A/N: Despite understanding why it was necessary, I nevertheless felt the loss of brotherly affection in Season 4. Yes, it was there if you looked beneath the surface and its absence touched on in the essence of the story-lines but I felt the need to bring a little 'love' back into their lives and this is what became of it. Totally NOT slash no matter how close they might seem to get ...

Disclaimer: don't pretend to own the Winchesters or any related items. Just wish I did.

Feedback is welcome.

Moments such as they had shared a few minutes ago were so few and far apart that the memory appeared false somehow, the emotions still soothing him seeming so very out of place. But he could remember it clearly, could feel the strength and reassurance in that brief embrace. Could still feel his brother pressing into him and telling him everything would be okay.

"I got you, bro'."

Dean had never been much for obvious expressions of his affection. Even after he had pulled Sam from the inferno of his dorm room and the horror of his beloved in flames, Dean had used sidestepped retorts and admonishing put-downs to reveal his feelings. And his reaction to the loss of their father was verging on unstable on the best of days. But despite his determined stoicism, every now and then there would be a touch or a gentle nudge. More recently, crushing embraces had stunned Sam; leaving him breathless and more than a little moved. But his cynical side would inevitably then brush his delight aside. His brother was human after all; even the hardest of hearts would need contact after being pulled from the abyss.

But this had been different. Neither of them had been brought back to life, they had only been separated for a short time and bloody injuries were part of the job even on a good day. Still, it had happened. Dean had hugged him.

It left Sam suddenly so acutely aware of how lacking in affection their lives had become. How cold. Over recent weeks, the only emotion growing between them seemed to be contempt, resentment. He was now starting to wonder if perhaps they had moved too far from each other to ever seal the widening rift between them. And sorrow was tightening in his throat.

Unsure if exhaustion or blood loss, or both, had weakened his defenses and allowed such crazy notions to float to the surface, Sam sank further down against the worn leather seat and sighed wearily.

"You okay?"

Sudden tears burned Sam's closed eyes and he took a moment to nod a reply, somehow sure that he was being watched intently.

"Sammy?"

There was no denying the concern in the cracked, tired voice beside him and Sam found himself somehow grieving the absence of such affection of late.

"Dude?"

Now there was increasing apprehension and Sam could feel the car begin to slow. "I'm okay." He managed in a whisper, turning his head a little towards his brother and forcing a smile he knew would be seen even in the almost darkness.

The car resumed it's usual speed and Sam was sure he could hear his brother nodding in relief, if such a thing was possible.

"We're only twenty minutes out." Dean offered quietly, "I'll get you cleaned up and you'll feel much better."

Sam nodded, suddenly eager for the careful ministrations of his brother's expert hands. Surely it was right to need his elder brother to look after him. And yet it was so foreign to who they had both become. Remembering stubbornly struggling to sew up the glass cut in his arm only a few weeks previously, the determination and shunning of assistance in that moment seemed more natural than this uncomfortable dependence. And the realization saddened Sam.

Since being dragged out of hell his brother had not been quite himself. And who could blame him. Sam himself had changed in the months he spent alone and his trials were surely nothing in comparison to the full horror of Dean's nightmare in the pit. It was foolish to have expected to be able to pick up just where they had left off. The truth was that there was no going back.

Unexpected regret - or was it fear? - made Sam's heart double-time almost painfully. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and squeezed his eyes tighter closed; trying to rid his mind of the haunting image of a brother so aggrieved and filled with hate.

"If I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you …"

Sam choked back a sudden sob and rolled his head away from his brother's scrutiny as he felt the first tears fall. God. Dean didn't know the half of it. What was he going to think of him if he ever learned the whole truth?

"Hey. Sammy? It's okay, dude. Hang on in there."

A hand brushed his shoulder and strong fingers gave his arm a brief squeeze before returning to the steering wheel. Sam was filled with renewed strength and took a deep breath.

"Sam?"

"Yeah." Sam sniffed and cleared his throat, giving another hopefully convincing nod.

"Shit …" Dean groaned in sympathy, "That bitch really did a number on you, huh?"

"Mmm."

"Sorry I wasn't faster, bro."

Sam's pulse was racing once more and he turned stiffly to look up at his brother. The light from the dashboard instruments was enough to see the shadowed frown on Dean's equally exhausted face and Sam groaned. "Not your fault." None of it is.

Dean shrugged.

"It's not." Sam urged huskily. It's mine. All of it.

A gentle, unexpected laugh and he could sense Dean smiling. "Still … after all this time, I would have thought even you would be able to face up to a damned poltergeist."

Sam's mouth tightened in almost a smile and he decided to play along. The banter was familiar and welcome. Warmth began to grow inside his otherwise trembling body and he took a deep breath. "It wasn't her. It was the friggin' banister that got in the way."

"Ha!" Dean chuckled eagerly, "Be grateful. That was all that stood between you and crashing through to the cellar."

"You don't know if that might have been softer." Sam volleyed, wincing as the memory of split wood piercing his flesh made him shudder.

"I guess." Dean offered lightly, "Hey, it's a shame your mojo doesn't work on ghosts or - "

And the world seemed to suddenly stop spinning.

Frivolity became sudden dread and a chill rose between them. Aware of Dean shuffling uncomfortably and all too silent in his regret and obvious sorrow, Sam closed his eyes once again. Pressing the sodden rag closer against his injured side and longing for the moment to pass and be forgotten, Sam struggled to find the right thing to say.

"Shit, Sam … I'm - … " Dean's voice was quiet. "I just - … "

Street lights were then throwing amber pulses into the car and the motel at the edge of town came into view. Now focused on parking up and collecting the supplies they needed, Dean was distracted and distant. Even as he helped Sam from the car and leaned in close to support his brother's wavering stance, the contact was void of affection and almost uncomfortable.

Fighting the urge to cry out against the pain of every movement, Sam's head swam and he staggered awkwardly into the motel room. Falling gratefully onto the soft bed nearest the door, Sam sank down into the covers and tried to steady his breathing.

Collecting hot water and the med kit, Dean's expression was one of concentration and focus, Sam watched his brother avoid his gaze as Dean knelt beside him and inspected the gash in Sam's side. His touch was stuttered, professional and Sam clenched his teeth as the terse repairs began.

The alcohol based cleaning fluid stung and every wipe sent sparks of pain lancing through his flesh. Sam held his breath and bore the discomfort for as long as he could. After a few minutes, the first tears broke loose and he could not stop the sudden need to shove his brother from him and stop the pain.

Dean instinctively grabbed at the fist that was swung at him and spun towards Sam, annoyance quickly giving away to concern as he saw the distress in his brother's tight face. Then aware of the firm grip he had on Sam's wrist, he relaxed his fingers but did not let go. For a brief moment the stranger this man had become to him was simply his little brother, hurt and afraid.

"Sorry …" Sam breathed, unclenching the fist that had come close to impacting with his brother's jaw. He sank back against the bed and groaned in weariness and dismay. But Dean was still holding his arm, the contact now softer but steady. Once again that familiar, rarely felt warmth began to build and he met his brother's sincere gaze with wary hope.

Dean broke the contact first. Releasing Sam's arm and nodding silently towards the wound he needed to resume attending to.

Somewhat disappointed, Sam gave unspoken consent and closed his eyes. Treatment resumed a little more carefully and he could imagine the turmoil that must be spinning in his brother's mind; after all Dean had done for him, after all that he had suffered, Sam could only guess at how disheartening it must be to return to the mess their world had become.

I'll make it right. Sam could feel welcome exhaustion beginning to wash over him and he pressed his face into the pillow. You'll see. I'll make it right.