Everything Sam Winchester thought he once knew was no longer making sense. His world was fading away from him and he no longer knew who he was. What was he doing? Where would his pathetic life lead?

If Sam didn't have his family, then what did he have?

The drugs and alcohol was just that, a replacement of all the sunken feelings that he craved. He missed the love and respect that his family once gave him, which Jess once gave him; he desired it with a painful but true passion. It was nowhere to be found.

To put it metaphorically, Sam felt like he had been thrown in a deep, dark well. There was no possible way of climbing out and all he could do was shout and cry, whilst hoping to God that someone would hear him.

But the well was so far from any kind of human civilisation, that his crying was just that, lonely wails. No one could hear him.

It's kind of like that saying: if a tree falls in the woods, but no one heard or saw it, did it really fall? Sam felt like that tree, he was falling. If he cried it didn't matter, no one would hear. If he cut, it didn't matter, who would know? If he died, and no one bothered to check if he was alive, then did he ever really exist at all?

These were all the thoughts that passed his lost mind, as he sat on the vile motel floor, drenched in his own sweat and taking in every last atom of the white powder in his hands.

Two voices battled in his head, to the death.

"What would Dean think if he saw you now?"
"Jess would be ashamed."
"You're disgusting!"
"Just kill yourself. Just get it over and done with."

Then on the other side,

"This isn't right."
"You're hurting the people around you."
"They care. They care. They do care!"
The last one was more of a pathetic attempt to convince him. He tried, but he couldn't really convince himself.

As the days past, the first voice was getting the upper hand. Sam was crumbling, his existence was falling and he just didn't know how to get up anymore.

Maybe he'd find Jess when he died...

He could give her company up in the sky...

-

"SAMMY!?" A gruff voice from outside called, "SAMMY LET ME IN!"

Everything was hazy. Sam couldn't feel anything anymore. That made him smile, but weakly.

The door burst open and a man with sandy hair and millions of freckles fought his way through the humid mist and exposed needles on the floor.

"Sam!?" He cried painfully when he saw his baby brother sprawled across the floor, "SAMMY?" He was on his knees next to Sam, "Sammy? Wake up buddy."

Sam could only just make out the tears crawling down Dean's face just as he passed out.

-

The next thing he knew, Sam was on a clean hospital beds. The room was crystal white, with real sunlight cutting through the sharp and bleach-clean window. A TV lit its way up in front of him; the muffled noise of the character's voices flooded the room.

He turned his head to the right and caught site of his brother, and Cas. They were talking to a doctor, a tall man with auburn hair and a crumpled face. They seemed worried...

Tears burned the corners of Sam's eyes. A lump arose in his chest and he forcibly pushed it down again. He raised his arm, ignoring the shooting pain that arose in his side.

So many small dots were apparent in his creamy white skin. The dots were red, and he immediately knew he went too far with the injections.

Dean hadn't visited him in weeks, since Sam told him to stay back. The memory stung even more than any needle could.

Sam never hated gays, in fact he wasn't even sure if he, himself was 100% straight. But in the heat of the moment he became so angry at Dean.
It had been weeks since Sam had lost Jess. Dean announced his and Cas' already obvious relationship and Sam just couldn't help it.

Jealousy ran through him worse than any drug. He screamed at Dean, he called him a...
Fag. He told Dean he was disgusting. Just more of those pathetic lies he used make him feel better about himself.

Sam loved his brother; he would never hurt him on purpose, in his right mind. But that's just it. Since he lost Jessica, he hadn't been in his right mind. Grief had made him a monster.

Dean noticed his brother's open eyes, and darted in the room, faster than lightning. "SAMMY!" He called, ignoring the nurses that were telling him to be gentle.

A tear broke from its grasp and fell down Sam's face, dropping on the freshly-pumped pillow.

Dean fell to his brother's side and grabbed his hands, ducking his face in the mattress.
"Sammy, I'm so sorry... I'm so, so sorry. This is all on me. I should have looked-"
"Dean?" Sam said weakly, staring at his brother, who raised his head slowly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. None of it, I love you, and Cas and... and... I was so jealous... Dean I miss her. I miss her so much."
Dean nodded, turning his attention to Sam's wrists. The thin lines of personal abuse ran from one end to the other.
"What have you done to yourself Sammy?" Dean whispered, tracing the cuts with his finger.
"I'm sorry Dean." Sam said helplessly. What more could he say? Dean had looked out for him, for the majority of their lives, and he threw that back in Dean's face.

Part of Sam wished that he did die: because, the pain on his brother's face was just far too much to handle.

Dean shook his head, much to his younger brother's confusion. "Don't apologize. Just promise you'll come home with me and Cas. We'll make it better." Dean said, "I need you Sammy." He assured, in a whisper again, as though anyone could take that away from him.

"I promise Dean."