Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

Set: Pre-series

Main Characters: Sam and Dean

Ships: N/A

Ages: This kind of takes place throughout a pretty long period of time, but for most of it, Sam is sixteen and Dean is twenty.

WARNING: This story contains detailed descriptions of depression and its symptoms. It also contains suicidal thoughts and suicidal attempts. If this triggers you in any way, this is probably a book you should skip. No main character death, however.

Chapter One: Losing to a Legacy

"He's just a kid!"

A scoff, "He's a Winchester! He'll get over it!"

Chapped lips slowly opening and closing to a soundless song, Sam's vision blurred on the chipped motel wall. It was a tuneless melody, a desperate attempt to drown out his family's arguing. Sam was cold, his skin crawling with the chills, but the young man didn't move.

He didn't want John and Dean to know he was awake. That he could hear everything being said.

"You push him too far, and he'll never be able to come back!" Dean growled, and Sam's eyes foamed. He knew how much respect his brother had for their father, and to hear him arguing because of Sam… was worse than being shot. "I'm not askin' for much! Just… be a dad! Be his dad!"

John's fist slammed against the wall, and Sam's eyes closed tightly. Tears slipped down his cheeks, wetting his pillow. "I am his dad! I'm doing everything I can for you boys! I'm keeping you two alive! Do you know how fucking hard that is?"

It'll be over soon. It'll be over soon. It'll be over soon. Sam felt like clawing at his skin to focus on something other than the fighting, but he couldn't move from his place on the bed. It'll be over soon. They'd wear themselves soon. It'll be over soon.

Sam was being torn apart at the seams with every jab the older Winchester's threw.

Dean didn't say anything for a moment -Sam counted nine seconds- but when he did, he sounded tired. Sam didn't blame him. He was sure it was well past two in the morning. They'd been yelling for ages… all because of Sam. "I know, Dad… But Sam's just a kid… All this stress? It's fucking with him more than we'd all care to admit…"

"Then he needs to grow up," John returned harshly, his voice stern with resolution. "I love Sam… but I can't coddle him. We can't coddle him. He's a hunter, and…" a sigh. "...he's gotta learn now, or it'll hurt more later."

The young man's heart attempted to spring out of his chest, silently pleading with Dean to not give in. But this time, the silence was too long, and Sam knew that was it. John was right. There was nothing Dean could do but accept that.

There was nothing Sam could do but accept that.

Hugging his pillow, the young Winchester pressed his face against the damp surface. He wanted to grow up, wanted to make everyone proud, but at that moment? He was just too tired.

It was his energy that slipped from his soul first.

Perhaps the exhaustion had always been there, but as the days dragged on, it all became more apparent. Like heavy chains, it coiled around Sam's limbs, keeping him from straying to a healthier state of mind.

Sam didn't sleep more than usual, in fact, he slept less. Because his nights had grown restless. The night had become a curse that stretched on for hours.

"Dean?" Sam began, breaking the silence, his voice husky with fatigue.

The young man didn't respond at first, and Sam fretted that he was asleep already. "What, Sammy?"

Sam rolled onto his back, his eyes moving from the wall to the ceiling. It was late that afternoon when the teenager had realized something was wrong. John was out on a hunt someplace else, and Sam should've been enjoying his freedom from the family business. But he'd stayed in bed, too drained to move. "I'm tired, Dean."

Dean turned in his bed to get a better look at his brother. His eyes sharpened in concern, and he frowned slightly. "Then go to sleep."

The teenager ignored him, "I think you're tired too."

The Winchester paused, staring at his brother's face. "Yeah, 'cause you woke me up," But that was a pathetic lie, and they both knew it. They both knew that Dean was just trying to fill the silence with bullshit that should've made them laugh. But how could either of them laugh when they didn't even have the energy to sleep? Dean gave up on humor, "What do you mean?"

"Hunting," was the muffled whisper. It was quiet, vague, but both of them understood completely. "All of it. Do you ever just… feel like you can't take it?"

