A/N: Hope you're all doing well! Here's chapter 3. Enjoy :)

Chapter 3: Paper Cut

Sam raced back to the room, the glass shard from the beer bottle still clutched tightly in his hand. He ignored the startled gasp of a woman he almost bumped into in his desperate panic to get back.

"Sorry." He fumbled out pathetically as he ran past her, not bothering to turn his head. Normally he would have stopped to make sure the lady was alright.

Although he only saw her for a second, he was good at observing. It was ingrained in him after all. She was an older woman. Probably in her late 70s, her gray hair was tied up in a bun and she had on a purple plush robe with matching purple slippers. A little white puffball adorned each shoe. Her brown eyes had gone wide as saucers as he flew past. He saw her hand reach up to grab hold of her chest.

Sam felt a pang of guilt. The last thing this older lady needed was a panic attack. Had it been any other time, any other day, he would have apologized and checked on this person. But he couldn't let that bother him. Not now. He needed to pack, get their weapons, and go find his brother.

He stopped short of running straight past the door and dug for his key in his pocket. In his frenzy of worry, the shard slipped out of his grasp and he cursed when he heard the sound of crunching glass underneath his feet.

He closed his eyes and felt anger course through his veins. He had wanted to test that piece in particular to make sure the blood on the glass was Dean's before he went into a full blown melt down.

Now there was no chance of that.

Jamming the key in the lock he swung the door open, shutting it with his foot, and got to work at packing up the weapons and their suitcases.

He didn't bother folding the clothes as he shoved them inside the bags. Scurrying around the room, he managed to pack all their belongings up. He grabbed his phone to check it and the only message he had gotten was another one from Bobby.

They weren't going anywhere. Everything had stopped. Every plan, every thought, every emotion had completely froze in time because Dean was gone. Sam knew he should probably tell Bobby, but why worry the older man if his brother was fine?

Because telling Bobby would confirm that his fears were real. Because telling Bobby would cause panic to ensue as the man would take all measures to help Sam search for Dean. He loved that boy as his own. And mostly because if he told Bobby, he wouldn't have to deal with this alone.

But then Sam thought maybe he was panicking a bit too quickly. They had been separated before.

Dean could walk through the door right now. He could be strolling in from the parking lot with a carefree smile on his face. Unharmed and totally fine. That is until….Sam would strangle the living daylights out of him for making him so worried.

But then he wondered….why was he so worried? The blood….the shattered beer bottle. The blood smeared on the glass. No, something was wrong. He had every right to be worried.

Throwing the weapons into the bag, Sam's hand shook as he reached for the door knob and swung up the door.

He jumped, startled by the sight before him, but also was filled with immense relief. The weapons clattered to the floor with a loud thud as Sam had forgotten to latch the suitcase shut.

"Hey Sammy."

The words slurred together as Dean gave his brother a smirk. Sam was at a loss for words. On one hand he wanted to strangle his brother. On the other hand he was just thankful he was standing in front of him.

Alive.

Well as alive as he could look. Dean leaned heavily against the door frame using one hand to support himself to keep standing. His pale skin stood out in stark contrast to the deep purplish marks smudged under his eyes. His green eyes were blood-shot and glassy. The gray leather jacket was torn and ripped on the right sleeve and he just reeked of alcohol.

"Dean, what the hell man?" Sam barked out, but couldn't stop himself from grabbing his brother in a tight embrace.

"Alright. Alright! Don't get your panties in a twist." Dean joked lightly, but when he felt his brother hold him tighter, he was caught off guard by the sudden closeness.

Dean gave him a tap on his shoulder to let him know to release him and Sam begrudgingly let go. Then Dean got a really good look at his younger brother and was immediately filled with a sense of guilt.

Sam looked awful.

His hair was unkempt, hanging over his eyes and curling over his ears like a tangled dark brown nest. His eyes were clouded and a bit red. His arms were shaking violently when he hugged Dean. The shirt he had thrown on was backwards, the white tag sticking out.

"Hey. Hey….Sammy" Dean's green eyes searched Sam's brown ones, desperate to know why his brother looked so lost.

"Dean…I didn't know where you were. I woke up and you were gone."

"I went out, Sam. C'mon dude this isn't new."

Dean brushed Sam's concern off and walked in daze. His feet didn't seem to register that he was moving until he felt his knees give way onto something soft. He plopped down onto the mattress, stretching out his legs like a drunk ballerina, the limbs splaying out in all directions. Snatching the pillow off the floor, he almost fell off the bed, but caught himself by gripping onto the side of the rusty frame. He grunted with a sniff and propped the pillow behind his head before he managed to regain composure.

