A/N: A huge thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited and story alerted this story. I'm absolutely stunned by the response I've received. THANK YOU! And of course a huge thank you also to my brilliant beta MuffyMorrigan. 'I learn from the best'.

Hitting Walls and Getting Scars

Chapter 2

Past

Near Palo Alto

Sam parked Zach's car in a quiet street in the outskirts of the town, then started walking along the main street, keeping to the shadows and watching out for any signs of his brother and father. He didn't have to walk far before he spotted a familiar black car in the parking lot of a motel, and he felt a pang – is this what it means to feel homesick? – at the sight. He stopped briefly to take a deep breath and pluck up his courage, then crossed the street and slowly walked nearer to the motel room closest to the Impala, his hand unconsciously stroking the hood of the car as he passed it. His mind was blank, he felt almost frozen with fear as he approached the door.

Then he heard the raised voices.

'…he made that choice, Dad!' Dean's voice sounded angrier than Sam had ever heard before.

'You're damn right he did! He walked away, Dean. He chose to desert the hunt to pursue that foolish dream of his, leaving us in the process!'

Sam froze in his tracks when he realised that they were talking – arguing – about him.

'What do you think you'll accomplish with seeking him out, huh? You think he'll just fall into line like a good little soldier? Because then you're wrong. He made that choice, Dad – he's gone, and he isn't coming back! And we better leave him alone!' Dean's voice shook with anger.

Sam felt the blood drain from his face – actually, it felt like it drained from his entire body – when he heard those words coming from Dean, realising that Dean was angry with him, that he was actually telling their father not to seek him out even though they were this close to Stanford. He turned and started running away blindly, knocking his knee hard against the bumper of the Impala in the process. He didn't stop until he got back to the borrowed car, where he slumped down next to the front wheel, his entire body shaking with the shock of what he'd overheard.

Dean doesn't want to see me. He actually told Dad to keep away from me. Dean doesn't want to see me!

He felt the bile rise in his throat but managed to force it back down. The feeling of nausea remained as he sat there staring blindly at the ground, gasping for breath as he felt the knot inside his chest tighten, threatening to suffocate him.

Dean doesn't want to see me! How could I have been so stupid to think they came here for my sake? Of course they're just here for the hunt. And they're better off without me – that way they won't have to worry about me screwing up and getting one of them hurt. Like that time with the Wendigo… Dean almost died. And then the werewolf, it almost bit Dad… And… No wonder they don't want me around. I'm hopeless.

Several minutes later, he finally rose and got into the car to return to Palo Alto. Back at the dorm, back in his empty room, he finally let go of the emotions, let go of the tears, crying himself to sleep, broken.

Alone.

His hasty departure from the motel meant that Sam never heard Dean's last angry words to their father: 'You leave him alone, Dad! You can't go and pick him up like some deserted soldier and think he'll just follow orders and get back in the hunt. He's made up his mind to follow his dream, and you better let him do it!', nor did he see Dean turn his back on his father for the first time in his life and storm out the motel room, slamming the door behind him. And neither brother saw the look of regret and perhaps even fear that flickered across John's face when he realised that his eldest son was right.

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Present

Sam's voice fell away, the memory of the old, buried emotions threatening to overtake him.

'Sam…'

Sam continued to look at his hands.

'It's ok, Dean. I understand. Once we find Dad… I'll leave again. Just… Please… Let me come along just long enough to find and kill that thing that took Jess. I know I don't belong with you and Dad…'

'Sam…'

'No, Dean. I know, OK? It told me… I'm sorry that I hurt you when I left, but I thought you might have forgiven me, when you came and got me at Stanford. Please don't think… God, Dean, I missed you so much. But then I heard you… And I realised there was no going back… I've screwed everything up, haven't I? Look what happened to Jess because of me… I can't go back there…'

'Sam!'

'And because I left, you never could… I'm sorry that I took that away from you, Dean. And I realise that you must be reminded of that whenever you look at me… that you're a freak because of me.'

'Dude, did you just call me a freak?' Dean's attempt at humour fell on deaf ears, Sam just kept on rambling, his defences shattered by the words that the shapeshifter had enunciated in his brother's voice and the painful memories from the past.

'I'm sorry that you always have to save me… that I can't seem to pull my own weight… I should've known it wasn't Becky… Just as I should've smashed that mirror instead of being so weak…'

'SAM!'

