out." He gave Jimmy a pat on the shoulder and watched him go upstairs. He then opened the front door, walked out, shut it behind him, and took his watchful position on the porch. He glanced at his watch. 7:00pm.
Jimmy took his watchful position too, next to his mother. "Was that your friend again?" She asked. Her voice was so quiet, but every time she spoke, Jimmy was thankful the eerie silence in the room was broken by a voice other than his own. He nodded in reply to her question. "Yeah, mom. That was Dean." He wondered if she had heard him yelling.
She smiled sadly. She knew Dean had been visiting Jimmy to check on him. "That's good. You two must be really good friends." Apparently, she didn't hear the yelling. Thankfully. Jimmy nodded again. "We're brothers," he told her, a sad smile upon his own face. She reached out and stroked his cheek. "Maybe I can meet him sometime." He liked the idea of that. The next day, when Dean came by, he would introduce them. Very briefly, of course. For now, it was time for sleep. It was a little early in the night, but Jimmy was exhausted. He and his mom said goodnight to each other and he laid his head on the bed, closed his eyes, and let sleep wash over him. His mother closed her eyes too and whispered a prayer for her son, and his friend.
Then, somewhere far away, in heaven above, an angel named Castiel listened closely.