Woo hoo! Another chapter up! Granted, this one doesn't establish much plot. It does however include a ton of Dean and Sam angst.
And fear not my readers, the chick flick/mushy moments are coming in the next chapter!!

Dean dropped the shotgun and the black bag. He stood back and stared at the box trying to decide why a slumber party board game would be in his trunk amongst guns and blades and ancient texts.

His mind raced and wondered through his memories, looking for the answer to his confusion. And then, just as the night before, his chest tightened and his breath was short. He grabbed onto the car and tried to brace himself and correct his breathing. His back ached as he slowly slid down the smooth metal and found a cold seat on the pavement.

His head swam and when he closed his eyes he saw the dimly lit room at the county hospital. He watched his past play out in front of his mind's eye.

Sam was there, battered and broken, standing over his near lifeless body, brown bag in hand. Monitors and a respirator played a grim song. Two brothers sat on the same floor in different worlds and pushed a wooden triangle back and forth across the game board. Sam spoke and Dean finished his siblings thought. He was screwed. Death was here, looking for him, eager to take him away. Sam was distraught and searching for words and answers. He stood and left Dean alone with himself. Alone with his fears and pain and regrets and desperation.

Dean just couldn't breathe. He opened his eyes to stop the memories from coming, only to be assaulted by the blinding sun. He raised an arm over his head and blocked the beams. His chest rose and fell quickly. His heart thumped against his breast trying to keep up with the demand his lungs were creating, but it was too much, too fast. The long forgotten wounds from that fateful evening burned and ached as though they were fresh. He felt lightheaded and put his head between his knees. This isn't a panic attack. This is death. I'm going to die

It had been forty minutes since Dean had walked out of the room and Sam had failed to find anything on the Internet. He glanced at his watch and made note of his brothers prolonged absence. Another five minutes passed and Sam walked to the window to check things out. His gut twisted when he saw the open trunk of the car and no Dean. He ran to the duffle on the floor between the beds and pulled out his piece, tucking it into his waistband before he bolted out of the door.

Sam stood a good thirty yards from the car and swept the parking lot for any movement. Nothing. He crept forward and called his brother's name once, "Dean?" Nothing. He moved quickly toward the impala and heard a faint sound from the rear. He pulled his gun and stepped quickly around the back.

"Dean!" Sam shouted when he saw his brothers crumpled form on the ground. His breathing was labored and erratic. Sam dropped his gun in the open drunk and plunged to the ground. He lifted Dean's head with two open palms and sucked in a deep breath when he got a good look at his sibling. His face was pale and covered with sweat. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed, and pain was etched deep into his features.

"Come on, Dean, get up", he heaved and pulled his obstinate brother off of the pavement. "Come on. Let's go back inside". One arm around Dean, Sam slammed the trunk closed and slowly walked his brother back into the poorly decorated motel.

Dean dropped onto the bed and Sam hovered, looking for the cause of his distress.

"Sammy?" Dean was fighting.

"What happened Dean?" He pushed.

"It was…I…in the trunk…Quija Board" Dean forced the words out as he tried to regain some composure.

"What?" Sam was lost. "Give yourself a minute, okay Dean? Deep breaths in and out. Good, just like that. Now are you hurt?"

Dean didn't speak, just shook his head and blew out a long breath.

Sam stood in vigilance over the bed and tried to piece things together. He went to clean out the car. He went through the trunk. He found a Quija Board. And it hit Sam. His brother wasn't hurt he was having another panic attack. This one obviously worse than the one that had taken Dean the night before. Sam had kept the board for a few reasons. When he realized that the children's toy had crossed some realm to find his brother, the hunter in him kept it because it may have proven useful in the future. But the broken boy in him had kept it to remind him of how close he had come, a second time, to losing his brother. And now it was bringing back repressed memories and causing Dean pain. Guilt twisted in Sam's gut.

His mind went into Dean mode. He started formulating a plan of action, a way to help his brother.

"Dean I want you to lay there and don't move".

"Where…where are you going?" The words were forced and awkward coming from trembling lips.

"I'm going find some help. Promise me you won't move". Sam knew Dean couldn't go anywhere, but that wouldn't stop the stubborn jerk from trying to follow him.

Dean closed his eyes and drew in a breath. As he blew it out he nodded his head and whispered, "yup".

"Promise", Sam demanded.

"Promise", Dean conceded.

Sam's long arms reached across Dean's body and patted him down, searching. Finally his fingers fell on the small metal keys and he pulled them from Dean's pocket and left his brother on the bed to rest.

In the office of the motel Sam asked the innkeeper if there was a university in town or nearby. With a silent nod the man confirmed. "It's about thirty miles from here in Toro Hills. Just take the highway west and follow the signs".

Sam thanked the man and raced to the impala. He got in, slammed the door, cranked the engine and checked the gas gauge. He had a little less than half of a tank, more than enough to make the sixty-mile round trip, so he pulled out of the lot and headed west, toward his solution.

