Hi Guys! Yes, for those of you who are confused, I did delete this story. I'm bringing it back only for a limited time so that others can read it, and I've also revamped it to a degree.

Disclaimer: This is a traditional medical/hurt/limp boys fic. I'm not a medical professional, therefore the integrity of medical information interspersed throughout this entire story is fallible. I've done research, thanks to the internet. That about sums it up! Any questions, let me know.

This takes place during season 4, just after Metamorphosis, episode 4. Enjoy!

The forest was dark. Darker than any other forest he experienced. He had no idea where he was running, only that he was running, and fast. Low-lying branches with razor sharp leaves swiped at his face, whipping his chest. Prickly bushes snagged at his legs. The full moon provided little light to aid in his flight. The rustling and pounding footsteps of the enemy could be heard mere feet away behind him, propelling him to go faster. His boots slipped and glided through the mud, but he kept going. His gun was left somewhere among the ground cover, forgotten when the beast gained the upper hand, swiping it out of his hands. After that, Dean felt that he had no choice but to run. It was a werewolf after all.

He had no idea where his brother disappeared off to. One minute they were side by side, tracking down the monster that had been ravaging the woods, killing off hikers, bears, and other wildlife critters for the last three days, and the next they were separated. He called Sam's name several times over, which is probably what led the beast to him. It appeared out of nowhere—as if committing a Harry Potter- seemingly materializing out of thin air. He didn't seem too dangerous at first: a lousy middle-aged couch potato with thinning hair, pimples, and a beer gut. Let's not forget the claws and the teeth.

But when he exhibited superior strength and agility a fat guy could never be capable of, Dean knew not to take his chances. He sprinted away heading for cover, heading for the Impala, the vision of the hellhounds still fresh in his mind. His muscles screamed at the strenuous effort, pleading for him to stop. Sweat ran down in little rivers on his skin, chilling him to the bone as a chilly wind swept through the land. His heart hammered painfully against his ribcage and he tried not to think of it, still pumping rapidly in the creature's jaws. The werewolf bounded after him, snarling, spitting out globs of drool as it chased.

He took an immediate left into another clearing of trees, when something large and heavy barreled into him. He landed harshly on his side in the dirt, and he rolled over, terrified, of what he was about to face. The dark figure across from him sat up, the ill-received moonlight illuminating a part of its obscured face.

Sam?

Dean let out a cackle of relief, slumping back to the ground.

"Dean?" his brother asked, rising to his feet.

"You idiot! Where the hell have you been?"

"Looking for you. Where the hell did you go?" Sam asked, extending out his hand.

Dean accepted the hand and lifted himself out of the gunk. "It doesn't matter. Where did it go? Did you see it?" he panted, resting his hands on his knees.

"No, I heard you calling my name. Then I heard a howl. That's when I took off to find you."

If Sam could see his brother's face, he would've noticed it was slightly panicked. "Sam, it was right behind me, it…" Dean began, but was interrupted when the beast in question leapt from a tree branch and landed in front of them. It swung its arm out, colliding with Sam's shoulder, knocking him far over into a tree. The werewolf then grabbed an unsuspecting Dean by the shoulders and threw him over his head. Dean spiraled a few times before landing with a loud grunt on his front.

The werewolf howled with fury, flexing out its claws, admiring its prey.

Dean rolled over and his eyes widened. "Sam, your gun!"

Sam groaned sitting up. He saw the werewolf rapidly approaching Dean, who began to crawl backwards. He reached behind his back to retrieve his weapon. It wasn't there. Alarmed, he patted his jacket and jean pockets, but still his gun was nowhere to be found.

The moon revolved to a spot, illuminating the patch of woods. Sam could see a little easier. The creature was mere feet away from making Dean into mincemeat. He got to his feet and immediately tackled the beast. Angry, the werewolf snarled hopping up. It grabbed Sam by the lapels of his jacket and tossed him again. Dean tried to get up in the time his brother distracted the fiend. But suddenly the werewolf launched in the air, landing on Dean's chest, pinning down his shoulders.

Dean coughed as the beast's massive weight nearly caved in his chest, expunging all air from his lungs.

The werewolf smiled maliciously exposing its meaty chunk-filled teeth. It sunk its claws into Dean's shoulder, securing him in place. Dean cried out in pain when he felt the pinprick of the nails slice his skin. The werewolf lowered its face, heading for Dean's throat, salivating at the pumping action of his jugular.

