A/N: A slightly different outcome from the fallout of John Winchester's death. Set loosely in and around Ep 2.02 Everyone Loves A Clown. I own nothing, just happily building sandcastles in the Supernatural sandbox.

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The space between us is getting wider
We need this bar to light the fire
Show me the promise, give me some dealing
There's too much hurting, we need some healing

Who's gonna help the helpless?
Sometimes we're all alone
These days, we're one step closer
To that place that we call home

These walls are the mountains that we climb
These walls are the great divide
Brick by brick…gonna watch them fall
Build more bridges
Tear down these walls

~ Lyrics from Walls, by Bon Jovi

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Bobby stared out the window watching the Winchester boy's interaction by the Impala. They had essentially been avoiding each other for days, which told its own tale didn't it? Damn John for dying when his boys needed him so badly! He watched Sam turn and slink away, head down, his entire body language a mix of signals that both said "I'm hurt," and "Don't worry about me, nothing to see here." Bobby wondered, not for the first time, how badly Sam had been injured in the crash. He knew Sam had signed himself out AMA and appointed himself caretaker of his family members…to the point where no one thought to question if he was fine or not. Bobby had been amazed, especially after seeing the car, that any of them had walked away from that wreck, and Sam as the driver could have been quite injured in ways no one could see…he reminded himself to bring up the subject next time he could pin the elusive kid down.

He knew that the real pain was nothing that could be fixed with doctors and medicines though. Sam had haltingly told him that first day when they arrived, after Dean had walked in the house barely long enough to grab a bottle of whiskey and then disappeared into the auto yard, how John had acted weird in the hospital, showing up after Dean had miraculously awoken, asking not to fight, and sending him on a coffee run. He shared about coming back with the coffee, only to discover his Dad on the floor of a neighboring hospital room, unresponsive. About the staff trying to revive him, then pronouncing him dead.

After that first day of sharing, Sam effectively quit talking. He would respond if addressed, but otherwise was a shadow around the house and yard. Bobby would watch him, worried, as he traipsed out daily to check on Dean - who could always be found working obsessively on the trashed Impala - then always wandered further afield after the inevitable heated conversations. He tried to be there for Sam, but he was as closed off as Dean in his own way, so Bobby finally decided it wasn't his problem…those stubborn boys would work through it eventually on their own.

About a week after they arrived the brothers asked to borrow a vehicle and headed out to investigate something. Bobby was encouraged, hoping the hunt would give them the chance to take out their emotions on something other than each other, but they returned just as broken as they'd left, possibly more. He watched their exchange the day after that trip - watched Sam walk away as dejected as before, startling as Dean suddenly lay into the Impala he'd been so meticulously fixing with unrestrained wrath and angst, and knew then they were a long way from all right.

The days went by, and the boys seemed to settle into a routine…not a healthy one, but Bobby was sidetracked by a project of his own for a client and couldn't spare the time to obsessively worry about it. Dean would come in the house for meals, but otherwise spent all his time working on the Impala. Bobby suspected he was sleeping in it too. Sam…he would rise after Bobby and Dean had eaten, grabbing a quick bite to eat, and then he would wander off and be MIA for the rest of the day. Bobby tried to wait around and talk to him from time to time, but rarely could catch a moment with him. Finally deciding he wasn't their parent, he left well enough alone.

It had probably been another week or so before Bobby started seeing the bruises. Sam slipped into the house just as he was rising for the morning, and though he tried to pass by unnoticed, Bobby called out a greeting. Sam ruefully turned to reply, and in doing so the light caught his cheek.

"Who hit you boy?" Bobby asked gruffly, striding to him and grabbing his chin.

"No one Bobby, I was just clumsy, ran into a post." was the reply as Sam flinched back from his hand. Bobby stared at him, disbelieving but not wanting to push him further away.

"Hey, I'm tired, mind if I catch up with you later?" Reluctantly watching him walk away, Bobby resolved to pay a bit closer attention to the youngest Winchester's activities.

