I believe someone once said "Write what you know." Well... this is what I know.

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"Sammy, open the God damn door" Dean growled, leaning his forehead against said door and trying to hear any noise coming from behind it. There was silence. Sam had been shut in the bathroom of their motel for over an hour, and refused to talk to him. Dean knew it was his fault, but he also thought that Sam was being unreasonable. He could've gotten into the room by picking the lock, but he didn't want to lose any more of Sammy's trust.

Suddenly the door opened, and Dean saw a mixture of emotions on his little brother's face. His eyes were red and puffy from crying, but they were dry now, and glaring at Dean. "You're going to end up killing yourself, Dean" he stated, and slammed the door again.

"Sam-" Dean tried to stop the door from closing again, but he wasn't fast enough. "Dammit, Sammy, come out of the fucking bathroom and talk to me!" Dean turned and punched a hole in the wall behind him, and when he turned back to the door, he saw that Sam had opened it and his face looked more scared than anything else. Dean immediately regretted punching the wall and got on his knees in front of his little brother. At sixteen, Sam still hadn't had the growth spurt their father expected would make him taller than both of them, and he was still almost a foot shorter than Dean. "I'm sorry, Sammy, I didn't mean to upset you more, I-"

"Which time?" Sam's voice was angry, and Dean was mentally kicking himself for upsetting his brother so much. He was supposed to be the one protecting him, not hurting him.

"Every time" Dean said quietly, and Sam scoffed

"Yeah, well, sometimes sorry isn't good enough" Sam turned and walked back into the bathroom, but didn't shut the door this time. Dean didn't follow. "Is your hand okay?" he asked in a slightly less angry voice, and Dean shook his head in wonder. Even when Sam was beyond pissed at him, he still wanted to be sure he was okay.

"Yeah" He answered, bending and unbending his fingers, "I don't think it's broken this time. Listen, Sammy, I really am sor-"

"Stop it!" Sam yelled, cutting him off, "Stop saying you're sorry!"

Dean was slightly shocked at this sudden outburst, "Why?"

Sam stood up and walked to the door of the bathroom again, leaning on the doorframe. "Because" he said simply, glaring daggers at Dean.

"Because why?"

"Because, Dean, it doesn't change a damn thing. Remember when you said you'd stop drinking? Well, I believed you the first five times" Dean tried to say something, but Sam held up his hand, stopping him. "What's your excuse this time? It's not that easy, Sammy? I'm 21 now, I can make my own decisions? It's not illegal anymore? Or my favorite, Dammit, I'm not having this conversation? Believe me, Dean, I've heard all of your excuses, and none of them are going to work. I know how hard it was for you to stop, so why the hell did you start again? Just because it's legal doesn't make it okay. Just…just leave me alone." He quietly shut the door and leaned his back against it, sliding down to sit on the floor when more tears came.

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The next morning, Sam woke up to the sound of someone tapping on the door. He hadn't come out of the bathroom all night, and he couldn't have slept more than two hours. "Sam?" Dean called through the wood of the door, "Sammy, I have to pee and I'm not sure the motel would appreciate me peeing in their fake plant."

Sam stood up and opened the door, muttering something sarcastically about Dean always doing what people wanted him to. "I'm going for a walk." He told Dean, and Dean tried to object, but Sam was out the door before he could finish his sentence.

Sam kept walking until he reached a bridge. He walked to the edge and rested his forearms on the rail. He had a strong urge to jump. He stared at the water and rocks below and thought that he always had the urge to jump when he looked down from a higher place. He was thinking that that probably wasn't a good thing when a panting Dean came running down the street toward him.

"Sam…" he panted, "you can't…just leave…like that" Sam turned and started walking the other way.

"I told you I was leaving."

"Yes, but you know what dad said. He said to stay in the room and not leave. He said not to leave, Sammy."

Sam stopped walking, and spun on his heel "Screw what Dad said! Did he also tell you to drink your brains out yesterday?! You left then, you know. But no, you don't know, because you were too drunk to have remembered that. I had to chase you and drag your drunk ass home from that bar on the corner." He pointed "You know, you're bigger than me, it's not that easy to support most of your weight for two blocks, especially when all you wanted to do was turn around and go back to the bar."

Dean looked back at the bar. It didn't look familiar at all. "I remember you trying to get me to stop drinking at the motel." Dean said, "I remember you throwing the beer bottle at the wall and it shattering." His eyebrows scrunched together, trying to remember. "I might remember leaving. I don't remember the bar."

"Yeah," Sam said, "I got rid of all the beer in the room, so you had to go get more alcohol from the bar. They almost wouldn't let me in, you know. Eventually I convinced them I was just trying to get you home and I really wouldn't drink anything."

"Shit, I'm sorry, Sammy." Dean tried to put his hand on his brother's shoulder, but Sam jerked away.

"Yeah," he said, starting to walk the other way again, "You're always sorry."