Summary:  Sam hides his hurts away as Dean struggles to keep things together.
Spoilers:  Post "Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things".
A/N:  Well after ‘Children shouldn’t play with dead things’ little niggles at the ending just kept picking away at me and this piece covers that. Call me a LimpSam chick (and I hold my head proud with that) but both brothers are hurting and I just wanted address the balance here with what has been going on with our youngest Winchester a little bit.
Disclaimer:  Usual disclaimers apply.

As the impala rumbled down the highway Dean’s stomach was in knots wondering if he should ring his brother again but soon thought better of it. After his last conversation with Sam he didn’t trust his temper not to say something stupid again. Because damn it that’s all that had been coming out of his mouth for too long now.

Glumly he knew that this anger had nothing to do with his brother, but only about himself. Lately channelling the tempest within made for explosive moments, made up of short bouts of rage and terse words, and the only constant throughout out it all, the one person standing in the firing line, had been Sam.

Maybe this was the reason his brother was walking down a high road high as kite, perhaps trying to off load all those weeks of being pushed away by him and was seeking some new and better company of his own. God knows he would have done the same if he had been in his brother’s shoes.

This was all a complete fuck up he acknowledged to himself. The one person he was supposed to protect he was hurting the most and it was slowly eating away the cement of their relationship leaving huge cracks in its wake. When they should have both been standing firm by each others side he had instead created fissures that were broadening each day, tearing them apart, and he didn’t know how to fill them in anymore.

With time he had just trusted Sammy to know that in the end it would all come right again. It had too.

Feeling the last residual effects of a hangover his mouth was dry and the slow thump of headache still persisted. Not helped when all he could think of here he was driving along a deserted road to pickup his wasted brother like some glorified taxi driver.

It had always been his job to watch out for his brother but Sam wasn’t making the job any easier he thought sourly. ‘Just how the hell am I supposed to watch his idiot back when he pulls a disappearing trick like this on me?”

Reckless and stupid were never a label he would have put on little brother before now, but this little stunt of his was just that. God, sometimes his brother just knew how to press those buttons that well and truly pissed him off. And tonight was one of those button pushing moments.

Most ghosts were a pushover as rule of thumb went by, a good salting and burning normally did the trick, but the volume of the noise coming from the creature from across the wide road had to be notched up as something not good, and maybe as something stomach achingly bad.

Belligerently Sam started to walk away down his side of the road as the spirit continued to scream, and he screwed up his face in exasperation. Couldn’t the stupid creature see that he was in no mood for this right now? Why couldn’t it just slink off back into the graveyard and wail at its fellow undead instead?

He was tired of playing the psychic lightening rod for all things freaky, his life was way too screwed up right now to have to deal with this crap time and time again.

Taking another swig of beer from his bottle he shook his head in rejection. “I am seriously not listening hear dude,” he shouted out to it, waving his hand in the air as if to shoo it away. “Better get going before my scary big brother gets here and rock-salts your bony ass back to hell.”

Sam laughed at the cartoon imagery running through his head of Superhero Dean rushing yet again to his rescue.

Then his faced darkened abruptly, realising once more he was causing trouble for his brother and he muttered under his breath, “Stupid. That’s what you are. Can’t even do one thing right today.”

Sucking in a deep breath he staggered back around to face the long road ahead of him ignoring the howling from the other side of the road. If he pretended long enough not to hear it then may be it would get bored and disappear he reasoned.

Besides he had more pressing concerns on his mind other than a spirit he guessed was landlocked to the cemetery. It’s inability to cross the road to get to him more than a little pointer to it status as spirit bound to a place.

Perhaps it was the effects of too much beer combined with the effects of the cold but god, right now, he really needed to take a pee before his bladder exploded. Chuckling, feeling like a naughty schoolboy, ignoring the persistent cry of the spirit, he sidled into the thicket that run along the stretch of road determined to find the nearest tree.

Carefully placing his beer bottle a few yards away he tried to stand straight but the effects of the drink and painkillers made his head swim and he had to prop himself with his casted hand against the tree trunk and do the necessary with the other.

Concentrating madly he made sure that his aim was good. The last thing he wanted was wet patches on the front of his jeans for Dean to smirk over. He treated him like a kid most times and he didn’t need to feed him any further ammunition.

The relief of emptying his too full bladder was so satisfying that he sighed out loud. As he slowly zippered himself up his head snapped round to a familiar sound, like rumbling thunder, and suddenly the bright headlights of the impala cut through the thicket as it sped by at such a rate of knots that it quickly vanished from view.

“This can’t be happening,” implored Sam to the heavens, shaking his head in disbelief as the impala sped away. He fumbled hurriedly for his phone and screwed up his forehead in surprise at seeing that it was dead. The low battery sign that he had chosen to ignore all day had finally done its worse.

“Great, just fucking great,” he hissed a response because he knew his brother was going to be doubly pissed at him now. Picking up his beer bottle he took a long swing before staggering out of the thicket back to the roadside.

With a groan he realised his best option was just to carry on walking and just backtrack down the road and meet Dean on his return. A little more fresh air might just clear his head before big brother caught up with him and kicked his stupid ass all the way back to Ridlington.

On clearing the thicket the wailing started again adn with careful steps he tried to ignore the spirit and just carry on walking. This was something he could do he acknowledged with a wry smile, become invisible, just like he had been with dad and his brother for so many years. “Bye bye Casper,” he mocked the spirit as he started to walk away. "Watch me become Mr Invisible...”

Cold hungry eyes watched the tall figure lurch away, the brightness of his life force a beacon in the dark and in desperation it did something it hadn’t done in all its spirit bound existence - it left the boundaries of the graveyard and shot across the empty road to follow after him.

The coldness against the back of his neck superseded the effects of the alcohol instantly and Sam froze as fingers, ice cold, touched his shoulder.

“Oh Shit,” he whispered out loud, as his breath fogged in white billows from his mouth before he dared to turn and peer into coal dark eyes glittering in a hollowed out face.

“Stay…” pleaded the figure at his back, the voice a high hiss as a lipless mouth whispered in his ear. “Please….”

Somewhere from Ridlington to Hadley he had missed Sam but worse still was that his freaky little brother was no longer answering his cell so he had no idea where he might be.

Chasing after his wayward brother was proving a little tiresome to say the least.

It’s not like his tall lanky frame could be missed along the roadside so he just hoped that his idiot brother had doubled back to O’Malley’s. It was the only thing that made sense.

As he pulled the impala to a tight halt outside the bar he just prayed that that his brother was inside or if not then perhaps that girl Candy might have news of him.

Cocking an eyebrow in disbelief he couldn’t imagine his brother willingly walking into such a dive. As he opened the heavy door the billowing rush of cigarette smoke stung his eyes and it took a moment to adjust to the dim lighting within

With a loud clunk the heavy metal door slammed behind him and judging by the clientele on show he realised that Sam must have stood out like as sore thumb, too clean and wholesome to fit in to this bar rammed full of society’s lowlifes and misfits.

Quickly he scanned the area for his brother but came up empty and muttered under his breath, “Jesus Sammy, why couldn’t you have just stayed in the frigging motel and played geek boy as usual?”

After struggling to wade through the testosterone laden and cheaply perfumed smoky atmosphere he finally caught the eye of the bartender. After a few uncooperative responses he found himself fighting the urge the hit the way too smug man, his hands fisting at this sides as he leant in closer to the man.

“Let me repeat myself for the last time here. My brother was here. Tall dude, long shaggy hair, young looking kid…”

Burt eyed the man in front of him with a warning sounding in his head that it might be wise not to mess with him, and with an acknowledging grunt he finally answered. “Look Mister, like sure I remember the kid, but he left a while back,” and he motioned angrily waving his arms around to take in some superficial damage to his bar. “Though he managed to cause a whole world of ruin before he did...”

Dean came nose to nose with the bartender and snarled. “If anyone laid a hand on my brother….”

Burt backed away with a nervous laugh, “No man, he may have been wasted but that kid walked out of here as pretty as he walked in and without a hair out of place.” With a nod of his head to a blond haired woman sitting huddled in a booth opposite he added, “Can’t say the same about poor Candy though.”

Casting a quick eye over direction of the bartender’s nod Dean couldn’t hold back a slight judder. Just what the hell was his brother doing with a woman like that?

Candy was a mess, her clothes in disarray and rivers of black mascara were smudged down her messed up face. She was fisting a tangle of hair extensions in one hand as she fingered a shot of tequila in the other, muttering her loss. A drinking buddy, equally as wasted was sitting beside her, her small dark head bobbing in agreement as she listened to the tirade of woe coming from Candy’s mouth.

Fighting down his instant dislike Dean took only a few short strides to be by her side, and the shadow he cast over her made her squint upwards to see him.

“Hey sugar, wanna buy a lady a drink?” she slurred, eyeing him with an appreciative smile as she tried to hurriedly to brush away the dark rivers of black off her cheeks.

“Sure thing. If you can point out the lady who wants one,” growled Dean in response.

Candy’s eyes narrowed at the insult and her drinking buddy bristled besides her. “Hey girlfriend this guy sure is a prize jackass…”

“S’kay Arlene he can be as pissy as long as he keeps those gorgeous lips in kissing distance!” giggled Candy back up at Dean, slopping her drink onto the table in the process.

Parking his hands flat squarely on the table he lurched over her, ignoring pointedly the come on and the sneering friend, letting his eyes meet the blond dark with threat. “See I have this little problem. My brother Sam. You remember him?”

