Hello party people! It's been too long! Thanks for being so patient!

"Everyone in this family died for you, Sam," she whispers unfeelingly. "Did you ever think of that? Did you ever think about something other then yourself long enough to realize how much everyone has sacrificed for you? Dean died to save you, he spent forty years in Hell so that you wouldn't have to. Your father died so he could give Dean back to you, because he knew you'd never survive without your big brother."

Distain drips off the last two words. Big Brother. Like it's something offensive. It's almost more then Sam can bear to see his beautiful mother with such malice in her eyes. Green eyes, Dean's eyes. There's pure hatred in those eyes, and even though Dean's never looked at him that way, Dean looks so much like her and it doesn't take much for Sam to imagine his brother in her place right now. If Sam focuses on just the moss green of her irises, instantly it's Dean there, condemning him, hating him.

"And me," she continues. "I died because I ran into that room to protect you, to protect my baby. And I burned for it."

"I'm sorry," Sam whispers. "I'm so sorry."

He's curled up in the corner, shivering violently and deserving every word she spits at him. She's right – all the people he's ever loved have given up everything to keep him safe, and yet he still manages to fuck up at every turn and cause them more and more pain every time he does. He wraps his arms around his knees and then buries his face into his forearms so he doesn't have to see her eyes anymore. They're big and round and so green they're almost like emeralds, and they're such a carbon copy of Dean's that it's like a knife right in Sam's gut to see so much loathing pouring out of them.

"I should have listened to him. He told me, you know. He told me if I didn't disturb him then no one would get hurt."

"I was just a baby," Sam breathes into his arms, so softly he's pretty sure she didn't hear it.

"I should have just let him have you," she hisses venomously.

"You're the one who made the deal!" Sam shouts desperately, still not lifting his head but making sure she can hear him this time. "He told you he was going to come back in ten years and you said yes anyway! He killed you and he put demon blood in me because you let him! That wasn't my fault!"

"Dean and your father and I could have had a happy life without you," she continues, as if Sam hadn't spoken, almost as if Sam wasn't even really there. "How old is my Dean now, thirty? He'd probably be married by now, maybe even have a baby of his own. A little girl he could spoil, or a little boy who'd want to be just like his daddy. I think Dean would have been a wonderful father if he'd ever gotten the chance."

Sam shakes his head and chokes on a sob, but it's true, it's all true.

"But instead he has you – a bratty little brother who's supposed to look up to him and be loyal to him but you're not, are you, Sammy? You jumped at the first chance you got to run off to school and leave him in the dust."

"No, no!" Sam's muttering to himself now, no, no, no, over and over again but she ignores him.

"And then you ditched him again; for the first demon whore who fluttered her eyes at you, and now you expect him to help you pick up the pieces of the war that you started?"

"I didn't know," Sam pleads, voice wavering and tears streaming down his face. "I didn't know what Ruby was gonna do. Dean knows that. He loves me."

"Does he? Or is he just stuck with you?"

"No, no, no – "

"Doomed to a life of pain and fear and sadness because he's got you fixed to him like a leach, sucking away everything that's good and pure and – "

"Sam!"

Dean's voice rings out sharply and Sam snaps back to himself quickly and harshly; losing his balance for a second and nearly falling into the tub. One arm flails out helplessly as he attempts to stay upright, and his elbow smacks into the toilet tank.

"Ow, shit," he mutters.

"Are you okay?"

Sam swears again and rubs at his elbow as little ticklish jolts shoot up and down his arm. For a moment the lights are too bright and Sam blinks a few times rapidly, trying to make his eyes focus on white bathroom walls instead of the steel gray ones in his head. There are little dots of dark blue in the shape of the lamp that he can seem to blink out of his eyes.

"Sam?" Dean's voice has an edge of panic to it now. "Sam, please."

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam says quietly. "Just banged my elbow, I'm okay."

"You were yelling. Something about 'no', and 'Mom'."

Damn it.

Sam sighs and pushes himself toward the sink so he can stare at his expression in the mirror. His eyes are worn and tired looking and there are purplish bags underneath them that are making him look a lot older than he is. He feels a lot older than he is, and not at all in a good way. Anyone else in his situation would just suck it up and go make up with their brother, partner, but there's so much between them and there's so much other shit swirling around in Sam's head that he doesn't even know where he would start fixing things with Dean. At this point it feels like it's almost not even worth trying. It feels like there's no way they're gonna get past it anyway, no matter how much they talk and cry and scream at each other. Sam closes his eyes after a minute – his reflection is so ugly right now and it barely even looks like the face he remembers, and it hurts to think about all the things that have caused the pain behind his dull eyes. It's not fair, damn it. He's a good person! Or at least he used to be. And so is Dean. They don't deserve the lot they got in life and Sam is so faded and tired and broken down after all the crap the last few years have dumped on him.

