AN: I watched Sam get hit with a freakin sledge hammer and thrown against the wall and they're trying to tell me that he's totally fine physically? My hurt!Sam heart couldn't take it so this is what came out of it lol. Hope you like it! This is the first installment and every chapter after will be through prompts through reviews, so please leave a review with a prompt for hurt!sam protective!dean me to do :)

Summary: One-Shot Series. Hurt!Sam Protective!Dean. Chapter 1: Tag to episode 13x12. Sam wakes up to pain in the middle of the night.

I'll be your parachute

When you are falling through

When awful things surface

But who is ever there

To see you face your fear

Your path is so unclear

-Oh Brother Saint Raymond

Pain wakes him up in the middle of the night. For the first time in who knows how long, it's not nightmares. It's not phantom pain from his time downstairs. It's real, actual pain. His eyes burst open and he struggles to take a breath. He puts a hand to his ribs and black dots dance across his vision. Years of dealing with these types of injuries lets him know that if he doesn't do something soon, he's going to pass out and probably bleed out internally. He thought he was fine. He thought he could handle it. He looks at the doorway and knows there's no way he's going to actually make it out of his room to get help, not even across the hall to Dean's room. Screaming for his brother is impossible too. Everything at this moment seems impossible, but he tries to brush those thoughts away. He can't think about Mom or Jack or anything other than getting help right now. He reaches an arm out towards his nightstand and grabs his phone. Through blurry vision he hits the 1 and holds it up to his ear. He closes his eyes and takes shallow breaths. The phone rings once. Then twice.

Then, finally, a tired voice says, "Sammy?"

Sam's so happy he could cry. Shit, he might actually be crying the pain is so bad. Everything's on fire. He's on fire. He clenches his fists to remind himself that he's not there. He's out and this is normal pain from a hunt. Nothing he can't handle. Nothing Dean can't handle. That is, if his brother would get his ass out of bed. He tries to say his brother's name but nothing comes out but a wheeze.

"Sam?" Dean's more alert now, "What's going on? Why are you calling me?" I'm right across the hallway goes unsaid.

Sam struggles but eventually gets out, "Help…"

Within seconds, Sam's door bursts open. Dean hurries into the room, limping as he does. He puts his hands on Sam's face, slapping him not so gently.

"Sammy? Sam, hey, come on… open your eyes. What's going on? What hurts?"

Sam opens his eyes, shifts his hands to his ribs. That seems to be enough for the older brother because next thing Sam knows, his brother is lifting up his shirt and cursing so much that it'd make a sailor blush.

"Son of a… you didn't say anything about this!" Dean exclaims, glaring at Sam, "you're probably bleeding out internally right now, you moron." Dean presses on his ribs and Sam lets out a groan, more tears falling from his eyes. Sam Winchester has known more than his fair share of pain in his life, but this… right now… sucks. Dean's examination doesn't take more than a minute before he says, "Looks like you just won a trip to the emergency room, Sammy."

Sam looks up at his brother, panicked. Pleading.

Dean's eyes lock on his, apologetic, "Sorry, kiddo. I can't fix this."

Sam's a 35 year old man and basically a giant, but the nickname provides the same comfort it did when he was 12. It takes herculean effort, but they manage to get him up and on his feet. Sam sways, swallowing back nausea.

"Steady there, gigantor… gotta get you to the car." Dean mutters.

"Shoes?" Sam asks as they shuffle him out of his bedroom.

Dean shoots him a glare, "No, princess, we don't have time to grab your heels for the ball. You're seconds away from bleeding out. Hate to be the wicked stepmother here, Sammy, but no ball for you."

Sam says nothing as they make their way to the garage, more tears leaking down his face when they finally manage to get him in the car. He's dying, he's sure of it. He's never been more sure of anything. He looks over at his brother. At the not so concealed panic on his face. Sam reaches out towards him as Dean starts the car. Sam latches onto his brothers thin sleep shirt. Dean looks at him.

"'m sorry," Sam manages.

"Shut up," Dean barks, but he puts his hand on top of Sam's head, holding him close enough for Sam to lean against him. He puts the car in reverse and getting them the hell out of the bunker faster than he ever has.

The whole trip for Sam is a total shitshow. His breathing still sucks and he's surprised he hasn't passed the hell out already. He feels Dean's glances and knows his brother is thinking the same thing. Sam looks out the front window and everything blurs together into one misshapen blob. His blinks become slower and he can feel time practically slipping away from him. He has to say something to Dean. He can't let himself go out on the last full length conversation they had. He can't let those be his last words.

"D'n," Sam tries, clenching Dean's shirt a little tighter. Dean's right hand moves from his head to the back of his neck, squeezing it.

"Almost there, Sammy. Just hang on, ok?"

