Chapter 2:

Dean was trying to give his brother space, but with every minute Sam was in the bathroom the older brother was getting more and more antsy. He couldn't help but think of Sam's suicide attempt, and the idea of finding Sam again, on the bathroom floor covered in blood, scared him to his very core.

It wasn't until he heard a soft steady banging that Dean finally decided enough was enough. He jiggled the handle and swore when he realized it was locked. They had a rule in the Winchester household; you did not lock the bathroom door.

"Sam, I am giving you five seconds to open this damn door, or I am opening it for you!" Dean threatened.

When he got no answer he took out his lock pick, and began to pick the lock. The motel door popped open quickly, and he made his way into the bathroom.

"Shit." Dean whispered making his way over to his brother.

A red stain was on the wall behind Sam's head, as he continued to pull his head forward by his hair, and then slamming it back into the wall. Dean ran over and pulled him forward by his wrists so he was braced against Dean's chest.

"Sammy, stop…"

Sam didn't fight the hold and Dean was in shock by the amount of damage that Sam could have done so quickly.

Sam tried to catch his breath, but just continued to heave in short panicked breaths.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Sam whispered.

"Jesus Christ, you have nothing to be sorry for, just breathe kid, c'mon."

Sam looked up at Dean, and pointed to his toiletry bag.

"Pills…" Sam whispered.

Dean frowned and went through the bag, pulling out a bottle of small blue pills and handed them to his brother. Sam put one under his tongue and leaned against the wall of the bathroom. After a few minutes Sam seemed to calm and he wiped the sweat off his forehead. He watched as Dean inspected the bottle.

"Sammy, what are these?" Dean asked.

Sam sighed and looked at his brother through tired eyes.

"Ativan, prescribed for anxiety… panic attacks…" Sam answered.

Dean sighed, and grabbed a towel off the counter, using it as a makeshift bandage for the back of Sam's head.

"You were supposed to be better at Stanford…"

Sam winced as Dean applied pressure to his head.

"I am better… I don't take it every day, only when I can't control it… when my head starts spinning. It won't happen again. I've got it under control."

Sam pinched harshly at the inside of his wrist, but Dean reached down to stop him.

"Look… I don't really care how you deal… as long as you don't do this again." Dean said flipping his arm over.

The scars were not as prominent as they had been when Sam left for college, but the pale white scar was raised and rough against the pad of his fingers.

"Don't touch them…" Sam said, pulling away and covering the scar with his sleeve.

"Look Dean, believe it or not, what is wrong in my head? Isn't something that can be fixed. I thought Stanford was the answer too. But turns out, the cure to the fucked up chemicals in my brain wasn't the California sun."

"Alright." Dean said. "Are you gonna warn me next time you start spinning? Cause you nearly gave yourself a fucking concussion. Pretty sure the maid aren't gonna be too happy about having blood smeared on the wall."

"It won't happen again…"

"You don't know that… I mean, fuck Sammy, I would understand if you needed some time, maybe even some… meds to deal with what has happened."

Sam glared at him.

"I didn't like being drugged up all the time when I was eighteen, what makes you think I want that now? Especially since we are hunting all the time, we can't afford for me to be to be all foggy and stoned all the time! I'm not crazy Dean, I'm just…"

"Emotionally unstable?" Dean snapped.

Sam looked hurt, and then he stood carefully.

"Fuck you Dean…" Sam said, walking out of the bathroom.

"Shit…" Dean said. "Sammy I didn't-"

"I'm going to bed Dean."

"Just let me look at your head?" Dean asked, grabbing for Sam's shoulder.

Sam snapped and pushed him off.

"Don't fucking touch me. I don't need your help."

Dean watched as Sam crawled into his bed. Sighing he took a seat on his own bed, watching his little brother sleep.

"I'm sorry Sammy…" Dean whispered.

The two brothers lay in the darkness, neither of them sleeping, and as the sun began to rise, they hoped for better days.