A Knife to the Heart

Disclaimer: No not mine not ever.

Summary: A journal can hold so much emotion, so many words, so many lost, secret memories and so many thoughts.

Warning: All mistakes are mine. I hope there aren't many….

A little oneshot dedicated to Ibelieveinsam (Devan) FairyElle (Louise) and GG101 (Jess) and magickal (Nat). Thanks guys.

This little fic is aimed to make people shed some tears, including me. I hope I fulfill that little goal.

The first half is about Sam, the end half is about Dean. Okay? Good.

Sidenote: Everyone who has familiarly memorized the lyrics of Breaking Benjamin's Firefly or TDG's Let It Die and Never Too Late will gain a bonus in this fic. It really does help if you listen to the song.

Credit: I have to mention a few things. Breaking Benjamin's Firefly lyrics are NOT mine. Neither are Three Days Grace's Let It Die and Never Too Late lyrics.

Credit #2. dum spiro spero is not mine. It's found in the works of Cicero in the Letters to Atticum.

Sam entered his dorm as he wearily flopped onto his bed, listening to the fading voices of his friends disappearing down the corridor. He closed his eyes and let the feeling of guilt, sorrow and pain wash over him, emotions buried away so deep when he was around his friends.

Exactly one year ago, he had been kicked out of his house with the harsh words of his father burning a hole in his heart.

Exactly 356 days ago, Dean's shock-filled expression of betrayal struck him cold to the core.

Tears threatened to spill over the threshold of his eyelids as he remembered the day as clear as crystal. He swallowed thickly, his constricted throat threatening to allow the flood gates open.

Sam cracked his eyelids open and the sight of the white ceiling haunted him. He imagined a beautiful blonde woman, impaled there with a bloody slash across her abdomen, or so he had once heard.

He violently turned over, shoving his face down on the mattress as his fists clenched the sheets below him, his long legs dangling off the foot of the bed. He tried to control his breathing, making it steady and calm but who was he fooling.

There was no one around him to witness the downfall of the smart, nerdy, geeky Sam Winchester they all knew, with a brother and a father in England to visit his sick uncle.

All lies. No one knew of the true life he lived. No one knew how much he was hurting inside.

No one knew that Sam Winchester had no uncle. That his family didn't want to see him at Stanford.

He took a steady breath, ran his hand through his hair and opened his journal. The book was old but not dusty. Not a speck of dust dare lay there because Sam used it everyday. The journal was thick with a hard brown leather cover with three Latin words engraved in gold loopy elegant writing on the front. dum spiro spero.

While I breathe, I hope.

Sam had been attached to the saying ever since he heard Pastor Jim say it to himself one day.

He closed his eyes and let his fingers lazily trail the words of gold as he thought about everything he had lost in one brief second. Flashes of the past and the present assaulted him all at once. His mom, his brother, his father, and deep down, he knows his Stanford friends are going to be lost to him.

He opened his journal, flipping through the previous pages of his life. This book was his everything that happened to him, recounting each day with journal entries, drawings and photos.

His heart clenched as he stopped on one of his earlier entries.

19th November 2000.

Well, I finally confronted Dean and Dad about Stanford today, and obviously, they didn't take it well. I could literally see Dad about to explode; his face was twisted and contorted in anger when he heard the news. His eyes were wide, and then it came. He just started screaming at me and I just stood there taking it all in.

It was like a burning poker, twisting in my stomach before being jerked out. God, that sounds so clichéd but it was how I felt.

Dad started pacing, and among my shock I made out some of the words he said. 'I can't believe you're leaving us! What kind of son walks out on their own family?' I couldn't believe it, my own dad, saying these horrible things. My eyes darted to Dean to see how he was taking this.

He too, had wide eyes, darting to and from Dad and I. I could see how hard he was trying to stop the argument, but he wouldn't dare speak against any of Dad's words. But the more I looked at Dean, the more he wouldn't look at me. There was something else he held in his gaze, and I could read it perfectly. Betrayal.

My gaze shifted back to Dad as he walked towards me. 'Do you hear me? I might as well take you back to where you were given birth and let them do a DNA test! Let them prove to us that you're really my son!'

I blinked hard, trying to keep my tears at bay. I never thought that my own father would say this. My own father! And then, it was when his words struck me. What if I really wasn't a Winchester? That might be why I'm not a 'perfect soldier' like everyone expects me to be. The more I thought about it, the more the truth hit me, and the more I understood.

I tried, God knows I tried so hard to speak, to scream at him and deny him wrong. But my voice didn't have the strength, I couldn't find the strength.

I remember so clearly, a shiver coursed through me as I just stood at there. 'You know, Samuel. You're not the son I ever expected you to be. You're 18 years old, damn 18! You think you can crawl on your knees to Stanford? They'd see right through you! A pathetic, young boy.'

It was silent for a second and all could be heard was just Dad's heavy breathing. He must've realized what he said because after he just headed out and slammed the door shut.

My father's voice still rings in my ears. Dean didn't do anything to stop him, but its not like he ever does. He always stands by his side no matter what. The only signs of him barracking for me are just 'Dad c'mon, leave it till morning' or 'I'm sure Sammy didn't mean it'.

After Dad left, I was stunned and frozen to the spot. I suppose Dean was, too because he just stood there leaning against the wall. How can he act so damn casual? I felt a bit of anger and resentment towards him, but it was nothing compared to what I felt towards Dad.

A few minutes later, I finally turned around and headed to my room. I heard Dean call my name, but I ignored it.

I don't care what anyone says, I'm leaving this hunting life tomorrow. I'm leaving once and for all. I'll be damned if Stanford sees me as a screw up.

