Set somewhere early in Season 4.

—-

"I can't do it man! I can't…!"

Dean stared at Sam, who was in his face, fisting his jacket, and pushing him against the wall. They had just returned to their motel from their latest hunt, which as could be predicted, had been a "simple" salt and burn gone to hell. The angry spirit had chased Sam, and Dean had jumped in front of it, nearly taking the blast of rock salt Sam shot at it as he twisted and fell…thankfully falling had skewed his aim and it merely caught Dean's arm. The spirit however had managed to throw Dean against a headstone, and he was still clearing cobwebs from his head when Sam finally was able to get the lighter lit and flung on the bones, the spirit departing with a shriek. Dean figured all's well that ends well, but apparently Sam not so much.

Staring at Sam's distraught face now, he blamed getting his bell rung for missing Sam's distress. Or it could simply be another indication of how off they were since he'd made his trip downstairs. Four months ago he would have picked up on his brother's emotions immediately, injury or no.

"Dude, my jacket!" Dean responded, trying to muster some normalcy in his voice, "Chill!" Sam abruptly released him, pacing to the other side of the room to stand facing the wall, hands in fists, muscles quavering. Dean stared, nonplussed, not really sure how to proceed. Then he heard Sam's whisper in the silence, "I can't lose you anymore."

"Sam, I'm fine. You're overreacting - "

"Overreacting?" Sam swung around and charged back to Dean, barely keeping himself from grabbing his brother and shaking him again. "I can't lose you Dean. I've lived without you twice, and I won't do it a third time! I CAN'T!"

"..." Dean stared at him, confused. It wasn't that bad of a hunt. Neither of them were injured, beyond some bruises…by their scale that would be a raving success! What could have prompted this outburst? Turning over Sam's words in his mind, he realized what Sam had said. "What do you mean, twice?" Sam blanched at that, clearly having not intended to say it, which made Dean push harder. "Sam. What did you mean, twice?" Sam was definitely holding out on him.

Sam sunk down onto the bed and scrubbed at his head with shaking hands. He wasn't sure how this evening had gotten so far out of his control. He just couldn't rein in the terror of seeing Dean carelessly throw himself forward to protect him again, in his mind's eye seeing everything that could have gone wrong, leaving him alone once more. Apparently he'd reached his limit. The bed dipped and the warm comfort of his brother's shoulder pressed against his. "I'm sorry, Dean." he whispered. Maybe Dean would let it go. The silence settled, and he knew that was not the case. Realizing that Dean would wait all night, he sighed and distractedly ran his fingers through his hair.

"Mystery spot." he began haltingly.

Dean's eyebrows raised, not expecting that. However, he had always thought there was something more to that situation. At the time Sam had been so distraught he hadn't pushed it, which he regretted now. "I died every day, you said." Dean prompted, encouraging him to continue.

"Yeah." Sam's face briefly reflected the horror of that experience, and then went blank. Dean hated that blank face more than anything, and felt a chill run through him in anticipation of what would come next.

"After we caught and confronted the Trickster, when we woke up it was Wednesday. I was so relieved. You went out to pack the trunk while I finished gathering our things.." Feeling Sam tremble, Dean pressed just a little closer to his side to give what comfort he could. Dragging a deep breath, Sam continued, "I..I heard a gunshot, and came running, but I was too late. The bum from the diner shot you for your wallet, and you died. And I didn't wake up." Dean's breath caught in his throat, understanding blossoming.

"How long?" he whispered.

"Six months."

Wow. So much became clear, including Sam's overwrought desperation to find a way to save him from hell. He'd lived the loss already. Six. Months. Dean ran a hand over his face. He hadn't managed to live two days without his brother. How had he missed this?

"Why…why didn't you tell me?"

"Why bother? You were alive. It was over." Something about Sam's flippant response didn't sit well, and Dean caught his eyes, only to have them dart away as Sam stood and paced away again. Dean just waited, knowing his brother, knowing he needed to get this out if they had any hope of moving forward.

"I was ashamed." he said finally, in a small voice, then stronger, "You would have been ashamed of me."

"What! Why?"

"The things I did, who I became…Dean, I am the worst version of myself when you are gone."

