Note: Not going to lie, I totally meant to post this on Thursday and I got so deep into editing More Than Enough that I totally forgot :s My bad! Sorry it took so long to finish this fic, it was supposed to be a one-shot. In my defence this chapter is ridiculously long, it was supposed to be a third of the length.

Let me go.

No, Dean. Hang onto me, please!

Let me go.

I won't!

"Sam?"

The younger man ignored the call that seemed to come from so far away, and remained focussed on holding his brother

Let me go.

Never, Sam vowed, squinting to see Dean through the tears clouding his gaze.

"C'mon, Sam."

The voice sounded closer now, but the young hunter disregarded it, though it did nag in the back of his mind how familiar it was – however the feeling of his big brother slipping through his fingers snagged all his focus.

Let me go.

Please, Dean. Please don't do this! Sam was openly sobbing, pain throbbing through his body as he tried and failed to pull his brother up over the escarpment.

Sammy, let me go.

Those were the last words spoken before Dean dropped, falling endlessly, the ground having vanished, leaving Sam's long fingers grasping at air.

Noooo! He screamed as he watched his entire world disappear.

"SAM!"

The young hunter slammed into consciousness, the sound of his own scream fading in his ears, as he felt one large hand wrap around his left hip and another enclose his right arm just above his elbow.

"Easy, buddy. Take it easy. You're safe, it was just a nightmare. You're safe."

Sam was instantly overloaded, all his senses coming back online at once. He was sitting up, something he couldn't remember doing, his back was in agony and his left shoulder was throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He couldn't see much through his teary gaze, but he knew his brother was seated on the bed next to his knees and that the older man's grip was the only thing keeping Sam upright. He could hear the whirr of the coffee maker, the whistle of the wind through the trees outside, and the pounding of the rain dumping on to the roof. The intensity of the dream colliding with the vividness of reality was all too much for Sam and he just needed a minute, one fricken minute to separate the two and get himself oriented.

Sam stretched forward, wishing he could use both hands but glancing down to see a sling entrapping his left limb. He used his functioning right arm and reached for his brother's chest, touching the well-worn cotton t-shirt and feeling around until his fingertips grazed the small lump of the amulet hidden beneath the thin fabric, he gripped it tight and allowed himself to slump forward.

He heard his brother release a soft oomph as Sam's forehead connected with his collarbone. He could feel Dean's hesitation to adjust to the close contact, something that surprised Sam, but he supposed the distance between them had already managed to do some damage – which is why the younger man had been so hell-bent on ridding of it. After a moment he felt one of his brother's hands move up to the back of his head and slide beneath his hair, squeezing comfortingly.

Sam relaxed under the familiar touch, breathing in the scent of home as he anchored himself in his big brother.

"I'm here, Sammy. I'm here."

Sometimes Dean knew just what to say to ease his younger brother's fears, which was ironic because this time around it was something that the older man had said that had ignited Sam's fears to begin with. The thought reminding Sam of the conversation that still needed to be had.

He allowed a few more minutes for him to ground himself in home and safety, in Dean; before reluctantly lifting his head off the strong frame, wiping the lingering tears from his eyes, and looking at his big brother.

"You wanna know why I was pissed at you?" He rasped, belatedly realizing he said was, but not bothering to correct himself because he really didn't have the energy to feel as ornery as he had been.

"Yeah. I do." Dean admitted gruffly with a nod. "But first I want to make sure you didn't bust any stiches catapulting up in bed the way you just did." He elaborated, helping to situate Sam on his right side before moving behind him. Sam shivered as his sweater was pulled up and twitched in discomfort when the tape being removed tugged at his skin and the wound was exposed to the cool air as the bandages were pulled away one by one.

"Fuck."

Sam knew the meaning behind the curse before Dean elaborated but waited for his brother to clarify anyhow.

"The laceration by your kidney looks sore, but it's fine, the one higher up is a bit of a mess. I'm going to have to clean it up and redo some of these stiches."

Sam grunted, he'd figured as much. His back had felt tight as hell since he'd woken up in the hospital, and he couldn't imagine his sudden movements hadn't caused his skin to pull at the wound.

"We need to take this sweater off, it's got blood on it." The older man declared, sounding damn near sympathetic, probably because it was going to hurt like a bitch. "I was going to try and get it off you earlier so I could check on your shoulder, but I didn't want to wake you up. You looked like shit, still do."

"Thanks." Sam snorted with a roll of his eyes, his brother had always shown concern in the most compassionate of ways.

The taller man groaned as Dean helped him extract himself from his sweater, Sam was glad he hadn't tried to force his messed up left arm through the sleeve, because that would have made the process far more painful. Once the hoodie was removed and tossed aside, Dean had the medkit open and ready to go in a matter of seconds and was quickly taking disinfected tweezers to the opened injury, Sam could feel the tug of broken stiches being pulled from his skin.

"This is a mess. You should have stayed in the hospital." Dean grumbled.

Sam hissed as a disinfectant wipe was used on the injury, before the poking and prodding proceeded, but made an effort not to flinch away from the touch causing the discomfort.

"I would have stayed if you hadn't left." Sam responded with a grunt, being more honest then he had intended, too exhausted to sensor himself.

He noticed Dean pause behind him, only for a moment, before he continued his doctoring.

"I was there the whole time, but when you woke up I- I didn't think you wanted me around. You were pretty angry." He mumbled.

"Yeah, I was pissed, that didn't mean I wanted you to leave." Sam bit out, because that had never been the case. Even back when he had been an angry, angst-ridden teen – in his fury he often wanted to get away from John, but never Dean.

He had never once in his life wanted his big brother to leave.

Not fucking once.

"You pulled away from me." Dean nearly whispered.

"Yeah, I was angry." Sam rasped, swallowing a hiss as he felt a needle slide through his skin.

"That was later. The first time – after you woke up – you flinched. Like you were scared." The older man sounded nearly haunted by the idea as Sam felt him tying off the first stich.

The younger man squinted at the cabin wall, attempting to ignore the sickening feeling of his skin being sewn back together, as he tried to recall waking up – something he knew had only happened earlier that evening, considering it was still dark outside, but seemed like it had been days ago. He wandered through the maze in his mind until he found what his brother had spoken about.

"I was scared, but not of you. When I woke up in that bed the last thing I remembered was a bunch of hands holding me down, all the contact had been rough and painful, so when I felt you grip my hip I just reacted." Sam explained, nearly shaking his head at the fact that only his big brother could find a way to blame himself for Sam's instinctual physical reactions. "I've never been afraid of you, Dean." He added, softer this time, understanding how much it would hurt Dean to even think that the kid he spent his entire life protecting feared him in any way, shape, or form; though it baffled the younger man how his brother's mind could ever manage to conjure up such an absurd notion.

Dean went quiet for a moment, sliding the needle back through Sam's skin silently before clearing his throat and speaking.

"Well, I wouldn't have left if I'd known you would trek all the way over here just to see me." The hunter mumbled.

"I didn't come here to see you, I came to fight with you." Sam claimed, partly to save face and partially out of honesty.

"And how'd that work out for you?"

Sam rolled his eyes at the sarcasm, breathing a gentle sigh of relief as his wound was re-bandaged, the stitching process finally finished.

"It would have worked out better if I hadn't had to waste so much time trying to get it through your thick head that everything is not your fault." Sam grunted, trying to force his body to relax, though the endless pain pulsing through it was making that difficult.

"But something is." Dean surmised, moving back to drop into the kitchen chair that had been pushed right up to the bed. Because of course that was where Dean had sat the entire time Sam had been unconscious, and yet the asshole left the kid in the hospital alone like it was no issue.

"Yeah, two things actually." Sam responded, shifting around a little before reaching out to his big brother, thankful that Dean immediately understood what he needed so that the younger man didn't have to verbally request help to sit up. Asking for any help had always been beyond difficult for Sam, but asking for help to perform a task as basic as sitting up would have been impossible. Dean had always understood that about his little brother, which was why he often acted before Sam ever had to ask and Sam had always tried to do the same for the older Winchester in return. It was one of the many realities of their relationship the went unspoken – no please or thank you required - it was simply understood. There were other things Sam had thought were understood as well, like the fact that they were partners and that they would do anything for each other, and that neither of them would ever let the other one drop off the edge of a fucking cliff to save his own skin. But it would seem that those things were not an unspoken understanding because Dean didn't seem to be getting it.

Sam groaned, the fingers on his right hand digging into Dena's forearm as he was slowly pulled up into a seated position.

"Try not to curl your back at all. Your skin is too tight and your muscles can't handle being stretched right now."

Sam nodded as he waited for Dean to finish arranging the pillows against the headboard, before helping ease him back against it. He couldn't relax fully into the cushioned surface without it placing too much painful pressure on his wounds, meaning he had to maintain some level of posture on his own to avoid the additional discomfort.

"Did you get another dose of pain meds at the hospital before you took off?" Dean questioned.

