Chapter one: Little Brother's Problems

Dean shook himself and forced his lungs to drag in the oxygen that they needed for him to function. Fortunately his brother's screaming a few feet away snapped him to his senses instantly. Quickly he scanned the ground for the lighter he had dropped when the spirit had thrown him against the tree.

"Dean. Hurry," Sam rasped as the ghost continued its iron strangle hold on him, the cold seeping from it chilling him to the bone and then some.

"I'm working on it," Dean cranked. Thankfully the moon was full and Dean caught sight of the lighter gleaming dully in the grass. Snatching it up, he flicked it open and dropped it into the grave where the previously salted and kerosene doused corpse lay.

The effect was instantaneous as the ghost abandoned its attempts at strangling Sam and slowly dissolved into the night darkness.

Dean watched it disappear then turned back to his brother who was shivering violently on the ground.

"Sam. Sam." He called urgently when his touch garnered no response.

"M' ok." Sam rasped weakly through chattering teeth.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief; at least his brother was alive, and beyond the shivering, did not appear to be hurt.

Hauling the kid to his feet, Dean wrapped his arm around Sam's waist and threw one of his arms over his shoulder so he could better support him.

"Well," he commented looking around. "That, was one nasty son-of-a-bitch."

"Yeah," Sam managed a chuckle, even though it felt like his insides were frozen. "Kind of makes you glad we moved around so much growing up."

"Made sure we were never in one place long enough to make friends we could get killed by daring to go skinny dipping in a freezing lake in the dead of winter." He hastily added when Dean gave him a look that said 'you sure you didn't hit your head harder than I thought?'

Shaking his head in bewilderment, Dean led Sam over to the edge of the grave that was still burning. Hopefully the heat would be sufficient to warm the kid up enough till they got back to their motel room. Even in May it got relatively chilly at night here in Arizona and Sammy had a history of being susceptible to illnesses, especially cold related flu's, which was the last thing they needed right now.

Easing Sam down to sit on the edge of the pit, Dean did a quick take of the area; out here there wasn't too much to cover the glow of the fire. And a fire in the cemetery was sure to raise suspicions after three deaths by the spirit of a tenth grader who had died of pneumonia after carrying out a challenge to go swimming in subzero water right after a snow storm. Apparently the kid blamed his friends for his death and had wanted revenge, taking no pains to be to subtle about it.

Grumbling his whole "demons I get, but humans are just plain sick sometimes' spiel, Dean settled down next to his brother. The night had been cold enough without the added frost from the spirit and he would be no good to his brother if he got hypothermia.

After about twenty minutes of waiting for the bones to completely disintegrate, while checking on his brother ever three minutes, Dean deemed the bones to be ash and their job done.

Ten minutes later, after they had filled in the grave, which had been more like Dean shoveling while ignoring Sam's protests that he was well enough to help, they were back in the car heading for the motel they were currently based in.

"Hands on the heater Sam," Dean commanded as he turned the fan to the highest it would go, "I'm not having you get sick on me now." The last time Sam was sick, they had been stuck in a crappy hotel in a town in the middle of nowhere, with no chicks to hit on and real shitty TV reception. And the town they were in now had to be the ultimatum of the phrase 'the middle of nowhere'; not the most ideal place for a guy like him to be stuck for a week.

"Ha," Sam chuckled, though it sounded more like an attempt to stifle a cough, "Yeah well your not to hot yourself."

Dean just shot Sam his 'eat shit' grin and inspected his face in the rear-view mirror. "Yeah, well I'm not the one with a bruise the size of Texas coming out the back of my head." he snorted.

No arguing there, Sam groused. His head felt like an overripe melon that might split at any time, courtesy of the ghost throwing him against a particularly large headstone, a light gash ran across his left bicep, he was still freezing, and all Dean had to show for the damn hunt besides being covered in dirt up to his knees was a couple of light bruises and a split lip.

Sam rolled his eyes, if there was one thing he hated more than demons, it was his brother being right about his injures while gloating that he would be the one taking care of things till Sam got better. Even though he knew Dean would be worried about him for every second of his ordeal, it still annoyed him to no end.

"What? No comment Samantha?" Sam rolled his eyes.

