Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, I only play around with boys and send them to a worse place then hell . . . My mind.

Rating: T (for Teen)

Warnings: Mentions of suicide

Author's Note: Yay I'm back, and this time it's Supernatural's turn. It's been a while since I wrote in this fandom. Hopefully I've improved my writing since I was last here. Also ANGST lots and lots of ANGST. Without further ado on with the Story.

And Dean Held Him

It was quite in the bunker. Sam was out researching ways to destroy the Darkness and Cas was somewhere. He really didn't know what was going on with the angel but he was intending to find out. But not today. Today Dean was taking a break. After saving the world . . . twice, going to purgatory, saving Sammy again, and taking on the mark of Cain, Dean was tired, exhausted really. The constant threat of death and the end of the world was wearing down on him. If it wasn't one thing it was another; another disaster to foil, another evil to kill. It was endless.

The constant fighting started right after he came back from Hell. Sam was different and distant, angels were real, and Hell was nipping at his heels. His time from Hell didn't help anyone either. He'd known he was reckless and drinking too much, and the distance from Sam was his fault as much as Sam's. But he didn't know how to deal with everything so he pushed his brother away. Then Sam died, went to Hell like he did, and Dean was left alone, stuck with a promise to find "normal." And he did for a year, with Lisa and Ben. But then Sam came back and he was back in the family business with a soulless brother. Dean had been deceived by Soulless Sam's impersonation of Sam; he had thought it was trauma from Hell that made Sam act sociopathic, not that his little brother's soul was still in Hell with two angry archangels as roommates.

Then came the Leviathans, then purgatory, then Abbadon, then the trials, and then the Mark of Cain. It was an endless downward spiral. That's why Dean decided he was taking a day for himself. He was going to do something he hadn't done since he went to Hell; he was going to write in his Dad's old journal. It was a habit he had picked up after his Dad died, he would write in the old leather bound journal. Sam knew of his habit but never commented on it. When he ran out of room to write in his dad's journal an almost exact replica was found on his duffle bag the next day. He stopped when he returned from Hell. After all this time Dean felt that it was time to continue the habit.

He tried to remember where he last saw the black leather book but it had been years since he even thought about it. He checked his room first, thinking maybe it was in one of his old duffle bags. Finding nothing but bullets and dirty magazines he went to the library of the Bunker. Maybe he had put it there by mistake or on purpose. He couldn't remember. After an hour of searching Dean gave up. It was quite possible it was tossed away years ago. He was about to leave the Bunker to buy another one when he had one last idea where it could be. He made his way to his brother's room.

Dean didn't go into Sam's room often. Not that he didn't want to, it was because it was Sam's space, his little bit of normal that he had desperately tried to hold on to for all those years. Sam's room was almost completely barren compared to his room. Ancient books were stacked high on his desk, notes were scattered all over the place, almost nothing was hung on the walls except for weapons. The only things that were even considered remotely personal were two pictures on Sam's night stand; a picture of their Mom and Dad and a picture of Jessica. If it weren't for those two pictures Sam's room could be any other room in the bunker.

Dean crept through his brother's room not wanting to disturb anything. He knew how anal his brother was about people moving his stuff. He surveyed the room until he spied a familiar looking duffle bag resting on top of some shelves. He thought he could search the duffle bag without moving it but as he looked the shelves and the chair he was standing on suddenly gave way, sending both Dean and the duffle bag falling. The contents of the bag scattered on the floor, a familiar journal landed with a thud next to him. At the same time a letter with his name on it fluttered down until it rested in his lap.

"Crap," Dean muttered as he looked at the mess he had inadvertently made. The first thing he picked up was the letter with his name on it. He knew immediately it was from Sam by the familiar scrawl of his name. He picked it up and inspected it. The letter was heavier than it looked. It had yellowed with time making Dean wonder when it was written. Well it is addressed to me, Dean thought. He flipped the envelope over, jabbing his forefinger underneath the flap of the envelope. As he ripped the letter open, a feeling of dread filled Dean. He pulled out the letter and started reading.

"Dean," it read.

"If you're reading this then I succeeded in stopping Lucifer. Dean, I am so sorry. I guess I should try to explain what happened. I'm Lucifer's true vessel. Apparently only my body can house the Devil. When I called you I wanted tell you about the dreams. The ones with Lucifer. In them he keeps promising me the world if I would only say yes to him. I keep saying no but I know I'm not strong. One day I'm gonna say yes. In the first dream, the one where he told me what he was going to do, I said I would die first, but he told me he would just bring me back. This is me, calling his bluff. "

Dean felt sick but continued reading.

