A/N: Hey guys! I'm back! I know I said a chapter every week but I feel this is a better place to cut off and make everyone wait. Plus, it's Supernatural Friday! Woohoo!

Now I will resume a normal, weekly posting schedule. :-)

Again, thanks for all the reviews, story alerts, favorites, etc! I love hearing from everyone!

Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. Also, Big Brother!Dean would be out in full force. He's not; therefore, Supernatural does not belong to me.

AU after episode 7x04

Dean stood outside the Impala, staring across the roof at his brother and debating what the odds were that said-brother didn't hear what the crazy psychic lady said. He could hope that maybe Sam hadn't understood. She was vague about it, right?

Yeah, but how many other women were there that Dean killed when Sam told him not to?

Maybe the wind carried her voice away and all Sam heard was a garbled mess…?

Sam was still staring at the door the woman had disappeared through, jaw clenched tight. Never mind then. Definitely heard it.

"Sam—" Dean started to say but the anger in Sam's eyes instantly dissipated and if Dean didn't know Sam the way he did, he never would have thought it was there at all. Sam turned to look at him, a slightly forced smile breaking out across his face.

"Well that was a bust," he said. "Guess we'll have to figure something else out…" Dean watched as Sam shrugged and climbed into the passenger side of the Impala, closing the door. He didn't slam it, just closed it as he would any other day. And this was kind of freaking Dean out. He expected screaming and shouting and eventually sharing and caring complete with a manly hug. He didn't expect nothing.

That was why he was on edge the entire drive back.

He kept waiting for Sam to go off on him but he didn't. He just looked over case files like he would any other drive. But it was quiet and the quiet was oppressive. Though, it seemed Dean was the only one to notice. He felt like there was a noose around his neck and he was waiting for the executioner to pull the lever. He tried turning the music on but for some reason, it didn't sound like music. All it sounded like was noise. Between it and Sam's silence and the anticipation of Sam breaking-said silence, his brain was going to hemorrhage so he flipped it off again.

Things stayed this way as they pulled up to the motel and he followed Sam inside. Sam was saying something about a werewolf in some town with a population less than the number of scars Dean had on his body but Dean wasn't really listening. At all.

"Are you gonna yell at me because honestly, this whole 'let's ignore our problems' thing? That's my gig," he interrupted. Sam looked up at him from where he was rummaging through his duffle on the bed, slightly surprised at his outburst.

"And what's mine?" he asked, far too calm sounding for someone in his position. Maybe he was being passive-aggressive. It was possible, Dean supposed though generally when Sam was pissed, he didn't hold back. If he was going to respond to this in true Sam Winchester fashion, he should really have been sulking or angsting or something other than acting normal. Dean didn't answer and Sam sighed, going back to looking through his bag. "What do you want me to say-?"

"I don't know!" Dean snapped, scrubbing his hand down his face. "Get mad! Throw a punch! Do something! Be pissed at me! Be anything other than what you're being right now!" Sam sighed again, moving his bag to the table. It was quiet for several moments and Dean felt the tension in the room growing. He knew he was baiting an angry dog and usually when you do that, you get your hand bitten off.

"I don't know what you want from me," Sam said finally, voice starting to rise in volume. "I mean, you killed her, you tell me how to react. How," he turned to Dean, a challenge in his eyes, "how should I react to this because this is how I've chosen to and it's clearly not what you were aiming for."

Dean stood quietly by the door, gaze dropping to his hands. In all honesty, he wasn't sure how he was supposed to react. How are you supposed to act after someone tells your brother that you did exactly what he told you not to after you told him you wouldn't do it? After you promised him you wouldn't do it?

"I don't know what you want, Dean, because really, I'm fine." Dean looked up at him but Sam continued to stuff things into his bag, refusing to meet his gaze.

"You're fine?" Dean repeated dumbly, mind still trying to process what it was being told.

