TITLE: Abandonment Issues

RATING: T

SUMMARY: Dean had always had abandonment issues. They had just reached a point they should both have seen coming.

WORDS: 4222

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the first story I've written in which I didn't have any idea where I was heading. I think it turned out okay, but I'd love to know your opinion. This can be set anywhere after season 2 episode 1, but before the season finale. This has very slight gore, non-descriptive; the T is just to be safe. Enjoy!

"Sometimes, when I look at Sam, the only thing I'm not proud of is that I never taught the kid how to be selfish. One of the greatest sorrows of my life – I didn't teach this kid I raised to be selfish. I will probably never admit it out loud – at least until I'm in the direst of circumstances – but I am so proud of him. Of the child he was, of the man he grew up to be. He's kind, he's noble, he's brave, big-hearted, loyal and caring to the point of a fault. You see where I'm going with this? He's too selfless for his own good. I wish I'd taught him better, wish I'd taught him to want, just for himself, always take, never give. I mean, I gave, my whole life, I gave this kid everything he ever wanted – that I could provide, anyway. I think I was the one who taught him to give and he grew up to be this guy who couldn't keep things for himself if his life depended on it. It's not something most people would be upset about, hell, most people would probably be proud, but they don't have to see him risk himself every day. They don't have to see him – the only thing I have left in this world that I care about – throw his life away to save people who will probably never know his name. How exactly is that fair? My mom used to tell me when I was young: 'everybody gets what they deserve, Dean.' How can I be expected to accept that Sam deserves this? How could anybody think Sam deserves this?"

This is what Dean Winchester thought as he drank from a bottle that he hadn't bothered to check the name of while he stared at the body of his battered, bruised and unconscious little brother.

"Sam was never supposed to have ended up this way. It should have been me. I think I've mentioned that selflessness thing he has going. Gets him into a lot of trouble. We were on a hunt. Nothing too big, it was quite simple, really. Go in, kill the chupacabra and get out. Simple. I should have known.

Chupacabra's are typically regarded as livestock-bloodsuckers. This was either an evolved breed or maybe goat blood just wasn't cutting it, I don't know and I couldn't care less. The one thing I did care about was that they were mortal and easily killed: normal bullets. One lethal shot, and the sucker goes down.

Sam and I, we hadn't even been in town that long. We were just supposed to roll into town, scout what seemed to be the chupacabra's home base, and then kill the stupid thing that night. But some people are too distrusting for our own good.

We were pretty surprised when, after shooting the chupacabra that had been feeding when we found it, these four men surrounded us. And in our line of work? Getting surprised gets you killed. We tried to act casual, like we'd just been hunting, but then the guy who seemed to be in charge sent one of his friends to check our trail. Sure enough, the guy found a body. We tried to argue, that, hey, there'd been an animal there, too. Did you see how she was mangled? But of course, they wouldn't listen to us. Said we'd shot the girl – it was a girl, maybe 14 years old – and then the animal had found it, and since we didn't want all the blame to fall on us, we'd shot the thing, freeing us of all incrimination.

This wasn't the first time this had happened, you see, we were used to it. Folks tend to be a little suspicious of two men who just happen to mysteriously appear around the time when all the killings transpire. We didn't blame them. Usually, they'd just give us those weird looks, or in some cases, they'd show open hostility, but it had very rarely gotten to this point. These men looked unhinged. And that didn't sit right with me. I told them that if they didn't believe us, they could damn well take us to the police station and we'd clear it up there. That was when things really went south. They got these horrible, deranged smiles on their faces and then the guy in charge softly said that he 'didn't think there was any point in involving the good men in blue, hunter.'

That was what really got me, him calling me a 'hunter'; I doubted he meant the kind we were pretending to be. Then suddenly, I couldn't move and one half-look showed that neither could Sam. He walked forward and whispered the words I will never forget into my ear, before sidling away towards Sam. 'You killed something that was very dear to me. I think it's time you felt the same pain.' That's what he said. Those words still haunt me as I sit staring at Sammy's unnaturally pale body…"

Dean's thoughts trailed off, lost in the panic he'd felt then until Sam coughed, jolting him back to the present. Sam had been almost comatose the first day Dean had gotten him patched up. Dean had spent that day praying that his brother wouldn't succumb to infection, that he would be okay, that he would just wake up. The next day he was rewarded when Sam woke up, delirious in his pain, but miraculously healing. The following days Dean spent always near his brother' bedside, ordering in, watching TV, reading. Sam had been through varying degrees of consciousness, having spent enough of the last few days awake and aware to satisfy Dean. The man in question coaxed a few sips of water into his brother and then sat down again, returning to his contemplation of how he'd spent his week.

