A/N So, I'm sort of on a roll writing wise so I decided to start a slightly longer fic, this will probably only be about four chapters but I've only been writing/drafting one-shots at the moment. This is set after Sex and Violence, yes I'm going there, and basically deals with the growing rift between the brothers and Sam's powers etc. So, I'm already half way through the next chapter so it should be up soon, I'm pretty nervous about this one but I hope you like it and please tell me what you think!

Sam wonders idly to himself how he got to this point, bleeding on a dirty motel room floor whilst his brother- well not his brother, strolls around monologuing about how much of a disappointment the Winchesters are, how easy this is, the praise he'll get from Lilith when he returns with Sam's head on a platter; the words barely register in his aching head.

How had he let things get this far? He should have noticed sooner, Dean had been off for days, not that he could really tell anymore. Dean wasn't the Dean he knew and Sam wasn't the Sam that Dean knew either. They'd been drifting for weeks ever since Dean had found out about Sam's powers, since Dean had been saved by angels and since Sam was threatened with damnation by them. The incident with the siren had just tipped things over the edge.

Sam had never regretted something he'd said more in his life, more than what he said at the Asylum more than his parting words to his father, he'd never wanted so much to reach out and physically grab the words he'd just spoken and take them back.

He hadn't meant them…but he had. The siren had twisted his thoughts into bitter, cruel words that had cut his brother to the quick.

You're holding me back

I'm a better hunter than you are.

On some levels he did think Dean was holding him back, he was holding him back from destroying Lilith and finally getting absolution for himself and his brother, he didn't think he was a better hunter than Dean, he was better than what Dean gave him credit for. The months without Dean had been the hardest thing he'd ever been through, it'd been loss that he'd never experienced before and those months had turned him into a hardened hunter, he'd thrown himself into hunting, he could banish spirits in his sleep, he could kill a nest of vampires in a matter of minutes, even when he was trashed on Jack Daniel's his hand hadn't shaken when he wielded the machete, slicing heads off without blinking.

But it wasn't these words that kept him wide awake at night, that echoed in his head every time he looked across at his brother's stony expression, his false smiles and forced laughter.

Boo Hoo.

He can't believe those words had come out of his mouth, that he'd dismissed Dean's sacrifice. He'd never seen his brother more broken than when he'd told Sam about his time in hell, he hadn't even looked him in the eyes. Dean was ashamed of what he'd done when he had no reason to and Sam had thrown it back in his face.

He wasn't telling his brother to get over it, you're too busy sitting around feeling sorry for yourself. It wasn't how he'd meant it to come out…Dean wasn't himself, he wasn't ready to go and take on Lilith, Sam on the other hand needed to. To tell the truth Sam was scared shitless because he didn't know how to help Dean. He couldn't deal with seeing a Dean so different to the brother he knew.

Sam wasn't the same either, he wasn't in synch with his brother so Dean's confession scared him, he didn't know what to do to help his brother and Dean admitting to what he'd been through just served in compounding the guilt Sam already felt, shattering his feeble sense of worth. Had Sam's life really been worth that amount of suffering? Did Dean regret making the deal? How could that amount of pain be worth a demonic freak's life?

Sam wanted to be the brother he had been, he wanted to be there for Dean but to tell the truth he didn't know how any more. Dean's time in hell had changed him and Sam's four months in his own personal hell had changed him too and he didn't know how to act around a brother he'd tried to live without for so many months, drowning his guilt and despair and now suddenly he was expected to act like nothing had changed. He hadn't told Dean everything when he'd come clean about the four months without his brother.

Between the stories of drinking and demons there's the times where at night he'd sit on the corner of the bathtub in whatever crappy hotel he was staying in, feeling the heavy dull weight of a revolver in his hand. Staring down at the grey metal seeing his own warped reflection, he'd wonder what it would be like to have his brains splattered against the crummy dirty tiles of a rundown motel in bumblefuck nowhere and have the overweight manager find his week old corpse when his lease ran out. Wondering, what it would feel like to sink into oblivion, to get rid of the powers, the headaches clawing at his brain, the memories.

Then he'd think no. What if there was still a way to save Dean? He still might find a way to pull him out and killing himself would mean Dean would have sacrificed himself for nothing, he'd be left rotting in the pit with no-one left to pull him out.

He couldn't make the transition between the Sam he was then and the Sam he had to be for his brother now.