He looked over to see if Sam was getting a kick out of his lack of coordination, but was met with the same worried face. Dean almost wished that Sam had at least smiled at that point. He couldn't take the caring. It was enough to bury him.

"Yeah, but you didn't leave a note! You didn't text or call. And then I looked for you and found…."

Dean's eyes opened at that and he looked over at Sam who looked like he was reliving some horrible experience.

"Found what?"

"Blood."

"Blood?" Dean questioned, not really sure where Sam was going with this.

"Yeah… in the parking lot."

"What does that have to do with me?"

Sam crossed the room in two seconds and now was standing over Dean as he lay sprawled in the bed. To say he felt vulnerable would be an understatement.

"Are you hurt?"

It wasn't a question, it was a demand.

Dean swallowed hard, feeling the lump in his throat. His mouth felt so dry and his tongue sat lazily in his mouth from the lack of moisture. The air in this small motel room was enough to suffocate him.

"No."

"Then why was there a broken EL SOL outside with blood on it? I know that's your beer Dean. Hell, I bought it!"

Dean's eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. He tried to think back to last night. It felt like centuries ago and at this point, all he really wanted to do was crawl into a dark hole and let the earth swallow him whole. His head was pounding, but he could tell Sam wasn't going to let him out of this until he answered.

What had happened again? He remembered grabbing his jacket….why is it ripped? Dean stared at the sleeve in fascination. God it's so bright in here. He wished Sam would close the curtains.

Last night…..Right! His head felt muddled. He remembered grabbing the beer, walking outside. Heading towards the impala and then hearing something shatter. His hand…bleeding? Did he cut his hand on something at the bar? Wait a second. The glass! The bottle must have cut his hand when he had dropped it.

"Paper cut." Dean said, playing down the cut. He held out his hand, the palm facing out towards Sam. He tried to smile, but couldn't hide the wince when his younger brother prodded his hand. It hadn't really hurt until Dean had looked at it himself. Pain had a way of making itself known.

Sam looked it over. It wasn't anything too terrible. Just a two inch gash going right down from his ring finger to the middle of his palm. The cut was superficial, not deep enough to cause too much annoyance. The blood had dried and crusted around the edges of the wound, but other than that, Dean looked fine.

Other than the bloodshot eyes, the smell of alcohol clogging his pores, the falter in his steps, the way his jacket clung to his frame…his very thin frame, Dean seemed fine.

"Don't hug me again dude. You know I can't stand chick flick moments." Dean begged. He could see Sam slowly inching in. Sam noted Dean had been cradling the hand to his chest since he had walked into the motel.

"You look like crap." Sam stated, before walking over to grab some bandages and alcohol to clean his brother's hand and wrap it.

Dean watches with interest until he sees what his brother is grabbing and he goes into shut down mode, his hand against his leg. A mistake as the jean material rubbed against his cut angrily. Sighing, he decided to cross his arms over his chest instead.

Sam sits back down on the edge of the bed and glares at Dean. Then a battle begins. The battle of who could be the more stubborn brother and Sam seemed hell bent on winning this time.

"What?"

Sam just continues to look right at Dean. One eyebrow quirking in an attempt of submission.

"Seriously dude I'm fine."

Sam continues to glare, holding the alcohol bottle in one hand and the bandaging wrap in the other.

"It's just a little cut. Nothing to worry about."

His younger brother just lets out a slow exhale, keeping his eyes locked on his older brother.

Dean starts to feel uneasy under Sam's stare and finally relents with a roll of his eyes. He gives up his hand, looking off to the side with an annoyed huff. Sam notes how slow he moves his hand over so he must be hurting some. He begins to wipe down the cut with alcohol pads, feeling a tug of guilt when his usually steel faced brother flinches.

"Cold." Dean lamely lied when Sam glanced up for a second to see if he had hurt him.

Sam continued to wipe the cut. The silence was unsettling and Dean couldn't help but notice how gentle Sam was being with his wound.

It was strange. These hands dealt with unimaginable horrors. Burning dead bodies, digging up graves, the constant pouring of salt in an attempt to keep themselves alive. Their hands were always dirty, sweaty, covered in grime, dust, blood, occasional ghost goo, and monster splatter.

God… their job could be disgusting sometimes. He shuddered at that thought. But he was brought back to reality as he felt the cotton wrap tug uncomfortably at his exposed skin.

Sam was being so careful and tender with his movements. His hand was warm and soft against Dean's cold and callous palm.