Candy’s eyes blurred up again. “Oh god, he was so damn cute,” and then she scowled jutting out her bottom lip in temper, “That stupid cow Shandy just had to ruin it - couldn’t keep her goddam hands off him. She scared him away.”

Fighting down the urge to smash something Dean gritted his teeth. “This girl Shandy did she go after him when he left?”

Candy’s drinking buddy sprayed the booth with a mouthful of beer laughing hysterically at the suggestion. “Hell no. That bitch had to be carried out of by her arms and legs by the time my girl here was finished with her.”

She clinked her glass against Candy’s and knocked but a shot with a grimace before proudly adding, “That will teach the ho to touch up something that don’t belong to her.”

“S’right Arlene, she should have kept her hands off my boy,” nodded Candy in agreement as she knocked back her own shot, slamming the empty glass back onto the table with a thump.

“So you haven’t seen him since?” demanded Dean ignoring the appraising look of the other woman’s eyes now as she slunk closer to him. Instead he straightened a little as Candy’s head wobbled in a nod and in a tighter growl he asked. “So let me get this straight - you get him drunk and let him just wonder off? Is that how you bitches get your kicks. Is it?”

“Purleeese,” groaned Candy at the thought. “It that boy had stayed I would’ve shown him a good time…” She managed a knowing wink before knocking back another shot of tequila like tap water. “I’d had made those dimples all mine…”

Finally unable to listen anymore to her drunken rambling Dean snapped back angrily. “Listen my brother is many things, frighteningly stupid at times, but a cheap pick up he’s not. He wouldn’t have touched your skanky behind with a barge pole, drunk or not.”

He watched Candy mouth drop open before snapping shut at the insult as her gaze took in the dark fire in his eyes. Silently she reached out for her glass and knocked back another shot with a sour expression clouding her features.

However, Arlene didn’t have the sense to keep her mouth shut and waded in. “You got a bad mouth on, you know that mister. A real bad mouth talking to Candy like that…it could get your sorry ass whupped good and proper round here…”

Dean laughed humourlessly, “Well judging by the company she keeps sweetheart it ain’t nothing she hasn’t heard before. As for whupping someone’s ass that’s exactly what I’ll be coming back to do if anything has happened to my kid brother. Got it?”

Arlene like her friend before found her mouth clamping shut, her eyes popping wide at the sight of his firearm momentarily visible in his waistband as his jacket fell open slightly. Wide eyed she turned frightened to her friend and whispered suddenly afraid as to what they had gotten into. “Jeez….. Candy?”

Candy merely slumped forward, and pawed at his arm, as the tears started a fresh. “Hey babe, I didn’t mean anything. Sam – he was just like candy, sweet and tasty, so nicely mannered and everything. So damn pretty…”

When she started to sniffle at the memory Dean with a breathy shake of his head stood up tall again, all too aware that he had met a dead end with Candy and her friend. Sam wouldn’t have come returned to O’Malley’s that’s much was certain, not if he had to come back to these scary woman. Hell even he could feel their affect as his skin crawled under their gaze as he left the bar.

“Damn it Sammy, you’re starting to scare me here kiddo,” acknowledged Dean to the empty roadside his eyes searching out the darkness but finding nothing.

After trying his cell again without any success he wearily climbed back into the impala and decided he needed to retrace his route back to Ridlington and hopefully find his brother’s scrawny ass before he fell asleep in some ditch and froze to death. Or failing that just hope that he had scored lucky again and had managed to get another ride back to the motel, hopefully this time minus the wandering hands.

Anything else just didn’t bear thinking about.

He may have had to many beers to stand straight but the anaesthetic quality didn’t stop the skin from freezing under the spirits touch. Struggling out of its grip, Sam managed to mumble out a warning. “Stay the hell away from me…or I swear to god I’ll salt and burn your sorry ass back to hell.”

Slowly the withered form coalesced into something more human. It took on the shape of a stocky woman, not desperately pretty or even attractive, just plainly solid and clearly emanating ‘desperate’ at him.

“Oh lord son, don’t you know that you’re the first one able to hear me.” There was a pause before she looked at him with tears bright in her dead eyes, her voice harsh and rasping. “To see me.”

And all Sam could do was laugh at the irony of it all. ‘Fucking lighting rod status firmly still in place’, he realised, no matter where he went or how desperately he tried to runaway from it.

“You can help them…help us,” begged the figure again the need rippling off her, swamping Sam senses so that he found himself feeling her need anchor itself inside of himself.

He ducked his chin to his chest fighting the pull and whispered angrily, “No way, Wendy, I don’t want to.” He pouted and shook his head again “I don’t have to do anything with you...”

The quiet pitiful sobbing from the creature slowly drew his head back up again and her eyes turned longingly back to the graveyard. “Please. He won’t let them go and they, we can never rest… never.”

“I… I don’t understand,” stuttered Sam despite himself, trying to back away from the spirit, as the lingering effects of the alcohol still clouded his thoughts and judgement.

All he knew was that Angela and their graveyard sprint were all very fresh in his mind and the last thing he wanted to do was play chase with another bad thing in between the tombstones. The two broken bones encased in a new cast was also a ready reminder that playing with spirits was not always a fun experience.

But the ghost was now frighteningly persistent, finding at last someone to hook onto. “No boy come with me, let him see beyond the veil he will know that he has to let them go.”

As he shook his shaggy head in denial her dark eyes rested on him and she sighed sadly, “If you come to him there will be an end to it, an we can finally all pass. Let him see you.”

Sam wagged his finger in refusal and snorted a denial “See me? Yeah well you’ve got the wrong guy for that lady. I just want to go back to being invisible…. go back to being my brother’s shadow.”

Suddenly she rushed back at him her head nodding vehemently at his words, a bony finger stabbing him in the chest. “Family is all there is. All there ever is. You can make mine free.”

At the word ‘family’ Sam felt a chill race down his spine and he swallowed down the fear that surrounded his waking moments of every day. The emphatic effect was immediate on him as family was all that he had left. And family was Dean. He would do anything to keep that safe. Anything.

As if reading his emotions the ghost drew strength from him and whispered encouragement. “He won’t harm you son I promise you. My Dimitri was a good man once and he loved the children so much.. Just walk with me and let him see the truth….”

And despite himself Sam knew that he could not refuse, her hold strengthening over him as his conscious mind fogged up again and slowly he found himself being led across the road, her cold hand pulling at his own like a mother pulling a reluctant child after her.

It was the smallest flash of light against the dark as the headlight reflected the glass that drew him to a screeching halt.

Reversing a few yards back he could see the carefully placed beer bottle on top of the stone wall and just knew that it was Sam’s doing. Who else in the middle of nowhere would place, not toss away, a half empty beet bottle and leave it perfectly placed on a frigging wall?

Then his eyes narrowed realising what the wall surrounded and his heart sank and a dark fear stabbed at him. Sam had gone into a graveyard alone. Unprotected. Holy fucking Shit.

“Oh this is just not happening,” he cursed out loud as he stepped out of the car, realising that this night was just going from bad to fucked up worse. Hurriedly he opened the trunk and snatched up his guns, a handful of rock-salt pellets and a flask of holy water. No way was he going to walk into a graveyard dead of night without some sort of protection. Unlike his stupid brother that is.

If he hadn’t wanted to kick his brother’s backside with any passion before he really did now.

The blood trickling down over his lip was warm against the chilled night air and he licked it away absently with his tongue. Bracing his right shoulder up against a slanting tombstone he grinned a hollow bright red smile in the moonlight before spitting out the bloody phlegm to the grass by his feet.

Tiredly he lent his head against the cool stone, shouldering his side against the marble slab, and drew his knees up to his chin, fingers clasping his legs in a tight hug. With each breath a bubble of blood blew out of his left nostril and tickled his top lip, before absently he brushed it away, smearing his pale face with a streak of crimson.

For the longest second he thought of closing his eyes and letting sleep take him but the little voice of reason was screaming at the back of his skull to get up and find the main road again.

Nagging at him was the promises he had made and how he kept on breaking them.. He had made a promise to the Powers-that-Be when Dean came out of his coma to try and become a better brother, a better hunter for him. He knew that his brother needed this from him, not this screw up excuse of a brother forever making mistakes and breaking promises.

Hadn’t he promised Dean that he’d wait by roadside? Yet here he was again not living up to the end of the deal and had gone off to do a little bit of ghost-busting on his lonesome. Dumb, just plain dumb. No wonder Dean felt the need to smack him at times.

Why couldn’t he just follow orders like a good brother was supposed to do? Like the hardened hunter his brother needed him to be.

There’d be no extra cookie for him tonight that’s for sure. Not a good enough soldier to earn the extra reward that his dad always favoured his big brother with. And now just like dad Dean would think the same.

Feeling the familiar throb growing in his encased arm he shifted position and eased his arm on top of knees. This was so going to annoy his brother he realised. Not being one hundred percent meant he would be viewed as a liability again.

Sighing out loud he tried to get beyond feeling so negative, but then it hit him like a wave again and he found himself fisting his hair in frustration.

He was seriously tired of being viewed by Dean as so fucking fragile, not hard enough, and certainly not like the hunters his brother admired and respected. That jerk Gordon Walker had earned his brother’s open respect within minutes of their meeting and yet he was struggling just to get his brother to even look at him at times without an open look of disdain or mistrust on his face.

No matter what he did lately he only caused Dean more trouble. Hell even after he had begged Dean to open up to him he screwed that up to. Since when had he been lost for words? Since when was it that he couldn’t say what he felt or let his brother know his feelings?