Good luck,


Under the entry, Sam had stolen a picture and had pasted it there, so no matter what he wouldn't forget his family. It was a picture of Mary, John and Dean holding baby Sam. It was the only photo that John decided he needed to have it copied six times, if any should get lost or stolen. And now there were five. Beneath the photo, Sam had hurriedly sprawled a few sentences.

Mom was so beautiful; I wish she was here right now. I bet she'd love the fact that I got in Stanford. She'd be so proud. Dean, you're the best brother I could ever ask for. And sometimes, especially after tonight, I don't think I deserve you. Dad…

He didn't finish his last sentence, just left it hanging.

Sam sat on his bed cross-legged, staring at the entry. He remembered every emotion that passed him that very day. But he was proud of himself; after all, he didn't shed one tear.

He turned the page in curiosity, wandering what he wrote on the next entry but soon realized his mistake.

20th November 2000

Nice work Sam, you officially got kicked out of your family. Tonight was a blast, I left my room with a packed bag and the faces of Dean and Dad took my breath away. I knew it was going to be hard, but the look of sheer betrayal on Dean's face took my breath away.

All I wanted to do was go to Stanford and make my family proud. Is it really that hard to ask for acceptance?

I was halfway to the door when things started getting out of control. Dean jumped onto me, grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt and proceeded to slam me into the wall a couple of times. 'You stupid idiot! What are you doing?' I was shocked, I've never seen Dean like this. Deep down, I think he must me the slightest bit proud of me but I guess anger took over.

I avoided Dean's eyes, and I knew he was searching my face for an answer. 'I can't believe this' I heard him say. It was a guttural growl of defeat and he let me go. Then, another voice caused me to jump. It was cold, so cold, I didn't even know he had it in him.

'Dean, get away from that man.' It didn't escape me that he said 'that man' and not 'your brother' and my breath caught in my throat.

Dad came up to me and he looked as if he was about to throw more harmful words at me. But what he did next, scarred me for life. He raised his hand and punched me. Right across the face. My head jerked to the side as blood filled my mouth. From the corner of my eye I saw Dean, taking a step forward, wanting to defend me. But he halted, and I could see why. Everyone saw me as the outsider who betrayed them.

My face stung, and I blinked trying to rid the tears. 'Dad' I croaked. But I would never have guessed what he said next.

His exact words sent me to hell.

'Don't. I am not your father. My son would not bail out on family business.'

I was at loss for words, so I picked my bag up when it had fell from my grasp when Dean jumped me, and trudged to the door. It felt like I was moving through a swamp, with their eyes burning a hole in my back.

I bit my lip, and when I reached the door I could help but surrender to my tears. 'Alright, fine! Go crawl your ass to Stanford, and if you screw up, take hell with you and don't come back!!' The sound of the door slamming killed my inner being.

I remember running as soon as I got out of that motel. I turned the corner and sat behind the dumpster. I just sat there hugging my knees with my bag next to me, and I let all the tears flow.

Dad's words echoed in my mind. Don't come back. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to control my breathing as I recalled what happened just a mere 20 minutes ago.

Dean slamming me against the wall… I've never seen Dean so enraged, especially not at me. His little brother.

Dad referring to me as not his son… God did that hurt.

Dad punching me… it wasn't even his best punch but it sure as hell hurt. But what hurt most where the unspoken words behind it.

Everyone, everything is against me.

I didn't know how long I just sat there, dried tears clung to my cheeks. I shivered as a gust of wind blew past me and decided it was time for me to continue on. Alone.

I saw a cab round the corner, and using a bit of my cash I caught a ride that would bring me close to California.

I sat in the backseat, the awkward silence resonating throughout the cab. The driver kept glancing at the rearview mirror to see if I was alright. I kept reassuring him that was fine, but once we met a red light he turned around and said, 'There's something about those fine eyes of yours, they tell me otherwise.'

I looked out the window at the mention of my eyes. Dean always told me how my eyes were so serious, and it had that 'look' to it. 'You like Breaking Benjamin?' He asked me, and without waiting for my reply he turned the music up. I had nothing else to do so I let the sweet lyrics drift into me. But little did I know, these lyrics were not sweet. The words struck me as I held my breath and tried to block them out, but they were too tempting.

You my friend
You're a lot like them
But I caught your lie
And you know I did
Now I'm lost in you
Like I always do
And I'd die to win
'Cause I'm born to lose

I mentally shook my head as these lyrics burned yet another hole in my heart. I swallowed thickly; it was as if the singer was trying to reach out to me. And I'd die to win, 'cause I'm born to lose. Those words felt like a slap to my shameful face. Oh how true that is, how desperate I am for the sweet taste of acceptance and satisfaction from my Dad. Screw you Ben Burnley.

Take my hand

We'll be off and then

We'll come back again

To a different land

Now I like this way

You can go away

If you guess the name

You can not replace

I closed my eyes and let rested my head on the cool glass. How that reminds me of mom. I can almost guarantee that if she was still alive, I wouldn't have to be so alone. The driver turned the music up a notch higher as Breaking Benjamin reached the chorus.


Could you shine your light

Now I know your ways

'Cause they're just like mine

Now I'm justified

As I fall in line

And it's hard to try

When you're open wide

I swear from that moment on, I grew attached to that song. I was like a bright firefly amongst millions of other fading ones, with Dean and Dad looking down upon me. I asked the driver what the name of this song was. Firefly. It was going to stick with me for quite a while…

Bring me your enemies

Lay them before me

And walk away

Walk away

Walk away

I couldn't help but laugh a choked laugh of resentment. How that was so much like Dad. But something at the back of my mind told me something else, and right then I took a spin on it. What if I was the one doing that? Dumping my problems before everything else and walking away. Walk away…

Fuck you firefly

Have you lost your light

Now I hate your ways

'Cause they're just like mine

So you lost a friend

Such a sorry end

And I don't know why

So I just choke and smile…

I bit my lip as the last lyrics echoed, still fresh in my mind. That song was like a cryptic puzzle to my whole life. In just a few sentences, all my 18 years was summed up.

