"I'm so sorry."

"Cut it out, Sammy. Just stitch me up already, man." Dean watched as Sam's face fell at the reminder of the slowly oozing cut on the back of his noggin. He felt long fingers gently manoeuvring his head, tilting it forward.

"Shit, Dean. I'm sorry."

"I swear to god, Sam, if I hear the word sorry one more time I will shave your head." He threatened, looking up at his apologetic little brother.

"Shave my head?" The younger man repeated with a disbelieving smirk.

"It's not like I've never messed with your hair before." Dean pointed out with a devious smile.

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, I definitely would."

Sam rolled his eyes and moved to stand behind the older boy, releasing a sigh as he began to gently probe the cut leaking blood down the back of his neck. Dean sat patiently as the wound was cleaned and swiftly disinfected before Sam carefully began to stitch it closed – Dean couldn't help wince as the needle pierced through his skin.

"Sor- my bad." The younger man muttered as he tried his best to be more careful.

"It's not your fault."

Dean's response was met with nothing but a frustrated huff.

"I'm serious, Sam. None of this is your fault."

"Yeah, whatever."

The elder hunter rolled his eyes, hating how his brother reverted to an angsty teenager whenever he was upset.

"Almost done." Sam reported, deftly finishing the last couple stitches and tying them off.

Dean resisted the urge to nod his head in response and threw a thumbs-up instead.

A quick moment later his cut was clean and neatly stitched. Dean would admit that he had greatly missed Sam's careful doctoring, while the dork had been away at school. It was much more difficult to patch himself up and John Winchester was far from gentle about it.

"Nicely done, Sammy." He praised as he cautiously traced along the injury.

"Don't touch it, Dean. You're going to mess up my work." Sam admonished, swatting the probing hand away.

"Yes, nurse."

Sam allowed a small smile to spread across his face for a second before returning to his more serious expression. "You should lie down and rest. I'll wake you in an hour."

"I know, wake me up and make me answer your stupid questions."

"I have to make sure there is no memory loss or damage, you know that."

"Oh please, I was out for like five seconds."

"Doesn't matter, Dean. You got a concussion."

"Fine, but this time don't ask me the date. Head wound or not, I never know the damn date."

"Stop whining and get some rest."

"I can't rest with you waking me up and interrogating me every hour."

"Then maybe you should stop getting concussions."

"Maybe you should have lit that bitch before she chucked a shovel at my head." Dean regretted the flippant remark the moment it fell from his mouth. He watched as Sam's face crumpled, shame draping across his features.

"Sam, I didn't mean-

"It's fine, Dean." The younger man dismissed, the quiet resignation in his tone adding to Dean's guilt. "Just get some rest. I'm going to grab some coffee."

Before Dean could plead his case, his brother was out the door.

"Great job, you fucking moron." He muttered to himself as he carefully laid down, not bothering to climb underneath the covers. He couldn't believe he had said that, like Sam wasn't feeling guilty enough. The kid had been trying to light the bones, but his fingers were too stiff and he was having trouble getting the lighter working. Right when Dean was about to help him out, the spirit had appeared and she was less than pleased to see the two hunters, so Dean distracted her. Next thing he knew he was opening his eyes to a concerned little brother crouching over him.

Sam has been drowning in guilt since the moment his older brother opened his eyes.

Dean couldn't fucking believe that he shoved what happened in his kid's face, how could he be such a dick?

The stiffness in Sam's fingers was a side-effect of the frostbite, he couldn't help it and he couldn't do anything to make it go away. Had Dean really been away from his little brother for so long that he forgot how sensitive he was about his hands and his inability to fully control them? Dean decided he would convince Sam that he didn't mean what he had said as soon as he woke him up for his first hourly quiz.

As he laid in bed, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head and wishing his brother wasn't so serious about concussions and would let him have some damn pain killers; his mind wandered, sucking him into a memory from a day years ago, a day that was much like this one.

"I'm sorry."

Dean cringed at the desperate plea in his little brother's voice. It amazed him how a kid of eighteen could sound so incredibly young.

"For the last time, Sam, it's not your fault." He insisted, unable to understand why his straight-A little brother was unable to grasp such a simple concept.

"It is. I should have loaded the shotgun faster!" Sam argued as he added another pillow to the stack underneath Dean's arm, fussing with it until it was resting comfortably.

"You couldn't! Your hands were shaking like crazy and even if you got the thing loaded, you probably wouldn't have been able to shoot straight."

"I was supposed to have your back and I screwed up! It's my fault you got thrown and now your shoulder is all messed up."

"Dude, my shoulder is fine. It got dislocated is all. Dad already popped it back in, I'll be able to arm wrestle you by tomorrow." He assured with a wink, looking to relieve his little brother of the guilt he was holding onto. "Besides, it's my own fault."