Sam visibly flinched when Dean raised his voice, but finally stopped his painful ramble.

'Sam. Hey, Sam. Look at me!'

Sam continued staring at the cup slowly turning in his hands, noticing how it seemed to tremble slightly.

Look at you, Dean? To see the contempt in your face when you look at the freak that is your little brother? No way. Because, Dean, we don't do chick-flick moments, remember? And if I look at you right now I'm not sure that I can hold these tears back any longer.

Sam clenched his jaw trying to hold back the tears and control his hands that seemed to tremble even more violently as he felt his pulse steadily speeding up, the noise of it pounding in his ears.

Suddenly he felt Dean's hand beneath his chin, gently forcing him to lift his head and look at him. When he finally did look into his brother's eyes through the tears blurring his own, he was surprised to find not contempt but rather confusion and – what was that? – compassion? Tears?

'Sammy…' Dean's voice shook slightly as the full weight of the anguish in his brother's eyes fell on him.

What did that thing say to you, Sam, to cause this reaction? How can you even think that I… Oh my God, no! Oh Sammy… You were there? You heard the fight that night?

Dean's train of thoughts abruptly stopped and before he could stop them, the words left his mouth.

'It was you!'

Sam, slightly soothed by Dean's gentle touch and voice started in shock at the sudden outburst, visibly paling, almost seeming to diminish before Dean's eyes. His eyes were wide with fear as he once again started to vent his befuddled, guilt-ridden mind.

'I'm so sorry, I never meant to, it's all my fault, maybe I should have died in the fire, then you…'

He stopped. Dean's hands were on his shoulders, gently shaking him.

'Sam… That wasn't what I meant. I'd never blame you for any of those things. Ok? What I meant was that I saw you that night at the motel. I saw you, Sam! God, if I'd only…'

He stopped, suddenly rising, starting to pace the room. When he finally stopped and looked at Sam, he saw the confusion plain on Sam's face.

'Sam… that night, that fight… that was the closest I've ever come to walking out on Dad. I was so angry. You know what he thought? He thought that if he just sought you out and ordered you to come back, you'd do that. Hell, he even threatened to pick you up and bundle you into the Impala and just take off. I was trying to convince him to leave you alone, to let you live the life you'd chosen. That's why I was so angry. You know, I even slammed the door in his face when I left the room – must've pissed him off no end, me taking after you in that way, huh?'

Dean gave a low chuckle at the thought, pleased to see the shadow of a smile flit across Sam's face. Realising that Sam was slowly starting to calm down, he continued.

'That was when I saw you – only I didn't realise… I was standing in the parking lot and saw someone running down the main street like the Tasmanian Devil. And I thought… I remember thinking that it looked just like you… but then I thought that it was just my mind playing tricks on me, you know? Because I wanted… needed it to be you. But I thought, why should you… why should you be there… I never thought you might…'

He glanced at Sam, not really comfortable with the situation, but knowing that Sam needed to hear him say it, he went on.

'God, Sam… Sammy. I missed you too. If it wasn't for the fact that I knew that you were doing what you wanted to do, what you'd always wanted, that it wasn't just because you wanted to leave the hunt and get away from Dad, but more because you really wanted that life…' he stopped to take a breath. 'Hell, Sammy, I would've bundled you into the Impala even faster than Dad if I'd even thought you might want to come back… Might even have fitted you into the trunk, Sasquatch.'

He looked at Sam, relieved that the anguished look had faded slightly in his eyes. Then, suddenly, Sam froze and the haunted look darkened his eyes once again.

'But it said… it said that you blamed me… that because I left, you lost your chance to get that life – to have friends, to follow your dreams.'

His voice broke a little on the last word, the guilt plain to hear.

'Sam… I turned my back on that life long before you went to Stanford… I'm a hunter through and through, that's who I am. Hell, look at me – I'm killing monsters and saving hot chicks in the process. Who could ask for more?' he said with his trademark crooked grin, trying to steer the conversation back onto firm ground.

'Yeah, you're a real Saint George, Dean,' Sam said, his voice still shaking a little, not quite daring to believe what Dean had said.

'I totally am. Who else would be there to save you, princess?'

Dean grinned at him.

'Jerk.' Sam flashed Dean a small smile.

'Bitch.'

The familiar exchange seemed to restore Sam a little, the tremble in his hands, the tension in his body diminishing.