Two hours later Sam was traipsing back into the motel room. It was like a tomb, dark and cool and quiet. Dean was lying on the bed in the exact position he had been left in. His arms were clutched at his chest and his eyes were closed. Sam walked over and laid a hand just above Dean's and felt the measured rise and fall of his chest. Nice and even.

He went to the bathroom and filled a plastic cup with tap water. It smelled awful and he knew it probably wasn't fit for drinking, but it was the only water they had right now so it would have to do.

Sam carefully walked back to his brother's bedside and tried to rouse him form sleep.

"Dean? Hey", he leaned in and tapped one of the hands on Dean's chest, "Dean, get up man".

Dean heard his brother calling him and fought with the slumber that had consumed him. He slowly opened one eye and looked at Sam's massive form towering over him.

"What?"

Sam couldn't help but chuckle a little, "Open both of them".

Dean complied and pried the other eye open and gave Sam a questioning glare. "What do you want? Can't you see I'm trying to sleep here?"

Sam told him to sit up…just for a second. Dean did as he was told and Sam handed him the small cup. When Dean's hand accepted it and had a good grip, Sam reached into his pocket and produced a small orange bottle. It had no label on it, but its contents could be seen: a few dozen white pills. He popped open the top and spilled two tablets into his hand then held them out to Dean. "Take them".

Dean made a face, "what are they?"

"Xanax. Now take them".

"First of all, where did you get them?" Dean questioned.

"College Boy has his own secrets and skills", Sam said with a smile, happy to know he still had part of the old him left.

"Where?" Dean demanded.

"Went to the university a few towns over. Bought them off of some kid".

Dean raised an eyebrow, "And why do I need to take Xanax?"

Sam was getting tired of this fast. In the last twenty-four hours he had watched his brother suffer two panic attacks and the guy was denying anything was happening to him. Why did he have to be such a hard ass? Why couldn't he just let someone help him? Sam's mind answered the question as quickly as it had asked it. Dean thought that asking for help or showing need was being weak and Dean's entire existence depended on him being strong. Anger coursed through Sam when he reflected on the training and conditioning Dean had received as a child. John had beaten it into his son to never let them see you sweat and now Dean was grown and suffering and knew no other way than to deny assistance and suffer in silence. Like Sanskrit carved into stone, it was there and you couldn't change it. Sam added that little gem to the list of things he would hold against John.

"I'm not arguing with you, Dean. You had two panic attacks, I found you in a heap on the ground next to the car, you couldn't stand or breathe for that matter, and I practically had to carry you back into the motel. So you're going to quit your bitching and take the damn pills".

Dean looked up at Sam and tried to stare him down. The puppy dog eyes were gone and replaced with determined, angry ones. Dean searched, looking for some hole, some loop he could worm through and get out of this, but there was nothing. Sam won.

He took the pills and swallowed them. He chased them with the funky water and handed the cup back to the kid.

"Happy?" He asked.

"No", Sam started as he sat on the opposing mattress, "Give those sometime to work and rest a little more, but then you and I are going to talk Dean". He was forceful and yet wary. Trepidation soaked his words as he tried to take the upper hand. "But…just try to rest right now".

Dean took the orders as they were dolled out. He had heard that tone so many times in his life, full of authority and concern. But now instead of coming from his father they came from Sam and when he looked at his brother he saw a little bit of his father in the boy. So he slid back down the mattress and closed his eyes, content in knowing that if he slept Sam couldn't question and yell and make him talk.

When Dean was asleep again Sam stood and paced the floor, wearing holes in the cheap carpet. Constant movement was a comfort for Sam. He did it subconsciously and usually didn't notice it. He let his mind trail to all the times he had caught himself doing it. Like the first time he had sat in the union waiting on Jess so they could have lunch together, he almost rubbed a hole through the table he rubbed it so hard. Or the time he had nervously bounced his knee as they lingered in Missouri's living room and waited for her to emerge. And he had nearly chewed his thumbnail off waiting to be released at the county hospital so he could check on Dean and Dad.

So when Sam caught himself pacing like a caged animal, he stopped and took a seat on the couch. He thought about all of the things that had happened around the time of the accident. Sam found Elkins' obit, Dad found them, they found the colt, Dad was taken, Dean saved Sam from a suicidal run into a burning house, they went to Bobby, they exercised the demon from Meg, found Dad, the Demon tried to kill Dean, Sam drove them into a semi, Dean almost died, Dad sold his soul, and Dean moved on without a word.

Taking survey of all he knew, he recognized the fact that Dean had walked this earth outside of his body and that had to have had some affect on him. Sam would have to force him to talk it out and get it out of him, or it would kill Dean. But how do you help some one who doesn't want to be helped. Sam chuckled at the thought of tying Dean to a chair and forcing him to talk. But no, he would rely on the old standards…puppy dog eyes and soft pleadings.

So…how'd you like them apples? Reviews are appreciated. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Thanx for reading and chapter 5 will be up very soon!!