A/N: Hey guys! I did add a small paragraph in Chapter 4, you may want to read that, it's not relevant really to this chapter, but to the next two it will be brought up. Hope you guys enjoy! Please leave a review or comment if you can spare the time to let me know what you think or if you want anything in particular to happen.
Struggles. Sam knows all about struggles, having faced many different types: emotional, physical, mental, and probably spiritually too if you really examined it. When he was a toddler, it was the absence of a mother. He might not remember it, but knowing Dad and the way he is, and that Dean was barely more than a toddler himself, he knows that he struggled with learning more than Dean had at his age. Dean had admitted quietly so one night near their mother's death anniversary.
Geez, what a way to be callous, thought Sam. Most people thought of anniversaries as exciting dates, wedding anniversaries or of learning a task like learning to walk. Not the death of a close family member. Dean had slurringly splurged info that night, about how he had been worried, even as a really young child, about Sam's development. Sammy was older than Dean when he learned to crawl, and eventually to crawl. His speech was not near as good as Dean's either until Dean started learning to read in first grade. Then Dean admitted that he would bring home books and his homework and read it aloud to Sam and get him to try to repeat it back. It was one of the reasons Dean was such a great reader when he was younger, before hunting took over his life at least. Not to say Dean is slow now, because he definitely isn't, he is one of the smartest and kindest people Sam knows. Once Dean had started going to school, he took care of Sam's academic growth, getting him a kick-start on learning. But then came other worries. Little Sammy struggled with not having Big Brother Dean around all the time. Sam easily recalls different teasing quips Dean had sent his way while growing up together. About how Sam would miss him and rush up to him, with exuberant cheers and tackle him as soon as Dean exited the building. How both had ended up with mild scrapes from such antics more than once.
When Sam was six, Dad started teaching him self-defense and mild workouts, such as pushups, sit-ups, and running; running being the one most gone over. Sam remembers struggling to get out of bed the first couple of weeks. He had been so excited to be allowed to do 'big boy' stuff 'like De'n!. But that excitement wore off very quickly. Sam remembers an empathetic Dean massaging screaming sore muscles, and gently knuckling away stray tears after such grueling trials.
Another major struggle in his life, had been once he hit schooling age. He was fine up until he hit about the fourth and fifth grades. From then on until he graduated, his fellow students made his life living hell nine times out of ten. There was many busted and bloody noses, bruised ribs, and on very rare occasions, busted or bruised knuckles. Worse though were the words, sharpened like daggers in the vicious minds of adolescents, they were sent flying at Sam with the same mercy Dad showed anything supernatural. Up until his sophomore or junior year of high school, Dean had always tried to help. Sam struggled to fit in to at any school, let alone with the amount they moved. Dean slid into his place in the high school pecking order like a batter to first base. Smooth and quickly. Not that Sam would want it to be any other way. Sam struggled with his peers like his peers struggled with their calculus assignments. They just didn't make sense to Sam.
School and toddlerhood weren't the only examples of the struggles Sam could remember. His struggles only seemed to get worse as he got older. He went from worrying about school and his peers, to worrying about doing research for hunts and learning how to hunt when he was twelve. Same age as Dean when Dean went out on his first hunt. Much to Dean's dismay and frustration. Sam struggled with it, the supernatural can't help the way they are, not that Sam feels much sympathy for them after they've done harm, but they were once human, and, unless they were witches, some evil had befallen them. Nobody asked to come back as a ghost, or to survive on a trail to a supposedly better life by eating dying or dead comrades only to become a wendigo. In most cases, the people didn't seek evil out, evil sought them out. And thus, Sam, as often as he could, made sure deaths were quick and suffering minimal. There is more than one type of evil, and it's not all human. John had been through the roof, spitting mad whenever Sam had uttered any of these thoughts." The supernatural is killing innocent people Sam! Is that not evil enough for you boy?" In addition to his morals, Sam struggled with his training. He didn't pick it up like Dean. He was awkward and clumsy, often tripping over his own two feet or air and receiving bruises and scrapes for his troubles. As he struggled with hunting and training, the load was increased. John was certain he would get it if he would just try harder. But that meant Sam's grades suffered. Which was all that Sam held onto. In school, all he had to do was do what they asked of him, even if it wasn't all right, the fact he did it all meant a lot to the teachers. But to John, it didn't matter. If Sam didn't do as well as John wanted, then obviously Sam needed to practice more regardless of whatever else Sam had planned. School? Not going to save your ass on a hunt boy. Friends? Didn't happen often, but when it did, it wasn't like John would let the stay in touch after they left. All of these struggles and nuances between them had caused even more struggles. The struggles between the family unit which ultimately led to Sam leaving, John's parting words still ring in his ears and an aching weight in his chest.