Sam nodded, breathing slow and steady, doing his best to keep his back straight, though the rigid posture had his left shoulder complaining. "They gave me some meds, not sure where they went though." Sam recalled after a moment.

"They were in your sweatshirt pocket, they fell out when I got you lying down. If they topped you up before you left though, we've got to wait at least a couple of hours until we crack open those pills." Dean stated sympathetically.

Sam winced, not wanting to think of how much stronger the throbbing in his frame would be in a couple hours. Luckily, he had an argument to distract himself with.

"So, what did I do?" Dean questioned, sounding far too resigned for Sam's liking. He didn't want it to be a beat-down, he wanted a fair fight.

"You remember what you said to me?" Sam replied, his heartrate already responding to his returning fury.

Dean's scrunched up expression told Sam that, no, he didn't have a clue what he had said to ignite his little brother's rage. Which, for some reason, pissed the younger man off all the more.

"You told me to let you go." He nearly growled, just saying those words was enough to send panic racing through his soul.

"Yeah, cause you were going to die."

Sam was glad for the frustration he could clearly detect in Dean's tone, it was easier to fight with someone who fought back, but it was impossible to ignore the way his brother's voice cracked on the last word.

"No, but you almost did because you wouldn't hold on. I could've pulled you up faster if I hadn't been doing all the damn work." Sam declared, not knowing for certain it was the truth but making a relatively safe assumption.

Dean rolled his eyes as he shook his head, because apparently neither of those reactions were sufficient enough on their own to express his frustration.

"That's seriously why you're pissed?" Dean questioned, his tone making it clear how ridiculous he thought that to be.

Sam glared in return, because he figured it was pretty damn clear.

"You're fucking kidding me, right?" The older man blurted as he shot to his feet. "My screw up almost gets you killed and then I ditch you in the hospital, but what you're most pissed off about is me telling you to let me go? What you have such a problem with is me trying to keep you alive? Something I have always done my entire damn life."

"I don't have a problem with you keeping me alive. I have a problem with you ordering me to practically kill you and trying to convince me that it's fucking okay." Sam shouted, his chest heaving as he glared at his older brother.

Dean's mouth opened and closed as he visibly searched for a response. The anger had faded from his expression and though there were a couple lines of sympathy now creasing his face, Sam could tell he still wasn't about to receive an apology. He knew just by looking at his big brother, that Dean still thought he was in the right. Sympathy was not an admission of guilt, though it did often aid in pacifying fury.

"Look, man, I know that wasn't easy to hear and it wasn't an easy thing for me to ask of you—

"Easy? Try impossible, you bastard." Sam seethed.

Dean's eyebrows climbed, evidently taken aback by the insult or the degree of anger Sam was exhibiting, likely both.

"Don't you think you're being a bit dramatic here, kiddo?" Dean commented, his tone soft as he attempted to soothe the injured man, something Sam did not appreciate. He was so sick of the double standard he had been forced to put up with his entire life.

"You're such a hypocrite." He accused with venom in his voice, forcing himself not to care when hurt flashed across the elder Winchester's face.

Dean made no response to the accusation, but Sam could tell by the way his whole body keyed up, that his brother was angry.

"You think I'm being dramatic?! Do you even remember how you reacted when I pulled the same stupid stunt with you?"

The averted gaze and firm press of Dean's lips told Sam that yes, his brother did recall exactly what he had mentioned.

"When we were kids - I was like sixteen or something, I don't know – we were clearing that house that was on fire – the one dad had been watching; he was checking over the upstairs and we were doing a sweep of the main level when I fell through the floor. And you-"

"You were fifteen. And yeah – Sam, I remember. I don't need the recap."

Sam nodded, watching as the pair of green eyes grew distant as Dean evidently was reliving the past. Sam, in turn, stopped trying to keep the memory at bay, allowing it to wash over him as he knew it had been trying to do since the moment he heard those three stupid words.

Sam coughed and stumbled as he struggled to see his brother, blinking rapidly in a meager attempt to clear his vision.

He tried to call out for Dean, but as soon as he opened his mouth all he did was choke on the smoke that flooded his lungs.

The hacking wouldn't end and the lack of oxygen had Sam doubling over, his hands flying out searching for something to grab onto before he hit the floor. His fingers found nothing but empty air, leaving the young teen to brace for impact – and then suddenly, Dean was there.

Sam instantly recognized the strong hands that caught him and pulled him up into a vertical position. The coughing had yet to come to an end and left the smaller boy digging his fingers into his brother's forearms as he leaned into the firm body planted steadily in front of him.

"Where the fuck were you? I told you to stay behind me!" Dean shouted, his hold strong and stabilizing as he pulled Sam away from his chest and leaned down to meet his face.

"I couldn't see you!" Sam hollered in reply, his voice scraping out between coughs.

"Fuck, Sammy, you're too goddamn short. You can't see over this shit at all can you?"

Sam shook his head, because no, he couldn't. He couldn't see a fucking thing. He was nearly a foot shorter than the older boy, which seemed to be enough to make a difference in his ability to see over the smoke.

"Alright, well I can. I'm going to get us out of here, but you need to stay with me this time. Don't go getting left behind and scaring the shit out of me like you just did."

Sam nodded, coughing again, watching as Dean pulled a bandana from his pocket and standing patiently as it was tied around his face.

"Leave that on and hold onto me. I'm gonna get us out of this damn ashtray."

Sam reached forward and gripped the back of Dean's jacket, nodding up at the older boy who was staring down at him waiting for him to give the okay. Because Dean always did that. John would dish out orders and then charge ahead into the night not giving a moment's consideration to anyone else's readiness or opinions, but that wasn't Dean. Dean made requests, sometimes urgent ones, and then he waited for Sam to agree or disagree – he answered any and all questions the younger boy came up with, without ever making Sam feel like a nuisance. Sam's response mattered to Dean, he listened to the younger boy and he saw him, which meant a lot to a kid who felt like he was invisible a majority of his life – a kid who had spent his entire existence breezing in and out of towns without leaving so much as a scratch – a kid who's version of a good day at school meant going entirely unnoticed. To Sam, being seen meant an awful lot. Dean always took the time to acknowledge the youngest Winchester and take his thoughts into account, even when they were standing in the middle of a burning building.

Sam nodded up at his big brother, his grip tightening around the warm leather in his grasp, he didn't want to be left behind – a fear that had forever been hidden in his heart. He did find comfort in knowing that even if he got lost in the smoke, Dean would always come back for him – which was why Sam's real fear had always been losing his brother, because that would be the only way he could truly be left behind. If there was no Dean to find him, no Dean to hold onto, no Dean to be his anchor or his home – that was the only scenario in which Sam would truly be left behind.

The smoke was growing thicker as they made their way through the house. The heat was seeping through Sam's shoes, his feet hot as he quickly realized that the fire must be beneath them – not on the top floor as John had assumed - which also explained with the smoke was low, though it was rapidly rising.

Dean cursed, Sam running into him as the older teen came to a sudden stop, he quickly began to move again, diverting their path slightly as he seemed to be moving around whatever it was he had run into, his large right hand reaching back and grazing over one of the hands Sam was using to cling to Dean's jacket and settling around the younger boy's thin wrist. Sam moved closer in response, accidently stepping on Dean's heels – something his brother never got annoyed with, which was surprising considering how often Sam did it, especially when they were hunting; the younger boy figured perhaps Dean never complained about it because it always meant Sam was trying to stay close and that was something Dean always wanted him to do. The few times Sam had made the same clumsy move with his father he had been on the receiving end of an annoyed glare or a lecture about the importance of physical dexterity when hunting. But not Dean.

Dean's only response to his kid brother walking up on the back of his feet, was to tighten his grasp on the kid's wrist as the two continued their journey through the house. The floor groaned beneath their feet, and though old wood floors tended to creak and moan on the best of days, Sam knew the sound to be concerning – though he wasn't able to give it much consideration, before he was falling.

Sam didn't even have time to cry out before the ground disappeared, his mind immediately bracing for an impact that never came.

It took a moment for the younger boy to register the fact that he was dangling, nothing but air beneath his legs that were kicking in an aimless search for purchase. He swayed, the heat and the smoke surrounding him as he glanced down to see blinding light below him. The fire was roaring beneath Sam's twitching feet, the heat seeping through his shoes, as the smoke filled his lungs – the bandana having fallen from its place over his mouth to hang uselessly around his neck. Sam hacked, causing his body to sway even more, he winced as he felt his elbow pop painfully, quickly realizing why the moment he looked up. Dean was looking down at him from over the edge of the hole in the floor and the only thing that was preventing Sam from dropping into the raging fire was the grip his older brother had on his right wrist.

"I got you, Sammy." Dean ground out, his grip strengthening to such a degree that Sam figured his wrist might snap right off.

The younger boy nodded as he tried and failed to take a deep breath, the smoke invading his throat and burning its way through his esophagus.

"Dean." He choked out his brother's name, his neck bent back as he looked up at the older hunter.

"I got you." The teen promised unnecessarily.