"No it's not."

"Yeah, it is. I noticed that it was getting colder and I knew you didn't have your gloves. I should have sent you back to the car."

"I wouldn't have gone." Sam stated simply, looking directly into the older boy's eyes for the first time since that spirit had chucked him across the graveyard. The teen quickly looked away, his body vibrating with anger; an emotion Dean could tell Sam was aiming wholly towards himself.

They heard the motel door being unlocked and both looked up from where they were sitting across from each other on the bed. John entered the room loudly, a bag of food in his arms as he looked over at his sons, his eyes full of accusation. Dean watched as Sam visibly shrunk beneath the stare, his posture emitting a strong sense of shame. The older boy felt a familiar anger rising in his gut; nobody was allowed to make his little brother feel like dirt, nobody.

"Grabbed some burgers from down the street." Their father announced gruffly, dropping the bag of food unceremoniously onto the rickety kitchen table.

Dean watched as Sam cautiously made his way over to the table, moving like a deer that was being watched by a hunter, weary and ready to run. Dean hated that their dad had the power to make Sam feel so nervous and insecure. The kid pulled a burger out of the bag and brought it over to his big brother, setting it on a napkin within his reach and then quietly taking a seat next to him.

"You didn't get yours." He reminded the younger boy.

"I'm not really hungry." He responded softly.

"Well it would have been nice to know that before I bought dinner." The bitter tone came from their father, who was seated at the table, glaring at his youngest son.

"I didn't know you were getting food, I'm sorry." Sam insisted.

"You've been saying that a lot lately."

Dean whipped his head up from his burger at the harsh comment, his anger rising as he watched his little brother practically disappear into his sweater, shrinking away in shame. Dean's jaw was clenched in rage as he stared down the gruff man sitting at the table. It was apparent how guilty Sam felt by his reaction to their old man, normally the teen would argue or fight with John about who was to blame, but instead he was resigning himself to the guilt, and that was unacceptable.

"Hey Sam." He called with a tone as soft as he could manage. "Could you go grab me a soda?"

The kid looked up at Dean through his bangs, his slim frame hunched over and curled in on itself so much that he looked no more than twelve. Sam didn't dare speak, perhaps he didn't trust his voice - because Dean could see the moisture building in the hazel eyes - or perhaps he was afraid that any words that left his mouth might be thrown right back in his face. The kid nodded and quickly got up from the bed, silently exiting the tense room.

"What the hell is your problem?" Dean barked, the burger in his hand tossed aside as he straightened up, hiding the wince from the pull on his shoulder.

"What are you talking about?" John responded, avoiding his eyes as he chewed his food.

"Cut the bullshit. You have been on Sam's case all night."

"I've hardly said anything to the kid."

"You don't have to say anything. You think I haven't noticed the way you've been looking at him, and the stupid little comments you keep making?" He argued, his body wanting to walk over and approach his father, but his mind knowing that he wouldn't be able to do that without showing pain in his shoulder and there was no way to win an argument with John Winchester by displaying any sign of weakness.

"He almost got you killed, Dean."

"What the fuck is wrong with everyone?" He shouted in aggravation. "It wasn't his fault!"

"If he had loaded the gun faster that bitch wouldn't have gotten to you."

"If you had burned the bones quicker none of this would have happened."

"Don't be stupid, Dean. You know you can't dig a grave up that fast."

"I'm not being stupid, if I hadn't decided to play bait this wouldn't have happened."

"That's bullshit and you know it. We all had jobs to do and your brother failed his." John hollered, standing up and stalking towards Dean in anger. The wounded man hated his disadvantage, but he remained in his seated position and sent a dark look up to his dad.

"Don't ever blame him for his messed-up hands. You did that to him! And I swear that if you ever make him feel like shit again, I will tear you apart." He seethed, his lethal tone making his father's eyebrows raise just a little. John knew this tone; it was the one Dean used to threaten any human or supernatural bastard that hurt his little brother.

John still looked furious and Dean could tell he was about to say something, but wisely the man actually shut his mouth, turning abruptly and marching from the room, slamming the motel door closed as he left. The younger released a tired sigh and leaned back against the headboard.

The door clicked open seconds later and Sam quietly entered the room, eyes down and movements slow. He walked over and placed a can of soda at the bedside table, his hair covering his features, shielding his emotions.

"Thanks, buddy." Dean said with an easy smile. "Grab your burger and come sit."

"Not hungry." Came the simple reply.

"Sammy." He waited until his little brother looked down at him, the large eyes full of despair. "This is not your fault." He stated, pronouncing each word slowly and dramatically.

