Disclaimer: This is a transformative work of fiction based on the original creation of E. Kripke. Just for fun, not for profit.

A/N: Spoilers for 6.01 - Missing scene/tag

A/N2: I know everyone else has already written one... so sue me... Picks up after the fade to black of Dean convulsing on the floor at Sid and Nancy's... what? Her name was totally Nancy, wasn't it? Should have been...

Dean's stopped convulsing by the time Sam bursts through the door. He doesn't waste time on the bodies he knows are already corpses; he simply drops to his knees and slides into his brother's now limp body. Dean's stopped convulsing but he's also stopped breathing, a fine line of spittle gently winding down his chin.

Sam plunges the syringe deep into his brother's chest. Again. It has the same effect as the last time. Dean's eyes fly open and he sits up, gasping in a huge lungful of air before his eyes roll back in his head again and he crashes back to the floor, limp, but at least breathing again.

Sam rests one hand squarely on his brother's chest. He closes his eyes and his bangs fall across them as he drops his chin to his chest, slowly drawing air in through his nose and savouring the feeling of his brother's heart beating beneath his hand.

Shaking himself, Sam opens his eyes and scans the room. He doesn't want to linger here. He quickly spots the dropped and crushed syringes. Pushing to his feet, he gathers up the dropped syringes. Seeing no other evidence that he has to worry about, he draws in a deep breath, kneeling beside his unconscious brother and gathering him into his arms. Sam grunts as he stands up and staggers a little under the weight.

"You haven't gotten any lighter, Dean," he murmurs, gently adjusting his brother's body so that his head rests against his shoulder rather than hanging limply. The body in his arms is slimmer than Sam remembers seeing for a long time, but he hasn't lost any muscle. If anything, Sam would say Dean's a bit more fit from the construction work, than he ever had been when he was spending most of his days driving across the country. Not eating in greasy diners almost every day probably hadn't done Dean any harm either.

SNSNSNSNSN

Sam got his brother back to the house he shared with Lisa and managed to get him up the stairs and into bed, arranging him in the recovery position, on his side. Sam grabbed a waste basket from the bathroom, placing it beside the bed. He knew what was coming. Coming down or off the djinn poison wasn't pleasant. Sam settled in a chair, watching his brother.

Sam was a little surprised that the rest of the family was gone by the time he got back with Dean, but Samuel had called to make sure Dean was ok and explained that he thought it would be easier on Dean if they were gone when he woke up. They'd see them back at base camp. Sam liked being a part of a group that respected his decisions. He enjoyed not having to live in someone else's shadow, not having to be defined and confined by being merely the youngest, the little brother regardless of his height. Sam had been respected on his own merits from the beginning, almost like he had been at Stanford.

Sam was ready the moment Dean started becoming restless. A light sweat had broken out on his face. He moaned and tossed restlessly, muttering but still asleep. Sam saw Dean's abdominal muscles clench and in one fluid motion, he stood, grabbing the trash can and gently placing one hand behind Dean's shoulder, he positioned him over the side of the bed. Dean didn't really wake properly to throw up. He retched until his stomach was empty, eyes at half mast but really unaware yet of his surroundings. As soon as he finished with a few dry heaves, his eyes slid shut again and Sam replaced him in the recovery position. He went to the bathroom and rinsed out the trash can. He doubted they'd need it again, but he brought it back just in case.

It was a few hours later before Dean finally stirred and woke up.

Dean became aware of his surroundings slowly. He felt like he'd been on a hell of a bender, but couldn't figure out why. It had been awhile since he'd done that and now he remembered why he didn't want to do it anymore. His head was pounding and his stomach was not happy and felt like it had been a lot less happy not long ago. Lisa would be disappointed…

Dean's eyes flew open, and he tried to sit up, but then Sam was there.

"Whoa! Dean! Easy man. It's okay. They're all dead. You're ok. You're safe!" Sam was standing in the doorway but didn't move to the bed. He'd just gone to get an ice pack for Dean's chest.

Dean's eyes flew to his brother's face and he recoiled up the bed before the last few days came crowding back into his memory. He took a deep stuttering breath. Closing his eyes and drawing his hand down his face.

"You ok, man?" Sam's eyebrows knit together and that little ridge of worry appeared between them that Dean remembered so well.

"Yeah," Dean's voice sounded like he'd gargled gravel. He cleared his throat. "Yean. I'm ok."

"They double-dosed you. You weren't breathing when I got to you, but the antidote worked."

Dean nodded and rubbed absently at the ache in his chest.

"Here," Sam handed him the ice pack. "That'll help."

"Thanks," Dean grimaced as he pressed the pack against the wound.

"What was it this time?" Sam imagined the nightmare had to have been even worse. Maybe Alastair or Zachariah or even Lucifer.

Dean cleared his throat, swallowing convulsively a few times.

"Same thing," Dean's throat was almost too dry to allow him to swallow. He stared at his hands in his lap.

"Azazel after us again, huh? Was he gunning for all of us this time?" Sam assumed Dean would have incorporated everyone with him in the nightmare this time, seeing Sam himself as well as their grandfather and cousins threatened.

