Yay! Another one!

Sam awoke with a start, rolling over and sitting up. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he rubbed at them, glancing beside him for some sort of comfort to let him know it had all just been a bad dream. But there wasn't another bed. There wasn't another body.

The realization came with a sharp twinge of pain. Sam ground his teeth together. He'd left a few weeks ago, but the wound was still fresh.

There hadn't been a fight. Dean hadn't tried to make him stay. He'd stood at the door and watched Sam walk away from the motel, and though Sam hadn't looked back to confirm it, he knew Dean hadn't even tried to look remorseful.

Not that Sam had expected him to. The relationship between the brothers had been failing since day one. There had been fractures in it ever since Dean had appeared in his apartment at Stanford and Sam had no one to blame but himself.

He shook his head, closing his eyes against the oncoming migraine. Why hadn't he tried harder? He had pushed Dean away with all of the secrets and stupid stunts he had pulled. All for what? Meaningless nights wasting away in some shitty motel in some god-forsaken town in the middle of Colorado.

"Living the life." He muttered, swinging his lanky legs over the side of the bed. His abs screamed in protest as he stood and immediately, his legs buckled. Apparently that vamp had done more damage than he'd thought. It was especially bad considering the knife wounds he'd received from his own machete, which he hadn't treated when he'd stumbled back into the motel room the night before, half awake and bruised beyond belief.

"You're gonna kill yourself, Sammy." The man shook Dean's voice out of his head. He didn't need that reminder. At the thought of his elder brother, the hole that had ripped open in his chest when he'd left throbbed. He frowned, rubbing at his chest as if it was an actual pain that he could fix by massaging it.

"Please. I can handle a few freakin vampires." Sam mumbled taking a few hesitant steps towards the bathroom. The pain in his head intensified and he reached up, massaging angrily at his temples. The truth was that he couldn't handle them, not really. Without Dean to back him up, Sam had been floundering as if he were brand new at hunting. "What are you, Sam? Seven? You don't need Dean to carry you around everywhere. You've been by yourself before." But this felt different. The other times he'd survived without Dean, it was because he'd had to. Not because he'd chosen to.

He splashed some water on his face from the dirty sink, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. He hated the dark circles under his eyes, his sallow cheeks and paler-than-normal skin. His eyes were bloodshot and it looked like he hadn't slept in days. He hated that Dean had this kind of effect on him. He hated that he relied so much on the older man. Maybe it was the way he'd been raised. In his life, he could only ever trust three people: His dad, Bobby, and Dean. But Sam knew it was more than that. He figured that even if they had grown up in a normal life, he'd still look up to Dean as much as he did. He'd still rely on his older brother to take care of him, because it wasn't the hunt that had ground that trust into him, it wasn't the way he'd grown up. It was simply because Dean was his brother.

Sam shook his head and exited the bathroom, stepping towards his duffel bag on the floor by the bed. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his head. Sam gasped, hinging at the waist and collapsing to his knees on the grimy carpet. His fingers spasmed into the side of his head as another pain shot through him. He collapsed onto his side, curling in on himself as his vision flashed white and a high pitched ringing echoed through his ears. He felt his side become sticky and an abrasive smell met his nose. Blood.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Sam searched for his phone in his pocket. He finally found it, thanking his lucky stars he hadn't bothered to take it out the night before.

His fingers numbly dialed the number and put it on speaker phone, dropping it on the carpet next to his face. He just needed to stay awake long enough to get help.

"Sam?" Dean sounded so confused. Sam couldn't blame him.

"Dean..." It was barely a word, a mere shuddered breath that meekly resembled his name.

"Sam what's wrong?" Dean demanded, panic spiking in his voice. At least Sam had that to hold on to. Dean still cared enough to panic when Sam was injured.

"Don' know. Help." Sam breathed, covering his face with his hands. "Elicott, Colorado. Sunset motel. 1A." He strained, his voice sounding strangled and far away to his own ears.

"Don't worry, Sammy. I'm coming." Dean assured. Sam smiled softly and felt himself falling away. The floor dropped from under him, and then there was nothing.