"Tell me." Dean's quietly whispered words penetrated the walls that Sam had tried so hard to hold onto. He tried so hard to be strong, to be stoic, but he so badly needed the absolution that only Dean could give. And if he couldn't, if he wouldn't…his breath caught at that thought and almost silenced the confession on his lips. But once again, Dean proved he knew Sam better than he knew himself, as he softly uttered the words Sam's soul was craving, "You are my brother, Sam. There is nothing you can tell me that will take that away." At those words, Sam crumbled, and sitting back on the bed began to tell Dean, haltingly at first, how he had shut off all emotion, cut off all relationships, and just hunted, ruthlessly, tirelessly, like a machine, until he located the Trickster. He told him about the conversation with Bobby, the words spilling rapidly from him now, until he got to the part where he stabbed "Bobby," even though he wasn't 100% sure it was really the Trickster. Dean just sat and soaked it in without comment.

The floodgates were open now, so Sam pressed on, sharing how losing Dean to hell had shattered him. How he had tried to bargain with the demons, how he'd drowned his sorrows in drinking and hunting, again cutting off all relationships and spiraling down to a point where he was reckless - hoping to die in a hunt. He shared about Ruby coming into the picture then, and giving him a target for all his hurt and anger, giving him some semblance of control back, some false sense of doing good again by exorcizing the demons. How he once again became that emotionless person, living but not alive.

And then, miraculously, Dean was back. But not because Sam had saved him, rather in spite of that. And the shame of who he had become pushed him away from the very person he needed most. He hadn't known how to tell Dean, or how to stop what, who he had become.

Tears dripping on his hands, his face hidden by his hair, Sam stumbled to a halt. Was this it? Was this when Dean finally realized what he had fought so hard to save was not worth saving? That Sam had taken his sacrifice and effectively spit on it? Was this when he lost his brother one final time?

The silence was suffocating. Sam surged up, deciding to finally do the noble thing and save his brother the pain of sending him away. He would go first. He stumbled toward the door, his eyes blurry and puffy from the tears he'd unwillingly shed, but Dean was faster.

"Where are you going?" he questioned, even as he fastened firm hands on Sam's upper arms to halt his movement.

"I…" Sam stared at the floor, not able to look Dean in the eye. He was so tired, so drained. So weary of the fight. He had nothing left in him, no hope, just empty. He let Dean steer him back to sit once more on the bed, and felt more than saw him kneel in front of him. A hand on his chin, another brushing the hair out of his eyes. Fearfully he raised his eyes to those of his brother.

And saw love, compassion, understanding reflected in the depths of green gazing back at him. And tear tracks on that beloved face. A broken sob escaped, and Sam was suddenly crushed in Dean's arms, crying like he hadn't cried since he was twelve and the dog they had sort of adopted in their latest short-term location had been hit and killed by a car. He cried for the losses he'd endured over his not-so-long life. He cried for the loss of his dreams of a "normal" future. He cried in agony over the person he had allowed himself to become. He cried for the loss of closeness with his brother, and yet the strong grip on his shoulders, the firm hand on the back of his head, somehow eased that last hurt. Eventually, there were no more tears to cry, and he just leaned on Dean's shoulder, reveling in the closeness of his presence. After a time Dean shook him, and he realized he had actually nodded off for a moment.

"Dude, my legs are numb." grumbled Dean without heat. "Crawl in bed, Sasquatch." Spent, Sam simply obeyed, immediately feeling the loss of connection as he moved away from Dean. After a minute the light clicked off, and the bed dipped behind him. An arm was flung over his side, and he couldn't help but smile, remembering long ago days when it wasn't weird to share the bed, and later on even when Dean would climb in to sooth him back to sleep after a nightmare or when he was sick or hurt. There was something about the presence of his brother, even now, in spite of everything, that screamed safety and home. Sam relaxed, and slept.

For Dean's part, he was drained, but his mind was wired. He couldn't help but mull over everything Sam had shared. If only I had known about the first time he mused could this time have been different? But those were what ifs, and they had never gotten them anywhere before. He sighed quietly, relieved to finally, FINALLY have the air clear between them. He grieved for Sam, the losses he had lived through. He realized, guiltily, that he might have been in literal hell, but Sam had been condemned by Dean's sacrifice to his own living hell. Dean still could not regret saving Sam, but acknowledged that the price paid was hefty. No matter, he concluded. We are both here, both alive. As long as we are alive and together, there is hope. He felt Sam stir briefly under his arm, then settle. The connection he felt with his brother, his need for Sam in his life to feel whole…he finally understood it went both ways. He smiled in the dark, really knowing he was needed, wanted as much as he needed his family. Yes, it had been a rough road, and he was certain there would be more words needed and more obstacles to face in the morning. But they would, they could, do it together. Together, the Winchester brothers were a force to be reckoned with. Dean closed his eyes, at peace for one moment in time, and slept.