Dean sat up, leaning on his arm as he faced Sam. The younger brother refused to make eye contact, too scared of what he'd see in Dean's eyes. "Sammy? What are you talkin' about?" He sounded worried.

Sam knew he couldn't say anything to reassure his brother, so at first, he remained silent. His moment of confidence had faded, and now he felt all too vulnerable. "I don't know…" Do you ever just want to escape? "Do you?" God, Sam just needed someone to understand. He just needed someone to understand.

"Sometimes," The older brother answered, sounding resigned. "But I can't ask for something different. This is my life…" a pause, and then a quick fix, "This is our life. We're Winchesters. It's not like we can just stop."

We're Winchesters. Sam heard that a lot. It was as if Dean and his Dad actually thought it was an excuse. And for the longest time, Sam had accepted it.

Sam had lived years believing that was reason enough. Proof they could get through anything. Like their name was enough explanation for the literal hell they had gone through. But it fucking wasn't. Winchester was a legacy, but it wasn't an excuse.

At least, it wasn't to Sam. "You're right. Night, Dean."

Neither brother slept that night.

It was so cold out.

Slowly lifting the glass of beer to his lips, Sam stared at the abandoned train tracks that stretched for miles in front of him. From his place on the bridge ledge, it looked never-ending. The young man briefly wondered how long it took to lay each rail down. Did whoever had done it ever feel like it was all pointless?

Because wasn't it? Did the employees realize all their work was for nothing? Did they know the train didn't even use their tracks?

As the alcohol slipped down his throat, Sam began wishing for something a bit more... kick. The beer was doing nothing to drown out thoughts. Was doing nothing to wash them out with a flood of drunken euphoria.

He'd gotten too used to it. Too many drinks, too often. It was like drinking water now.

When had Sam last had a sip of water?

"Who knows…?" the young man sang quietly. "Who cares?" Sam scoffed in empty amusement. Nobody was around to answer him. Who cares? The question whispered once again, although Sam found the question asking a far different question. A question not of drinking water but of something far more… dangerous.

The young man slowly got to his feet, and as he wavered slightly, he didn't bother grabbing onto anything for support. Fate was his life float... if he fell, it was meant to be.

But Sam didn't fall.

And what scared him, down to the core. Was that he was disappointed. The young Winchester's eyes filled with tears, and as he stared down at the train tracks, Sam was baffled at how much he realized he wanted to fall. Because if he fell, he wouldn't have to fight this fight that was as pointless as laying track. Because if he fell, he wouldn't be a disappointment to a legacy. Because if he fell… he could stop hurting so goddamn much.

Quickly, the young man scrambled over the bridge's guardrail and tottered on the deck. His vision danced, a wave of vertigo threatening to knock him off his feet.

The tears were falling freely down the young man's cheeks now, and he gasped for air in between sobs. He was in so much pain, and it wasn't just a once-in-a-while thing... it was an everyday thing. His mind, his body, his heart… it all hurt. And he was so scared that this was one thing he couldn't get through.

But what would they all say?

If he'd fallen?

Would Dean cry? Dean never cried. Would he sink to his knees and not be able to move for hours because maybe if he pretended it never happened, time would reverse? Would Dean drink himself to death? Would he take the fall to the afterlife to be with Sam? Or maybe Dean wouldn't cry at all, but instead, he'd throw his hands in the air and curse Sam out. Maybe he'd judge Sam for not being able to hold on.

Would John come home? Would he continue hunting? Would he cry? Would Sam's dad mourn Sam the same way he'd mourned Mary? Or would he just move on? Would he be able to?

Sam crumpled to the ground with a muffled sob and drowned out his thoughts by screaming into his sleeve.

Why was the one monster he couldn't win against himself?

Sam hadn't gone to the bridge since. Too scared that he'd be given the option to give up again… because he knew… not so deep down, that he'd take it.

He didn't even leave the motel, for that matter.

John still hadn't come home, and it'd been a month and a week or two. Dean didn't seem too affected... in fact, he just spent more time with this group of people he'd found someplace Sam couldn't remember at that moment.