"I guess what I want to say is sorry. I'm sorry for causing all of this. Sorry for not listening to you. I'm sorry that I didn't stay dead in Cold Oak. I'm sorry I couldn't save you from hell. God, your life would have been so much better if I wasn't there. I'm sorry Dean, for everything.

I'm sorry that I trusted Ruby. I—You have to understand Dean, she saved me when you were gone. I know I told you everything but I don't think you got it. When I said I was a mess I meant I was a walking disaster. I was drunk more often then not, I was reckless going into hunts alone and half-cocked. I was self-destructing. You were gone, Dad was dead, Jess was never coming back. I had no one, I was last one standing and you were in Hell paying for my mistake. Sometimes I wish I had just killed Jake. Then Ruby shows up, she sobered me up, and gave me something to fight for, a goal. I think she knew I wasn't planning on surviving Lilith. If I couldn't save you at least I could get revenge for you. Isn't that the family motto 'avenge until there's nothing left to give'?

Then you came back, saved by angels, something I failed to do. I should have saved you. And you were different Dean. You were so angry and scared and confused. And then the angels showed up. You know I was always jealous that they actually liked you. They only felt disdain for me. I was the one who prayed to them, the one who believed in them, yet it was you they listened to, you they fought for. I wasn't worthy of them. God listen to me. I don't want to sound like a petulant child but I want you to understand why I acted the way I did. Why I trusted Ruby the way I did, why I didn't tell you about the demon blood."

"Damn right you should have told me about the Demon blood," Dean hissed to no one. He ignored his blurred vision. A small sliver of Dean had blamed Sam for starting the apocalypse. He tried to push that part down, to deny that it existed but it did and it came out in bouts of violence and alcohol.

"I guess I should start with the demon blood. It was always apart of me Dean. Since I was six months old. I guess I was afraid what you would do if you found out. I know you hate anything related to demons and the supernatural. Then when you started listening to the angels, and I think you started to believe you would need to kill me, God knows they told me enough times that they would smite me if I didn't go along with what they said. I also figured it only hurt me. Sure it was addicting but the addiction didn't control me and the only thing it did hurt was me. It also saved people Dean. There was this one time a demon possessed new mothers and forced them to kill their kids. I stopped a mother from killing her only child with my powers Dean. I thought 'why not turn this curse into a gift. One that saves people, the family business.' When you found out I thought you were going to kill me Dean, and for the first time in my life I was afraid of you. I still can't get the look of disgust out of my mind."

Dean saw the smudges from tear drops long since dry spattered across the letter. He felt guilt gnawing at his gut. He knew he should have handled the demon blood revelation better. He knew Sam would have, in fact Sam did with the Mark of Cain, only difference was Sam wasn't trying to kill people, he was trying to save people with his curse.

"I'm sorry for freeing Lucifer. I know I can never make it up to you but I didn't know killing Lilith would be the final seal. I thought that was what we had to do to stop the apocalypse. It was what the angels kept saying. 'Stop Lilith,' 'to save the world, stop Lilith,' and 'Lilith must be stopped.' Even you said we needed to kill Lilith. I thought the demon and blood and powers would lower the body count. I guess I was wrong.

I'm gonna stop Lucifer Dean. If the colt won't work, I'll try the knife. If the knife won't work, I'll try holy oil. I'll keep trying until I stay dead and the apocalypse is averted. I won't let Lucifer win. I won't let you let you sacrifice yourself for me again."

Dean felt his stomach roll imaging all the ways Sammy could have tried to kill himself. He could imagine finding the smoldering remains of his little brother after he set himself on fire, or walking in on the bloody corpse after he had slit his wrists. Or seeing blood and brain matter spattered on a hotel wall after shooting himself in the head. Dean wanted to stop reading, to stop hearing his little brother's calm voice tell him how he would kill himself. But he needed to know what was going on in Sam's mind. Needed to know what Sam had written. He continued reading.

"I am sorry that I won't be there for the rest Dean. I'm sorry I'm leaving you alone. I know you think you have to take care of me but you don't. You don't have to fix my messes for me anymore. But you'll be okay Dean. You'll have Bobby and Ellen and Jo, and I think even Cas. You'll be able to move on this time. You have a family outside of me Dean. I know you'll be okay, why? Cause you have always been stronger than me Dean, always. Once the apocalypse is over go start a family. Go find a girl to settle down with, stop trying to get revenge, just let things go. Go find Lisa, reconnect with Cassie, leave something behind that isn't blood and death. Know that you are the best big brother I could have asked for and I love you man. I will always love you.

