FORGIVE ME, DEAN

(IMPORTANT NOTES BELOW)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I know, I know. Where have I been? When am I going to finish the 1,000 other stories I need to complete? I don't know, honestly. Some crazy stuff has happened, leaving no room for writing. But here I am. I hope to catch up on some of my old works soon. I'm also 30k words into a new story I've been working on for a long while. I hope you enjoy this little drabble as an apology.

NOTE: This is an EXPERIMENTAL piece of writing. For the third chapter mainly, I'm probably going to end up playing around with formatting a lot. It includes a lot of transcripts and reports and stuff to go along with the story. The first two chapters are the main part, and the 3rd is just for fun and extra.

THIS IS AN AU: This piece of writing is basically all of my headcannons put together in a sloppy, abstract piece of art. It includes a lot of things I believe happened, but are not cannon. So don't expect this to follow Season 1-8 storylines to a tee. It won't. This takes place all the way from pre-season to the finale Sacrifice.

NECESSARY WARNINGS: This story is very dark, and rated T for a reason. It contains many themes of suicide, non-graphic rape/non-con, and depression. Lots of language, as well. Read safely, my lovelies.

DEDICATED TO: My friend Paris, who suffers from suicidal tendencies, anxiety, and depression a lot. I wrote this to bring attention to suicide, not demoralize it. I have experienced my fair share of issues, and I would never try and take advantage of a serious topic as such. I love you, girl. Now keep on fighting.

SCHEDULE: 98% of this story is finished. I just have to complete some of the other reports/transcripts for the third chapter, and I'll be done. The second chapter is complete. I hope to have the chapters up once a day, meaning Chapter Two will be uploaded tomorrow with certainty.

I hope you enjoy.

Reviews keep me going, and if you have a moment of your time I would appreciate one to let me know if this is any good.

Oh, and one last final warning: you may want some tissues. I don't know.

Enjoy.

Dean

I know you hate me right now. I'd hate me, too. But I hope at some point you'll be able to look past that and forgive me. I understand it's wishful thinking, but please. That's something I need.

I must say, I've got no idea what you're feeling right now. Perhaps it's a mixture of grief and sadness; maybe, it's anger and hate; most likely, it's a cocktail of relief and release. You hide, but I see. Ever since we were kids, I know all I've ever been is a burden—a weight draped about your neck, unrelentingly tugging down, down, down.

I've always been the selfish one.

Wanted more than I could have, always asking for things you couldn't possibly provide. Yet you always pulled through somehow. I begged you for those red suede shoes when we had no money—you worked three overtimes to get me them for Christmas. I wanted to have a normal Halloween—you read for six hours on how to sew a costume.

I know it wasn't justified. You constantly gave whilst I constantly stole. It wasn't fair to you, and I see that now. Past the facade of hardened stone, you were the selfless one.

And then I left you for college. I'm not going to lie, I don't remember much of what I said to Dad that night; I do, however, remember the punch he threw. I'd seen the conflict in your eyes as you tried to determine what to do. I'd seen the guilt clouding his own as he realized what he'd done. I asked you to come with me.

Why did you stay?

Honestly, my first year of Stanford was the worst of my life. I was lonely and struggling without you, my grades plummeting and headspace blackening. Then, one day, Brady introduced me to Jessica, and she saved my life.

I know you didn't know her well, but she was the most important person in my life, save for you. She helped me with my hastily increasing depression, pulling me from the ocean I was drowning in, per se.

We moved in together on my 20th birthday, merely six months after we met. She was amazing.

You don't know much of the ordinary life I lived. So let me tell you this: we went on ski trips in the winter and beach vacations in the summer; I met her parents and had Sunday suppers with them, big hams and turkeys for the holidays; we were in the process of adopting a dog when she died. We had talked about that specifically for quite a while. We both agreed a pet would be good for my health. I had bought her a ring and everything—a ring never worn, that I still hold dear.

I think she knew I was going to propose to her that Monday. That's why I was so eager to get back to her, too. It wasn't just the interview, otherwise I wouldn't have cared so much. We were going down to the shores that night. It would've been perfect. I thought proposing on November 2nd would mean a lot to Mom...to know that we're still going, y'know?

That went up in flames, though, too. All of it.

Remember two years into Stanford, I called you one night, distraught and crying? I ended up telling you I drunk dialed your number. Not that you believed it, but still.

You've got no idea how close I was to ending it that night. You saved me until Jess got home from work to help me through the episode.

