A/N: I've been having writer's block for a long while now, and I just randomly came up with this oneshot. It's set after the asylum and itsorta follows the storyline of the previews. So if you haven't seen any commercials for the upcoming episodes this'll spoil it a bit. And I don't know, of course, what really happened, its all my own thoughts on it. So please R&R when your finished because if I get a few I'll be more apt to update my ongoing stories. :)

The hotel room was silent. Sam could see Dean lying in the bed next to him, arms sprawled out, head tilted at an odd angle. Although his chest was moving heavily up and down and his breath sounded steady, Sam was sure Dean wasn't asleep.

Somber, the twenty two year turned his head towards the ceiling. His mind was buzzing and his heart was full of regrets. Not two hours ago, the Winchesters had left the asylum, hurt and disoriented. Dean had assured his younger sibling that everything was alright, that he understood Ellicot was messing with him.

But Sam still felt horrible. During the short ride back to the motel Dean refused to talk. He kept his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road. The usual unbearable sounds of AC/DC were not even heard that morning.

A car drove past the window, its headlights illuminating Dean's silloute. Sam wanted so badly to try and close the gap he had opened earlier. Taking another look at his older brother, though, he knew the outcome would be the same.

When they got to their room, Dean finally spoke up. Throwing his bag in the corner of the room, he ran a strong hand through his short hair and grunted, "You gonna take a shower?"

"You can go ahead and get yours," Sam had answered, quietly. His shoes were already off and he had thudded onto one of the beds.

Dean nodded, grabbed some items from his bag, and went into the bathroom. Once the door had closed and locked, seperating the two, Sam rubbed his face harshly. He felt a soft urge to cry, but knew from experience to hold it in. While the distant sound of running water filled his ears, Sam decided to pull out his cell phone and scrolled to saved messages.

Putting the phone to his ear, he listened to a voice message that he had saved from seven months back. Soon, Jessica's soft and sunny voice filled the lover's ear.

"Hey, baby, I just wanted to tell you the act's up," the young woman's voice had a playful ring to it. "Catherine saw you at the ring store in the mall...I told you I didn't want to make any serious desicions until after you got into law school. And asked my father for permission..." the rest continued on for awhile. When Sam had first heard that message, he knew Jess wasn't angry. She had told him how she wanted her engagment to be a surprise, and at the most unexpected time.

Closing the phone, Sam felt the tears re-emerge. He had planned on asking Jess to marry him at Christmas, when they were with her family andhe had secured my spot at Stanford for law school.

But only a month after she had been taken away. Sam still carried her memories with him. The bracelet she had slipped on his wrist one day when they were taking a walk, all her sentimental messages, even the ring was still pocketed deep inside his jacket.

Slowly, Sam's fingers drifted to his pocket and he felt the velvet box holding the ring. He rarely pulled it out, he was too afraid Dean would catch him. But, somehow, the man thought that stealing a peak at that lost hope would help ease the pain he felt towards his brother.

He never got to test the theory out though. The bathroom door flung open and Dean walked out, looking only a tad bit better than when he had first walked in.

"Night," he said simply, chucking his phone on the bedside table and shoving his feet deep into the thin covers. As the guy defeatedly covered his bare chest, Sam saw the circular bruise in his chest. It had already begun to turn a deep purple and blue, spreading out into the size of a fist.

Recovering his thoughts, Sam began to come up with ways to get his brother to know he was terribly sorry. He could just yell it out, but knew Dean would continue acting as if he were asleep. But that might have been better. A part of Sam feared what Dean had to say. Feared that Dean would tell him to leave, say that he hated Sam for what he said.

Sick of staring at the white chalk ceiling, Sam threw his long legs over the side of the bed and walked to the circular table in the corner. Strewn about were papers and pictures of the asylum and sticky notes with short ideas written across them. There was even a leaky pen opened on top of one article. Sam's butt met with the cheap cushion of the chair and opened his laptop.

He had a few emails, all from friends back at Stanford. One told him about his roomate's party, another about the ridiculuce paper the Chem class had to write. Sam ignored them all and scrolled his mouse to the box that read Write.