I snapped back to reality when the driver was staring at me, and the cab had stopped. 'Son? You alright?' I remembered him saying, and I absently growled back at him 'Don't call me son.' I really didn't intend to be so harsh but I guess the wounds were still fresh. Damn you dad for ruining my life.


Sam sadly shook his head. A year after he left the hunting business, the wounds were stillfresh and it weighed the youngest Winchester down. He remembered pretty clearly what happened after that cab ride. He sighed, and began to read his own writing.

22nd November 2000

I can't believe I got the drop on me tonight! I'm so damn stupid! Worthless and pathetic! Dad was probably right, I'm not worth anything. After years of experience and even watching Dean, I thought everything was fine! I guess I don't have anyone to watch my back this time…

I spotted the bar tonight and decided to earn myself some money. If only I knew better, these thugs started getting really pissed at me when I won four games of pool. And then everything started getting out of hand, between the alcohol and the sensation of failure, three guys took me out and started beating the hell out of me.

Halfway through, I stopped struggling and fighting back, and I accepted their abuse blindly. Fists came down at me, violent kicks found their way to my stomach, laughter echoed around me and some even spat on me.

Some time later, it slowed to a stop when one of them kicked my already-aching stomach that made me curl up even more. The second man gathered his spit from the back of his throat and forcefully spat it down at my face and when I saw the third walk away without doing anything, my eyes slipped close with a sigh of relief. It was then that I felt the blinding pain in my two fingers, hearing multiple cracks; I realized that he must have stepped on them.

The next thing I knew, I woke up and the bright rays of sunlight made my head explode. I was where I was left last night, behind the bar, and no one had found me. Slowly and painfully I stood up and held a hand out to steady myself. I couldn't help but hiss at the pain it caused me and remembered my broken fingers. I held them up to the sun and looked at the way they were bent.

Carefully hiding in the shadows, I tried to avoid everyone. I knew I looked terrible and once I got to my motel and looked in the mirror, I quickly made a note to myself that terrible was such an understatement.

Blood caked my face from my nose and a small gash above my eye. I slowly lifted my shirt up and saw a masquerade of blue and black.

If Dean and Dad were here that night, that'd have started shouting at me saying how much of a failure I was, how I messed up so badly, and how I was their mistaken brother and son.

But screw them, screw everything. They're not here. And that's all that matters. I didn't betray them, I didn't abandon them; they're just so screwed up in the head. Other parents and siblings would jump for joy if their son got into Stanford on a full ride. Hell, I'm pretty sure some parents would be nagging their kids to study hard to achieve that.

But not the Winchesters.

I kept telling myself that, repeating it over and over again that it wasn't my fault, that I didn't abandon that. But I can't deny to myself, something at the back of my mind told me otherwise. Deep down, I knew the truth. And the truth sometimes hurt so much; I can't express it, not even in this book where no one would read it.

When the initial spray of water hit my back, I yelped as it stung my bruises. I thought a long, hot shower would do me some good, but oh how wrong I was. I quickly got out and managed to bind my ribs, having a pretty good assumption that some of my ribs were cracked. My two fingers were also bandaged, and went to bed early.

I couldn't sleep that night knowing the pain would only increase in the morning, but I remembered hitting the pillow and surrendered to the unforgiving unconsciousness dragging me down due to the pain and exhaustion.


Sam silently cleared his throat as the memories of his life resurfaced and once again tugged at his heart. It took everything in him not to tell his friends everything, his life before Stanford, his family, his pain, loss and suffering that he carried around with him everyday. He knew that one day, everything would come out. He would finally explode, and maybe then people would start turning him everyone. Maybe they would see him as different, just like his family. The word hung in the depths of his mind and weighed the youngest Winchester's self esteem down. He licked his dry cracked lips and turned to a bright sparkly page.

It had strips of silver running around the sides of the page, and in blank spaces all around, random drawings, phrases and names were sprawled.

In the bottom left hand corner, was a car drawn my Sam's own hand. It was lightly shaded, with four doors and the car plates KAZ 2Y5 on the back and the front. Dean's black '67 four-door Chevrolet Impala. It was one of the many things that reminded Sam of Dean.

Running vertically along the left side under the silver strip were the words 'DRIVER PICKS THE MUSIC, SHOTGUN SHUTS HIS CAKEHOLE' in big bold letters. It was something Dean used to say a lot, eliciting a bright joyful laugh from Sam in the passenger seat.

In the middle of the decorated page, Sam had put his every thought and every emotion down about the one person that cared about him the most. Until that dreadful day…he mentally added.

He's my protector, my safety blanket, my hero, guardian and so much more but most importantly, my big brother. Dean Winchester. He's a true superhero. Ever since I was little, he had protected me from everything that was evil, like mosquitoes, to big dogs that I used to be frightened of, to vampires and demons.

When Dad was off to one of his stupid midnight hunts, and I would have been around thirteen, we would bite each other's head off. I was so annoyed at him, he would piss me off so much that I would storm into my room and slam the door, but he wouldn't stop.

That night, I had a terrible nightmare and woke up with a gasp. Dean heard it, flicked on the light and immediately asked if I was alright. I looked into his eyes that night and saw something that I would never forget. The cocky, annoying Dean that I knew that day instantly vanished when I gazed into his eyes and saw them filled with love and concern.

It was then that I realized how lucky I was. 13 years ago, when I was 6 months old, an unbreakable bond was forged between me and Dean when Dad put me in his arms. God had been too generous; I was blessed with something I don't deserve. Don't get me wrong though, he's the perfect brother but what have I done in return? What have I ever done to gain such a priceless award?