‘You were chicken scared.’ he answered to himself. Scared that if he said the wrong thing this time Dean would just up and leave. Leave him behind and be free to hunt and partner up with anyone he wanted to do.

‘Hell yes’, he reasoned, Dean might be a whole lot happier with that scenario rather than having to drag his cursed ass behind him all the time.

Fighting back the tears he nodded to himself, he should offer this option up to Dean. If he couldn’t be there for him as a brother should, or the hunter he demanded, then it might be best when he got his frozen ass of the ground just to keep on walking and let his brother have his life back.

For too long he had let the demon’s curse, his curse, take too much from his brother, his once happy family, a mother and father and any chance of normal.

Groaning he tried to lever himself up off the cold ground but fell flat on his backside again as his legs decided they were not quite ready for standing needing a little bit longer before trying that again in a hurry.

God, how he wished he had stayed put in the bar and just kept on drinking. Another beer right now might hit that hollow spot making itself felt in his gut. Even having to deal with Candy and her posse of girlfriends with wandering hands had to be better than this emptiness right now.

Then the crunch of feet on frosted grass drew his head up and he saw a pair of jean clad legs moving towards him. A bright beam of light hit him squarely in the face and his eyes closed at the brightness. When he managed to reopen them with a squint he tried to pick out the face but the light was blinding. With a dry mouth he called out, “Dean?” And waited.

A/N:  Hope this chapter doesn’t leave you too confused switching back and forwards to the moments when Dean finds Sam in the cemetery to the actual moments preceding that, and then back again. (Woo I’m already dizzy and I wrote the stuff!!)

Then the crunch of feet on frosted grass drew his head up and he saw a pair of jean clad legs moving towards him. A bright beam of light hit him squarely in the face and his eyes closed at the brightness. When he managed to reopen them with a squint he tried to pick out the face but the light was blinding. With a dry mouth he called out, “Dean?” And waited.

“You better believe it you idiot,” snapped back Dean dropping to his brother’s side in relief. He jerked his brother’s bloodied face upwards in a tight grip under the intensity of the torch’s light and hissed at seeing the fine river of crimson running down the side of his face. “Shit Sam. You play zombie bait again?”

A snigger came from his brother, twisting out of his grip as he tried to explain. “I sort of tripped.” His gaze fell to his feet, at the undone sneaker laces and this time the snigger turned into a soft giggle. “Look, my big feet got in the way.”

Hard hands drew him upright, and a jumbled stream of curses and profanities hit his ears as his long legs decided to buckle under his weight. Again the hold on him tightened till he was swung upright again and fingers gripped his face again as his brother’s voice finally made itself understood. “A fucking graveyard Sam - what the hell were you thinking?”

Dean was struggling to keep his brother afoot, as his tall frame seemed intent on bending in on itself and curling away from him, as if he was trying to dance out of his touch. The air was heavy with ozone and he knew something had happened in the graveyard with his brother at some point. He just needed to find out exactly what.

Giving his brother a quick once over the immediate damage was obvious, a bloodied nose and a small cut to his right temple and that coupled with the continued effects of too much alcohol made him hard to keep upright. All fixable. Though god knows how he was going to cope with a hanged over little brother wanting to puke his guts out all over the place the next morning. Sammy never knew how to hold his liquor.

Then he saw the whiteness bright under the right sleeve of his brother’s jacket and he swallowed hard as his reaching fingers touched the top of the cast.

“Jesus Sammy,” he whispered slowly, his breath hitching in his chest as he drew back the sleeve to see the extent of the damage. Instantly the memories of his brother’s encounter with Angela came fresh to mind and at how blithely he had brushed aside Sam’s open comment that he had busted his hand.

That had been two days ago and he hadn’t given it another thought. Not until now. Not until he felt the solid cast make contact with his fingers. The anger constantly bubbling beneath surfaced again and he found himself barking out a reprimand. “Why the hell didn’t you get this sorted this out sooner…?”

Sam rolled out of his grip and chuckled, exposing red stained teeth whilst waving the heavy cast before him. “S’okay Dean. I sorted it all out. Nothing to it. Piece of cake.”

And then with a conspiratorial wink he leant back into his brother and muffled into his shoulder. “Nice doctor got it all fixed up and gave me some meds and viola all fixed! And the best thing it didn’t cost ya a thing!”

“You’re a first class idiot,” snapped back his brother in disbelief. “You should have said something. How the hell do you think wandering around with broken arm is going to be okay? Jesus, you’re next to useless to me if you can’t keep yourself from bouncing and breaking every time a spook comes your way…”

Dean cringed as the final words spat out of his mouth. The long hours of worry had frayed his patience too thinly and now he was hitting out at his brother again without thinking of the impact his words would have. Seeing the cast on his brother’s arm was akin to rubbing salt into his open wounds and he didn’t know how to control the pain other than lashing out. Again.

Sam had staggered out of his arms at his recriminatory tone, the shield of alcohol starting to crumble away as his eyes glittered in the dark. “You don’t think I know how much a screw up I am. On how I keep on dragging you down? How much better off you’d be if I just let you go….”

“Let me go?” queried Dean in a tight whisper, fighting down the panic that his brother’s words had struck. “Why would you think that I would want you to…”

Sam shook his head and interjected as he fingered his cast absently with a bowed head unable to meet his brother’s questioning stare. “I do get it you know. That you wish it was someone else hunting by your side. You need someone as good as dad or Joshua. P’rhaps your buddy Anderson or even that asshole Walker. Hell you trusted him more after just a few minutes than you ever did me.”

“Sam that’s not true,” snapped back Dean trying to offset the lie with a hard edge to his voice. His brother was right, he had trusted Walker over Sam, and that feeling sat heavy in his stomach now. Things were all screwed up and he needed things to get back on track. Fast. “Look I know things got a little whacked for awhile but it’s sorting itself out now.”

I’m trying to sort myself out little brother. Don’t give up on me now. Please.

“Yeah” laughed Sam tonelessly. “Whacked.” He turned away from his brother, afraid to show any further weakness in front of him, quickly wiping the dribble of blood that touched his lips again away with his sleeve as he tried to straighten up.

The view of tombstones lining the route back to the highroad meant he could use them as handholds on the walk back. And he decided that was where he needed to be right now. Not having this little chat with his mad older brother who might just want to take another swing at him if he said another stupid thing.

With an unsteady gait he took his first steps away from Dean and managed to stay on his feet and again he prayed to the heavens for that small mercy. Not falling flat on his face right now would be good thing considering how mad Dean was with him yet again. Screwed it up enough today without embarrassing himself further.

“Where are you going now?” called Dean behind him, the exasperated tone in his voice only making his brother’s stride determinedly longer and quicker. “What the hell happened here?”

Sam paused and turned with a tentative frown as his brother clamped a hand on his shoulder forcibly and demanded again. “You can cut the stench of ozone with a knife – what did you do?”

With a slow sigh Sam stepped out of his brothers reach and spread his arms in a loose embrace of the cemetery. “Oh you know, usual crap. Angry spirit that needed a little nudge to move on…so I helped it kick it into touch. That’s all.”

Dean drew in a shaky breath, fighting the urge to vent once more. Sam before him was clamming up on him and he knew he had only himself to blame. “Come on dude, first thing it was madness to come in here alone what with your little psychic thing going on….”

”Oh yeah my ‘shining’.” and he laughed again but there was no joy in it. “Mustn’t call it what really it really is though? A fucked up curse that some demon laid on me and has managed to destroy everything every which way since… right?”

Dean flinched at the anger sparking off his brother determined to ignore any reference to the demon right now. “Look I know you can’t control your freaky mind thing but doing this, walking into this place alone, was just plain stupid. And I didn’t raise you to be one dumb assed brother…”

Sam didn’t respond, his mind following a different line of thoughts. “I thought if I did something good then it would balance itself out. And she really needed help.”

“Her Sammy?” asked Dean tersely, recalling their last spooky encounter with Angela and just how badly that had gone. “Running around with dead chicks is never a good thing. What the hell were you thinking of?”

“Chick? Is that what you think?” Sam’s mouth turned up slightly in small smile at the idea recalling her plump matronly figure and he waggled his finger in admonishment. “Mrs Pulaski was definitely not a chick Dean…show some respect please”

“Mrs Pulaski?”

“Yeah, Aniela Pulaski. She died of influenza way back when, along with the rest of the family.” He paused, fingering the top of the bulky tombstone before twisting round to park his backside on the top of it. “Sort got caught in limbo..”

Feeling the anger draining away from him he watched at his brother seemed to fold back up within and Dean found himself asking numbly. “Annie huh? You get nice and cosy on first names basis with some dead thing and not worry that you had no back up in place?”

“She was perfectly harmless …it was her husband who was the jerk.” Sam laughed as a memory hit him squarely between the eyes that not even the alcohol had dulled. The image of the very large, bullish spectral figure of Mr Pulaski squeezing past the bulk of his wife spitting venom desperate to strangle him was still very fresh. Painfully so.

Fingering his neckline he shook his head and turned away from his brother. “It was nothing Dean. Not as if this is the first time I had to face the odd spook or two on my own…I had years of practice remember?”

For a heartbeat Dean froze, wondering just how many times Sam had faced off against the supernatural on his own. He had assumed his brother’s years at Stanford had been a slice of normal life, spectral and demon free.

