AN: This one got angsty (but those were some angst-inducing prompts!) and maybe a bit repetitive; not sure. But I still enjoyed writing it.

It's set immediately following season 1, episode 9, Home. It's one of those eps where somebody gets beat to hell and after commercial they're perfectly fine. So this is me deciding they weren't necessarily fine! LOLThe prompt options are: Grief / Mourning Loved One(s) / Survivor's Guilt

Kathy: I see your reviews from 10/17. I hope you didn't find chapter 6 to be too much. I wondered if it was overly intense when I wrote it. But I'm so glad you're reading these!

Shazza19: I know. I'm so mean to the poor boys. Safe House is in my top 5 episodes. I mean, it has Bobby, an awesomely scary monster, great symmetry, and it takes place in the city where my alma mater is…what's not to love?

sylvia37: Thank you, as always. I'll add chapter 18 to the list of ones to expand into fuller stories some day. With these one-shots, you never really get a chance for fallout, and I'm sure there would be some after what the boys went through. I also kind of wanted them to find each other, but just ran out of time and room.

Black Fungus: Thank you for taking the time to comment on the chapters as you read them! I find it helpful to hear what people like and don't like. And you are so succinct – "that would way suck" about chapter 6 is so right!

Sfaulkenberry: Isn't a Soul Eater a great monster? I don't reuse monsters from the show much, but that one is just super creepy to me. I'm so glad you like the ending. I struggle with endings.

Lena: I was going to have the boys find each other in the nest, but just ran out of time. And just so you know, you have never hurt my feelings, not even close. I always appreciate your insight.

They couldn't get out of Lawrence fast enough. They were in perfect agreement on that. Dean's face was…haunted. Sam didn't like the word, but he couldn't think of a better one. For Sam, there had been a sense of unreality seeing their mom for the first time in something other than pictures. For Dean, it had to be like a childhood dream come true…until she was ripped away again. Until she died for Sam. Again.

Pain ricocheted through Sam's chest, and he barely resisted taking a big breath. He knew if he did, it would hurt like a bitch, and Dean would notice. And that wasn't what Dean needed right now. Dean needed to get the hell away from that house. He was white knuckling the steering wheel, and he had the 10,000-yard stare that said he was struggling to process everything, to contain his emotions.

Sam had no idea what to say to him. After all, Sam had insisted they go back there…back home. And he wasn't sure he could speak without setting off all of the big brother radar that had snapped right back into place when Dean had showed up in his apartment, and the last thing Dean needed was a distraction. What he needed was…Dad. Sam was just a bystander to their grief, really. He mourned blindly, what he'd never had. Dad and Dean had known Mom, loved her, and remembered her.

The thought was bitter, and pain bit through his chest again. Actually, there was real, physical pain too, but he relished it for the distraction. His ribs and back ached more than he'd realized. He'd been distracted by the swelling in his throat. It was starting to feel like he was swallowing gravel, and he felt a hint of a wheeze building up.

No. He was not dumping this on Dean. For once, he wouldn't be a burden. Sam reached for the radio knob, and something flickered across Dean's face, but relaxed away when Sam turned it up for a change. Yup, Dean didn't want to talk either.

Feeling relieved and guilty at the same time, Sam turned toward the window and closed his eyes. He pretended to sleep, and Dean pretended he didn't know better, and they spent an hour in their own thoughts.

And what thoughts they were. When Sam had first seen Mom, for just a second, he'd thought he was looking at Jess. The white nightgown, the long blonde hair…the parallels were obvious. And they'd both died looking down at Sam. Between his leg and the door, where Dean couldn't see, Sam dug his fingers into his leg to ward off a shiver that would give him away.

This grief was his. He loved Jess not from pictures, but from real experience. From conversations and touches and a life shared.

After she'd died, the first days were a blur of crippling pain. He knew he'd woken sobbing more than once. He didn't realize until later just what a mess he'd been. Not until…

The clock read 4:06 am. They'd gotten in around 2, so there was no reason that Sam should be awake. But this was his new normal. He'd been sleep deprived before – he'd been a hunter and then a college student, neither of which was conducive to sleep – but never like this. Usually as soon as he woke up, Dean woke up too. Half the time, Dean woke up first from whatever sounds Sam made during his nightmares. But this time, Dean was still asleep. Sam looked at Dean's face and felt a stab of guilt. His brother's exhaustion was obvious, and it was Sam's fault. His grief, his dreams were wearing on Dean too. Dean wanted to protect Sam from all of it, and he'd been amazing, showing a compassion that most people never would have expected. But he couldn't bear this for Sam.

