A/N This story happened after I wrote Every time I pick up a pen and then I just had to write this. You don't have to read Every time but you can if you want a full version of two of the letters the boys wrote to each other. If you want, you can ask, and I can try and expand the other letters for you guys too. Anyway, this happened, I'm posting it, you are reading it, everybody is happy. Except Sam... that boy is full of angst. ( Any guesses why he's one of my favorite characters?) :) ~Sammy

Sam shuffled through the small pile of envelopes in his lap as he leaned back against the leather seat. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and stretched out in the warmth; the impala's heating vents rattling. Sam grinned when he recalled the look on his dad's face when he realized that he and dean had shoved them into the vents. That look in itself was worth the hour long lecture they had both gotten from a red-faced John.

Dean slid in behind the steering wheel, tossing the grocery bags on the back seat. He glanced curiously at the envelopes in Sam's lap. "What's all that?"

Sam shrugged. "Just some mail. I figured that I might as well set up a PO Box in Lebanon. It's the closet town, and since we're not skipping from one town to another, might as well put down some roots."

"Is- is that all the mail from the past few months?"

"Yeah, it's all the stuff I should have gotten since you came back from purgatory. Why?"

Dean just stared at Sam, and Sam shifted in his seat, his brother's gaze making him uncomfortable. "What? You're allowed to redecorate your room, but I'm not allowed to set up a PO Box?"

Dean flushed. "What? No, don't be stupid. You can set up a PO Box, it's just..."

"Just what?"

"Nothing. Nothing, it's just… good."

Sam watched as his blushing brother thoroughly busied himself with driving down the road, giving the straightforward roads much more attention than really necessary. Sam couldn't help the smirk.

Dean had grabbed the grocery bags and practically sprinted towards the kitchen, eager to try out a new recipe he'd found for cooing chicken. So he was nesting, sue him.

Sam walked over to the library and slumped into a chair. He sorted through the letters, tearing up the adverts and flyers proclaiming that you must try the new Washermatic 70X with its deluxe turbo drying power or fix all your hair fall problems with our new and improved formula! Try the SoaknShine shampoo today! He set a few aside; they were from the few friends he had made when he was living with Amelia in Kermit. A couple of credit card offers that he mentally filed away for future reference. You never know when you might need to run a scam, hustling doesn't always cover everything.

Sam paused when he reached a plain white envelope with no return address that looked like it had been thoroughly manhandled a couple hundred times. Sam frowned at the letter inside that had been scrawled in a handwriting that was more familiar than his own. It was Dean's.

Sam,

Please don't do this. Please.

I need my little brother okay? So please, Sammy, don't do this.

I'll take them on myself. You don't have to throw your life away. You can have your normal Sam, just like you always wanted.

You said that you can see a light at the end of the tunnel, but damn it Sammy, you shouldn't even have to be in that tunnel.

So, you know what. I'm going to figure out a way to go down that tunnel with you.

You're a stubborn bitch, always have been. I know you won't back down, won't let me do the trials myself, so that means that I'm just gonna have to make sure that you survive.

No checking out on me, okay Sammy?

You're gonna make it through this. I swear you will.

I promise Sam; we'll both live to see the day hell's gates are slammed shut.

'Cause you know what Sam? It's you and me against the world. Always.

Dean

Sam could feel the tears streaming down his face into his lap, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. A pot clanged, followed by a muffled curse, and Sam jumped. If Dean walked in just then… no, his brother was too busy cooking up a new something, eager as always to show off his cooking skills. Sam wiped the tears off of his face and sat in complete silence for a few moments before deciding that Dean was sufficiently distracted, and bouncing off of his seat and quietly but quickly making his way to Dean's room.

Sure, the two of them practically lived out of each other's pockets, but they had an unspoken rule that they would never go through the other's possessions under any circumstances. Sam knew perfectly well that he was violating that agreement, but he just had to. He couldn't explain he urge, all he knew was that he had to search Dean's room.

There it was, right underneath that memory foam mattress Dean had been so proud of. A cardboard box that looked beaten and worn. Inside was a couple dozen or so sheets of paper, all covered with that same untidy scrawl. They were all placed very carefully in the box, as if Dean had taken special care to preserve the letters. Sam pulled out the first few pages and began to read.