His tongue felt thick in his mouth as he brushed the too many questions filling his head with a scream and instead gruffly said. “Come on you idiot lets just get your sorry ass back to the car before something else decides to play patter-cake with your head!”

Sam didn’t initially resist as Dean pulled him up off the tombstone but then twisted out of his reach determined to walk back to the car under his own steam. It was humiliating enough that his brother had to find him like this in the first place. Not for the first time that night he wondered if staying with Candy might not have been the better option.

The silence was too loud as both brothers in the darkness emotionally started to shutdown. Too many words to say but both unwilling to speak them. It was only when the reached the cemetery wall that the silence was abruptly broken.

“Hey, whaddya know its still here. Cool,” crooned Sam as he spotted his still half full beer bottle in front of him.

Before Dean could snatch it away Sam had made a grab for it and took another swig then swung back to Dean with a wide grin. “Mrs P didn’t like me bringing the ‘demon drink’ into her graveyard, Dean, so she made me leave it here.”

“Sam I think you’ve had enough. Put the bottle down and get your drunken ass over to the car,” demanded Dean tersely, his annoyance building again as his brother continued to dance away from him. A drunk Sam was proving a very difficult brother to control.

Sam had halted at his brother’s voice and he pouted petulantly at the tone, and his eyes darkened as he tipped the bottle up defiantly again and finished the bitter brew in one long chug. Throwing a measured glance at his brother who looked ready to explode he carefully sat the empty bottle back down on the wall again. It wobbled a little then sat still with both brothers sets eyes fixed on it.

Sam let out a long sigh of relief when it didn’t topple to smash to the ground. If it fell he sensed that he would fall with it. And already he felt shattered inside enough.

Standing to his full height he shook his head sorrowfully at his older brother coming to a sudden realisation. “You know what I don’t think I want to get into your car right now. Think I’ll find me another beer and some friendly company instead…”

“Oh for Christ sake shut the hell up and just get to the car. Now.”

“Nope.” He really didn’t want to have to get back into that car. The car his brother had to rebuild, like his soul, after dad died.

Getting back into the impala was only another reminder of all his failures. The demon, the crash and later the price his father was forced to pay afterwards to save his brother. All because he didn’t kill the beast when his father had begged him. So, no he told himself he didn’t want to get back into that metal box of reminders that screamed his failures at him at every mile they went. Finding another beer and the likes of another Candy sounded a lot more appealing. Even if it was just for one respite night before the morning to come.

Dean watched the emotions flicker across his brother’s face and for a moment wondered just what the hell was pinging around inside his little brother’s head. The air was cold around them, and watching the slight shiver run through his brother’s lanky frame reminding him just how late the night was and it quickly reinforced his need to get his brother back to somewhere warm and get that cut on his forehead seen to.

“Come on,” he growled out in a warning, trying to grab his brother’s arm to haul him back to the roadside but was left frustrated at snatching only empty air as Sam lurched backwards. Fizzing with irritation he snapped. “Goddamit you little moron, stop acting up and get back to the damn car.”

Sam found his tongue and flung out an accusation. “Why? You’ll only scream at me all the way back to Ridlington about how I ruined your evening. Did you have plans with one of your latest little pickups that I might have ruined. Or where you meeting up with your latest best buddy again?”

“This is just the booze talking Sammy - best put a cork in it.”

“What? I can’t do what you do once in a while. Just have a few beers and find someone else to talk to.”

“If you means the likes of Candy then brother you are beyond naïve because talking was the last thing on her mind, believe me!” snapped back Dean any patience with his tipsy little brother waning rapidly.

“Yeah but she was nice to me.” Then wiith a rueful shake of his dark head he looked up with remorse filled eyes. “I didn’t even say thank you to her. For the food, for the beers. I should have stayed and…”

“She would have eaten you whole you idiot. Come on, let’s get you back to Ridlington and get you cleaned up. You’re going to feel like a big enough idiot in the morning as it is without wondering about what might have happened with scary Miss Goldilocks.”

“Your just jealous that I made some new friends…” retorted Sam, his head wobbling slightly as the events of the evening started to wear him down.

Dean laughed so loudly at his words that Sam’s head shot up straight again, his blue eyes mirrored his hurt at his brother’s reaction. “What? You think you’re the only one who can go out and make new friends…?”

“Seriously you and Candy? Next time you want to make new friends why not wander down to the nearest library and meet up with your fellow geeks instead. The likes of Candy and Shandy were never meant for a green hide youngster like you, boy!”

Sam seemed to stand straighter, his anger more visible on his face as he countered. “But they are for you? Is that it? I get that you don’t want me hanging around with you cramping your style so yeah I do what you ask, I stay away or remain invisible in the background so that you don’t have to be embarrassed by being seen with such a freak.”

Snorting defensibly Dean interrupting his brothers ramble. “I never said that college boy. You’re screwing with my words here.”

Sam shook his head and continued, stabbing a finger in the air to punch home his point. “You said it, you think me a freak, and god knows what the almighty Dean Winchester says must be true. So yeah I get it, I’m a monster in the making that you want to keep me hidden away.”

“Hell your no monster other than a big fat pain in the ass.. A geek yes, but no monster. So I want a little alone time is that a crime? Most times you hate the bars I go to anyway. Why would I drag you to them knowing that you’re going to sit there like you’ve been sucking on a lemon all day?”

He paused, desperate to see the familiar nod of understanding from his brother and when that didn’t come quickly added. “What the fuck have you been storing up in the scaring oversized head of yours? You need to sleep this off. Things won’t be so fucked up in the morning. You’ll see kiddo.”

Sam swayed, battling back the tears as the emotions of the day finally took hold. “You know, for one day, one night it felt actually real. At least to Candy I wasn’t so frigging invisible that when I walked down some rain pissed highway she didn’t want to stop for me.”

Pausing he shook his head tiredly as the burst of emotions left him spent as he whispered to himself. “How fucked up am I? Wanting to go back and do something so scary as have a few more beers and find someone real to talk too?”

Wiping a tired hand over his face Dean faced his brother and asked. “Jeez where is this all coming from Sammy? You meet some nasty girl who gets you drunk and suddenly she’s your newest BFF. Going back to the bar is the last thing that should be on your mind. Playing ghost-hunter on your own must have shaken out the last ounce of commonsense you ever possessed!”

With a smirk he added playfully, “Look if it’s really just a matter of a few beer and some girls I can rustle up plenty. But first you’ve got to get yourself sorted out. You can get some sleep and we can talk about it tomorrow.

Sam shook his head, ignoring his brother’s attempt to lighten the mood, as the emotions spilled out at frightening speed. “Talk. What us? Oh that’s funny. I couldn’t really manage that the other day could I when you told me on just how bad you felt. And you know what I don’t think you would have really wanted to listen even if I had said something to say. No wonder you have to run off to others.”

“Others?” queried Dean, wondering just where his brother was going with this whole barrel of angst. Trust Sammy to build up a damn of emotions that had to just flood out now when he was least ready to deal with them.

“Yeah. You know your lucky, never lost for words able to spill your guts out to your new ‘friends’ on what its like to have a freaky brother to drag around. Like you did with Walker….”

“Fuck you.” snapped Dean his heart hammering in his chest his fists tightly clenched at his sides, his brother’s attack of words hitting home to sharply and his patience finally snapped. “We’re not doing this right now. So for the last time get back to the freaking car or I’ll….”

“Or you what? Gonna hit me again till I do what you want?” Unsteadily he backed away from his brother shaking his head in refusal.

Dean blanched at the suggestion and the nugget of truth behind it, but then broke into big brother mode to eat up the yards between them in two long strides and grabbed his brother’s left arm. Proceeding to pull him after him he growled. “If I have to knock your block off little brother to get your sorry ass into the car then I will. But whatever way it plays itself out you’re getting in the car and I am driving as back to Ridlington. Got it?”

“Let me go,” growled Sam as he felt himself being dragged forwards towards the wall, twisting and pulling against his brother’s iron grip without any success.

On reaching the cemetery’s edge Dean swung his legs over the waist high wall to the other side and then tried to pull his reluctant brother after him.

Perhaps it was the inner rage wanting to spill out, still stung by his brother’s home truths, but he pulled too hard and Sam’s hips and long legs smacked against the wall. Yelping in surprise at the bruising impact Sam pushed his brother away from him, a divide greater than any stone wall keeping them apart. He tottered upright and winced, his bright eyes lit up with accusation. “That …..hurt!”

Biting down a frisson of guilt at seeing his brother wincing in pain Dean tried to reach out for him again. “Damn it little brother…just hop over the wall and I promise you that everything will be okay. You can scream and rant as much as you like, and maybe I deserve some of it, but right now were getting back to the car. Okay!”

He waited for a response but all the got was a flicker of hesitation on his brother’s face and suddenly it was all too much for him to try and negotiate around and deftly he snatched back at Sam.

Grabbing a fistful of his jacket desperate to end this little act of defiance from his younger sibling he said smoothly, masking his irritation. “Come on over you go sweetheart.”

Sighing his defeat Sam let himself be swung over the barricade, his long legs clearing the height with ease. For a moment he rested against the wall watching with defeated eyes as his brother dug around for his car keys, before having them shook under his nose, demanding his compliance.

The jangling of the keys denied him any further say in the matter, telling him it was time to do what big brother said and get in that stupid car. Years of being the youngest sibling had left its mark and he nodded his understanding. This was one lost battle his weary body had already caved into.