The young man was sitting with his back against the wall when the door opened. Sam couldn't even bother to move into a more defensive position. He just took another gulp of his beer and glanced at who was walking in.

"Sammy?" Dean sounded confused at first. "What the hell you doin'?"

Sam cheersed the air to reveal the bottle he was drinking out of. His mind was too fuzzy to pick up on the fact his brother was growing concerned, and thus, in typical Dean fashion, angry. "Wha're you doin' back?" The bottle was brought back to his lips and tipped upward, pouring another large gulp down his throat.

The eldest Winchester paused in front of Sam, studying his little brother in disbelief. "Are you drinking?" he sounded baffled.

"Surprise?" the young man sputtered out, coughing out a laugh. "Oh, c'mon, don't ac' like you're a saint." Sam broke into a drunk grin, raising the glass to his mouth again. This time Dean quickly took it from his hands. "Wha' the fuck?" Sam growled, his arm lurching out to grab the beer back. "Give it back!"

Dean held out his free hand to Sam, completely ignoring his demand, "Come on, you've had way too much. You need some water."

"De! Give. I'. Back!" Sam demanded, scrambling to his feet. Once he was up, a wave of nausea and vertigo washed over him, and if it weren't for Dean grabbing him by the shoulder, he'd have crashed to the ground. It reminded him too painfully of the bridge. God! Why couldn't he just forget about the bridge?

The older brother put the beer on the table and strung an arm around Sam. "You're okay, dude. C'mon, follow me. Let's get you sum water…"

Slumping against his brother, Sam nodded sluggishly. His head felt heavier than usual, and it kept lolling to the side before the young man had the strength to look straight. By now, he'd completely surrendered to Dean, using the young man as a crutch as they stumbled to the bathroom.

"'M sorry…" he sputtered out as the exhaustion sunk back into his bones. ""M really sorry…"

"Sorry for what, kiddo?" Dean inquired, carefully setting Sam down on the toilet and filling up one of those little plastic cups with sink water.

Sorry for not being a good Winchester. Sam's face scrunched up at the unspoken words, and he rubbed at his red eyes. Catching a look of himself in the mirror, he wondered when he'd started crying. "All of it?" Sorry I almost jumped off a bridge. Sorry for drinking. Sorry I'm too tired to fight.

Dean, now back at Sam's side, gently lifted the cup to his little brother's lips. "Drink," he ordered softly. Sam gulped down the water like it was the antidote to his grief. "Slow down, Sammy, you don't want to get sick…" But Sam didn't, finishing off the cup in a couple seconds. "Okay, now look at me. C'mon…" he snapped his fingers. "I'm right here."

Sam gazed sadly at the young man.

"You're not in trouble for drinking. 'Kay? You can drink, that's fine… but you shouldn't do it alone. And not so much. It's a helluva lot safer with someone else. Really, if you wanted to drink, ya should've just called me, and we could've gotten drunk together."

A ghost of a smile flickered over Sam's face. "Mhmm…"

"Also," Dean continued, snapping again. Sam's gaze refocused on his brother's face in confusion. "How are you? This…" he waved his hand at nothing, but the implication was clear. Drinking. He was talking about Sam drinking. "...isn't like you."

Sam stared at Dean for a long moment, his lips feeling sewn shut. He wasn't okay. But Sam didn't know whether or not to tell Dean about it all. What would Dean say if he knew about the bridge? Would he get mad? Sam really couldn't handle his brother being upset with him. "'M fine!" He slurred out, faking a wide smile. "...just sooo…" bored? Done? Unaware he hadn't finished his sentence, Sam just nodded proudly at his dishonesty.

The older brother stared at Sam. One second, two seconds, three seconds, then a nod as he accepted the lie. "Let's get you to bed," he chuckled. "But next time you want to drink... just call me, alright?"

Sam nodded.

But he was pretty sure they both knew he wouldn't.

Things began spiraling again when John got back.