And he had no idea that Sam could have saved Jess if he'd only opened his stupid mouth. If the grief was crippling, the guilt was crushing. Suddenly feeling cramped in the little motel room, Sam pulled on his clothes and slipped out into the hall, amazed that Dean was still asleep.

They weren't in their typical motel; it was in a high rise. Dean didn't like it, but they hadn't had a lot of choice unless they wanted to keep driving, and as tired as they were, they'd decided to deal with it for a night.

Sam had been heading for the stairs when he saw a door marked. Roof Access: No Entry. There was nobody in the hall, so he picked the lock and headed up. It was a warm and humid night, and felt so much like Palo Alto that he felt tears welling up in his eyes. He half wished he were back there, drinking a beer and pulling out the cheap lawn chair he kept in a hiding place except when he snuck up to the roof of the dorm to study or decompress. With a sigh, he leaned against some duct work and just stared up at the stars, letting his mind finally, finally empty of everything.

He had no idea how long he'd sat there before the door suddenly burst open and Dean was there. "Sammy?"

"Yeah? Right here."

"Don't move. Stay right there. Don't move, Sam, I mean it." Dean sounded close to panic.

"Okay?"

Then Dean was there and hauling him to his feet and dragging him inside like a man possessed. "What the hell, Dean?"

Dean didn't answer until he'd dragged him all the way into their room and pushed him against the wall. Why was he being so weird? It wasn't like Sam was resisting him at all.

"How could you think that Sam?!" Dean demanded, right in Sam's face.

"Think…what?"

"Why did you go up there, huh? Hide from me and sneak up to the roof?"

Sam was still perplexed. "I couldn't sleep – again – and I didn't want to wake you up – again. The first year at Stanford, when I was – " lonely "— overwhelmed, I'd sneak out to the roof of the dorm and study up there or just watch the stars. What did you think I…" Sam felt his face go slack as he realized what would have made Dean panic so much. Had he really thought Sam might take his own life? "Dean, did you think I…I would never. Dammit. I'm sorry I scared you. I'm still not used to being accountable to someone else, you know?" Sam was babbling. He was embarrassed and horrified that his thoughtlessness had freaked Dean out, and that he'd apparently been moping enough for Dean to consider the possibility…

But Dean had been mollified by Sam's transparent confusion and apology. He backed off and patted Sam's chest, hard, twice. "Okay, kid. I hear you. Just…don't freak me out like that again, okay? Shit, I thought…well, you know what I thought. Just leave a note of you're going out, will ya? Or wake me up? I don't care if I get a little less sleep."

And as tired as Dean looked, Sam knew he still meant it. But he resolved to be less of a burden to Dean.

And now it was Dean's turn to be given the peace to mourn, however he wanted to, however he needed to. It wasn't time to focus on Sam's problems.

It was a relief when Dean's phone rang, and Sam didn't have to pretend so hard any more. "Yeah, we're just stopping. We're in, uh, Claycomo, Missouri." Pause. "No, we're staying here today. We were up all night on a hunt. Yes. Yes, I mean it, J."

It went on in this manner for a few moments, and Sam almost smiled. He could hear enough to know that Dean was talking to an older hunter named Jefferson. Jefferson was not a patient person. When he called for help on a hunt, he wanted it right now and there was on excuse good enough to explain why you weren't there already. Sam knew the argument wouldn't be over any time soon. Since they were now in the parking lot of the poorly named Pleasant Motel, Sam got out to get a room, letting Dean continue talking.

The kid behind the counter couldn't stop staring at Sam's bruised neck, then blanched at the sight of his split knuckles. Irritated enough to be rude, Sam snapped in his ruined voice, "I was mugged, okay?" Shit, he sounded even worse than he'd expected.

The kid blushed and mumbled something that might have been an apology. He pointed Sam to the far end room, as requested, and Sam felt guilty enough to drop the kid a tip. He was just curious, and who wasn't at that age?

Dean was still on the phone, so Sam just pointed and walked down to the end of the lot, waiting for Dean to get there with the car. He used his own key to open the trunk, which was extra convenient, because he had his bag out before Dean got there, making it easier to disguise his soreness. He was first in the room, too. Dean dropped his own bag, rolling his eyes and waggling his head back and forth to indicate Jefferson was still talking. Relieved at the chance to escape without having to say a word, Sam pointed out the window at a park across the street. He needed to get away before his too-perceptive brother focused on him and didn't get a chance to process for himself.

Dean shrugged, conveying both understanding and a hint of amusement. He covered the bottom of the phone for a second. "Going to go feed the pigeons with the other old ladies, Francis?" Sam flipped him off and walked out to his brother's chuckle. The slice of normal felt good.