Sam,

I hate you. So much. I thought I hated you before, but I didn't know the meaning of the word. I can't believe you'd betray me like his. I was gone for a year, a whole fucking year Sam. I was fighting for my life while you were playing house with that damn dog. So you know what Sam, fuck you.

NO, damn it Sam. I don't hate you. I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I almost killed you Sammy. I could say it was he penny, but the truth is that I really did resent you that much. I'm no saying you're forgiven for abandoning me, but I can' believe I said he things I did. What's wrong with me? Protecting you is my job; it's not sending cruel words your way and then almost pulling the trigger on a gun aimed at you. Oh God, what if I'd killed you Sammy?

I know we've drifted apart. I know that we're not what we were all those years ago. I know that, no matter what, no matter how many roads are eaten up underneath these wheels, no matter how many jokes we crack, no matter how many shoulder bumps and back slaps and hugs we share, it's never going to be the same. Too much shit has gone down. And damn it Sammy that hurts.

Sammy. I've never managed to say this out loud have I? I always wimp out at the last moment. But, the truth is, I get why you didn't look for me. I get why you'd rather think that I was dead than consider the alternative. Because how could you possibly even begin to try and save me? You were completely alone. You'd never been alone before, and neither have I. I don't know what I would've done if the situation was reversed. Probably would've killed myself five seconds into my first day alone. I know that I wouldn't have survived a day let alone a year. The problem was that I thought you'd moved on. I thought that you were happy to have me out of your way. Because you survived Sammy. And I couldn't have done that. Thing is Sam, I didn't forget that, and all I could think was that you moved on. It hurt Sam, it really did. But that doesn't mean that I have the right to treat you the way I did. I'm so sorry Sam.

Sam shoved the letters back into the box, choking back sobs. He stormed out of Dean's room, past the old records, the weapons on the wall, past that stupid mattress, past that picture of Dean and the mom he couldn't remember. Past it all and still the tears wouldn't stop. Still every single moment of feeling hurt and broken and alone came flooding back, and Sam couldn't stop them from overwhelming him. He finally cracked after eight years of holding it in, and finally, he just broke.

Dean was just closing the door of the refrigerator when his big brother senses went into overdrive. Something was wrong. Sammy. He ran.

He found Sam curled up on the floor right outside Dean's room, weeping in a way dean had never seen before. The sobs and gasps escaping Sam's lips were the most devastating sound he had ever heard; it was completely and utterly broken.

"Sammy?"

Sam looked up, his eyes still brimming over with moisture, still gasping for breath, still sounding like the world's most pitiful creature. Dean's hard, badass, screw-the-world façade collapsed, and his heart just shattered.

Dean crouched down next to his sobbing baby brother. "Sam? Sammy, what's wrong? What happened to you?"

Sam's watery eyes hardened fractionally, and the smallest scowl formed on his flushed face. "Do- do you have any idea how many nights I've just laid there, wide awake, hating myself? Every damn second of every damn day since dad died. Because for all these years, I thought you fucking hated me. It just kept building up Dean, every single thing I've ever done wrong just coming back to slap me in the face. And I was completely alone; I didn't have anyone, because you decided to let me think that you hated me. Why would you do that Dean? Why?"

Dean swore silently. Damn it. "Sam, what the hell are you talking about? What's wrong?"

Sam glared at his brother, and shoved a crumpled envelope at Dean's chest. "What I'm talking about is that fucking letter you sent me. That's what's wrong."

Dean's jaw dropped. He'd hoped that Sam would never get that letter. Not because it wasn't true, but because he hadn't intended to mail it to him in the first place. He didn't even fully understand what had motivated him to shove the letter into an envelope and drop it into a mailbox. But, now, apparently, Sam had gotten it, and damn it, the kid looked devastated. Sam was going to run, Dean just knew it. That was how Sam functioned, he ran away from confrontation. Dean couldn't lose him, not like this. He could not let Sam run. "Sam I-"

"And you know what the worst part is Dean? You never even fucking told me any different. You just let me carry on believing that the only reason you were letting me stick around was some screwed up sense of responsibility."

"Sammy, I swear, I don't even know why I sent that letter, I'm sorry. I just… please. Sam."