In the Winchester family hunting business, ever since my first hunt, I looked at myself as a failure; a screw up. Dean always had my back then, reassuring me that I was doing fine. I believed him, after all, he was always right.

I wouldn't like to blame anyone but me, but it wasn't until that fateful night that changed my perspectives. They had confirmed it; that I really was a burden and a liability. And it didn't just come from Dad's potty mouth; Dean had hinted it and told me with the look in his eyes.

I had a full night to decide whether I should go to Stanford, and all the words I had heard confirmed it. Sure, they were pissed as hell but secretly I knew that they wanted me to leave. John, the legendary hunter with Dean alongside him, the perfect son, the perfect soldier, hunting evil side by side with no stupid liability dragging his feet along behind them.

Dean was the reason for my living. Without him, I would have perished in the fire that took Mom away. His smile was the reason for my smile. Nothing Dad said, nothing he did ever brought a real smile to my face. It was all Dean's doing, and for that I could never repay him. He did it without trying, it was his nature.

I'd love to lie to myself, but I miss Dean so much. The cocky wise-ass bastard of a brother. Thinking about it makes me smile, but it wasn't one of humor. Dean wouldn't want to see me, not after everything I've done, all the pain and sadness I've inflicted upon my family.

I wish I could see him again, just once more, and tell him everything. Just be honest with him, and act like we were young again and everything would be alright. I'd give anything for him to be by my side, telling me that he's proud of me and giving me his smirks. There are a few girls here that would certainly interest him, and to hear his pick-up lines or to see him flirt were something that would not be easily gained.

Whenever my friends ask me how my family is doing and when they're coming to visit, my insides start crumbling, my wall built to stop the tears start to fail me and my voice seems to stop working.

Being forced to laugh and wave my hand dismissively; feeding them more lies is something that doesn't come naturally for me and sometimes, I can feel my their strange looks upon me, but I smile a smile that doesn't reach my eyes and change the subject.

I have realized how no one except Dean can make me who I am and how I act. I have found out the hard way that maybe Stanford isn't where I truly belong, and my desperate, foolish urge for normalcy is just another cover up for who I really am.

A supernatural hunter. It's not that I hate it, it's because I feel helpless. We save so many people, but witness so many deaths yet the same. Everyone that dies has families, and they deserve the truth about what happened to their lost relative. But we feed them more lies. That's just not right, and I feel so sorry for their loss, partly because I feel responsible.

In my life, I have asked for so much but gave nothing. I've heard countless that I am a selfish bastard, and that may be true. But just one thing that I'm begging whoever's listening, may Dean be safe and always happy. No matter what; it's all I can ask for, after all, it's all I can do to repay him for countless years of his protection.

I will never forget how lucky I am to have a brother like Dean Winchester. I hope the best for him in future years to come, and one day, if I'm lucky, I really hope we talk to each other again. I know he hates me like hell right now, but I can't turn around and knock on their door.

I hope my future is planned for me, as I don't know whether I should turn left or right without my guardian.

'Always have hope, Sam. dum spiro spero.' Pastor Jim kept telling me that when I was younger, and it is my constant lifeline now that I am alone.

Good luck following your dreams,


P.S My memories of Dean are forever forged in my heart, as is that non-forgotten night that I betrayed my family.

In all honesty, Sam's heart ached for Dean's presence. When he achieved something, won an award, or was having fun he would absently look around every now and again, hopeful for a '67 Chevy Impala coming to a halt, with Dean in the driver seat smiling at him.

But every time he did glance around, his hopes would be crushed and his friends would question him. He knew he wouldn't be able to fill everyone's heads with lies and someone would have to give one day or he was going to explode.

Sam flipped to a new crisp page, uncapped the pen he'd been holding and started writing.

19th November 2001.

Well, I made it. This is the one year anniversary ever since I heard the awful words from my father and walked out on my family. I read my journal entries in the past and realized what a shit-ass failure I was. I don't blame my family if they think I'm selfish, but I really wish I left the house that day differently. I wish I can turn back time and make everything right, make them understand how important going to Stanford is to me.

I'm studying Law Enforcements right now, and in roughly six years time I can see myself as a lawyer, doing some good; saving people's lives without having to harm anyone else in the picture.

Sam paused and raised his head as the steady beat of music filled his ears coming from next door. He smiled and shook his head; his mate loved his rock music and usually tends to crank it up a little loud at times.

And now, Rob's got his music blasting through the speakers next door. He reminds me a lot of Dean and his mullet rock, but then again I think about him everyday and I make the slightest connections to him. It's funny and stupid at the same time; the blind love I have for Dean is amazing.

The music stopped for a second and Sam heard the tell tale signs of his friend changing discs. A familiar song came on, recognizing it as Rob's favorites, and strangely enough this one brought tears to his eyes. He pressed his pen to his paper and wrote the lyrics down with his journal entry.

We had fire in our eyes

In the beginning, I

Never felt so alive

In the beginning, You…

I remember when I was eight years old, and I was so excited when Dad and Dean announced it was going to be my first hunt with them. Dad handed me a .45 and patted me on the back, giving me some comfort but it was Dean who pulled me into a tight hug and whispered, 'You can do it kiddo. Look at ya', it's like you got a new fire in your eyes or something, you've just got that look to you,' and he chuckled.

I remember that day so clearly, but not everything went well. I screwed up badly, and at the end Dad had a run in with the claws of a werewolf. When the hunt was finished we walked back to the car, but I didn't miss the cold glare he shot to my way.

