"Dean, my decision is final; I'm hightailing it back to school. Deal with it,"

Unable to erase those simple words from his mind. Alone. Always abandoned. Blunt-force trauma punched straight through the heart, haunting Dean's thoughts. Despite his past disappointments, he kept believing in the false hope of evenly matched relationships and persisted that this occasion would shatter the delusion. I've clung to blind faith, desperately hoping this time would be different. Somehow, a flicker of hope burned on despite the overwhelming odds. Drawing in a deep breath, he said, I depend on them more than they ever need me.

Puzzled by relationships, Did I fool myself each time? Create excuses and ignore the situation. Time to accept the inevitable. Pursue a mundane chase to distract myself with—Sammy's run away before. Pack up; ignore the injuries for now. Seek a new hunt. So time to hit the asphalt; face the rock music. Alone again naturally, He chuckled at his twisted sense of humor. Wincing as his injured shoulder protested, a sharp pain shooting through his body when he grabbed his bag and slung it over his right shoulder. Will have to tolerate it till later. His injuries demanded immediate attention, but he couldn't quell the urge to flee. When someone turned the knob, the door cracked open, emitting a loud and eerie creak that echoed through the empty hallway. Distracted, it barely registered.

"Dammit, Dean, what the hell were you thinking?" Sam asked, frustration visible in his tone. I return to the crappy motel to find your side of the room packed and empty. Then, swiped a car to track you down."

Stop your bellyaching; you got what you wanted. Enjoy College, I did you a favor."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Message received loud and clear. Don't bother you, can't interrupt you from your huge important test—or what's the latest gripe this time?" His voice dripped with sarcasm and disdain. "Spare me your to everyone's popular belief, I'm not stupid. For years, I've hunted solo and I can do it again."

A small, self-satisfied smile played across his lips. " I've relied on my lone survival instincts without backup, I might add, for years on solo hunts. I don't require a babysitter. Shoot, the last few years were a piece of pie." He chuckled. "Besides, I've done the family business for years now, alone." Muttering the last line under his breath.

Fury faded into worry as Sam locked eyes with his brother. "Hey, Dean, focus on my finger," he said, waving his hand in front of his face. "What did you do?"

Temporarily taken back by the change in tone, he no longer felt consumed with anger and confusion briefly reigned. How did his bro screw up this time?

"Hey," soft as if he expected his sibling to run like a newborn colt. "Dean, sit down."

Dean wobbled but held steadfastly; instead, his colt pistol came into play. "No clue who you think you are, but what have you done with my brother?"

"Relax, Dean, I'm here."

"Damn shape-shifter, I should plug you right now. Give it up; where did you hide him? Or I'll…"

Sam froze in his tracks and frantically tried to pull a rabbit out of the air, for he had a split-second to stop his sibling without causing too much harm. With his face pale and sweat beading on his forehead, Dean swayed on his feet with ragged breath on the verge of keeling over any second.

However, he underestimated his older brother's knack for summoning his second burst of energy. Painstakingly, he maneuvered, every step calculated to prevent triggering his sibling's lethal instincts. It would haunt Dean forever if he accidentally killed him. "I'll prove it," he repeated, his tone insistent. "One secret memory, only we would share."

"I'm onto you, not falling into that trap," he said. "You might have his memories, but Sammy's eyes were one-of-a-kind, and you can't fake it. Guess where my first bullet will land?"

Sam's eyes narrowed as he repeated. "I don't have Sammy's eyes." His heart raced, and extreme anger exploded through his veins as his fingers momentarily lost their grip on the weapon. "You lied, distracting me with false bravado again so I wouldn't notice? Telling me you're fine—not even a scratch." His eyes flared in frustration as he regained control and tightened his hold on the gun. "It's our job to keep our eyes peeled and have each other's backs, but how can I do it if you don't trust me with the truth?"

"You're talented. I concede, almost believe you—almost." His firearm dipped for a fraction before he raised it abruptly. "Shame, gonna have to put a bullet between your eyes."

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth as he formulated a plan. "Kill me and you'll never find your brother in time."

"So you admit it."

"What's the point of wishing he'd return for him to walk out on you again?" he asked, skeptical.

"He's my brother, it's my job to look after him—been doing it since age four. Plus you don't turn your back on family. It's my curse to be alone—his life is worth more."

Sammy's eyes welled up with tears unexpectedly, and simultaneously, Dean tripped. With an ear-piercing scream, he crashed to the ground. Sam didn't waste a precious second rushing to his brother's side. Disregarding a Colt pistol aimed at his heart, a brother on a mission to save a loved one overpowered feeble hands.

"Shh, it's okay bro, I'm here now." Grabbed the weapon, tossed it out of reach, and firmly lifted his brother to the bed. "Where did you get scratched?"