It was as a result of that resolution that he began to realize Sam was not sleeping…at least not at the house. He was sneaking back in early in the morning and sequestering himself in his room. Bobby made a point to be around when he emerged again, and noted fresh bruising on his knuckles. When taxed about it, Sam merely said jokingly he got into an argument with a fence and the fence won. The real kicker though was when Bobby accidentally dropped some books in the upstairs hallway, startling Sam who rushed out of his room shirtless, gun in hand. Bobby stared at him, apology dying on his lips as he took in the bruised torso. There were the fading bruises from the car wreck - and didn't those tell their own tale? - but layered on top of those were others in an array of colors, including some that looked mighty fresh. He stared up at Sam in shock, only to have him whirl around and close the door with a slam. When Bobby finally got fed up with waiting for him to come out he knocked and entered, to find Sam had apparently snuck out some other way when his back was turned.

Bobby intended to confront Sam on his activities and the resultant bruises, but it seemed he could never pin him down. He finally reached his wit's end after a couple days of chasing the elusive kid and decided it was more than time to shake some sense into his older brother. Storming out to the Impala, where true to form Dean was buried in the undercarriage, he banged hard on the roof.

"Ow! Bobby, what the hell?" Dean complained, rubbing his head where he'd hit it from jumping at the loud noise.

"When's the last time you saw your brother?" Bobby growled.

"I dunno. The kid finally took a hint and has left me alone." he replied, squinting up at Bobby in the bright sunlight. "Couple days maybe." He stared hard at Bobby, a feeling of unease growing in his chest. "Why do you ask?"

"He's gone more than he's here these days." Bobby replied, "And when he's here, he's coming in with new bruises."

"What are you talking about? Gone where?"

"You've had your head so far up your Impala, you can't see what's been going on."

"Bobby - "

"No, dammit Dean! Sam's spiraling, and I'm afraid he's gotten himself into something bad." Bobby raised his hat to scratch at his head. "I can't pin him down enough to tax him with it. He needs his brother. Or don't you give a damn about the kid anymore?"

"Bobby! You know I care…"

"Does he?" Dean stared at him, mouth wide, shocked at the question. "Know you care, I mean?"

"Of course he does!" he retorted angrily.

"I'm thinking maybe not." Bobby spoke plainly. "You've pushed him so far away, wanting nothing to do with him. I'm thinking he's feeling pretty isolated right now. Maybe that's what's got him acting so strange."

"I'll check on him." Dean replied, preparing to return to his tinkering.

"Good luck with that." Bobby scoffed derisively. "You better do something, Dean, or I will."

Dean tried to focus on the task at hand after that conversation, but his emotions were in a turmoil, until finally he tossed his tool on the bench with an exclamation of frustration. Sam should have understood he just needed time to work through losing Dad, and especially the thought that Dad might have made a deal for his life. And Dad's last words…argh! Why do I have to be my brother's keeper? Am I not allowed to be selfish and take time for myself ever? He laughed without mirth, sounding whiny and petty, even to himself. Sam had needed him, and he'd essentially abandoned him. That was never going to be okay. He was going to make things right though, starting today.

Resolved, he wiped his hands and started walking toward the house, only to see the very subject of his thoughts emerge. He started to call out to him, but something in his brother's demeanor kept him silent, and he followed slowly behind instead.

Sam walked purposefully across the yard and down the driveway, head down. Dean heard an engine before he saw a beat up pick-up pull to the side of the road ahead. Sam climbed in back, and then they were off down the dusty road. Dean stared after the retreating truck, perplexed and concerned. He knew he couldn't catch up with them, so resolved to press Sam about it when he returned.

He must have fallen asleep on the couch while waiting in vain for Sam's return, because when he awoke the sun was streaming in the windows and a glance in the bedroom showed Sam out cold. He didn't have the heart to wake him, knowing he likely wouldn't be given the truth anyway, so instead went looking for Bobby. Later that afternoon when Sam again emerged and met up with that mystery truck Dean would be ready, and he would find out where his brother was going so secretively.