The car ride to their next hunt was far too silent. To Sam, it felt like he was suffocating in the tension. John was angry, Dean was concerned, and Sam was wishing he had a bottle of beer. Because he hadn't drunk since Dean had caught him, and that had been three days ago. His mind yearned for the clouded feeling that filled him to the brim.

Because he was in pain, and he only knew how to numb it. And he only knew how to numb it with alcohol.

"So… nothin'?" Dean asked their father quietly after a long while.

John's grip tightened on the steering wheel, and both sons realized that hadn't been the right question to ask. "It was a dead end. I was so close to catching that yellow-eyed sonuvabitch…" the older man threw a fist into the dashboard.

Sam winced. "We'll catch him, Dad…" He tried to reassure, but his words were only gasoline to John's anger. The young man should've realized John was too upset with himself to stay calm. He should've fucking known, but he'd just wanted to make someone feel better. Because Sam was too fucked up to feel better himself.

His father grew steely silent, staring at the road ahead of them and digging his nails into the steering wheel. Dean tried to throw Sam a comforting look, but Sam flinched away from it.

He couldn't even make his dad feel better.

What a fucking great Winchester he was.

OoOooOooOoOOo

"Wait!" Sam called out in slight panic.

John was already outside, but Dean paused at the doorway and glanced back at the young man. "Hm?" he inquired with a curious frown.

Slipping on his shoes, the Winchester stumbled after his older brother. "I'll come with you guys…" There was something inside of him… telling him not to stay at the motel. Something was telling him to get the hell out of there. He flashed Dean a panicked look, desperately pleading with the young man to understand.

Dean's eyes narrowed in thought, and Sam could see the gears turning in his brother's head. But it was the way his face fell that Sam knew what Dean's answer was. "I dunno, Sammy…" He murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think it'd be best if you stayed here. Tried to find out what we're lookin' at here."

Anger sparked in Sam's stomach, and he froze where he was. "Dean, c'mon-"

"I said no," Dean replied sharply. "I don't think it'd be smart."

And then Sam understood. He doesn't want you in a bar because you were drinking. "You said you didn't have a problem with me drinking!" He hissed, fists clenching at his side. "And I wasn't even gonna! I just wanna go with you! Why the hell is that such a problem?"

It felt like all of the despair and emotion Sam's exhaustion had bordered up was breaking free. It burned in his unsuspecting veins, and he crossed his arms.

John shouted, and Dean glanced guiltily from the Impala to Sam. "Listen, I'm sorry, 'kay? But you'll be fine here. We'll be there and back."

The young man just stared at Dean, dumb-founded, as all the energy he hadn't used in months bubbled to the surface. "Fuck you," Sam sputtered out, his mouth unable to keep up with his mush of a brain. "Just fucking leave." Turning his back to Dean, he stepped on his shoes to get them off.

Fuck his intuition, fuck his brother's trust for him, fuck it all.

Dean said something, but all Sam heard was: I don't trust you. And then the door shut, and Sam was alone. Again.

Why was he always so alone?

His legs buckled before he could reach his bed, and he fell with a muffled sob to the floor. Tears were spilling down his cheeks, which shocked him because, with as much as he'd cried in the past week, he was surprised he could physically produce more. His hands were shaking with so much earth-shattering frustration that he couldn't even feel them anymore, and his hair slumped in front of his eyes, unbrushed and unwashed.

He just hadn't had the energy to do anything… but at that moment, he needed to do something. Needed to get rid of all the hatred and despair stuck inside of him.

Pens were on the counter, blankets on the bed, guns under the bed. Sam could- but no. He'd been through this. Shakily, he picked up the pen and held it between his fingers. The object wobbled in his grip, but the attack on his arm was smooth, deliberate.

It was so… so fucking wrong. But the blood that trickled out was the only thing more twisted than his own mind, and in that sense… it was so right.

Or maybe Sam just didn't even know the difference anymore.

"What'd you get?"

Sam blinked in surprise at the sudden voice, turning slightly to better address the stranger who had approached him. It was a young woman with round, flushed features and striking brown eyes. The Winchester froze, his words, and thoughts about how quiet the school bell was, drying up.

