A/N: I realize I haven't got the greatest track record when it comes to completing WIPs but never fear, this one is complete and will be two parts. The last chapter will be posted sometime within the next week :)

Dean is sitting on the edge of his hospital bed when Sam arrives.

Elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

"Hey."

Dean straightens up, startled. Sam winces at the forced smile Dean plasters on his face. So it's going to be like that. Never any honesty between them. It's always, 'I'm fine, Sammy', 'everything is fine, Sammy', 'we're fine, Sammy.'

"The hospital called me," Sam says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Didn't know what to expect when I got here. They wouldn't tell me anything."

Dean nods like the movement hurts. "Yeah, um, I guess you're my emergency contact."

"You guess?"

"That's what they said was on my insurance card." Dean laughs, "Hell if I remember putting your name down! Sorry to make you come all this way, but I'm fine. I signed myself outta here… gotta get out of here."

"What happened?"

Dean shrugs as he struggles to his feet. He puts a hand down on the bed to steady himself, his face pale.

"I told you-"

"Cut the 'I'm fine' bullshit, okay? I think you owe me something, some kind of answer, for coming all this way."

Dean wheezes a laugh, "I told you, Sam. Nothing happened. I'm totally fine."

"They don't call emergency contacts in non-emergency cases. You break a toe, Dean, and I'm pretty sure they wouldn't have called me."

Dean doesn't answer, clutches onto the bedrail a little tighter, "They got me a little drugged up, I think. I think they gave me morphine. So, uh, I probably shouldn't be driving." He ducks his head as if preparing for a massive confession, "Do you think you could drive me back to my motel room?"

"So I drove three hours to be your taxi?"

"Fine. Gimme my phone and I'll call a taxi. You can go home."

"That's not what I'm saying, Dean!"

"Then I guess I don't know what you want from me, Sammy. I didn't call you and I'm sorry you had to drive all this way for nothing but that's all this is- nothing."

"Uh huh, Is 'nothing' a common medical condition? Do they hospitalize people all the time for 'nothing'?"

Dean groans and buries his head in his hands again. "Sam. Just give me a ride, would you? Why you gotta play lawyer on me? I'm too drugged up for this."

"You're seriously scaring the hell out of me, man. I am this close," He presses his fingers together, "To losing my shit here. The more you refuse to tell me what's wrong-"

"I got my ass handed to me by a chupacabra, okay?" Dean interrupts. "It was a fucking chupacabra."

"Really?" Sam doesn't believe it, at least he doesn't believe that's all of it but he knows it's all he's going to get. He lets it slide.

"Yes, really. Now will you help me ditch this joint?"

…

The night air is chilly but Dean has his window rolled all the way down. He dangles his lit cigarette out the open window and Sam doesn't say anything because right now there are bigger fights to fight hanging heavily between them.

It's been nearly two years since he's seen his brother, since he's heard his brother's voice beyond a couple of drunk voice messages.

And whose fault is that if not his own?

He'd had his reasons for cutting his family out as completely as he had but Dean was a piece of him and Sam hasn't felt whole in a very long time.

"You know, you should come down to Stanford some time." Sam winces as the words come out, wishing he could reach out and pull them back in.

Dean jerks back from the window, his eyes suddenly on Sam.

"Yeah," Dean says, though he might just as well have said no. He flicks his cigarette out the window, rubs his hands against his jeans.

"You know, you could meet some of my friends. I could give you a tour of the place."

"Right," Dean nods though there's no sincerity, no commitment.

And it's stupid, but Sam always felt like he was the one that cut his family out. But here, right now, he thinks maybe Dean has done some cutting too.

Sam lets out a defeated sigh. It figures that he'd only want what he couldn't have.

"You just passed my hotel," Dean says, tapping out another cigarette. And is it just Sam, or is Dean smoking more than he used to?

"Why didn't you say anything?!"

"I just did."

"Yeah, thanks. You're an awesome navigator."

"Whatever. Just turn around up here."

…

It's one of those roadside places. The cheap, charge by the hour type places where the billboards haven't been changed in several decades and the sheets probably just as long.

Sam can't imagine how he ever dealt with living in these shit holes. He tries to remember if they were always this bad or if Dean has just lowered his standards.

He blows out a breath. "Okay, we'll get your stuff and then we'll find a Motel 6 or something."

"No, this is good," Dean says.

"You know what's also good, Dean? Not getting the clap from your bed sheets."

"God, I've forgotten what a prissy bitch you can be."

"Well, now you remember. Get outta the car and show me to your room or give me the key and I'll get your shit together by myself."

"Nah, man, I'm staying here."

