The grass is damp beneath his feet and the wetness wipes away small specks of dirt on his boot as he closes the trunk of the impala, fire thrower in hand. His hand strokes over the smooth metal before he makes his way back to Sam, feet making an obscene squelching sound when they collide with the swampy earth.

The air is brisk so he wraps his jacket around himself a little tighter. A brief moment passes where he thinks about warming up hugging Sam, he dismisses the thought within the next step across the boggy ground. He pretends he never thought about it, just like he always does.

'Sam?'

He keeps his voice hushed just in case there's a creepy ass Sigbin lurking around that he can't see. But, when there's no answer from his brother, he shouts louder. Fuck it he thinks. It not like he wouldn't be prepared if the monster came lunging at him, he has the flame thrower tightly gripped in his right hand after all.

When Sam doesn't answer after three shouts, each louder and more worried than the last, he begins to fear the worst. Now, there aren't many things that he's scared of, fear was sort of beaten out of his system by the many times he had to go up against a monster when he was just a boy. He had to learn not to be scared because that would give the monster an advantage and that would inevitably end up in him being dead and then who would look out for Sam? Fear was almost an unknown emotion to him. Almost. Flying made him freak out a little, made him loose his cool but it was nothing compared to the thought something might have happened to his brother. He needs Sam, loves him, and can't live without him. A psychologist would probably pay millions for a session with him, talking about Sam; his mind has got to be some kind of fucked up but interesting mess. That's how he sees it anyway.

He scours the long stretch of land. Everything is black holes in rocks, grass, mud and more rocks. Whenever there's a hunt, he gets sort of excited; it's something to do to fill up the long hours that stretch out before them. Frantically, he peers behind every rock. Where the fuck is he?

When he spots Sam, limp against a rock, he can't even think for a moment, can hardly even breathe. It feels sort of like he's dead, or what he imagines it would be like to be dead. But then adrenaline kicks in and he sprints forwards, not realising he dropped his fire thrower in his haste to get to Sam. He hears his voice shouting out Sam's name lingering in the air, but it sounds distant and fuzzy over the blood thumping in his ears. Oh god no. The panic feels like it's trying to trap him, like it wants to bring him to his knees before he can reach the still body and for a moment he thinks it will, he thinks he might just give in and black out and be helpless, but he keeps going. Anything for Sam.

Upon reaching Sam, he puts a palm to his cheek and moves his head to look at him. Sam's eyes are open and slowly but surely, blinking. Thank God. He knows he shouldn't really let himself get so worked up when he doesn't know the whole story, but it's like it's out of his control, he sees Sam hurt and everything but terror flies out of the window. That worries him a little bit. Sam shouldn't be the only handle he's got to keep himself sane. He knows that is not at all healthy.

'Sam, what the hell happened?'

He could see blood seeping through Sam's shirt. Idiot. Why did I leave him alone?

'Sigbin' Sam coughs a little as Dean smoothes a thumb under his eye before he crouches to wrap a hand around his waist to haul him up. 'I tried shouting'

'Come on, back to the motel'

He drags Sam's slack, heavy body to the Impala. He wonders when Sam got to be such a giant, he still remembers when he had a scrawny little frame that looked sort of delicate, like his bones would break if he fell. Now though, it's a whole different story and Dean has trouble attempting to schlep Sam to the car without dropping him or falling. It takes them double the time it should, but they reach the shiny black impala and Dean props Sam up against the door to open the door for him before shoving him in. He tried to be gentle but it's harder than it looks to get an injured person into a car, Sam didn't complain though. In fact, for a moment, a very brief moment, he's sure he sees Sam smirk. Actually smirk like people do when they know something you don't. Shaking his head a little, he pushed away the thought, puts it down to Sam's crooked attempt at smiling to say thanks. He shouldn't have to say thanks. I'm supposed to protect him. He climbs into the rivers side, starts the engine and speeds off, not bothering to finish the job or even collect the fire thrower he dropped earlier. His mind was set on getting Sam far away.

ooo

The neon signs cast a red and green glow onto the dirty motel carpet, and it gives Dean a headache. With a sigh, he closes the too thin curtains and then goes back to Sam who was currently sat on the end of one of the beds. His concern had multiplied itself by about one hundred since he dragged Sam off the ground. He'd asked Sam repeatedly if he was ok, to which he replied he was but, there was something odd about it all. Sam didn't seem like himself, he'd been wearing the same blank expression ever since that possibly imagined smirk and he didn't seem like he'd ever been even medley hurt anymore. Dean felt kind of uneasy around him.

'How are you feeling?'

'Great'

'You were lying in the mud injured not half an hour ago and you're great?'

'Sigbins use a poison type thing to make you sleepy when they start their attack, so you can't fight back'

'You didn't mention that before?'

'Must have forgot'

'Are you sure you're okay?'

'Yeah'

'Let me look at where you're bleeding'

'No'

Sam was still staring right through everything. And he never forgets anything when it comes to a hunt, he just adores educating Dean whether Dean wants it or not. What's going on? Dean began to worry the Sigbin might have done something to him that he doesn't know about. He constantly kicked himself for leaving Sam to keep watch. Sitting down on his own bed, he begins to think maybe Sam's acting strange because he's angry, after all Sam wasn't too pleased about being the one to keep watch. Seeing a pissed off Sam was funny at the time.

'Look Sam, I'm sorry alright? I shouldn't have left you there'

'No, you shouldn't'

'What?'

Dean shifted uncomfortably from side to side, the bed creaked slightly underneath him. He'd been expecting Sam to ramble on about how it's no one's fault like he usually does. Jesus Christ, why did I leave him? Stupid. Apparently Sam was more than mad about this. Dean could only think he must have been pretty scared, which only made more hate for what he did stir up in his belly, tying to punish him.