Sam flinched, his slim frame jerking as he felt the heat scorching his feet; the spastic movement caused him to drop lower, still far from the floor below but closer to the fire that was ravaging the basement. Sam looked up to see that his brother had slipped just a little further over the edge of the shattered wood surface – which explained why Sam had dropped lower because naturally Dean's grip had not loosened enough to allow the younger boy to slide through it, not even an inch.

The newly-formed crater in the floor was providing the fire with additional oxygen that seemed to be all the beast needed to grow at a rapid rate. The flames had made their way up to the main floor and were licking hungrily at Dean's jacket.

"Give me your other hand!" Dean hollered, the roar of the fire making his shout sound far more like a whisper – though Sam heard it none the less. He had grown-up attuned to his big brother's voice and had difficulty imagining a situation where the familiar tone would go unnoticed by his ears.

Sam reached up with his left hand, stretching to meet the long fingers extending down towards him. He groaned, his fingertips barely grazing his brother's, Sam's arms were too damn short - just like the rest of him.

"C'mon, Sammy!" Dean yelled in support, sounding as nearly as desperate as Sam was beginning to feel as the younger boy both watched and felt the fire moving closer.

Sam swung himself in the elder teen's grip, the momentum allowing him to finally get his left hand into Dean's grasp.

"That's my boy." Dean commented, his face strained as he began to try to pull Sam up over the wooden ledge. Because even in the middle of a life or death situation, while time was sensitive and danger was still very imminent – Dean took a moment to praise his kid.

Sam would never stop being grateful for his big brother.

Dean began to shimmy backwards, slowly pulling Sam further up in the process. Just as the younger teenager thought he was about to be in the clear, he heard something he had heard so seldom before that it sounded nearly foreign to his ears – and yet he could recognize it anywhere.

Dean Winchester's scream.

It wasn't a cry of panic or horror – but of agony.

Fear speared through Sam's heart. A fear he hadn't felt dangling over a fire, a fear that hadn't been present in the least even when he could feel the bottom of his feet beginning to burn – a fear that had only ever arisen at the sight or sound of his big brother, his hero, in jeopardy.

He knew the fire had reached Dean. He had seen the flames approaching him, but he hadn't been able to see what was happening up over the edge.

Dean was burning. He was burning alive.

Because of Sam.

The younger teen didn't give it more than a moment's thought before releasing his hold on his brother. His hand going limp in his brother's grasp as he slid a little further over the edge. Dean cried out again, his body shuttering, his left hand contracting for less than a second- which was just enough for Sam's fingers to fall away, but his right hand remained locked around the younger boy's thin wrist. Sam swallowed a gasp as he swung rapidly to the right, his elbow popping as all his body weight dangled from one limb.

"Sam!" Dean growled through clenched teeth, his fury coming across loud and clear – even through the pain lining his expression. The youngest Winchester shook his head, he had heard the demand in his brother's voice and it was one he refused to follow, because it was one that was going to get Dean killed.

Sam flinched as he felt the fire biting through his shoes, the heat becoming too much as he struggled to take in a breath past the smoke. He knew Dean was fighting to breathe and the way his older brother was shaking made it clear the agony was still very present – the fire still had him.

Sam dropped a little closer to the growing flames as Dean slipped further over the edge, both his shoulders now in view as he placed his left hand on the broken wood floor to keep from sliding anymore.

Sam knew he had to do something soon; Dean was going to get pulled right over the edge with him – if he didn't get fried alive first. Because the moron would do that. He would allow the fire to destroy him before releasing his hold on Sam.

Which was equal parts comforting and horrifying.

That was why Sam knew he had to take this on himself. He had to make sure that Dean got out of this alive, which meant getting the older boy to do the one thing he had never done, let Sam fall.

"Dean, it's okay." Sam choked out, squinting up at his brother's face.

Even through the smoke, Sam watched as Dean's eyes squinted for a moment in confusion before quickly widening in what the young teen recognized to be both shock and horror.

"Don't you fucking dare." He seethed, sounding as dangerous as he did when he was threatening the things that went bump in the night or anything that ever tried to get its hands on his kid.

It was the first time in his life that Sam was ever the recipient of that much anger coming from his big brother – his father was another story entirely, but Dean had never directed such fury at Sam, not once. It took the younger boy by surprise, and had he not been dangling precariously over a fucking fire it would have upset him, or at least taken him a couple minutes to digest. Unfortunately, Sam didn't have time for any of that emotional shit and – more importantly – neither did his big brother. As if on cue, Dean released another cry, his body going tense in what had to be agony, the hand around Sam's wrist clenching so tightly it was damn near bone crushing.

Sam used the distraction of his brother's pain to try and worm his way out of his grip, he kicked his feet, swaying in the air. His attempt to dislodge himself did not go unnoticed by the elder Winchester, who growled his little brother's name under his breath before trying and failing to pull the teen up over the edge.

"It's not going to work." Sam choked out, smoke filling his lungs, causing him to hack and cough, which resulted in more swaying – which he didn't get in trouble for this time around because it wasn't intentional.

Sam looked up, heaving in air that was more fumes then oxygen, his eyes watering as he squinted up through the smoke to his brother. Dean's gaze was filled with fear and terror and unbelievable pain, everything that Sam never wanted to see in those two bright green orbs. Sam didn't have the power to fix this deadly situation. He didn't have the power to save himself – he could barely breathe.

But he did have the power to save Dean.

And that was enough.

He began to twist his wrist and sway his body once again, knowing he needed to get Dean to release him before they both fell into the fire below.

"Sam!" Dean tried to shout through a cough as he choked on smoke.

"It's okay, Dean. It's okay." Sam promised, knowing that Dean would need those words in the future. After the anger and the grief, he would need to know that Sam didn't blame him, that it wasn't his fault, that it was what Sam wanted.

The older boy's body shook with pain and strain and what was bound to be exhaustion as he held on to Sam, pulling him up a couple inches before his arm gave up and returned to its overextended position – dropping the teen back down closer to the fire that was biting at his legs.

"It's okay. Let me go, De. Let me go." Sam rasped out.

It wasn't as though he wanted to die – especially that way. It was simply that Sam knew that his brother trying to pull him up wouldn't work, Dean was stronger and Sam wasn't much in the height or weight department for his age, but he was still fifteen and lifting him up with one arm would be difficult on a good day – it would be impossible with the older boy weakened and injured and barely able to suck in a breath without hacking his lungs out. Dean was going to die trying to save his little brother.

And that wasn't okay with Sam.

The youngest Winchester was doomed, he knew as much – but he'd be damned if he allowed the same fate to befall his big brother.

He twisted as much as he could, kicking out his legs, swaying back and forth – doing everything in his power to free himself from Dean's hold, being sure to avoid looking into the pair of horrified green eyes.

He heard his brother begging him to stop, but allowed the roar of the fire to drown out that desperate tone of voice that would normally cause him to cave. Sam couldn't block out his own scream as agony seared through his elbow. In the back of his mind the teenager recognized both the sound and feel of the joint being ripped out of place, but in the moment all he registered was the pain.

The dislocation was bad enough, but to continue dangling from his right arm with his elbow out of place was an entirely new level of anguish. Sam could feel his feet burning and his legs being singed as the fire flared viciously beneath him. The pain became too much and suddenly Sam was vomiting, sickness splattering onto his front as he swayed side-to-side from the force of his heaving.

"Fuck! Hold on, Sam. Hold on." Dean commanded, as Sam tried as best he could to inhale a shuttering breath. Even through the chaos, Sam could still hear the agony in his brother's voice, and he nearly hurled again at the thought of what damage the fire was doing to Dean. "Grab my hand!" Dean shouted down at the younger boy, his left hand releasing the anchoring hold he had on the the floor and reaching demandingly down at the dangling teenager.

Sam shook his head, feeling himself slip lower as Dean slid even further over the edge.

"Sam, I'm not letting you go. If you get away from me, if you go over, I'll jump down after you. Don't think for one fucking second that I won't. Grab my hand now, before we both burn to death."

The reality of Dean's words was like a slap to Sam's face. It was a truth he had always known deep down inside, but never dared to actively ponder. Dean would die for Sam, that had always been both frighteningly and comfortingly, as well as blindingly clear, but he would also die with Sam. A reality the youngest Winchester had always done his best to disregard, because it hurt too fucking much to think about.

Sam realized he couldn't save Dean by twisting free from his grip. The only thing he could do, the only plan of action that had any chance of keeping his brother safe and alive, was if he somehow found the strength to pull Sam to safety. And only in the unfortunate life of a Winchester would the unstable floor of a burning house be considered safety, Sam nearly rolled his eyes in response to his only melodramatic train of thought as he reached up with his left hand in an effort to connect it to Dean's extended fingers.

Sam fought through the scream of his injured elbow as he stretched up towards his big brother, the pain too much to simply be blocked out – though he knew that was what a soldier was meant to do, but much to John Winchester's shame, Sam was no soldier.