'The man walked to Sam, pushed him down and arranged him so I could see him perfectly. Watching, but powerless to stop whatever horror he was about to unleash on my baby brother. And a horror it was. I watched as he pulled out knives. I watched as he raised the first one and chanted something in a language I didn't understand and didn't try to bother to place, busy as I was. I watched as he gutted my brother, slowly, painfully, knife by knife, Sam unable to cry out, to do anything but silently lay there, staring up at me with eyes filled with tears of torturous pain that pooled and rolled down his cheeks. I watched, overcome with terror, anger, grief and despair. And, after a few dozen eons, the son of a bitch was done. He leaned back, to admire his handiwork no doubt, and I examined the lesions frantically, calculating how long it would take before it was too late. I figured we had some time, but we had to hurry. The guy then stood up, faced me and told me about his cult and how they worshiped the chupacabra, eating the mangled remains of his victims. I glared at him, hatred blazing in my eyes, wishing not for the first time that looks could kill. He'd be six feet under if they could. It was pure luck, what happened next. A minor earthquake, not forceful enough to cause any serious damage but forceful enough to shake everyone and, more importantly, distract the guy who seemed to be holding us captive with his freaky mind. By the time he realized what had happened and turned to rectify his mistake, it was too late: my knife was buried to the hilt in heart. He was dead before he hit the ground. Pulling out my gun, I shot the other three before they had the chance to react. Immediate threat taken care of, I knelt before my brother and saw the relief in eyes, barely visible past the pain, but there. I whispered soothing words to him as I did my best to tend to his injuries with what I had at hand. Somehow, miraculously, I got us back to the motel in one piece, where I fixed his wounds better. I would have preferred taking him to a hospital, but his first sentence had been 'No… hosp'tals, De'n,' so I figured he wouldn't like it very much. I'd get us there if he really needed it, regardless of what Sam thought, big brother knows best after all, but until then, I would sit here, looking after him as long as was necessary. He wouldn't have needed it in the first place if I'd done my job properly, but no point crying over spilt milk and all that.

Funny thing in all of this is, I didn't even want to come here. Sure, I knew there was a job here, but then, there was a job everywhere. Most importantly, 'everywhere' wasn't here. 'Here' being Palo Alto, California. I don't know what possessed Sam (bad pun not intended) to want to come back here and I tried to convince him to take a job somewhere else, far away from Cali, like Texas. But he was insistent and then he gave me his eyes and I lost the battle. I realized why he wanted to come here so badly only yesterday; his friend's sister was one of the first victims and there are rumors that chupacabra's pick their next victims by scenting blood of the family of the people they've already eaten. Sammy just wanted to keep his friend safe."

"I don't know if I should hit you, or cry, Sammy," Dean whispered wearily, afraid for his brother. These were the kind of serious injuries he hadn't had for a while now and Dean had hoped he could have kept that up. Guess not. He'd have hell to pay, though, for scaring Dean like this. Not that he'd admit he was scared but it's the thought that counts, right? He was tired, felt like he hadn't slept in weeks, which may or may not be true considering Sam still woke up screaming in terror for Jess. But he couldn't sleep now if he tried. Not until Sam regained consciousness again. "C'mon, Sammy," Dean murmured. "Don't do this to me. Not now." They'd just been getting back to being brothers. Dean couldn't lose him again.

"…De'n…?"

"Sam? Sammy, you awake?"

"De'n… what…?" Sam slowly blinked his eyes open. Then suddenly understood why he was on the bed as he grimaced in pain. "Oh."

"Yeah 'oh', Einstein," Dean growled, worry coming out as anger. "Seriously, Sam? For Josh? Really?"

Sam flushed. Okay, he kind of expected Dean to find out at some point, but he didn't want to talk about it just then. For one thing he was too tired. For another, Dean didn't look like he was in the right kind of mind-set for this conversation, nerves too frayed with worry, terror and concern. Lastly, Dean looked exhausted. Sam felt guilty, because he knew it was his fault Dean hadn't been sleeping well, but he could probably fix some of the damage he'd done. Just a little bit.

"Dean, why are you still awake?"

Dean was surprised. That was a sudden change in topics. But he saw the reasons why Sam didn't want to talk about it on his face, so he didn't push it. Instead, his demeanor softened.

"Sam-"

"No, Dean, it's a simple question. Why aren't you sleeping?" Sam was being a little brother but he figured being nearly mauled to death by cultists gave him a free pass.

"Because I couldn't, okay?" Dean felt guilty for Sam getting hurt. Trying to sleep whilst Sam was injured would've been impossible under normal circumstances, but with all the feelings of self-recrimination, Dean could barely muster enough preservation instincts to keep himself alive. Besides, he wasn't even going to try to fight that tone. He was too tired, plus Sam tended to act exactly five years of age whenever he took that tone. Meaning the eyes would come out and he would lose anyway. Might as well give in gracefully.