"Dean, I know this is completely lame. But I also know this is the only way I can talk to you..."

Sam's fingers typed rythmically. He had clicked on Dean's email, and determidly set his hopes on getting through to him.

"For six months I have rode passenger with you in your beloved car. Have listened through Moterhead and Metallica. Have even ate at those dingy restraunats with you. Our main goal's been to find dad, to save him from whatever peril he's facing. And in the meantime we've made the world a little better. Have saved a few lives.

But in between nowhere, when the trees are all that hear your Impala's growl, we both know there is something more. We fight over nothing, but enjoy it nonetheless. We bicker over radio stations and cassessettes constantly, but laugh at each other in the end.

Both of us need the other. Your pissy attitude and dumbass remarks have somehow started to ease the pain that stabs my heart from Jess. I know you can't take away all the emptiness she left, but you can make me forget, for at least alittle while, that it's there.

And although you want to find Dad more than anything, I know you enjoy me riding shotgun. When you came to visit me my freshman year, and took me to that diner, you didn't like me sitting next to you. At least, not like you used to. But, just like when I was sixteen and rode along during a hunt, I've resumed my place on your right side, and you couldn't look happier.

So...screw Ellicot! He messed with our heads. You know I want to find Dad as much as you do, and I know you are trying as hard as you can.

All I'm saying is, whether you like it or not, I'm along on this ride too. And, yeah, we'll never forget how I shot you...but at least, when we're old, we'll have a good story to talk about.

Alright, I'm done with the whole sappy, cry on your shoulder letter. Sam."

Sam hesitated over the SEND button, his long, thin forefinger shuddering. He could just send it to himself, as he had so many other times, but Sam felt as if this letter needed to be read. He felt that their relationship wouldn't begin to heal until Dean learned what Sam had on his mind.

Pounding his finger onto the mouse, the deed was done. Sam finally felt as if he could catch some sleep, his conscience giving him a short break.

Unfortunatly, once he had replaced himself on his bed, his eyes refused to close. Choosing instead to drift back to the old spot ahead of him. The guy let out a short sigh and agreed with his brain to stay awake for alittle while longer.

As Sam made imaginery pictures of odd shapes with his eyes, the phone next to him began to ring.

Then it rang again. To his left, Dean's mouth let out a short demand, then closed.

Reaching over, Sam racked his brain through who it could be. An old friend, one of the people they had helped. But when he saw the caller ID read Unknown, a short jolt ran through the man's body.

"Hello."

The next words sprang Dean to life, his dreary attitude that engulfed him moments before vanishing.

Sam's eyes widened. "Dad?" It was then that the college student felt a power greater than his working for him. Someone had seen him write that letter and pushed their father to call.

It was then that Sam had actually begun to have a faith that they would find their dad and he could return back to normalacy. That Dean could have his role model and mentor back in his grip and everything would go back to the way it was.

That faith stayed with him, even though his father refused to tell them where he was. It even kept Sam strong after the phone call had ended and he told Dean they were going after him, even though John had told them to stop looking.

The tiniest wisp remained in Sam's heart as he walked away from Dean and his baby at some deserted highway just nights later.

And every bit came swarming back when he stared at Dean in the hospital bed, sick, and so lost. He tried his hardest to give his older brother some of his hope while in that hospital room, but none was getting through. Instead, the older brother kept repeating, so ademitly, "I'm gonna die, Sam, and there's nothing you can do to stop it."

"Like hell I can't," Sam thought furiously. He knew he had enough faith to save his hero. Enough to get him back unto his feet. Enough to get him to continue searching for their father. Even if Dean himself believed it was the end, Sam refused to step down from his pulpit of hope. His feet stood firmly planted, even though he was weary and terrified, all he thought about was those days of driving through nothing, and sharing everything. Of sitting in the passenger seat; his seat, and silently connecting with Dean.

The days of bickering and hitting each other in that enclosed home, weren't over. Sam knew that with all his heart. He had let death steal two people he loved from his life, he was not about to let it take another. Although it had its fingers wrapped around Dean and was ready to pull at any moment, Sam felt determined, as he stared at his brother, that their journey was not over. He knew it wasn't time, because he had such faith.