"That's it, Sammy. C'mon kiddo, almost there." Dean ground out, his tone laced with strain and pain, but there was pride too. Because Sam wasn't a solider, and he knew that he never would be, but Dean would still be proud of him – and that was enough, it always had been. That little drop of pride was all the extra motivation Sam needed to get the job done. He cried out as he forced himself to sway from his dislocated limb with enough momentum to connect his fingers with Dean's.

His older brother's grip was as solid as iron as he began to pull Sam up towards him, sliding his body back along what had to be burning floorboards as the younger boy was raised closer. Sam was looking up, waiting to be close enough to grab onto to the broken flooring. His body was jerked as he watched Dean flinch violently, the older boy biting back something that sounded dangerously close to a scream. Dean was in agony, that much was clear, Sam just wouldn't know the extent of it until he was back on semi-solid ground. The hands that were holding him over the fire were shaking so hard, if it had been anybody else, Sam would have feared being dropped into the starving flames. But it wasn't anybody else, it never was. It had always been Dean.

When Sam's elbows were up over the ledge, Dean stopped moving, his grip on his little brother still strong as ever, but no longer pulling.

"Sammy, I need you to climb up me, buddy." It was a pleading request, and Sam knew that Dean had hit his limit and was no longer able to move his body. The older boy was shaking so hard it was causing Sam's own smaller frame to vibrate. Sam didn't know if he could do it, he only had one arm still in commission – but he knew he had no other choice, the desperation in his brother's voice making that clear.

Sam pressed his elbow into the wood flooring beneath him, releasing his hold on Dean's hand so that he could use his one functioning arm to pull himself up – or so was his intention, but first he needed the older boy to relinquish his hand.

"Dean, you need to let go." Sam stated.

Panicked green eyes flew up to meet his, and Sam knew that his brother was thinking of the last time the youngest Winchester had made the same request only a few moments earlier – his mind obviously distracted with exhaustion and pain.

"You can keep my right hand, but I need to use this one to climb up." Sam explained softly, coughing through the smoke as he wiggled his left fingers and tried to tug them free.

He felt Dean's grip on him tighten his gaze fierce, laced with confusion while his expression was twisted in anguish, before understanding slowly flickered across it and he released his hold on Sam's left hand, the grip on his right wrist becoming that much stronger in response. Sam swallowed a gasp when he was forced to lean wait onto his injured limb as he reached up with his functional arm and grabbed onto his brother, bunching the jacket covering Dean's shoulder as he pulled himself further up over the edge.

"That's a boy, keep at it, Sammy." The hushed support was grit out through clenched teeth, but it still caused Sam's heart to swell and strengthened his resolve, biting back his own agony – his dislocated elbow screaming as he continued his slow climb up his brother's body and over the newly-formed gap in the floor. It took way too damn long, but eventually Sam could feel the broken wooden edges digging into his ribs as he pulled himself along the floor, using Dean's body as his anchor.

Dean finally surrendered the hold he had maintained on Sam's right wrist since before the ground had vanished from beneath his feet, and instead hooked his fingers into the beltloops on Sam's jeans and helped pull the skinny frame further forward.

Sam's eyes – when they hadn't been closed in an effort to fight off the pain - had been concentrated on his grip on Dean's jacket as well as the floor in front of his face, but once he was suddenly lurching forward his head raised and his gaze landed over his brother's shoulders and caught sight of the fire that was crawling its way up Dean's long legs.

"Fuck!" Sam shouted, panic striking through him as he scrambled desperately up over the ledge and dove towards the flames. Heedless of his ruined elbow, Sam ripped off his jacket, pain shuddering through him, causing bile to rise up his throat but he swallowed it down – not willing to remove his focus from the threat. He draped his coat over his brother's legs, ignoring the flames that licked at his fingers as he smothered the fire. Terror reigned over Sam's mind as he continued desperately patting down both Dean's legs with his jacket.

The older boy had been burning.

Dean had been burning alive.

The thought was paralyzing, and yet Sam couldn't stop his frantic movements.

"- out already!"

Sam could hear his brother hollering at him and feel Dean trying to move his legs as he tried to tug the smaller teen off him, but Sam couldn't stop what he was doing. He had to make certain the flames were gone, he had to make Dean safe.

"Sam, it's out! Stop! We need to get out of here."

The command did nothing to deter the younger boy's focus, but the two hands that wrapped around his hips and pulled him back managed to take Sam's mind off the threat he had felt was still after his big brother.

"It's out, buddy. You hearing me? It's out." The words were raspy and calm this time as Dean sat up and pulled Sam back against his broad frame. Sam fought the grip, clawing at the charred wood floor as he attempted to crawl back towards the legs that had been on fire just moments before.

"Sam, enough! I'm fine. You got it." Dean declared, his fingers digging painfully into the younger teen's bony hips. Out of energy, Sam relented and fell back against the firm body. "It's out, alright? It's out. You put it out, I promise."

Sam nodded, forcing himself to believe the reassurances, his chest was heaving as he tried to concentrate on anything that wasn't the image of his big brother burning alive.

"It's out. We need to get moving, kiddo." Dean prompted, waiting for Sam's nod before using his hold on his hips and pushing him up. Sam choked on the smoke, his burned feet screaming as he leaned down to pull Dean to his feet. The taller teen stumbled, nearly falling to his knees before Sam used his left side to block his fall and prop him up. Sam grabbed the calloused fingers and pulled them down across his shoulders as he wrapped his left arm around Dean's waist, gripping tight to his belt and helping him limp along as best he could while dealing with his own unsteady gait.

Dean must have still been able to see better than Sam, because he guided the shorter boy through the smoke, the fire scouring everything around them and making the heat damn near unbearable.

It felt like they spent hours wandering through a maze of smoke and fire before finally spilling out onto the front lawn. Sam lost his footing and slammed down onto his knees, but was only on the ground for a short second before a strong arm snaked around his chest and lifted him back up. He stumbled forward, allowing Dean to hold him up, both of them hacking violently – the chilled night air as difficult to inhale as the smoke had been.

The next time Sam went down, Dean tumbled with him, both teens collapsing in the grass. The older boy's hand never left Sam's back as he curled up on his left side and continued to cough so hard he could barely breathe.

He could hear his father's voice, but was far too occupied trying to fill his lungs to bother responding to him. John Winchester had never been much for patience and Sam soon felt large hands roaming his body in a rough efficiency, the way they often did when searching for injuries. Sam choked out a cry as the coarse touch reached his dislocated joint.

"Fuck." The eldest hunter cursed. "Alright, Sam. Let's get you up, c'mon son."

Before the teen could blink, his father had hauled him up into a vertical position. The second Sam settled weight on his feet, the burns made themselves known and his knees threatened to buckle from the pain – but there wasn't time for that. Dean was hurt.

And Joh couldn't carry them both.

Sam forced himself to move, followed the two taller forms marching in front of him, the larger man supporting the slighter one as they moved towards the car – spurred on by the sounds of sirens in the distance.

Sam fumbled his way into the front passenger seat as Dean was unloaded in the back, stretched across the bench seat, coughing relentlessly.

"Hospital?" Sam asked, the question directed towards his father, even as his gaze never ventured from his brother.

"No."

Sam's eyes tore themselves from the young man hacking for all he was worth in the backseat, to stare incredulously at the individual behind the wheel. "What?" He croaked in confusion.

Did John not understand that Dean had been on fire?

The older man glanced Sam's way as he added speed to the Impala, racing it down the unlit country road.

"It's too risky. This town is too small, we go in there with burns the same night there is a house fire and next thing we know we've got cops crawling all over us. There'd be no hope of explaining our presence at the scene without it sounding suspicious and there were no witnesses to back up the fact that we didn't start that fire. Too much risk."

Sam made to argue, because yeah, it would be risky – could get dangerous, but none of that mattered because Dean was hurt. Before Sam could voice the obvious, his dad spoke again.

"Dean's got some bad second-degree burns, but it's nothing I can't treat. He'll be okay, Sam." John reassured one of his large hands detouring briefly from the wheel to give Sam's knobby knee a comforting pat. "And I'll slide your shoulder back in place when we get back to the house."

Sam frowned, his jaw clenching, not even bothering to correct his father about exactly which of his joints was out of place. He hated this. Hated their life. Hated that Dean had been on fucking fire and couldn't even be given the proper treatment.

"Sammy."

The soft rasp had the younger boy returning his gaze to the backseat. Dean was looking at him from where he was laying, his face blackened by smoke and ash, but green eyes clear and focussed on Sam.

"It's okay. I'm okay. We'll be alright."

Sam nodded solemnly, the simple assurance making him feel better then anything John had said, but he still wasn't happy about it.

They pulled into the driveway of the house they had been renting, it was secluded just out on the edge of town, the closest neighbours being the farmers about a mile down the road. John exited the vehicle, immediately moving around to the back door behind Sam so he could help Dean out. Sam waited until his dad had passed his door before pushing it open and stepping out of the car. The pain in his feet screamed as the sensitive skin pressed into gravel and the next thing Sam knew he was on the ground with his legs spread haphazardly in front of him.