The truck was easy to follow, in spite of the need to stay back quite a ways so as to not be noticed. Observing as it pulled in behind an old warehouse, Dean drove on for a minute, then circled back and parked at the far end of the gravel lot that was slowly filling with vehicles. Following the rough and ragged clientele through the double-doors, Dean emerged into a wide open area that was slowly filling with people. The center of the room was dropped, and as he came closer he realized it was an old swimming pool. His heart sank, suddenly knowing exactly what he was going to find when he made his way through the crowds to the perimeter. Sure enough, just as he reached the railing that had been erected around the pool's edge an announcer began his rigmarole.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Dean scoffed quietly to himself at that…glancing around he saw neither. "We have an exciting match for you tonight! Mad Dog Matthews is here, raring for a re-match against the one, the only, Sam-Son!" The crowd erupted as a man, probably twice Sam's build, dropped into the pool on one end, and Sam landed lightly on his feet at the other. Dean cringed at the bruising liberally littering his little brother's bare torso, realizing he had been doing this for far too long already. They would be having words…but for now, all he could do was watch and hope Sam could hold his own.

The first match was over almost before it started. Sam's movements were fluid and a thing of beauty against the backdrop of his opponent's clumsy lumbering, and Dean felt his heart swell with pride. He moved to go congratulate Sam, but paused when he heard the next match announced and realized that Sam was fighting again. Returning to the railing, he felt a stirring of concern as this next guy looked like he knew a bit about fighting, if the cauliflower ear and various scars were any indication.

Sam was definitely more evenly matched, and the guy got in a few good hits that had Dean groaning in sympathy, but in the end Sam prevailed, knocking him out with a beautiful right cross.

As proud as he was of his brother's fighting prowess, Dean was becoming genuinely concerned as the third match was announced. Though it wouldn't be noticeable to anyone else, he could tell his brother was tiring, and Dean knew it only took a fraction of a second slowing to make a difference in a battle. Gripping the railing anxiously, his worry eased slightly as he viewed the third opponent entering the ring. He was skinny and wiry, and looked all of sixteen. Sammy can wipe the floor with this guy, he thought, relieved.

His relief was short-lived. The kid was fast, and what he lacked in experience he made up for in viciousness. He aimed for the pain points, landing punches on the kidneys, knees, and ear before Sam could fully defend. A hard kick to the ribs as Sam tried to recover had Dean leaning forward and yelling obscenities, knowing full well that he likely had broken something. Sam gamely fought back, clearly aware that he had a limited opportunity to retaliate before he was going down. Deflecting a punch to the ribs that certainly would have ended him, he executed a brilliant move, almost so quick that Dean couldn't follow, and then the kid was tapping out. Releasing him and rising wearily, a shout went out as the kid angrily attacked Sam from behind. Flung forward onto hands and knees by the force of the punch from behind, Sam shook his head to clear it, and out of the corner of his eye seeing the leg aimed at his ribs, he roared, erupting up to grab the leg and viciously twist it, a sickening pop sounding as the joint separated. Following up with a haymaker to the head, the kid went limp. Sam stood stooped over the vanquished man, head down almost in shame as the announcer went crazy, raising his arm in victory and the room erupted in cheers. Dean wasn't cheering though. He already knew Sam was berating himself for what he had done, and even more so was concerned about the blows he had taken. Pushing through the crowds, he fought his way to the roped off area where he had seen the other fighters disappear.

"Can't go back there dude." A man, seemingly all muscle, stepped in his way.

"I need to. Sam's my brother." he pleaded, trying to peer around the guy.

"No one but the fighters are allowed back."

"He's injured." Dean pleaded, "Please, let me see him." The man regarded him dispassionately and didn't budge. For a moment Dean thought about fighting past him, but he could see other bulky guys eyeing their conversation and decided he would probably not win that attempt.

