A/N: Thanks for all the feedback and support. Enjoy the next chapter.

THREE

Apprehension

It was a tricky hunt, but they had a plan that was supposed to put them ahead of the game. The monster in question was a Wrenner, which according to the lore was a pretty angry manifestation of the Velociraptor. The only way to kill it was a poison dart to the chest; but the creature was such a lethal predator that close contact was out of the question.

The Wrenner fed at night and spent its days sleeping in a ragged nesting cave. Its usual method of attack was to fly over and land facing its prey, then use its claws to tear the victim's guts out. If the victim tried to run, the Wrenner would take flight and snatch them up by the shoulders. Next up would be the most unpleasant flight of the prey's soon to be ended life. Because, after several moments of being jerked around in mid-air, the victim was usually thrown to the grown and devoured. Either way, it was a nasty, gruesome way to die.

The master plan was to lure the Wrenner out of the cave and then strike. The weapon of choice was an archer's bow with a dart, liberally doused in poison, attached to it. Dean, Buck McGhee and his nephew Race were to execute a series of manoeuvres, including setting a fire in the cave, to draw the creature out. Once it was free it was up to Sam, the most skilled bowman in the group, to get the job done.

Everyone had agreed on the plan, except for Sam.

"I think we're taking the wrong approach," he said when the four men were seated at Bobby's kitchen table finalising their strategy.

"And what exactly is wrong with our, 'approach'?" Buck McGhee raised an eyebrow in Sam's direction. When it came to hunting, Buck had been in the game even longer than John and Bobby so he didn't give much consideration to interventions from youngsters like Sam.

"The way we're looking to do this now once the Wrenner gets out of the cave the three of you are live bait," Sam explained.

"Well that's what we got you for Sam," Race, chipped in. He was just a little older than Dean but although all three boys had been raised as hunters they hadn't been much fraternising over the years. "If it gets out you finish him and then we're back here sipping beer in no time. "

"Plus we can use blow torches to keep it off," Dean offered. "All the lore says Wrenners hate fire."

"And how long you think that will last?" Sam was anxious to get them to see reason.

"Long enough for you to make the shot," Race replied easily.

"This creature moves at the speed of light Race."

"I know it's fast, I read up on it too," Race retorted. "You Winchesters aren't the only hunters that can do research you know."

"Well if you learnt anything from what you read, you'd know that this thing can fly out, swoop down and grab anyone of you before I get a shot off."

"Look Sam," Dean reasoned. "It's a calculated risk we have to take."

"Dean," Sam turned to his brother. "There's a big chance that you might get grabbed by this thing and I've got a big problem with that."

Disgusted, Race grunted loudly. "So you're saying the rest of us could be chicken feed but it's only your precious big brother that you care about?"

"No," Sam tore his gaze away from Dean to look at the irritated young hunter. "I don't want anyone taking that risk."

"You let us worry about our own risks," Buck came in. "The big question here is; are you as good at this as your brother here says you are?"

"Sammy's the only one I know who can hit a bull's-eye three times in a row," Dean was brimming with confidence. "So if someone's got a better average he better speak up now."

"I guess that settles it," Buck concluded. "Sam, you're our trigger man."

However, the role didn't sit well with Sam; so much so that throughout the drive to the nesting cave his heart was drumming so hard he thought it would break through his chest walls. As they were approaching the location, Sam made a last ditch attempt to reason with his brother.

"I don't feel good about this," he said.

"Well I do," Dean shrugged. "As long as you're the one behind the bow."

That had been the end of the matter, so Sam tried to shake off his doubts as he took up position on a small hill directly opposite the mouth of the cave. In the agonizing waiting period he couldn't stop his mind from contemplating all the ways this hunt could go wrong. As usual, the worst case scenario was that Dean wouldn't make it out; and that was a thought, he just couldn't stand.

Sam sighed loudly when he considered that, once again, the only thing between his brother and death was him. Of all the things he disliked about hunting, having people's lives in his hands was what troubled him the most. And his distress was one hundred times more severe when the person in question was his big brother.

As Sam continued to wait, what started as a nervous flutter in his stomach escalated into nauseous anxiety. Breathing hard, Sam tried to forcefully induce calm.