"…Dean, you're my big brother, and I love you, but you can be an idiot sometimes, you know that?" Sam would just pretend that they didn't hear Dean's breath hitch at that 'L' word their family didn't seem very good at saying. But that was probably because John never said it after Mary died and Dean was raised by John. Sam had been raised by Dean, which made all the difference in the world.

"I'm used to the macho act, Dean, and you know why I put up with it? Because it's an act. I'm used to the denial, and you know why I put up with it? Because I know you it helps you deal. I put up with your guilt complex and you know why? Because you need it, Dean. You need it to feel human." Sam paused, his hoarse-from-disuse voice now completely shot. Then, after thoroughly examining his older brother, so much so that Dean flushed and lowered his gaze under Sam's scrutiny, Sam's eyes softened and he continued gently. "You're my big brother and you've taken care of me my whole life and I will not let you destroy yourself. I'll show you don't need to feel guilt to be human."

With what probably was superhuman effort, Sam hoisted his body, grabbed Dean and then let him handle his weight, forcing him to lean down on the bed with Sam so as to not jar his injuries. Dean huffed when Sam went into octopus mode and wrapped himself – as much as he could, given his condition – around the older man. Clearly receiving the signals Sam seemed to be sending, Dean lay down with Sam and arranged them both. Or, tried to, anyway, until Sam started moving again and in the confusion of moving, ginormous limbs, Dean only realized their position only after Sam was done. But by then it was too late. Sam had his head pillowed on Dean's shoulder and Dean's arm trapped underneath and wrapped around Sam's body, the younger's arm lying on his brother's chest. He snuggled in, enjoying the warmth, even as he heard Dean sigh resignedly. Dean's arm, the one wrapped around Sam's body, tightened as he pulled Sam closer and rested his head sideways in his little brother's hair, then he covered Sam with his other hand, effectively cocooning Sam in his arms and relaxing for the first time in what felt like ages.

They lay like that for what seemed like ages, just taking comfort in the other's presence and proximity. Sam was about to drift off, when he suddenly felt the body around him start to shake. Startled, he quickly looked up and saw that Dean was silently crying, tears just rolling unstoppably down his cheeks. Sam was stunned. Dean had been fine mere seconds ago. "Dean…?" Sam asked hesitantly. "Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean gasped for breath, sobs becoming louder now that Sam had found out. He had tried so hard to not cry, it almost didn't seem fair. But then Sam had to go and freaking twine them together and snuggle into him and Dean lost it. He did give himself credit for keeping it hidden for almost five minutes from Sam. Right now, no matter what he did, he couldn't stop himself from crying and sobbing into Sam's hair, pulling his little brother closer.

'Do you know how close you came to dying, Sammy? After Dad, I can't lose anyone. Not again. Especially not you. It should have been me. It's my job, dammit. I'm supposed to take both our punches. I-'

"Dean," Sam interrupted his train of thought. He sounded… hurt. And a little horrified. But Dean was just crying. Sam would probably assume that Dean's dam had broken and he was just going through a catharsis. And then it struck him. Struck him dumb: he hadn't been thinking silently. He'd done it a few times; whenever Dean lost control of his emotions, his thoughts tended to spill out of his mouth. And that had been what had happened now. He looked at Sam and saw that he looked wounded, scared and shocked.

"Dean," Sam tried to calm his suddenly turbulent mind. It didn't work. Dean… Dean was an ass. A stupid, moronic, self-sacrificial ass. "What the hell, Dean?!" Okay, he hadn't meant to explode on his currently-breaking-down older brother, but Dean's words had just… ignited a long embedded terror in Sam's heart. Dean had always been willing to gladly lay down his life for his family, Sam knew, especially for the little brother he doted on. But Sam had just recently found out exactly how willing Dean was. And it was slightly disconcerting to know that your only family was quite happy to take every bullet, knife, fang and claw that came your way. 'I'm supposed to take both our punches.' God help them both.

"Dean… why?" Sam gave up on trying to form complex sentences. His emotions and thoughts were a swirling chaotic mess. He just needed to know why. It wouldn't be nearly enough, but for now, it was the best he had. "I get that Dad's death," no that definitely wasn't a flinch on Dean's face and Sam's breath hadn't caught, "hurt, but… why?" His voice had dropped to a whisper at the end.