"What?"

Sorry, I can't be gentle. Time's running out to apply the treatment. Lemme see where you got grazed." Stripped his brother's outer shirt off and scored. A long, ugly scratch on his right side, including his shoulder, greeted his sharp eyes. "Don't move, you hear me?" Fading into the distance, Sam walked away, only to return a few moments later with his arms loaded with supplies. "Wish there were another way," he said, his hand shaking as he reached for the knife. "You're not the only one suffering here." Before providing the antidote, he had to inflict more pain on his brother, which he hated.

"Sammy, watch out, a shape-shifter. It's after you."

"Relax, it's all good—I secured it. Dean, it's important, don't move." Pleading with his brother.

"Don't be such a drama queen. I'm not going anywhere—" He slipped into darkness.

From the supplies, he grabbed the first aid kit and quickly gave the antidote, and for the first time since this nightmare began, he took a deep breath. Then he gathered all the weapons and stashed them in the trunk. It would be a long week, but at least there was a chance that everything would be okay, once his brother's fever broke.

Sam rubbed his hands through his hair; sat by his brother's side and fretted over his brother's high fever. As he dug the splinter out of his brother's shoulder, the heat radiating off his body increased. As Dean slept, Sam double-checked the records on the cure and attempted to reduce the temperature. Remained optimistic that his brother had received the antidote in time.

"Hey, don't scratch."

Damn thing itches, help me up."

"I'm the stunning butler and you're the damsel princess." He smirked at his poor joke. His brother's glare spoke volumes, so he sighed and asked, "So, what do you need this time? Besides, you're not getting up. I won't hesitate to hogtie you to the bed."

"Sam, now who's being over dramatic? I'm fine. Received the antidote in time and I'm getting up."

Sam stormed over to his brother and non-too gently pushed his brother back down on the bed. "Either stay down or I'll knock you out. Your pick, either drugs or perhaps I should slug you one."

"Sammy…Sam you've got to be kidding me. This isn't funny Sam."

Through clenched teeth, "I told you the antidote requires you to stay still for two weeks, Dean. It's only been two days and your moving will just add more time, do you prefer that?"

"I need to pee."

"You are, and the bag's not half full. The catheter is doing its job, rest."

"Ugh, I'm so bored! Can't distract myself since the TV screen is so tiny and difficult to view from my bed. He whined, the words dripping with a hint of annoyance. "I'm sure a teensy-weensy bit of movement won't hurt." However, he had underestimated his brother's mood. The slight prick occurred before he moved an inch. "Sam, you got to be kidding me," he said as his eyes drifted shut.

True to his brother's word and beyond discomfort, he found himself hogtied to the bed. So he played the guilt card only to be thwarted by his brother once again. "Sam it hurts, Let me up." he pleaded.

"I'll untie you when you realize the importance of following orders."

"Untie me, Sam. You're digging this, huh? Well?"

Rather than answering, he searched for additional injuries he may have missed in the frantic administration of the antidote. "Damn, I missed the wound on your left thigh," he said with a frown. "I'm not too worried. No big deal; we can handle it in our typical fashion." Lied in anticipation of the pain Dean would experience while checking for another splinter. "At least you're wearing a hospital gown to help preserve your dignity."

"Two weeks in bed? No stinking way. I'll pass on wasting two weeks in bed. Sam— Sam, why are you holding a needle?"

His hand brushed against his brother's forehead, checking for a fever to reassure himself. He smirked and said, "Nah, nothing."

"You worry too much, I'm fine Sam. Let. Me. Up." His eyes flashed with determination to win this battle.

Sam brushed off his brother's remarks and concentrated on the simple task. With gentle hands, he wiped away any dirt or debris near the wound on his thigh. Dean winced after the syringe plunged near his hip and a kitchen towel shoved into his mouth, effectively muffling his shriek. With the fast-acting drug, his sibling's descent into darkness ended any further discussion or actions.

"Perhaps next time you'll listen to me," he said with a hint of frustration. With a captive audience, it created the perfect opportunity to force Dean to address his emotions. Nor would he abandon his sibling, proving fighting side by side with their bond unbreakable. They belonged together. Using time and patience, Sam believed that Dean's illness could be a catalyst to conquer and release his old fears. To his sleeping brother, he whispered, "I'm here with you; you're not alone."

A/N: BTW, my Valentine's gift to myself, posting this little one-shot. I hate Valentine's Day, so Dean got his wish granted by celebrating with his bro by his side, and Sam got the last word. Please brighten my day by leaving a review.

I welcome suggestions, but I will ignore flames.

*Pouts* Dean needs a Valentine's gift, too.

Thanks for stopping by! ;-)