At that, Sam looked up at him and shrugged, bottom lip pursing. "Yeah," he said, going back to his task. "I mean sure, she was a monster. You had to take care of it, I get it. It's cool." Dean was still standing by the door, jaw working but nothing coming out. He was trying to say something. He really was, though he wasn't quite sure what it was he was trying to say. Maybe figuring that out would help...

"Why aren't you seriously pissed right now?" Dean asked, gesturing wildly. "'cuz you should be. Hell, I would be!"

Sam just shrugged again, folding up a t-shirt. He turned to face Dean, crossing his arms over his chest. "I really don't know what you want me to say. I'm not pissed. I understand. You're a hunter. She's a monster. It needed to happen. It's fine."

Dean could tell there was something wrong. But he knew Sam and Sam sounded serious. He didn't sound pissed. Dean would know if he was pissed. Dean was more than well accustomed to the varying degrees of Sam's pissiness and this didn't fit any of them. He probably should have pushed the matter. He probably should have ordered Sam to punch him in the face, ordered him to talk about his feelings, something. But he was so desperate to avoid the inevitable chick-flick moment that he decided to take the easy way out Sam was providing him with. And again, Sam really did seem fine. He definitely wasn't pissed which... was strange.

"Okay…" He turned and sat on the edge of his bed. "You sure you don't want to take a swing because you can go ahead. I won't even hit you back." Dean watched carefully, gauging his brother's reaction. Sam just chuckled, pulling books out of his bag and dropping them onto his own bed.

"I'm good, Dean. Really. It's cool." Dean stared at him for another moment, looking for any of Sam's tells, anything that would let him know Sam was lying. There weren't any though and Dean pursed his lips, figuring that he'd miraculously managed to dodge a bullet.

"Okay, then." He flopped back onto his bed, lacing his fingers behind his head and allowing his eyes to slip shut. "I think I'm gonna hit the bar tonight. You wanna come?" Peeling one of his eyes open, he glanced at his brother.

"Nah," Sam answered, leaning against the headboard of his own bed, laptop sitting open in his lap. "I'll stay in and do some research. You go ahead."

Dean surveyed him for another moment but again, there was nothing in his brother's countenance that would show there was anything wrong. Huh. Maybe Sam really was okay. Maybe 'happy-Sam' was more long-term than he thought.

With that thought, he sunk back into his bed and allowed his eyes to slip closed.

He knew the instant he opened the door that something was wrong. If he was honest with himself, he knew before he even left for the bar that something was wrong. That was why he didn't get completely plastered and go home with Tracy or Trina or Jeanette or whatever her name was. He was on edge, way too much so to allow himself to properly enjoy what should have been a quite enjoyable evening.

It was his big brother radar. It had been going off for hours and he had been ignoring it, hoping it would just go away. Though, when he pushed the door open and was met with a pitch black room at 11:00 at night, he really wished he hadn't ignored it.

"Sam!" he called, flipping the light switch on. The bed was empty, meaning Sam was not on it. The table was empty meaning Sam wasn't there either. His last chance was the bathroom so he stormed through the room to the door. "Sammy!"

There was no answer, not that he'd really been expecting one. The door was open, the light was off, and there was no Sam. "Sammy!" he shouted again though in all honesty, he had no idea why. Sam was clearly gone and clearly wouldn't be answering him. He supposed it was just a natural reaction to Sam being gone.

Frantically, he searched the room and found nothing. This meant that he literally found nothing. All of Sam's stuff was gone. His duffle, his laptop, even down to his toothbrush. It had all been cleaned out. There was a distinct lack of little brother in this room and Dean was seriously starting to panic.

With shaking hands, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit the first speed dial, hoping beyond anything that Sam would freaking pick up.

"'lo?" the voice came from the other end and Dean let out a sigh of relief.

"Oh thank god—Where the hell are you, bitch!?" Dean nearly shouted into the phone. Relief made his knees weak and he sunk down onto the edge of the bed, covering his face with his free hand.

"Oh hey, Dean!" Sam replied, sounding falsely normal. Too normal for someone who had just taken off, for someone who was supposed to be sitting in this motel room. With Dean. "How was the bar, man? You're back early—"

"What the hell, Sam!?" he growled, driving the heel of his hand into his eye. He took a deep breath, trying to keep from going postal. "Where are you!?"