"Sam, c'mon," Dean says. His voice sounds muffled now and Sam thinks maybe he's leaning his forehead against the door.

Sam heaves another heavy sigh. "I asked you to give me a minute, man, can you just – do that? Please?"

"I was giving you a minute," Dean answers. "And then you started shouting and now I'm not leaving until I know you're okay."

"Dean, I can't … I can't do this right now." Sam opens his eyes again, and now he can't look away from his own reflection in the ornate mirror. He hates what he sees so much he actually feels nauseous. He is so damn worthless. Makes him wish that one of these times the demons that come for him will just finish him off already, so he can stop hurting everyone. So he can stop hurting Dean.

"Sammy …"

Dean pauses, and Sam can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose like he does when he's frustrated. Then there's a shuffling noise that sounds like Dean sliding down to the floor and a soft thud that Sam's pretty sure is Dean's head against the wood of the door.

"I'm not good at all this talking shit, you know that," Dean continues quietly. "But I'm trying here, man, I'm really … trying. But this isn't gonna work if you don't at least meet me halfway."

Sam doesn't know what to say to that. He'd like more than anything to turn time back a few years, before Dean's deal and Ruby and the blood and the apocalypse so that it could be the way it used to be, when things were so good between him and Dean. But they can't just forget everything that's happened. Sam honestly can't see how talking about it will make anything better. It won't take away what he's done; all the ways he's hurt Dean. Mom was right – Dean does deserve a better little brother than Sam's ever been. It's making Sam feel physically sick.

"Sammy, please." Dean mutters. "Just open the door? You're kinda freaking me out."

"Dean, I'm fine!" Sam snaps, clenching the edge of the sink so tight his fingers are cramping. "God, you're stubborn."

"Oh, excuse me for caring about you!" Dean cries sarcastically. "Alright, you know what? That's it. You've got about thirty seconds to get out here or I'm kicking the fuckin' door down."

"What? Fuck, Dean – "

"I am so serious," Dean barks in a dangerous voice. "I'm done playing games and I'm done dancing around this and pretending our issues don't exist. In case it's slipped your mind, it's on us to save the entire god damn world!"

Oh, that is fuckin' enough. Sam wrenches the door open, finding himself face to face with a snarling Dean.

"Gee, thanks for reminding me." Sam shoves roughly at Dean's shoulders so he can push past him into the room. "I'd completely forgotten! Man, if I didn't have you? I probably wouldn't even remember that the whole fucking thing is my fault!"

Dean doesn't say anything for a minute – the furious retort Sam was expecting doesn't come. Instead Dean takes a deep breath and when he speaks his voice is small and exhausted.

"I … I'm sorry. That wasn't – I don't want to fight, okay? I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."

Dean sounds so solemn and sincere that all of Sam's anger just melts away like it was never even there in the first place. It's been such a crappy couple of days that Sam would kinda like to stay mad for a while, just burn out some of that aggression he can never seem to get rid of. But he can't, not when Dean's voice goes all soft like that. He flops down heavily onto the bed, leaning against the headboard.

"Forget it." Sam looks up and offers his brother a small smile.

Dean hesitates for just a moment, and then moves to sit beside Sam on the bed.

"Look, about what you said, I – I know that you're trying," Sam says softly. "And for the record, I know I'm being an ass."

Dean huffs a light laugh. "I wasn't gonna say anything."

"I was thinking about Mom," Sam continues, staring blankly at his hands. "About the stuff she said. Or, the stuff I imagined her saying."

Dean nods. "I figured. It sounded like you were having a vision or a nightmare or something. I was worried."

Sam chews on his bottom lip and pulls his legs up into his chest. A few minutes ago he'd been feeling tired and beaten down and a hundred years old, and now he feels about six or seven again. Lost and alone and vulnerable. And it's so not helping that Dean's staring at him with this protective, concerned look all over his face. Like when Sam would have a bad day at school, and he'd come home and Dean would get all worked up and threaten to kick every single bully's ass, and then make Sam feel better by telling him people were just jealous because Sam had a cool big brother with an awesome car.

"She says that I don't deserve you," Sam mutters, eyes suddenly burning. "That you've spent your whole life sacrificing everything for me and all I ever do in return is let you down."

"Sam …"

"Is it – I mean, is that … true?" Sam's voice wavers, and he loathes every bone in his body for it. It's not fair of him to make Dean answer that question, but he really needs to know. "Is she right?"