Sam appeared unconvinced, so his brother continued.

"Shit happens, alright? We get injured all the time on the job. And I don't give a shit what Dad says, this wasn't anybody's fault, it sure as hell wasn't yours. Next time we will just be more careful."

There was a pause. Dean could tell Sam was going over his words in his head, looking for a flaw in his argument, and whether he didn't find one or he simply decided to drop that matter, he slowly nodded his head in agreement.

"Okay, Dean."

"Good, now go grab your burger and then hand me the remote, because I'm sick of playing therapist." He ordered with a smirk.

Sam gave me a small dimply smile and did as requested.

"I'm sorry." He heard his little brother mutter a moment later as he flipped through the channels.

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean snapped, frustrated, because hadn't they justgone through this?

"No, not about that. I'm sorry for making you fight with Dad. I know you hate that."

Dean was struck momentarily by the size of his kid's heart, always considerate and so perceptive, must have gotten that from their mom.

"You didn't make me do anything, Sam. Regardless of what you believe, I have my own fucking brain and I make my own damn decisions. I have no problem telling Dad where to shove it when he's acting like a moron."

"I know, just…thanks for looking out for me." Sam said shyly, gazing at his big brother, letting him see the admiration shining through the hazel eyes.

Dean smiled, remembering how Sam used to look at him like that all the time when he was a child. The older boy glanced away, overwhelmed with emotion, and continued to channel flip.

"That's what big brothers are for, Sammy."

John came back late that night; he reeked of alcohol and collapsed into bed, passing out instantly.

The matter was never brought up again, but only a few weeks later Sam headed off to school.

Dean woke from the dreamlike memory suddenly, assuming Sam's call had pulled him from his sleep.

"My name is Dean, my little brother is a bitch, and I have no fucking clue what day it is." He recited, opening one eye when he didn't receive an exasperated response.

Not only had Sam not woken him up, he wasn't even in the room. Dean felt the panic rise in his chest; his thoughts going back to the memory that had been playing out in his head when he fell asleep.

The recollection of a day much like this one, a day that he always knew was a big part of why his little brother left for school - because the kid had felt like his family would be better off without him, safer without him around. That thought had Dean scrambling out of bed, because even the idea of Sam leaving again, twisted up his insides. His little brother was just the kind of person who would do something as stupid as leave, because his warped mind had him thinking Dean would be better off without him. Which was the furthest fucking thing from the truth.

"Sam?" He called out, as he clumsily stumbled to his feet, feeling his head spin as he gained his balance.

Dean made his way to the door, flinging it open. It was still dark out and his baby remained parked in front of the room, so if he had left, the kid couldn't have gotten far.

"Sam!" He shouted, wincing as the volume of his voice made his head pound. He stumbled around the corner and stopped in his tracks, staring wide eyed as he watched the younger man slam his fists repeatedly into a brick wall. It took the hunter less than a second to jump into action.

"Hey! Stop! What the hell are you doing?" He hollered as he pulled Sam back, placing himself in between his little brother and the object of his violence. He looked up at the tall kid before him, the shaggy hair pushed aside, revealing a tear-stained face.

"I'm sorry." Sam croaked, his voice wavering as he visibly struggled to control his raw emotion.

"I don't know what the hell you're apologizing for now, but I'm getting pretty fucking sick of hearing it." Dean snapped.

Naturally, Sam took his brother's aggravation entirely wrong, and ducked his head down as though he had been admonished in some way. Dean grabbed him by the elbow and pushed the long body in the direction he had come.

"Get your ass back in that room." He ordered. He was at the end of his rope; he had enough of Sam's guilt complex, enough of him taking the blame for every single shitty thing that happened in the world. He watched as Sam shuffled back into the hotel.

Sam was standing uneasily in the middle of the room, looking down at the floor, and Dean felt like he was looking at the eighteen-year-old boy he had been remembering.

"Sit." He demanded.

"But, Dean, I…"

"Sit. Down. Now." He bit out, waiting for his little brother to take a seat before pulling up a chair in front of him and sliding the first aid kit that was already set out on the table a bit closer. Dean tugged his brother's hands out from where he had them tucked into his sweater, shaking his head at their icy chill and releasing a soft sigh at the damage he could see. The kid's knuckles were torn up and bleeding. Dean checked each finger, slightly satisfied to find that none of them were broken. He could feel Sam's eyes on him, watching as he cleaned the large hands. Save for a low hiss when Dean disinfected a particularly nasty cut, his little brother didn't make a sound. Once both his hands were cleaned and bandaged Dean allowed the younger man to tuck them back into the pocket of his sweater and he sat back in his chair, staring at the taller boy.

"Would you like to explain to me what the hell you were doing?" He inquired, sounding harsher than he had originally intended.