"You do know I saved your ass out there."

"Really! When?" Dean gave Sam his best grin. "Cause last I checked you were the one being freeze-prepped for shipment too the afterlife."

"Yeah, well I wasn't the one who did the back flip without checking behind me." Sam shot back.

Dean shook his head. "Bitch."

"Jeeerk." Sam drawled. God, in the three years he had spent in college he had never been this free to simply be himself without having to hide behind a veil of secrecy. Dean could be annoying, but Sam knew he meant well. He had almost forgotten how good it felt to know his brother would always be there to watch his back no matter what happened; even when he was a pain in the ass sometimes. Heck, he had even missed their verbal sparring matches just for the fun of it.

Dean laughed as they pulled into the parking lot of the motel. Just like old times, he thought happily.

An hour latter, as they sprawled on their beds flicking through the channels, Sam glanced over at his brother and noticed that the smile he had had on since they had gotten back was still there. The only time it had not been present was when Dean cleaned the cut on his arm, the corners of his mouth curved down in worry; but his grin had quickly returned after he had declared the wound was not deep enough that Sam would need stitches. Now he sat propped against the head board, completely relaxed while nursing his third beer, with that persistent grin on his face and it was really starting to gnaw on Sam's nerves.

Finally he could hold it no longer.

"Dude, what in the name of hunting are you so peachy about?" Dean looked up in surprise at this sudden outburst from his sibling and he mentally scratched his head. Sam had been quite since they'd gotten back to the room, but Dean pinned it up to exhaustion. Now it looked like something else was in the mix and it was bugging Sam.

"What cha' mean dude?"

Sam exhaled and shook his head in disbelief. "Dude," he paused to give Dean a slightly incredulous look. "We just fucking wasted a kid, and you're sitting here looking like nothing happened."

Dean scratched behind his ear, not sure how he was gonna answer that one. Sammy had been in a bit of a mood throughout the day, but he hadn't been counting on this.

He glanced up and was met with Sam's hurt puppy eyes. Awww hell, he hated it when Sam used that look. Growing up, it was the one he used whenever he was scared or hurting and wanted Dean's reassurance that everything was okay. It hurt him to know what it most likely meant.

Six months had already passed since Jess died, but Sam was still having nightmares and bouts of guilt that seemed to pop up at the most inconvenient times. Come to think of it, he'd been even more reclusive since their encounter with Bloody Mary, and after their little showdown with the shape shifter in St. Louis a few weeks earlier he seemed to be slowly pulling himself into a shell again.

The week after Jess's death had been hell for not only Sam but Dean as well. After Sam's statement that he intended to hunt the fucking bastard that slaughtered their mother and now the woman he loved, Dean had hoped that Sam was pulling himself together so they could go after the demon.

But instead Sam sat in the ruins of the apartment he had shared with Jess, or wandered the neighborhood and the college campus, lost in the his memories and an all consuming guilt that seemed to weigh on him like some sickening burden that refused to diminish no matter what Dean tried to ease his brother's sorrow.

Dean had never felt so helpless in his life as he had then. When they finally got back on the road he had hoped that the amount of energy needed to focus on the hunt would be sufficient to distract Sam enough that he would be able to begin to heal.

Instead, every reference to the hunt seemed to just cause Sam to close up a little more each time. And it hurt Dean to know there was nothing he could do to ease that pain.

It was no until they encountered the wendigo and help stop another family from being torn apart that Sam had started to open up and confide in him again.

Dean hated the thought of what would happen if Sam came apart again and completely shut himself of from the world and his brother, which seemed to be what was happening here. Whatever was upsetting his little brother was in serious need of being addressed before it became a major issue that would be out of Dean's control.

Now he watched as his baby brother sat hunched over the side of his bed, hands bunched into fists like he was trying to restrain himself. His head was cast down but Dean could see the beginnings of tears starting to glisten in those hazel-green eyes that usually held a gleam of silent laughter, it hurt him to think of what could be causing his brother this much pain.

Running his hands through his hair, he pondered the best approach to take that would hopefully get Sam to talk without upsetting him further. When they were younger it had been easy to get him to share what was bothering him. Sam had always been the emotional one and he trusted Dean completely that whatever he said wouldn't go beyond the four walls of the room.