Dean was right; archery was his thing and he could hit targets with his eyes closed in practise. But this wasn't a damn drawing of circles nailed up on a stick in a field, this was a crooked clawed, blood thirsty predator that would tear his brother's guts out and eat them before Dean even realised he was dead. Sam knew, with disturbing certainty, he had to be on top of his game.

As the chilling realisation settled into his bones, Sam broke out in a cold sweat and his breathing slowed to laboured gasps. Moving robotically, he dropped the bow beside him and pulled up his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead and face. Weakened by the mental pounding of growing fear, Sam cowered to the ground, fighting to catch his breath.

He was lying on the dirt, hands shaking and heart racing, when he heard his brother's call.

"Sam!" Dean's yell sounded out as he emerged from the cave in an out and out sprint. "Sam get ready!"

With superhuman effort Sam dragged himself up and reached for the bow. He turned to face the cave and positioned himself to shoot; but his hands were shaking so hard, he could keep the weapon straight.

When the familiar sensation of unbearable pressure started building up in his chest, Sam dropped his head trying to stave off the wave of nausea that was knocking him over. With his vision blurring and his breath stopping, Sam fought a losing battle to aim the bow at the front of the cave where the Wrenner was expected to emerge in seconds.

By the time Race and Buck chased out after Dean, Sam was near-fainting. However, when he heard the noisy swoosh of the Wrenner's exit he forced himself to focus.

"Now Sam!" Dean yelled, finding an even faster gear as he ran for his life. "Shoot!"

But Sam didn't have the strength in his arm to pull back the arrow. Praying hard, he tried to steady himself to manipulate the bow. However, the commands being sent by his mind just weren't registering with his hand.

Obviously aggravated by the smoke and the fire, the Wrenner took flight after Dean. Breathless to the point of suffocation, Sam could only watch as the creature latched its claws to his brother's shoulders. Then came the loud scream of shock and pain as Dean was lifted off the ground.

"Sam!" Buck McGhee shouted. "What the hell are you waiting for boy? Shoot the damn thing."

Sam released the bow and clutched at his heart. The Wrenner had Dean; and if he shot it now, it would drop his brother and it wouldn't be a happy landing.

Dean managed to manipulate his blow torch gun and blazed it upwards at his captor. The Wrenner shrieked loudly and release Dean as it took off in flight. There was an audible thud as Dean fell to the ground and then lay there motionless.

"Sam!" Now both Buck and Race were screaming in unison.

"Shoot you damn idiot!" Buck added for good measure.

Screeching angrily, the Wrenner rounded on the men. This time, the victim was Buck whose excessive screaming seemed to have attracted the creature's attention. The Wrenner lined up its prey and dipped in flight in an attempt to snatch Buck, but the veteran hunter was quick to fire up his torch. Then, rather than running Buck managed to keep the creature at bay, blazing fire to frustrate the beast.

Seizing the opportunity, Race ran up the hillside to Sam's would-be vantage point. The young hunter was horrified to find Sam had dropped his weapon and was cowering on the ground instead of defending their lives.

"Holy mother of God," he swore practically shoving Sam out of the way so he could grab the discarded bow. In a series of quick moves he positioned himself, readied the weapon and fired.

It took him a few tries but eventually he hit home and the Wrenner fell from flight, wailing its last cry. When he was sure the creature was dead, Race turned on Sam with blazing fury.

"What the hell is wrong with you fool?" He spat. "You almost got us killed."

"Dean," was all Sam said as he struggled to get to his feet.

Race had a good mind to whack Sam across the head with the bow.

"Oh, so your brother is the only one you can think about? Well I'll have you know you damn near a got him killed a few minutes ago."

"No," Sam looked down the hillside and saw Dean laying eerily still on the ground with Buck stooping beside him shaking him. "Oh god, Dean."

Running on adrenaline, Sam was on his feet and rushing to his brother. He pushed Buck away to get the best vantage point and began hitting Dean's cheek gently to wake him up. "Dean? Can you hear me?"

When Dean shook his head and groaned shakily, the first wave of relief washed over Sam.

"Sammy?" Dean's eyes fluttered open.

"That would be me," Sam tried to sound calm but his heart was still racing at an alarming speed. "Can you sit up?"

"I think so," Dean mumbled and let his brother pull him into an upright position. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you what happen," Buck pushed into the conversation. "Your genius brother here..."