I never got to thank you for that.

After she was gone, I didn't have her to help anymore. But I now had you. It wasn't my best time of mental health, but it could've been a lot worse. In fact, it had been before. I knew Jess wouldn't have wanted me to crash. So I tried my best to stay afloat.

I never got to thank you for these things, either: guiding me through the night terrors, booze, vomiting, and sobbing. Jess wasn't there, but you were, and that was all that mattered.

Sometimes I wonder how things would've turned out had I shot Dad when Azazel was in him. I know I couldn't have, though. Despite him pissing me off constantly, treating us like shit, and not taking care of his own kids, I couldn't have done it. I loved him too much. And I've never forgiven myself for yelling at him before he died.

He died.

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. On December 3rd, 2006, I had my first suicide attempt. You clearly wanted Mom and Dad there more than me, so I headed down to the crossroads. This was after the clown case we took, and the Impala was still trashed (which was my fault, too).

It would've worked, had the demon wanted to deal. She refused, though, and years later I would find out why. You needed to go to hell and break the first seal, and selling my soul would disrupt all that.

I didn't even ask for 10 years, let alone one. I just asked to go. Bring Mom and Dad back right then and there, and take me. When she said no, I didn't know what to do with myself. I exercised the demon, got the woman to the hospital, and went back to Bobby's. You were still working on the car when I downed the whole bottle of sleeping pills.

Bobby came to get me for something I can't remember—a chore, maybe. All I know is he saw me unconscious, and forced me to throw up. Saved my life.

Problem was, he knew.

He knew everything.

He knew my desire to die, my constricting anxiety and depression. I didn't know what to do. He gave me a real good talking for an hour straight, not letting me speak my half, about my value and importance to you. Helped me understand. He took me to a local clinic as well, just to make sure the overdose had no everlasting effects. Then he told me that he needed to tell you.

I panicked.

I'd researched some spells and mythology for a semester course I took at college. I ended up using an ancient Mayan spell from very long ago to wipe his memory. I've never forgiven myself for it, and I never will—altering his mind and perception like that was one of the worst things I've ever done to this day. Especially when I did it to my surrogate father, at that.

That incident kept me going for quite a long time. Then I died.

I wish to God everyday I'd killed Jake when I had the chance.

Every. Fucking. Day.

None of this shit would've happened if I had brought that piece of plywood down. You would've done it. I just let my morals get in the way. When he stabbed me in the back, it was quick. He was in the military. He knew how to make a death effective, but humane. Straight through the spinal cord. There was a really sharp, pinching pain for a short while, and I felt your hands on me, before everything went black.

I ended up with Jessica. She hated seeing me there in heaven, but at the same time, we were both just grateful to see each other again. She didn't know how she died, and I didn't tell her. She needed that innocence, still.

We had this lasagna she used to make all the time for dinner. It was good.

And then there was a cloud of black smoke, disorienting me, and I woke up on that moldy, sodden mattress in Cold Oak. I was too confused, at first, to process what had happened. I felt a moment of panic of where Jess had went, even.

At that moment, you walked in the door, and I knew EXACTLY what went down. I was pissed as hell. Then wasn't the time for that, though—we had to stop Jake and Yellow Eyes.

I could never describe to you the feelings I felt when you pulled the trigger of the Colt. The demon, whom had screwed me over my entire life, dead. Relief like none other. Revenge for Mom. Our whole life's work...complete.

But the world wasn't finished with us yet, of course.

Next was Mystery Spot. That is still hard for me to talk about to this day. You have zero idea what that was like. I lost count of your death toll when it reached 100. I didn't bother to count after that. Seeing you die, horridly, everyday, shattered me in incomprehensible ways, and I'm ashamed. The panic attacks when I finally got you back...needless to say, I'm glad you were never there to witness one.

You know, it wasn't just your deaths, either, that broke me. It was the three unorthodox months I lived without you that did me in. That's right. I never told you. You didn't need that knowledge to bear, anyway.

When the hellhounds mauled you to death...I must say I was half-expecting Asia to begin playing. But it never came, and I had never wished to hear those lyrics more.

You had saved me, and I had failed to save you.

What kind of brother does that make me?

Those four months without you is something I'm not proud of. I was in a vulnerable position, weak, and Ruby took advantage of my gullibleness. She coerced me into the blood, using your death as the motivator.