Now he barely talked about anything beyond hunting, and that had to change.

"Yeah, so what's your point?" Okay maybe not the best approach, but Dean had always been a strait shooter and was not particularly talented at beating around the bush.

Sam shook his head, the incredulous look intensified. He could not believe how calloused Dean could be. They had wasted the spirit of a sixteen year-old not an hour ago, but as far as Dean was concerned, they might as well have not even heard of the hunt.

"Forget it Dean," Sam sighed and rolled his eyes.

Forget it Dean. What the hell…

Sam was shutting him out again and Dean didn't even wanna think about where that could go. He had hoped that just maybe seeing their mother when they confronted the poltergeist in their old home would help ease some of the tension that had been building up between them. But then their dad had called with instructions for the hunt at the Roosevelt Asylum and Dean's hopes collapsed like a punctured balloon.

From there things had gone down hill so fast that it was only a week later that they stood on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, arguing about Dean's blind faith in their father. He had almost felt like punching Sam when he declared his decision to go to California alone.

Hadn't he known that Dean was just as anxious to find their father? He just trusted the man enough to believe he had a good reason for not wanting to see them was all. Of course Sam came back, just in the nick of time to, although Dean would never admit too it, but things had been strained between them since.

And now Sam was having visions. The idea that Sam was having psychic dreams had been freaky enough; but now he was having visions that caused excruciating headaches when they came. Dean had to admit he was really starting to wonder what was going on with his brother, but only Sam could answer that question.

"Ok Sam let's have it."

Sam raised his head in surprise. "Wha… what do you mean?" he stammered.

Dean rolled his eyes and mentally beat his head against the wall. Why oh why did Sam have to try to wriggle around his every attempt at working things out between them. Did he have any idea what it was doing to Dean, having to try figure out if he had been the one to upset his younger brother.

"Come on man. I know something is bothering you and we are not going anywhere until we sort it out!" Dean stated with a note of finality.

"Dean," Sam whined, "it's nothing.

Dean sucked in a breath to calm his urge to yell at Sam for being such a thick headed little titch. If the kid thought he was just going to sit back and ignore the problem at hand, he was dead wrong.

"DON'T … give me that Sam. Something's wrong and I want to know what it is!"

Dean almost bit his tongue when he saw Sam wince at the harshness in his voice. He hadn't meant for it to come out like that but he was tired of Sam avoiding him every time he tried to find out what was wrong.

Placing his hand under Sam's chin, he gently lifted his head until their eyes met. Dean swallowed hard when he saw tears swimming in Sam's eyes; he couldn't stop the lump that was rising in his throat at the knowledge that he had only succeeded in stirring up the storm that was brewing in those too-emotional orbs that always failed to hid the truth behind them.

"Sammy," he tried again in a softer tone, "what's wrong."

Sam's breathing hitched when he heard Dean used his childhood nickname and he gazed searchingly into Dean's eyes, looking for understanding. Finally he could hold it in no longer.

"I know this sounds stupid," he began tentatively. "But ever since we met Max, I can't help thinking… that could have been me."

Dean stared at Sam in amazement, whatever he had expected, it had not been this. But now that he thought about it, he should have seen it coming. It was right after they watched Max attempt to kill his stepmother and then shoot himself that things took a nosedive between them.

He recalled Sam contemplating the possibility that if what happened to Max had happened to him, would he have turned out the same way. Dean was quick to assure him that he would never have let his brother turn into such a psycho. He thought he made it clear that even if their dad had been as much a jerk as Max's, Dean would have protected Sam even if it cost him his life; something he was pretty sure he amply proved numerous times.

Sam seemed to sense he had said something wrong, because he instantly lowered his eyes to avoid having to look at Dean since his brother's hand prevented him from moving his head away.

Dean sighed, the kid was still pretty shook up from what had happened and he didn't know what to do to help him.

Finally he settled for the one thing that had always worked when they were younger and Sam got scared or hurt. He pulled Sam into a hug.