Remembering that Sam had been dropped off on the far side of the building, he whirled around and quickly made his way around the outside of the structure, pulling at the outer door even as it swung open. Looking up he found himself face-to-face with the object of his search.

"Dean?" Sam exclaimed in shock, "What are you doing here?"

"Might ask you the same thing, little brother." Dean replied, stepping back to allow Sam to exit the building. A call from a pick-up truck a few feet away had Sam's head swiveling.

"I gotta go." He said, starting to move slowly toward the vehicle.

"Like hell." Dean replied, calling over to the truck driver, "I've got him." A nod, and the truck was peeling out of the parking lot.

"Dean!" Dean said nothing in response, just guided Sam over to Bobby's car, belatedly realizing Sam would have to contort himself into the smaller vehicle. He winced silently as Sam slowly levered himself in, noticing the beads of sweat and biting of the lip but saying nothing. Climbing behind the wheel he started the car, then looked over at Sam who was resolutely staring out the windshield.

"Do we need to hit the ER?" he questioned.

"I'm fine." came the terse reply.

"Are you - "

"Dean, just drive."

The car ride was silent, Sam breathing carefully, eyes closed. Dean had a million things he wanted to say, but every time he glanced over he could feel the defensive wall and see the pain lines and knew that the time wasn't right. Bobby opened the door when they pulled in, but Sam stalked by silently, heading straight for the bedroom, door closing in Dean's face as he followed him. Frowning, he headed downstairs in search of a drink.

Bobby had a beer in hand and one waiting for him at the table. He said nothing, just lifted an eyebrow quizzically, raising it higher as Dean chugged the entire beer then rose to grab a second one.

"A damn fight club, Bobby." he spat, after a long swallow of his second beer. "Sam's been at a fight club."

"What? How did he end up…"

"I don't know." Dean sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. "You should have seen him, Bobby. He was amazing…I knew he could fight, but I rarely get to watch him in action. It was a thing of beauty. Right up until the last opponent, who fought dirty. Sam still won, but had to take him down after the fact when he attacked from behind. I know he feels bad about the brutality of the take-down, but the kid was asking for it."

"A fight club." Bobby was still stuck on that. In his wildest imagination as to what Sam was up to when he disappeared, that had not once figured into it. They both stared at their beers, contemplating, then jumped when a wad of cash was slammed on the table in front of Dean. He stared at the cash, then looked up at Sam, trying and failing to read the varying emotions chasing across his face.

"You should be able to finish the Impala with that." Sam said quietly, "Might be enough for you to go wherever you like after that too." He leaned wearily against the wall, staring at the floor.

"Sammy…"

"It's Sam." He said, eyes suddenly blazing and piercing Dean's. "You lost the right to call me that when you decided you didn't need a brother anymore."

"What the hell - ?" Dean sputtered back, "I never - "

"You all but physically shoved me out of your life Dean." Sam said, voice rising, "Dad died, and you walled yourself off completely. You wanted nothing to do with me. You couldn't care less what was going on with me, or if I was even all right. I tried to talk to you. I tried to get you to talk to me. Nothing. It was as if you died too…only worse because you were still right there, just across an impossible chasm."

"Sam," Dean interjected desperately, "You're my family - "

"No, the Impala is the one thing left you love." Sam countered bitterly. "I'm just your burden, and I refuse to be that anymore."

"So I gave up. I stopped trying to reach you." He stopped, running his hand through his hair and wincing at the pull on his ribs. "I went back to The Roadhouse once or twice after the last case we did, and ended up in a bar brawl. A guy approached me after that with an offer to fight for money, and I jumped at the chance. I couldn't talk my issues out, why not pound some poor dude and make money doing it instead? So I became a thug." The derision in Sam's voice was painful to hear.

"Sam…"

"No, I don't want to hear it. I just wanted you to have the money, to know there was a reason behind my actions. I'm headed to bed. Night."

"Sam, let me at least tape your ribs."

