A/N : So! Excuses! Hmm - Well, apart from real life (Ugh, I know) this chapter would have been posted earlier if it hadn't been for deleting half the chapter. *Bawls* I had to rewrite it but maybe it turned out better. Or worse. We'll never know. Lol.

I promise you weekly updates from now, cause this shit ain't writin' fast! I can't believe a one shot turned into a nightmare of an angstfest. Lol, but I love writing it.

Oh and -

Trigger warning : For low self esteem issues.

Review, darlings. And I'll send you cookies. Just kidding. I'll give you updates, though XD

Sam knew what awaited him when he opened his eyes.

He had spent long days after Stanford taking in his surroundings through sound, before he could bear to open his eyes. Dean had always been there, then. Puttering around loudly and humming to let Sam know that he wasn't alone.

I'm not going anywhere, Sammy.

Chick flick moments had without even a word spoken.

Dean had always been there.

Until he wasn't.

Until Sam feared waking up as much as he feared going to sleep.

Sam knew what awaited him in the land of consciousness.

Nothing.

And that scared Sam more than fire, death, demons could.

He would spend forever in the darkness if it meant that he could stay away from the light. The emptiness was far better. Numbness was better than the pain. He didn't care if it made him less human, more robot.

He would take numb.

And when that didn't work, he would make himself numb.

All the hustled pool money (broken bones and all) that went into his alcohol collection, was proof of that.

So, yeah, forgive him if he wasn't in a 'rise and shine' mood.

Except ...

Except there was some asshole who wanted a punch to his face, apparently. He would very much not like to open his eyes, thank you very much.

He opened his mouth to tell whatever bastard who had found him passed out who knows where to fuck the hell off and stopped abruptly when only a pathetic groan emerged from his lips.

Just like that, every sense came into stark focus.

The ground was hard but his head was lying on something ... soft? And the voice was oddly calming even though he couldn't catch the words. He frowned.

Maybe touch alone wouldn't be enough this time.

And with rising dread at having to face the world, Sam blinked his eyes open, sight blurred alarmingly as he struggled to make sense of the shaky image before him. Dark blur outlined by green and blue.

Somehow he knew the answer lay in the dark blur that seemed about to fall on him.

Only then did he feel the other sensations that went with the eyes and he realized why he felt so calm. There was a hand cupping his chin and another soothing over his head and neck. And that voice ...

He could place it now and he wondered why it had taken so long for him to figure it out.

Because clearly the touch and voice belonged to the person who was no longer here.

He couldn't stop the questioning "De'" that escaped him, though.

"The one and only, Sammy."

That went straight to his heart, beats skipping faster until he could feel it trying to gallop in his throat. That voice that had penetrated through and released him from the darkest nightmares and woke him up even when he was a baby. That voice never failed to reach him.

And yet ... he had been screwed with enough times to not trust any damn thing his brain concocted.

Sam Winchester knew about hope. Knew about the light at the end of the tunnel and putting forth all your efforts towards it.

Only to have it sputter and go out, leaving him with a pit so dark and so deep that he knew he would be dead even before he hit the bottom.

He knew what that felt like and he would rather be tortured than live through it yet again.

So, no. He wasn't falling for that again.

He wasn't falling ever again.

That didn't mean that not taking the leap didn't hurt. It hurt like a bitch.

Because after all the hopes that had been smashed, he could not help but hold on to the sliver of it that still glowed. That he lit up everyday.

The flame that read Dean all over it. The fuel to his mind, body, soul and heart. If he could not have Dean - until he could have Dean - he would hold onto the memories of his big brother.

That's what Dean would have wanted and even if Sam was so goddamned tired, he could never break a promise to Dean.

"'m still dreamin'"

And he was. It hurt to think and it hurt more to say it out loud. But it was the only way he could ground himself and not jump straight into Crazyville.

He could feel the tears burning even through his closed lids.

Everything. Fucking. Hurt.

"Hey, hey! No no no, Sam! Sammy, open your eyes. Focus on me. I swear you're not dreaming, little brother. Just open your eyes."

Dean had always had too many rules for Sam. Stay close to me, don't wander off, pick up the phone when I call you, check in every hour, answer when I call your name ...

"Sammy, hold my hand! I know you are five and a quarter now, but you're not old enough."