Sam rolled over and saw the beast on top of his brother. A gut-wrenching fear filled his heart and he threw out his arm. "NOOOOO…"

The werewolf's electric blue eyes suddenly widened. It gasped and abruptly sat up, clutching its chest. Dean's brow furrowed in confusion. He glanced at Sam and saw his hand extended for a brief second before lowering it. The werewolf coughed and gasped, the veins among its head bulging to three times their normal size, threatening to burst. Then it fell over on its side, dead.

Sam was stunned. It died. Just like that. Intrigued, yet cautious, he quickly got to his feet and strolled over. Dean gradually lifted himself up, giving Sam a peculiar look. Sam returned the puzzled look, peering down at the werewolf as it slowly began transforming back to human.

Little did the boys realize that a miracle had happened. Yet, they would never expect that something natural would happen to a supernatural creature. Due to the poor choice in victims with high cholesterol intake, and his own unhealthy habits in his life, his excitement for his next kill put the werewolf's blood pressure into hyperactive, effectively breaking off a piece of plaque built up in his arteries. Ultimately, it created a clog, and the poor beast died of a heart attack.

The boys continued to gaze at the man in interest. They had no explanation of what killed it, but Dean developed a strange feeling.

"Come on, let's go," said Sam walking away, completely unaware of his brother's glare at his retreating back.

The motel was a lovely sight. Decrepit, and in much need of repair and heating, but in Sam's eyes, it was a little peice of heaven. Sam stumbled through the creaky door, exhausted after the hunt, tossing his backpack haphazardly over onto the far-side bed. He was still pensive, still curious about what just transpired. He slumped down on his bed thinking of the possible scenarios that could've led to the werewolf's demise, raising his foot on one knee and lengthening the strings off his boot. Dean walked in a minute later fumbling with his keys, leaving the door open. An icy breeze blew through, stinging his face.

"Dean, you left the door open."

Dean gave him a scornful look. He replied with, "Why don't you tap into that bag of mind tricks again and close it. That oughta do it."

Sam looked up, surprised. "What?"

"You heard me."

His answer had that low, venemous tone he'd adopt when he was really, really pissed off. It took Sam by surprise. He knew Dean was quiet throughout the return trip home, but he hadn't surmised he was simmering about something. Sam stopped taking his boot off and stood up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what that means."

"What the hell is wrong with you? Did you eat a bad burger again?"

Dean became cocky. "I'm shocked you don't know, Mr. Mind-Reader and all. I've got twenty to bet that's the next new trick you come up with."

"Enough with the attitude!" Sam half-shouted, his temper besting him. "You juiced or something? Are you going to tell me what's the matter with you, or am I gonna have to beat it out of you?"

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You used it again, didn't you? Didn't I say you have to stop?"

"Used what? What are you on about?"

"Don't play dumb. I saw your hand out, right as that thing died."

"Whoa, that's what has you so pissed off? You think I used my Jedi mind powers to off the bastard? Dude! This paranoia has got to stop! Every time there's something you can't explain, that's the first conclusion you jump to!"

"So you didn't send out some unintentional juice and fry the guy? Cuz it sure looked like it to me."

Sam squared his shoulders. "No."

"Don't lie to me Sam," Dean demanded angrily.

"I'm not," Sam shouted back.

"How is it that I don't believe you right now?"

"Because you're erratic, senseless, delusional, and sometimes have a propensity for jumping on the high wire without any intention of coming back down. Especially when Jack Daniels is involved! You're so afraid now, it's ridiculous. I don't even know who you are anymore." He was breathing quite heavily. This last spiel came out all in one steady stream of derisive word vomit, and it actually felt rather relieving.

Dean appeared stone-like. The very look he would have when he was both hurt, and angry. "Well, last I checked that's a double-sided mirror. We start hunting again and the first thing that's made crystal clear to me is my brother has become the very thing we live to hunt. Talk about an eye-opener? Who knows what type of verbal garbage that skanky black-eyed bitch told you. And the worst part is, you were stupid enough to believe her."

Sam clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring. "Shut up. I told you, I did what I did because I felt it was the best way possible at the time. And yeah, I put my trust in a demon. She has saved my ass more times than I care to count these last five months. That's more than what I can say for you after you came back. Everywhere I turn, you have a nice little siesta with Jim, Jack, and Jose. Not exactly ideal on a hunt."

Dean shrugged. "Just a little something to handle riding with you again. Not sure when you're going to hop on the crazy train and send bolts of lightning down, or with just one wave of a finger, destroy an entire city, or kill people just by thinking it..."

Sam paused, realizing the meaning of that last statement. "Is that what I am to you? A rogue X-men character? A sleeper cell that can attack at anytime, anywhere. And you're just there to keep an eye on me. Ready to euthanize me the second I go darkside. Is that it?" At his brother's failure to respond, he laughed. But it wasn't a hearty chuckle of relief; more like a "oh-what-the-hell, you've-got-to-be-kidding-me?" cackle of disbelief. "Wow, this is so much more screwed up than I thought."