'I said, no, you shouldn't'

'Yeah... I hear you' Dean looked up from his shoelaces which were caked in dirt and tied in quick knots rather than bows, finally braving Sam's face which was staring right back with the same cold expression as before. 'Let's just go to bed, we can talk tomorrow'

'I'm going out'

What?! He was gobsmacked, he might be being a little dramatic but Sam always wanted to talk things through ugh feelings crap but, more than that, he never wanted to go out and certainly not alone. Sam must be really angry, but that wasn't being conveyed in Sam's voice and certainly not on his face. He didn't know why Sam was acting so strange, he's done worse things before and Sam had reacted a lot less.

'Come on Sam, I've apologised'

'I know, I'm not angry'

Dean watched as Sam changed shirts, the one he was currently wearing was covered in blood and mud. Sam had his back facing him, and Dean let his eyes follow the movement of his muscles, the roll of his shoulders before he snapped out of it and remembered he was supposed to be doing something. He didn't know what he was supposed to be doing. Was it convincing Sam to stay? Apologising? Asking where he's going? Going with him? Asking why he's acting so out of character? He had no clue. Usually, he could read Sam like a book. That's what a lifetime of sleeping in the same bed so their dad could save money, playing games in the back of the impala to keep themselves entertained on long trips, eating facing each other in crappy diners every day and everything else that kept them within such close proximity did. Nevertheless, Sam had stalked right out the room without another word before Dean even had the chance to question him.

He let his body flop down on his bed, not even bothering to get undressed or under the covers. He just stared at the yellowing ceiling and tried to think things through. But, he was too worn out and his mind kept flickering between thoughts; both important and insignificant. He never stopped to concentrate on anything, his mind was like chipper, everything going in only to come out in thousands of different pieces. His eye lids stated to feel heavy and they drooped shut. It took a while for sleep to take him, he kept having to reposition himself because the bed sheets were so damn scratchy, but eventually it did.

ooo

Big, muscular hands smoothed over his hips, making his top ride up. Rough lips kissed the spot just above the button of his jeans and made him quiver with anticipation. Delicate fingers teased his nipples which hardened under the sweet touch. There was a sturdy leg pressing down on his hard on making him moan. The fabric on his top make his nose itch as it was pulled across his face. Everything was happening all at once, he couldn't get his head around it. There was a nose running a path up his neck to his jaw, where butterfly kisses were placed. Then Sam's face was in front of his, so close the tips of their noses were touching and he had no choice but to let a broad smile break out. He heard himself whisper Sam's name before his brother pressed their lips together. It felt like Sam's hands were everywhere on his body. Sam moaned into his mouth when he reached his own hand down to palm Sam's erection.

ooo

Startled, he shot upright in his bed. In his sleepy state, he didn't bother to look around to see where the loud bang had come from, he didn't bother to try and comprehend what made it, all he thought was protect Sammy as if it was programmed into him as he rapidly snaked his hand under his pillow and pulled out his gun.

Of course, he felt like an idiot when he realised the bang was from Sam shutting the door as he came in. Blinking quickly to try and focus his eyes through the dullness of the room, he looked at the clock. The numbers were brutally bright green and it hurt his eyes too look, he thought he could be looking at the Sun and it would feel the same. With difficulty, he read 02.38AM, he sluggishly rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes, trying to force himself to regain some more consciousness; he always found it hard to come round from sleep. He looked from the clock to Sam, who was now digging around in his duffle.

'S'pretty late, where've you been?'

'Out'

That was Sam's only reply. He was about to give Sam the third degree about his where abouts, or have a bitch at him for the ungodly amount of noise he made that woke him up but decided to let it slide. He rolled back down onto the bed and his eyes flittered shut. He noticed for the first time after all the pointless commotion that he was covered in a thin sheet of sweat and he remembered the dream he's just had. Guilt shot through him at once, he felt sick with himself. He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, trying his best to ignore his hard on that was uncomfortably rubbing against the inside of his jeans. Dreams don't mean anything.

Sam strode across the room to the bathroom where he flicked on a light switch. Dean groaned, the light burned through his eyelids. He opened them again and saw Sam, standing at the end of his bed, staring. Creepy ass little brother. He could see Sam properly for the first time in the harsh on his tired eyes light, which also meant he could see the blood staining Sam's T-shirt collar and torso.

Abruptly, he didn't feel so exhausted anymore. He shot out of bed like it was full of spiders all of a sudden and his hand was on Sam's shoulder before he could even breathe.

'Are you okay man, what happened?'

'Pub fight, pretty violent, got caught in the splatter.'

'What? Dude, there's a lot of blood'

'Well, It's not mine'

'Oh'

Dean realised how close he was to Sam's face. He willed himself to move away, Sam was fine, he didn't need any help, but his eyes locked on Sam's lips and he couldn't pull back. His whole mind and body wanted to just lean in a bit. He could almost feel Sam's warm breath, he could certainly smell it and it stank of strong alcohol. That's what pulled Dean out of his twisted fantasy because Sam never drank anything but beer. What's going on with him?. He looked at Sam, who was staring at him with that stare that was really starting to make Dean feel extremely uncomfortable. His hand dropped and he nearly ran to his bed, but managed to hold himself back. He wasn't even sure what it was he was running away from. But he convinced himself that he was just giving Sam space.

Sam went into the bathroom and Dean heard the soft sound of water from the shower. Dean didn't think about how close he came to kissing Sam must be lack of sleep, making me delirious, he didn't think about how odd Sam was acting, he didn't think about how there was way too much blood on Sam's T-shirt to be 'splatter'. Well, he did think about all of those things, but he tried increasingly hard not to. Especially that last one, he pushed that from his mind with all the power he had over and over again until finally, he drifted away with the darkness.