Author: JALover7

Rating: PG-13

Genre: angst

Disclaimer: I don't own Sam, Dean, or anything related to Supernatural (if only) – Kripke and others do.

Spoilers: for "Croatoan."

Summary: Ficlet, 850 words. Post-"Croatoan." What would happen if Dean told Sam the secret?

AN: Just a short little something I wrote awhile ago when I was bored. My thoughts on what might happen if Dean told Sam The Big Damn Secret.

Dean felt his feet leave the ground as he flew across the room, crashing into a counter against a wall…

Sam had a gun in his hand. Dean had no idea how it had gotten there, how Sam had gotten it from him…

Sam looked at him with tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Dean."…

Dean heard the gun go off, saw Sam fall to the ground, blood spattered on the wall behind him, bleeding slowly from his head…

He heard someone scream.

He realized it was him.


Dean awoke with a start, his brother's name on his lips, panting heavily as visions of his brother shooting himself in the head flashed through his mind. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands to them, trying to force the images from his mind.

Eventually, the visions went away, and Dean opened his eyes and remembered what had happened.

Sam had been okay. He'd never been infected. Dean had never had to watch his brother shoot himself.

But things were not okay. He had told Sam the secret. He had told Sam what his father had told him before he had died.

Sam had taken it hard, just as Dean had expected him to. He'd argued with him at first, telling him there was no way it could be true. Dean had told him he wished that it were a lie. But it wasn't.

Eventually, Sam had shut down. He'd asked Dean to take him back to the hotel. He had told him he was tired and he wanted some time to think. So Dean had driven them back to the hotel, where Sam had immediately lain down on his bed and stared at the ceiling.

Dean had bustled around the room uselessly until the sun went down. Eventually, Sam had rolled over, still dressed and on top of the covers, and fallen asleep. Dean had crawled into his own bed and started at his brother's back, wishing there was something he could do to help him. Wishing he could take away the pain of the knowledge he had shared with him. Wishing he had never told Sam in the first place.

He hadn't meant to, but eventually he had fallen asleep.

And now he was awake, and as he gazed about the room, he felt his heart drop into his stomach.

Sam was not in the room.

Dean leapt out of bed and banged on the bathroom door. When there was no answer, he opened it.

Sam wasn't there.

He ran back into the main area, a quick scan of the tiny room telling him Sam was not there.

He ran to the door and opened it. The car was still parked outside their door, and Sam wasn't in there, either.

Sam would never just leave without telling him something or leaving him a note. Dean closed the door, almost laughing at his overreaction as he noticed the note on Sam's pillow – the same place they always left notes whenever they went out at night and needed the other to know where they were.

Dean walked over to Sam's bed, sat down on it, and picked up the note. He recognized Sam's writing immediately, his neat words taking up the majority of the page stamped with the hotel's name.

Trying to get his breathing under control, Dean began to read:


I'm sorry you've had to go through this. I'm sorry you've had to carry around this secret alone for the past few months. I'm sorry everything is so screwed up right now. I'm sorry Dad's gone, and I'm sorry that I can't help you.

I'm sorry for a lot of things, and I know that doesn't help make anything better, but I don't have anything else to give.

I'm sorry I have to leave. There are some things I have to do, and you can't come with me. I can't put you in the middle of this. It's my burden now, Dean. It should have been my burden from the start. Never yours.

I have to be alone for awhile. Please don't come looking for me. I'll come back. I promise.

Dean, you're my brother, and I'll always love you.

I'm sorry.

- Sammy

Dean's fist tightened around the note, the edges crumpling slightly under the force. When his hand finally loosened, he let the note float slowly to the floor.

Before he could stop himself, Dean let out a yell and grabbed the nearest thing he could find – the lamp on the bedside table – and flung it across the room, relishing in the sound it made crashing into a million pieces against the wall.

Like everything else in his life…

Dean let out a strangled sound halfway between a scream and a sob and buried his head in his hands, breathing heavily.

"Sammy," he whispered quietly.

Only silence answered him back.


AN: Short and not as sweet as my last ficlet. Leave a review, please, even if it left you wishing you could throw something heavy at me. ;)