Hey, so this is just a oneshot, I don't really know where it came from to be honest but it's a little darker than what I usually write. Just a heads up, it might be pretty upsetting to some people, so be warned. Hope you like it. Also, if you like sisfics, a friend of mine has just started a new one. It's called Maxie Winchester, and her account name is loveintheimpala. Maybe check it out if you're interested? Thank you again for reading! :-)

Today's Thursday. And today is the day that I'm going to kill myself.

I didn't plan this, I didn't just wake up this morning and just decide today was the day I'd finally finish it. No. This morning was the day that I woke up and realised that I couldn't take anymore. This is the day that I'm finally going to end it. I'm finally going to be free.

It hasn't exactly been a secret to anybody lately that I've been a mess. I drink too much. I take drugs. I smoke. I don't sleep. But what was, and still is, a secret, is the true amount of pain I take every single day. The nightmares, the horrific memories of what I've seen, the torturous thoughts that I give myself when I'm alone, I just hate myself. I hate myself so, so much when I'm alone. Like now.

I'm sitting in the bathroom, looking at my reflection in the mirror. I used to be okay about how I looked. I used to be the girl with the cute, wavy brown hair. The girl with the bright green eyes. Not anymore. My hair's pulled back into some scruffy bun because I got sick in the ends of it when I threw up the bottle of vodka I drank. My bright green eyes, well, what used to be bright green are now just dull, lifeless, hopeless and bloodshot. Underneath them, dark circles, a clear picture of how little sleep I truly got.

This is one of the few times I don't have some ugly, baggy, long-sleeved shirt on. I'm wearing just some little pale blue vest, something that only emphasises how skinny I've gotten since I've stopped eating properly. But that's not what the sleeves are there to hide. All I see when I look down at my arms are cuts. Some of them are old, faded and pale. Others are deep, red and fresh. Like l said, I'm a mess.

Every cut, big or small, deep or shallow, is a clear reminder of some sort of fuck up I've made in my life. Whether that's the countless times I've let down my brothers, the times I've screwed up on a hunt and almost gotten us killed because I haven't eaten or I haven't slept the night before. Or even when I'd simply look at myself in the mirror and think about how pathetic, useless and what a complete waste of everyone's time I am. Or the endless times that dad has had to scream at me, tell me that I don't know what I'm doing. Well, guess what dad, you were right. I never knew what I was doing, not until now. I guess every scar tells a different story.

I've flunked out of school, something my brothers still don't know. I have nothing going for me in the future apart from a bloody, painful and malevolent life of hunting. I mean, I'm only seventeen, they all keep reminding me that I'm just a kid. I don't belong in this life. No one does. Sam and Dean spend so much time worrying about keeping me safe, making sure that I'm okay, one day that's what's going to get them killed. One day they're going to lose concentration on a hunt because they'll be checking on me and that's what's going to end them. I can't let that happen. They'll be so much better off without me around. All of them will.

Dean won't have the constant, pressing thought to protect not only himself and Sam, but the hapless burden of a little sister as well. Sam won't have to deal with me and my drug induced mood swings, won't have to constantly check that I'm okay, he has enough to focus on right now, more important things to worry about than whether his sorry excuse of a kid sister has a hangover or not. And as for dad, well there won't be the one constant reminder of mom around to torment him anymore. In fact, I wouldn't put it past him to dance on my grave. I was never sure why he hated me so much. Or maybe I was, because I think that was always the one thing I had in common with dad. We both hated me. I've always been such a disappointment to him. Such a waste of time. To all of them. And this is the only way I can make it right.

And I don't mean to hurt them, if they even care. But if there's a small chance that they are going to be bothered, then I'm sorry. But I can't hide this anymore. I can't keep trying to pretend that I'm fine, I can't keep pretending like every second I'm alone, I'm not wishing to god that I was dead. I can't drown my demons anymore, they've learned how to swim.

I'm Holly Winchester, and I'm done.

So this is it I guess, bye.

(Dean's P.O.V)

I let a single tear roll down my cheek as I read the last words my baby sister had ever written, tracing my fingertips over the words lightly enough to feel the dents of the pen in the paper. I'd read it so many times, over and over, trying to understand it, I could probably recite it from memory.

I looked over it again, pausing at the occasional faded circle in the ink. She'd been crying when she'd written it, and the thought of that made it so much worse. I closed her journal softly and placed it down on the empty passenger seat beside myself. I wished to god that I'd had a chance to tell her differently than she thought. Prayed to whoever would listen to me for another chance with her, to tell her how much I loved her, how much she meant to me, how I'd have done anything in my power to protect her. I hadn't even known how much of a mess she'd really been.

I should have been there to hold her when she cried, when she woke in the night, to kiss her head and tell her that we'd get through it together. That things seemed dark now but we'd make it back to the light. But I hadn't. And she'd ended her life thinking that the person that loved her more than anyone else in this world didn't care. She'd ended her life not knowing the guy who would've died for her in a heartbeat was the one that found her and was going to have to tell her other brother, her dad, her uncle, the people who loved her, that she was gone. Because she'd thought we hadn't cared. And that was on us. On me.

I'd failed her. I'd promised to always keep her safe, from monsters, from demons, from guys.. I'd never thought that meant from herself too.

I don't even know what to think. Where the hell am I supposed to go from here? Back to the motel? To explain to Sam and dad where I've been all night. To explain to them why they were never going to see Holly again.. How could I do that? I shook my head and took a long drink of the whiskey in the bottle beside me, running a hand down my face before putting the Impala into gear. I couldn't run away from this forever, you can't always run from your problems. I had to face them, I had to tell them. Maybe they'd understand it, because I sure as hell didn't. All I wanted was my baby sister back in my arms, back in the passenger seat beside me. But I couldn't have that. I couldn't have that ever again. Because she hadn't thought she was worth it. Well, she had been. Everybody's worth something to someone.

I just wish she'd have been able to see that.