A/N: Apparently writing is a good job-interview-tomorrow stress buster, because here's another chapter! I will be really busy tomorrow though, so I'm aiming for the end of the week on the next one ... although I think I've left you guys in a good spot ... hehe.

Sam knew that Dean had been … different since he came back from Hell, but something about it seemed to have intensified since running into Alastair and after Dean had made his confession. Sam knew that he couldn't even begin to imagine what Dean went through down there, and to know that it was forty years. Sam could barely stand surviving for the four months he did without Dean. Forty years? God knows that anyone would have broken, and probably much earlier than Dean did. Sam knew that didn't matter to Dean. The only thing that mattered to him was that he did break, and the guilt that continued to haunt Dean was apparent to Sam no matter how hard Dean tried to hide it.

Dean had to be losing some kind of battle with himself though to succumb to the recent panic attacks. Sam was torn. He didn't know how he could help his brother, how anyone could help him. He knew something had to be done though. They weren't going to be an effective team if Sam had to worry that Dean might hyperventilate and collapse the next time they fought a demon. Not that the teamwork was quite the same as it had been before. Sam had become a very effective hunter on his own, and it was harder than he expected to fall back into the two-man hunt. Dean being a little bit off wasn't helping. Still, Sam knew that something had to be done, now.

He pulled the car into the motel parking lot. Dean got out almost before Sam had put the car in park and beelined his way to the door. Sam hung back for a second watching his brother from the driver's seat of Dean's beloved car. Dean had been letting Sam drive a lot in past few days. Yeah. This is bad. This is really bad.

Determined, Sam headed for the motel room.

He found Dean about where he expected him, on the bed, bottle of whiskey in one hand and remote control in the other. Well, at least Sam knew how to get Dean's attention.

He stood between Dean and the television.

"What the fuck, sasquatch? Get out of the way."

"I know you don't like this kind of thing, but we have to deal with this Dean, and drinking is probably only going to make it worse."

Dean's eyes were shooting daggers at Sam and he muttered just loud enough to hear, "Can't possibly make it any worse."

Sam sighed. He put his hands on his hips, and then realized how that posture probably wouldn't help and dropped them to his side again. "You've been lucky so far, but what if you were to have a panic attack in the middle of a hunt or the middle of a fight?"

Dean tipped up his whiskey in a long drink and continued to stare at his brother. Sam tried a slightly different tactic. "I'm worrying about my own ass here, too, you know. I can't be sure you've got my back if I'm worried about you collapsing."

Dean got up out of the bed. He raised his eyebrows at Sam as he circled around toward him. "So don't worry about it, because nothing happened, and nothing is going to happen."

Dean walked right past Sam, and just as he pushed past him he stopped and pointed his bottle as Sam's face. "I am fine. I will be fine. And I'll be even better once you stop poking your know-it-all head into my business."

Dean disappeared into the bathroom. Sam took in a deep breath and clenched his fists tight as he felt tears spring to the back of his eyes. He absolutely hated it when Dean pushed him away like that. Especially when he knows that Dean needs help. Dean's continued, angry denials only reinforced to Sam exactly how bad this was. Dean's usual lies were typically more easy going. Sam knew he couldn't let this go. Not without exhausting every possible option. He swallowed hard, took another deep breath and headed toward the tiny bathroom.

Dean was splashing water onto his face. Sam thought that perhaps he looked a little pale again. Dean didn't look up but he noticed Sam's presence. "What part of leave me the fuck alone do I have to spell out for you?"

Sam ran his fingers through his hair and leaned against the doorway. "You don't have to do this, Dean."

Head still down, Sam heard Dean's voice very quietly. "Yes, I do." He suddenly looked up and his eyes were wide and almost, wild. "Yes, I do."

Dean raised his whiskey bottle and swung in the direction of Sam's head.