Hi there! So, this is my first adventure into writing Supernatural fanfic. Exciting, right? I'm excited. Let me know if you like it ;)

TRIGGER WARNING: There is talk of a suicide attempt, and suicidal ideation. Please don't read if this triggers you. Love you.

Disclaimer: I do not own this.

It had started off normal.

Well, mostly.

Dean would receive calls from Bobby about once a week. Which, in hindsight, was a little odd. Bobby was never the sentimental type that would check up on them. Especially not just Dean. Sure, Bobby cared about them, but to call every week?

Hell, Sam went two years without a single word from Bobby and here Dean is getting calls from Bobby like some long-distance friendship between two middle school girls.

Sam never heard Bobby's end of the call, but whatever he was saying Dean would just brush off. And after a few affirming "I know's" and "yeah-huh, will do's", he'd hang up.

But then Sam started paying closer attention.

And that's when he realized Bobby was calling Dean at least every two days.

That was unusual.

And slightly concerning.

No, scratch that. It was very concerning.

But that wasn't the only concerning thing. Sam had noticed that Dean was popping a lot of pills lately. Sure, that was pretty normal because Dean had gotten beat up a lot lately from hunts gone awry. But he'd been doing it secretly.

And, a lot.

Then again, this was Mr. "I'm fine, Sam, I don't need a painkiller" so maybe that's why he was hiding it. But this coupled with the phone calls-

Well, Sam was worried.

And every time Sam would question Dean about it, he'd just shrug it off. Sam was dying of curiosity. What could be so important that the old man who didn't do touchy feely was calling Dean almost every day like an old mother hen?

So, of course, it wasn't entirely Sam's fault that the next time Bobby called, and Dean was oh-so conveniently in the shower, that he answered. If Dean wouldn't tell him, he'd have to find out on his own.

"Bobby?"

"Sam?" Answered the gruff voice in return. "Is Dean there?" Bobby asked before he could get a word in edgewise.

"Yeah, he-"

"He alright?" Bobby questioned, cutting Sam off. He frowned.

"Yeah. He's in the shower," Was that a sigh of relief? "Bobby," He started, hesitating to find the right way to phrase this. But in the end he settled for a simple, good ol fashioned, "What the hell is going on?"

He heard another sigh. This one was definitely not from relief.

"I'm just checking in on you guys. Believe it or not there is a part of me that's not too gruff to show that I care about you two dumbasses." Deflection. While Sam was touched by the sentiment, he knew he was trying to distract. This was about more than that.

"Bobby, you may be a hunter but you can't lie worth a crap," He deadpanned, earning a huff from the other man.

"I'm guessing Dean hasn't told you anything? No, screw that. That boy's too stubborn to let on something like that. Lord only knows how bullheaded he is." Sam chuckled at that. Bobby had a point. But he didn't answer the call to talk about how stubborn Dean is. He did it for answers.

"Told me what?" Nothing. "Bobby, what's going on? You're making me scared, here."

"Look, Sam, this isn't my secret to share. It doesn't concern you," That ticked Sam off. Though, in reality, he was just getting really, really scared for his brother and tired of all of these stupid secrets.

"This is my brother we're talking about. This sure as hell concerns me!" He bellowed, hopefully not loud enough for Dean to hear.

"You watch your tone, boy." He spoke in a quiet but firm voice. Sam tensed his jaw, not wanting to feel reprimanded by one of the only father figures he's ever had. Bobby sighed again.

"I guess you have a right to know. I've been calling to make sure your brother takes his medication." Sam frowned at the answer.

"Painkillers?"

"Anti-depressants."

What?

"You're kidding,"

"I wish I was, Sam." Before he even knew what he was doing, he was pacing the room. He shook his head.

Why in the world would Dean need anti-depressants? No, wait, scratch that. How could he not need them?

"I mean, what? How-when?" His words were jumbled, matching his brain at the moment. Bobby sighed heavily.

"How much time do you got?"

"It was supposed to be a simple hunt. I'd asked for some help on the case for multiple reasons. One, it was a little bit of a tricky hunt even if it seemed relatively easy. It was confusing as hell. And two, I knew Dean hadn't been doing the best ever since John had left him alone." Sam's jaw tensed. And you, were the words that weren't spoken.

But they didn't have to be.