"I'm not just talking about this one stupid letter Dean. I'm talking about all of them."

Dean froze. "What?"

Sam had stopped crying; now he just looked furious. "You know what I'm talking about Dean. All those letters you hid under your bed with all those letters you wrote but never showed me."

Dean stood up and paced back and forth a few times. He ran his hands through his hair, and licked his suddenly dry lips. "Sam listen to me. You know me man; you know I can't talk about all this crap. I suck at telling anybody how I feel, and it's even harder with you. I mean, you're my little brother, I have to be strong for you, and how the hell am I supposed to do that if I'm telling you that I'm scared. I could never hate you Sammy, never did, never will. I can't believe that you'd even think that I hate you. Damn it Sammy, you know better. I wrote those letters because if I didn't, I would snap. Writing them felt like I was really telling you everything, without risking you thinking that I'm weak. I don't hate you Sam, I just care too much."

Sam stared at Dean for a few seconds, his expression unreadable. He shakily pushed himself to his feet, brushing off Dean's hands when he tried to help him, and slowly walked back to his own room. He hadn't said a single word.

Dean waited for what felt like eternity; just staring at Sam's closed door and willing it to open. He'd take a hundred punches, a thousand bitch-faces and eye-rolls, he'd let Sam drive, if only he'd open that door. The one thing Dean couldn't take was Sam's silence. Dean sat down outside Sam's room, and waited.

The door didn't open.

Dean didn't move.

He didn't notice when his eyes slid closed. He didn't notice when Sam finally opened his door. Didn't notice when Sam tucked a pillow underneath his head and draped a blanket over his body. Didn't notice when Sam put a stack of boxes next to him and quietly slipped back into his own room, leaving the door ajar. Didn't notice when Sam cried into his pillow, relieved sobs racking through his frame.

Dean woke up, and immediately knew that the time was ungodly. He shifted, and froze when he found himself on the floor outside Sam's room, a pillow shoved under his face, and a blanket twisted around his legs. What? Dean groaned as he sat up and stretched out the knots in his stiff back. Damn, he was getting old. His arm hit a box and Dean not-so-softly swore. He looked at the pile of boxes lying next to him, all marked with dates going all the way back to twelve years ago. The fuck is this? A folded piece of paper was lying on the top of the pile, and Dean picked it up curiously. It was addressed to him.

Dean,

You're probably wondering what the heck those boxes are. Well, they're all the letters I've ever written to you in the past twelve years. Three hundred and sixty five letters in every box. I've been writing to you since that first day at Stanford. Don't know why I kept them, but, I guess now you deserve to read them, considering I read all of yours.

I just want you to understand why I did all the things I ever did. I need you to believe me when I say that I was doing what I thought was best. So, when you read these, just remember that I thought I was doing the right thing.

Please don't hate me. I just want to talk.

Sam.

Dean ripped open the boxes and pulled out fistfuls of paper.

What the hell?

Dean,

Damn it, I never wanted to leave. God, I miss you so much. I wish you could have just come with me to California. I wan to come back, I want to meet you again, but I can't. I won't. I won't prove dad right. I have to do this, you know that, right Dean? You know that I would never want to abandon you. I just have to this, I have to get away. If I don't, I don't think I could live with myself. But I can' live without you either. What do I do Dean? I need you.

Every time a girl passes by me, I hear this voice that sounds so much like you, telling me to just 'give in and bang one of the hot co-eds already. It's been a year Sammy, you've gotta make a move before they think you're gay'. Call me crazy, but I kinda like that voice. It makes being away from you less painful. You would have liked California. It's your kinda place, what with the hot girls and the bars and the crazy parties. You would have fit right in here. Hell, I can't look at a beer without thinking that you would probably want one. I mean, I even miss your music. I wish I could just call you Dean. I miss you too much.

You would like Jess. She would like you. She thinks you're awesome, but that's probably just because I never shut up about you. She is amazing Dean. You know how you told me when we were kids that there was this feeling you got when you just knew that somebody was right for you, that everything was perfect? Well, I get that feeling for Jess. Problem is, that feeling feels way too much like what I felt when I was with you in the Impala.