Pressing onward, as if Sam didn't understand her question, his classmate continued, "On your test," She leaned forward, her hands behind her back as she glanced at Sam's paper.

Still surprised at the sudden conversation, the young man found himself glancing down at his assignment and just staring at it for a second. He'd only been in this school for a week, and nobody had tried to talk to him before. At least, nobody who obviously wanted to start a conversation with him. "I… uh, a D." Sam suddenly cursed himself for not studying.

Of course, the one time somebody asked him about it, he had a bad grade. She probably thought him stupid…

"Oh!" the girl brightened up at that. She revealed her own assignment with a sheepish look. "Me too… English's not really… my best subject." she giggled. "I'm Gwen. It's nice to meet you."

Sam's face flickered upward into a crooked smile. It was a weird sensation, but his stomach had released a flurry of butterflies, and his skin was flushed with nerves. It was such a stark change from his usual temperament of just… emptiness. "Sam," he responded with a small croak in his voice.

Gwen's cheeks flushed a brighter shade red, and she held out her hand to shake. Sam took it with little doubt, thanking God that his sleeves were tight enough to not fall down his arm and reveal the scarred skin. He actually… was quite fond of Gwen, already, and the last -and first- time somebody had seen his scars, they'd recoiled and didn't talk to him for the rest of the time Sam was in that school.

"When's your lunch period?" Gwen asked, biting her lip gently, anxiety gleaming in her gaze.

"Uh…" Sam found himself at a loss for an answer, his heart pounding too loud in his ears to hear. "Uh, now. Sorry… Bad… memory." Not usually, but at this moment, he probably couldn't even remember his last name.

His classmate smiled widely, "Oh, awesome! Me too! Wanna eat with me? If… you don't have anything else to do, obviously…"

"No… No, it's fine. I don't. I mean, sure. Sure, let's do it."

Desperation clawed in Sam's chest, "Please!"

Dean seemed surprised at the flood of emotion in his little brother. He wasn't stupid; he knew how distant… how cold Sam had been lately. He hadn't seen Sam this passionate about something in… well, months. "Sammy, you know it's not sumthin' I can control, right?"

"Dad can handle this one on his own, right? Dean, come on, please!" Sam lunged forward, grabbing at his older brother's sleeve. "C'mon… Two more days. He can wait two more days!"

The older brother's patience was dwindling as the shock faded, "Dude, calm down. People are dying. Dad needs us."

Tears foamed in Sam's eyes, the urge to scream or let everything out throwing itself at his ribcage. He dropped his brother's jacket and clutched his stomach in an attempt to settle the emotions. "I need you… to just… please? Two more days?" The fight hadn't run dry, but Sam had decided screaming wouldn't help. It would just upset Dean more.

"Why?" Dean's voice was muffled, conflicted.

And Sam knew that the only way to give himself a chance was to tell Dean, "Because… there's this dance on Monday… and I promised…" he closed his eyes briefly. "I promised my girlfriend that I'd be there."

Dean paused, surprise shocking his features. "Your girlfriend? Little bro, you're dating someone? Like, seriously? You aren't pullin' my leg, here?" Sam nodded. "Hell yeah, good for you. But… Sam, you know this isn't something we can just... delay? I wish I could help you, I really do…" the older Winchester's eyes softened earnestly. "But you can't stay here alone, and Dad needs me."

"Dean, c'mon dude! I never ask you for anything! Ever! Why can't… why can't you just… do this one thing for me!" Sam shoved into Dean's chest, unable to keep his anger at bay anymore. "Two fucking days! Two!"

His brother didn't fight back, sympathetically casting Sam a sad smile, "I'm sorry. But we gotta. Pack your bags... we leave tonight."

It was like everything Sam had sacrificed for his family was worth nothing. His happiness, his well-being, his grades, his life? Was equivalent to absolutely nothing. The threads holding the young man together were being torn at the seams by the cold hand of what everybody else needed. And Sam just… couldn't take it anymore. "No."