"And then what? What was the case about?" He changed the subject. Not so subtlely.

"Well," Bobby paused, not really wanting to share the information. But it had to be done sometime.

God only knew Dean would never be the one to share it.

"There was a string of mysterious suicides in a small town not too far from me. Couldn't figure it out for the life of me." Oh God. "Called up Dean and eventually we figured out it was the spirit of some 'gal who had killed herself because of her ex-lover. He was an abusive bastard but she didn't see that. Blamed herself for how he treated her and yadda yadda, you can guess how the story went."

Sam continued pacing as Bobby told the story, glancing up towards the bathroom door, grateful that the water was still running.

"Well, turns out in the after life she had some clarity. 'Dunno if she thought she was better off dead or if she just wanted others to suffer alongside her. Anyways, she ended up convincing others to attempt suicide. Dean, he," He hesitated once more and Sam's heart sunk a little lower.

"He wasn't in the best place. After doing some research we found out there had been a survivor. Me and Dean were gonna go see if we could talk with her, but he was just kind of off, ya know? Thought I'd leave him behind for this one." There was silence. Sam could feel how heavy his heartbeat was in his chest.

"When I came back, I found him on the bed with some whiskey and an empty bottle of pills next to him. He'd overdosed, Sam."

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

"No, he-he couldn't have," Sam muttered, numbly aware of his surroundings as he sank down onto the creaking bed.

"I'm sorry, Sam," He shook his head, not wanting to believe it.

Not capable of believing it.

"This, this spirit. She made him do it, right? She's, she's responsible for it. Right?" There was silence and it only made Sam's head hurt more.

"Sam...this spirit only made people act on thoughts that were already there. She didn't make him do anything, son. She merely gave him the courage to do what he already wanted to."

Oh God.

Dean.

His heart ached and he was at a complete and utter loss for words.

"I-" He paused. What could he say? His brother tried to kill himself.

Nothing he could say would ever change that awful, sobering fact.

"Took him to the hospital. The doctor prescribed him some pills that would supposedly help. I call him to make sure he's taking them. And to make sure," He didn't have to finish.

"If you wanna know more, you'll have to ask your brother. I've told you more than I should've," Sam swallowed thickly, still trying to process everything. His big brother, his hero, the man who could laugh in the face of danger and take a beating without even hardly flinching, tried to kill himself.

Because of you.

"Thanks, Bobby. I-I guess," He breathed out dejectedly.

"Yeah," Bobby responded, though he sounded anything but pleased. "Good luck, Sam." And with that he hung up, leaving Sam to pick up the broken pieces of finding out this new, earth-shattering information, quite frankly.

He heard the water shut off, and never in his life has he ever been so grateful that Dean took such long showers.

A few minutes later, his brother emerged.

Fully clothed, hair sopping wet -the chicks dig the wet look, Sammy. Why would I take time to make myself less attractive?- and whistling some God-awful AC/DC song that he couldn't remember the name of. But he has never been happier to see him.

Here.

Alive.

"Dean," He breathed, barely a whisper.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Might wanna wait a few-" He was cut off with a quiet oomph as Sam closed in on him in just a couple long strides across the room. Sam didn't care that they didn't do chick-flick moments.

Damn it, he needed this.

He might even be choking Dean with just how tightly he had his arms around him but he really couldn't care less. Nor could he care that now he, too, was getting covered in water.

He clasped his hand on the back of his brother's hair -wet, shaggy and all-, cradling his head with one shaking hand and the other hand gripping his shirt. Dean awkwardly returned the hug, patting his back. "You okay, little brother?"

"God, Dean," He choked out, eyes already tearing up as he sniffed. He could have lost him.

He almost lost him.

"Ya' know, not that I'm not enjoying this or anything, but uh, I'm kind of not enjoying this," Dean stated. Ever the cool guy. Sam pulled back, but one hand remained on the side of his neck while the other stayed on his shoulder.

Dean looked utterly confused.

"Dude," He started, but upon seeing the tears in Sam's eyes, his brows furrowed in concern. "You okay, man?" He repeated but Sam just soaked it all in, memorizing every little detail. Wanting to cherish the fact that he was still here. He's not dead. He's here. He pushed away suddenly, rubbing a hand over his face. "Sammy, you're starting to worry me here-"

"Were you ever going to tell me?" He blurted out. Dean frowned.