There was a slight pause and then Sam answered, "Um… why?" and Dean just about fell off of the bed.

"Why!?" he demanded, hand gripping at the bedspreads. "I come back to the motel room and find my brother gone and you ask me why?! Why do you think!? Now where are you?"

"Hey, man, it's cool. I'm fine. Nothing's wrong. I just went to take care of a hunt in Maine."

Dean's brain just about died at that moment as it was apparently physically impossible for it to figure out why Sam was out there when he was supposed to be here. Not there; here. There had to at least be some smoke pouring out of his ears. "Why?" Dean parroted.

"Uh… because we're hunters and that's what we do…? You okay? How much did you drink—"

"Why the hell would you just take off!?" Dean demanded, standing back up. "What hunt are you even talking about!? Why are you gone!?"

"Why wouldn't I be gone, Dean?" Sam snapped. "You've made it pretty clear that you don't trust me, and I honestly can't say I blame you. But I tried, Dean. I tried like hell to make up for what I did. But you killing Amy just showed me that nothing I do is ever going to be enough. Me being there with you is of absolutely no help to either of us. You need a partner you can trust to have your back. That's not me, man."

"Sammy—" Dean tried to say, feeling like this entire thing was slipping away from him. And it was. Quickly. And he had no freaking idea how to get it back.

"I tried to make things better, Dean. I really, really did. But I know that nothing's ever gonna make it better. And… that's… fine. I have to live with that. But you don't need me there. Not like this. My staying's just gonna hold you up."

"Sam, that's insane! You can't honestly think—" The click from the other end of the phone sounded far too definite for Dean to maintain any semblance of self-control. "Damnit, Sammy!" he shouted, hurling his cell phone at the wall and taking some satisfaction from the sound of its battery popping out.

He was shaking, he realized numbly. His hands were vibrating. His hands were vibrating and his brother was gone and he felt sick. Seriously, seriously sick. As in vomit-worthy.

He sunk down onto the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. It was all of about two seconds before he leapt for his phone, reattaching his battery and hitting the speed dial again.

"C'mon, Sam," he muttered under his breath. "Answer the phone." Naturally, in agreement with Dean's entire life, Sam did not answer his phone. It rang out. The damn thing rang out and Sam did not freaking answer it!

"Sammy…" he growled, hitting the end call button. He continued to grumble to himself as he scrolled through his contacts, hitting the connect button. It rang. And rang. And rang. And— Yes!

"Bobby! Sam's gone. We've gotta track him down and—"

"Dean…?" Bobby muttered from the other end. "You got any idea what time it is?"

"I know, Bobby, and I'm sorry but Sam took off and we need to find him and—"

"What'd you do, ya idjit?"

Dean hesitated, biting at his lip. "Why do you instantly assume I did something? I didn't do anything—"

"Cut the crap, Dean. You wouldn't be freaking out this bad if it was something Sam needed to work out on his own which means you did something. What'd you do?"

Dean sighed, sinking back down onto the edge of the bed. "I lied to him. I did something… I shouldn't have… and…" He growled to himself, scrubbing his hand down his face. "He wasn't supposed to find out but that goddamn psychic of yours let the goddamn cat out of the goddamn bag!"

It was quiet on the other end of the phone for several minutes, long enough to cause Dean to check and make sure the call was still connected. "If he took off on his own then I don't think we can really—"

Dean snapped. His day had been really shitty and no one – and he meant no one – was going to tell him how to take care of his little brother. "I don't give a shit, Bobby," he growled. "I'm tracking him down. And I'm bringing him home. Now are you with me or not?"

This had to be fixed. This had to be fixed now because Sam? Sam was never supposed to think like that, was never supposed to talk like that. And right now? This situation right here? This was Dean's fault . And that wasn't okay. Not at all.

A/N 2: Okey dokey! Again, I love to hear your thoughts! Reviews are awesome!

See you next week!