WARNING: Re-edited. Also, spoilers for the season 7 finale, and some general season 8 information.

Author's Note: This oneshot takes place during the year in which Dean was in Purgatory, and Sam was with Amelia.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

It was always the little things...

It was never the big stuff that got to Sam the most.

His birthday came and went and he coped pretty well. He braced himself for the day and prepared himself to wake up and not have a big brother grinning at him and telling him the totally awesome place they were going to visit in celebration.

It was the same with Christmas, and New Year's Day, and all the other holidays.

He had the hardest time on Dean's birthday, but he still maintained enough self-control to muddle through without any noticeable breakdowns.

He even managed to keep it together whenever Amelia asked questions. She tried not to pry too much, but sometimes she seemed to think Sam needed to talk about his brother, and so she would inquire about the older Winchester. As if getting him to tell stories about Dean would somehow be therapeutic for Sam.

Most days it just made things hurt again, but he had learned to handle the hurt for the most part.

But then there were the less obvious things- the subtle dangers that would spring up out of nowhere, and send Sam reeling into a dark place. He never could predict what had the potential to set him off.

Once, it was when Amelia brought home a pack of El Sol beer so they could "try something different".

Sam took one look at the bottles and was unable to stop the sudden wave of grief that overwhelmed him. He could clearly recall all of the times Dean had cracked open their cooler and brought out a couple bottles of El Sol for them to drink.

Sometimes it would be when they were in the middle of research for a job. Other times they would be winding down from a particularly nasty week. And every once in a while, when they were lucky, it would be while they were parked in the middle of nowhere- when they were enjoying the sun or stars and a couple of cold beers together in companionable silence.

The memory of all the times he and Dean had laughed or cried over a couple of bottles of that brand of beer… It was too much.

Another time, he was browsing the aisles of a local thrift shop.

He had money for better clothes now that he was earning an honest living, but old habits die hard, and as he was wandering the men's clothing section, he came across a very tattered brown leather jacket.

It looked ancient, and smelled pretty strongly of whiskey and gasoline...and it made Sam want to cry.

He pictured his brother wearing a similar coat and dragging him out of a burning dorm room, saving him from total self-destruction. He saw Dean using his leather jacket to deflect knives in fights, and to bunch up as a pillow when they had to spend the night parked somewhere in the Impala. He remembered being injured, and needing to lean on Dean's shoulder to walk- a shoulder covered with leather that smelled of whiskey, gasoline, and total security.

Sam left the store and retreated to the privacy his car where he broke down quietly.

Perhaps the worst time was when he was walking his dog through the local park and saw a couple of boys playing catch. One of the boys, who looked to be about seven or eight, tossed the ball toward the other, who was maybe four or five.

The littler boy missed the ball, watching it hit the grass and roll away from him while wearing an expression of shame. His eyes welled up with tears, and he said to the other boy, "I'm always dropping the ball."

The older kid quickly came over and put an arm around the now crying child. "Everybody drops the ball sometimes." He said reassuringly. "But it's ok. You just pick it up again." And with that, the little boy wiped his eyes and reached forward to retrieve the toy.

Sam couldn't stop the flow of emotion that suddenly rushed through him, because that was too close to home.

All the times he had messed up, and made mistakes, and done the wrong thing…Every time he'd screwed up his brother had been there to remind him that he could try again- to tell him he could do better the next time, and that he still had support. Dean was the reason he 'picked up the ball' every time he dropped it, but Dean wasn't around anymore.

Sam left the park in a hurry, driving out to a secluded spot where he could let go and cry with no one around to see it.

No, the emotional damn he'd built within himself definitely wasn't enough to stem the river of emotions when the little things caught him off guard. So when his cell rang, and the ringtone was Dean's- not a song that reminded him of his brother, but the song he had assigned to his brother's personal number years ago- that emotional damn didn't stand a chance.

Sam answered the call with a reserved, "Hello?".

He heard a voice on the other line that he would be able to recognize even if he was in a crowded concert hall and mostly deaf.

"Sammy?" it asked.

Sam felt the flood of a thousand different feelings threaten to drown him. He was skeptical, and thrilled, and just plain relieved. It was like he finally let go of a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding for a whole year.

Such a little thing, to hear that one word.

But it was always the little things...

Secondary Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Feedback is greatly appreciated. :)