"What?"

"Bobby called." And in that very second, he could see the exact moment Dean realized.

He knew.

"What did he want?" Ah, yes. Playing dumb. A Winchester classic form of distraction.

"Damn it, Dean, why didn't you tell me?" He all but yelled. He was kind of past dealing with this crap right now.

"Listen man, I don't know what you're talki-"

"You tried to kill yourself, Dean." He could barely form the words. Holding back tears were kind of a thing of the past at this point, too. Dean's shoulders dropped, but that same stupid impassive look crossed his face.

"Sam-"

"Don't lie to me. Dont you dare."

"It's not what you think-"

"Isn't it?"

"I don't know what Bobby's told you but he's wrong, okay?" Sam scoffed in disbelief.

"Really, Dean? You're gonna play that card?" He shook his head, losing all will to fight. "I could've lost you, man," He declared brokenly.

"You didn't," Dean offered. Sam scoffed, but it almost sounded more like a sob.

"God, Dean," Sam rubbed a hand over his face, all but crumpling onto the bed.

"You said that already," Dean said quietly, sitting down next to him. Sam shook his head, confused and hurt and just aching. Dean almost died.

And it would've been his fault.

"I mean, you've always been reckless but I thought that's just who you are, man, ya know? I didn't- I never thought that," He couldn't even say it.

His brother could almost do it but Sam couldn't even say it.

He swallowed thickly, but it felt like sandpaper. Dean sat next to him, hands clasped together. He was nervous, Sam knew, but he still tried to offer comfort in a way only Dean could.

How pathetic was that?

Dean tried to kill himself but here he is comforting his wuss of a little brother.

"Growing up," He started, speaking slowly as to not choke on his own words. He met Dean's eyes for the rest of the question. "Did you ever think about it?" Dean blew out a breath, breaking eye contact.

"That's a loaded question, Sammy,"

"Dean."

The older man sighed wearily. After a few beats he spoke.

"I mean, come on, Sam. This life isn't easy, of course there were times-" Sam's face crumpled. "But hey! I had you, man. You got me through so much-"

"And then I left." He left his brother. His brother that wanted to kill himself. All to have a tiny part of a normal life.

What is wrong with me?

"Sam, don't do tha-"

"Did dad know?" The sudden change in the air was almost palpable. His grief turned to anger. "Dean?" His brother's jaw tensed but he never said a word. "Damn it, Dean-"

"There was nothing he could have done that would've changed anything." That ticked him off. Maybe he was just mad at himself for not noticing. Maybe he just needed someone else to blame for his own hurt and anger. But right now he couldn't care less what the real reason behind his sudden outburst was.

"Damn it, Dean!" He yelled, reaching his full height and staring down at his brother. He didn't even flinch. "How can you defend the man? He left you! You wanted to kill yourself and he left you!" He bellowed, but Dean remained calm.

"So did you," Dean said softly, dully.

But it would've hurt less if he'd screamed it at him.

All the fight and anger that Sam possessed immediately drained away, and regret passed over his brother's face.

"Sam, I didn't-"

"No, you did. It's okay. I deserved that," Dean shook his head, a look of frustration filling his features.

"No, Sam, you didn't. This wasn't your fault. You couldn't have done anything to stop me. Just like dad or Bobby couldn't've," It was a lie, and he knew it. Maybe they both did.

But that wasn't what caught his attention.

"Dean?" His voice was weary. Tentative. He didn't want to ask what he feared would be true.

Deep down, he knew it was.

Dean groaned, realizing his mistake as he bent over; hands grasping at his shaggy but drying hair. He muttered a curse.

"Dean." This time it wasn't a question. Sam waited, heart racing. He didn't want the answer but he needed to know. After a few moments of tense silence, Dean glanced up. But he didn't meet Sam's eyes.

"It's in the past, Sam," His voice was low. No room for argument.

"Dean," Sam began hesitantly, lowering himself back down on the bed. "Tell me. Please," His voice cracked and that was enough to get Dean to look at him again. Fully look at him. Under the scrutinizing gaze, Sam became fully aware of just how awful he must've looked. Eyes puffy from crying and even more tears threatening to fall. Dean sighed.

"Damn you and your puppy dog eyes," He murmured, though there was no real heat behind. He looked back down, fiddling with his fingers.

