I really shouldn't be starting more multi-chapters, but I couldn't resist. I wants me a fluffy Dean. I debated on Present!Winchesters and Teenchesters! And decided to do both. Which means there will be some very intense time-paradox action. XD It was either do both in one fic, or make a fic for each set of Winchesters, and that might have seemed redundant so...let's see if I can make this work, mmm? I would have tried to one-shots, but I'm crap at writing short stories. XD Enjoy!

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November, 1997

"Sam, you get your ass back inside, now."

"Dean, you can't even shoot a gun with your arm like that! Dad needs help now, let me come!"

"Inside, Sam!" Dean snarled as he tried to shove his brother back into the motel with one hand. His other was in a cast and bound tightly against his chest, courtesy of the ghost who'd pushed him over a set of stairs just a mere week prior.

"A witch, Dean! You can't take her on like that." Sam insisted, and he stood his ground as he pushed his brother's hand away to glare evenly at him.

The kid was fourteen now and apparently eating veggies was the path to genetic success because he'd gone from runt to budding giant practically overnight. It annoyed Dean that Sam had gone from barely reaching his chest to being about eye level with his neck, with the promise of more to come.

"It ain't a debate, Sam. We're wasting time."

"I can help." Sam insisted.

"Yeah, like you did with the last ghost?" Dean retorted and Sam visibly winced. Dean's little trip over the stairs was courtesy of him shoving Sam out of the way when he'd failed to flee and Dean had come to his rescue. Dean had been hurt trying to protect Sam, and he knew that he'd made the same decision-no matter how many times it came up. And right now, with Dad hurt, he couldn't risk it. "Sam, I don't have time. Sorry about this." Sam's confused expression faded the moment that Dean's fist connected with his face and the boy slumped unconscious. Dean managed to catch him with one arm and heft him half onto the nearest bed where he cast a last look at his brother before he headed out.

His Dad needed him, and Sam needed to stay safe.

Two birds with one stone and all that crap.

...

Present Day

"I think you should just go on without me...Go."

"All right. Sorry, Sam."

The events of a few hours prior played in his mind over and over again as he took a hard drag from the a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand like a lifeline. Sam was gone, yet again, and Dean had only himself to blame. But if he really cared to think about it, inversely, it was also Sam's fault. Everytime that Sam had left-it had been his choice. Sam ran away for two weeks to be on his own, he left for Stanford to get away, he left with Ruby while tripping on demon blood, he left Dean to be on his own, twice, just because. And when the Hell had Dean ever left him? When he'd gone to Hell to save Sam's life? When he'd gone on and tried to do the apple-pie thing for Sammy? Dean had always taken Sam back, been there for him, and somehow Sam was always able to leave without a backwards glance and it just wasn't freaking fair.

But Dean didn't want to think; he didn't want to feel. All he wanted was to sucumb to oblivion in that damned bottle of whiskey and pretend that his best friend slash pain-in-the-ass-angel-brother wasn't dead, and the world wasn't up shit creek without a paddle, and that his little brother hadn't left his sorry ass. Again. He wanted to forget that he'd spilled so much blood he could drown in it, that he could be so cold, that the tendrils of the bastard he'd been in Hell didn't still grip him tight and give him nightmares, and influence his reality.

He wanted to forget.

But nothing could ever take away his memories, so in the end, and no alcohol could take his pain away so in the end...he drank because the bitter sting of it tasted better than the acid sorrow on his tongue.

Because his brother had left him alone again, and Dean, as always, found a reason to blame himself.

...

"Alright, alright. You know, I guess that's why Dean never told you that he killed Amy."

"Listen, Sam..."

"All right. Sorry, Sam."

Dean had lied to him. And it wasn't like it was the first time or anything, but...he had lied to him. It was more than just saying that he didn't know how the nair had gotten into the shampoo, or saying he was fine even though Sam could tell his brother was on pins and needles and drinking booze like it was water. Dean hadn't just lied about killing Amy, he'd agreed to trust Sam and then gone behind his back to break it and so in effect, he had betrayed that trust. He had taken Sam's feeling that he had done something right, that he had some small measure of control in his crazy, messed up life, he had taken that sliver of hope that Dean maybe trusted him again, saw him as a partner again, and crushed them. And that was what hurt the most. More than killing Amy, because Sam could-if he felt like being honest about it [and he didn't] admit that Dean wasn't wholly wrong. And more than going behind his back, which was definitely wrong-but not something that Sam hadn't done to try and save her in the first place anyway.