It was strange how hands that had been through so much pain and horror could be so gentle and warm when they needed to be. In the dim light, Dean could make out a few scars on his younger brother's fingers and one long one reaching past his wrist. Dean looked down at his own and was met with the same sight. Both of their hands were littered with white and red scars. It was a silent comfort that Dean didn't realize they had between them. They both had scars and there was no point in hiding them.

Dean knew Sam would take this silence as an advantage to figure out how he was really feeling so he decided to beat him to the punch line.

"You know Sam, I usually prefer the hot busty nurses…but I guess you'll do."

"Shut up." Sam said, unable to hide his smile that time. He was just grateful Dean was okay.

Sam finished the final wrap around and then tucked it under the layer underneath.

"Alright that should hold." Sam said once he inspected his handy work.

"You know if this lawyer business doesn't work out, you'd be one hell of a nurse." Dean jokes, hoping he didn't hit a sore spot. He wasn't sure if his younger brother was fully over accepting his new career choice.

Sam shakes his head with an amused smirk and stands up, grabbing the wraps and alcohol, and walks back over to his side of the room bending down to put them away.

"Hey Sam?"

Sam straightens up and looks back at Dean.

"Thanks."

Sam nods and leans back down to close the bag. When he stands up and turns back around, Dean's head is lolled to the side on the pillow and his eyes are closed, the lines wrinkling on his forehead. Eyebrows pinned tightly together. A clear sign of pain.

"You feeling alright?"

"Nothing a little R&R can't fix."

Sam didn't have the heart to make his brother get up, but he had made a promise to Bobby and unless they were both dead or one of them was dying, Sam intended on keeping it. He couldn't sit in this motel room for another minute. The walls and ceilings seemed to be taunting his anxious thoughts about what he imagined had happened to Dean when he found the blood.

The things he had thought, the images that had invaded his mind. Their whole lives revolved around seeing horrible things, but nothing made Sam's blood chill more than seeing an image play out in his mind of his brother bleeding out on the ground, alone. Dying.

"Well…you know we got to head out right?"

Dean's eyes open at that and he looks over at Sam. He had absolutely no desire to do anything once he had plopped down on the mattress. He was completely exhausted. His body was begging for him not to move. His head felt foggy and he had to hold back a gulp every time his vision swimmed. Even though he couldn't sleep, it still felt nice to just lay down and do nothing.

"Head out?"

Sam thinks Dean is joking but when he sees the blank expression on his brother's face, that worried feeling starts to gnaw inside his gut again.

"To Bobby's?" Sam offers, hoping maybe just the lack of sleep and the alcohol running through Dean's veins is the reason for the sudden memory loss.

"Right to hunt the….some type of fuglies I'm sure." Dean waves a hand off in dismal.

"Vamps nest."

"Right!"

Did he really forget?

"Well I think I should drive considering "your condition."

Don't fight me on this Dean. Please.

Dean stands up, a little too quickly in his eagerness to prove Sam wrong, but he has to grab the edge of the nightstand when his body betrays this by wobbling.

"My condition? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Look at you man. You can't even stand."

Dean doesn't attempt to defend himself which worries Sam even more. If there was one thing Dean didn't do, it was admit defeat.

"Dude, you're not driving my car." Dean juts his chin out, his eyes cutting daggers into Sam's.

"Dean, I would like to get to Bobby's in one piece." Sam jokes trying to keep the mood light, but he had to admit he was worried about letting Dean drive again. Especially with how the driving nightmare went yesterday. Now there was alcohol to add to the mix. He grabs the keys off the nightstand when he sees Dean's step falter as he walks toward him.

"Alright then…let's go." Dean snatches the keys out of Sam's hand so fast he doesn't even see him do it. Even with his body pumping alcohol into every vein, Dean was still quick.

He watches as Dean kneels down to grab his suitcase and open the door to leave.

"But…."

"Bu ba ba." Dean holds out a hand, hoping to silence Sam.

"Dean…"

"No Sammy. You're not driving."

Dean gives him a shit eating grin waving the keys in front of his face before opening the door, the suitcase propped under one arm and walks out.

"Dean!" Sam yells, following Dean outside the motel.

Dean continues his brisk stride, intent on proving Sam wrong. But everything from last night catches up with him. The liquor burning a hole in his stomach, his head vibrating against his skull, the world spinning back and forth causing his pupils to pinball in an attempt to keep up. Hot bile shoots up his throat, his stomach gurgling as he stumbles in his steps. Suddenly, black pavement and grey sky collide, the ground reaching up to slap him in the face.