"Us?" Dean looked up at his brother, a little puzzled. "He was after Lisa and Ben. Sonuvabitch burned her on the ceiling. Just like… and Ben…." Dean closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. It was like the afterglow of looking at a light or the sun too long… the dark body, burning on the ceiling in the centre of the light – his mother, Jessica, Lisa… he shuddered.

"Guess he got the rest of us first," Sam broke in gently.

"Rest of who?" Dean opened his eyes and looked at his brother, confused.

"Me, Samuel…" Sam broke off at the blank look on his brother's face.

"None of you were there, Sam."

"Oh." Sam had nothing else to add. He had simply assumed that his brother's worst nightmare would be something happening to him or the rest of their family. He got up and went into the bathroom, returning with a glass of water and some aspirin, he handed both to his brother.

"We should get some sleep," Sam suggested as Dean drained the glass.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, placing the glass on the bedside table and sliding back down into the bed. "There's a spare room down the hall you can take, Sam."

Sam hesitated, watching as his brother sank back into sleep. Dean hadn't even asked if he was alright. He'd rebelled against his brother's suffocating attention for so long. He'd enjoyed being free of it. But suddenly it didn't feel quite like freedom anymore.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Next morning found the brother's trying to tidy up the house. Sam asked Dean to come with him. Dean declined. And Sam was surprised. Dean never denied him anything. And yet, here he was choosing another family over him. Part of him had wanted to keep Dean safe, part of him had enjoyed being free of that constant attention, but part of him had also craved his brother and his brother's attention. Sam had just assumed that as soon as he showed up, he'd be Dean's number one priority again because that was just the way of the world. So, yeah, he was mildly surprised when Dean said no. On the other hand, Sam wasn't ready to give up being in the driver's seat and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted anyone riding shotgun, so he didn't press the issue.

Dean began to wave but dropped his hand when he realized Sam hadn't even looked back. He'd just look even more pathetic than he already did. What was one more abandonment anyway, right? Sam and Bobby had made it pretty clear they were totally okay with cutting him out of their lives – for his own good, of course...

Lisa wanted him though. Warts and all. He still couldn't wrap his head around that. And apparently Ben wanted him too. So why did it still feel like his prime directive was driving away in a Dodge Charger?

This time, it had hurt even more when Sam came back. He hadn't come back because he needed Dean, because he needed the other half of himself to be whole. No. He'd come back because he thought Dean needed to be protected. That he was going to get himself and Lisa and Ben killed. Because Sam needed to come in and save him. Or thought he did. And…. Well, Dean couldn't deny that he'd been pretty screwed when Sam showed up. But then, how could he not have been? He'd had that part of him, the part that was hunter and protector, taken away.

Sam was right in thinking that Dean's first instinct might have been to go with Sam if he'd come back. But then again, maybe not. It had taken a lot for Dean to finally realize that Sam didn't see their relationship the same way Dean did. It still hurt, but Dean had accepted it. Or he thought he had. Sam knew Dean would do anything for him, pretty much without question. Dean knew that he wasn't enough for Sam. That Sam was okay with walking away from him. It had always been one of Dean's biggest fears. What Dean hadn't known was that it wasn't that Sam didn't want a family – he just didn't want the Winchesters. He hadn't been alone for a year – he'd been with his family. Dean realized something else now, too. Dean realized that Sam also knew that he could manipulate Dean, that he could shove him in whatever direction he thought was "best" for him. But no one ever seemed to stop and wonder what Dean might really want.

He had wanted a life with Lisa and Ben. He wouldn't deny it, and he wouldn't be ashamed of it. He was ashamed that he hadn't been better at it. He'd gone through the motions. But he hadn't really been there for them. He'd been so consumed by guilt and grief that if felt like all the colour had been drained out of the world. Some days it was hard just to breathe. They'd had to put up with so much, especially at the beginning. It wasn't that he didn't want to be there. It wasn't just the grief; so much of who he was was tied up in what he did. He'd missed hunting. It had taken him a long time to realize it, but it was only partially about the intellectual exercise of beating a monster or evil thing. And contrary to what everyone believed it wasn't the kill that really thrilled Dean. What he really missed was making a difference, was his life meaning something. Meaning something because he could help people, he could save them. And Sam had taken that away from him. And Sam hadn't even recognized what a huge part of him that was.

Sam didn't realize that he had made promises to Lisa and Ben. Promises that he wasn't just prepared to walk away from. They weren't things he had spoken about to them in so many words, but the promise of actions was enough for Dean. He didn't want to walk away from those promises. He wanted to try to live up to them. He still wasn't sure he could be happy here. He wasn't sure he could truly make them happy. Lisa said he'd made her happy, and Dean was pretty sure he'd never made his brother happy. At least he couldn't remember a time when he had. He wanted to be glad his brother was alive. And he was glad he was out of the pit. But he couldn't get past the pain of knowing that his brother had left him in pain for an entire year. The grief of believing Sam was dead had bled into every part of his existence, casting a shadow over every attempt at happiness to take root in this new life. Sam had said that his own grief had been overwhelming when Dean had died. How could he inflict that on his brother in turn? Was it meant to be a punishment?

Dean rubbed his chest. It ached from the needles being plunged into it. Part of it was physical, but the biggest ache came from deeper. It came from his soul.

A/N: So? *edited for sappy sad-assed plea for reviews*