Author's Note: Merry Christmas Eve! I just want to let you all know that I have extra prompts so this collection will probably finish by the end of the month. More hurt!Sam to get you through until the New Year.

The next prompt is from edolphin who requested, "It's set in season 8 a few days before Christmas. Dean is angry with Sam for some reason (it can be because of Purgatory or just an everyday irritation) and doesn't notice that Sam has been injured by the monster of the week until they get back to the bunker and Sam collapses. Dean is guilty for treating Sam so badly and he takes care of his little brother. In the end they have a happy little Christmas. Oh, and I would prefer it to just be Sam and Dean, but I'm not too picky." For your first prompt ever, this is really good! And no worries, just Sam and Dean it is. Please enjoy!

"Christmas night,

Another fight,

Tears we cried,

A flood

Got all kinds of poison in, of poison in my blood."

—Coldplay, "Christmas Lights"

Here's the thing you've learned since you came back from Purgatory. The world is way simpler than you remember it. In Purgatory, you went to bed hungry, you never slept fully for fear of attack and you were always on your feet, fighting, running, and killing those things that got in your way.

Here though, back in the "real" world, you get food that tastes like ash in your mouth, you sleep on a mattress that supports your tired body and you don't feel the need to constantly sharpen your weapons.

"We're safe, Dean." Sam tells you softly, a week after you get back. He knows you're on edge and while he doesn't know exactly what you experienced—or who you lost along the way—he still knows how to figure out what's troubling you and try to fix it.

Too bad he didn't care enough to get you out of Purgatory.

No, Sam chose the girl and the "normalcy" he's always wanted over you. And though you try to rationalize it, try to chalk it up to Sam being certainty you were truly gone this time, you cannot find it in yourself to forgive him.

If it were Sam, you would've done everything in your power to save him. But that's the difference between the two of you, isn't it? You'll sacrifice everything for Sam and Sam just . . . he wants to be normal.

The white picket fence. The beautiful wife. The 2.5 kids.

That's what he wants and to be honest, you don't fit into that picture.

You've never fit into that role.

"Hey." Sam calls to you as you pace around the motel room. It's too small, the walls closing in on you and you want nothing more than to run, to get into your baby and put this motel in your rearview mirror and never look back.

"Hey," Sam tries again, shooting you those puppy dog eyes. "You okay?"

You're not really. But you wouldn't expect him to understand what you've been through, what you continue to go through with each moment that passes.

He left you to rot for a girl.

"I'm fine."

Sam doesn't buy it, but he's wise enough not to say anything.

And you just continue to pace.

One of Dad's cardinal rules was never to go on a hunt if you have bad blood with your partner.

"It'll make you sloppy," Your father would lecture you "And being sloppy gets you killed."

But if you have to spend one more second cooped up in the bunker, you will lose it. So, you scour the newspapers and find an easy hunt a couple miles down the road and against Dad's advice, you get Sam in the car and you go.

You drive in silence and even though it's been awhile since Sam hunted, he's not rusty so you feel somewhat confident as you get out of the car and move towards the creepy, snow covered forest that lies before the two of you.

It's just a wendigo.

You can do this one in your sleep and honestly, it feels good to hunt something again—to be the one to give chase rather than be chased. In Purgatory, you'd been regarded as weak by all the other creatures.

Now, you can finally prove them wrong.

"How do you want to do this?" Sam questions him and you do your best to shove your irritation down and focus on the task at hand.

But the anger still lurks within you, bubbling up, waiting to explode. You resent Sam—the way he's able to piece his life together so easily, the way he can just snap his fingers and boom, you don't figure into his life anymore.

It's not fair.

"Spilt up." You growl and Sam balks.

"But Dean—"

"Now!" You bark.

And reluctantly, your brother does as he's told.

You return to the bunker a few hours, a little bruised and banged up, but feeling fulfilled.

The wendigo is dead and you killed it. The rush that came with alighting it on fire is one that won't leave you for a while and it calms your nerves somewhat. You are the hunter now, not the prey. You can survive.

You will not let Cas' sacrifice be in vain.

Sam, for his part, is moving sluggishly, but you chalk that up to a few extra hits by the wendigo since your brother found it first. He'll walk it off and be fine in the morning.

"You okay?" Still, you feel compelled to ask, some long dormant feeling stirring within you.

"Fine." Sam says through gritted teeth and you, against your better judgment, take him at his word. You're covered in mud anyways and you quickly duck into the bathroom, ready to get the grime off of you.

The thud you hear isn't all that dramatic, but instantly, you throw back open the door and the sight you sees tears all the oxygen out of your lungs.

"Sam!"

And all the fear, the grief, the terror that you bottled up and forced down within you splits open like a dam and you rush to your baby brother's unconscious form lying on the floor.

"Sammy, c'mon." You check his pulse and while it's there, it's weak and irregular. There's something you're missing, something causing Sam this much pain—there, you tear open his shirt and see a gash so deep and it's no wonder Sam didn't bleed out.

"Sam, don't do this." And you just stewed in the car, ignoring all the warning signs while your little brother slipped away from your grasp and now, now it might be—

"No." You are Dean Winchester and you have overcome too much just to lose your little brother now.

You will save him.

And then you will forgive him.

Because, without Sam, you're not really you, are you?

"Hang on, Sammy." You tell him softly, brushing some hair out of his face.

You're going to fix this.

You've patched the wound the best you can.

The bunker came equipped with some, albeit dated, medical equipment, and the two of you keep extra blood on hand just in case of emergencies like this, but now, all you can do is wait and see.

Sam is sleeping peacefully now, but you know you won't be getting some rest until he opens his eyes.

This is, after all, your fault.

Sam, for whatever reason, made his choice. You have to accept that and forgive him. Because your actions tonight were unacceptable and it almost led to your baby brother bleeding out in your car.

And why? Cause you were too angry to listen.

Never again.

"I'm sorry, Sammy." You rub a circle on his wrist, savoring the feeling of his pulse—strong and steady—underneath your fingers.

Sam's alive, you have to take comfort in that.

And then, you have to make amends.

"I'm fine, Dean." Your brother sighs as you hand him yet another blanket to put on top of him.

It's been four days since you almost lost him, since you realized the true extent of your actions. You've calmed down since then, actually starting to relax as Sam gets better and now, you're making amends.

"You didn't have to do all this." Sam gestures around to the Christmas decorations you've strung up around the bunker, to the tree you managed to decorate and to the presents under it.

"Yeah, Sammy, I did." Your voice is rough and truth be told, you're kind of tired, but you can't sleep, not yet, not until you've gotten his forgiveness.

"Dean," Sam seems to know, as usual, what you need. "It wasn't your fault."

"I blamed you, Sam," You confess quietly. "For Purgatory, for Amelia and—"

"I should've looked harder," Sam replies and that takes you aback somewhat. "But Dean, I was alone. Bobby was gone, you and Cas were all I had when and you two were gone I—" Sam swallows nervously. "I wanted to die."

That's like ice down your veins.

"Sam, no—"

"Hitting Amelia's dog saved me," He continues. "It gave me a purpose." He meets your gaze. "I am sorry for not looking hard enough—"

There are a lot of things words can do. They can help hurt or heal, but you've never been the type to rely on them.

So, gently, you reach out and hug your brother, conveying everything and more, things that not even words can get across.

And when you let go and he beams, you finally feel that weight you've been carrying around from Purgatory start to lift.

That's when it hits you—you are going to be okay.

Author's Note: Wanted to spice things up with 2nd POV and I really love the way it turned out. I hope you did as well. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!