I almost called you today. It's Jess' birthday today too, and we went out to this fancy restaurant for dinner. It was fun, but all I could think of was your face when I walked away. It's been four years Dean, but your face still haunts me. I pulled my phone out a least fifteen times, but I just couldn't do it. I'm sorry Dean. I miss you. Happy birthday.

I miss her Dean. I miss her so damn much. It hurts to even breathe because she's not breathing so why should I be so lucky? I've been so close to just ending it all. Just pick up my gun, point, and shoot. Over. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't' have you. Thanks Dean.

Why won't you just talk to me? You haven't said more than five words to me since we burned dad's body. Do you really blame me for him dying? If I'd just paid more attention, he wouldn't have died. God, Dean, I'm so sorry. Don't hate me. I don't know what to do wihout you. Dad's gone, don't you leave me too. I'm sorry Dean.

Damn it Dean, just let me help you. We'll find a way out of this deal, I swear. I'm not letting you go to hell. Not as long as I'm alive. We'll find a way out. Together. I can't watch you fall apart right in front of me. I just need my big brother. Just until I can figure out how to save you. There's no way I'm ever letting you go.

Oh god, I don't know what to do. Ruby says that what I'm doing is right, that killing Lilith will get you out of hell, but I just can't stop thinking about what's happening to you. You're in hell Dean, and it's all my fault. I couldn't save you. I'm going to get you back if it's the last thing I do. And if I die trying, well then, the world is just short on one more failure. Nobody's loss. Damnit Dean, I miss you.

Just kill me already Dean. I don't deserve to breathe this air anymore. I'm too much of a coward to do it myself, but you- you're brave, you're strong, you're good. You can do it. Just end all the world's suffering. How can you even bear to be near the monster who released Lucifer? That's a whole new kind of wrong. I know you hate me Dean, you've said as much, so just stop pretending like you don't. Because if anyone can stop the apocalypse, it's you, not me. So just… let it all stop Dean. You're the one who deserves the air I'm using up. I hate it. I hate myself.

You're telling me not to scratch at that wall, so I'm not, but I can see the truth in your eyes. I know what that emotion is, no matter how much you try to hide it. I mean, I've seen it a hundred times before. It's hate. Hate, and fear. I don't know what I did, but if it makes you hate me even more, then it can't be good. And you keep saying that it's nothing, but I don't care if I don't remember it. I did something to everyone, to Bobby, to you. So I deserve that hatred. I deserve to be feared. I deserve that wary look in your eyes. I deserved it before, and I deserve it now. Lack of memories is no excuse.

I'm scared Dean. I don't know what's real anymore. Even now, the ink looks like blood, and he says that it's you're blood. But, you're asleep on your bed, you're fine. So how can it be your blood? It's not real, it's not real. Stone number one. You. You're here, so that means that I'm not in hell anymore. I'm out. I'm safe. He can't get me. I'm scared Dean, help me.

Where are you Dean? I need you. I'm alone. Completely alone. I don't have anybody and you and Cas are dead and I don't know what to do. I'm lost Dean. Oh God, what do I do? I can't hunt anymore. I just can't. I've got to get away. Hunting just takes everything away. Not that I have anything left. I've looked everywhere Dean, I can't find you, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore. I miss you.

Do you have any idea how many times I wish that our lives were still like they were eight years ago? When all we had to worry about was vengeful spirits and finding dad and trying not to be killed by a wendigo. Everything was so much easier back then. Eight years ago, you didn't hate me. And that is the one reason, the only reason I wish that we could go back to then. Because you used to call me Sammy, used to ruffle my hair, used to be Dean. I don't know who you are anymore. I don't even know who I am anymore. I'm sorry Dean. I'm so damn sorry.

Dean wiped away the tears hat had sprung up, because he could not cry. Nope, he wasn't going to. Fuck you tears, go play somewhere else. No was not the time for tears. Now was the time for little brothers and chick-flicks.

Dean stormed into Sam's room and shook his brother awake. Sam sat up in a flash, his eyes wide. "Dean, what-"

"Shut up Sam."

"Dean, I-"

"I said, shut up Sam."

Sam shut up hen, and watched as Dean ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

"We've gotta talk Sam."

A/N Review if you'd like me to continue with this little project of mine, and you want full versions of any of he letters! :) ~Sammy