"Shut up!" Sam rounded on Buck and the rage that flared across his face was enough to temporarily silence the older hunter. "I need some quiet while I check if he's OK."

It took all of Sam's will power to keep his own nerves under control and focus on the task at hand, but he quickly checked for broken bones and signs of concussion. His mind was moving at a mile a minute as he tried to figure out how to get Dean away from the blabbering McGhees before the extent of his malfunction was revealed to his brother.

From Sam's assessment, Dean's biggest issue was the gashes on his shoulders where the Wrenner had latched on when it took him for the ride.

"I gotta get him out of here," Sam seized the opportunity his brother's injuries presented. "I have to clean and dress these cuts before infection sets in."

By now Race had made it back to the group with the bow in his hand and rage on his face.

"You two stay here and burn and bury the remains," Sam ordered helping his brother up. "I'm taking Dean back to Bobby's."

Dean didn't say much during the drive back and as soon as they arrived at Bobby's Sam sat him down on the couch and cut his shirt off. When Sam saw the deep wounds in his brother's shoulders he couldn't hold back the horrified sigh or the sudden spring of tears.

"Oh God," Sam dropped his head as his eyes filled. "Dean, I'm so sorry."

"Hey," Dean was taken aback by Sam's reaction to the cuts. "I'm OK. This isn't your fault. Wrenners are nasty bastards; we knew that going in."

But Sam was only too aware that what his brother didn't know was that the attack had been Sam's fault. If he had been responsive, the Wrenner would have been dead before it had a chance to get to Dean.

"I'm sorry," Sam said wincing and shaking his head. "Dean, I never meant for you to get hurt. I can't stand it when you get hurt."

Still lightheaded from the flight and fall, Dean tried to process the extreme emotions pouring out of his brother. They had grown up hunting; injuries were simply part of the scene. And regardless of what went down they never blamed one another for any damage sustained on the job.

"Sammy," Dean said softly. "It's O.K. I would never blame you for this."

The words were meant to reassure but instead they left Sam wincing.

"It's my fault, Dean," he whispered, sounding like he was choking up.

"No, it's not," Dean insisted; but because his overgrown brother seemed so frail now, he kept his voice soft. "You know the rules, we don't toss blame around. We just patch each other up and move on."

When Sam's only response was to look more distraught, Dean leaned forward to rest his forehead against his brother's.

"It's OK Sammy," he soothed. "Just patch me up and we're good."

With trembling hands and a heavy heart, Sam cleaned, dressed and bandaged Dean's wounds. He was putting on the last of the protective tape when he heard Buck and Race letting themselves into the kitchen.

Anxious to prevent Dean from getting a debriefing, Sam got to his feet. "I'll go get rid of them," he told his brother. "You stay here."

"Come on Sammy," Dean tried to get up to join him. "It's not like I'm laid up or anything. Maybe we can all have a few beers before they have to hit the road."

"No," Sam insisted, gently easing Dean back down to the couch. "You need to rest; I'll take care of them."

"Whatever you say nurse," Dean complied.

He put up his legs, closed his eyes and waited for Sam to come back. With the hunt out of the way now, they could probably take a few days off and chill. Bobby wouldn't be back for about a week and he wouldn't mind if they stayed on for a few days. The issue was settled in Dean's head when it occurred to him that Sam was taking a while to return. Curious as to what was keeping his brother, Dean got up and walked quietly towards the kitchen.

He soon found Sam, listening outside the kitchen door. Dean meant to ask him why he was eavesdropping but when Sam looked at him, the words died on his lips. Sam's face was flushed and his eyes were filling up. Before Dean could ask what was wrong, he caught on to Buck and Race's conversation.

"I'm telling you Uncle Buck," Race was dishing like a damn town gossip. "Sam couldn't even fire off the freaking bow. When I got to him he was on the ground panting and squirming like some kinda wounded animal."

"You're kidding me right?"

"Scout's honest truth; he was freaking out like a girl in a horror movie."

"So what the hell happened to him?"

"Beats me. Seems like he was having one of them panic attacks."

"Panic attack? What the hell would he be panicking for he's been hunting since he could walk straight."

"Yeah," Race drawled scornfully. "Everyone knows John started training Sam and Dean from they got out of diapers. But for all John's effort to make them fearless, I think Sammy boy is starting cracking under the pressure."