Sam's pretty sure he's never felt this insecure in his whole life, but Dean's eyebrows fold into a frown and then he's shifting closer and wrapping his arms around Sam's shoulders; pulling Sam's body into his chest.

"Of course not," he murmurs, kissing the top of Sam's head. "It's not even a little bit true. God, how can you not know that?"

Sam relaxes a little and sighs into Dean's neck. "It's just – I mean with Ruby and everything – you were so mad at me, for such a long time. I didn't think you'd ever forgive me."

"I wasn't mad."

Sam snorts. "Yes you were."

"I – okay, yes I was, really mad," Dean admits, smoothing his palm up and down Sam's arm. "But you need to know that wasn't the only thing. I … I was scared, Sammy. Scared of what you were turning into, scared that you were slipping away from me. I was so terrified of losing you, because … because I have no idea how to do this without you."

Sam's chest tightens up painfully as Dean presses another kiss into his hair.

"I'm not used to being scared like that," Dean whispers.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispers back.

"I know you are." Dean hugs Sam a little bit tighter. "You know, the last time we had to lock you up, Bobby said something to me. He told me not to be Dad. He said that – that the reason you and Dad never got along was because it was easier for him to push you away than to try and get through to you."

Sam nods.

"I'm not gonna do that. You're a little brother, it's sorta in the job description that you're not always … easy. But I never want to be the kind of person that gives up on you just because you made a few mistakes. Doesn't matter what you've done, I am never gonna give up on you, okay?"

Sam slides his hand up Dean's chest and concentrates on the gentle thump of the heartbeat under his palm. There are about a million things Sam would love to say to that, but his throat is constricted and clearly talking isn't in the cards right now. So he just shifts his weight a little further into Dean's body and takes a few shaky breaths. Dean's skin smells like soap and leather; like home, and the circle of arms around Sam's shoulders makes him feel safer and more loved than he has in a really, really long time.

"I know I haven't always been the best brother in the world," Dean says after a few long minutes of silence. "I haven't always been there for you when you needed me."

"Dean, I … this isn't your fault, none of it. This is all on me."

"Yeah, well still. We're a team, Sam. Anything we go though, we go through together. That's the way we work. I think maybe I've been forgettin' that a little lately."

Sam shakes his head helplessly, his forehead rubbing against the soft skin on Dean's neck. Dean is so warm against him; heat radiating off his chest and soaking into Sam's. It's kind of ridiculously comforting. Sam's spent such a long time hating himself for everything he did, how badly he messed up, so it feels really, really good to know that Dean doesn't hate him too.

"I just – I screwed everything up, Dean, I ... and I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do to fix it."

Dean blows a long breath out through his nose, and the puff of air tickles Sam's forehead.

"I don't either," he says quietly, almost hesitantly. "I really wish I did. Wish I could have all the answers."

Sam manages a small smile. "That'd be awesome."

"Definitely," Dean chuckles. "But we'll figure it out anyway."

"I guess. Or die trying," Sam mutters bitterly.

"Alright, that's another thing. You – this has to stop."

"What does?"

"You blaming yourself for everything, being so mad all the time," Dean replies gently. "It's not helping anything and it's seriously doing a number on you."

"Dean, it's not – " Sam begins in protest.

"Yeah, it is," Dean cuts in. "You can't hide from me. You've got dark circles under your eyes, I can't even remember the last time you looked at yourself in a mirror, and god, I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore. Please, you need to start trying to forgive yourself."

Sam sighs shakily. There's a dull ache settled in the middle of his chest that's been there for a really, really long time, but suddenly it's flaring up again like a fresh burn. Like something hot and searing lodged in his esophagus; it's sort of hard to breathe around it. He's been beating himself up pretty much constantly for the last year, but he never realized Dean noticed. That one hit a little too close to home.

He sniffs and chokes back a sob. "How? How am I supposed to forgive myself after everything I did?"

"I don't really think I can answer that for you," Dean says, smoothing his hand down Sam's back. "If it helps at all, I … I forgive you."

"You do?"

"'Course I do. You and me, we're – I mean, you're … everything." Dean sighs again and laughs shakily. "I forgave you a long time ago."

Sam pulls back a little so he can see Dean's eyes. "I'm everything?"

Dean grins sheepishly. "Yeah. Sorry, I know that was stupid and mushy."

"Not stupid." Sam smiles back. "Just, you don't usually say things like that."

"You're all I've got. But it's more than that." Dean reaches a hand up and brushes his fingertips gently against Sam's cheek. "I wouldn't change it."