He'd lied to Dean, let him down. He'd disrespected his dying wishes and he hadn't been able to face up to that, so he'd lied. He was too scared of facing Dean's disappointment and worse of all was Dean being scared of him, like he was a monster.

So now he was left with a shell of a brother and he was a shell of himself, they moved through life with stilted conversation and the silences became longer and longer as each day passed.

Sam was losing the brother he'd fought so hard to get back and there was nothing he could do about it, he couldn't take back the words he said. Dean's words had stung too, picking at everything Sam hated about himself since Dean had returned, confirming his failure as a brother.

That was how Sam had ended up here, ended up so far apart from his brother that he couldn't even tell when his brother wasn't his brother anymore…he should have noticed. Dean's face split into a wide grin and Sam felt a shiver of fear tear through him.

Where the hell was Bobby?

Three Days Earlier

Sam stared miserably up at the motel room ceiling, gaze tracing stains and cracks. He let out a sigh and rolled onto his side. Midnight.

Dean had been gone for a few hours now, he'd mumbled something about going to a bar before leaving, shutting the door before Sam could reply.

They drove from motel to motel, hunt to hunt exchanging little more than details of the hunt and their whereabouts. Dean was spending more and more time on his own, leaving in the evenings to go to bars or diners or to speak to his guardian angel he thought bitterly, he was never specific.

His attempts at apologies had just been dismissed with "It's fine", "Sam, We're good." "It was the Siren" but the words didn't meet Dean's eyes, they hung awkwardly in the air, neither of them really believing them.

Dean wasn't being angry or impatient like he had been after Asylum, he was just…indifferent. Drifting from day to day like an empty vessel and that hurt Sam more than anger ever would; it was like Dean wasn't there anymore.

Sam flicked on the television and lay there, numbly watching some crappy sitcom his mind elsewhere before eventually he drifted into an uncomfortable sleep, Dean's bed still empty.

Sam eyes snapped open, daylight streamed through a gap in the curtains and Sam groaned and rolled over, closing his eyes. Opening them, he swallowed hard as he saw Dean's bed was still empty. He sat up slowly and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Where the hell was his brother?

Almost on cue Sam heard the keys in the door and Dean stepped in, hair rumpled, face pale, a black eye and dry blood crusted around his collar.

"Dean? Where have you been? What the hell happened to you? Is that blood?" Sam asked, getting to his feet his gaze roaming over his brother. Dean looked away, frowning as he shrugged off his jacket and placed a paper bag on the table.

"What is this, twenty questions? I went to bar, got into a fight and then got lucky. Chicks never can resist the knight in shining armour." Dean said and for an instant Sam was reminded of how his brother used to be.

"Well you could have called, I didn't know if something had happened to you, which it clearly did." Sam said as his brother just sighed in exasperation and pulled out a doughnut from the bag and began to eat it, screwing up the bag and throwing it in the trashcan.

"You're not my keeper Sam." Dean replied harshly and Sam looked away trying not to let the hurt register on his face. Dean sipped from his cup of coffee and Sam felt ridiculously stupid for feeling hurt not only that Dean had snapped at him when he clearly hadn't slept and that Dean hadn't got coffee or breakfast. Dean always got him something even though most of the time he didn't eat anything, he just drank the coffee.

Sam, stop being an idiot you girl.

"I'm going to have a shower." Dean said flatly, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him

Sam stared at the bathroom door before letting out a sigh and sitting on the end of the bed scrubbing a hand over his face. He just wanted things back to how they used to be.

Sam washed his hands and glanced at his reflection in the mirror, the circles under his eyes were getting bigger and darker. He looked like shit.

Sam had picked at his food leaving most of his meal for Dean to finish. His brother had been in high spirits despite his mood this morning, even managing to flirt shamelessly with the waitress.

Drying his hands, Sam walked out into the diner and spotted Dean at the counter. Dean was leaning over seemingly engaged in conversation with the waitress but as Sam moved closer the waitress' expression registered, her eyes were wide with fear and tears glistened. Dean was gripping her arm, hard, his knuckles white and his expression dark.

The woman looked terrified. Sam managed to catch the end of their conversation.

"Get the hell out." The woman said between gritted teeth but unable to keep the tremor of fear out of her voice. Dean smirked muttering something under his breath before letting go of the woman's arm and walking straight past Sam and out of the diner, the bell tinkling as he went.

