A/N: Thanks and cookies to Ster1, who spotted a Canyon chapter sneaking in here instead of this one... tricky little beggars. Ta! And sorry if I confused anyone!

"Dean?"

Go away, Sam, I'm sleepin'. I'll play later.

"Dean, come on, wake up man."

I really, really don't want to wake up. I'm warm, comfortable, quite happily sleeping but damn if my baby brother can't be persistent when he puts his mind to it.

"Dean, dammit, you gotta wake up, please."

Puppy-dog alert.

I peel back one eye, let it slam shut again with a groan as the light gatecrashes the brand new goblin's party inside my skull.

"Oh God, Dean."

His voice summons a vision of pin wheeling arms and legs in a spider-web tangle, crashing through the grass and lying so still…

"Sam?"

I can't recognise the ragged voice that croaks my brother's name, only the spike of pain in my chest reminding me that it really was me.

"I'm here. I'm okay. I'm right here."

"'k," I breathe, letting his voice wash away the memory, letting my heart beat slow a little and the hand that had reached out for him fall..

"No, no no, Dean, stay awake!"

His hands grab my shoulders and shake me and I bolt upright with a cry as pain slams through me.

"God!"

He flinches, pulls his hand away from my shoulder but I reach up and grab his other wrist before he can move it, needing the contact desperately as the pain crashes over me like an ocean dumped on my head. He holds on, squeezing tightly, never once twitching as my fingers grind helplessly into his arm, a grip I can't break, couldn't ease up on if my life depended on it. He moves, pulling away a little and it tears my heart out, throws it on the floor and pounds it into the dust. It's a familiar feeling, the one that brought me to my knees for an hour after the bus had disappeared, one that never really left until he landed that perfect right hook on my jaw in his apartment. It terrifies me now, and I squeeze my hand around his wrist so tightly my knuckles crack.

Don't go! Sammy please, don't leave me behind again. I can't do this on my own.

It isn't until his soft murmurs finally cut through the haze of pain that I realise I spoke out loud. He's wrapped his arms carefully around me, pulled me up against his chest and is rocking gently. I can feel his cheek against the top of my head as hot liquid runs down the back of my neck, battling with the mortified flush that creeps up my cheeks.

"I'm not goin', Dean, I'm not going anywhere, ever again, I promise. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"Sammy?"

He gasps, sniffs loudly in my ear and I grimace a little.

"Dude, that's gross."

He grinds out a kind of laugh with an apology mixed in there somewhere. I lean into him for just a moment, letting the heat of his presence behind me soothe the churning in my stomach. Then something bleats, butts my knee and he chuckles a little, the movement jarring my ribs and shoulder. I bite down on the moan that tries to claw its way out through my lips and force my eyes to open, peering down at a long, pale, hairy face by my leg. The baby goat bleats and head butts my knee again, pulling off a pair of puppy-dog eyes that put Sam's best efforts to shame. I can feel him trying not to laugh, his chest jarring against my back as he hiccups but it's a sound I haven't heard in far too long.

So I don't say anything, just let him laugh until he sighs, wiping at his eyes again. I push at him, trying to sit up and he grabs my good shoulder gently, steadying me, grounding me as the world sways drunkenly.

"Hey, hey easy man. Take it easy. I gotcha!"

The groan finally breaks free and damn if even that doesn't hurt, shimmering through my ribs.

"Dammit…"

"Okay. It's okay. Come on."

The goat wanders after us as he hauls me to my feet, drags my good arm over his shoulder and practically carries me along the path around the house. I can't even hold my head up, can't do anymore than let it roll helplessly against his collarbone, smelling the smoke that lingers on our clothes and skin. The fire still rages sullenly in the remains of the barn, as we move slowly away I can feel the heat on my back receding, and before we've managed to stagger more than a couple of metres I'm shivering so hard I can barely stand. When he dumps me carefully on the back seat of my car, I don't even have the strength to protest, not even sure I want to as he snags a blanket from the foot-well and tucks it in around me. I snuggle down in it, hazily watching him as he hurries to the driver's seat, limping and wincing as he slides in behind the wheel.

"Sammy?"