With a sigh he started to follow after him but the rattle of glass against stone caught his ears and he swung back to see the beer bottle he had so carefully placed on the wall start to topple away and with a small grunt of effort instinctively he reached out to stop it falling.

With long arms he snatched forwards in a small stumble, but his feet tripped awkwardly over his undone laces. As he fell forwards all he could think of as the bottle defied his reach and smashed on the other side of the wall was that ‘Mrs Pulaski would have been so pissed’ before his head rushed forwards to smack against the stone.

Dean had turned at hearing the small grunt come from his brother to watch wide-eyed in disbelief as Sam seemed to smack head first into sharp edge of the wall before dissolving into a boneless heap at its base. With his brother’s name a sharp cry on his lips he dashed forwards, angry with himself for letting this happen when it had been his job to protect his brother. Though he had never imagined it would have been against himself.

With his heart yammering in his mouth he quickly rolled his brother away from the stone to lay his inert form on the grassy surround. Brushing aside the too long hair he swore under his breath at a new lump just off centre on his forehead becoming visible, an opposite wound to the small gash on his right temple.

“Sam,” he called softly, lifting each eyelid to check his pupils, just thankful that although sluggish both appeared equal.

“Sam” he called again. “Come on little brother wake up. This is no time to take a nap.” He felt his eyes prickle with tears and pulled his brother into his lap. “I’m sorry kiddo. Some fucking big brother I’ve been today. I’ll sort this out. I promise.”

He dreamt. Of a memory so fresh it pealed itself across his inner eyelid in Technicolor. Of would have done if the night hadn’t been so dark.

The ghost still held his hand, cold fingers leeching the heat from this palm, pulled forward by her determined gait so that next found himself in the middle of the old disused cemetery standing before a block of stone.

“Here. It is here,” she whispered excitedly in his ear and stood aside as he swung the light from the small pocket torch onto the dark stone. ‘Pulaski’ he muttered under his breath, noting the four names chiselled out on the grave marker.

“Aniela Pulaski” answered the woman at his side longingly. “We have been forgotten for so long. ”

Shimmering to the side of the overgrown graveside she looked lovingly at the names, white bony fingers tracing their outline. My babies are here. Georgy and Katrine. So small, so afraid. And here - Dimitri my husband..” Jet black eyes glittered with tears. “We have been invisible for an age young man. With your eyes were are no longer forgotten.”

Fidgeting under her gaze Sam looked around the graveyard and shrugged his shoulders “So Mrs Pulaski I don’t mean to put a downer on all of this, but what next?”

The discomfort that had been growing in his mind was starting to scream at him that he must be crazy, standing here alone in a graveyard with a ghost, no salt or holy water at hand readying to do battle with what sounded like a very angry spirit indeed.

His big brother would whack the back of his head good and proper if he ever found out about it. Stifling a giggle he shook his head. ‘What Dean doesn’t know about can’t harm him….right?’

Aniela looked up at the tall boy, a flicker of surprise on her face at the soft giggles that escaped his lips. “Son, please, Dimitri will come soon. Already I hear him shouting. You have to be ready…”

“Aniela” boomed a voice behind Sam that had him literally jump in the air in fright. “What are you doing? Who is this boy?”

Sam turned wide-eyed to see the slowly coalescing form of Mr Pulaski snake itself towards the graveside and to him. Taking an unsteady step backwards he put up his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey Mr Pulaski…..nice to meet you.”

At eyeballing the steadily increasing bulky figure Sam guessed that this might not have been his wisest move that night. The urge to turn tail and run suddenly seemed such a good option, but the cold fingers of Aniela had other ideas as they pressed his hand in a tight squeeze and he felt himself rooted to the spot under her touch.

“Who is he? demanded Dimitri again, “Why is he here. He will not take my children Aniela. No one will.”

The air sparked around him in warning and Sam felt the hairs on his arms and necks rise. Behind the spectre were two smaller figures, silently and slowly come into visible form and Aniela gasped out loud at his side. “Georgy? Katrine? Oh my god, my babies.”

She flew from Sam’s side in a desperate rush to meet her children but Dimitri blocked her path and threw her to the ground. “No,” he screamed. “You left. Left me. You cannot have them back. They are mine. I will not leave them alone like you did.”

The air grew thick and tainted with ozone and Sam found his head swimming as Aniela managed to get back up on her knees. “Please Dimitri. You have to know the truth. I did not leave you. The sickness took us. It took us all. Why can’t you remember and let us all be free?”

“You lie. You left us. And now you think you can come back and take my children from me.” Aniela struggled to her feet but he threw her down again and she shrieked with a century of long suppressed grief.

Clapping his hands over his ears to buffer out the scream Sam staggered to the edge of the graveside in retreat. Sensing his movement Aniela jerked up right and shouted hotly at her husband. “If you do not stop this Dimitri then our children’s suffering will never end. Each day they wait in the darkness and know no relief. Each day I walk in the shadows and cannot touch them. Please husband. Just See.”

Sam watched the two spirits battle it out with almost a detached eye as his focus was now firmly on the two young children huddled together in the darkness, fear clearly rippling off them as their parents battled. Finding his voice he tried to make the older ghost understand. “Hey Mr Pulaski. You and your family died from the Spanish Influenza almost a century ago. Mrs P is right, its time to find some peace dude.”

“You are nothing to my family. Be gone.” snapped Dimitri not amused at the glib tone coming from the younger mand and Sam found himself being flung backwards to have the wind knocked out of him as his back met the flat face of a tombstone.

“No Dimitri,” screamed Aniela stepping in between Sam and her husband. “Do not hurt the boy. He comes only to help you.”

“He comes to take my children,” hurled Dimitri back and the winds howled in a swirl around them, agitated by his distress. Aniela tried to brace herself against the onslaught determined to defend her young charge no matter what as her husband continued to rant. “Neither of you can have them.”

“Please Dimitri open your eyes. You live in the darkness and yet you tell me you cannot see what he is? See his brightness? Not taste the life pouring from him? It is something we all lost so long ago.”

Sam stood up, firmly and nodded his understanding to Aniela, wobbling slightly on his feet as he wagged a finger admonishingly at the irate ghost. “See I am not dead Mr Pulaski. But you are. Well and truly dead. Just like the proverbial dodo!”

Dimitri Pulaski barrelled past his wife and snatched at Sam’s throat snarling at the boy’s words. “If I am dead then how can I squeeze the life out of you?”

Gasping for breath Sam struggled under the freezing fingers but still managed to snort a derisory response. “That’s because you’re a nasty mean spirited ghost you asshole!”

He knew that he should have been frightened half to death but none of this ghostly domestic felt real. Vaguely he could hear Aniela screaming in the background, a mixture of fractured English and Polish, a cacophony of sound that made his teeth ache. And then he felt the familiar gush of warmth spread from his nose over his lip. A nose bleed. Now? Oh, just frigging great!

Dimitri’s hands might have stayed around his captive’s neck but for the droplet of the most violent red that seared his eyes as it splashed in to the crook of his thumb. It held its own vibrancy, bright ruby coloured, viscous and real. A colour he had not seen for an age.

It scored his eyes as he locked onto another splash on his hands, a little droplet of scarlet bright in the dark night that spoke of life. Of living. Of something that he had lost. And then he could hear his wife calling and new the awful truth.

“Dimitri Uwierz mi! Do not do this. For all our souls sake stop this. I never left you, Kocham Cie. Wierz mu, trust me.

Sam twisted away as Dimitri’s hands started to lift from his throat, and he was just thankful that the sensation around his neck had loosened to just a feathers touch and he could breathe free air again. Absently he guessed that the combined efforts of his wife’s and his own words and presence must have hit their mark.

Snuffling back the nose bleed he watched cautiously as the older man drew away and like a balloon losing air fast the ghost before him started to shrink as it turned as if magnetised towards his wife. Soon the once orbital satellites of Katrine and Georgy, no longer hesitant, spun back to their parents and Aneila was once again able to hug them to her.

Fascinated, not for the first time experiencing such a release, Sam watched as the ghostly forms started to dissolve and lose their gravitational connection to the earth. He heard a whisper on the wind as Aneila last words reached his ears.

“Forgive him. He was a good man in life. A good father, a good husband. He only feared the passing for our children. He sees it all now and we can go now. Prosze.”

And then as if puffs of steam they simply evaporated into the night air and he was once again well and truly alone. Feeling as deflated as Dimitri he struggled for a moment just to stand upright.

Then the one clarifying thought that had lingered with him all evening resurfaced and he found himself desperate to get back to the road. Back to his brother. He had promised to stay by the roadside and god was his brother going to be pissed if he found him in here. Anxiously he spun around, letting the thin beam of his torch pick out the way forwards.

What he didn’t count on was on his first step back to the road was to trip over his undone laces to send him head first into a heavy slab of stone.

Now why did he have a weird feeling of déjà vu he asked himself as he heard his brother calling his name out once again. He awoke with the memory of the weirdest dream just finishing in his head and all he wanted to do was fall back into it and ignore the voice calling out to him. But the voice was persistent, soft and urgent and not even the pain yammering in his skull could stop him from opening his eyes to meet the sound.

“Sam?” asked Dean again, watching with a relieved sigh as his brother slowly started to come to. The longest minute was finally ending and he hugged his brother to him in relief.

“Hey Dean, I’m sorry,” came the muffled response from Sam as he spoke into his brother’s chest, “Ya think I’m going to have a headache tomorrow?”

“Maybe Sammy, but it will be alright. I promise.”