"He's a Winchester; he was born to deal with pressure. And this life ain't exactly pretty but he should just get through it the way the rest of us do; after a bad hunt you throw back a bottle of whiskey, spend a day sleeping off the hangover and then wake up and find the next thing to kill."

"Yeah. Who the hell does that Sam think he is; some damn Fortune 500 sharpie?"

Race's remark had his uncle laughing out loud.

"I mean, blow me over with a feather," Race continued, encouraged by Buck's amusement. "Panic attacks are for those sissies on Wall Street who have to go see an overpriced shrink if their bonus drops by one cent."

"Say," Buck cackled, well entertained by his nephew's musings. "Didn't he run off to Harvard or some fancy school like that?"

"Stanford," Race supplied grudgingly.

"Well that's what you get for going to Stanford; the wimp couldn't even pull it together to shoot the thing that was about have his brother for a late night snack."

"Damn straight," Race agreed. "And all this time John was building his mighty army of three and strutting around acting like the Winchesters were the royal family of hunting and his boys were better than all the rest of us."

"And for all of that, his sorry little son's here letting down the family name," Buck sounded thrilled. "No wonder no one's seen that bastard John in months, he probably can't face the rest of us."

"Come to think of it," Race echoed his uncle's glee. "If I had a son like Sam I'd be in hiding too. Serves John damn right."

A sickening feeling coursed through Dean's stomach as he heard his brother draw a deep trembling breath beside him. He turned to look at Sam and saw his sibling was red-faced with shame.

He reached out to put his hand on Sam's arm but Sam shrank from the touch. With tears streaming from his eyes, Sam shook his head dejectedly, wincing with mortification. Dean saw the tears and knew immediately what he had to do.

Buck didn't even realise Dean had entered the room until the fist connected with the side of his face and sent him crashing into the counter. Before the older man could even think to retaliate, Dean grabbed him by the collar and decked him with a solid right hook.

"What the hell was that for?" Race demanded, stepping up to Dean with a menacing glare.

"For making fun of my brother," Dean spat back. "Same as this."

The punch to the gut folded Race over like a sheet of paper. Even with that, for good measure, Dean upended his knee in the young man's groin.

The two men were on the floor groaning in agony but in case they were even thinking of retaliating Dean backed out his handgun and aimed it at them.

"Say one more word about my brother and it will be the last words either of you say before I end your useless lives," he growled.

"You gotta be outta your damn mind boy," Buck cried, rubbing his jaw.

Race just pulled himself back against Bobby's kitchen counters hoping to slip through the walls and get the hell out of dodge.

"You're right about that Buck," Dean admitted. "And neither of you will want to see how far out of it I can get. So why don't you both just get the hell out of here before I have two bodies to bury."

"You know," Buck's voice was bitter as gall. "There's no question that you're John Winchester's boy. You're as crazy as your old man."

"Shut the hell up," Race shrieked. "Don't you see he's serious?"

"I'm dead serious," Dean confirmed without flinching. "And you got five seconds to see just how crazy I am."

Dean cocked the gun sending the McGhees scrambling to their feet and fleeing without out another word. When the door slammed, Dean turned to Sam but his brother was nowhere in sight. Retracing his steps back into the living room, he also found it empty.

"Sam?" Dean called out, crossing the room and entering Bobby's study. There he saw that the backdoor that led out to the yard was ajar so he headed for it. "Sam?"

When Dean stepped out of the house, he saw his brother on Bobby's cluttered lawn, leaning over at the waist, breathing hard. He hesitated momentarily, then rushed forward when Sam's knees suddenly gave way and he fell to the ground. When Dean got to him Sam lay foetal, panting like a winded dog. Dropping down beside him, Dean tried to pull Sam upright but his brother sagged against him as lifeless as a rag doll.

"What the hell?" The question was directed at no one in particular but Dean had to voice his fear and frustration. Desperate, he pulled his little brother to him and held on tight while Sam just shuddered silently.

Dean still didn't know what he was dealing with much less what to say to make it better so he just hugged Sam hard. They sat together for quite some time until Sam stopped trembling and his breathing evened out.

As soon as it was clear the crisis had passed, Sam pulled away, got to his feet and began walking shakily towards the house. Startled, Dean took a few seconds to collect himself, then he got up and followed. By the time he reached inside, Sam had gone upstairs to their room and slammed the door shut.