"Sam, when I tell you to answer the phone, you goddamn answer your fucking phone no matter what bitch fit you're throwing. You understand? Fuck, Sam! If you ever do that - Just ... just promise me you won't do that again."

"Sam! Sammy! Answer me! You better have a good reason for ign - oh shit! Sam! Hey, hey, hey! I'm here. Let's get that bleeding stopped, huh? Stay with me, Sam. I gotcha, little brother."

And except for that one time, when he faced Dean's full wrath for the first time ever, Sam had never consciously ignored his brother. It was an instinct embedded deep within him. Just like ducking down quickly while hunting if the occasion called for it. Like not freezing in the face of a fugly.

Like trusting Dean even before trusting himself.

So he did.

Responded. Trusted.

His eyes fluttered open even before he could send the message to his mushy brain.

"That's it, Sammy. Doin' good. Just - eyes on me, alright?"

"Dean?"

It was a whisper of hope and disbelief. God, he wished it was real. Wished he had saved Dean. Wished he had stopped Dean from making his deal. Wished he had never been foolish enough to be demon-transported to Cold Oak.

Wished he hadn't been so much of a burden that Dean had to bear, watch out for Sammy, ingrained into a soldier's brain.

Wished he wasn't so literally impure with demon blood running in his veins. Cut the veins open and watch them flow out until every fucked up cell shriveled and died.

Wished he hadn't been born.

"That's right, Sammy. It's me. I'm real. I'm gonna take care of you, okay? We're gonna crash at the nearest motel and you're gonna rest up before your noggin combusts. You hear me?"

Wished that Dean was alive.

Every single day.

But now he was. Or at least, he looked it.

Dean would take care of him.

If he was alive.

... and now he was here.

And sounded so much like Dean that it hurt so bad.

... and as much as his heart hurt, it seemed to mend at the same time.

Waves crashing. Fake Dean. Real Dean. Fake Dean. Real Dean.

Until Sam could focus on nothing. And everything. Dean was right there. Not disappearing. And his head hurt and so did his body. But Dean would make them all go away.

Wouldn't he?

He was dizzy. Whether from the hangover or the fever burning in him, he didn't know. Burning everything away. Like mom, like Jess, like Dean.

Winchesters and fire. Of all the enemies they had fought, fire, non-supernatural, was the one thing they could never defeat.

And it was burning Sam too, now.

Good. He had it coming.

What was he thinking about again?

Dean.

Of course.

There was a Dean. One that seemed to be talking even now.

But Sam hadn't answered Dean. He always had to answer Dean. Dean would be pissed.

Or maybe it was alright if Sam kept his mouth shut when he was within Dean's sights.

But even concussions and blood loss in Sam had never stopped Dean from waiting for an answer.

Did that mean that this was Fake Dean? A Dean that didn't know him properly?

Shapeshifter? No, Dean had risen from the ground. Resurrected.

Dean was speaking to him. He could see his mouth moving. Slower and faster and slower again, driving Sam more dizzy. Like that rollercoaster ride when he was seven. Dean had held him while Sam had puked his guts and brains out.

He wanted to puke out all the molecules and atoms and brain cells now.

Pretty sure that he needed brain cells for ... something.

And suddenly, the world tilted and Dean disappeared and the sky fell to meet him, trees curving towards him, blood rushing so fast he thought he could generate electricity.

Could people generate electricity from fast running blood? Boiling blood? Tainted, boiling blood?

Oxygen thinned and Sam tried to scream. Or breathe. He couldn't do either. But he could still feel air on his lungs.

That meant he was still alive, right?

He could hear Dean again. Not words. Just the voice. The one he had dreamt of and yearned for.

And he realized that he was still watching Dean. Like an invisible thread connecting eyeballs. Hadn't Dean disappeared for an instant?

Was this still an imagination? God, please, no.

It was a question. He could feel the vibration from Dean's chest, through his arm that supported Sam's back, warming him.

He sighed a non-committal response. Felt Dean's chuckle warming him this time.

Like everything was alright. Like he hadn't just seen a failure of a little brother lying in an inebriated, stinking, weak puddle at his grave.

The lectures would come. Maybe Dean would disappear.

But for now, Sam would hold on to the whispered echo of 'home' from his brother's lips.

For now, Sam would be a little brother to a big brother who was miraculously here.

For now, he would be Sammy.

A/N : Was it good? Bad? Yikes! You know what this means. Review, review, review!