Sam tensed for a moment as he felt himself being drawn into his brother's arms, but then relaxed and buried his face in Dean's shoulder. It didn't matter that he was twenty-two and should have long outgrown acting like an insecure child; just the feeling of Dean's arms wrapped around him calmed the raging storm that was swirling inside him, reassuring him that his brother was there and that everything was going to be alright.

No matter what, Dean would always be there for him.

Sinking to his knees by the bed, he wrapped his arms around his brother and let the tears that had been threatening to spill for so long now run freely down his cheeks.

Dean tightened his hold on Sam as sobs began to wrack his younger bother's lithe frame and he felt tears beginning to soak into the front of his shirt. Awww, to hell with no chick flick moments, his brother needed this and he sure as hell was not gonna be the one to spoil the moment. Besides, it felt kinda good, knowing that Sam trusted him again, enough to tell Dean how he felt.

Knowing that it couldn't be very comfortable for his brother to be kneeling on the hard floor, he quickly slid down to sit on the floor between the beds, never relinquishing his hold on Sam.

They sat that way for a few minutes, until Sam's sobs quieted down to small hiccups and he sat up to face his brother.

"Sorry man. You know, for getting all emotional on you." Sam hiccupped again and swiped at the tears on his cheeks.

"Don't be." Dean paused when Sam looked up at him surprise. "Don't be sorry for how you feel. I should have seen that you were still hurting. Hell, that episode with Max scared the crap out of me too."

Sam sniffled and shyly glanced up at Dean. "Really?"

"Seriously man. I just wish you could have told me sooner that that's what's been bothering you." Dean wrapped his hand around the back of Sam's neck and gently rubbed it. He felt the beginning of lump in his throat at the sight of Sam's, now wet, puppy eyes, so full of gratitude at being understood instead of judged for his weakness.

Clearing his throat, he stood and extended his hand to Sam, who grabbed it, and pulled him to his feet. Placing his hand on Sam's arm, he carefully pushed him to sit on his bed before walking over to the table for the box of tissues.

Handing the box to Sam, he sat next to his brother while Sam vigorously blew his nose and rubbed his now red eyes to remove the last of the moisture.

Once Sam was done, Dean stood and pulled back the covers on the bed. "Okay Sasquatch, time for bed."

Sam didn't protest as Dean placed his had on his chest and gently pushed him down to lie on the bed before pulling off his boots and carefully tucking the covers around him.

"Get some sleep Sammy." Dean droned as he sat on the other side of the bed and rubbed Sam's shoulder, careful to not aggravate his injury.

Sam turned onto his side and leaned his head against Dean's leg. He knew that Dean would probably tease him about it later, but right now he was too tired to care. He was just grateful that Dean understood and would be there for him, come hell or high water.

With that thought in mind, he fell into the peaceful oblivion of a sound sleep.

Dean watched as Sam fell asleep. He was surprised when Sam leaned against him, but was touched to know that Sam trusted him again enough to do so. This small gesture spoke louder that anything either of them could have said. It meant that despite what they had gone through, they were still brothers and would be there for each other no matter what happened.

Getting up to go to his own bed, he was surprised when Sam whimpered and rolled his head, searching for the comforting warmth of his brother's body.

Dean looked at Sam's face and wondered at how young he still looked in his sleep. Currently there was a small frown creasing his forehead when he failed to find his sibling.

Dean sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He really hated chick flick moments, but right now the fact that his brother needed him was more important that his damn pride.

Finally waving the white flag, he grabbed the blanket off his bed and carefully sat down on Sam's. He was glad that he had tucked Sam in on the far side of the bed. This meant that he got the side closest to the door, effectively still placing him between Sam and the door in case anything tried coming into the room during the night.

Easing himself slowly down, so as not to disturb Sam, he punched his pillows into shape and pulled the blanket over him.

He had just closed his eyes when he felt the weight of Sam's head leaning against his shoulder as his brother snuggled up to him.

Yep, didn't matter how old they got. Sammy would always be his baby brother. His to watch out for and protect from harm.

Cracking an eye open, he couldn't help smiling at the look of childish innocence on this brother face.

Reaching over, he carefully brushed some stray strands of hair from Sam's face before whispering, "Night Sammy. Love you."

With that, Dean fell asleep.

Wha'da ya think. Come on, you gotta comment.