Author's Note: Wow! Thank you all for the nice responses to last chapter! I really appreciated all those kind words and to those of you who asked if I would go on and tell the story with more detail (like what happened when Bobby and Pastor Jim got there) I'll think about it. I honestly have so many other stories to attend to right now, but I won't outright rule it out. We'll see what happens, okay?

And onto today's prompt from Faye who asked for, "following on from season 2 ep 1 where Sam is still injured from the crash but hiding it from Dean who is too wrapped up in himself to notice until it is too late and Sam collapses/gets hurt etc." I've covered this a bit in some of my other stories, but it's always something that I'm glad to revisit. I've always felt that Sam got kind of tossed to the side when it came to his own injuries from this episode. I mean, yes, the point was to show Dean dealing with his own guilt and the secret that he had been keeping, but I kind of always wanted something more, you know? Anyways, I'm rambling. Thank you for the prompt! Please enjoy!

"'Cause nothing's going right

And everything's a mess

And no one likes to be alone."

—Avril Lavigne, "I'm With You"

Grief affects people in different ways.

Nowhere was this statement truer than in the case of Sam and Dean. Sam, who was more open with his grief and wanted to discuss how he felt; and Dean, who had bottled all his grief down until it came out in bouts of sheer fury. Case in point, Sam noticed the Impala had some new dents on it that were not caused by the accident. Still, the youngest Winchester said nothing about it and simply let his brother work in peace. Yes, he wanted to talk to Dean about this, but all his attempts had been rebuffed. They barely spoke now and Sam was losing hope that Dean and he would ever recover from what happened to their father.

"You eat yet, Sam?" He spun around to see Bobby standing in the hall, expression unreadable, but his eyes were clearly searching for something.

"No," Sam replied. "I'm not hungry." Bobby sighed and muttered a curse.

"Got to eat sometime," He mumbled. "You're skinny as it is." It was their old friend's way of expression concern and Sam shot him a small smile. He knew he still looked awful—hell, his injuries from the accident still hurt—but until Dean was doing better, he couldn't focus on himself.

"Dean still out there?" Bobby nodded as he placed a bot of water on the stove to boil. It appeared that tonight would be Mac N' Cheese, not that Sam minded. He hadn't felt truly hungry in days, but he had forced himself to eat little bits of food here and there with the reasoning that he couldn't help his brother if he himself got sick. As it was, he was having a hard enough time of dealing with his older brother. How could he get through to Dean? How could he make him understand that it was okay to talk about how he felt? All Sam wanted—all he needed—was to know that his brother was dealing with his grief in a semi-healthy way.

And attacking the Impala was a crowbar? That wasn't healthy.

"Dinner will be ready in 15," Bobby informed him, still scanning him over with a critical eye. "Get your brother." Sam nodded and headed outside where Dean silently slaved over the Impala. Standing a few feet away, he waited until his older brother met his gaze.

"Dinner is almost ready."

Dean just nodded and went back to work.

"Dean?" He froze, but didn't look up. "Just—" His voice died off and he shrugged instead. "Never mind."

With that, Sam went back inside.

While Sam hadn't been the one that had suffered the worst injuries in the car crash, he had—all the same—still sustained quite a bit of damage. He hadn't let the doctors fully look over him, directing their attention to check over his more critical brother and father, which meant that he hadn't been fully treated. Still, confident that every piece of him was still intact and that he wasn't going to bleed out, he had allowed himself to focus only on his father and his brother. He had self-treated his injures—cleaning the cuts, swallowing pain pills when he needed them—and it was only now, days after the accident and their father's death, did he truly feel the aftereffects of surviving the car accident. His head felt like there was a drum in it and with every step he took, the pounding got louder and made it hard for him to focus on simple tasks. His lungs felt constricted due to his sore ribs and after a day of walking around Bobby's house—and facing the dreaded stairs—Sam more often than not collapsed onto the bed from sheer exhaustion. His heart pounding a mile a minute wasn't helping things.

"You sick?" Bobby commented one morning after he forced Sam to eat some cereal. The idea of eating was fully unappealing; however, he forced himself to eat as long at the gruff hunter's gaze was on him.

"Just sore." Sam admitted, which wasn't truly a lie. He just wasn't explaining how crappy he truly felt. Bobby digested this information before sighing softly.

"Should you see a doc—?"

"No, no!" Sam quickly interjected, because no way in hell was he going anywhere near a hospital or a clinic or anything remotely medical. Not for a long time at least. "I've got it under control."

"If it gets worse, you let me know." Bobby told him, concern in his eyes and Sam nodded.

He just wouldn't let it get worse.

"You know, your brother is hiding something."

Dean dropped the part he had been holding in his hand and turned to face one of their few friends. Bobby wore a look of anger mixed with concern—a rare combination considering the older hunter tended to stay away from dealing with his feelings in general. He and Dean were similar in that fashion.

