Author's Note: Hi everyone! So, you're probably wondering what I'm doing since this story is finished. But as you might remember, I promised to write a sequel story where I accept more prompts. I'm pleased to announce that the next installment of this story will happen IN MAY! That's right—more prompts and more hurt Sam goodness will be coming your way very soon! I will post the first chapter (with some hurt Sam of my choosing) on April 30th! I think that story will be called "31 Days of Hurt Sam" though if anyone has a suggestion for a better title, I'm all ears. Also, I'm going to have a theme for this to help generate some prompts. The theme will be "summer" and all prompts must somehow involve summer in some form. My usual restrictions will be in place. Anyways, I hope you are guys are excited because I really am. I had so much fun writing with all your prompts!

I will once again explain how prompts work and my rules, etc. once I post the story. This is just an update to all the people who have been wondering. And now, to get you excited, here's one more chapter of hurt Sam goodness. Please enjoy and I will see you again in May! This story is set in early season 1.

Summer always seemed to bring out the best in Dean and the worst in Sam.

Sam functioned best in winter for some odd reason. Maybe the cold gave him a clarity that seemed to help him focus on hunts more. It sure seemed like his little brother was always one step ahead of Dean during the winter, be it in research for a hunt, in sparring, or just plain pranks. Summer brought intense heat and Dean had noticed that too much sun exposure made his little brother a bit dizzy. As children, Dean had made sure to attack Sam with water balloons whenever they played outside and if he didn't have access to those, he would fill a cup full of ice water and toss it at Sam. His little brother would retaliate of course—Dean smiled fondly recalling some of their most intense battles in the backyard of whatever dilapidated house was serving as home—but Dean had been able to keep him cool and keep him out of danger.

He wasn't sure how his brother survived the heat at Stanford, but he wasn't about to ask. Stanford was still a touchy subject for his brother and only two months had passed since the demon killed Jessica. Sam was still grieving, even if he didn't just suddenly start crying anymore. He kept his feelings bottled up—just like a true Winchester, just like Dad had taught them, Dean thought with a frown—and he obsessively threw himself into whatever hunt they were focusing on. Dean was trying his best to break through Sam's defenses—gently teasing, forcing him to eat—but four years at Stanford had put new walls up that hadn't previously existed. He was slowly scaling those walls, but it was tedious and if he made a mistake, Sam shut down for the rest of the day.

Two steps forward, one step back—that was the routine was now when it came to Sam.

"Sam?" His little brother didn't even look up from the map he was so engrossed in.

"Yeah?" His eyes darted across the screen and his older brother noted with a frown that his sandwich was untouched beside him. Sam was skinny as it was and though he usually ate, if Dean let him, his little brother would neglect food entirely and focus all his energies on finding their father or the demon.

"Let's go out." It was a thought that hadn't occurred to him until that second. They were in Mississippi, the sun was out, birds were singing and Dean was sick of this room, of seeing his brother waste away before him.

"What?" Sam's confused gaze met his and Dean nodded to himself. Some fresh air was what they needed, for sure.

"C'mon, Sammy, you've been there all day—"

"But Dean," Dean wasn't having it. He walked over and pulled his brother up and pushed him towards the door. It was mid-afternoon and most of the humidity had passed by now. The heat wouldn't be too much that Sam would feel sick. If anything, his little brother was going to get sick from being cooped up in this room. "Dean—"

"Not up for discussion Sam," Dean told him forcefully because Sam needed this. He needed to get out and see that there was a world outside of demons and ghosts and other things that went bump in the night. "Let's go."

Then, they were out the door.

Sam was laughing—not fake laughing either, but with his full being.

Damn, it had been too long since he had seen a smile grace his brother's face. Sure, he had seen a few, but they were always tinged with regret and grief. Yet, here they were, walking on some trial in a park, the sun warming their skin and laughing at some stupid joke Dean had told.

It almost felt like things were back to the way they were pre-Stanford.

Almost.

He had lost track of how long they had been out here, but judging from the sun beginning to set in the sky, a few hours at least. They had been walking—jogging a bit too, after Sam boasted Dean couldn't beat him in a sprint—but now, they were just strolling, no destination in mind.