A/N:  Hands in the air with confession time but my Polish is as non-existent as is my ability to read ancient text, speak in alien tongues or spout Latin!
This is all googled and is more than likely laughably bad as to be good!   Rough translations follows:

Prosze. – Thank you.
Kocham Cie - I love you.
Uwierz mi – Believe me.
Wierz mu – Trust him.

The cold from the ground quickly leeched the warmth from his backside and it galvanised him into action. “Come on bros we have to get up.” he argued softly. Sam chose to ignore him by closing his eyes and letting himself fall back weakly into his lap with a resisting groan.

Dean realised his brother was not going to get his butt off the ground anytime soon and wriggled out from under him with a muttering of soft curses as Sam still refused to do anything but lie there.

On getting back on his feet he would have laughed at the scene if it wasn’t for the fact that it was his younger brother lying on the ground and not some small town drunken kid doing a Saturday night special.

Alcohol and a head injury rang warning bells in his head, but when he had checked both pupils were equal and reactive and that was always a good sign. He was just more drunk than anything else and would be suffering for it in the morning. The best thing he could do for his brother was to let him sleep this one off. Once he got him back to the motel he could monitor him closer there.

Decision made he bent down and tried to raise his younger sibling up but he was a dead weight in his arms and he fell back down again with gentle thud to the ground. As his brother flopped easily back on the grass Dean, not for the first time, cursed his brother’s too long frame heavy in his hands. “Jeez kid you’re gonna give me a hernia at this rate. Think of the family jewels dude!”

Awkwardly he tried adjusting his position, fisting his brother’s jacket between his hands and bracing his legs apart for leverage and then with one quick jerk he snatched his brother upright.

As his brother’s limp frame shot upwards the momentum sent them into a slow backwards dance that Dean struggled desperately against. His way too tall brother’s weight was threatening to bring them both down and the air soon turned blue as Dean swore true to form fighting the gravitational pull so hard that his muscles burned as they both teetered dangerously close the cemetery wall again.

Just when he thought gravity would win over the pull stopped and a voice whispered above him. “What yer doing Dean?”

Sam was once again awake, staring down at him confusedly, feet thankfully supporting his own weight, wondering why his brother looked so pissed.

Dean blew out a breath in relief, because an awake Sam had to be easier to manage now and as long as he could put one foot in front of the other he could get him back to the impala. “We’re going for a little drive.”

“Okay,” responded Sam voluntarily, letting his brother guide him forwards with an arm cinched tightly around his waist. “You gonna drive?”

“Don’t think a klutz like you is in any fit state to drive,” rebuked Dean as he opened the passenger door. Sam seemed to slip into the seat as if all the bones in his body had melted and Dean had to stop him from slum dunking his head against the dashboard.

“What is it with you trying to bash your brains out tonight?” he groused sourly as he pulled the seatbelt as a guard over his brother’s chest but his words fell on to deaf ears as Sam curled his head away and drifted off back to sleep.

On gunning up the engines he let out a tired sigh of relief, thankful for small mercies. A drunk Sam rambling all the way back to the motel was not his idea of fun.

He ate up the miles along the road blindly, chewing over in his mind all the words Sam had stung him with earlier. From Walker to Anderson he kept on pushing his brother away and knew that one day if he didn’t learn how to let him back in then his brother would eventually walk away.

Sam frighteningly was strong enough to do that. Leave him if he had to. Hell he had done it before in the past and would do it again in the future unless he learnt to control this bitter rage eating him up inside pushing his brother aside. He had lost him for four years before because of their stubborn pride, and Sam’s reminder that he had learnt to cope on his own had bitten deeply.

A green naïve 17 year old had left home, left him and dad, and despite their expectations that he would come running back to them when real life snapped around and bit him on the ass he had managed to survive alone to grow stronger and resolutely independent of their umbrella of control.

It was a different Sam he had faced in Palo Alto, more assured and secure within himself. Hell he had four years away from his family to mature and change into a man he now sometimes struggled to connect with and understand. And deep down a part of him hated him for it, because he shouldn’t have made it so easily without him, he should have come home as expected and kept him whole.

As he watched his brother doze in his seat he could see the damage done to his brother tonight visible on his face but knew that if he looked closer he would find a years’ worth of pain also beneath it. But that was something he didn’t really want to have to think about right now, instead he turned on the radio and blasted out a wall of sound to drown out his thoughts.

By the time the impala swung into the parking lot of the motel Sam had revived enough to sit there face scrunched up in disgust at the noise. Already the headache from hell was rearing its ugly head, and fingers had found fresh lumps on his head that he couldn’t remember having there that morning.

Dean at seeing him awake eyes snapped off the radio noting the grey complexion of his brother. “You better not be thinking about puking in my car brat. You hear me?”

Sam nodded mutely and struggled out of his seatbelt just as Dean opened the passenger door hauling him upright again and started the short walk over to their room, with the bright neon back wash from the motel’s large welcome sign lighting their way.

Sam looked at his brother, feeling the need to break the silence but only started to giggle inanely on glancing down at his brother. “Dean, you’re all glowy and green. Just like Mr Burns….”

His long fingers reached out trying to touch the neon light mapping his brother’s face, thinking it funny that Dean hadn’t noticed this before. A hand slapped his fingers away and he blinked hard before he asked with a wide bright smile. “Hey… am I all shiny too Dean. Am I?”

When Dean merely grunted he took that as a positive. “Yay, we’re both green. Just like the Hulk. You remember the Hulk Dean, don’t ya? His pants never split. Never. He should have been running around butt naked cos’ no way was Dr Banner’s skinny pants gonna fit the Hulk. Am I right Dean. Not gonna fit….no way.”

Rolling his eyes Dean he muttered under his breath. “Oh God I may just end up smothering him with a pillow if he keeps this up all night.”

With one arm still firmly round his brother’s waist he managed to open the motel door and pulled Sam into the room, growling his displeasure.

“Are you mad at me?” asked Sam questioningly as Dean pushed him deliberately onto the bed. “Why are you mad?”

Dean cut off his brother with a curt response, hoping that his brother wouldn’t keep pushing the issue like he normally did. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“But it’s all messy…” he paused suddenly looking at his hands in the semidarkness” Hey we’re not green anymore. Where’d it go?”

“Jeezuz will you put a sock in it. You were never green. It was the hotel light you dork.”

“What do you want to talk about tomorrow?” asked Sam abruptly, seeming to be playing catch up two steps behind with the conversation. He looked up at his brother earnestly, eager to make that connection with him. “We could talk now. Do you want to know about Candy. She kept squeezing me …”

His exasperation with his brother growing, Dean snapped back harshly. “Look I could give a rats ass about wanting to know about you having your bits touched up by a slutty piece of trailer trash right now. Its late, I’m tired and this can all wait till tomorrow. Got it?”

Sam blinked hard, nodding once biting down on his bottom lip as he hid his eyes from view. ‘Tomorrow’ was his brother’s way of telling him to shut the hell up, he told himself and guessed he must be annoying him again.

Whatever energy that had galvanised him into action since waking in the car seemed to drain out of him as his mind muddled over his brother’s warning words. Time to shut up again. Dean didn’t want any chick-flick moments he reminded himself trying to rein in the tumble of emotions swirling in his head Absently he fingered the lump on his forehead and wondered once again why it throbbed the way it did.

Out of habit Dean, seeing the pain flicker across his brother’s face inspected his head a little too roughly perhaps as he jerked his face from side to side examining the small clotting wound on the right temple till Sam pulled back with a muffled ‘Ouch.’

He huffed with relief when he saw that it wouldn’t need stitches, and the lump on his other temple seemed to be just that - a lump. Nothing too sinister going on, nothing that a good nights sleep wouldn’t cure. Or a stern talking to in the morning wouldn’t set straight.

Dammit, the kid had been lucky this time. But the next time it could be something worse than a hangover and a bruised forehead. Next time luck may not play any part in it. No, he told himself, there would be no ‘next time’. Sam had to get with the programme and stop being so reckless. Going off on his own was no longer an option.

Sam felt his brother leave his side only to return to shove a couple of painkillers into his hand followed by a glass of water. Nodding his thanks he decided to hold his tongue. It would be better to deal with his angry older brother later when his scalp didn’t feel like it was going to peel of his head or his stomach turn itself inside out.

Kicking off his shoes and shrugging out of his jacket he slumped down onto the bed and rolled on to his side. The view of the grey walls were a whole lot more appealing than the angry scowl marring his brother’s face right now. Tiredly his eyes danced over the swirling lilac pattern in the wallpaper till his lids grew too heavy and sleep claimed him.

He didn’t feel the blanket being pulled up over him to offset the chill in the room. Or notice the ministrations of gentler fingers wiping away with a damp cloth the trail of dried blood down the side of his face, or feel how his fringe was lifted from his forehead as his brother studied him momentarily in sleep, happy that for now he was safe.

Nor did he hear softly whispered words as Dean leant over him to switch off the bedside lamp. “Night Sammy.”

The overwhelming sensation of thirst drew from dreams to pull him slowly awake. He swallowed dryly, his tongue felt thick in his mouth and the need for water was all consuming. His whole body yearned for it and his eyes slowly opened trying to figure out how to achieve that goal.

Then another sensation made itself known. Sound. Instinctively his ears pricked up as a familiar voice murmured in the background, but what caught his attention fully was the resolute sound of a door shutting, and then the room was quiet again.