Sam can't help himself. He leans down and brushes his lips lightly against Dean's, just back and forth a few times so that his skin heats up and tingles. "I wouldn't either. You freakin' pansy," Sam adds, smiling playfully.

"Yeah, I know." Dean chuckles again and rolls his eyes at himself. "Guess you just bring it out in me."

Sam spends the next few minutes just staring into Dean's big, round eyes. He takes in the moss-green irises and tries to convince himself that the cold, loathing eyes he saw in his mind were just that – in his mind. They weren't Dean. Dean would never, ever look at Sam with so much hatred in his eyes. Sam feels terrible for ever thinking he would, even for a second and even in a withdrawal-induced hallucination.

"What're you looking at it?" Dean asks, a smile teasing his mouth.

Sam shrugs. "Just you. I … this is probably gonna piss you off, but … in the last few months it's kinda started to feel like maybe …"

"Maybe what?" Dean prods gently.

"Maybe things with us could never be good again. You've been different. Like maybe you didn't feel the same way about me anymore."

Dean's brow furrows and his eyes fill with sadness. "You thought I didn't … God, Sammy, I – things've just been shitty lately, you know? I – I don't know how to be the same when we've got all this crap to deal with all the time. But I still … I mean, you gotta know that I'll always …"

Dean swallows and his eyes dart around a few times. He looks a little helpless and like he isn't sure how to voice what he wants to say, so Sam takes pity on him and nods.

"Okay. Me too."

He kisses Dean's lips lightly and then leans back down to rest his head back on Dean's chest.

"It's … really hard for me to listen to you in there. The whole withdrawal thing." Dean says shakily, running his fingers through Sam's hair.

"What do I do?" Sam asks quietly.

"You don't remember?"

"It's kinda fuzzy. I'm not … I'm not sure what was real and what I imagined."

"Mostly you just scream for me to help you. And I really wish I could. God, Sam, it's … you have no idea how much it hurts to hear you sound so scared, to listen to you begging me to save you."

Sam's eyes sting as he tries to blink back tears. He's the one who spent hours detoxing, and it was draining and terrifying and painful, but Dean's the one this hurts more. And Sam hates hurting Dean.

"Cas and Bobby, they just keep reminding me that you aren't really hurt or whatever, that's just a hallucination, you know? That it's not real." Dean continues, arms squeezing Sam a little tighter. "But the fear that I can hear in your voice, the terror … that is real."

"Yeah," Sam agrees softly, a little bit unsure of what else to say. "But it's over now, so."

"Don't do that to me again. I don't wanna have to – I mean, I can't. Can't go through this again."

"I won't," Sam whispers, feeling a hundred feet lower than dirt. "I'm so sorry, Dean."

"No, don't – that isn't what I meant. You don't need to be sorry, I know it wasn't your fault. But if something like this happens again, you need to talk to me, okay? Tell me before it gets to the point where you can't control it, so I can get you somewhere safe."

Sam sighs heavily, hating that Dean's still blaming himself. "Dean …"

"Sam, it's my job to keep you safe. How am I supposed to do that if you won't let me?"

Dean sounds annoyed again and he pulls his arms back a little. Alright, so the moment's over. That sure didn't last long. Sam takes the opportunity to sit up and turn away from his brother, rolling his eyes at himself for daring to hope the fight was over. Seems like it's never over; no matter how close they get to fixing things, there's always something else to yell at each other about. Sometimes Sam's amazed that they haven't broken yet.

"I don't know what you want from me," Sam mutters, leaning forward a little so he can drop his face exhaustedly into his hands.

"I want you to let me in! Let me help you!" Dean cries

"And what about me, Dean?" Sam explodes, his temper flaring again as he stands up and whips around to face Dean. "What about all the times I wanted to be there for you and you wouldn't let me? What about when you came back from Hell and I begged you, begged you to let me help you? And you just pushed me away."

Dean stares for a moment, hard and furious, but Sam squares his shoulders and holds his gaze. But then Dean's expression crumbles a little and the anger disappears from his face.

"Yeah, I – you're right. I did do that," he says in a small, apologetic voice. "And you know what, this shouldn't just be me calling all the shots here. If you wanna talk about … that … then, that's something we can do."

"I – what?"

"Me going to Hell, it …" Dean takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his short hair. "I think it was a lot harder on you than I realized. And when I got back, I was … messed up. To put it lightly. Thirty years of torture, Sammy, I – it broke me. I was so broken and smashed up inside, and I didn't think I was ever gonna feel whole again."