"DEAN!" Sam shouts when he sees Dean crumple a few feet in front of him. The suitcase falls beside him, thumping on its side. Sam runs over and kneels down. Laying a hand on his brother's shoulder, he helps him up slowly.

"Would you quit? I'm fine." Dean slaps Sam's hands away once he's standing on his own two feet again. Suddenly his eyebrows furrow as he groans, his arm reaching to wrap around his stomach. His green eyes go wide and he looks over at Sam, helplessly.

"What?" Sam questions, seeing the change in Dean's body language. His cheeks had lost all color and he went even more pale, if that was even possible. A slight tint of green appears on his face followed by beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. Legs shaking so hard they might snap, Dean hunches and rests his hands on his knees, folding his body in half.

Sam flinched as the sound of puke hitting the cement was heard and he hesitantly put a hand on Dean's back, rubbing circles. He didn't care if he kept pushing him away. He needed to do something to help. Anything.

"Easy. You're alright." Sam whispers, trying to soothe the trembling he feels under his fingers. Dean continued to retch violently and he wasn't even sure what he had left in his stomach at this point to cause this much damage.

Sam thought it would never stop. How much could one person throw up? Apparently Dean was set on taking the record. Finally it settles down and Sam's eyes squint in sympathy as he hears the painful dry heaving.

''God…that was awful.'' Dean admits, his breath coming out in shaky gasps. He uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth.

For Dean to willingly admit that, Sam knew he was in a bad way.

''Can you sit?''

Dean throws him a glare, but manages to sit down on the curb with Sam's help.

''I'm gonna get you some water.''

Sam takes Dean's slight nod as his way of saying he heard him and rushes back to their room to get a water bottle. There was no way in hell Sam was letting him drive.

He opens the fridge and curses when he sees it's completely empty and looks around the room for his wallet. He scans the area, his feet moving faster than his mind. Slamming drawers shut and practically ripping apart the room, Sam feels his nerves being pulled like a string on a puppet. He couldn't find it. Sitting down on the bed, he let out a shaky exhale. He was panicking again and he really didn't wanna leave Dean alone for too long. He rested his hands on his jeans and felt the slight bulge in his pocket. Time froze for a moment as his eyes close in disbelief.

Pulling the brown tattered wallet out of his pocket, he let out a slight chuckle. He was a mess.

He stands up and walks out, trying not to sprint to the vending machine and shoves a wrinkled dollar bill and a few quarters in the machine. It seemed to take years for the mechanics to finally reach what he wanted. The water bottle thuds to the bottom and Sam reaches his long fingers inside the little flap to grab it.

He runs…slowing to a walk when he can see Dean still sitting on the curb where he left him. He knew Dean would get angry if he saw how frantic he was acting, but he couldn't help it. Something was wrong with his brother. This was more than just the alcohol. He wasn't eating. He wasn't sleeping. He wasn't the same. Sam knew him better than anyone and he knew Dean was off.

''Here.'' Sam offers the bottle to his brother and watches as Dean's shaking hand reaches for the water.

He stares at the bottle, spinning it around in his hand.

''Got anything stronger?'' Dean jokes, trying to lighten the mood and trying to act like he didn't just puke up his guts in front of his younger brother. He gulps when he sees the razor sharp stare Sam is giving him.

''Drink it.'' Sam demands, shoving the bottle in his face.

''Alright, alright...geez Sammy. Remind me to never piss you off.'' Dean uncaps the bottle and has to restrain himself from guzzling the liquid down. It felt amazingly cold to his sore, scratchy throat and washed away the bitter after taste from the vomit. The water spilled from his mouth, dripping off his chin.

''Small sips.''

Sam watches as Dean begrudgingly listens and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He sets the bottle down beside the curb and feels for the keys in his pocket. He pulls them out and holds them tightly in his hand before he sighs in defeat.

''Here.'' Dean throws the keys and Sam catches them on instinct.

''You drive.'' Dean braces his hand against the curb and stands up, his knees almost buckling again.

''I…what?'' Sam is not even sure he heard his brother correctly. He knew Dean was not feeling well. Knew it deep down in his soul. And he knew Dean would never admit that he was feeling weak or feeling pain.

Yet he looked down and there they were. The silver keys resting in his palm and Sam just stared down at them in fascination. His brother's voice brought him out of his trance and the worrying thoughts that were building up inside of his mind.

''Don't get used to it.''

Sam watches as Dean walks past him, heading back to their room. He stands there, frozen in shock, the keys dangling off his fingers, before grabbing the forgotten suitcase on the ground and running to catch up with his brother.

Alright, that's chapter 3! I hope you enjoyed it. Please review and let me know your thoughts! Thanks for reading :)