"I'm sor…"

"Don't you dare! I don't want another apology. I want an explanation as to why you were outside in the cold pounding on a brick wall, instead of sitting here and waking me up every hour."

"Dean, you weren't even asleep for half an hour." Sam explained, looking over quizzically.

"Oh, well, that doesn't explain why you were going all Rambo on the wall."

"Pfft, cause you've have never punched an inanimate object before." He challenged.

"Not for no reason, professor."

"Professor?"

"Dude, when you use long words like that you're asking to be mocked."

"I was angry and I punched a wall. Let it go."

"Sure, because you're the king of letting things go." Dean snorted.

Sam shook his head and moved to sit heavily onto the edge of the bed, his head held in his bandaged hands; a position of defeat.

"Look, Sam." He started, taking a seat in the bed across from his, their knees almost touching. "I just want to know what's going on with you so I can fix it."

"You can't, Dean."

"Well why don't you let me know what it is and I'll decide whether or not I can fix it." He reasoned.

"It's my hands. They are messed up. If they aren't shaking they're stiff or in pain. I can't make them work right no matter how badly I want to. I can't protect you." Sam finished, looking up at his big brother with a helpless expression.

"Sam, you aren't supposed to protect me." Dean tried to explain.

"I'm supposed to have your back!"

"And you do."

"Ha! Yeah, I'm really great at it. We've only just started hunting together again and I already got you hurt."

"Sam! You didn't get me hurt. How many times am I going to have to go through this? We have a dangerous job. We both get hurt all the time. It's no one's fault!" Dean felt like a broken fucking record.

Sam gave him a look of disbelief.

"Listen to me." The older man instructed, moving forward and placing his hands on the boney pair of knees, waiting to get his kid's full attention before he continued. "You are not a burden."

His brother rolled his eyes as he made to move away.

"No way, you've been begging for a chic-flick talk and now you're getting one." Dean declared, waiting for Sam to settle in and return his attention to his bossy big brother.

"You are not a burden, Sam. I mean it. You save my life all the time and you are the only person I can trust to always have my back."

The young man released a sarcastic huff, but stopped short at the glare Dean sent him.

"I'm serious. And when I do get hurt, you patch me up, and you do a hell of a job of it."

That comment got Dean some genuine Sammy dimples - which had him feeling as though he had accomplished something tremendous.

"Sammy, you keep me sane and I, uuhh... I need you around, man, okay?" He finished uncomfortably.

Sam just looked at him for what seemed like forever, his puppy eyes searching Dean's green gaze, full of hope and seeking honestly.

"I mean it, little brother." Dean insisted, letting his kid brother see the truth in his eyes, hating the vulnerability he felt, but knowing that if that was what Sam needed, he could handle it.

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean." Sam replied, sounding both thankful and reassuring.

Now it was the older Winchester's turn to search for honesty. He saw the sincerity in Sam's eyes and felt a lump growing in his throat.

"Good." Was the only word he could manage, throwing a smile his little brother's way before awkwardly diverting his gaze. "So, if we are finished with this Dr Phil session, I could really use some shut-eye." He admitted with a tired smile, the pounding in his head growing too much for him to ignore any longer.

"Yeah, you should be resting." Sam stuttered, rubbing at his eyes as he stood.

Dean smirked as he lay back in bed, feeling sleep pull at him the second he closed his eyes. He was almost out when he felt Sam tugging at the blankets beneath him.

"It's getting cold." The younger man muttered as he covered his brother with the comforter.

Dean tried to hide his smile, knowing, but unwilling to admit how he missed having someone to look out for him. How the hell could Sam ever think that he was a burden?

"How are your hands?" He mumbled, cracking an eye open.

"I'm fine, Dean. Get some sleep. I'm going to grab some coffee."

"Is that code for, I'm going to go beat up another wall?" He inquired, eyebrow raised.

"No, smart-ass. It's code for, I have to stay up all night to keep your ass out of a coma so I'm going to need some coffee."

"Good. Wear your gloves, and don't get lost, or mugged, or kidnapped, or…"

"Go to sleep, Dean!" Sam ordered with a laugh, grabbing his gloves and slipping out the door.

Dean smiled at his success. Getting Sammy to laugh these days was no small feat. He knew that the kid still blamed himself, knew that he probably still saw himself as a burden, and while that aggravated Dean to no end; it was simply something he would have to work on.

As long as Sam was willing to stick around, they would work out the rest together, because that was what brothers did. They took the hand they were dealt, no matter how shitty, and they worked with it. They made it better.

Dean had missed having someone who always made it better.

He had missed his brother.

And now that he had him back, there was no way he was letting him go again.

Not ever.