"I'll manage. I have this far." came the unwelcoming reply. Sam turned away, fully intending to stride away proudly, but in turning his broken ribs shifted and the pain sent him to his knees, vision whiting. When he could see again, Dean was kneeling beside him, bracing him and coaching him to breathe.

"Breath with me Sammy. In - out - in - out. Good, nice and steady." The pain slowly receded, and he condescended to Dean's help in standing, carefully stepping back from his touch as soon as he was able. He saw a flash of hurt cross Dean's face, which stirred his anger. What right does he have to be angry? He's been pushing me away for weeks now!

Dean could see the thoughts flowing across Sam's face, maybe not obvious to others, but to him who knew him so well, it was clear just how hurt and angry and in pain - physical and emotional - Sam was. I screwed this up so bad Dad. How do I fix this? CAN I fix this? To Sam he simply said, "Broken ribs are a bitch." Sam nodded in response, which he took as a good sign. "They're hard to wrap on your own, will you please let me help you?" Sam stared at him through his shaggy locks, expression veiled.

"Sam, please." Dean begged. Sam paused, wanting to be immune to the note of desperation in his brother's voice, but failing as he realized belatedly this was the first time in weeks he'd been touched - except by a fist in anger. He felt his walls slipping, but strove to shore them up and harden his heart as he remembered the emotional pain he'd been living with all alone.

Sam seemed to come to a conclusion finally and nodded again. "Fine," he said, continuing on to the bedroom. Dean trailed closely after his brother, grateful Sam was willing to let him help, but with his heart and mind reeling. He hadn't fully realized just how much damage his own withdrawal had done to the one person he cared for the most…and desperately hoped he could mend what was broken.

Bobby grabbed Dean's shoulder just as he reached the bedroom door, handing him the first aid kit along with a whispered "Good luck." before retreating back downstairs to find a drink and hope his boys could get past this seemingly uncrossable gulf they had created in their separate grief. He ached to slap some sense into the both of them, but knew they had to get there their own way. Damn John Winchester for dying! He thought for the umpteenth time.

Turning his attention back to Sam, Dean gently helped extract him from his shirt, and then sucked in a breath as he got a good look at his torso. The entirety of his torso was black and blue, except for where there were aging yellowed and purple bruises. What was almost worse though…while Sam was obviously in top fighting form, he also had clearly dropped weight, as Dean could see his ribs much more prominently than he should. Was the kid not eating properly? He wondered, realizing he hadn't seen his brother at meals in weeks. At the time it had been a relief, he realized as he felt the shame wash over him. Dragging his eyes from the damage to Sam's face, he was taken aback by the defensiveness he encountered. Without words, he reached for the medical supplies and went to work.

Sam was clearly in pain, so Dean tried to take his mind off it by prodding him to talk. "I was impressed with your technique tonight, little brother." After a pause he tried again. "That last jack–ass got what was coming to him. I hope you didn't spare it a second thought." When there was still no response he continued, "I know you held your own just fine, but when I saw him coming for you like that…well, I about jumped in the pool right then and there. No one messes with my brother - " Sam blew out a short breath of derision, wincing as even that movement hurt.

"Oh, so you finally remembered you have a brother?"

"Sam - " Dean said in a strangled voice, standing and pacing to the far side of the room, hands braced against the wall, head down. He stood there silently trying to figure out what he could possibly say that Sam would hear. Finally he settled on "I was being an ass." He turned, leaning against the wall and staring at Sam, who was finding the old fading rug on the floor fascinating. "I - I'm pretty sure Dad made a demon deal to save me, and I don't know how to live with that." He blanched, saying it out loud hurt so much more than pushing it down. Sam's head came up at that confession though, and he finally looked at his brother.

"I know." he responded softly. "I know you've been struggling, trying to wrap your head around what Dad probably did, and how to move forward. It's just…"

"What?"