...You blame me but

It's not fair when you say that I didn't try

I just don't want to hear it anymore

That look he gave me that night sent shivers down my spine. I was eight years old then, I spotted the werewolf advancing on Dean who was the bait, and my reflects kicked in. I screamed for him to duck and fired my rounds into the clearing where the werewolf was. My scream alerted it, but instead on gaining on me it advanced on Dad.

I know he blames me for it. I learnt how to read Dean and Dad at a very young age, and I just couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by sadness, even when Dean clapped his hand on my shoulder and whispered reassuring words to me. All that was going through me that moment, was that I had failed.

From then on, everything went downhill. Dad trained me harder than Dean, and at the beginning of each hunt he gave me, and only me, a harsh warning. 'Don't screw up son, the price may be deadly.'

We had time on our side

In the beginning, we

We had nothing to hide

In the beginning, you…

Ever since Mom died, Dad rushed everything. We would drive out of the city like a mad bull was on our tails, and he finished hunts really fast, eager to get to the new town to find a new gig. So I've heard, before that, when Mom was still alive, we were a normal, happy family. Everything was slowly paced, not driving full speed out of town and breaking into houses.

You blame me but

It's not fair when you say that I didn't try

I just don't want to hear it anymore

The vivid image of Mom on the ceiling haunts me in my nightmares at night. I was six months old, I don't know how I even gained that image, but I suspect it's from gathering all the thoughts and ideas from the tales Dad told me. I've heard about the Yellow Eyed Demon many times and the more I think about it, the more the question nags at me.

What if I'm responsible for Mom's death? It would explain why Dad's so damn harsh to be sometimes, and why she died above my crib looking down at me. I'm so sick of Dad trying to correct me, telling me to be more like Dean especially in training. He rarely shows me that he's proud of me, if he ever was; all he does was pat me on the back and paste a stupid fake smile on his face. But Dean, when Dean did something great, which was everyday, he would snake his strong arm across Dean's shoulders, walk him into the motel laughing and joking with me following closely behind.

It's pretty stupid though, after all, I was just six months old. Who could be responsible for murder at just six months? Then, Dad's voice came to me, echoing in the depths of my mind, 'Anything can me possible Sammy; it's the Supernatural, after all.'

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his mop of brown hair when he heard Rob turn the dial up even louder as it got to the chorus, the lyrics screaming at him.

I swear I never meant to let it die

I just don't care about you anymore

It's not fair when you say that I didn't try

I just don't care about you anymore

I'm sorry Dean, I never meant to let you down. I just don't care about the hunting life anymore since it doesn't really revolve around me. It's not really my thing, but I tried my hardest. God knows I did, but Dad didn't see it in me. He just kept pushing and pushing until I finally snapped.

You say that I didn't try

You say that I didn't try

You say that I didn't try

Sam threw his pen down at the six simple words, as it hit the journal with a thud and scrubbed at the wetness on his face. He drew in a deep breath and tried to control his emotions. He swallowed thickly, and continued.

Damn you Dad. You always saw me as a heavy burden. It was like I weighed as much as the Earth put together and you had to carry that weight on your back, dragging me state after state, screaming orders at me. It wasn't fair; nothing was fair when it came to me. I finally had enough and said 'No' to you one day, and you made me run so many laps that day I died from exhaustion. You didn't even come into my room to ask how I was. But I guess that's you, huh, the stubborn Winchester bastard.

I cried that day. The first time I ever showed my emotions around my family. I remember, I buried my face into my pillow and just cried. I cried for the loss of my Mom, and the loss of my Dad. No, he didn't die, but the dad I knew and loved died with Mom that night. I just know it without having to be there to witness it. You became so obsessed into the world of hunting paranormal beings you didn't care if your sons were suffering more than you. You just wanted revenge.

What kind of person seeks revenge before love?

The last of the chorus resonated through the walls and Sam's harsh breathing could be heard in his quiet room as he tried to control the sting behind his eyes again. His hand shook the slightest, but that didn't stop him.

I swear I never meant to let it die

I just don't want to hear it anymore

It's not fair when you say that I didn't try

I just don't care about you anymore

I just don't care about you anymore

I just don't care about you anymore

I just don't care about you anymore

I just don't care about you anymore

The last repetitive five lines made Sam's stomach flip-flop as his throat tightened. They reminded him of his father's cruel words when he was on his way out to the door. 'You're not the son I ever expected you to be!'

In other stupid and more mocking words, 'I just don't care about you anymore.'

A sob escaped Sam's lips as it shook his body. There wasn't any music coming from Rob's room now as he heard the tell-tale sign of his buddy open and close his door, his footsteps walking further away from him.

It really hurts to know that my family hates me. I can't explain the feeling, but to say my insides of my chest are burning, is an understatement. The real feeling is so much worse, it's like you're drowning in your pain and suffering. Now, I truly know what people mean when they say it, and I have experienced it the hard way.

It's good and saddening at the same time to know, that no one really knows how much I'm suffering except for this book. My fingers have been itching to call Dean but I can't. They'd see me as crawling back to them, pleading them for help and acceptance, or forgiveness. I won't allow that thought to enter anyone's mind. My dad might see me as weak, but I sure don't. And that's all that matters.

And the whole time I've been here, I haven't received one single call or message from Dean, and yeah that might be the Winchester way of saying 'I'm so proud of you little brother, I miss you dearly,' but who am I fooling. The truth is there right in front of my eyes, I admit, I'm just denying it.

I guess all I have to do now is look forward to the future, and don't look back to my past. Dwelling won't change anything. Neither will saying how much you hate this person. Study hard in law and that can make a difference.

I'm sure there are a lot of people out there that I haven't met yet, and they will play an important part in my life. They'll look up to me, and not as a pathetic young boy. I'm almost a hundred percent sure of that.

