A/N: Hi. I know I've been gone a while. See the author's note at the end for an explanation.

This is set after 14.12 "Prophet and Loss" but prior to 14.13 "Lebanon".

Mentions of suicidal thoughts, descriptions of panic/anxiety attacks and self worth issues.

Enjoy :)

His hands are shaking. His hands are shaking and he can't stop it and if he doesn't get his shit together, Dean's gonna see it. He can't let Dean see it. He's been good.

Okay, well, maybe that's a lie. Dean's on a suicide mission, and nope, Sam's not good. He's never been good. He's probably never going to be good but those are the side effects of the job right? What person in their right mind who's seen what they've seen, done what they've done, be good, right? Hell, some days Sam thinks it's a downright miracle that neither him nor his brother are permanently locked up in a psych ward.

Well, Dean's probably going to be locked up in a metal box at the bottom of the ocean soon.

Sam almost whimpers out loud at the thought.

Fuck, that tight feeling in his chest is back again.

"Shit," Sam mutters. "Not here."

Five people, no, kids are dead. They're still not sure what it is that's doing the killing. They're at the home of the recent victim, a thirteen year old girl, and Sam hates that he's hiding out in the kitchen instead of looking for clues, while Dean's in the living room talking to the distraught parents. He's hiding away because his hands won't stop shaking, his chest feels like there's a vice like grip slowly getting tighter and tighter and his ears are starting to feel numb.

He's had this before. Back when Lucifer was riding the hallucination train inside his head, and even for a few months after that.

Never on a case though, and that's what's throwing him off.

Look at you. A child is dead you're panicking about losing your brother. Selfish, aren't you?

Sam almost doesn't stop himself from slamming his fist into one of the kitchen cupboards. Almost. Screwing his eyes shut, he runs a hand across his face and through his hair as he takes in a shaky breath. He needs to deal with this. He's useless otherwise.

You're useless either way.

Gritting his teeth, he makes his way towards the stairs to the upper floor, crossing the living room as he does so. He mumbles something about needing the bathroom and throws Dean what he hopes is a smile and he knows his brother isn't convinced when the last expression he sees on Dean's face before he makes it onto the first floor landing is a look of worry and concern.

Sam bolts to the bathroom not a minute too soon as his knees give out from under him just as he locks the door behind him.

His breaths come in gasps, his chest hurts, the sink and shower go blurry as traitorous tears assault his eyes. He sits with his back to the door, his knees pulled up with his elbows resting on them, his hands fisting his hair, almost pulling at the scalp, as he tries desperately to pull himself together.

Why is he so weak?

Dean has an actual archangel in his head, banging away every damn second, and Sam will forever marvel at his brother's mental chops to keep him in. Sam hasn't missed the fact that his brother is getting next to no sleep, that Dean winces every now and then when Michael is being particularly resilient in his efforts to break out. Sam doesn't miss the looks of utter concentration which Dean sometimes slips into and Sam knows those moments require the utmost determination and strength on Dean's part.

Sam can tell he is fucking exhausted. But his brother is still holding on somehow, even if he has a suicidal back up plan in place.

So why the fuck can't Sam get a grip of himself? Why can't he even handle something as simple as a panic attack? It's not like it's the first time and he's been able to handle them fine before.

Or so you think.

Sam clenches his jaw, forcing himself to breathe, to calm down.

But when that day comes – if that day comes, Sam, you have to take it for what it is – the end. And you have to promise me that you'll do then what you can't do now, and that's let me go. And put me in that box.

His breath hitches as tears stream down his face. He hastily rubs a hand across them, wiping them away. How does Dean expect him to keep that promise? How can he willingly allow his own brother to take a trip to the bottom of the ocean?

Sam had agreed to it, back outside that nursing home after Donatello had woken up.

But Dean has to know that was bullshit, right?

If Dean were in Sam's shoes right now, and things were reversed, Dean wouldn't think for even a minute. He'd never let Sam go through with it.

But it's Dean.

And Dean is stubborn.

Especially when it comes to himself.

And Sam knows that his brother is right. If they can't find anything to save Dean from Michael taking control again, Dean has to take the dive. Sam knows he's done something very similar when it came to Lucifer almost a decade prior.

Thousands, if not millions of people will die, in case things don't turn out the way Sam hopes.

It's that thought, that finally sobers Sam, somehow.

He shakily gets to his feet, and isn't alarmed to see his flushed face, dried tear tracks decorating his cheeks and eyes puffy and red-rimmed. He clears his throat and washes his face, hunching over the basin taking deep, concentrated, rhythmic breaths.

Once he has things under control, he walks out, and heads to the victims bedroom.

Sam knows he's going to break if Dean is forced to choose their last resort. Sam doesn't know how he'll cope, if he even wants to cope.

The thought scares the living daylights out of him. It eats at him when he's awake and haunts him when he's asleep. He knows he's going to have more moments like this, of panic, of desperation, of grief, of anger, of every negative emotion and thought that assaults him when he thinks about his brother.

But right now, a thirteen year old needs him. She needs him to find her killer. She needs him to make sure no more children get hurt.

So Sam does what he and Dean have done best since they were twenty-two and twenty-six.

Save people, hunt things.

He pulls out his EMF reader as he enters the teenagers room.

Time to get to work.

A/N: There's no big story or reason I disappeared. I've basically migrated onto AO3 at this point. Although, I will post on here whenever I can, there are a few fics that I haven't posted on here. Maybe I will at some point, I don't know. I'm under the same penname on AO3 so you can check it out there.

People who are waiting on any WIPs on my profile, I'm sorry but I can't promise they'll ever be updated. I know I've said different in the past but I've written those a long time ago and I'm not the same person that I was back then. I'm sorry. That's all I can say.

I'll post fics on here as and when I remember, but you're probably better off keeping an eye on my AO3 also if you like my writing.

As always, reviews are love!