A/N: First of all, for everyone who reviewed my last story "I Gotcha, Brother", Thank You So Much! You guys Rock and your reviews keep me going :) Sorry if I couldn't reply to the few of you who don't have accounts on the site, I didn't know how to reach you, so thanks :)

Well, I was asked to write a tag to this episode (8x03), Hurt Dean, since a bunch of the fans thought that after he almost got his heart ripped out of his chest there could be more to the story, you know. So here I am with my own version of what could've happened after. I hope you like it, guys *hugs*.

And since my DEAR awesome friend, Rana (aka Folka) was the one to ask for this tag, I dedicate this story to her as a small present for her Graduation :) Congratulation once again, Babe

Now I'll quit rambling hehehe :D

Summary: Sometimes when you think the job is done it turns out that it's just getting started. After killing Randa Moreno, the person with Brick Holmes's heart, and stopping the deal's influence over the remaining people with his organs, Dean and Sam hit the road expecting the job was over as the following events prove them wrong. Hurt!Dean and a lot of angst including both brothers ahead.

Spoiler: Heartache 8x03 - Season 8.

Disclaimer: I own only this story, not Dean nor Sam .. more's the pity.

Asya: Thanks, babe for beta'ing the chapter and the awesome support

- Breakable -

Chapter 1

It was starting to suffocate him. The tension accompanied by the thick silence, Dean could have sworn he can cut through with a knife and was starting to hurt him. It felt like the pressure was beginning to wrap around his whole body like a blanket, waiting for a chance to crush his bones.

From the corner of his eyes he could see his brother giving him a last glance before staring once again outside the window at something that apparently only he could see. Dean heard the catch in his brother's breath; he was always able to recognize the funny pattern Sam's breathing seemed to follow every time the kid was trying his best to keep his emotions, or tears, at bay. Yet he decided that he would do nothing about it. He just didn't have it in him to comfort his kid brother right now. He was tired—bone-deep tired.

Aside from the white hot, blinding pain he felt as the freaking stripper was trying to rip his heart out of his chest, when she touched him it felt like there was some sort of an icy liquid that seeped from her fingers into his skin; dividing into so many tiny snakes that invaded his body mercilessly, crawling their way beneath his skin and sat his blood on fire before it was all gone just as fast as it started, and the only thing he was left with was utter exhaustion. Celebrating their successful hunt with the adrenaline still pumping through his vines were helping matters until —of course— Sam decided it was a good time to act like a bitch rather than have a moment of victory.

"Dean, listen, when this is over … when we close up shops on Kevin and the tablet, I'm done. I mean that."

All of it was like a déjà vu to him. He heard the same words eight years ago, back in Chicago; when Sam and him thought they were going after the yellow-eyed demon instead of a bunch of pain in the ass shadow monsters that some legend decided to call them Daevas. He still could hear Sam's voice in his head, clear as a bell, as he told him that he would have to let him go on his own way once it was all over.

So why was he surprised? It was beyond him. Maybe because after everything they've been through together Dean couldn't see another life outside the hunting life, fighting evil with his brother by his side. Maybe because —despite the plan to shut the gates of Hell and banish all the demons off of the face of earth— he still didn't believe the danger would abate. He knew there would be always something lurking in the dark, always something threatening people's life, and there will always be people to save. It was never going to end, at least for him. That much he knew.

His brother was different, though. Sam never wanted this life; he always lingered to normal life, a darkness-free one. He always seemed trying to prove that, in every chance he got, in several ways that Dean still tried to justify them in something else. He walked away several times that Dean refused to count anymore. And the worst part of all was that Sam never tried to look for him when his luck shoved him into the frigging hole of the Purgatory because Sam was finally getting a shot at the life he had always wanted.

"Dean, the year that I took off, I had something I've never had: a normal life. I got to see what that felt like. I want that. I had that."

His heart throbbed once, but not because of his encounter with Randa, the stripper, a few hours ago. Pain he was used to. In fact, pain was good. Pain meant reality to him. It was the only thing that helped him separate between what was real and what was not through the whole past year that it almost became one of his special ammos.

As for the other kind of pain, that was the kind he didn't have the capacity to deal with. His chest was getting tight with heavy emotions, with betrayal. He tried so damn hard to let this one go, but he still couldn't. His heart still ached despite the hollowness that was spreading wide inside of him day by day ever since he got out from the Purgatory—scratch that, he couldn't remember when it had started anymore.

Dean shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position but he found none. Tightening one hand around the steering wheel of the Impala, he reached with the other one and switched on the radio. He saw Sam almost jump at the sudden sound of Klaus Meine's voice as it blared out of the radio blasting the car. He shot him a look, noticing dry traces of tears on his little brother's cheeks, who stared at the radio for a moment before staring out of the window, again.

Dean sighed; he didn't even know what was causing the sorrow he saw in Sam's eyes in that brief glance, let alone being able to make it better for him. He was gone for a year, and for all he knew, it was an eventful one for his brother, which made it harder to tell what was going on in his brother's head.

