Dean's hand shook as he began to write.

Sam,

I'm not really sure how to explain this to you. Hell, I don't know if I can explain it to myself. With how hard we've worked to stay alive, I bet this seems really stupid. But it's the way it's gotta be. With me out of the way, you and Dad will find the thing pretty quick. Just be careful. I get the feeling Dad's gonna be pretty reckless when it comes to the final fight, cause he's got nothing to lose. But you do. I've been selfish. I didn't want you to go to Stanford, I wanted you to stay with me and Dad. I guess I'm a little co-dependent. But I can see that it needs to stop. You're better than this, Sammy. I've been holding you back. After you and Dad kill this son of a bitch, go back to school. Marry a nice girl and start a life. You've earned it.

I need you to know that this is me. I'm not possessed or anything. This is my choice. I've been living on borrowed time anyway.

I love you, Sammy. I'm proud of you. And I'm sorry.

Dean

He read through it one last time. God, Sam was gonna be pissed. But he'd get over it and see the reason behind this decision eventually, right?

Dean wasn't stupid. He knew an overdose was probably the worst way to kill himself. But he just couldn't leave Sammy to deal with the awful bloody mess that would be left behind from a gunshot or severed artery.

He locked himself in the bathroom with the bottle of pills, and unscrewed the lid.

This was it.

As Sam left the burger joint, he couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that something was wrong. He dialed Dean's number, but he didn't pick up.

That wasn't a good sign.

He sped back to the motel and threw the car in park, almost forgetting their food on the passenger seat. He unlocked the door and walked in, half-expecting to see something awful.

But it was suspiciously quiet. He set the food down on the table, and knocked on the bathroom door.

"Hey, I'm back. Food's getting cold, hurry up."

"Go ahead and start without me," Came a strangled voice from the other side.

Although relieved to hear his brother's voice, the feeling was still there. "You okay? You sound like crap."

"Pain meds wearing off, is all." Dean replied.

Sam glanced at the nightstand where he'd left the Oxycodone. He frowned. The bottle was gone, and in its place was a note scrawled on the motel's paper pad. He picked it up and began reading.

"Oh my God," He whispered, feeling sick. "Dean!" He ran to the door and started pounding on it. "Open up!"

"Jus' leave me alone." a slurred voice answered.

"Please don't do this!" Sam begged. He backed up and ran towards the door, hitting it forcefully with his shoulder. The hinges splintered, and the door flew open.

"You've gotta let me go, Sammy," Dean was on the floor leaning up against the wall, surrounded by four empty beer bottles. He held the Oxycodone container in hand, and Sam ripped it from his grasp.

"Did you take any?" He demanded, looking inside. It looked like they were all still there, but he couldn't be sure.

"Not yet. Needed to get drunk first."

"Thank God." Sam breathed, shoving the pills safely into his jacket pocket. "Get up." He helped Dean to his feet, and they limped back into the room. He eased his brother onto the bed.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Sam exploded.

Dean flinched. "'s all in the note." He replied softly.

"I wanna hear it from you."

"Well I wrote that thing, so technically-"

"Fuck you!" Sam shouted, trembling with anger and worry. "You tried to fucking kill yourself!"

"Sammy, just calm down-"

"Don't tell me to calm down!"

"Sam." Dean stared up at him, unfocused eyes trying to figure out which Sam he was talking to. It had been a long time since he'd been drunk enough to get double-vision. "Please..." He tried to stand up, but collapsed with a yelp.

Sam caught him, and they both sank to the floor. "I can't do this without you," the younger Winchester whispered brokenly. He cleared his throat. "You're wrong about everything, Dean. You're not holding me back. You're not preventing us from finding the demon. We need you."

"That's bullshit. You're jus' tryin' to make me feel better." Dean slurred.

Sam helped him into bed for a second time. "I mean it." He sighed. "I should take you to a hospital."

"What? Why?" Dean looked slightly panicked.

"You're so drunk you can barely talk! This can't be good for your concussion."

"Had worse." He winced, leaning back against the pillows. "Besides, they ask too many questions." He shut his eyes.

"You're gonna have one hell of a hangover in the morning." Sam observed.

"'m tired." Dean's eyelids fluttered, like he was trying to keep them open.

"Go to sleep. But we're talking about this tomorrow, and you can't get out of it." Sam promised.

"Mmm." Dean mumbled his protest, but was unconscious within moments.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. What the fuck had just happened?

He read through Dean's note one more time, and his heart just broke. How could his brother believe this shit? Why did he feel this way? What had happened to make him think he was just slowing them down? After everything they'd been through, how could he just leave?

Sam dialed their father's number. He knew John wouldn't pick up, but there were a few things he needed to say to the man.

As expected, it went straight to voicemail.

"Dad, it's Sam. I don't know if you listen to your messages, but I sure as hell hope you do. Cause we need you. Dean needs you. He just tried to kill himself, Dad." Sam's voice broke. "He thinks he's the reason you left. He thinks he's slowing us down, getting in the way. He thinks we're better off without him, and I need you to help me prove him wrong. He won't listen to me!"

He took a breath. "Call me back. Or call Dean, and leave a voicemail. And you better have a damn good excuse for being gone, cause he's just gonna keep blaming himself."

Sam hung up, and resigned himself to another night of watching Dean sleep. His thoughts wouldn't shut off.

How could he have missed the warning signs?

His brother was suicidal.

How could he fix this?