A/N Hello readers :D Ok, so, I was looking over my stories and I realized that in all my other SPN stories, John is awesome. But in this one, as you guys can tell, he is a jerk. I'm very sorry if this offends anyone. I honestly think John is a great father, but for this story it just fits for me to make him a jerk..for now :) I am warning you this chapter might be shocking, but I actually have chapter 9 already written so you will not have to wait long before finding out what happens next. Enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Dean stood over his brother for a while, watching him, unsure of what to say. A couple of times he would push Sam's bangs out of his face, wipe Sam's tears away and hand him a tissue, which Sam accepted gratefully. He kept a shaking, but comforting hand on his baby brother's shoulder. Sam leaned into his brother's touch, but his sobbing stayed constant.

The inevitable desire to cut kept up its nagging constant. Sam needed his knife. The one that had started it all. The beautiful, powerful knife that had almost succeeded in giving Sam what he wanted. Sam knows he needs to cut again, and he won't be able to break through this feeling. Sam knows how much Dean cares about him, but he needs this. Maybe not to end it all, but at least to give him that satisfaction of feeling the glorious blade slide across his skin and take all his problem with it.

Dean didn't feel bad for his father in the least bit. He deserved the harsh words Sam had spoken to him. It was strange and maybe a huge step for John to actually try to show that he cared, but Dean could see right through it. His father had hit Sam, which was unacceptable and had probably set off Sam's emotions. Which resulted in him trying to take his own life. It was too much for Dean; the thought of loosing Sammy. He means too much to him. Dean couldn't help but feel a bit bad for his father. He had lost his wife, which took over his life, and now he had almost lost his son.

"Sammy?" Dean questioned, gently using his hand to turn Sam toward him.

Sam sniffled and slowly turned over to look at his brother through tear filled eyes. Tear stains are streaked down his face, his eyes bloodshot and red, and his bottom lip was quivering.

"Did you do this because of dad?" Dean asked quietly, a little afraid of the answer.

Sam ran his small hand over his face to wipe some of the tears away.

"I don't want to talk about it," Sam whispered, and attempted to roll back over, but is stopped by Dean's hand on his arm.

"Hey, don't treat me like dad, Sam. Talk to me," Dean demanded.

"Dean-"

"No. You know I care. I care about you, Sam. You can't keep this to yourself, dude. Sorry, but you're gonna have to talk."

"He was a part of it," Sam said, bluntly.

"What-?"

"Dad..He was a part of it. I hate this, Dean. I hate the way we live and dad..Dad hating me just makes it that much worse."

"He doesn't hate-"

"Dean," said Sam, cutting his brother off. "You wanted me to talk, so let me finish."

"Ok, Sam."

"I hate our live, Dean. I don't want to be stuck in this constant war forever. I understand that dad wants to avenge mom. Believe me, I do too. But I want more than that. I want a normal life. I want to go to college, get a career, maybe a wife one day. I can't do those things in this family..And I know that. But honestly, I don't see any other way out then this." Sam lifted up his arms, eyeing the bandages, gesturing what he meant. "Its the only thing that take the pain away for a while. I can't live this life. I hate it, Dean."

Dean stared at Sam for a long time after he finished speaking. A silent staring contest. Not knowing what to do, Dean suddenly reached forward and pulled his baby brother into a hug.

"It will get better, Sammy," Dean stated. "It will. I don't know how or when, but I promise it will."

Caught off guard and unsure of what to say, Sam sank into his brother's arms and returned the hug. Dean is so important to Sam and he trust him with his life, but he can't shake the feeling that this war his family is in will never end.

"Get some sleep, Sammy. We have to leave soon," Dean said, releasing Sam and sinking into the chair behind him. He grabbed the cup of now-cold coffee and took a sip of it, with the intention of staying awake to watch over his little brother.

Sam gave a small smile, and rolled over, away from Dean. Eyes wide open and staring at the wall in front of him, he decided that he needs the knife once more.

Dean awoke in an uncomfortable chair. Looking up, he immediately recognized his surroundings. The motel room. The one Sammy had tried too.. How did I get here? Where's Sammy? Where's dad?

The room was completely dark, but the dim light coming from the parking lot outside made the room's features visible. Dean suddenly notices the room is freezing cold. Shivering, he stands up and stretches.

"Sam?" He calls out, into the dark. Nothing, but silence answers him.

Standing uncomfortably cold in the room, he looks around; at his and Sam's bed, dad's bed, the kitchen table.

"I'm sorry, Dean," A voice whispers from the shadows.

Dean immediately recognizes the voice. "Sammy?"

Suddenly, Dean can see everything, as if a bright light had just began shining into the room.

Scanning the newly lit surroundings quickly, his eyes finally rest on a figure standing in between the end of the beds and the dresser. Sam. Sam with a gun against his head.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam repeats. Closing his eyes, he pulls the trigger.

"SAMMY! NO!"

A/N Please review!