"Sam?"

He looked up to see John staring down at him from behind the open back door with an eyebrow raised.

"M'fine." He mumbled. His dad needed to focus on Dean, Sam just needed a minute…or two.

"Sam, son, you need to stand so that I can help your brother into the house." The order was stern, but not void of compassion. Sam nodded, knowing Dean needed the help – he had been on fire – the youngest of the three had to step-up and carry his own weight.

Unfortunately, Sam's mental conviction did not translate to any level of physical strength. The adrenaline that had stemmed from seeing Dean being burned alive and the sheer desperation to get him to safety had propelled Sam from the house – but all that had faded now and the young teen was crashing, he was crashing hard. The pain, the intermittent coughing that made it difficult to fill his lungs, and the physical depletion were all overwhelming the smaller boy and as much as he wanted to power through – he couldn't will his body to cooperate with the sentiment.

"Front and center, Sam!" John commanded in that drill instructor tone that always had Dean jumping to attention – because he was a good soldier, Sam never had been, and his lack of response was further evidence of that fact. "Sam! Focus, I need to get Dean inside and deal with those burns. We need to move-

"Dad, stop! There's something wrong. He's hurt. He could barely walk out of the house." Dean relayed, his voice wrecked from the smoke, but still loud enough to be heard. Sam watched as his brother appeared within view, sitting on the edge of the back bench-seat for a moment before pulling himself to stand.

"Stop moving, Dean. Calm down. I already checked him over, it's just his shoulder." John insisted, gripping the older boy's elbows as Dean tried to move past the open door toward Sam.

"It's not. There's something else." Dean snapped between coughs. Suddenly he was kneeling in front of Sam, his hand on the back of the smaller boy's neck, fingers scratching gently beneath his hair. "What is it, Sammy? Where you hurt?"

Sam nearly snorted at the absurdity of Dean asking such a question. He had been on fire.

"Feet." The simple word scraped its way out of Sam's raw throat as he looked up at his big brother.

Dean's face was lined with agony – as it had been since the first time he had cried out back on the floor of the house – but confusion still managed to filter in, his eyebrows rising as he scooted back to take a look at the mentioned appendages.

"Shit, Sammy. Why the fuck didn't you say anything?" Dean snapped, the frustrated inquiry not nearly as loud as it would have been if his voice hadn't been wrecked by the smoke.

Sam shrugged, hissing as Dean poked at his injury.

"Fuck. Dad, his shoes have practically melted to the bottom of his feet."

"I know, Dean. I can see it. Let's just get you two inside so we can get you both sorted."

Before he could think to respond either verbally or physically to the order, there was a long arm looping beneath Sam's knees and another wrapping around his back and lifting him swiftly off the ground.

"Dean, I'll get him. You're going to hurt yourself." John declared.

"I got him." Dean declared with a grunt, pulling away from the older man's grip and marching towards the house, calling over his shoulder almost dismissively, "Bring the first aid kit."

"Dean, I can walk. Put me down." Sam stated, feeling the muscles in his brother's arms quake beneath his skin – no doubt still strained from having to hold Sam's weight over the fire for so long.

"It's fine, Sam. I've got you." Dean assured as he moved up the driveway.

"No, you're hurt. Let me go." Sam argued. He was taken aback by the viciousness of the glare that was seared into him by a pair of blazing green eyes.

The fury was so intense Sam would have been afraid if it wasn't coming from the one person who had always made him feel safe.

He had never feared Dean, and he didn't imagine he ever could.

But if such a thing were possible, now would have been the time.

Dean's anger didn't fade. Not during the short trip to the bedroom that the boys were sharing. Not when he placed him down on the bed. Not when he stubbornly insisted on helping John remove the melted rubber soles from Sam's skin and apply disinfectant to the blisters covering the bottom of the younger boy's feet. Dean's touch was as gentle as ever, but the fury never faded from his eyes as he wiped the tears of pain from his little brother's face as it took John four attempts to force Sam's elbow back into the proper position. Dean was still angry when John told him to lie face-down on the bed as Sam cut off what was left of his charred jeans, and the entire time his legs were being treated by the other two Winchesters and his right wrist was wrapped securely in a tensor bandage. Dean's fury still had not diminished hours later when Sam crawled into their shared bed – the lines of anger on the older boy's face refusing to fade even as his breath evened out and he drifted off to sleep.

Sam couldn't sleep. He was exhausted as hell and the pills his dad had given both boys were helping with the pain and making him drowsy – and yet he still couldn't sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about what he had done, how he had almost gotten his brother killed – he couldn't get rid of the twisted feeling in his stomach he always got when Dean was cross with him. He lied awake until the sun came up, which was actually only a few hours after he had climbed into bed. He was awake when John came over to check both his sons' injuries before giving Sam instructions on how to care for the burns and informing the young teen that he would be back by dinner. Sam was awake an hour after their father departed. He was laying on his left side watching Dean sleep. The older teen was on his stomach - the only position that was likely comfortable considering the burns covering his calves - with his face turned towards Sam, still creased in anger. Sam was sill awake when Dean startled from sleep.

It wasn't common for Dean to ever be startled, let alone come out of rest that way, he must have been having a bad dream. Sam watched the green eyes wildly scan the room before settling on the smaller boy only to harden the moment they did. Sam chewed on his bottom lip, wishing he could offer comfort but not wanting to further infuriate the older teen.

"Dad take off?" The gruff question wasn't much more then a whisper, both their voices still ruined from all the smoke they inhaled.

"Yeah." Sam rasped in reply. "You need anything?" He asked, knowing it was too early for more pain medication but willing to get Dean anything else he needed.

"I'm fine." Dean dismissed with a grimace as he let his head drop back down onto his pillow.

"I'll get you some water." Sam decided, making a move to slide off the bed before an iron grip wrapped around his right wrist.

"You will do no such thing."

Sam eyebrows rose in response to the intensity of the order.

"You got any idea how many germs and shit could be on this carpet – it's a fucking rental house, Sam, and you want to go walking around with open wounds on your feet? What the fuck is the matter with you?"

Sam mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water, he had no idea how to respond.

"Sorry." He croaked, looking down at the fingers he was twisting in his sweater, wincing as his sore elbow made itself known.

Dean made to sit up, Sam placing a tentative palm on his shoulder to halt the process.

"Umm, I need to put the antibiotic cream on your burns before you get up. I should have done it earlier, but I didn't want to wake you." Sam explained timidly, trying not to do anything to escalate the anger Dean had been nursing for hours.

Dean's jaw was clenching.

"Please. I'll be quick, I promise." Sam added quietly.

It took a moment, but eventually Dean nodded, though his reluctance was apparent.

Sam's lips twitched up in relief, he would have found a way to take care of Dean regardless of his response – he always had - but it was a far easier task when his big brother was a willing participant. He grabbed the ointment off the side table and scooted down the bed on his knees until he was next to his brother's legs. He cringed at the sight of the damaged and blistered skin, it looked painful as hell. He applied the antibiotic cream generously, knowing that infection was the biggest threat to his big brother at this stage, but it was preventable – Dad had made sure to mention that a time or two last night to settle down his two sons that were worried for each other.

"Do you want me to wrap them, the burns. Just uuh, if you're going anywhere or anything the burns should probably be wrapped." Sam explained softly, knowing the wounds needed to be covered if they were going to be coming into contact with anything other than the air.

"Nah, it's fine. I'm don't think I'll be going anywhere today."

Sam nodded, relieved that Dean would be staying close today, that would make it far easier for Sam to look after him. Sam stayed kneeling on the bed, trying to think of what food they had in the kitchen that he could make for Dean.

"Pass me the ointment." Dean ordered gruffly, as he leveraged himself up on his hands, his arms shaking with the slight strain as they were no doubt still sore from holding a dangling teenager above the flames for so long several hours ago. Sam frowned, knowing he hadn't missed any spots on his brother's legs, but handed over the tube of cream regardless. He watched Dean begin to sit up and swing his legs over the end of the bed, speaking up softly before the older boy could get to his feet.

"Do you need me to get you something?" He offered hesitantly, knowing that doting on Dean made the teen feel smothered, but not wanting his brother to cause himself any further pain or discomfort.

He had been on fire.

And all because of Sam.

The youngest Winchester wasn't going to let anymore harm befall his hero.

"I need to spread some of this shit on your feet." Dean replied, his tone clipped as he glared back at the boy kneeling on the bed behind him.

"Oh, umm, you don't have to get up for that, I could just lie down and—

"And put weight on your elbow? Use your goddamn brain, Sam."

The ire coming off his big brother left Sam feeling lost and unsettled. Dean had been angry with him, of course he had – Sam could be annoying and stubborn and relentlessly persistent and all those made it very easy for him to get under people's skin (especially his father's) without even really trying. Sam and Dean spent a lot of time together, probably more than most other brothers ever did, and some days they just couldn't stand each other – but even then, even when Sam was pissing the older boy off and intentionally pushing every button he could find, Dean had never dished out this level of indignation.