“Dean?” he called out faintly, a flutter of panic sitting in his stomach when there was no response. Ignoring the pain in his head he rolled off his back and managed to sit up only to feel the room spinning crazily at the movement. “Whoa man,” he told himself, “This is so not good.”

Cradling his aching head in his hands, he fought down the bile rising up his throat and once again was reminded of his desperate need for rehydration. It was too dark to see clearly and he let a hand fumble outwards searching for the bedside lamp. Fingers brushed against something solid, found the switch and managed to turn on the lamp.

Blinking against the bright light he twisted around, and saw the familiar dingy hotel room that they had booked into the night before. Nothing had changed. The room looked the same as he had left it that morning, but he couldn’t understand why his head felt like someone had been playing football with it.

The familiar rumble of the impala engines sent his mind whirling into action and he staggered upright stumbling in an unsteady gait across the room to pull the curtain aside only to see the car pulling away. “Dean…?” He whispered out loud. But his brother was gone before he could even begin to wonder why.

Groaning softly, ignoring the pain slicing through this skull, he tried to figure out what was happening, casting a bleary look around to see if his brother had left a note. Nothing. The only thing that he could be certain of was that his brother had left him behind.

He sank down into a hard backed chair and pressed his fingers against his temples pushing back the thumping in his head, desperately trying to recall what had happened during the night.

Images, fuzzy and jumbled, flickered in and out of sight Of strange girls and beer. Of a graveyard, a scared woman and a large Polish man wanting to strangle him for some reason only to evaporate as quickly as he had become solid. But most worryingly of all was remembering at just how pissed off his brother had been with him.

This was not good at all. Had he made Dean leave? Was he really that mad at him?

Swallowing hard he knew that he had to find out where his brother had gone and try to repair whatever damage he must have done. Perhaps he’d just gone off to unwind somewhere, but at squinting at his clock on the wall that hope faded. It was well past 2am and his brother would be hard pressed to find anything open at this time in the morning.

Despite the wobble in his legs he struggled upright. Wincing as both a headache and the throb of his broken arm reminded him of a day of events that he would sooner rather forget he fumbled around for his phone in his jean pocket only to find it dead, another reminder of just how fucked up his life was becoming.

‘Great’, he growled to himself in disgust, “Just frigging great.’ The motel room had no phone and he dressed himself as best he could, managing along the way to have that much needed glass of water, which he kept down despite the threatened rebellion from his stomach.

For a moment he wondered about the benefits of some painkillers but the thought of swallowing them made the nausea worse and he quickly put that thought aside. Also he needed to remain sharp he told himself, and the warm coddling affects of the painkillers were not what he needed right now.

Still battling away the fuzzy edges that kept creeping into the edges of his vision he made it to the door without tripping, and growing more confident he quickly stepped aside. He gasped in surprise at just how cold the air was at it wrapped around him.

Huddling into his cotton jacket he paused, trying to concentrate on what he had to do. Nodding to himself, he started on his way. The first thing was to get to a phone, find out where Dean had gone and finally, most importantly, not screw up more than he had already.

“You’re a mess man,” warned Dean as he guided Ben back to the impala. Reaching into the trunk he hauled out a towel to give to the older man. “Don’t ruin my upholstery dude. I didn’t spend weeks putting my baby back together for you to bleed out all over her.”

The shorter stockier man gave a wry weak grin, pulling the towel tightly over his left forearm, stemming the flow of blood to a manageable level, limping over to the passenger door as his torn up knee protested each step. “Thanks for coming Winchester. My rides a frigging write off.”

“But you got the sucker first, right?” asked Dean, really not wanting to have to go finish the job right now.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorted man. Bastard didn’t like me much though and decided to take a few chunks out of me before I dusted it.” Wiping a shaky hand over his face he added, “Man, I must have passed out from the blood loss or something, cos next thing I know I’m sitting in a ditch and the car’s totalled.”

“This was real dumb dude.” responded Dean casting a quick eye over the older hunter. “If this was a two man job you should have waited. Next time I won’t be around to bail out your sorry ass.”

“Yeah,” laughed the older man harshly. “Though bitch if I remember rightly you owe me a couple of favors, and this is my way of collecting one of them! Don’t want you to feel beholden to me all your life boy.”

Dean smirked and slammed the trunk shut and walked over to the wrecked car quickly, crowbar in hand. It took awhile to jimmy the mashed up trunk open and then it took longer than he cared for to clear it out, but he owed the man too much not to help him now.

When Anderson had called he knew it was urgent, nothing else would have made his old friend ring at such a late hour. Weighing up the situation as best he could he decided that to rouse Sam, get him dressed and ready for travel was time his friend could ill afford.

Time was at a premium, especially if the local law enforcement became involved. God knows the last thing any hunter needed was having their arsenal of weapons and other paraphernalia up to L.E.O. inspection. Funnily enough, he thought wryly to himself, with those pesky gun laws and local bylaws coming into play, jail time always seemed to follow such visits.

It hadn’t been too hard a choice to make because his little brother had been well and truly out for the count, and judging from how deeply he seemed to be sleeping he would remain that way for sometime to come if he had to hazard a guess.

Sam and alcohol were potent mixture for sleep it appeared, and he stored that fact away for the future reference.

Still it was not a natural choice leaving him alone like that and he could kick himself now for leaving in such hurry that he hadn’t thought to leave a note for him just in case he did wake up. For a moment he wondered about ringing him but quickly put that aside. It would only cause more hassle than it was worth, best leave Sam sleeping it off, he told himself.

With the last of Anderson’s stuff crammed into the impala’s trunk he started on the short ride to the hospital. A cursory glance at his friend had shown him enough to know that he would need more than a few stitches to fix the mess he had gotten himself into this time. Hospital time beckoned.

Tiredly he swung the car round and gunned it back down the highway, chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip. Sam would be okay, he told himself. Not even the wailing of the dead would wake him up tonight, and those once relentless nightmare since Jessica seemed to have settled, so yeah he’d be fine. So his inner consciousness whispered in his ear again, ‘So why the hell are you worrying over him again.’

Wincing in his seat, trying to find any degree of comfort Anderson cast a glance over at his unnaturally silent driver. From their meeting the other night he had managed to wheedle out just how devastating John’s death was proving for the younger hunter, but knew that eventually he would be able to deal with it and get back on track. Dean Winchester was a born fighter and would learn to overcome the loss. Hell that’s what they all did, at some point or another. Hunting wasn’t made for the weak hearted.

Trying to break the silence Anderson asked with a knowing wink. “So did I interrupt anything earlier!”

Dean cocked an eyebrow, “Wouldn’t you like to know old man.”

He tapped a beat absently against the steering wheel his gaze fixed firmly once again on the road. Ten minutes to the hospital he calculated. Drop and run might take another fifteen minutes and then another thirty minutes to tail it back to Sammy. Too long a time. His foot pushed heavier on the gas pedal and the car slammed forward screaming down the highway.

Anderson raised an eyebrow at the dramatic increase in speed. “Jeez dude I must be worse than I thought!” casting a dramatic eye over himself to locate any other hurts that he might have missed. “You want to get me to the hospital alive, I’ve already done driving into the ditch thing tonight.”

“Yeah well I’ve got to get back to my brother, I left him alone.” responded Dean distractedly.

“Thought you said he was pain in the ass and didn’t need you babying him anymore.” He threw back Dean’s back words to him from the night before and saw the younger man visibly flinch. “Hey sorry, touched a nerve there or what?”

“Yeah well the idiot sort of ran into a bit of trouble himself tonight.”

“What sort of trouble?”

Shaking his head Dean tried to end the conversation. “It’s a long story man….”

“So give me the abridged version then. Not like I don’t need something to take my mind away from my busted kneecap and chewed up arm is there? And you look stressed out man. Go on and make an old man happy and spill the beans about this irritating little brother of yours,” he demanded.

Laughing at his friend’s insistence Dean knew that once Ben got something in his sights he would never stop pushing. Taking a deep breath he surprised himself at the speed the words started to rush out of his mouth.

“The stupid kid got wasted. Totally ape-shit wasted. He went off to the next freaking town to have his busted arm fixed, which oh by the way did I mention he broke at our last gig – two days ago.” He turned his head to his friend to show his disbelief. “Two whole freaking days.”

“Wow” muttered Anderson a little taken aback by the anger in his friend’s voice.

“Then the idiot decides to mix painkillers with beer, gets picked up by some scary ass woman who tried to batter each other senseless in a fight over him. He makes for the hills and when I finally get him on his cell the idiot tells me that he’s lost. I tell him to stay put but no he has to wander off and hits his head. Not once, but frigging twice. So yeah, you could say that I am little stressed right now because sometimes being a big brother well and truly sucks….”

He took in a long breath and waited for Ben to respond but on stealing a glimpse over to his passenger saw the older man huddled over with suppressed laughter at his outburst despite his obvious pain.

Struggling for breath Ben caught Dean’s scowl and waving his good hand in his friend’s direction to offset any offence he managed to stutter out. “Oh thank god I was an only child.”

Everything was in shadows beyond the brightly lit motel road sign and once again the dim lighting made for an uneasy companion as he walked down towards the town square.

‘All I want is one working phone in this dead beat town’, he begged the heavens, but it seemed that the idle youth of Ridlington took delight in vandalising any phone booth they could get their hands on. The last one didn’t even have a phone attached anymore.

When he reached the tatty small town square he sat down on a frost covered wooden bench wearily thinking over his options. On his trek for that elusive phone his memories of earlier kept resurfacing and now he was left wondering if he really wanted to be facing his brother again so soon.