Thank God, that seemed to help a little. How can I convince him that what that thing said wasn't true? He seems convinced that it had access to my thoughts – that what it said was how I feel about him. And it didn't, Sam, it didn't! I never thought that. Never have, never will. Can you believe that, little brother?

Suddenly he noticed Sam looking at him, a strange look on his face.

'What?' Dean asked.

'Did you… Did you really miss me, Dean?' Sam asked in a small voice.

Dean dragged his fingers through his short hair, wondering how he could get Sam to see the truth.

'Sam… Of course I did. When you left… it was like losing an arm or something. For months I'd turn around and start speaking to you, only you weren't there. God, Sammy, how can you even ask me that? It was hell not knowing what you were doing, whether you were ok, whether things had turned out alright for you. But more than that, I was going crazy with the thought of you there all alone, with no one to watch your back.'

'I thought you might… I mean, I thought you might be angry with me for leaving, but I thought you'd understand… I mean, when I knew… the thought of you so near, hunting… But then I heard you… And then I heard… So I couldn't let you… But I screwed it all up.' Sam's voice faded away, his eyes taking on a blank look as if he was looking inwards at something playing out in his mind.

'Sam… What are you saying? You're not making a lot of sense here, you know. Sammy?'

Dean's use of the name he rebelled against in his teenage years now sent a sense of warmth into Sam's body. Perhaps… Will he understand? Can I tell him…? What if he blames me for what happened… For not saving them from that… I almost got them killed… But he said he didn't blame me, so perhaps… perhaps I can tell him. I need to tell him. I need him to know. To understand.

Sam took a deep breath, eyes returning to the cup before him, needing to go on talking, needing to share his pain with someone – someone who might be able to catch him when he himself was too busy falling.

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Past

Palo Alto

When Sam woke up the next morning, he felt exhausted. At first not remembering why, he started to rise. Then the memories of what he had overheard the night before hit him. The breath caught in his throat, paralysed by the way that his innards froze into a tight not, rendering him unable to move, let alone breathe.

He fell back on the bed, the only thought screaming in his head Dean doesn't want to see me! He finally managed to draw in a breath, struggling to stop the tears from falling again.

'Suck it up, son, you're a Winchester!' He heard his father's voice in his head, the well-known order that had been used when he'd dared voice his – often contrary – opinion about anything from the breakfast menu to having to move (yet again) to training for hours in the pouring rain (whoever else would even consider practicing bow hunting in the rain?)

'Winchester.' The name resounded in his mind. At least here, at Stanford, he could use his own name all the time, he didn't have to constantly remember whatever name was on their current fake credit cards or medical insurance. But at the same time that he could finally be open about his formal identity, he had to lie about so many other things. He couldn't ever tell his new-found friends what it really meant to be a Winchester.

And now it seemed he wasn't even that anymore. He realised with a sinking heart that he didn't belong with his family anymore. Not that being an outsider is anything new for me – seems I've never really fit in - not to mention the final desertion when I walked out and left to come here. But he had never in his wildest dreams (and they were pretty bad on the best of nights) imagined that they – that DEAN – would not want to see him again.

He felt alone, afloat on the endless ocean that was his life, with only the tattered remains of his sense of self between him and the dark void of the waters, and no safe havens in which to seek refuge or just advice when the storm threatened to sink him.

Who am I? I thought this was what I wanted, but I never thought that the cost would be so high. I can live without seeing Dad, he ignored the painful stab that this thought brought him, but I never thought that it would mean not seeing Dean. But I guess it just figures – I screw everything up. No wonder he doesn't want to see him, even in my last fight with Dad I manage to put him in the middle. God, I've put him through hell these last years…

He was torn from his thoughts by a knock on the door. Zach's voice sounded: 'Hey, Sam, mate, you decent? Can I have my keys back? I promised Becky I'd give her a ride downtown today!'

Sam quickly composed himself, checked his reflection in the mirror - At least I just look exhausted, not as if I've been bawling my eyes out all night – then he opened the door to reveal his friend. He handed him the car keys.

'Sure – and thanks a lot for letting me borrow it, Zach. I really appreciate it, mate!' Sam said with a smile. 'You've been spending way too much time in the company of Australians. What's next, you going to start drinking Australian beer?' Wow, that sounded like Dean!

'No sweat. You know you only have to ask,' Zach replied. 'And no, I'm not. But look who's talking - dude, what have you been doing all night? You look pooped! Hey – you weren't by any chance out near the Heidegger place, were you?'