"C'mon, sit back against the headboard so I can get this done and go back to sleep, I'm fucking exhausted."

Sam responded to that, knowing his brother had acquired barely four hours of sleep and seeing the evidence of his exhaustion in his slow moves and the dark circles under his eyes.

He clambered over towards the edge of the bed – Dean's side, the one closest to the door – and rested back against the old wooden headboard as he stretched his feet out in front of him, his toes flexed back giving his brother easier access to injuries.

"Don't do that. You're gonna pop all these damn blisters." Dean snapped, as his calloused fingers straightened Sam's feet – his hands firm but impossibly gentle, contradicting the bite in his words. "Dad should have done this before he took off. He should have wrapped them too, can't expect you to stay in bed all fucking day." Dean mumbled, more to himself than his brother.

The scowl never left Dean's face even as his feather-light touch spread the antibiotic cream over the younger boy's damaged skin. Sam's right foot flinched away in pain as Dean's finger tips came in contact with a particular charred area of skin, causing the taller teen to frown.

"Sorry." He croaked out.

"Shut up, Sam." Dean huffed.

Sam bit his lip, trying his best to swallow the lump of emotions that had formed in his throat. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to make things right. But he'd do anything to ease his brother's anger, anything to be forgiven. Dean was Sam's hero, his big brother, his best friend, he was damn near everything and Sam couldn't stand being both the cause and target of his brother's fury a moment longer. But he knew that he deserved it. He had nearly gotten the older boy killed. Dean should be angry with him.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam stated, the words scraping their way out of his smoke-damaged throat, but he did his best to say them with strength and certainty – wanting Dean to know that he meant it and wasn't simply trying to weasel his way back into his big brother's good graces.

"Sam." It was a warning hissed through clenched teeth – it was something the youngest Winchester usually would have listened to, but he needed Dean to know how sorry he was and then he would shut up if that was what his brother wanted.

"I'm really sorry! I should have been paying more attention! I should have been quicker. If I hadn't—

"Are you fucking kidding me right now, Sam?" Dean snapped, in what would have been a shout had his voice not been ruined by smoke.

Sam looked up, meeting the glare that was directed down at him in outrage, his mouth opening and closing as his mind ran in circles, swamped in confusion. He knew the apology wouldn't fix anything and was hardly enough, but he didn't imagine it would make his brother even angrier.

"Are you seriously apologizing for falling through the fucking floor?"

Sam nodded, looking down at the fingers he was twisting in his sweatpants.

"Why are you sorry for that?"

Sam frowned, he had thought that fact to be rather apparent. "Because you got hurt saving me. I got you hurt." He explained softly.

"Don't be an idiot, Sam. You didn't burn me, the damn fire did. And you didn't cause the floor to collapse, the fire did. So why the hell are you apologizing for that?"

The question was sharp and had Sam feeling chastised, though he still wasn't sure what he had done wrong.

"You're unbelievable." Dean scoffed, giving his head a shake before returning his attention to Sam's left foot.

Sam felt helpless. He felt like his was failing his brother and he didn't know what to do, or how to make it better. Everything he said or did seemed to make things worst, but last night Sam had elected silence and that hadn't seemed to work either. The frustration, exhaustion, and distress were all becoming too much and the world went bleary as moisture gather in Sam's eyes. The younger boy bit down ferociously on his bottom lip to keep from releasing a sound. Soldiers didn't cry, and while Sam very clearly wasn't much of a soldier, he wasn't a baby.

He refused to cry – he just needed to relay that message to his eyeballs.

He focussed his watery gaze down at his fidgeting hands, but he still felt Dean's fingers stall against his charred skin.

"Does it hurt that bad?" It was the first thing Dean had said since waking up that had contained the softer undertones that he had often used with Sam.

The smaller teen shook his head, because the pain was a lot, but it wasn't the reason for his emotional display.

"Then what's with the tears?" Dean inquired, not unkindly.

Sam responded with an evasive shrug, wincing as his right elbow made it clear it did not appreciate the movement.

"Sam. Look at me." The younger boy followed the order, his timid hazel eyes rising to meet the fierce green ones. "Why are you so upset?"

There was a long pause where Sam's gaze drifted between his bare toes and his big brother before finally opening his mouth. "You're angry."

It wasn't a question, but Dean gave an answer regardless. "Yeah." He confirmed with a grunt.

Sam nodded. "At me." He added with a tired but knowing sigh.

"Yahtzee." Dean deadpanned, his scowl still firmly in place.

Sam nodded again, biting down on his lip and trying his best to swallow the lump growing in his throat as he blinked the moisture from his eyes.

"Do you know why I'm pissed?"

"You're not pissed." Sam corrected softly.

"What?" Dean snapped.

"I've seen you pissed. This is different."

"Fine. I'm livid. I'm irate. I'm fucking enraged. Is that better?" Dean shouted.

Sam remained silent, knowing the question was rhetorical but he silently agreed that those adjectives were far more accurate.

"Do you know why?"

The younger boy looked up at the inquiry, furrowing his eyebrows as he hesitantly moved his head up and down, but feeling as though the question was just another test Sam was going to fail the second he answered.

"Really? You think you have a goddamn clue why I'm so angry – or whatever the word of the fucking day is!?"

Sam didn't know anything anymore.

"Because I fe—

"I swear to god, Sam, if you say it's because you fell through the floor - I will put my fist through the wall."

Sam's teeth clicked from the force of his jaw slamming shut, desperation twisting his stomach in knots until he it clawed its way up his esophagus and out his mouth.

"I'm sorry! Whatever I did, I'm sorry! Please just tell me what I did so I can make it right. Please, Dean." Sam broke, feeling all of five years old as he hiccupped through his last sentence, tears streaming down his face.

He stared up at Dean through his watery gaze, pleading with his brother to just tell him what he had done wrong, though by the look he had seen on the older boy's face, Sam was aware he should have known.

Dean sighed, somehow managing to sound both irritated and sympathetic as he dropped down on the bed next to Sam's knees, the larger frame was still tense with anger, but a few of the creases in his face had smoothed out.

"You didn't get any sleep last night, did you?"

The question seemed off-point, but Sam responded with an honest shake of his head nonetheless.

"I figured, you only get emotional like this when you're seriously sleep-deprived." Dean commented as he used his calloused thumbs to swipe Sam's trailing tears from his face.

Sam knew that exhaustion wasn't the only reason for his overly-emotional reaction, but he didn't deny that it was likely playing a part.

"You seriously don't know?" The older teen inquired, the query sounding genuine.

Sam replied with a helpless shake of his head.

Dean frowned, squinting over at the younger teen, studying him before he spoke again, his voice still an angry growl – but softer then it had been since he woke up.

"I'm not angry because you fell through the fucking floor, Sam. That wasn't your fault, there wasn't a damn thing you could have done to prevent it. We didn't know the fire was in the basement until it was too late and there was no way you could have stopped it from happening. And I'm sure as shit not mad at you for not being able to climb up faster – hell, kid, I'm impressed you managed to pull yourself up at all with your goddamn elbow dislocated."

Sam's eyebrows raised at the unexpected praise.

"These burns are not your fault." Dean declared with an angry confidence as he gestured down at his legs.

Sam bit his bottom lip, because that wasn't true, but he wouldn't dare contradict the older boy, not when he was just getting him to talk.

"Ofcourse you would do this." Dean sighed, his green eyes losing some of their fire.

"What?" Sam prompted when his big brother failed to proceed with his explanation.

"Ofcourse you would blame yourself for ever single thing out of your control – like the floor giving out and my injuries – hell, you apologized for your freakin foot flinching from the pain, but you don't feel any guilt at all for the stupid shit you said to me."

Sam ransacked his mind, completely tore it apart in his desperate search to find any words he had spoken in the past twenty-four hours that would have caused any damage at all to his big brother. He was lost. He couldn't remember uttering a single sound of cruelty or even irritation towards the older boy, he certainly couldn't recall saying anything that would ignite Dean Winchester's wrath.

"You're unbelievable." The older teen bit out as he stood from the bed, pacing next to it and what Sam recognized as an attempt to contain his fury.

"Just tell me. Please." Sam requested, twitching his legs, whishing he could stand and approach the taller frame.

Dean spun around, planting himself no more than two feet from the edge of the mattress, and leveled Sam with a dark look – the green eyes piercing through the wide hazel pair.

"You told me to let you go." The older boy seethed, his tone as vicious as his expression.

Sam's frown deepened as he cocked his head to the side – because that couldn't possibly be it, that couldn't be the reason Dean was so furious.

"You were going to fall." Sam pointed out practically.

"Don't make excuses." The teen snapped.

