Dean, I'm sorry, man.

[Sam stops, for what might be the hundredth time, and rips the sheet of paper off the yellow legal pad.

This is stupid. It's pointless and stupid. Everything is pointless and stupid.

He crumples it in his fist, leaving the wad of paper on the table in front of him and reaches for the bottle of Jack, uncapping it and drinking straight from the bottle. As soon as he does, he feels a tug of memory, of Dean, perpetually guarded and unsmiling, taking a pull from a similar bottle. The visceral swell of it brings tears to his eyes.

It isn't going to work this time. There's too much of Dean in that bottle, too close to the surface, and he's finding that instead of tethering him to the memory of his brother the numbness is eating him alive.

I can do this. I can do this for you. I can let you go.

Tears again. Damn it. He wipes them away with the side of the hand holding the pen.]

Dean.

God, I miss you. Do you even have any idea? I don't know to do this without you. All those times I was stupid enough to think I could run away from our life because I didn't need you, or Dad, or anyone, I still knew you were there. You had my back when I didn't deserve it. Thanks to you, I grew up not having to face what it meant to be alone. And after you died, I did nothing but screw up because I couldn't handle it. And I know how weak that makes me, I do. And yeah, I know you've told me it doesn't matter.

I wish to God you were here now to pick a fight over it.

But I wouldn't, Dean. I take it back. I take it all back, every wrong move, every stupid mistake, every single thing I did that led up to this. If I could think of a way to change it, I would. I've sat here for days, literally, replaying those last moments in my head, trying to figure out any I could have made it end differently. And you know what? As near as I can figure, there are at least ten thousand different variables in any given moment. I'm making myself crazy. Literally crazy. And damn it, now I'm laughing and crying at the same time because I can see the look you'd be giving me, and the smart-ass comments about crazy really starting to be a thing with me, and Dean it's like you're not even gone.

It's like, I wake up in the middle of the night and I still listen for the sound of you breathing in the bed by the door. I catch myself feeling bad about how much hot water I'm using.

Honestly? I've thought about not waking up. And then I think about how hard you fought to keep me here. So no, I can't do that to you.

I just miss you so damn much.

And I'm sorry. So damn sorry for everything.

Sam

[He closes his eyes and leans his head against his hand, listening to the artificial quiet of the hotel room.

He breathes in through his nose. Dean's boots. Damn it. It's there, the faint but unmistakable note of worn leather and shoelaces, hovering just underneath the familiar impressions that always cling to hotel rooms, of carpet fibers, stale cigarettes, cleaning solution.

He knows it's his imagination. Or the leather of his own shoes. But now he can't shake the image of Dean seated on the edge of the hotel bed at the end of a day, bitching about his feet as he yanks his boots off one after the other, tossing them haphazardly into the middle of the floor.

I'm going to trip over those.

Fresh tears track silently down his face. Sam presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and watches lights bloom in the dark spaces of his vision.

After a moment, there's more to say.]

I always thought I knew myself, you know? Who I was, what I was going to be. I sure as shit wasn't going to have the life you and Dad had. I knew what I wanted.

The funny thing is Dean, the older I got, the more we went through, the easier it was to see what I really wanted. And it wasn't what I thought. I just wanted something I could count on. Believe in. Trust that it would be the same as when I woke up every morning. That thing was you.

Of all the things I thought I wanted to be, all I really needed, all this time, was just to be your brother.

[There's a flood of warmth and affection for Dean that's rushing in to fill the gaping wound inside him. The tears in his eyes now almost feel all right. And with something almost like relief, he realizes he's going to be okay.

Sam smiles before adding one last thing.]

I know you'd kick my ass if I said any of this to your face. But fuck it.

I love you, Dean.

A/N:

There is a follow-up to this story written by SPNxBookworm called "A New Beginning" in which Dean finds this letter after coming back from Purgatory. I highly recommend you go check it out, it's wonderful in every way!