SPN

Dean's grip was white knuckled on the Impala's steering wheel, his eyebrows drawn and his face pinched. He was angry. Because Sam had left him again. Because he hadn't had the strength to reach out to his little brother. Because he had driven his only remaining family away from him. Because Sam was hurt and Dean wasn't there to help him.

The asphalt was slick, still wet from the rain that had battered the Georgia landscape. God, he was so STUPID! The tires rolled smoothly and effortlessly over the soaked ground as Dean floored the car forward. He should have done something. The radio wasn't even on. Dean didn't listen to music anymore. He had no obnoxious little brother to complain about it anymore, and that made it less fun.

Everything reminded him of Sam. And every reminder pierced his heart like an arrow slicing clean through him. If only Sam had looked back that day, he would've seen his brother's pleading and broken face. But Dean had driven him to believe that he was no longer cared for. That was all on Dean.

"Dammit Sam." He growled, pressing harder on the accelerator. It wasn't fair to Sam for Dean to be angry with him. No, Dean wasn't mad at Sam. He was upset with himself. But he would fix it.

He drove nonstop from Georgia to the small town of Elicott, Colorado. His eyes were burning with exhaustion and his muscles ached from being cramped into the car for hours on end by the time he roared into the motel that Sam had given him. His feet slapped the dry, dusty ground, a stark contrast to the wetness of Georgia, as he sprinted towards room 1A. HE gripped the gold knob and twisted. Locked.

No longer caring about the state of the motel, Dean sent a well placed and forceful kick to the weakest part of the door. It swung open and Dean rushed inside.

"Sam? Sammy!" He barked, lithely bounding around the bed. Sam was lying curled on the far side. His hands were pressed over his ears and small groans were coming from him.

Dean's eyes raked Sam's body, widening at the blood. Shit, it was everywhere. He dropped to his knees and peeled Sam's red-soaked shirt away from his side. Sam's back arched and a yell erupted from him. His hazel eyes shot open, meeting Dean's green ones.

"Sorry, Sam." Dean apologized tersely, pressing his hands to the wound in Sam's side. Luckily, it wasn't infected, so Dean wouldn't have to take Sam to the hospital. He'd be able to take care of his brother just fine.

"S'okay." Sam replied in a gravelly voice. Dean had never been so relieved to hear Sam's pain-twisted voice. "Sorry." He rasped, inhaling painfully. "Didn't know...who else to call." Dean almost wanted to slap Sam.

"You can always call me, man." He assured Sam, staring down at his red hands and not meeting his younger brother's eyes. If Sam thought he couldn't even call Dean for help, things were a lot worse than he'd previously thought. It would take a while to fix this.

"Need to...talk." Sam's voice was weakening, but there was strength in his eyes, trained intently on his older brother.

"Not now, man. Keep your strength." Sam grumbled but complied with Dean's words anyway. "The worst of the bleeding has stopped. I'm gonna have to stitch you up." He stated. Sam's eyes fluttered shut, losing control of his strength despite his best efforts to stay conscious.

"Kay." Dean couldn't believe how resigned Sam sounded. The complete trust interlaced in his voice threw the older man for a loop. He hadn't heard that since Sam was ten.

He worked efficiently to sew the cut, plowing through Sam's slight hisses of pain and the way he tensed every time Dean entered the needle into his ravaged skin. Every shift of discomfort, every grunt ripped through Dean. If he'd made Sam stay, if he'd reached out for Sam instead of withdrawing from him, they wouldn't be there.

"Thanks." Sam rasped when Dean was finally finished.

"Yeah." Dean nodded his head, dropping into the chair across the room from Sam. The two sat in silence for a few minutes before Dean cleared his throat and stood up. "I uh..." He gestured with his head to the door. Fear seized Sam's heart. Dean was leaving. He really didn't want to be with Sam anymore. "Gotta get my bag." Sam's heart stuttered as he stared at Dean with thinly veiled confusion. "I think we've learned what happens when we separate. We're better as a team." Sam relaxed, smirking contentedly. It would take a while to fix the massive canyon between the boys, but Sam knew. He knew that he could always call Dean.