It's getting late, and I have a party tomorrow at Rob's house. Haha, which means more loud music. I haven't forgotten the first day I heard Firefly, and now Let It Die, it's had a great impact on me. It's something that I can't explain…

Good luck with your future.



Sam sighed and reached over to his bag and searched for his wallet. Fingers brushed against the familiar material, he opened it and pulled out a photo of sixteen year old Sam next to his twenty year old hero, perched on the hood of the Impala. Dean had his arm loosely around Sam's shoulders, and they were both smiling brightly into the camera, his dimples showing quite effectively against the bright light of the Sun.

Looking closely at Dean's eyes, he saw something that he thought was lost years ago. Pure love and joy. Sam himself couldn't help but smile at the loving memory.

He loved the photo so much he had made another copy of it earlier on, one he kept in his wallet and the second one…

Sam turned to his journal and stuck the photo of the two brothers underneath today's entry, picked up his pen once again and started writing below it. My big brother Dean Winchester, the beautiful classic Impala and myself. Happy like we always were. I'll never forget you big brother. You bring joy to my heart everyday, and I desperately hope one day, it'll be the same.

Love you,


Sam sat back and admired his work. His lips twitched and smiled at the memory as he closed the journal carefully and placed it beside his bed. Sam lied down and closed his eyes, letting the memories of Dean wash over him and the smile plastered there only grew bigger and bigger.

Not once did it fall, not even when the youngest Winchester fell asleep.


Dean sat in his Impala with his eyes closed and rested his head on the headrest. Today was officially a year since his little brother left for Stanford, and he missed him so much. Sam was his constant treasure, he felt compelled to protect him against all evils out there.

More than once did he turn down the strong temptation to drive to California and just talk to Sam. In all truths, he was afraid of what his father would say. He knew that he missed Sam as well, but not nearly as much as he did.

The kid meant so much more to him, after all it was his job to protect him. It was a big brother's main job; to protect your younger sibling from anyone or anything looking dangerous.

Today was different though. Today, he was in California while his dad had gone off hunting. He would come back in five days, and by the time he came back he expected Dean to have the information for their next gig.

Research only took a day or two, and he had more than enough time to do anything he wanted.

Swallowing hard, Dean opened his laptop and went to his secret folder. Dean's Stuff. The folder was plainly named, and he didn't bother changing it. He opened it, revealing more than fifty documents on his past year without Sam by his side.

He sighed and stretched his muscles. Scanning his labeled documents, he clicked on some of the most memorable ones.

January 15th 2001

Sam's been gone for over two months now. This is killing me. I try so hard not to screw up on hunts, but the thought of Sam distracts me. I don't blame him though. Hell, I never blamed him. I kept replaying what I did to him in the final moments before he left. God, I slammed him on the wall countless times and spat filthy words at him. What kind of a brother am I?

We were hunting a poltergeist one night, and I let my guard down. Dad came running, and finished it off for me but afterwards he growled at me. He asked me why I screwed up, was it because of Sam? Then, his voice cold and deadly, 'Don't mess up again son. Consequences are fatal and I can't stand that.'

From that moment on, I knew exactly how Sam felt. I experienced this over one night and felt uncomfortable towards my Dad, I can't begin to imagine how Sam felt after countless words flung towards him.

It was then that I understood Sam. It wasn't because he hated the hunting life. I remember how excited he was as a kid when he was on his first hunt. I remembered ruffling his hair, telling him he had some kind of fire in his eyes that reminded me so much of Mom.

I felt so bad after what I did to Sam and on behalf of Dad. Secretly, I admire so much about him standing up to Dad. I would never be able to pull that off. He may see me as the brave heroic Dean Winchester, but really, I'm a coward. Sammy's the real hero. He stood up to the person that barked orders at us, and followed his own dreams.

That's something that I will never learn. Not now at least.

At night, every time I open my eyes again I always hope to see the familiar sleeping figure next to me.

The motel's so quiet without Sam; there are no whiny complaints and no one to share his humor with, no one to roll his eyes at him when he makes a stupid comment. I'm sure Dad knows how much I miss him, but he's doing nothing to ease the pain. I try to block out what Dad said to Sam that day, and I can't begin to imagine how Sam felt after those words. When Dad said 'Dean, get away from that man' those words stung me and brought tears into my eyes. How did Sam cope? I don't know. In hindsight, he's the strongest of all Winchesters to stand up against Dad and put his back in our faces even with those harmful words ringing in his ears.

I'm pretty sure he feels guilty about it, and it's probably eating him but I wish I could somehow tell him; it's not his fault. It never was, and don't you start thinking it now.

Half of me wants him never to come back, not because I don't want him to, but because I don't want Dad to look at him like a sore loser, crawling back to the family business like 'where he belongs.'

Sam is the best hunter I know at his age. Although he might not like it, once his mind is set onto it, he completes the task with all he has. He likes saving people, I can see that that's his favorite bit but when more victims die under our waiting hands; I can see the loss of hope in his eyes. And that is something I never want to see.

Sam is always so full of hope, always believing that there really is a greater good. To see some of that hope die in his eyes, felt like a punch to the stomach. Sam always had innocence, and the more Dad shouted at him, the more that innocence and hope was lost.

As a big brother, in my 22 years of living, I always wanted to give Sam the best life he could have. I've been thinking of calling him, but would he pick up? Would he still want to talk to me? Would he still look at me the way he did all those years ago after all those things I said to him, did to him?

I'm so stupid, I should have stood up to him that night. He looked at me with pleading eyes but I did nothing.

I want to make this all better. Sam could still be at Stanford, I could go visit him but I know that Dad would never allow me.

Fuck! See, what a coward I am. I'm twenty-two years old for God's Sakes and I'm still asking for whether Dad lets me do this and that. This is so screwed up; I wish I could have the strength that runs through Sam to stand up against Dad.