But all of those struggles, they seem insignificant to his struggles now. It's Thursday, the week is almost over. After this week, then there are just finals left. The only problem is Sam is struggling, sinking falling. Sam is sick, even he must admit now. He has two A's, two B's and a C. Better than it was, but it needs to be better. He has struggled endlessly throughout the semester for it, and it might not be enough. He worked last night, he works tonight and he works tomorrow. His cough is now unstiflable, if Maggie works tonight, then she will send him home. And he can't afford that. He snagged some Nyquil but at the cost of lunch. It's at times like these that Sam realizes just how much he misses Dean. Dad was never around to be missed. But Dean, Dean raised him. He cared for him, nurtured him, whether or not either of them will ever admit it, Dean was Sam's world and anchor. He made sure Sam was taken care of to the best of his abilities. With all of his struggles, Dean was always right by his side to help him through. But now he isn't, and that is just another fantastic struggle. Hopefully all of this is worth it, if he doesn't make it through this semester, he might not make it at all.
Dean squinted blearily at the ragged, dusty tome in front of him. It was leather-bound, and falling apart. The edges frayed to the point of threat of falling apart entirely. Not that it particularly worried Dean right now, it was from the local library and so far held no pertinent information. Bobby had called him up with a case in Nevada, 6 people had fallen prey to it in less than a month. Dean had hightailed it that way, it isn't often that Bobby asks anything of him. Hell, they haven't spoke but once or twice since he chased Dad off the Salvage Yard with a double -barreled shotgun. Dean had never been given an explanation as to why they had a falling=out, but Bobby was still a damn good hunter, a valuable source of supernatural lore and information, and practically blood-family. But this damned hunt had him chasing his tail like a circus dog. The book seemed to be of no use. If it fell apart it would be of no less use to him than it is now. Dean rubs a hand across his face as he flips a few pages back to a different passage. After reading and re-reading it at least three times, he stared contemplatively at the grungy, tan motel wall. Sam would be helpful to have right about now. Him and his geek brain would have sorted this shit out six hours ago. Bobby didn't have much information on it and Dad hasn't answered his phone for the last three day, him being off the grid in the Appalachian Mountains somewhere hunting something. Check-in day, isn't for another three days. Besides, it has the makings of a typical salt and burn. But God would it be so much easier with little brothers along, talking aloud as he solved the case in a flat-out impressive amount of time. Instead, Sammy is off living the apple-pie life, banging co-eds and partying every weekend. Dean feels a smile tug his lips and snorts at the thought, Sammy was a prude all throughout high school that was always Dean's shtick. But this miserable, if Sammy was here, at least there would be somewhere struggling right alongside him.
Dean took a break from the book, flipping it closed and pushing his chair back a screech. He started the sad excuse for a coffee pot before taking a leak. By the time he came out of the bathroom, having cleaned up a little as well, the coffee was gurgling out the last of the hot coffee. He poured himself a mug and stepped back to look at his string diagram. The victims were all male, between twenty and thirty years old. All found face down in a little river, the cars stalled out on a bridge. Dean had all the history on the bridge and a mile leading up to the bridge in hopes of figuring it out. He had a few theories, water nymphs, some sort of local legend and possible a few suicide-related deaths. The legend had proved to be a bust. Dean spent precious hours tracking it down only to discover it to be some foolish seniors from the local high school causing some ruckus. Water nymphs weren't as common this far north and west as they were down in the Midwest and along more coastal areas. But he couldn't rule the possibility out. Dean took a careful sip of the scalding liquid and relished the bitter aftertaste. That left the suicides. One Margie O'Hara, and a Jackson Simpson. Jackson, according to the school records, had been a poor student his whole academic career. Got into a lot of fights, and ended up doing community service as penchant. Margie on the other hand, exact opposite, straight A student, described by all who he managed to interview as kind and generous, very soft-spoken. The issue is that they both died. Jumping off the bridge about a week apart. The cemetery is in the middle of town, a rather unfortunate set-up for two counts of grave desecration, only for it to possibly not solve the case. The two had been noted as acting off the last few weeks they were alive. Margie, reclusive, quieter than usual, and more emotional. Jackson appeared to have gotten more violent. He got into four fist fights in a week, enough to have his Diploma withheld. Dean rubbed his clean-shaven chin. They were obviously connected. But how? For the millionth time since Sammy had left, Dean found himself struggling without a certain extra set of eyes.