Disclaimer: Supernatural ain't mine *sobs*

Set: Pre-series

Main Characters: Sam and Dean

Ships: None

Ages: Sam's 19ish. Dean's 23.

Chapter Two: Panic Attack

"You showed the love when I wasn't feeling it"

"give you the moon" by Kina

College had seemed like the perfect escape to the hapless teenager last year. Bobby had supported him, and while Sam used to be grateful to no end, he was beginning to think that all the sleuthing and keeping secrets from Dean and John the two had done was for nothing.

Well, was failing nothing?

Okay, fine. For nothing good.

Honestly, when had so much work piled up? Because he'd sat in that exact desk and done nothing but work for about a year now and still, still he was behind.

When had Sam messed up so much? The moment he started actually making friends? The moment he stepped inside the college building? Or was it the moment he walked away from Dean, the only person in his life who he truly loved.

He'd 'gotten away' from the hunting life. But it was always slinking up behind him whenever he had his back turned. A python stalking the shadows until you slipped to wrap itself around you and slowly strangle you. That's what it was. The hunting life was a fucking python. The life was a python, a hunt was a nest, and the other hunters were the poison. Except Dean… Dean was- is Sam's hero.

But couldn't you want something different from the person you looked up to?

Sam's gaze traveled back to the computer, back to the glaring, beady F on his grade. The young man's stomach clenched in disgust aimed at himself.

Maybe you couldn't.

Sam had been competent when it came to hunting. He was a hero to some people. He had a brother and a father who had his back through thick and thin. And it was thick more than not because of that invisible target painted on Sam's back that seemed to magnetically pull in bad luck. But still, despite his curse, Sam had been a good hunter.

It hadn't made him happy but it made him useful.

And Dean had been happy. How was Dean now? Sam hadn't even called. Hadn't spoken to his brother in months. Months. Was he even alive?

Sam's hands shook, making it nearly impossible to exit out of the screen he was on. The grade was mocking him, sending waves of dread coursing through the Winchester and adding onto the hissing of anxiety that came from thoughts of Dean's health. Sam felt like throwing up, but couldn't move from his chair. Those chills from earlier returned, clawing through his skin and toward his heart, which was beating way too quickly.

Maybe it was something supernatural attacking him. The young man swallowed hard, and even that seemed difficult. Dragging his gaze from the computer, Sam gazed around. This fear being a ghost would almost make him feel… better?

Because what else was this?

He couldn't breathe.

He couldn't fucking breathe!

And there was nothing. Nobody. Just an empty room so clean that Dean would tease him for being a maid. His heart hammering in his chest, Sam stumbled out of the chair. Toward his phone and the only person who could ever make sense of this feeling and fix it. Cold, clammy hands wrapping around the phone, Sam dialed the number that had been engraved in his mind for his entire life.

Just in case something happened to him and he needed to call Dean.

Sam's index finger hovered over the last digit, frozen. What if Dean hated him? What if he didn't answer? And then there was that thought that he couldn't shake; what if he was dead?

The world was ending, caving in on Sam. He could trust nothing but the authenticity of his failing grade. Couldn't even trust the ceiling to hold strong. It could crumble on him and he'd be gone in seconds. The good -if that was the right word- news? If Dean was dead, Sam would welcome the thought of being crushed by his own home, but for some reason, the thought repulsed him. So Dean had to be alive.

He called the number.

Ring. What if Dean berated him for leaving? Sam's breath hitched in his throat, clogging his lungs and making it impossible to breathe. To save himself, he held his breath.

Ring. What if Dean just didn't even care? Would that be the preferred option? Knowing that the one person Sam relied on for his very well-being didn't care? At least him leaving wouldn't have been upsetting if Dean never cared in the first place.

Ring. Sam couldn't take it anymore, the mindless ringing of an unanswered phone. The Winchester stumbled to the floor, back pressed against the wall as he let the phone slip out of his hands. It clattered against the ground as the young man buried his face in his heads. Nails dug into his scalp and he didn't even know why.