"Well, I'm not."

"I don't remember asking you to. You're not staying."

There's something in Dean's tone that makes Sam pause. Makes his ears ring, dizzy like he stood up too fast.

Makes him think that Dean isn't just throwing around words like the stubborn asshole he is.

"Stop being a stubborn asshole," Sam says.

"I mean it, Sam. Drop me off at the door and I'll take it from there. This is goodbye."

Sam shakes his head no.

"Goodbye, Sam."

"You can't get rid of me that easy."

"Oh really?" Dean laughs as if he has a million punch lines to Sam's words and yet he intends to share none of them.

Sam clenches his fists around the steering wheel so that he's not clenching them around Dean's neck, or punching them through his window.

He puts his car back in gear and doesn't look at the expression on Dean's face as he puts his foot to the gas. Dean may be stubborn and he may have a big mouth but Sam is the one with the car.

…

"God dammit, Sam. Fuck you!" Dean's face is pale and his whole body is trembling.

Sam doesn't respond. He hadn't expected Dean to react well. He presses his lips together and decides now would be a good time to turn the volume up on the radio. Dean just stares at him, eyes wide with disbelief… and something else. Something that's a little too close to panic.

Sam doesn't want to think about that because there's no reason why Dean should react like that.

"Look, man. I'm sorry you're stuck with me. But I'm not taking off an hour after you're released AMA from the hospital, okay? So either I take you back to the hospital or we find us an acceptable motel to stay the night at."

"If you take me back to the hospital, does that mean you'll leave?"

Sam is stunned into silence. He keeps his eyes on the road and tries to focus on keeping the car straight. "No." He decides. He sticks his chin out and decides he'll match Dean, stubborn for stubborn.

"Well, at least at the hospital I can make them make you leave."

Sam yanks the car over to the side of the road.

"What the hell, Dean?!" His entire body feels strung too tight, he feels like he's losing sight of what is up and what is down, "What the he-"

"No, Sam. No!" Dean interrupts, twisting his body so he can face Sam. Looks Sam fully in the eyes for the first time since he arrived, "This is not about you, okay? For once in your goddamn fucking life something is not about you! You left, and you know what? Good for you. It's what you wanted. You wanted something else- God knows what- it wasn't me," his voice cracks.

"You haven't been there for anything, these past few months been hell- absolute hell and you have no clue about any of it because guess where you weren't- you weren't here. So now you want to sweep in and take over and act like you give a shit but I've been taking care of myself without you and I will keep on taking care of myself without you!

"You chose not to be here, Sam and I sure as hell am not going to be the one to drag you away from what you decided you wanted more than your family. I don't want to deal with you, I don't want to deal with your guilt or your sympathy or your concern- I don't want any of it."

Sam feels lost. He stares at Dean for what feels like forever.

He jerks the car door open and stumbles from the car. He half expects Dean to follow him out but Dean just looks drained, sits in the passenger seat, body too still.

Sam doesn't know where he's going but he needs air and he needs to not be around his brother. He feels so blindsided he can barely breathe.

…

"Did you even call me once, Dean? Whatever happened, did you even give me a chance to be there for you?"

Dean's voice is exhausted, frayed, "You made it very clear what you wanted and where you wanted to be."

Sam shakes his head in disbelief, "Yeah, that's what I thought. You didn't even give me a chance."

…

Sam makes it sound so simple. As if all Dean has to do is trust him.

As if he is owed Dean's trust.

But it goes so far beyond trust. So far beyond it, Dean's not sure if that's what it's ever been about.

It's about not asking from Sam more than Sam wants to give. It's about not making Sam choose between his dreams and his familial obligations.

That's what Dad did. And by doing so, it was Dad that drove Sam away. Dean won't do that too. But Sam has Dean backed into a corner, more literally, locked in Sam's car and Sam's not letting him go anywhere.

Fine. This is Sam's choice, in that case.

Dean lights a cigarette, tilts his head back against the headrest and doesn't care that he isn't blowing the smoke out the window like Sam always insists he does.

He stares up at the upholstery above him which is beginning to detach and curl.

"Funniest thing, Sam," He says finally. "I don't have a leg."

Other than a slight intake of breath, Sam doesn't respond and Dean's not watching his face.

So he continues, "Bet you'd never guess, huh?" He laughs and takes another drag from his cigarette. "Wasn't even a monster or anything cool like that. Just a car crash- sliced my leg near clean off.

"You know- I saw the car comin' right at me and I thought for sure I was dead." He shakes his head, "Should've been dead."