Well, Dad should be back soon. He's just gone out to get some food. If he catches these… hah, he'd slice me to pieces.


Dean chewed on his lip as he recalled how mad he had been that day. Nothing seemed to go well after that night. He tilted his head and gazed towards the darkening sky before opening up his most recent document.

5th November 2001

Shit, I was hunting a Wendigo yesterday and one of them managed to get the drop off me. I came back to the motel with Dad supporting me, his hands gripping my shoulders like steel and lowered me to the bed. As I went down, I couldn't help but think how different the situation would be if Sammy was here.

His grip on my would be warm and convincing, he would be whispering words of comfort every now and again and every second he would stop and glance at me to see if I was alright.

None of this passed Dad. It was like he was dragging a tone of bricks to the motel and he spoke to me in that deadly, cold tone because I had screwed up and let him down.

He patched me up that night, ignoring my hisses of pain and jerking reflexes. He didn't whisper one word that was good to hear, and afterwards I was just lying there surrounded by the bloody sheets underneath me.

The next morning, I woke up from unconsciousness and my first thought that came to me was Sam. For some stupid reason, I felt that he was back with me, sleeping soundly next to me. I flipped over, forgetting my injuries as I groaned in pain.

My eyes searched the entire room, but my fears were confirmed. It was just a dream. Sam wasn't here. My heart hung heavy that day, it was like the wounds inside were reopened.

Dad was nowhere to be found, I guess he went to do some research or something so I went to the bar. It was a four minute walk at the most, and that day I downed so many shots to drown the pain in my heart.

I felt so empty, I just sat there and there was this man next to me. I guess we were both pretty out of it so we just told each other all our problems. We sat there listening, downing more tequila shots and we learned a lot about each other.

He lost his best friend two days ago, and that resulted to his other friend committing suicide. He was experiencing the same loss as me, feeling the same pain as I was. He sat there and listened as I told him about my Mom and my brother.

'You two close?' He asked me.

'Of course.' I replied. 'We were brothers and we did everything together. He was my best friend, the key to my living and so much more. Having him walk out the door without me was like a knife to the heart. It hurt so much…' I just trailed off there as tears threatened to rush down.

The man patted my back and nodded knowingly. 'I know how it feels bro. You're not the only one.'

We started sharing stories of our lost loved ones, memories- the good and the bad, annoying and the most embarrassing ones. We laughed and cried at these memories engraved in our lives and my love for Sam grew stronger as I poured everything out.

I realized how lucky I was to meet this man in the same boat as me, and it made me open my eyes to reality. I wasn't alone out there. I wasn't the only one grieving, feeling guilty, mourning the loss of a missing family member- Or members

The first person that came to me with all these emotions in him; was Sam. I knew him inside out, probably more than he knew himself. I quickly thanked the man, forgetting to ask for his name or details, wishing him good luck, telling him he wasn't alone and stumbled drunkenly out the bar.

I was going to walk across the stormy ocean, I thought. Confront Dad and go to Stanford once and for all.


Dean shook his head sadly. He regretted not even asking that man for his name. He had helped him out so much without trying. Of course, he didn't confront Dad. He didn't tell him about the man, or his desperation for Sam's presence.

Dean made a new blank document, shuffled into a more comfortable position and started typing.

19th November 2001

This is my chance. Today, Dad left for a hunt a few hours out of town. He said he'd be back in five days, and to my luck, I'm in California. My fingers are itching to just drive to Stanford, knock on his door and pull him into the biggest hug ever. A hug from Dean Winchester was like finding a four leafed clover.

Today, though, is exactly one year ever since Sam walked out of the motel. One year, and I'm sure he's thinking about it as much as I am. I wander how he's going, if he's fitting in or if he's missing us. I'm sure he's missing us; he has the biggest heart ever. I didn't know that a man's heart can hold so much love but he proved me wrong.

Dean growled and glanced at the rearview mirror as a red two-door sports car pulled up behind him, loud music blaring out of the speakers. A man in his mid 20's sat in the driver seat, leaned over and kissed his girlfriend before she got out of the car with a wrapped up present in her hands.

Dean eyed him for a while as the man leaned towards the glove compartment and inserted a different CD. Dean mumbled something under his breath as his choice of song didn't seem to match his own taste and winded up the windows.

Dean momentarily cussed as the man behind him turned the dial louder and the song was screaming behind him. It reminded him of him and Sam, when they would be bantering happily and the loud beat of mullet rock would be roaring out from the Impala's speakers. Dean looked at the man from his rearview mirror as he folded his hands at the back of his head and closed his eyes; waiting patiently for his girlfriend to come back.

It wasn't a particularly loud, screaming rock song, it seemed sad, slow at times and Dean found himself listening to the lyrics intently while he continued his entry.

This world will never be

What I expected

And If I don't belong

Who would have guessed it

I will not leave alone

Everything that I own

To make you feel like it's not too late

It's never too late

What a sappy song. Who thinks up of these lyrics anyway?

Alright fine, I admit, some of these words did strike me…

When I was three years old, and Mom was about to have Sammy, I dreamt that my future would be a great success. I'd have a beautiful, happy family and I'd be the best big brother, but I guess my dream vanished into the flames that took Mom that night.

The hunting life, I think it's where I belong and who I am. Dad always told me that I was made for it. He never spoke about it to Sam though, that was probably why he felt so bad about the whole thing.

No one will ever see

This side reflected

And if there's something wrong

Who would have guessed it

And I have left alone

Everything that I own

To make you feel like it's not too late

It's never too late

Sammy loves to share his emotions, his feelings and everything, but that's not me. I always shrug if off with a 'no chick-flick moment.' I guess it's because I can't stand Sam seeing the side of me that no one knows. When I was young, Dad taught us that showing our real emotions were just a sign of weakness. Ever since then, a wall was built around these emotions and no one could break them.

