Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

This is my first attempt to write a story that will go on for a while. I've got a lot of ideas for this story and this is just the beginning. : )

Never Fails

(Love) always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails.

1 Corinthians 13:7-8

Sam sat on the bed, his options spread before him. A sharpened knife to slit his wrists, a full bottle of Tylenol to swallow or a silver bullet to the head. He sighed and ran a hand through his shaggy chocolate brown hair and wished suddenly that he had learned more about suicide methods in his lifetime. Which way was the best? He tended to think the pills, which offered a romantic notion of going to sleep and never awakening. But then he thought the bullet because it was a gutsy approach, one that would leave blood splattered all over the rented room and the owners wishing they had never taken in the tall, thin, skeleton like man. He couldn't believe it. It was three months from the day his life changed irrevocably. Three months from the day he had awoken in the ICU heavily bandaged and medicated, and heard something he wished had never been uttered.

"Sammy…I'm sorry. Dean didn't…" His father's deep voice had broken along with Sam's heart. Three months from the day food had become an enemy, liquor a friend and his father a stranger. Dean lay in Lawrence, next to their mother and Sam lay in agony, twisting his fingers nervously. He picked up the polished gun and set it down again. Was it too morbid to use his brother's weapon? He shook the bottle of pills, hearing their chorus of loud clicks against the hard plastic. He picked up the knife and slid it back into his duffel bag. Blood wasn't really his thing and watching himself bleed to death didn't sound all that appealing. It would leave too much time for thinking and feeling. Those were the things he desperately wanted to stop doing. Thinking about Dean, how he wanted them to be a family again. Missing his laugh and even his crappy taste in music. Sam was ready for it to be over. No more nightmares, no more tears. He picked up the gun, raising it to his temple and shut his eyes, cocking it and ever so gently placing his finger on the trigger. He felt the cold metal pressing against his head and against his will a few tears escaped. He wiped them away angrily and clenched his jaw, set in his resolve. Then next to his left ear was a tickle of air and he could have sworn a whispered, "Boo."

Sam jumped off the bed, holding the gun out in front of him, breathing heavily.

"Who's there?" Only silence greeted his ears.

"Show yourself. Show yourself so I can send you back to Hell." Sam was not in the mood to deal with a restless motel spirit. Sam heard a quiet chuckle behind him and spun around to face…his brother? Dean raised his hands as if to surrender saying, "Easy there, Tiger."

Sam swallowed thickly, the gun still held before him. His head told him he wasn't real, but his heart leapt in joy.

"Who the Hell are you?" A look of confusion crossed Dean's face.

"Don't recognize your own brother, Sammy?"

"You're not my brother." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Sam, it's me. I promise." Sam didn't back down though.

"How can I be sure?" Dean frowned.

"Have I ever lied to you before?"

"Tell me something. Tell me something only he would know." Dean looked at him for a moment as if thinking, then a small smile played at his lips.

"When you have that vision of me dying back in Max's house, you moved a cabinet with your mind. Now, unless I'm mistaken, you never told Dad about that, did you?" Sam lowered the gun slightly.

"What's the rule in the car about music?" It was the only thing that came to Sam's mind, which was a little embarrassing. Dean was his brother after all, he should have some deep question about something really important, but his mind was an absolute blank. For God's sake, his dead brother was sitting across from him, his mind was a little preoccupied. Dean smiled.

"Driver picks the music, passenger shuts his cake-hole." Sam lowered the gun and against his will he smiled.

"If it's really you Dean, what are you doing here? I mean shouldn't you be chasing girls in Heaven or something?" Sam asked quietly.

"Unless you haven't noticed, you were about to off yourself, Sammy. With my gun no less. You think I could just stand by and let that happen?" Sam looked away.

"I just missed you." Sam sat down on the end of the bed and Dean joined him.

"Don't you think I missed you too? But it's not your time, little brother. You've got an important job to do, it isn't finished yet."

"Job? Don't tell me you mean hunting. It's not the same anymore." Dean shook his head.

"You've got to get the demon, Sam. You're the only one that can do it." Sam's face crumpled.

"I can't do it."

"It's up to you." The brothers sat quietly for a moment and Dean threw his arm casually around Sam's shoulders.

"You don't have to do it alone though. I'm going to help you." Sam looked up and studied Dean's eyes. He looked so real, so much like he was breathing, like his heart was beating.

"How can this be, Dean? I mean, how can you be here like this?"

"Sometimes exceptions can be made. I knew you needed help, in more ways than one." Sam's shoulders shook and he lay his head on Dean's shoulder. A real shoulder, a real shirt that Sam could feel softly on his cheek. How could it be?

"I'm going to help you. By the time I leave, the demon will be dead and you'll be back to normal, walking and talking and eating like the best of 'em." Sam shut his eyes, tears burning.

"I don't want you to leave again." He felt Dean stiffen.

"Come on, Sammy. You know I can't stay with you forever." And Sam cried.

Did you like it? Hate it? Would you like to see it continued? Let me know what you thought!