Sam glanced back at the waitress who was rubbing her arm, tears rolling down her cheeks as the other waitresses gathered around her and he then looked back, Dean was sitting in the Impala staring pointedly at Sam.

What the hell was going on?

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face as he squinted at the laptop screen, a headache building behind his eyes. He couldn't find any distinctive leads on the case they were working, there'd been electrical storms and spates of murders. Everything was pointing to a demon.

It was one am and Dean was out again, mumbling about going to a bar not a word about where he was going or when he'd be back. Dean hadn't spoken to him normally since they'd argued outside the diner. Dean hadn't taken kindly to Sam asking what had happened between him and the waitress.

"Dean what was that?" Sam asked sliding into the passenger seat and staring across at his brother who avoided Sam's gaze, staring pointedly out of the windscreen.

"Nothing." Dean replied simply, gunning the engine.

"Dean, that didn't look like nothing to me. She was crying Dean and you were-"

"Shut up Sam." Dean warned, voice low as he pulled the Impala out of the parking lot and on to the highway.

"Dean what is up with you, I mean you-" Sam started but he was cut off as Dean slammed a fist down on the steering wheel.

"I said shut up Sam. I'm not in the mood, let's just get this hunt over with and get out of dodge." Dean growled before turning up the radio, ending the conversation.

Sam looked out the window and swallowed. He didn't know if something was wrong or if Dean was still pissed off at him, or maybe they'd drifted too far…

Sam leant back in his chair, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh. He didn't know if he could handle this much longer. He hadn't felt this alone since Dean had died. Dean hadn't really spoken all day other than to shoot Sam down; he'd left Sam to do the research and had lay on the bed watching TV all day whilst Sam drew dead ends.

He wasn't sure how much more time he could spend cramped in this motel room but he certainly knew that Dean didn't want to be around him.

"I wouldn't mind getting out of here, stretching my legs." Sam said as Dean grabbed his jacket. Looking across at his brother, Dean snorted and put his hands in his pockets.

"I don't really think it'll be your scene, plus I don't need you whining at me all night. We're running low on cash, there's a poker game on and I don't want your gangly ass looming over my shoulder the whole night." Dean replied irreverently.

Sam just frowned in response his temper, that was always so close to the surface these days, bubbling.

"Dean-" He started, getting to his feet but Dean just opened the door, turning back to Sam and looking at him coldly.

"If you don't like it, why don't you just call up your little demonic girlfriend?"

"Dean you know I…"

"Do I? How can I believe anything you say Sam? Look, I don't have time for you right now…go be a freak, go and laugh at Dean and how weak he is. I'm going out. I don't care what you do anymore." Dean said flatly, his eyes cold and dead before turning and walking out the door, slamming it behind him and leaving Sam alone, Dean's words ringing in his ears.

Sam woke up at 6 am, drooling over the laptop keys with sunlight streaming through the windows and Dean's bed empty, a pattern that was becoming all too familiar.

He wiped his mouth and sat up letting out a broken sigh. He just didn't know what to do anymore, things with Dean had never been this bad. He knew this couldn't feel worse than Dean being hell and Sam unable to do anything but the fact that Dean was tangible, was alive but wanted to be anywhere else other than near Sam made his heart ache.

Standing up and stretching, he let out a yawn and turned the TV on flicking onto the local news. The television droned in the background as he wandered into the bathroom turning on the shower.

Above the roaring of the old pipes and the hiss of the shower Sam heard something that made his mouth go dry.

And late last night, five men were shot dead in Jack's a local bar. It's believed that the shootings were a result of an argument at a high stakes poker game taking place in the bar. Witnesses at the scene didn't manage to get a distinctive look at the shooter but general descriptions outline that the shooter is male, roughly 6ft tall with dark hair. Names of the victims have not yet been released to legal reasons. More on this story later…

Sam stared at the set numbly…no, no, no, no. It had to be a different bar…This was just a huge, ridiculous coincidence. Sam pulled out his phone, fingers shaking as he dialled Dean's number but before he could press call the motel room door opened and Dean wandered in, bags under his eyes, looking pale but definitely in one piece.

Sam just stared at him as Dean looked at him oddly.

"What?" Dean asked, voice gravely as Sam continued to stare, seeming to have temporarily lost the ability to speak.

Dean shrugged off his jacket and shoes, yawning before slapping something down on the table with a grin.

A wad of cash.

A/N Sorry if this is rushed and a tad boring but it will pick up in the next chapter which should be up in the next two days. Let me know what you think ;)