Dean, for all his understanding of Sam's emotions, winced in surprise. "Huh?"

"I said no," Sam repeated through gritted teeth. "I'm not leaving."

His older brother scoffed, running a hand through his cropped hair and shaking his head. "Sam, you don't really have a choice. We're Winchesters... I thought you understood that."

Winchesters. There it was again. Sam's legacy, the excuse for apparently every shitty thing that had ever happened to him. Monsters attacked him on the daily because he was Winchester, he couldn't cry because he was a Winchester, he couldn't tell anyone about his depression or… dark thoughts… because he was a Winchester. It was no longer just a last name... it was a fucking knife being held to Sam's neck.

The young man couldn't talk for the longest time, so he just stood there, baffled, as he blinked back tears. "I…" it was all falling apart.

Why was he even fighting?

"Right. You're right." Sam understood exactly what being a Winchester was. Some supernatural legacy that he was never going to live up to. Because Sam wasn't going to live much longer.

Sam had packed without saying a word.

As he rolled his shirts into balls and stuffed them in the bag, the young man smoothed a thumb over the jacket Dean had given him for his latest birthday. It still fit his body fine, but his arms had grown since he'd been given it, and the sleeves wouldn't cover his scars. Sam hadn't worn it in ages.

He decided it would be a suitable jacket to die in. Carefully, Sam placed it aside and finished packing.

Moments earlier, Dean had left to fill up the Impala with gas for the trip down to Texas, and Sam knew this would be his only chance. He tugged on his jacket, wincing as the fabric pressed tightly against his skin. Then he carefully slipped his phone into his pocket.

Sam didn't have many belongings. Almost all his mementos had disappeared in all of the moves, but the pictures he had of Dean… of his Mom, had been with him his entire life. And now, it was comforting to know that the photos would be with him when he died.

Slipping into the bathroom, Sam gently pulled the door shut. At first, he'd thought of leaving the motel, going somewhere he could just… be alone with nature one last time. But he was just too tired.

He wanted the pain to just stop, and he didn't need someplace fancy do to that. Stepping in the shower, the young Winchester sat down. The water was off because he didn't want to ruin his photos or his phone. But at least… if he died in the shower, it wouldn't be hard to clean.

Sam didn't want to make Dean's life harder.

Pulling out the gun in his pocket, Sam shakily placed the object in his lap and removed his phone from his pocket. He wasn't sure what he was planning on doing with it, but the young man wanted to let Dean know… that he couldn't have done anything to stop what had happened.

His fingers were cold as he transcribed a message to his brother. Tears had begun to fall down his cheeks at some point, falling onto the phone screen and making it difficult to read what he'd written. Sam didn't bother wiping them away.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he pressed send.

The gun was back in his hand then, and he slid his phone across the bathroom floor to the opposite side of the room. Where it would hopefully be safe from any blood splatter. It was valuable, and he didn't want to make John upset by ruining it. Maybe Sam couldn't be a good Winchester, but the least he could do was try to be a good son. One last time.

His barrel was cold against Sam's skin, and he took a shaking breath as his finger found the trigger. He'd expected it to feel like it fit there, but to his surprise, it felt foreign to the touch. His body was screaming to stop, but he knew it had to be done. He couldn't… he couldn't back out now.

One last sacrifice for the Winchester name. And then he wouldn't have to fight anymore.

Sam closed his eyes.

A/N: Soo... in case you hadn't realized. I haven't been very active as of recently. I've just been going through a lot, so this book (this will be a two-shot) is kinda a way to cope with/illustrate how I've been feeling. I'll try to be more active with posting, and I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing so you can be expecting new chapters to some of books! Anyways, I love you all so much and man, I missed you all. Please read and review!

Also also, Sam will not die in this! Just in case any of you were worried.

Also. If any of you suffer from depression, suicidal thoughts, or anything else. Please talk to somebody. All of you are so important and have so much of your lives to live so hold on for what's to come.

Suicide Hotline: 800-273-8255