Click. "...Hello? Sam is that you?"

Hope flared in Sam's chest at the familiar voice. He let out a sob of relief but his breathing didn't ease up. He let out a few choked out gasps, trying to get his breathing under control so he could respond. Nothing was working. He couldn't make a noise other than airless wheezing.

"Sam? Sammy, what's wrong…?" Dean's voice was sharp, perhaps even a bit worried, but that concept was nearly comical. Why would Dean be worried about Sam? Sam was a bad brother. A bad student. A bad person. And no matter what he tried to tell himself...

...something was always going to be wrong with him.

His vision grew spotty with darkness, and if Sam wasn't already on the floor, he would've fallen to his knees. "I-I'm s'rry! S' s' sorry, De! 'Mbadbruthers'msorry!" Why couldn't he speak? Just speak, dammit! Tears trickled down the young man's face. Pathetic. He couldn't even talk when his world was falling apart.

Everything was going so, so wrong!

Dean spoke again, slow and clear but too clear and too slow... like he was trying to calm himself down. "I don't understand, Sam, what's happening? Are you in danger?" The last question was sharp, dreading.

Yes! Sam wanted to scream but he wasn't and he didn't know how that was possible because he was just so scared. "I'm s'rry, sawry- s… sorry!" When he finally got the word right, Sam snatched up the phone on the ground. Had Dean even heard him? He raised his voice, desperate for his brother to understand. "I'm sorry, Dean! I'm sorry that I'm a failure, I'm sor-" gasp for air "-ry!"

"Sammy, you need to breathe! Are you drunk or sumthin'?" The older Winchester almost sounded hopeful. When silence answered, Dean tried his original question again, "Are you in danger?"

Undeterred nerves lumped in the college student's heart. It felt like he was having a heart attack, but everywhere and accompanied by this badgering feeling of life-ending horror. And Sam had been through apprehensive situations before, they'd been his life for eighteen years. So why the Hell was this so much worse?

"I can't," the young Winchester was trying to answer Dean's questions, but nothing was coming out as it should. "I c'n't breathe!"

"Danger, Sammy, yes or no?"

"No!"

The older brother's relief was palpable and Sam had a sick feeling that he didn't deserve that reaction. "Okay…" Dean soothed, his voice soft, a side only the younger Winchester had ever heard. "Where are you?"

"My dorm… but Dean…"

"Fucking Hell...what is it?"

The young man in the college dorm, only wanting forgiveness from his hero, suddenly felt like his energy had been sapped from his body. He slumped against the wall, sliding into a drained slouch. He could barely even speak, even after the oxygen had returned to him. Sleepiness pulled at his eyelids, impossibly heavy. "I'm sorry, Dean, do you understand?"

"I...Sorry for what, Sam?"

Sam. The young man flinched when his brother's term of endearment for him vanished. He was mad now that Sam seemed to have his breathing under control. The Winchester swallowed hard, not wanting to explain his apology to Dean but knowing there was no other way. "For being a failure. For leaving you. For trying to do something with my life other than hunting,

"It was a mistake. I get that now…" Sam was just so tired. "I just need you to... answer… one question,"

There was a beat of silence. "Then ask it,"

"Can I come back?"

This time it wasn't a beat of silence that took to the atmosphere. But a whole fucking song. Sam held the phone to his chest, comforted knowing Dean was as close as he could be to his heart. The young man's eyelids fluttered tiredly, and he tried his best to keep away the slumber which was pressing against him from all sides.

"Can I come back?"

Dean wanted to cry out in relief, to say yes, to never let his little brother go again. But it felt like such a… corrupt answer? Sammy was upset, really upset, and he'd always been a happy drunk, so that didn't seem like what was happening. "Sam," He croaked, because this was torture.

Teasing you with your dream come true.

