div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCXW47887219 BCX0" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; user-select: text; -webkit-user-drag: none; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; Chapter 1:

The bar could have been any other dive that Dean had been to during his travels across the lower 48 states. It had the same smell, the same cheap wooden bar stools, and the same crowd of obnoxious drunks spending their entire paychecks. The only distinct difference was that Dean was stone cold sober. He was only here looking for the man who would usually be the one dragging him out of a bar like this.

Over the past few months, Dean had noticed a pattern. During their weeks off between hunts was when it started to get bad, and he had been waiting for the other shoe to drop this time as well. Dean had gotten out of the shower to a note and got dressed as quickly as possible before heading over to the only bar in town.

Sure enough, sitting at the far end of the bar was Sam.

Sam was crouched down over his glass, a nearly empty bottle of cheap whiskey in front of him. Dean grimaced as Sam swallowed the few shots from the glass and quickly poured another.

Sam had been out of Hell for over 2 years, but between soullessness, the Wall, and then his hallucinations, it was still relatively new that Sam had to actually sit with what happened. Sure, he had remembered Hell when the wall came down, but he had plenty to distract himself with. It wasn't until his body caught up on sleep and they had a few days without hunting that Dean noticed the damage that had been left behind.

When they were hunting Sam was the same as he had always been. Researching, smiling when Dean told a stupid joke, killing the monster. But as soon as he didn't have a hunt, something to distract himself with, the younger man would begin to withdraw. First, he would get quiet, then a frown would begin to stick on his face at all times then Dean would begin to see the pain in his eyes and then before he knew it the drinking would start.

He knew that kind of pain. And as much as people would think Dean was the Winchester with the drinking problem, they wouldn't believe it about Sam.

Dean may be a functioning alcoholic, but Sam was a binge drinker. Two sides of the same coin, both equally dangerous. And damn if Dean didn't feel hypocritical every time, he came to drag Sam out of some bar.

Dean slid onto the stool beside his brother and tried to ignore the way he tensed up at the body encroaching into his bubble. The bartender came up and eyed Dean.

"Can I get you anything?" She asked.

Dean looked down at the few fingers of whiskey left in the bottle.

"Just a glass, gonna help my brother finish this off so we can go home and get some sleep."

She nodded sympathetically, before dumping the majority of what was left in the bottle in a glass and handed it to Dean then letting the last few dribbles pour into Sam's glass. Dean handed her a few $20's before she walked away.

Dean sipped slowly on his own drink watching his brother out of the corner of his eye. Sam's hair was slightly greasy, and his beard was a few days old. Another one of those signs that Sam was starting to slip.

"I promised to always let you know where I was going, doesn't mean I was giving you an invite to follow me." Sam slurred.

Dean shrugged.

"Big brother prerogative Sammy. Gotta follow you to the party, so I can make sure you get home."

Sam scoffed.

"It's not a party, it's a wake."

"See this is why you aren't supposed to drink without me. You have too much and get all angsty and shit."

Sam shot him a drunken bitchface.

"Angsty? What am I a teenaged girl? I'm...Thirt...Twent..." Sam paused.

Dean watched as he tried to work through the problem, and he saw edges of the 22-year-old Stanford student he had picked up years ago.

"I'm... too old for a babysitter." Sam landed on.

Dean nodded. So now he knew it was going to be one of those nights. Where Sam struggled with even the basics like how old he was. 200 years in The Cage. Who could blame Sam for forgetting how old he was from time to time?

Once Sam had finished his own drink, Dean quickly tipped back the last shot in his glass as well.

"C'mon kid, let's get outta here."

Sam pushed himself to his feet and walked around Dean giving him a wide berth. Dean followed behind him, but stopped when he felt a hand on his arm.

"Listen, about your brother." The bartender said.

Dean sighed deeply.

"I'm sorry if he made any trouble okay? We won't come back."

"No nothing like that." She said with a reassuring smile. "When he is ready to hear it, let him know I said thank you."

"For what?" Dean said with a frown.

"For his service of course. I mean, he is a veteran right? He's got that look. So just when he is ready to hear it. Tell him thank you."

Dean gave her a small smile. Sam may not be the type of soldier this girl thought he was, but she was right about one thing. The entire world needed to thank his little brother.

"I'll let him know." Dean said before following his brother out the door.

On the way to the car Sam stumbled and Dean reached out to steady him on instinct even though he knew better. Sam hissed at the contact and whipped around stepping backwards and out of Dean's reach.

"Don't touch me!" He yelled.

Dean recoiled and tried to grin. He didn't want his brother to know how much that hurt.

"Sorry, Sammy just trying to keep you from cracking your head off the concrete."

Sam grimaced and pulled hard at his hair with both hands.

"I'm sorry... Dean... It's not you... I just... I can't..."

"You don't have to explain. I get it." Dean said truthfully.

Dean remembered what it was like. What it felt like when Hellfire creeped into the real world and made every sensation hurt. He remembered how every piece of the cosmos made him think of Hell. The problem was even with all that knowledge he had no idea how to help his little brother.

"Get in the car."

Sam slid into the passenger seat and spent the entire drive with arms wrapped around his body. He squirmed uncomfortably in the enclosed space. It was like his body couldn't decide where to go. He would push himself against the window and then flinch away from the cool glass, and then push himself towards Dean before flinching away from him.

Dean tried his best to ignore it.

When they got back to the motel room Sam crawled into the bed farthest from the door. He was on top of the blankets, still wearing his jacket, jeans and boots.

"Sammy, at least take your boots off."

"Mmmm. Can't sit up."

Dean sighed and cautiously made his way around the bed sitting down next to his brother's hip, carefully avoiding any contact. Sam looked at him with bloodshot eyes. Dean knew it was time. They were going to have to talk about this. But that could wait until morning. At this moment he just wanted to get his brother's boots off.

"Do you know who I am?" Dean asked.

Sam blinked up at him, clearly confused by the question.

"Yeah..."

"Who am I?"

"Dean."

"And I'm your brother."

"Duh."

"Okay. So if you know I am Dean, and that I am your brother. Do you trust me?"

Sam blinked at him slowly. If they couldn't finish this conversation quickly Dean would lose him to unconsciousness.

"Yes." Sam said with absolute conviction.

Dean smiled and let that warm his soul a little bit.

"Good. I trust you too Sam. I just want to take off your boots. Will you let me?"

Sam tensed up tightly, working hard to control his breathing. He didn't want anything or anyone near him. Everything felt like it was fraying at his nerves. He looked into Dean's eyes for a moment before squeezing his eyes shut and nodding his head yes.

Dean let out a breath and slowly reached out to untie his brother's laces. He was aware of how stupid it would seem to anyone looking at them from the outside. That he felt the need to take his brother's boots off. But the reason was twofold, one it was a small thing he could offer Sam to make him more comfortable, two he knew how much it took Sam to trust him and let him do this.

He placed the boots at the foot of the bed and by the time he turned around Sam had fallen asleep. Dean looked forward to falling into his own bed, but first he had to make some adjustments to the room. He turned on the bathroom light, leaving the door open a crack allowing a little light into the room. He changed into a pair of sweats, before placing his duffle bag in Sam's line of sight. He pushed an old wooden chair in front of the door of the motel room, and then lastly, he placed the extra blanket he had requested next to Sam on the bed.

With his work done, he finally crashed onto his own bed, letting Sam's breathing ease him into sleep.