"A while after you left, dad and I went on a hunt together. It didn't go so great," He winced, and Sam could only guess what that implied. But it wasn't good. "I ended up getting wasted while dad was out. Took one two many painkillers, I guess. 'Dunno if that was on purpose or pure accident, but," His voice trailed off, and his mask slipped for just a moment. Revealing all of the hurt behind his eyes.

He sniffed once and the mask was perfectly back into place.

"Didn't even have to go to the hospital. It's not that big of deal, man," Sam clenched his jaw, head jolting to the side in a momentary protest of Dean's dismissal.

"What did he do?" They both knew what he meant. He got his answer in Dean's avoidance of meeting his eyes. "He left, didn't he?" Dean sighed in annoyance.

"No, Sam, he didn't leave." A pause, "Not at first."

"How long?" Nothing. "How long?" Dean looked away, not wanting to answer.

"A week," Sam scoffed, shaking his head. Of course.

Of friggin' course.

"You try to kill yourself and he leaves," Sam was pissed now. Pissed at himself, at their father, and just at the world for being so freaking awful.

"It was an accident-"

"Was it?" Sam cut him off, rising to his feet once more. "Because you trying to kill yourself twice doesn't really feel like an accident-" This time it was Dean who cut him off as he reached his full height, face to face.

"I don't know!" He bellowed, and Sam had to stop himself from stepping back from the force behind those words. "Look, Sam, our lives have been nothing but a shit show. We have lost so much. I just wanted out, okay? I'm sorry." Sam swallowed hard at the words. Or maybe the emotion behind it.

He almost lost him.

Why did life have to be so unfair?

Upon seeing the look on Sam's face, Dean's voice softened.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I didn't want-"

Me to ever know.

Sam merely sniffed.

"But hey, I've got you now," Dean lightly punched him in the arm, smiling. "I've got a pain in the ass little brother to keep me in check, so see? Everything's fine," Sam could only stare at him.

Trying to process everything but not wanting to.

He wished now he'd never picked up the phone.

"And if I leave?" He whispered, voice cracking. Dean's relaxed expression faltered only for a moment. But that was all it took.

"Then I got me an old man who can't keep his nose in his own business to watch out for me." It was supposed to make Sam feel better.

It didn't.

"Come on, man, it's in the past. It doesn't-"

"Matter?" Sam questioned, ager bubbling just beneath the surface. Sensing it, Dean quickly explained.

"Sam, come on. That's not what I meant,"

It is.

They both knew it.

Dean sighed.

"Why don't we both just head to bed and forget anything ever happened?" Sam looked up at those words and Dean quickly backtracked. "I mean, we'll deal with it in the morning, alright? One moment at a time, Sammy," He smiled, a rare, genuine smile of affection displayed on his face that he only ever showed to Sam when he knew he needed it.

He nodded, but only because he was too tired to argue anymore.

Tomorrow.

They'll talk about it tomorrow and take it one moment at a time.

Dean grinned and patted him on the back.

"I don't about you but I'm beat," He all but yawned out, heading to his bed.

Sam soon followed his actions, crawling into his own bed without half as much energy as Dean possessed. He sat there a few moments, before flipping off the lamp light and watched as the whole room was swallowed in darkness. He laid there for probably a half hour, just listening to his brother's breathing.

Focusing on the one thing that signaled he was alive.

He almost lost him.

He almost lost this.

Screw it, he decided as he threw back the covers.

Screw Dean's rule of no 'chick flick moments'.

He needed this.

To remind him his brother was still here, and to keep him from losing his mind.

And so he did something he hasn't done since they were kids - and maybe a few times in the hospital when they were teenagers.

He crawled into the too small motel room bed that Dean used, feeling like he did when he was eight and had a dream about the monster in the closet. Lying down and pulling the covers back up, he wasn't sure if Dean was asleep or not.

But when Dean turned back to face him, eyes never once opening, and gently clasped a hand on Sam's shoulder, he had his answer.

Leave it to his brother to comfort him when he should be the one comforting Dean.

Sam closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of his brother, before exhaling slowly.

Maybe things would be okay.

They would deal with it.

One way or another.

One moment at a time.

If any of you are struggling, I hope you are able to reach out because you deserve to get better. Always keep fighting. I'm always here if you need someone.