The distance between them was getting wider with each passing moment. And what hurt the most was that neither of them seemed willing to cross it; Dean couldn't just shake off a year of running for his life, fighting to get back to his brother, the brother who didn't try to find him and simply accepted that he was dead and moved on with his own.

Sam's head wasn't really in the game, not fully anyway. All his thoughts, the way he was acting, even his body language were betraying his need to leave it all behind no matter what he said. Dean could feel him trying to hold on too tight only to let go when everything ends. Neither of them seemed ready to fall back into the normal rhythm —as normal as it could get for them anyway— of how their relationship was before. Before Bobby died, before he went to Purgatory, and before Sam met his girl. Hell, a long time ago, before so much happened, so many tragedies, if Dean was being honest to himself.

He sighed again, trying to steady his breathing and ease the burn that was suddenly diffusing from his heart to his chest and belly. Using the distraction the music provided, he started to tap his thumbs against the strong leather of the steering wheel along with the beats of the song.

"In the game of life, the strong survive. We're on a one-way street, we're gonna make out alive … and never let 'em drag us down, in the game of life. We live and die, another breath begins … another chance to win the fight, from the moment that we hit the ground …,"

xxxxxxx

Sam could feel his brother fidgeting next to him. He wasn't sure whether he was working to find a more comfortable position or trying to ride out the negative emotions his speech from a few minutes ago must have triggered. He didn't try to do anything about it, though. He wasn't able to decode Dean's actions or follow the stream of his thoughts as easily as he used to.

Dean has been different since he came back, which was to be expected. It was never easy for him to fall asleep, and when he did he was always a fraction away from consciousness, and it only lasted for an hour, barely two. He was edgy and far sharper than he used to be, which was to be expected as well. But aside from that, this time Sam was sure there was something that Dean chose not to tell him about. Not a story of a torture that he endured or something of that sort. No, it was more like a secret. That was what Sam hadn't expected this time. And look where secrets had taken us, Sam sighed.

In addition to all of that, Dean always seemed to be gunning for a fight, which Sam actually considered as his right. After all, he ran. He ran and turned his back on Dean, letting him live one of the worst nightmares he could ever imagine, for a whole freaking year.

He failed royally to save his brother, again. He couldn't save his brother from Hell, and he didn't even give it a try to save him from the Purgatory, as he discovered from Dean … one year later. Sam knew he should've looked for his brother when he disappeared, or at least start with finding Kevin Tran. Yet, he couldn't do either. He didn't really have an option, he had no one to turn to and ask for help. Bobby… gone. Cas… gone with Dean and Dick Roman to God knows where. He could only assume that the two of them were dead. He was wrecked. Devastated. Lonely in every sense of the word.

Sam knew if the places had been switched Dean would have stopped at nothing to try to find him. Even death wouldn't have stopped him, it hadn't before. But he wasn't as strong as his brother, he knew. Dean had that sheer will that could do the impossible and beyond when it came to Sam, which Sam simply didn't have. He had already lost faith in himself when he failed to save Dean from the death contract he signed for Sam's life. He practically had almost ended the world. He had been walking around with no soul, doing everything the other Sam would have never done. His brain had been a mush and Dean had to struggle with him, for him, to put things right. To fix him. He let Dean down in many ways that he stopped counting along the way. He was no use for Dean. He was no use for anybody.

How the hell was he supposed to find his brother? How the hell was he supposed to fix things the way his brother always did?

He was tired of struggling, tired of blowing everything up, of letting Dean down, again and again. He was so tired of it all. He desperately needed out, he needed to finish this; once and for all so he could be able to live the life he always wanted. The life he experienced in the past year. He wanted a future, for him and for his brother. He wanted an actual life! Though he knew Dean only cared about hunting, giving himself up for the greater good, he still hoped he might change his mind at some point.

A hot tear slid down his face but he made no effort to wipe it. Another followed and he still did nothing about it. His eyes were glued to the road, to the dark scenery behind the glass that was passing unnoticed until the radio was suddenly turned on startling him. Sam dared a quick glance in his brother's direction when he saw Dean's eyes were eyeing him in concern, before he turned his eyes to the radio for a long moment.

He gave a slight nod without looking at Dean, which his brother wouldn't be able to see in the dark of the night anyway, then looked back outside the window. He heard Dean's weary sigh before he closed his eyes and rested his head against the seat. Sam spent a minute trying to match the name of the singer to the voice that was coming out from the radio as a way to escape too much thinking, but he failed miserably. Despite the irony, he let the music and the low rumple of the Impala cut through his thoughts and lull him into a light doze.

"You're born to hunt and never run away … and then you're hunted by the prey. The wounded deer leaps highest to the sun until his day is done…"

- To be continued ..

Song: The Game of Life - Scorpions.

- I hope you liked it, guys :) Should I continue this?! Let me know and review *HUGS*

Aya