"Please? I can't do it here. I was good at hunting!" Sam's voice was pleading, but a sadness lingered in his tone. This wasn't what he wanted. Dean's hand gripped onto the phone tighter, his mind a cocoon of emotions that were going to drive him mad. Here Sam was… begging Dean, but he didn't mean anything he was saying. Sam wanted to stay at Stanford.

So why is he saying he wants to come back now? It had been like, a year without any contact with Sam. John would drive by the college every once in a while, check up on the young man, but Dean had never been able to bring himself along. It was too painful to see Sam and know he was happier without them.

But this didn't seem like happiness.

"Give it to me straight, man. Stanford was your dream. Why the Hell are you suddenly doubting that?" Dean would say yes, but only if Sam really wanted to come back.

Because Dean just wanted him to be happy. That was all the young man had ever wanted.

There was a long pause on the other side of the line, and Dean had to settle himself with the comfort of his little brother's ragged, but calming breath. Whatever he had gone through had seemed to have passed, mostly. "I… thought I was good at school. But I'm not, De," the nickname just about shredded Dean's heart. "I'm failing and I just don't know if I can do it anymore, you know?"

The young man deflated, falling into a sitting position on his bed with a soft sigh. Was it selfish of him to wish that wasn't it? To wish that Sam hadn't liked Stanford because he missed his family? But that reasoning hadn't even come up yet.

Dean missed his little brother. He hadn't been the same since Sammy left for college. His head wasn't in the game anymore; he got distracted by the simplest things. Not to mention that soft spot he was gaining for children that reminded him of the young man Dean had promised to protect at all costs. It wasn't even just that either… Dean missed Sam's ability to love.

Neither Dean nor John had the youngest Winchester's empathy.

"No," Dean finally spoke, his voice quiet but fierce. He was using the voice he did when a decision was final.

And then Sam sobbed. Broken and ragged and so lost.

"You belong at Stanford, Sam," Dean continued, though he detested the words he was speaking. Hated the truth laced inside them. Because why couldn't Sam belong with his family? "One failing grade isn't a good enough reason to throw away your life." Because Dean knew the truth. Sam very well could be throwing away his life if he returned to hunting, because hunting was a dangerous game.

Dean just wanted Sam safe.

Sam was safe at college.

"But… Dean," the little brother's voice was timid, hesitant. "I don't think I can do this without you."

Yup. There it was. Dean's heart ruptured, shattering into a million pieces. "You don't have to," he whispered in return. "If you ever need me, you just need to dial this number and I'll be here for you. Okay? If you keep this number on your phone and in that big head of yours, you aren't doing this alone."

A shaky sigh on the other line made Dean's skin prickle in concern. Had that been the right thing to say? He wasn't the best at comforting people. "Thanks, De,"

"Uh-huh, sure thing, Sammy," the older Winchester laid down on the bed, holding the phone to his ear with one hand and tucking the other behind his head. "So, have you met any girls?"

Sam let out a disbelieving chortle, "No way!"

"Tsk, come on, Sammy boy, no wonder you're so tense!"

"Jerk!" Sammy snapped, but he was laughing so Dean knew he wasn't really mad. This was where Dean would punch him playfully, and because he couldn't, Dean tried not to think too much on the longing that swarmed his heart at that thought.

"Bitch."

And then they talked. For the first time in a year, they really talked.

Because Sam needed love, and Dean would tear his heart out a billion times to give that very thing to his baby brother.

Damn. He hated emotions.

Author's Note: In case you all didn't pick up on it, Sam was having a severe panic attack. Anyway, I really hoped you liked this chapter! As for those who reviewed, thank you, thank you, thank you! I LOVED the ideas and I'll certainly use them!

If ya'll don't mind, I also need help with:

"And if I could I'd get you the moon
And give it to you"

The same rules apply as in the first chapter. I had ideas for it and then totally blanked so yeah, my bad. Anyway, have a good rest of the day!