"'m sorry," Sam swallows back tears, back everything he had been neglecting to say to his brother the past few weeks when hopelessness nearly swallowed him whole. The car hits a pot hole and his eyes close, but he can't help the scream of pain that he lets out. Dean's panicked voice yells over his scream, telling him it's going to be ok. That everything's going to be fine and suddenly Sam can't take it anymore.

"No," Sam says, once the pain dies down a little, though not fading completely, "no, ever'thing isn't ok. I'm not ok a'd I'm sor'y I can't be. I hav'nt been for a while…I'm sorry I di'nt tell you…" Sam's voice fades off, his eyes closing and not opening. His breath hitches and Sam can feel himself floating.

The last thing he hears is his brother yelling his name and feeling the car coming to an abrupt stop.

XXXXX

The next time Sam wakes up, it's to the sound of beeping. He opens his eyes, head pounding and seconds away from telling whatever the hell it is to shut up when he realizes exactly where he is. He shifts on the bed, groaning as pain makes itself known. Another not so friendly reminder of what happened.

"Sleeping beauty finally wakes up." A tired voice says from the left.

Sam glances over and sees his brother, slouching in the chair by his bed. His hurt leg propped up on the end of Sam's bed.

"First I'm Cinderella and now I'm…" Sam swallows, "Sleeping beauty. Talk about misleading. How long…"

"Oh, not long," Dean snorts, sarcasm clear in his answer, "only 48 hours. Not a record breaker, but you've been in and out of it."

Sam's mind immediately wonders what he said in those 48 hours when he was awake. He looks away from Dean, unable to take his brother's glare.

"You're a moron," Dean starts, as Sam knew he would, "a complete, utter moron. You said you didn't get hurt. You said you were fine and like an idiot, I believed you. I should've checked you over myself."

"It's not your fault," Sam mutters.

"Damn right it isn't. You're a grown, overly grown, man, Sam." Dean exclaims, "you know the symptoms of broken ribs. You know the symptoms of feeling off. So, why didn't you say something?"

Sam closes his eyes, feeling tears slip out without his permission. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat. He wants to claim that he's tired and just fall asleep and completely avoid this conversation, but he knows his brother better than anyone. He's not going to let this go.

"Sammy," Dean says softly.

Sam opens his eyes, blurry with tears as he looks at his brother. "I'm sorry, I thought I was okay. I thought I could handle it."

"You were wrong," Dean says roughly, "You almost died. Again. What would I have done if you hadn't…"

"I'm sorry," Sam says again and before he can help himself he blurts, "I'm so not okay it's not even funny. I've tried, Dean. I've tried to be hopeful and think we can find a way out of this. It just all seems so impossible that I just want to lay down and not get back up. Let it be over."

There. He'd said it. What he's been thinking for days and talking about everything around that particular thought.

Dean lowers his leg and scoots the chair closer. "This about…him?"

Him, meaning Lucifer. Dean's no moron, he knows he struggled having the Devil back. Hell, in their home.

Sam barks out a laugh, "It's about all of it. Mom and Jack and….Yes, okay. Yes. It's about Lucifer. He… I'm not over it. I don't think I'll ever be over it."

Dean grabs his arm tightly enough to reassure and comfort, but not tight enough to injure. "Sam, it's okay to not be okay. I know I've… I've tried to get you back in the swing of things. Get you back to the annoyingly hopeful little brother we both know you are. But… it's okay if that takes time. It's okay for you to not be that right now." He pauses, "it's not okay for you to not tell me about it. For you to hide yourself in your room and keep this all bottled up. For you to drink yourself to sleep every night. Yeah, Sam, I saw the bottles by your bed when I came rushing in to save your ass." Sam gives him an innocent puppy dog look before giving him a knowing one, "I know, I know. Pot meet kettle and all that, but Sam… it's me. You can tell me anything, you know that."

"I can't," Sam says, brokenly, more tears falling as he feels Dean tighten his grip, "I can't, Dean. I can't put this on you. I won't."

"Yeah, well, how's that been working out so far?" Dean questions, eyebrow raised, "You were there for me when I told you about my… experience. We haven't ever really talked about yours. What with the wall coming down and everything, I have a pretty good picture, unfortunately, but…"

"But I haven't given you the play-by-play?" Sam says, roughly, "that's not… I can't…. No."

Dean nods, as if he had been expecting that, "Alright. I won't push you. You don't have to give me the whole book. I'm just saying… you want to talk, I'll listen."

"I know." Sam says, brokenly, "I'm sorry."

"Shut up," Dean says gently, squeezing his arm again. Sam thinks he'll move back now, ending the chick flick moment, but he doesn't.

They stay like that for a while. Sam falling apart and Dean letting him.