Sam was more tired than he'd thought. He'd initially planned to follow the paved path around a small lake at the center of the park, but even walking the half block made him feel weary, and he sat (okay, pretty much collapsed) onto the first bench he came to.

The park was quiet, too late for people wanting to exercise before work and still too cool for moms with little ones, Sam thought. There wasn't much to distract him from his depressing thoughts except the sound of his own wheezing.

Though Mary had been gone for many years, what happened back in Lawrence made Sam feel like he'd killed her. Certainly, in a very real way, she'd sacrificed herself for him. He couldn't help but wonder if he could have prevented it. He knew there was still something in that house, but he'd failed to stop it. Even after it showed up, everyone had gotten out except him. He was, once again, the princess in the tower waiting helplessly for rescue. He snorted at his own thought, and it turned into a cough. His ravaged throat protested and he was wiping tears away by the time he finished. He took a quick look around and was relieved that nobody had witnessed that.

Unfortunately, Sam's thoughts picked up exactly where they'd left off. He had seen Jessica die, time and again, in his dreams, and he hadn't done anything. And he wasn't just some Joe Schmo – he knew the supernatural existed. He knew things were often more than they appeared. And still he'd never said a word. Was it pride? Hubris? He'd wonder forever which of his faults led to the death of the woman he loved. Exhausted in body and mind, Sam slumped forward until his forearms rested on his knees. The posture reminded him of Dean, and he felt a little guilty that he was sitting here wallowing after what his brother had gone through. But if he went back to the room, Dean would do what he always did and suck up his own issues to take care of Sam. Still, he should go back, because Dean wouldn't sleep until he was there.

On cue, Dean was suddenly in front of him. Sam hadn't heard him coming and was startled enough to briefly reach for a weapon. "Just me, dude." Dean peered at him. "Man, you are thinking so hard I could see your head steaming from the room."

"What do you know about thinking?" asked Sam. Or at least he meant to. He'd forgotten just how bad his throat was and started coughing halfway through. Dammit. Now there was no way Dean would leave Sam alone and focus on himself.

Sure enough, Dean crouched in front of him, a hand on his shoulder and a concerned look on his face. "Aw, Sammy. I should have made you take something for your throat. I didn't realize it was this bad."

Great, now he looked guilty. "I'm –"

"—fine. Yeah, I can see that. C'mon, let's get some ice on that."

Caught out, Sam stood up miserably. Then discovered he couldn't even do that right. He'd stiffened up in the cool air, and his ribs seemed to creak in protest when he straightened. He gasped, barely a breath, but there was immediately a familiar hand under his elbow. "You get hurt more than just your neck, Sammy?"

"Just stiff from sitting," Sam croaked out. Dean just silently raised an eyebrow. It made Sam feel all of five years old. "Poltergeist threw me a little," he admitted. "It's not serious, just – " He had to stop to cough again.

Dean's eyes were sharp and soft at the same time, assessing and compassionate. "Okay, just stop talking for a few minutes, alright? I want to look you over. I should have done it sooner." He tugged Sam's arm.

Sam didn't move immediately. "Dean, I'm sorry."

"I told you to stop talking. Not that you ever listened to that."

"Let me say this, Dean. I'm sorry you're here helping me when you have – you should be free to deal with…" words failed him and he waved his free hand. "…Lawrence."

Dean's eyes sharpened even more, and the scrutiny should have been uncomfortable, except it was so familiar, so expected. So undeserved.

"Stop it, Sammy." Dean tugged again, more insistently, and Sam found himself walking back toward the motel. For the sake of his dignity, he pulled his elbow free. Dean let him, but stayed half a step behind so he could hover without being obvious about it. "What happened, happened. It sucks, but it's life. Anyway, you ever think I would like a distraction?"

He was giving Sam forgiveness. More than that, maybe he was saying he wanted, even needed to be needed. To be a big brother. Sam heard it under the words Dean had actually said, but he felt a wash of shame that he didn't deserve it. And that was followed by the fear that his brain knew was irrational to worry about but his heart couldn't let go of: that one day Dean would die because of him.

"I don't know what you're blaming yourself for now, but seriously, stop it." Dean trailed him into their room. "Not everything requires blame. I don't know how you knew what was going on in that house, but because you did, because you insisted, Jenny and her kids are okay." He turned Sam and waited until the latter met his eyes, a trick that he'd been using since they were small. "And Sam? Mom was already gone."

Sam flinched. Dean had never been willing to say that before. He knew what Dean was saying and why, but didn't quite accept it yet.

"Okay, hoss, top shirt off. I wanna check your ribs." Dean briskly changed topics. Sam went to protest and a literal croak came out, making Dean grin. He (gently) shoved Sam to sit. "Some pain killers first, though."