"What do you mean?" God, he was tired. He was so tired of dealing with all this, dealing with his dad being gone because of him and dealing with his father's last words. He couldn't look at Sam because when he did, all he could do was picture his baby brother bleeding out before him or his eyes going black. His grip tightened and he shook his head slightly. No, he wouldn't let anything happen to his brother. Screw his dad for putting this on him! How could you do that to your son? What gave you the right—?

"He seems sick," Bobby explained. "And he's not eating." Normally, that would stir something up in Dean, but the cold that had settled over his heart didn't thaw. Sam was a big boy; he could handle himself.

"He'll be fine."

"Dammit, Dean, are you even listening?" Bobby growled. "Your brother is hurting just as much as you—"

"What the hell do you know about it?" Dean spat, fury coursing through his veins. "You have no idea how I feel! You have no idea the weight I'm carrying around now—"

"So, what?" Bobby hissed, anger bubbling beneath his calm exterior. "You're just going to hide out here while your brother lets himself get sick because he's too busy worrying about you?"

"Sam's fine—"

"You fucking idjit!" The older hunter cursed. "Your brother is slipping away, but you're too damn busy pushing him away and avoiding him to notice!"

"Bobby—" With a shake of his head, the older man left the backyard, entering the house and slamming the door. Dean sighed and shakily ran a hand through his hair. Bobby couldn't have been right, could he? Sam was fine, wasn't he?

"What was that about?" His little brother's voice took his off-guard and shifting his gaze to the left, he looked at Sam. Really looked at Sam, for the first time since before the accident. He was paler than usual and he did appear to be skinner than usual. The bruises on his face were more pronounced and the cuts stood out in stark contrast to his ghostly white face. Dean had to admit, Sam did look sick.

"Nothing." He turned away, willing his father's voice to vanish from his mind, willing him to be back, willing him to explain what the hell—

"Really? Because he sounded . . ." His voice faded away and Dean just shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Sam just stood there, as if he was frozen in spot. Dean was about to turn around when he heard it.

Thud.

His brother had collapsed with the gracefulness of the unconscious and suddenly, Dean found himself at his side, hauling his brother's limp—not dead, God, don't be dead—form into his arms.

"Sam?" He questioned, placing two fingers on his neck. "Sammy?" Sam didn't move, didn't even flinch. The worry in the pit of Dean's stomach quickly morphed into panic. "Bobby!"

The two of them spread Sam out on the couch and Bobby vanished into the other room to fetch a blanket. Dean sat down in a chair he had dragged over and took in Sam's vitals. Nothing too worrying—the eldest Winchester was sure that Sam's lack of appetite had contributed to his fall outside—but seeing Sam so still and sickly scared Dean.

"Here." Bobby passed the blanket to Dean who wordlessly accepted it before draping it over Sam. The youngest Winchester once again did not react, a sign that worried Dean more than he cared to admit. "How's he doing?"

"Heart rate is bit low, but steady." Bobby nodded his head in acknowledgement. Quietly, Dean added, "I never noticed."

"Yeah, well," Bobby shifted, slightly uncomfortable. "Sam probably didn't want you to know."

"But I'm supposed to be looking out for him—!" The older hunter placed a firm hand on his shoulder, effectively silencing him.

"Don't blame yourself."

"But you were right—"

"Course I was right!" Bobby snorted, a smirk on his lips. "But that doesn't mean that you should do this to yourself. Your Daddy just died Dean and yeah, I lost my patience with you because I could see what was going, but that doesn't mean that this is your fault." And with that, forgiveness was freely given with a small smile on Bobby's lips. "Now, you keep an eye on him. I'm going to call up an old medic buddy of mine and see if he might be able to lend us a hand." Dean nodded and let his gaze fall upon his brother's sleeping form.

"C'mon kiddo," He murmured. "Wake up for me."

But Sam just slept on.

When Sam finally opened his eyes, a few hours later, his murky hazel eyes met his brother's.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean beamed. "You with me?"

And in that second, Sam knew. He knew that his older brother was back—that while grief still plagued Dean, he wouldn't be consumed by it, not anymore—and that thought relieved Sam more than any medicine ever could.

"Yeah." He whispered and Dean grinned.

"Scared the shit out of me," His older brother remarked. "Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well? Jesus, you could've—"

And God help him, Sam laughed because this was so like Dean, always talking while constantly worrying. It was his brother at his best.

"Glad you're back, Dean." Those emerald eyes widened a bit in confusion, before comprehension dawned in them.

They sat there—the loss of their father still stinging—but somehow, they both knew that they could overcome it.

Together, they could overcome anything.

Author's Note: There you go! I hope you enjoyed! Please review!