'The Heidegger place?' Sam asked, confused.

'Yeah, you know, where that guy got squashed a couple of weeks ago?'

Sam shook his head in confusion. 'No, why do you ask?'

'Well, too bad, mate. Or maybe I should say lucky for you. Apparently two guys went on a little breaking-and-entering spree in the house last night, and it turns out that one of them ended up doing an imitation of a pancake almost as proficiently as the one the owner did earlier. People are starting to say the place is cursed.'

'Two guys? Police know who they are?' Sam asked, his face suddenly as pale as the paint on the wall beside him. 'And did he… did he die, that guy?' He tried to stop the tremble that coursed through his body from entering his voice.

'You OK, mate?' Zach asked, noticing Sam's deathly pallor.

Sam nodded. 'Think I've got a bit of food poisoning, that's all.'

'Right. Anyway, who cares who those guys are? A couple of punk-ass thieves, that's who. You ask me, that guy got what he deserved. Personally, I have no sympathy for people entering other people's homes sneaking through their stuff, for whatever reason. And last I heard, the guy was alive, barely, but they don't expect him to last long. Pancakes don't you know. Anyway – gotta roll. See you around, Winchester!' Zach clapped Sam on the shoulder in a friendly manner, then took off down the hall.

After closing his door, Sam slid slowly down to the floor, his mind spinning with panicked thoughts as violently as his entire body seemed to shake. Tears flowed unnoticed from his eyes, tears of fear, tears of grief, this time not from himself but for the two people who mattered most to him in the world.

Dean! Dad! NO! It can't be! I heard them only last night! But whoever else could it be in that house, whoever else would go there? Dean, please, not you… Dad, I didn't mean those things I said, I don't hate you… Oh, please, God, not them, please let them be alive!

He abruptly rose, pulling on the nearest clothes.

I have to know, I need to… Oh, God, no, please…

Throwing the door open, he ran out his room and down the hall, ignoring the puzzled glances and annoyed shouts he caused as he bumped into people on his panicked dash out the building. On the front steps he paused, gasping for breath.

Think, Sam! What's the hospital nearest to the Heidegger house? I don't know, I don't know… Relax, God dammit, stop panicking, this isn't helping you, breathe, this isn't helping them – DEAN! DAD!

Suddenly he spotted a cab letting out a couple of students a few hundred meters down the road, and resuming his mad race, he managed to flag it down just before it turned around to pick up some other non-suspecting students on their way to thier usual mundane doings.

When the driver asked him where he wanted to go, Sam stared blankly at him, then managed to stutter something about 'hospital close to Whitford Road.' The driver, taking in the appearance of the young, dark-haired man before him, noticed his panicked eyes, the tattered jeans and the sweatshirt worn inside-out, and quickly figured it was a matter of a severe family emergency.

'No worries, son, I know where it is, we'll get you there ASAP!'

Sam nodded his thanks, then returned to listening to his own crazed thoughts going around in circles in his mind.

Dean! Dad! God, please… please let them be safe. Dean!

He didn't even notice that the cab had stopped until the driver gently shook his shoulder.

'Son, we're here.'

Sam frantically started searching through his pockets for money to pay the fare, but the driver held up his hand in refusal.

'No worries, son. Go inside to whoever it is you're going to see. I'll get another customer going back into town, that'll settle this.'

Sam nodded his thanks, stepped out of the cab and headed for the main entrance, scanning the parking lot for a familiar black shape.

No sign of the Impala. I wonder if that's a good or a bad sign?

He hesitated as he walked through the doors.

What shall I tell them? I don't even know what names they're using at the moment – if it is them. Maybe Harrison? I think that was the name on their newest insurance cards… I have to believe… Oh, God!

He stopped at the reception desk, for once at a loss for words. He managed to stammer something about the Heidegger place, 'Dad' and 'brother', and the nurse, taking in his frightened eyes and dishevelled appearance, pointed him towards the waiting room near the ICU, saying with a compassionate smile that he might find his father there.

Oh, God, Dean, no! I can't lose you, I never should have left, Dean, I'm so sorry… DEAN!

The name screamed in his mind. Once again the tears started down his cheeks, his trembling hands barely functioning enough to wipe them away.

He stopped outside the door to the waiting room, bracing himself for what he would find, what state his father would be in, whether he would be angry at him.

Oh God, if I'd only been there… if only… DEAN!

Then he went in.

To Be Continued