"I couldn't swallow them," Sam admitted.

"I'll crush them up." Dean's voice turned cajoling. "That means you can have a cup of coffee."

Sam was chilled, plus he always preferred hot drinks when he had a sore throat, so coffee sounded divine. He capitulated, admitting to himself that big brother knew how to convince him. When the coffee was ready, he took a long drink. "It's decaf," he groused.

"How can you even tell?"

"It tastes like sadness."

That startled a genuine laugh from Dean, which pleased Sam way too much. He tried to say something else and choked a little.

"God, you need to learn how to keep your mouth shut. Why did we ever teach you how to talk?" Dean stole the now-empty cup. "You know, I remember the first time you laughed. You were in this swing thing and I ran past and tripped on something. Fell flat on my face. And you busted out with this huge belly laugh. Figures."

Sam couldn't quite stop the smile that crept across his face, even though Dean's examination of his ribs hurt.

"After that, I was obsessed with making you laugh. I would wake you up just to try and get you to laugh. That was before you were a total ass in the mornings." Sam rolled his eyes. He was far more of a morning person than Dean would ever be. "Dad would get annoyed about it, but Mom never did. She said your laugh was something she'd never get tired of hearing."

The nostalgia in Dean's voice brought a lump to Sam's throat. But Dean didn't sound sad. He sounded thoughtful, and Sam just listened, amazed that his brother was finally talking about Mom.

Dean deftly finished wrapping the ribs that Sam was pretty sure didn't really need to be wrapped. Sometimes it was easier to just not fight and to let Dean do what Dean's gonna do. And maybe Sam could breathe a little easier with them wrapped, though he didn't say that out loud.

"I thought since you laughed, you had to be about ready to talk, so I started trying to get you to say 'Dean.' Of course, it was like six months before you ever did. I thought you were really stupid, but I figured that was okay because you were a pretty cute baby. Too bad you can't get by on your looks any more. It's a good thing you have me."

And, there's the regular Dean back. Maybe he did need this. Maybe watching over Sam, for all Sam is a grown-ass man, gives Dean a purpose, a diversion when there's nothing to hunt. Maybe it is less about what Sam deserves and more what Dean needs.

That still didn't mean Sam appreciated the ice pack on his neck. He hated icing anything. But he was feeling very comfortable now and it didn't seem worth the effort to argue about it, so instead, he just gave Dean a kind of sleepy stink eye.

Dean laughed again, and Sam thought that Mom had been wrong. It was Dean's laughter that made things brighter.

"I like this silent Sammy," grinned Dean. "I mean, I'm not down with you getting choked, but the quiet is really nice. Ah-ah, no talking!"

Sam looked his brother straight in the eye and mouthed a succinct, two-word phrase that Dean couldn't possibly mistake.

Chuckling, Dean finally pulled off his own boots. "Tired? It's been like 30 hours since either of us had any shut-eye. And Jefferson wants us in Mississippi tomorrow for a burial ground that has a whole family of ghosts causing trouble." His forehead creased, just a little. "If you're up for it."

Sam rolled his eyes again. He really did that a lot. "'M fine. And not tired yet. Care if I catch some TV?"

Dean looked thoughtful, and a touch sad. He knew why Sam didn't want to sleep. "You know, I saw that Wild, Wild West was going to be on, the one with Will Smith. Why don't we catch that?"

Sam hated that Dean would stay awake too, but he was also relieved and grateful. He felt guilty as hell, but the truth was, he needed his brother right now, and Dean knew it. Maybe, Dean needed him too.

"Man, we should make some ID's up as Jim West – that's me of course, dashing gunslinger – and Artemis Gordon – goofy egghead."

"I will never use an ID with the name Artemis," growled Sam.

"Shut up. You aren't allowed to talk. I guess you'll just have to be Sam Gordon, which isn't nearly as cool." Dean sighed as if affronted, but quickly smiled again, and Sam knew what was coming next. They had a favorite quote from the movie. "Shoot first, shoot later, shoot some more and then when everyone's dead try to ask a question or two."

Dean snickered, and Sam snickered, and both sobered and stared for a second, trying to determine how the other was doing after everything they'd been through. Deciding silently that no chick flick moments were needed, the settled in to watch the goofy movie. And wouldn't you know; Sam was asleep within 10 minutes, and Dean 2 minutes later.

AN: Wild, Wild West staring Will Smith and Kevin Kline, was on last night, and I couldn't help but think that the boys might enjoy a movie like that: lots of implausible action, shooting, one-liners, and some crazy science fiction machines thrown in for good measure.