Agitated as hell and scared more than he cared to admit, Dean banged on the door and screamed at his brother to open up.

"I'm not kidding Sammy," he yelled as he pounded. "Open the damn door before I kick it in."

When Sam did open the door, although Dean was angry as hell he still took a few moments to do a visual triage and satisfy himself that his brother was at least going to live before he tore into him. Sam looked subdued and was breathing normally but his glazed eyes and distant stare seemed to indicate it was a medication induced calm rather than genuine relaxation.

"I'm OK," Sam said but the slight slur in his voice gave Dean even more cause for concern.

"Like hell you are!" Dean said pushing past his sibling and entering the room.

"Just drop it Dean," Sam tried to walk away.

Dean grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. "What's wrong with you man?"

Sam could hear the desperation and the fear in his brother's voice. He knew Dean wouldn't let it go unless he said something but he had to be convincing.

"To be honest Dean, I don't know. I think I'm just stressed by everything that's happened and my body's reacting to it."

Shrugging helplessly, Sam sat on his bed and looked down at the floor. Dean went to him and they sat side by side, shoulders touching.

"I know it's been a rough couple of months for you with the fire and losing Jess and us not being able to find Dad. But is that all this is about Sam, or is there something more?"

"Does there need to be Dean?" Sam sounded helpless. "You said it yourself it's been a lot; and I really need some time to wrap my head, and my emotions around everything."

"Well if time is what you need then let's take a few days off. Bobby will be gone for more than a week, we can just stay here and chill out for a while."

"I'd really like that."

"Good, it's settled. So why don't you go downstairs and find us a movie to watch and I'll order delivery."

"Sounds like a plan," Sam said nudging Dean's shoulder affectionately. "Thanks bro."

"No problem."

Dean got to his feet, pulled Sam up and then the brothers walked out of the room. When they reached the top of the staircase, Dean hesitated.

"You go ahead, I gotta use the little boys."

Dean turned and went back to the bathroom, while Sam headed down the stairs. Once he was sure his little brother had reached the living room, Dean darted back into their bedroom.

He went straight to Sam's bed, grabbed his duffle and began digging around. When he didn't find anything out of the ordinary, Dean felt under the clothes, books and miscellaneous items to the bottom of the bag. Sure enough, his fingers ran over a thin flap along the bag's lining. Among the lessons John had taught his sons was how to create secret compartments. Dean dumped the bag's contents on the floor and then pulled back the inner flap. The covering concealed a single item, a small orange tinted prescription pill bottle.

The label said it was "Intramol" and the prescribing physician was Dr. Phillip Martin. Dean had never heard of the medication but what was most revealing was that Sam had apparently filled the prescription about three weeks ago.

"Dean!"

The call made Dean's heart jump, but he settled down in a few seconds when he realised it was coming from below the stairs.

"Be right down," he called quickly repacking the duffle and shoving it back beside Sam's bed where his brother had left it.

They weren't even half an hour into the movie before Sam was out cold. Testimony to the depth of his sleep was that he'd all but passed out on Dean's shoulder and didn't even budge when his brother slipped out from under him gingerly.

Dean laid Sam down gently on some cushions and covered him with a blanket and then went back up to their room. He left the door wide open to ensure he could hear any signs of movement downstairs well in advance so there would be no surprises. Then he grabbed Sam's laptop and sat on his bed.

Although he was a man that considered himself prepared for all eventualities, Dean's fingers were shaking when he ran the search on Intramol. From what he had seen of Sam over the last few days something was definitely wrong with his brother. And whatever it was, it seemed Sam was trying to address it with this medication. Discovering what the medicine could do was a big step towards finding out what the hell was dogging Sam.

When the search results flashed up on the screen Dean clicked on the first link and began to read.

Intramol is one of the most powerful anti-anxiety drugs currently dispensed in the US.

It is mainly used as a last resort for patients whose severe, debilitating anxiety has not responded to lower grade anti-anxiety medications including Benzodiazepines and Barbiturates.

This highly potent medication is usually reserved for individuals who have been victims of severe trauma and it can only be prescribed for patients who are under psychiatric care.

A destabilising fear gripped Dean's heart as he stared at the computer screen.

He knew one thing; he was through waiting for Sam to talk. He was going to get answers for himself.

TO BE CONTINUED