The youngest Winchester forced his voice to remain steady as he responded. "I'm not making excuses. You were going to fall, we were both going to fall – I was trying to minimize the collateral damage." Any hope Sam had of earning points with his brother by quoting the great John Winchester vanished as long fingers locked around the collar of his sweater, shaking him a little before hauling him forward to meet Dean's face. The treatment was rougher than Sam was used to coming from his older brother, but it was a far cry from harsh and did not spark so much as a flicker of fear in the smaller boy. Because Sam felt safest with Dean and trusted him even when the teen was at his most unpredictable and as livid as he'd ever been with his younger brother

"Don't you say that! Don't you fucking dare." Dean growled an inch from Sam's face. "We do not work that way – that is not how we fucking operate – not you and me, not ever." It would have been a shout if the taller hunter's voice hadn't been damaged by the smoke.

Sam nodded, because it was true, Dean was right. He hadn't agreed with the words even as they had fallen from his tongue, he had simply been hoping that channeling John would give Sam better luck at connecting with his brother, because nothing the teen had said had seemed to do any good. It was clear now that his latest tactic had failed and that left Sam with no choice but to be honest.

"I was trying to keep you alive! Trying to protect you. Cause that's what brothers do, right? Keep each other safe!" Sam pleaded, his voice cracking as his desperation broke through, his fingers shaking as he gripped Dean's shirt with the same intensity that his brother was holding his.

Dean's anger had not shifted, but he made no verbal reply as he stared down at Sam, breathing heavily through clenched teeth.

"I was trying to save you." Sam added, his voice hoarse but still steady with confidence and honesty because he had no regrets.

Dean barked a laugh that was so damn hollow and broken that the sound of it twisted Sam's insides into a sickening knot.

"Save me?! You think that would have saved me? You think watching my kid brother fall to his death would have done anything other than destroy me?"

Sam felt his heart clench violently inside his chest as his brother's expression morphed from enraged to shattered in the blink of an eye. Dean released Sam's shirt and took a few stumbling steps backwards, running his hands through his hair, making it even more ruffled than a restless sleep already had.

"Fucking hell, Sam. There'd be no saving me if you died. If you had fallen – if you'd actually succeeded in twisting yourself out of my hands like you damn near almost did – if you had died, I'd be done. I wouldn't make it back from that."

The force of Dean's words stole the air from Sam's lungs and it took him a moment to refill them before he responded.

"It wouldn't have been your fault." Sam stated softly

Dean scoffed at that.

"It wouldn't have! You said yourself the fire caused the floor to give out, and if I had gotten out of your grip it would have been my doing not yours." He explained.

"That's not the fucking point, Sam." Dean spat back.

Sam sighed, because he knew the conversation was going to move on to whatever the 'fucking point' was and that it would bypass the fact that Dean placed far too much blame on himself for things that were far from his control.

"Then what is the point?" He allowed, because based off fifteen years of history, Sam was willing to wager he'd have the remainder of his lifetime to revisit Dean's issues with carrying around unwarranted guilt.

"That you even thought that! That's the point!" Dean shouted. "That you thought for one second I could do that. That you thought it was even a fucking option."

Sam frowned, staring down at his lap as he tried to piece together a response, he was rarely speechless but this was one of those few moments in his life where he was truly at a loss for words.

"How could you do that?" The question was cracked and broken and had Sam's head snapping up and gaze focussing in on the hurt teen who dropped down wearily onto the edge of the mattress next to Sam's knees. "How could you ask me to let you fall? How could you even think I'd be able to do that?" The green eyes trained on Sam were finally void of anger, but Sam would have chosen the fury over the hurt that replaced it.

"I wasn't thinking." He replied honestly.

Dean cocked his head slightly to the side, clearly waiting for the younger boy to clarify.

"I didn't think about it, about what I was asking you to do – not really. There wasn't time to think at first, I was just hanging there in pain and I could barely breathe, and then I heard you scream." Sam's voice broke and he did his best to swallow the fear that arose at the memory. "I knew the fire had reached you, I knew you were – you were burning." Tears flooded Sam's eyes as he choked out the last word. "And the only thing in my mind was that I needed to save you. That was all that mattered."

Sam glanced between the overly colourful duvet rumpled at the end of the bed and his big brother, but Dean's eyes never wavered from the younger teen's face.

"I needed to save you. And I couldn't do it by getting myself up, so the only other way I could do it – the only thing I could think to do that would keep you from being killed, was to get you to let me go."

"And you thought I'd be able to do that?" Dean asked, his expression raw and shattered and so fucking hurt that Sam could hardly stand it.

"No! I didn't. That's why I tried to twist out of your hand because I knew that you wouldn't. And it didn't take me long to realize that wasn't going to work either – you were holding on so tight. Dean, when I really thought about it, I knew it would never happen. I knew that if I managed to force you to let go that you'd jump down after me. I knew that when I really thought about it. I just, I wasn't thinking at first – I just wanted to save you." Sam did his best to explain, finding his words to be stuttered and sentences poorly formed – his usual eloquence and large vocabulary failing him in the face of his big brother's anguish and his own erupting emotions.

Sam's gaze was on the fingers he was twisting in his sweatpants, but he looked up as a large hand latched on to his smaller ones; his brother's thumb moving gently back and forth over the dark finger-shaped bruises on Sam's right wrist. Dean's expression had calmed, sympathy had filtered into his gaze, but the naked hurt was still far too prominent.

"I get that you were trying to protect me, I don't agree with your reasoning, but doing whatever it takes to save your brother – I understand that, probably more than anyone else ever could."

Dean's firm but gentle words soothed Sam's soul and allowed him to take a deep breath for what felt like the first time since before the fire.

"But I need you to hear me when I tell you that letting you go like that, it will never be an option, and it sure as shit won't save me. Whether it is my fault or not, you getting hurt like that, you being-being killed- " Dean's voice cracked and he took a moment to clench his jaw and inhale deeply a time or two before finishing his thought. "That would destroy me, Sam. You get that? There'd be no saving me after that."

Sam nodded, working to breathe past the lump in his throat as he was hit once again with the full-force of his big brother's love.

"I know." Sam answered with a horse whisper, because Dean seemed to be waiting for a reply and because Sam was being perfectly honest. He knew that about his brother, he had always known that, if the very reality had never been spelt out for him, Sam still would have known the truth of it. He could see it in every single thing his brother said and did, and he knew how to recognize it because Sam felt the very same way. There would be no Sam without Dean and no Dean without Sam, which was terrifying and comforting and motivating and paralyzing and just fucking everything.

"Good." Dean stated with a nod, turning away slightly as he swiftly wiped at his eyes, sniffling quietly.

"I'm sorry." Sam declared, the statement far more genuine now that he actually understood what he was apologizing for.

"I know." Dean assured. "It's okay. I get it, I get that you weren't thinking. I'm not angry anymore, okay? It's just…"

"Just what?" Sam prompted softly after his brother's voice had faded off.

"Just don't ever ask me to do anything like that again, alright? Not just cause it's impossible – I mean letting you fall? That's just not something I could ever do, Sammy."

The younger boy nodded, chewing on his bottom lip, waiting as he knew Dean wasn't finished.

"But just hearing you say shit like that, fuck. It hurt, Sam. It hurt so fucking much." The older boy confessed in a broken whisper, a single tear slipping free from the corner of his eye. "So just don't- don't do that to me again, okay kiddo?"

Sam wanted to apologize again, he wanted to say he was sorry until the sun had gone back down and his voice had vanished, but he knew that wasn't what his brother wanted to hear, it wasn't what Dean needed.

"I won't." Because Sam would have promised damn near anything to wipe the look of pain and absolute helplessness off his big brother's face.

Dean studied the smaller boy for a moment, before nodding, a small smile erasing some of the distress from his expression, as he nodded.

Peace and relief flooded Sam's soul as he was granted his big brother's forgiveness. He didn't regret what he had done to try and save Dean, because he would always do anything he could to protect the one person who he loved most in the world. But he regretted more than anything the hurt he had caused his brother, the shattered look he had placed on the face of the one person who was always there for him.

He would do anything to keep that brokenness as far away as fucking possible from those bright green eyes.

Anything.

"You were livid. You had never been that angry with me before – and haven't been since then." The younger man pointed out, physically shaking his head to dislodge the past and focus on the argument he had been using their history to make.

Dean looked like he wanted to deny it, but he couldn't – they both knew as much. Dean had reacted with just as much fury when Sam had dared to speak those three fucking words.

"You don't get to call me a drama queen when you responded the same damn way." The youngest Winchester declared, his chin up, daring his brother to argue with the facts.

"Fine. But when you said those words, you said them because you were trying to save me. I did the same thing. Who's being the hypocrite now?"

Sam's anger bubbled back to life at Dean's pathetic attempt at justification.

"What you did is different." The taller man snapped.

"How?" Dean nearly shouted in response, his face twisted in genuine confusion.

"Because you fucking knew what it was like to hear those words! You knew how that felt. You knew how much that fucking hurt you to hear – you knew how it tore you apart, and you fucking said it anyways!" Sam's voice was still hoarse, likely from the four days it went unused in the hospital, but he put enough power into it to get his point across.