I'm sorry you'll have to face life alone but you'll be okay Dean, you'll be okay.

You'll be okay.

Love you always,

Sam"

Dean saw new tears splatter over the last line of the letter, smudging the word. He could barley read, his hands were shaking so hard. He didn't even notice that he had been crying. He rubbed his eyes trying to get rid of the tears. He stood and left the mess where it was and headed to the library. He didn't notice that his breaths were coming out in harsh gasps. After all those years he never knew. Right then and there he wanted a drink. He wanted to feel the burn of alcohol bury the guilt. No, he wanted Sam. He wanted Sam right in front of him so he could reassure himself his little brother was still alive. Maybe he didn't go through with it, a small thought slipped through the haze. Maybe it was one of those therapy letters Sam's so fond of, Dean thought. The only way he could make sure was to see his brother and look for new scars.

Dean didn't know how long he sat in the library, the letter still clutched in his hand. All he knew was when Sam came back. He heard his brother's familiar gait as he entered the library.

"Dean I was thinking—" Dean stopped Sam from talking by grabbing his brother by the arm. In one motion he rolled his brother's selves up to revel heavily scarred forearms. In his mind Dean recalled each scar. There were a few that he couldn't take into account but none of them looked like they were life-ending. See, his brain told him. See nothing to worry about. Sammy didn't try and kill himself. Then Dean looked up. As clear as day were two faint scars. One was a puckered indent underneath Sam's chin. The other was a faded line across his throat. Dean felt bile rise to his mouth. He pushed passed Sam and found the nearest basket to throw up everything he had eaten that day. Oh god, oh god, oh god, was the only thing Dean could think.

"Dean! Dean what's wrong?" came Sam's frantic cries. Dean decided to ignore him as he continued to empty his stomach. Dean felt Sam's hand rest on his shoulder as he waited for his stomach to stop rebelling.

"Oh God Sammy," were the first words to leave Dean's mouth. He turned to face his brother. A brother that tried to kill himself multiple times, his brain reminded him. He cupped his brother's face in his hand and gently tilted it up so he could see the scars again. They were faint like the scars on his forearms and for a moment Dean wondered how many of those scars were self inflected. The thought sent his stomach rolling again.

"So it was true," Dean muttered, mainly to himself. Sam looked so confused. Dean wanted to be angry but he was to exhausted to feel much of anything. He wanted to yell but instead he wrapped his brother in his arms, his hand cupping Sam's head and his fingers engulfed by Sam's hair. Sam hesitantly wrapped his own arms around Dean.

"Oh God Sammy," Dean murmured. Sammy's alive, Dean thought. Sam's alive and right in front of me. Dean reluctantly broke the impromptu hug. He carefully picked up the letter and handed it to Sam. Sam's expression morphed from confusion to shock to guilt.

"You weren't supposed to find that. I thought I burned it," Sam muttered. He wouldn't meet Dean's eyes. Dean felt his heart break all over again. His little brother wasn't upset that he wrote his damn suicide letter but the fact that his brother had found it.

"God Sam." Sam flinched. "You have to know if I found you . . . If you . . . God Sammy." He wrapped his brother back in his arms and rocked him back and forth before gravity brought them to the floor. Sam's own arms were back around his brother, his hands clutching his shirt. Dean wanted to explain that it wasn't Sam's fault; that he should let go of that guilt. That starting the apocalypse was also Dean's fault. If fact one could say it was a group effort, the angels and the demons wanted it and he and Sam were just two humans trying to stop the impossible. But how could he explain that when he hardly understood the thoughts himself.

"It wasn't your fault Sammy, it wasn't your fault," Dean muttered as he rocked his brother. Dean had watched his brother for years inch closer and closer to a darkness that he didn't know how to fight; the type of darkness that most hunters faced right before their demise. The kind that made people give up on living. Dean tried so hard to deny it was there. But the letter was proof and Dean could no longer deny it existed. He was now facing an enemy that came from within and Dean had no idea how to save Sam from himself. He could combat the physical but he had no idea how to navigate the emotional and mental. So for now he would cling to his brother and hope he could stave off his brother's darkness for one more day; to keep Sam with him for just one more day. And Dean held on to Sam.

End. Okay so a bit of my Bitter Sam Girl came out to play. Hopefully she wasn't too bitter. I just wanted a piece trying to explain Sam side of things, since that it seems to me it is so rarely done in the show and if it is done it's framed with Sam being the "bad" guy even if it can be objectively seen as false. I hope that I wasn't that harsh with Dean. Any way rate and Review, it helps me grow as a writer.

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