No one except Sam, on several occasions.

At night, when dad left for his hunts and it was only Sam and I, sometimes he would see the tears shining in my eyes. He didn't tease me like I always do to him; he comforted me in ways I didn't know I could be happy hearing those simple words.

He would jump up on my bed and wrap his arms around me, smile at me with his goofy face and my walls would crumble. I would laugh and cry at him at the same time, and he burrowed his face into my neck. I'm not sure if I heard correctly, though, but he said something that made me stop crying almost instantly. He whispered, 'Why are you crying Dean? Am I being a bad little brother? I'm sorry if I am but let me tell you something. You're the best big brother anyone could have.'

I pulled back and looked at him with shock, but his face confirmed what he said. He still held the smile, the love so evident in his eyes but there was also a hint of sadness. Did Sammy really think it was his fault? I asked myself.

I smiled and told him that nothing was his fault, and that he was the best baby brother, just a little annoying sometimes. I remember him laughing as he jumped onto me and we rolled around, tickling each other.

Come back Sammy. Come back, it's not too late. It never will be… I miss you so much.

Even if I say

It'll be alright

Still I hear you say

You want to end your life

Now and again we try

To just stay alive

Maybe we'll turn it all around

'Cause it's not too late

It's never too late

There was this one night, many years ago, he darted up from his bed and whispered my name. I was there beside him in seconds, rubbing his back, asking what was wrong. He said he dreamt of him being snatched by bad people.

'It's alright Sammy.' I assured him but he shook his head and trembled. I crawled into his bed and asked him what was wrong.

'I don't like hunting bad things Dean.' He said; his voice so small and innocent it reminded me of the six month old Sam staring up at me when I carried him outside our house in Kansas.

'I don't like it when Dad barks orders at us.' He whispered again. 'I want to stay in the same place and go to school.'

It was then that I knew how Sam looked at the world so differently. He didn't like the hunting life, he wanted normalcy.

We watch each others backs every moment of our life just to live to see the daylight of tomorrow. Just one fatal mistake, just a little slip of your foot and it may be the death of you.

The world we knew

Won't come back

Time we've lost

Can't get back

The life we had

Won't be ours again…

This world will never be

What I expected

And if I don't belong….

Dean ducked his head for a split second before jabbing his fingers at the keys.

Sammy, I don't know if I will ever see you again. I'm sorry for everything, I know I can't turn back time but I promise I'll make it up to you. I'm so close to coming to Stanford, to see your geeky face. But as the saying goes, you only have one chance in life. One chance, to complete your dreams and mine is to hunt alongside with you without Dad barking orders at us, screwing our heads up. I promise, it'll be like you and me, just like old times. Give me a chance Sammy.

I'm sorry for everything…please give me a chance… forgive me…

Even if I say

It'll be alright

Still I hear you say

You want to end your life

Now again we try

To just stay alive

Maybe we'll turn it all around

'Cause it's not too late

It's never too late

Maybe we'll turn it all around

'Cause it's not too late

It's never too late (It's never too late)

It's not too late

It's never too late

Splashes of tears dripped onto Dean's fingers and leaked onto the keys of the laptop as the last of the song faded away.

I've made my decision. I'm going to drive to Stanford and apologize to Sam. I'm going to make everything better, patch all the open wounds and seal them shut with a spoken promise that they'll never be reopened again.

So many chances have been given to me this year. The man at the bar, Dad's five-day hunts leaving me in California and the sappy song ringing in my ears.

Sammy, I'm sorry that it took me this long to realize and snap back to my priority, but I hope you understand and forgive me.

I'm sorry about Dad, about my last words to you. But that's going to change soon. A lot of things are going to change soon. I swear, I'm going to make it up to you. I hope you don't blame me for being late but I learnt something today.

It's not too late,

It's never too late.

Love you Sammy. See you soon.


Dean saved the document and closed his laptop before glancing once again in his mirror to see if the man was still there in his red sports car.

All he saw was an empty parking space.

Dean put his Impala to drive and headed towards his destination. He pulled out his cellphone from his pocket, and fumbled with it for a few minutes before smiling and softly throwing it down on the passenger seat.

He was fifteen minutes away from Stanford.


Sam growled and buried his face in his pillow as his phone beeped. Who the hell would message him at this time? 11:49pm.

A few minutes later, he blindly reached for his cell and flipped it open.

Sam swallowed, rubbed his eyes and read the screen again.

Hey Sammy.

Hope your not asleep yet you geeky smartass, or even worse, burrowing your head into one of your books. I'm coming to Stanford, alone, just a few minutes away. Be expecting me, I will be there no matter what.

Love you,


Sam laughed as joy filled him once again. He couldn't believe it; and he understood the unspoken message behind it. It meant to tell him that John wasn't coming, and he was coming against his father's words.

And the end; was the unspoken apology that Sam accepted ever since the first day he walked out.

Sam flopped back on his bed, cell phone in his hand as he looked up at the ceiling. The monstrous image of a dead lady no longer assaulted him.

He smiled; his true smile that filled his orbs and most importantly, put the fire back in his eyes that was lost when he felt so alone.

dum spiro spero.

He knew he had a reason to believe that, and now, everything was going to get better.


The End.

Wow this has been a blast. I completed this over a few days with the help of Dev and Louise, and …seriously I hope you guys loved it, apologies for the length. Oh and I take quite a few things back, NOO! Don't screw Ben Burnley!! (lead singer of Breaking Benjamin)

Thanks, and please take the time to review. I'd LOVE to hear your say on how you thought of this oneshot.