No, what it came down to was his brother looking him in the damned eyes and telling him 'okay' like he believed Sam, and trusted him, and was willing to make this concession for him. To give him that much, after everything. Only to throw it all away and not even bother to tell him, to just drown himself in his whiskey and dodge Sam's every ironic attempt to comfort him and ease him of his apparently well-deserved guilt.

Dean, his big brother, the person he counted on more than any other, the person who meant more to him than existence, had thrown his trust and acceptance back into Sam's face, and that hurt more than anything.

That Sam had done very much the same thing time and again didn't occur to him. He'd done what he had to, right and wrong, and he'd spent a century in Hell paying his dues. Sam had wanted to start over, a clean slate, and Dean had smashed it all to bits.

The sound of his cell phone ringing jarred him from his thoughts and he stared down at the name illuminated by the screen's backlight. Dean was calling? He was actually surprised. It had only been a few hours and considering everything, well, he'd expected Dean to be three-sheets to the wind-or at least-attempting to get there.

But it didn't matter, he wasn't ready to face Dean yet. He wasn't ready to look his brother in the eyes knowing that Dean had done so while betraying him so easily. So he ignored it and let the matter rest, because he knew that Dean wouldn't call back. Dean calling was a feat in itself, calling back after having his call dismissed? Nope, at best, he'd leave a message.

Except that instead of a voicemail beep, his phone began ringing again, 'Dean' illuminated once more. Sam frowned down at the screen as an uneasy feeling slithered into his stomach and once more, he allowed the call to go unanswered and he stared down at his screen and waited. And it rang again.

Sam didn't hesitate to jerk the phone up to his ear and answer, because after twenty-eight years, he knew his brother well enough to know that the sickening feeling in his gut meant something was wrong.

"Dean?"

A pause. And then- "Sammy." Dean wheezed into the phone, like the wind had been knocked out of him before he uttered a loud groan. "S'm...somethin's...it's...agh..." Dean's voice faded a moment to be replaced by something like a whimper, pain forcing itself past his throat.

"Dean! Dean? What's wrong? Where are you?"

"Motel...m'st be...hex.."

"Hex? A hex bag? Shit! Dean, I'll...I'll be right there." Thankfully, small mercies considered, Sam hadn't left town. He didn't have a car, but the motel wasn't too far. Sam could run.

Another groan and then there was the sound of shattered glass and an inhuman sort of wail from Dean, it was forced, like it had been wrenched from the pit of his gut. Dean was more than in pain, he sounded like he was dying.

Sam's panic zero-to-sixtied instantly, and he didn't bother to grab his bags as he took off running, rubber meeting pavement as he forced his legs to pump faster and harder with each step. "Dean...Dean, man, talk to me! Hey! Damnit, Dean, say something! Stay with me, man, I'm on my way...Dean...Dean!" Sam's voice was almost desperate, all thoughts of betrayal forgotten for the moment as pure brotherly instinct took over.

"Comin'...S'mmy?" Dean's words were, as they had been since Sam answered, slurred and they seemed more so, less coherent. Sam recognized it for what it was, he was losing Dean.

"Dean! Oh, God, Dean, come on, stay with me. What's happening?" he asked urgently.

"Hurts." Dean moaned from the other end of the phone, and Sam was surprised that the cell phone hadn't cracked from the force of Sam's grip on it, his knuckles had gone white and he probably looked pale. He was scared, and that was something he didn't have to admit. The sudden looming possibility of losing Dean overruled every aspect of his senses, and the little brother in him, buried beneath all of that bitterness and so on, was aching.

"I'm almost there, Dean, I swear, stay with me, man. Come on, take it easy, I'm almost there." But he wasn't, it would be another fifteen minutes easy and by then... "Just hold on, Dean, okay? ..Okay? Dean...? Dean!"

Another groan, a mumbled, slurred version of Sam's endearment name, and the line dropped cold.

Sam felt his heart drop into his stomach as he frantically called Dean back. Again, and again.

But Dean didn't answer, and Sam knew why the sickening feeling in his stomach had grown.

He wasn't going to make it in time.

...