"What did you think? Of course, I'm keeping an eye on you. It's not just you I'm worried about. I told you Sammy, anymore, and Cass won't have any issue in coming down and smiting your ass. Just one object levitating in this room. That's all it takes. You told me you would stop. Hell, you also told me all you can do is just exorcise demons-"

"AND THAT'S ALL I CAN DO!" This argument was beginning to strike a nerve. "Get that through your pompous head. Demons, okay? I use my powers-at-be to kill demons. I haven't killed anybody. Nor do I want to kill anybody. But-" he paused, huffing. "You know I knew this was a mistake. I knew you wouldn't understand."

Dean huffed. "What's to understand Sammy? You went down the wrong path, and I don't have any faith whatsoever of you coming back. I thought I could, but after tonight, the slope is just too damn slippery. I can't believe I went to Hell for this..."

"Excuse me? You're not pulling the empathy card. It won't work. What you see is that if you were still here and had never gone to Hell, you would be big brother and keep me locked up, nice and tight. Keep me away from anything that might trigger something. Is that what you were doing before you got ripped to shreds? Is that what you had Bobby do? All of this was just to force me from becoming one day what you always thought I would be."

There was that stone-like expression again. Then he licked his lips: a classic Dean mannerism that proved Sam right. And then he said the clencher, "Yeah. 'Fraid so. I promised Dad..."

"You promised Dad to kill me if things went sour. Are we at that point Dean?"

"You tell me Sam."

Sam's jaw clenched. "No, no we're not. But your face says it all that you're not sure. It doesn't matter what I do from here on out. You'll always be unsure, and that's why you're angry. You can't trust yourself either."

Now it was Dean's turn to square his shoulders. "Again with that two-way street. Trust? How exactly am I supposed to trust you? I come back and you're doing the exact thing you told me you wouldn't do. And now that I found out you lied…"

"And I told you the reason why. It's for reasons like this," Sam explained vehemently.

"Yeah, and you also told me never again. You said it was like playing with fire. Those were your words. And the more you're enticed to do so, the more likely you're going to use them. I told you if I can't save you Sammy…" he paused, not knowing what else to say. "What am I supposed to do? Kill you? Is that what you want? Cuz the path you're going down is exactly where it is going to lead up. You're going to be on the other side of the gun."

"And I keep trying to tell you I won't let it go that far, and I haven't. You know, I've had enough," Sam shook his hands erratically beside his head. He shook his head. "Things were so much better without you."

Dean looked up.

"That's right, you heard me," Sam continued angrily. He was indifferent to all what was said from now on. He had no control. "You think now that you're back that I'm just going to bow down to you, ol' glorious leader…like you're the boss of everything. You can't handle that I was alone for a while, taking care of myself. You can't stand it that I don't need you anymore. I can do things on my own without big brother hovering over my back…"

"Sam, shut up."

"No, you shut up," Sam interjected fiercely. "You know, now that I'm starting to think about it, I'm really starting to appreciate the time when you were gone. I was on my own, doing whatever I wanted to without seeking you for approval. I was saving people without you looking at me like I was some kind of freak. And you know what else, it felt good."

Dean huffed, obviously disappointed that the argument turned a full 180 degrees. This was not how he imagined the argument would lead, but now it was clear what the brothers were secretly keeping to themselves. He never realized it was this harsh. "Is that really how you feel?"

"Yeah," answered Sam. Sure, it was a lie, but in that moment he wanted to cause his brother as much pain as Dean had caused him. Sometimes words can cut deeper than actions and this was one of those circumstances.

"Fine. Be your own boss, Sam," Dean said softly. "Do it on your own. I quit," he remarked bending down to retrieve his forest-green duffel bag that he conveniently forgot to unpack when they had checked in.

Sam stomped his foot. "You can't quit. I QUIT," he screeched, unintentionally releasing an insurmountable wave of energy. At that moment, the door suddenly slammed shut with a loud 'bang'. Both brothers stood frozen to the spot, unsure of what just happened. Sam couldn't explain where the wave of energy he unleashed came from, but he instantly knew from the distraught look on Dean's face, that he just screwed up, lost Dean's trust without the promise of ever gaining it back.

"And that, Sam, is the reason why the two of us, it won't work." Dean said solemnly.

Sam's mouth opened and closed, no words forming. "Dean, I…Dean, I didn't…" Sam managed to say, but it came out like he was an innocent child.

His stutters fell on mute ears as Dean tossed his duffel over his shoulder, exiting, slamming the door shut.