A flush of embarrassment crept over his pale cheeks at the memories of Candy and her friend’s octopus hands. The bruises on his butt cheeks weren’t just from falling down he recalled. And Dean had told him that he had met Candy. Oh God his life was over. Dean would never ever let him live this one down. Ever.

The memories churned his delicate stomach and before he knew it he had spewed his guts over the ground in one long gush. Wiping the spittle away with the back of his hand he felt surprisingly a little better. But the banging in his head still played out a fearsome tune.

Angry with himself he pushed himself upright again and decided to retrace his steps back to the motel. Defeat was heavy on his shoulders, once again reminded of just how screwed up his life had become.

He felt more alone than he had ever thought possible now. It was worse than when he had left for California five years back. At least then he could still dream that one day things would be made right with him and his family.

But now there wasn’t that luxury of hope. Dad was gone and Dean deep down knew the reasons behind that. Those odd flicker of resentment he could see in his brother’s sideway glances would soon become hate filled given enough time. He just didn’t know any more how to reach out and stop it from happening, or even if he deserved to try.

Even if his brother did come back it felt like he had already lost him, and there didn’t seem a thing he could do or say now to stop it.

The crunch of the frost beneath his feet broke the silence as he walked along the deserted main road. Slowly, counting under his breath each successful step forwards he made his way back to the motel, ignoring the odd car that sped passed him, headlights blinding in the darkness. None of them had that familiar thrum of an oversized engine eating gas at an insane rate. None of them were Dean.

Turning the corner to the motel he was brought up short as the neon sign flickered light on a familiar sight. Sitting in the parking lot was the impala. Frowning he walked up to it, felt the bonnet warm under his cold fingers, and turned questioningly to the motel room wondering if Dean would be inside readying to chew his ass out again. Or was he just readying to leave again?

Then against the flickering light his eyes widened. On the door handle clear fingerprints crimson against the chrome stood out. Blood. His brother’s blood?

Galvanised into action his long legs ignored the scream in his head at the too fast movement and he chewed up the short distance between the car and the motel room in seconds

“Dean?” he called out as the door swung open before he could reach it.

“Sam?” called back Dean in return, and his hands snaked out to grab him and pull him into the room in a spin. “Where the hell have you been?”

The fact was that when he had walked back into the motel room only moments before to find his baby brother missing his world had bottomed out and the cold dark feeling of panic had taken over. Seeing him standing there a few seconds later had been a prayer answered.

“There was no phone. Not one. I really tried but none of them worked…I’m sorry…..” answered a bewildered Sam.

“You went out walking alone in the bloody dark to find a frigging phone Are you nuts?” asked Dean hotly. Just what would it take to keep his brother from wandering off today? “You’ve already had enough fun for one night, why the hell couldn’t you just stay put for once?”

“You went. I thought…” He didn’t finish as his mouth suddenly dropped open in a silent ‘Oh’ as his eyes latched on to the smudges of red on his brother’s jacket and t-shirt.

Plucking at his jacket he could smell the blood in the air and anxiously he asked. “Oh god what happened? Who hurt you?” Panic took over as Sam continued to clutch wide eyed at his jacket, the stale blood smearing his long fingers, all the while trying to find out visually where his brother had been hurt.

Hands pulled him away from the jacket and his brother’s voice broke through the hissy fit of white noise scrambling around in his head. “Sam, its not mine. Ben Anderson got into an accident. I had to take him to the hospital. It’s not mine. Okay?”

He wanted to nod his understanding and relief but the pounding in his head grew too intense and the need to escape the tang of copper became overwhelming. Pushing away from his brother he lurched into the bathroom managing to find the sink before his guts heaved again.

Firm hands finally drew him up again, and firm hands guided him back to the bed.

“You okay now?” asked Dean, readying the waste paper basket just in case. His hand felt his forehead, and realised just how cold his little brother was. “How long you been out there little brother wandering around on your lonesome?”

“You left Dean. I didn’t know why,” countered a defeated Sam.

“Yeah I know I should have left you a note,” answered Dean, wrapping a blanket around his brother’s shivering form. “You were meant to sleep through this all. Trust you to do the exact opposite kiddo.”

“Sorry…”

“Stop saying that. Things will be okay. You’ll see.” He drew his brother back onto the bed with no resistance and cosseted him tightly in some more blankets.

Tired eyes stared back at him and Sam whispered. ““No Dean. I really am as I don’t think I can never make it right for you. Not now. You know Dad loved you so much, right? Totally. You were the reason for fighting the demon. For family.”

Dean frowned, wondering what was eating up his little brother. “He loved as both little brother. He may not have said it too many times but he did.”

“Not the same though. You were the before times, the happy times. You were what family meant. Always to dad.”

“Sam you were always a part of that too…”

“No, not like you. I was the reason why he had to fight. Not the reason for fighting.”

“You must have banged your head harder than I thought,” huffed Dean wishing that he had never instigated this conversation. The pain radiating from his brother was something he didn’t feel equipped to deal with right now. “Get some sleep and things will be less screwed up in the morning.”

Sam shook his head, ignoring the throbbing in his skull, and mumbled. “It was different with me and dad, and you know I’m okay with that now. I think I understand why it was so easy for him to not want me in his life for four years. Let me go like that…”

“Easy, is that what you think? You left us, dad told you stay and you left,” reminded Dean, battling down the anger at the memories it evoked.

Sam sighed and tried to pull away, to feign sleep if needs be than to get into another argument with his brother right now, but Dean shook his shoulder and he could not refuse as he asked. “Do you think it was easy for dad to watch you go, to not know if you were safe each waking day? ”

Curling tighter into himself Sam struggled not to let the tears fall. It would be easier to sleep than have to admit just how stripped raw he was right now. “We both know it would have been different if it had been you wanting to leave him.”

Dean shook his head hotly in denial. “Don’t say that. He would have been just as pissed if I did what you did…”

Fighting down the pain in his head and the incessant throbbing from his arm Sam sighed before answering. “No, four years without you would have killed him Dean. He needed you just like you needed him. You were always the perfect son for him.”

“Damn it, that’s not fair,” responded Dean, his eyes clouding brightly with unshed tears at hearing the defeat in his little brother’s tired voice.

“It’s not meant to be fair. Love never is. Don’t you see that he loved you liked that. No grey areas in between. There was this balance you two had, the perfect hunters, the perfect team. You were so attuned to each other it was scary at times to watch. He saw you, spoke with you, wanted you by his side.”

Wiping away a tear Sam snuffled deeper into the blanket turning away from his brother as he added. “Dad only paid any attention to me after Farnborough when I screwed up enough for him to shout at me. And I’ll tell you a little secret - I would deliberately set him off so that at least he would notice me for a time. It must have been nice not to have been so freaking invisible with him.”

“You really felt like that all that time? That he kept you sidelined? That he was never interested in you?” asked Dean, seeing his brother differently, wondering what else he had been storing up for all those long years apart. “You’re a bigger idiot than I ever gave you credit for if you believe that dad didn’t love you fiercely Sam. God he was so proud of you…he would have told you himself given half the chance you jerk.”

Sam shook his head. “I already know its too little too late for me with him. And I get it now, that I can never fix what went wrong with him and me.”

Dean’s heart froze at the reminder of those words he had flung at his brother a month or so ago. “Sam…”

His brother turned round to meet his gaze. His blue eyes dark with unshed tears. “This isn’t about me Dean. Its about you and dad and I’m sorry that I couldn’t keep that safe for you. And I know that you hate me being around at times when all you want is him back. But please don’t be angry with dad anymore. He couldn’t help loving you like that. It was a good thing. Dean. A good thing for you both.”

The silence filled the room as Sam turned away from his brother’s lost expression. Battling to keep his eyes opened he yawned, slowly losing the fight to stay awake, nestling his broken arm over his chest.. “Your friend is going to be okay, right”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine after they patch him up. He’s a tough little bastard.”

“Dean?” and Sam yawned wide again struggling desperately to get his words out.

“Yeah Sam?”

“I didn’t mean to turn this into a chick-flick moment. You can beat my ass tomorrow if you like for it…”

Dean watched as his little brother bowed into himself, away from him and felt a pang of loss. This was his baby brother turning away from him again and all he wanted to do was drag him in a hug and tell him that everything would be okay.

But his hands remained still because he couldn’t make things okay anymore. Not for him, not for them both.

A divide kept them apart that Sam was yet to learn about. And when he did everything would come crumbling down. Dean chewed his bottom lip, scared again for the secrets he was keeping from his brother. There was a warning of things to come that was a cancer eating away between them all now. How the hell was he supposed to keep him safe from what his dad had told him? His stupid, naïve, still to innocent brother was never meant for such darkness.

Groping for the bag at the end of the bed he fished around till he pulled a half empty bottle of whiskey out. Taking a long slug he glanced again over at his brother and knew that later that morning that they both would need the aspirin. Tilting the bottle in a salute to his brother he whispered. “I love you Sammy. No matter what happens don’t ever think that I could ever hate you.”

As he took another long slug he prayed for a miracle to keep him safe, letting the tears fall silently, fighting against despair as he tried steel himself for the battle ahead. He was not ready for this. Neither of them were.

The End.

A/N:  Well let me just say a huge heartfelt thanks for all those reviews for this story. Thanks one and all. They truly were an inspiration to keep my fingers typing in the wee hours of the morning. I tried not to get over sentimental here with the boys in this final chapter but I may have lost it by the end! Let me know what you think. Roz.