"Dean, it's – "

"No, don't tell me its okay," Dean interrupts, sitting back down onto the bed and slumping his shoulders. "It's not okay, Sam, cause I was so wrapped up in my own crap I never bothered to notice that you were hurting too. I pushed you away because I thought if you knew what I'd done down there you'd never forgive me, you know? I thought you'd hate me as much as I hated myself, and I couldn't have handled seeing that look on your face."

"I couldn't ever hate you." Sam's words are choked and breathy as a wave of emotion constricts his throat.

"I know, just, let me finish, okay?"

Sam nods.

"I pushed you away on purpose. But when I did that I just ended up pushing you right to … her. I didn't see that then, but I do now."

Damn. Sam had been wondering how long it'd be before they got to Ruby. He figured with Dean's whole 'talking everything out' plan that they'd get to her eventually, but he's still not ready for it. He knows exactly what happened with her; why he did what he did and why she was so easily able to manipulate him; but Sam's not sure that Dean'll like the answers if he asks those questions.

"You don't ever stop, do you?" Sam asks, digging his fingertips into his eyelids.

"Stop what?"

"Trying to take the blame for everything! I drank demon blood, I started all this, not you!"

"I know that, all I'm trying to say is that I understand! I understand why you trusted her, why you listened to her, because if our situations were reversed I probably would have listened to her too!"

That's a nice thought, but Sam's pretty sure Dean doesn't understand. Oh sure, he knows that Sam wanted to kill Lilith and that Ruby saved his life. But it was more than that, so much more. Sam would never have trusted a demon if he hadn't been so broken from the loss of the person he loves. It still hurts to think about it, even all these years later it still makes Sam's chest clench and his head dizzy just remembering how horrible it had been without Dean by his side. And as much as Dean says he wants Sam to be honest, Sam's pretty sure Dean doesn't actually want to know how much he hurt his little brother by making the deal.

"What I did – Ruby, the blood, all of it – you can't take the blame for it, Dean," Sam begins, trying to keep his voice steady. "I get what you're trying to do, and I appreciate it, I really do. Because you're right, the thing with Ruby, losing you was a big part of it. I was lost and devastated and she was there. And she lied to me and I believed her because I didn't have anything else." Sam rubs at his eyes again and heaves another deep sigh. "But it was still my mistake. I know the big brother in you wants to make it your fault so it doesn't have to be mine, but you don't have to do that."

"Yes I do, because you won't!" Dean insists.

"What?"

"You refuse to give yourself a break! Of course I'm not trying to say it was all my fault, but it wasn't all your fault either! Nobody does something like what you did without having a mile-long list of damn good reasons!" Dean's voice catches and he coughs to cover it. "You've just been so different these last few months, and I know it's because of how much you're beating yourself up. So I just thought that if you let me take some of the blame, then it wouldn't be all on you and you could try to start forgiving yourself!"

"It doesn't work like that, Dean," Sam grinds out roughly.

Dean pushes up onto his knees on the bed and shuffles across it toward Sam. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, his eyes glassy in desperation, and then he reaches up tentatively and cups his hands around the back of Sam's neck.

"Look, I just – I know what it's like to hate yourself, okay? I know what it's like to walk around with all that weight on your shoulders, because a lot of the time I feel the exact same way."

Sam closes his eyes against the burning behind them, and Dean leans in a little further to rest his forehead against Sam's.

"It sucks. It's exhausting and it wears on you and it pushes you into this dark, crappy place that you feel like you won't ever be able to climb out of. But you don't have to do this all on your own. You and me, we're a team, remember?" Dean's fingers knead a little into the top few notches of Sam's spine. "So just … let me carry some of that weight for you. Let me help you."

"I don't need help," Sam whispers shakily.

"Tough!" Dean snaps. "That's my job, Sam! I'm your big brother!"

"Yeah? Well you know what? Sometimes I fucking wish you weren't!"

Oh god. Half a second before the words are even out of Sam's mouth, he's wishing he could take them back. Dean bristles and pulls his arms off Sam's shoulders. His face is … blank, completely. His mouth is hanging open just a little and his eyes are wide but there's absolutely nothing behind them. He moves back enough to step around Sam and off the bed, slowly and fluidly, as if in some kind of trance and Sam would just love to punch himself in the face right now.

"Dean, I – I didn't … I'm …" Sam doesn't have any idea what to say. He didn't mean it, at all, but anything he says right now will probably end up sounding rehearsed and insincere. So, even as a few tears spill over the rims of his stinging eyes and his insides feel like someone split them open with a dull blade, all Sam can do is watch helplessly as Dean grabs the keys to the impala and walks out the door.