"It was as if your solution to losing Dad was to reject me too. Like if you didn't have anything more to lose you couldn't be hurt anymore." Dean stared, realizing there probably was a sliver of truth in that twisted view of the situation. Only he never, never would want to actually lose Sam, no matter how much it hurt, and he couldn't quite believe he'd ever made him think otherwise. But Sam wasn't done, "And I understood, kinda...but losing you while you were still here, right in front of me…it was worse than having you die. Dean, you've been the one constant in my life I could always count on. I couldn't always count on Dad, but I could always count on you. And when you essentially left…I had nothing."

He paused, letting Dean absorb all he was saying, then continued wryly, "I needed to find some way to blow off steam. I couldn't talk to you, and no one else would understand. So when I found this underground fight club…I earned good money and got to punch people. Win win." Dean just stared, shock warring with pride at the unexpected declaration.

"Anyway, thanks for wrapping my ribs. I think I'm going to try to sleep." Dean could hear the dismissal in his brother's voice, and it was just too much. He moved back over to sit on the bed opposite Sam, trying to think of anything he could do or say to fix the wide chasm that had grown between them. Sam slowly lowered himself down on the bed, groaning, and it took everything within Dean not to reach over and help, but he wasn't sure if he could handle being rebuffed again. Then it hit him hard - wasn't that exactly what he'd been doing to Sam for weeks now? He groaned out loud in dismay, finally realizing the depth of the hurt he must have caused.

Sam's eyes sprung open at his utterance and he started to sit up quickly, instinctively trying to come to his brother's aid, only to pause as the pain once again took out his vision and muted all his senses. When the pain had receded he was once again laying down, Dean now at his hip and his hand clasped tightly as he rode out the wave of pain. He tried to release his hand, but Dean clung tighter, bringing Sam's eyes again to his brother.

"Sammy," he said brokenly, and Sam was struck by the emotion he could hear in his normally stoic brother's voice, "I am so, so sorry." He held his gaze, and it was like the distance dropped away as each read in the other's gaze the depth of love and devotion they had for one another. "I know I've broken your trust and hurt you deeply." Dean continued softly, "and I probably don't deserve another chance, but I'm asking for one anyway. Please, please forgive me. Please let me try to be a better brother to you than I have been. My head's out of my ass now. I'm sorry it took this long…"

Sam stared back for a long, drawn out moment, making Dean wonder if maybe he really had finally done the unthinkable and pushed his brother out of his life. Then he smiled, and Dean let out the breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

"You can't get rid of me that easily, Jerk."

"You know I don't ever want to Bitch."

Feeling the weight of the chick-flick moment, Dean reluctantly let go of Sam's hand and moved back to the opposite bed. Laying down with a sigh, he suddenly realized just how exhausted he was. Sleeping in the Impala, while it had given him a place to sequester himself, had been uncomfortable and cold. And lonely. As he listened to the even breathing of the other occupant in the room as Sam slipped slowly into slumber, he realized that was what had been missing most and keeping him from really resting. His unconscious mind had been listening for and not finding his brother somewhere nearby. Knowing now that he was exactly where he belonged, Dean fell into an easy slumber.

Bobby, meanwhile, had finally given up on anyone bothering to come back down and fill him in on the outcome of their conversation. He hoped the lack of yelling or loud sounds was a good thing. Creeping softly up the stairs he leaned and listened at the door but heard nothing. He hesitated, but then sternly and silently reprimanded himself it's my damn house! and opened the bedroom door to the sight of both boys sleeping deeply. He smiled a genuine smile then, knowing his boys had made the first step towards reconciliation, and softly closed the door and headed to pour himself a celebratory drink. They weren't anywhere close to being healed from the hurts of the past weeks, but he was confident now that they would find their way through. They were Winchesters, and they were brothers. And they had him! He would be there to knock some sense into them if they back-tracked. Raising a glass to himself, and the deep bond of those sleeping boys upstairs that had somehow wormed their way into the deepest crevices of his heart, he tossed it back and then rose to go seek his own bed and a well-deserved peaceful night's sleep.