Dean inhaled shakily. "You don't get it, do you?" At Sam's bewildered look, Dean gave a hard laugh, not a trace of humor in the sound. Then he shook his head slightly, as though mildly surprised by Sam's cluelessness. "Sam, I raised you, I looked after you. I watched you grow up. You were pretty much my child. That means, along with the over-protectiveness of an older brother, I also have the instincts of parents when it comes to their children in danger, as corny as that sounds." Here, Dean's eyes turned fragile and grew watery again. He closed his eyes, tight, causing two tears to slowly trace their way down his face. His voice was ragged when he spoke next. "Sammy, I watched you get tortured. I watched, not able to do anything. I… you don't know how that feels." He gasped, then continued, eyes still closed, throat tight, voice barely above a whisper. "It's my job to protect you. And I failed miserably. I had to stand and watch helplessly as you were mutilated and then I had to sit here, uselessly, watching you battle against nature for your life, knowing you were going through it because I couldn't do my damn job. I had one job, Sammy," more tears trailed down the same path, Dean letting out a quiet sob. "And I messed it up. And you had to pay for it." Dean squeezed his eyes shut tighter, then exhaled shakily, continuing with a desperate tinge to his voice. "I'm sorry. God, Sammy, I'm so s-sorry." He lunged at Sam, mindful of the other's injuries, pulling him in his arms, burying his face in Sam's neck, mumbling apologies all the while.

Dean… had much more of a complex than Sam could have fantasized in his wildest dreams. He understood that Dean still felt responsible for their father's death, but this was Dean taking his complex to an almost suicidal level. Dean wanted him to be safe, he got that – he wanted his brother to be safe, too – but Dean wanted him completely out of harm's way, and frankly, in their job, it wasn't possible. There was no way that they could come out of a hunt completely unscathed. It was unreasonable to hope for it. But Dean knew all this, so, what was wrong with him? They couldn't stop hunting, it was too deeply embedded in them to even consider that an option, so Dean would just have to deal with the harsh reality that Sam would get hurt sometimes, but he'd fight through it to always come back to Dean…

And suddenly he realized what Dean's problem was. And couldn't believe that it took him this long to notice. He smiled sadly at the amount of pain his brother had to be in. This was fixable, though. That was good.

"Dean," Sam began gently. "It's okay. I'm okay. Dean," he urged as Dean continued to hide his face. Sam needed to be able to judge if his brother understood what Sam was trying to get through to him. "Look at me," he said, carefully pushing Dean away until he could see his eyes. "I'm fine," he repeated. "I'm going to stay fine, Dean. You know why? Because you keep me safe from serious damage. Okay, so it got through you this time, but, man, that's an occupational hazard. We knew stuff like this would happen when we became hunters. That doesn't make you a lousy guardian and it doesn't make you responsible for whatever happens to me. You're not a human-shield, Dean. You can't take all my hits for me, dude. You're human. One day, you might take a hit too many, then where would that leave me, huh? No," he interjected as Dean started lowering his eyes again. This was a crucial point that had to get through to Dean. "Dean, look at me, I'm not done. You can't keep hoping to take all the damage for the team, okay? I don't need you to. If something happened to you because you were shielding me-" Sam cut off because that was too painful a thought to be voiced. Dean must have understood because his eyes softened, reassuring Sam 'hey, I'm right here, I'm fine, Sammy'. Sam took a breath then continued. "You don't need to do it and I don't want you to, anyway, okay? Okay, Dean?" He persisted when Dean didn't answer. 'He has to answer, please, he has to realize, please-'

It was barely there, his voice lower than a whisper. "Okay. Okay, Sammy."

Sam breathed a sharp sigh of relief. Thank God. He'd deal with the other, more serious issue soon. But not now. Now he would just get Dean, who suddenly looked like he hadn't slept in weeks, to bed. "C'mon, big brother. Bed time." He re-arranged them like they were before Dean started crying, only this time he waited for Dean's breathing to even out, which would indicate he was on the threshold of sleep, about to step over, or, in simpler terms, too vulnerable and open to what Sam was going to say next. Once Dean's breathing did even out, Sam lightly twisted himself out of his brother's grip, sensing his muscles tense involuntarily. Sam shushed him, conveying he wasn't going anywhere and then leaned towards Dean's ear and whispered, "Dean, I didn't do it for Josh for the reason you think I did. I'm not going anywhere. You're going to have to get used to me, man, 'cause I don't intend on leaving for a long time, and that I will swear to you. G'night." Giving a light kiss to Dean's temple, Sam lay back in Dean's arms and let the exhaustion from his injuries pull him into sleep, knowing his message was received when he felt Dean's arms squeeze him softly in gratitude and love.

END

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I really hope you enjoyed this, because I had fun writing it. Such a weird feeling when I don't have to consult with two different documents to proceed with a scene in a story, maybe I'll give it a shot again. Leave a review to tell me what you thought.