November, 1997

When Sam came to, day had turned to night outside if only just barely, and his brother and father hadn't returned. He had no idea where they were to go after them, so all he could do was wait and hope to God that nothing happened. But the anxiety gnawed at him alongside the indignation at his brother's treatment of him. He wasn't a kid! Sam could have helped and Dean had gone and knocked him out, and now who knew where his father and brother were?

Sam wasn't allowed to have a normal life? Fine. But he had to be a part of all of this hunter's crap, shouldn't he at least be allowed to be a part of it? Instead, Sam trained relentlessly only to be relegated to research, and wait-left behind-as his father and brother hunted without him.

The whole situation just sucked.

So Sam did the only thing he could think to do, and prepared their sparse medical supplies into some kind of order to be ready for their arrival. From what he'd gathered from Dean, John had been stabbed-but not too badly [as if being stabbed wasn't bad enough on it's own]. Dean's arm wasn't broken, but close enough, and still Sam had no doubt that he'd push and try and make use of it anyway, which would make it worse. There was only one witch they were hunting, and suddenly there were two. That was as much information as he'd gleaned, and then Dean had run off.

Freaking. Sucked.

Almost two more hours went by until he heard a familiar rumble outside that caused his anxious heart to swell a bit. Dad was back, Dean was back, they were okay. Because if Dad was back, then of course Dean was okay-he'd never let anything truly bad happen to them as long as he was around. [Excluding making them a part of the Winchester-hunter lifestyle in the first place...and so on.]

The door opened and Sam was there in an instant as John Winchester stumbled in, a wreck and a mess, covered in blood, clothes torn, and bruised all over. "Dad!" Sam slipped an arm around John's waist as he stumbled on his feet and he cast a glance behind John. "Dean, help m-" But Dean wasn't there and he heard John make a choked sort of noise in response to his words as the man collapsed somewhat onto the bed, and his vaguely quivering torso suggested that it was taking him most of his strength just to keep sitting up. He clutched something to his chest, something that made Sam's stomach clench and his eyes widen in horror.

Dean's jacket. Dad's jacket. The prized leather jacket bequeathed to Dean by John, now scrunched up in John's arms. "Dad...Dad, no...where's Dean? Where is he?" Sam demanded as his voice raised on octave, tinged with desperation because John looks more than hurt, he looks grim, and he's clutching Dean's jacket and Dean's not there and that can only mean...

Wordlessly, John slumped forward a bit and shoved the jacket towards Sam who didn't move to take it. John's eyes were partially glazed over and seemed fevered as he narrowed his eyes on Sam before he squinted like he couldn't quite see him. "Take him." he growled.

Sam didn't want to take the jacket, he didn't want to accept what his father seemed to be saying...and how could John not be freaking out? How could this happen? How could John have failed to protect Dean? There was no way, just no way, that his big brother, his obnoxious, jerky, awesome big brother was gone...there was no way...

"Take him, Sam!" John snarled, and it seemed more because of the effort it took to speak than any real vehemence.

Sam jumped and took the bundle as John's expression twisted up in pain and then he slumped onto the bed, unconscious. "Dad!"

Sam started to move when he noticed the weight in his arms and his brow furrowed as he gazed down at the jacket and tentatively pulled the edge of the jacket back a bit...to reveal a blood-covered, dark brown...puppy?

One that wasn't breathing.

John had given him a dead puppy, in Dean's jacket, and he'd...

Sam felt the nausea rise in his throat as all but dropped the jacket and the dog onto the ground with a choked, half-sob. If Dean wasn't there, it wasn't because he waiting, it was because something had gone wrong. And his father had hung on long enough to pass Sam a dog, a dead damned dog, in his brother's jacket. What the Hell. If he was that out of sorts, then something really had to have happened because this was too much. "Dean." The voice felt ripped from his throat, a strangled, part-sob as well as tears welled up in his eyes. Sam had no idea what was going on, and his father wasn't awake to reassure him, or to explain, and Dean wasn't here to comfort him or stand in front of him. All he knew was that Dean wasn't here, and if he wasn't here, then logically it followed that there was only one reason why...

And that reason brought Sam to his knees as he cried.

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I feel evil. Dun dun dun. You know, there are people in this world evil enough to end this story right here with a Dead Dean and a Dying Dean and a pair of Angsty Sams...But I'm not one of them. XD This story shall continue, and have a happy ending, all in good time. XD Please leave me verbal hugs and such, because they inspire me to keep up writing and I loves them dearly. XD Let the furriness commence! Lurve, Witchy~