"And then, dude, you should've seen it—" Dean continued, chuckling as the memory appeared.

"I bet it was . . ." Sam's voice faded away and Dean stopped. Turning around, he faced his younger sibling, whose brow had furrowed in confusion. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?" Something was wrong here. Was Sam paler or was that just a trick of the fading sun?

"Dean . . . why are you here?"

Sucker punch to the gut.

The older Winchester staggered back, unsure how to handle that. What was he talking about? Sam continued to stare at him, his brow furrowing even more as he tried to work out something. Memories of a younger Sam making that same expression while doing homework flashed before Dean's eyes.

"What do you mean, Sammy?" He asked, slowly, cautiously because maybe he had misunderstood something. Maybe the sun was getting to him—

Shit.

The sun. Dean had let himself lose track of time and now Sam had paid the price. They had been out here too long and Sam was functioning on an empty stomach. They had been running around and they didn't have any water and now Sam was wondering what was going on.

"I mean," Sam tilted his head to the side as he swayed on his feet and instantly, Dean was there, taking most of his little brother's weight. "I thought . . . Dean, you hate me, right? Like Dad does?"

If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back.

Sam thought that because Dean hadn't called, that because they hadn't talked that he hated him?

"No, Sammy," His voice was raw as grief surged through him because Sam had thought—had honestly believed—that Dean hated him. "No, Sammy, I don't hate you."

"I wanted to call you," Sam continued, his head drooping onto Dean's shoulder and fuck, Sam's skin shouldn't be that hot. How the hell had he let this spiral so far out of control? This was supposed to make Sam happier, not get him killed. "Dean, I wanted to."

"I know, Sammy, I know." He helped guide his brother to a shady tree, putting him down gently. The shade wouldn't cure him, but it would help stop the sun exhaustion from getting worse. They hadn't any water, but Dean had seen a water fountain down the path. Question was, could he leave Sam when he was like this? His little brother was practically defenseless. Still, he couldn't stand here and do nothing. The Impala was too far for them to get to in Sam's condition. Best thing Dean could do now was make a makeshift cold compress and cool Sam's skin down. Kneeling by Sam, he removed his brother's shirt and grimaced at all the sweat on his chest.

This was so screwed up.

"Dean," Sam's hand darted out and grasped his older brother's. "Do you think . . . do you think Dad will want to see me? He told me to never come back—"

"Screw Dad, Sam!" Dean exclaimed, anger overwhelming him. "Who the hell tells their kid—their kid who got a fucking free ride into a private school—to leave and never come back?" Sam shrank back, eyes widening with fear and Dean cursed internally. Sam wasn't firing on all cylinders and he was taking too much time. First things first, get Sam cooled down. Then, get him to the Impala and then get out of here.

"Dean, I'm sorry." And all of a sudden, his brother was five years old again, apologizing for breaking Dean's favorite toy.

"No, Sam, I just got angry—"

"S'okay," Sam slurred and that spurred Dean into action. "Dean, my head hurts."

Headache—another sign of heat exhaustion.

Time to get moving.

"Yeah, I know, Sam, I've got you though," He balled Sam's shirt into his hands and glanced at the water fountain. "Sammy, I'll be right back, okay?" Sam nodded, if you could call that weak twitch that and Dean sprinted to the water fountain. The water was lukewarm, but it would serve his purposes well. Rushing back to Sam, he quickly, pressed the shirt on his face first.

"What—?"

"It's fine, Sammy," He assured his younger sibling. "You're fine. I'm gonna take care of you."

"Always do," Sam mumbled as his eyes lazily tracked Dean's movements. "Dean?"

"What, Sammy?" Honestly, Dean couldn't take much more of Sam's questions. They were slowly, but surely breaking his heart. Yeah, he had messed up when it came to the whole Stanford thing, but Sam was with him now. They had a chance to fix things, to erase all the horrible memories of that night that had divided their family.

"I missed you."

And damn it all if that didn't bring a smile to Dean's face.

"I missed you too, Sammy."

Author's Note: I hope that can tide you over until April 31st! Please look forward to that new story! Thanks!