"Dean-"

"Nah Sammy, it's cool. I got a prosthetic. Expensive as shit, couldn't afford the hospital bills and the fake insurance was catching up to us so we, Dad and I, had to skip town before I could really learn how to use the thing. But at least I got it. So, you know, at least when I wear pants I can pretend like I don't know what's goin' on down there." He laughs again. "At least until I stand up and then it's-" he makes a splat sound.

"So where's Dad?"

The pause is too long.

"Anyway," Dean says, "That's the story. It's been rough but I'm figuring out shit as I go. So you know, I'm not helpless. You don't have to stick around or anything."

"So how did you end up in the hospital last night?"

Dean shrugs, "I told you. Chupacabra."

"You didn't just make that up to shut me up?"

"Well, yeah, but no. It was true. Hoping to shut you up, sure. That too."

"Who the hell hunts down a chupacabra on one leg and a pair of crutches and expects to make it out alive?"

"I'm a stupid son of a bitch, what can I say?" Dean says with a plastic smile.

"…Unless you didn't expect to make it out alive?"

Dean turns his head away.

"Dean. You stupid son of a bitch."

…

"It doesn't have to be a crippling injury. It doesn't have to change your life in any permanent, life altering way," the doctor had told him.

"I lost my fucking leg. I can't think of much that's more life altering than that."

"It'll take adjustments, for sure. But, son, it's an obstacle that you can over-come."

"My son has always been pretty active," John had interjected.

"Well, we can discuss limitations, of course. But I know a young man- an amputee, his injury much like Dean's- who's on the local fire department. I can arrange, perhaps, for Dean to meet with him, hear his story."

…

Dean sits in the car, smokes.

Sam takes a walk. Says he just needs to process, "I'll be back".

"Yeah, you fucking better be."

Dean doesn't know what Sam needs to "process". Not like Sam's the one who lost a limb or anything. It's not as if Sam has to stick around if it's too much for him to handle. From the rearview mirror, Dean watches his brother walk away. Wishes he could walk away too.

…

When Sam returns, Dean can see the argument in his eyes, "Come stay with me at Stanford for a bit." There's a challenge behind his words like he's anticipating another fight. But Dean's too exhausted. Exhausted from the last twenty-four hours, and just exhausted.

"Just for a bit," he says. He'll let Sam assuage his guilt in this way and then in a couple weeks, Dean will leave. Sam can feel good about himself, what a good brother he is and Dean can pick up this pity party he's been having right where he'd left off.

"Okay," Sam says, surprised at Dean's ready acquiescence. "Ok."

…

Sam hovers like Dad always knew not to do. The steps to Sam's apartment are narrow and steep, obviously not designed for people with missing limbs.

Sam's breath on the back of his neck would be enough to drive him insane if it weren't Sammy. But it is Sam and Dean has always said, Sam could get away with anything. Maybe only with him. Probably only with him since Sam was always in trouble with dad.

"Stop riding my ass," Dean says. "I can buy you some hookers if you're that desperate to get laid."

Sam huffs a laugh, "That's disgusting, Dean."

"Yeah. I agree…" He pauses, "Wait, which part?"

Sam moves like he's about to hit Dean in the arm, like he'd always done before. He curls up his fist and draws it back to his side.

Dean clenches his jaw, pretends he doesn't notice. Sam treating him like a china doll is going to grow old real fast but he can let it slide this once.

So what if Sam treats him as if he's breakable? Dean will show him he's not. Just some time, Sam needs some time.

…

"Look, you're not gonna hover," Dean says as he watches Sam tug the dirty sheets off his bed. "I've been living on my own-"

"Six months, Dean. Six months and you still can't use your prosthesis."

Dean huffs. "You ever try walking with one of those?"

"I'm not criticizing you. I'm just saying maybe I can help. You gotta sign up for physical therapy, at least. I can pay for it. Help you find a job around here."

"Wait, wait. No. I'm just sticking around long enough to get my shit together and then I'm getting back with Dad. I'm not moving in with you."

"Why not, Dean? You could."

"Seven months ago, Sammy. I called, I'm pretty sure it was seven months ago and you didn't answer. I left a message and you didn't return it."

"Dean-"

"No. All I'm sayin' is, seven months ago you wanted nothing to do with me. Hell, two days ago you wanted nothing to do with me. The only thing that's changed is that I have three limbs instead of four- I ain't flattered, Sam. So I'll accept your help because I'd like to get back to hunting someday and we both saw how well I was doing on my own. So thank you, Sam, for your help. Real brotherly of you. But let's not pretend things have changed between us."

Dean turns to leave.

"I just went to college," He hears Sam mutter to himself before the door shuts behind him.