"I'm fine, Dean. Okay?"

There's a warning in his voice, a slow, subtle anger that even I know better than to ignite. It burns sullenly, like the barn as we drive away, a glowering red eye in the night behind us. The car is silent save the grumble of the engine, the air heavy with the words we never speak. Used to be, we didn't need to say anything, but we're not those kids who could finish each others sentences and speak so perfectly in time that Dad used to swear we practised in the mirror just to freak him out anymore. I shiver, creep deeper into the blanket and watch my brother drive, wondering when he grew so tall, so strong but I know the answer. It happened in hollow, empty years, the years when we weren't brothers, when we were alone.

The blurriness that suddenly clouds my vision isn't entirely due to the concussion.

I meet his gaze in the mirror, and buried beneath the worry and the lingering sadness that always clouds his eyes now is a silent plea, a steady reassurance.

Let me help, Dean. Just once. I can carry you.

I swallow hard, trying not to gag on the lump in my throat and nod once, glad that – for once – we understand each other again because I really don't know if I could speak at all right now. He smiles, just, a tiny flicker of a sad grin before he turns his stare back to the road and reaches out for the radio. He's driving, so it's some tortured emo rock crap, but I glare at the fingers of my good hand as I realise they're tapping along to it. They stop, but as we drive along the pain burning through me gets worse and soon only the soft voice and the sound of him tapping the steering wheel is all that's keeping me going. I listen to the words; "It sheltered me from nothing but the weather, but I called it home for a moment of my life," wonder if he chose this song deliberately.

'Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Don't look back. Now Dean! Go!'

"Dad?"

In the front, Sam makes a choked sound, reaches back and brushes one hand across my face. I shake him off; sink back into the music without telling him I heard Dad, as clearly as I do the song, knowing he isn't here no matter how much I wish he was. "So I stare out this dirty window, as this world goes slowly by," All at once I'm back at Stanford, outside the apartment I know far better than anyone – even dad – suspected, listening to my brother try hard to keep the pride from his voice, the quiet search for my approval in his eyes as he tells me 'It's a law school interview, and it's my whole future on a plate,' and all I could think about was letting him go, watching him walk away again.

"And somewhere out there is the future, that I once thought had passed me by."

'Look out for Sammy.'

"It sheltered me from nothing but the rain."

"I'm sorry."

He sighs, deep and broken, runs one shaking hand through his hair and I realise he thinks I'm delirious, hallucinating dad in the seat beside me. I glance across at the opposite window, just to make sure. I try to ignore the pang in my chest as I see the world rushing past the window.

"Sam," I try again. "I'm sorry."

He jumps, stares at me until I point frantically at the edge of the road rapidly approaching then he swerves, swears fluently and impressively as he wrestles the wheel to bring her back under control and stops in the middle of the road, staring out at the windshield and the night beyond.

"Jesus, Sam. First you try and blow us up then you try and crash my baby?"

He huffs out a pissed off breath through his nose, grits, "Not funny, Dean," and I have to agree. Mentioning it made the memory of watching the blast snatch him away from me churn through my head and I have to force myself to swallow down the bile that crawls up my throat.

"Guess not."

We sit in silence as the music changes twice, broken snatches of song scratching at my mind as I drift, weary and hurting and wishing I knew what to say.

"What for?"

He's so quiet that I think it's just another song for a moment before I feel the weight of his gaze in the mirror. I look up, meet his stare squarely and can't speak.

For Jess. For taking you away from school. For letting you go thinking I hated you for it. For never seeing how much it hurt you, living this life.

In the glass, I can see the tears that slip over his lashes through my own that never fall. They turn to diamonds on his cheeks as a pick-up swerves around us with a squeal of tyres and a blast of his horn and he flinches away from the angry yell just about audible over the racket of the engine.

"I'm sorry."

It's all I can say, and it's enough because as he cries silently he smiles at me, sniffling as he turns back to the road and shoves the car into drive.

We make it all of two minutes down the road before I speak again.

"Sam?"

"Hmm?"

He doesn't really answer, just kind of grunts and fires a quick glance at me in the mirror.

"What the hell's a goat doing in my car?"