For your information, Dean, I never wanted Ruby and I's relationship to turn intimate. Never. She pulled me into the grave, though, pressuring me into sex and more blood. I was a disgrace to your memory and I knew it. I guess that's why they say, 'On the path of revenge, dig two graves instead of one—one for your goal and one for yourself.'

Because hell knows I lost myself in the process.

I won't continue on this topic. I know you don't like talking about it, let alone hearing me explain myself. Nothing I say will justify my actions.

I will ask this, though: why didn't you follow through with what you said on your voicemail? I was waiting for you to snap and just pull the trigger. I still kept the message to this day, even, to remind me to not go off the rails again.

I guess I'll never know.

Amidst this, I learned I was Lucifer's vessel. Shocker, am I right? That's sardonic, by the way—it really wasn't. I was just surprised I could be even more messed up. Even more of an abomination, as Cas would say.

Lucifer came to my dreams every damn night. I never got much sleep, maybe a grand total of 18 hours a week. Did you know the average, normal adult is meant to get a minimal of 56? Unheard of, right? I know.

I couldn't sleep. Not with what he was doing to...with...me. He'd use you, sometimes Jess, or Mom and Dad. I couldn't take it. I wasn't with you—you were gone, I was alone, and I had nobody during my disastrous moments to help.

I was slowly depleting, weakening, and I knew it. The yes was on the tip of my tongue and I didn't know what do.

So, I did the only thing I could think of to stop him from getting to me.

This time I used a gun in the forest where I could have some peace. Put on the copy of the album you gave me for my fourteenth birthday with a small, handheld mixtape player.

From there, things got chaotic. I did everything I could think of to keep me dead. Nothing worked. He just brought me back every time, even when I got creative.

I was perfecting a plan to trap myself under cement, alive, so he could never find me when you called. I couldn't resist going back to you.

I don't remember how many times I tried to kill myself, so don't ask. I lost count—just like Mystery Spot.

The Cage…

Words cannot describe it. The things they did to Adam and me, you don't want to know. Trust me. You nod your head, but you don't understand. They took us in every way possible. On a rack, chained, disemboweled, gutted...bent over.

I know you understand Hell. But do you know how it feels to taste your own heart before you die?

My time soulless...I don't remember much. I was too crazed by memories and flashbacks to discern what was real.

Thank you, and thank you Cas for saving me from my own mind. Stone number one, eh?

You may ask how I remember the Cage enough to write about it here. I must admit, I was a bit out of it down there, but I clearly recall Lucifer telling me timestamps every 100 years to taunt me.

I didn't care to listen after 50.

Time passes differently in the Cage than in Hell. It passes as slow as Lucifer wants it to.

Cas stole away the insanity, but not the memories.

Dean, before I end this letter, I don't know how much of the penny case you remember, but it was all true, what you said.

Except for Amelia.

I never just quit looking for you. Not at all. I was just too ashamed of what I became when you were gone. I didn't know where you were. Purgatory didn't even cross my mind.

I'm so sorry.

I'd thought you were in heaven. How come whenever I try and be selfless I always end up egotistical? Who knows.

When I hit the dog (he had a name, and I reserve the right to call him by his name because he saved my life: Riot) I was drunk off my ass and headed to a cliff. Not in the Impala, of course. I would never do that to her, nor you.

Finally some peace.

But then I hit 'em, and things sped up again. Amelia became the new Jess, and the new you. Not in the way that you're thinking, of course. She would never replace you or Jess. Never. She simply became the person burdened with the task of keeping me from killing myself.

We were just two people, lost, hanging onto each other for dear life.

So don't think I just left you. That's not what happened. Please.

I hope I explained some things. Attached is an envelope that can maybe explain things even more than I ever could. Read it. I beg you. Jessica's ring is also in there. If you could take it to her grave...thank you. She finally deserves it. Our amulet is in there, too. I could never let it go.

How's the world without monsters? Well, demons at least. Too bad I can never see it. I hope you settle down with someone nice. You've earned it.

Just do me one favor. My dying wish, if you will.

Live your life, and live it well.

I did this for everybody.

For the world.

For you.

The gates are closed. Use that.

Don't bring me back.

I plead you, don't.

You let go of me with the Cage. Do it again.

I love you, Dean.

So fucking much.

And I'm sorry I did so much stupid shit in my life to screw it all up, but please forgive me.

I may have always been the selfish one, but I've only ever thought of you.

I'm sorry.

Sincerely,

Sam

tbc