"You know that's not how I meant it."

"Really? Then why the fuck did you say it? Did you think I would do it? You think I'd just let you go – drop you off the edge of a fucking cliff so I can save my own skin? Because that's what I do, right? I'm the piece of shit who fucks over everyone in his life."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean snapped, moving his chair forward until his knees were hitting the mattress, his incredulous stare focussed on the younger man who was slowly unraveling before his eyes.

"I'm the selfish asshole who lets everyone down." Sam summarised with a croak.

"Selfish? What kind of whacked out meds did they put you on at that hospital?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Hey, none of that – look at me." Dean ordered. Sam scowled but granted the older man the attention he requested, mostly out of curiosity. "You are not selfish. You have never been selfish, not a day in your damn life."

"I doubt Dad would agree with that." Sam muttered in reply, because selfish was one of the last things John had called his youngest son before slamming the motel door, it was one of the many words his father had said that night that haunted the teen all the way to college.

"Fuck him. You are not selfish, Sam." Dean declared, his green eyes alight with fire. "You haven't let anyone down."

Sam snorted.

"You didn't let Jess down." Dean added, his voice impossibly soft – the way it always was when he brought up the girl Sam had so desperately wanted to share his life with.

Sam's nostrils flared and eyes prickled as he clenched his jaw.

"And you have never let me down. Not once." Dean proclaimed with all the conviction in the world. "I didn't tell you to let me go because I thought for one second that you would do it. Or because I thought you were selfish, or for any other twisted reason your self-deprecating mind managed to concoct." Dean assured.

"They why the fuck did you say it? I'm not a kid anymore, I'm no just some child you need to protect. We are supposed to be partners! Why did you tell me to let you go when you would never ever let me go? Because that's bullshit, Dean. I am no more capable of letting you go than you are of letting me go. And it's really fucking unfair of you to think I'd be anymore okay with those three words then you were."

Dean had the decency to look chastised, but not apologetic.

He moved from the chair to sit next to Sam's knees on the mattress, facing the younger man, his jaw clenching and unclenching as his green eyes softened and stared into the hazel ones glaring back in a frustrated focus.

"When you told me to let you go you didn't do it because I was a child under your protection or because I was less than you or because you thought you loved me more than I loved you. You said those same words back then because you were desperate to save me and you weren't thinking. I did the same thing. We're still partners, you and me against the world, kid – ain't nothing ever going to change that."

Sam's frown remained in place, because regardless of how true that might be, Dean still wasn't sorry, he didn't regret it – that much Sam could see.

"I heard you scream, I saw that monster tear into you – fuck Sammy, another couple minutes and it would have ripped through your neck and it would have been over. I was just trying to save you. Just like you did for me."

"You dying doesn't save me, Dean." Sam meant to say it with fury, but the crack in his voice and lump in his throat took out most of the sting. "It would destroy me."

Dean swallowed thickly, his jaw clenching, "I know." He croaked, sounding equal part regretful and grateful.

Sam nodded, because at least the moron understood that much.

"I told you I wouldn't say that shit to you again – I want you to do the same for me." Sam decided after a moment of the two brothers simply staring at one another.

"Sammy." Dean sighed, his gaze falling as he shook his head.

"Dean." Sam warned with a growl, because he knew refusal when he heard it – even when it was laced with sympathy.

"I can't. You know I can't." He finally sounded apologetic, but he was sorry for not being able to give Sam what he wanted – for hurting the younger man, not for the three words he had spoken. "When it comes down to it, I'll do anything to save you. You know that, Sammy." Dean spoke in that soft but certain way he always did with his little brother, with an additional tinge of regret and resignation – as though he knew his brother wouldn't forgive him.

Sam closed his eyes.

It wasn't fucking fair.

It wasn't fair that Dean refused to make the same promises that he forced out of Sam. It wasn't fair that when the roles were reversed Sam had offered up a million apologies and Dean couldn't give him a single one in return. It wasn't fair that no matter how grown Sam became or how much he railed against it – the double standard in their brotherhood remained ever-present.

It wasn't fair.

But it also wasn't fair of Sam to ask Dean to be someone he wasn't.

He knew his brother, he knew how Dean worked – he knew that in Dean's mind protecting Sam was his job and his responsibility and as much as the younger man tried to show him that it went both ways – Dean would never truly understand. Dean would always see more worth in Sam's life than his own, and no matter how much Sam did to disprove that fact, it wouldn't change anything. They were partners, Dean would make the same claim – hell, he just had - but in the end he would always see himself as the protector and he would always see Sam as the one who needed protecting.

Sam would forever be Dean's kid.

It was the reality of his life and he could fight it all he wanted but it was never going to change, because Dean was never going to change – at least not in that respect.

Sam sighed, his brain pulsing as his mind worked its way through his current frustration. It was unfair of him to ask Dean to be someone he wasn't. So Sam wouldn't push the older man into making the same promise that Dean had nearly forced him into. But Sam would spend the rest of his life doing everything possible to prove to Dean that his life had just as much value – if not more - than that of his little brother. He would dedicate each waking moment to protecting Dean with as much ferocity and dedication and selflessness as he did for Sam. He would show the hard-headed hunter that Sam wasn't any more willing or capable of letting his brother go than Dean was. Sam would one day introduce his brother to a fact that had always been his reality; there was no Sam without Dean, just as there was no Dean without Sam.

One day his big brother would understand that as wholly and absolutely as Sam did.

For now, Sam would accept what Dean was able to give him.

"Fine." He bit out as he opened his eyes, the green eyes focussed on him widening in surprise – Dean likely shocked with Sam's acceptance of his refusal to make a promise. "But just know that whenever you tell me to let you go, whenever you say those three words – know that it will just make me dig my heels in – know that it will make me fight that much harder and hold on that much tighter. You got that?" Sam asked, leveling Dean with a serious look, making sure the older man knew that Sam meant every damn word.

Dean's brow furrowed in concern and his lips pressed into a thin line, displaying his obvious concern and displeasure, but he nodded nonetheless. "Okay, Sam. I hear you." He confirmed roughly.

"Good." Sam replied, his frustration, fear, fury, and hurt placated just enough to give way to the bone-deep depletion that had been lurking underneath. He slumped back against the cushions, his body too exhausted to maintain any degree of posture. He winced as slight pressure was placed against the wounds on his back.

"C'mon kiddo, let's get you horizontal." Dean suggested, waiting for the permitting nod before helping to ease the slim frame down onto its right side.

Sam winced, wishing more than anything he could curl up, but the agony in his back was not about to allow that.

"What was the other thing?" Dean asked as he gently adjusted Sam's sling so it wasn't tugging uncomfortably at his neck.

"Mm?" Sam hummed in question, watching Dean through half-lidded eyes.

"You said there were two things you were mad about, two things that were my fault." Dean elaborated, tugging the blanket up over Sam's bare chest.

"You left me in the hospital."

Hurt and regret flashed across the older man's tired face as he nodded, looking as though he were about to get to his feet, Sam stopped him, his right hand wrapping around Dean's right wrist – which he just now noticed was coloured with a dark bruise; a bruise that matched the shape of Sam's fingers.

"Sorry." He mumbled, switching to hold the long fingers instead.

"You saved my life, Sammy – Don't apologize for a stupid bruise." Dean said, his eyeroll not extracting any of the gratefulness or fondness from his tone.

Sam nodded, his grip tightening as Dean stood and pulling the hunter back down to sit on the mattress.

Dean's eyebrows rose in surprise but, he sat willingly and stared at Sam expectantly.

"I don't care how angry you think I am at you, or how difficult I'm being – don't leave me again." Sam intended it to be a stern command, but it sounded far more like a plea.

"Okay, I won't. I was going to be back in the morning, you know." Dean stated, not defensively but reassuring.

Sam eyes fell closed as he nodded wanting to absolve Dean of the unnecessary guilt he could hear in his voice, it had been a misunderstanding, Sam knew that; but he couldn't shake off how he had felt in the hospital when his sanity and security had walked out the door.

"I know, I was just hurt. Needed to feel safe. Needed you." Sam mumbled his tongue loose and uncensored as he began to drift off, his boney fingers still entangled with his brother's.

"I almost get you killed, and you come here cause I make you feel safe." Dean muttered.

Sam twitched a smile at the confliction and awe wrapped around the observation.

"Course. You're my home." Sam murmured through a yawn, the pain in his body dulling to a light throb as he began to fade.

He heard the sharp inhale as he felt calloused fingers card softly through his mussed hair.

"I'm not leaving you. Not letting you go either. That home thing goes both ways, Sammy."

As he surrendered to exhaustion, Sam realized that was the only promise he ever needed his brother to make.

The End

Note: What did you think? Let me know! I live for feedback - it also motivates me to keep working and seeing as how I am waist deep in More Than Enough right now I could really use the encouragement. And ya'll need to seriously pray that my 2005 car doesn't crap out on me because then I'll have to work some serious overtime and will never have time to write again! Thanks for reading! - Sam