Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters

Author's Note: This is another story from my previous account, so hope you either enjoy this for the first time or re-enjoy it! :)

"Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with the that man. I mean, hell, you picked a fight the last time you ever saw him. And now that he's dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry Sam but you can't. It's too little, too late."

Dean's words had cut deeper then Sam ever wanted his brother to know. Part of the pain, Sam knew, came from knowing that Dean was right. But what was he supposed to do? Try to keep going the way they always had? Act like Dean and pretend it wasn't a problem?

Sam had never felt this horrible after Jessica's death. Sure the guilt had threatened to drown him, but Dean had always been there to help him back onto his feet. Now Dean barely talked to him. Sam wondered if Dean partially blamed him for what happened. It made sense, he'd been pondering the thought himself. Sam had been driving the car when they got hit after all...
Sam's throat clenched and he could feel his eyes burn. He turned his back on the distant form of his brother working on the impala and made his way inside Bobby's house.
Ignoring whatever Bobby was trying to tell him, Sam went down into the basement.

His feet knew the way as his thoughts wandered. Although Bobby had never told Sam it was okay to go into the panic room, he had never told Sam otherwise. Sam loved the metal enclosure that had been his safe haven so many times in the past. Was it hot inside? Yes, stifling. But it was quiet, and there was no question of whether or not he was really alone. He'd always found the place comforting whenever he needed time to think things through.
Sam stepped inside and locked the metal door behind him. His mind had already restarted the conversation with Dean on that dirt road.
"I mean this strong silence thing, it's crap. I'm over it."
"Oh my God," Dean sighed. "You know what? Just back off. Okay? Just because I'm not sharing and caring like you want me to-"
"No-no-no. That's not what this is about Dean. I don't care how you deal with this, but you have to deal with it man! Listen I'm your brother, I just want to make sure you're okay."
"Dude, I'm okay! I'm okay! Okay? I swear, the next person who asks me if I'm okay, I'm gonna start throwing punches. These are your issues, quit dumping them on me."
"What are you talking about?"
"I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. It's like, 'Oh what would Dad want me to do?' Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with the man. I mean, hell, you picked a fight the last time you ever saw him. And now that he's dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry Sam but you can't. It's too little, too late."
"Why are you saying this to me?"
"Because I want you to be honest with yourself about this! I'm dealing with Dad's death! Are you?"
'I'm trying,' Sam thought bitterly, sliding down against the cool metal and drawing his long legs close to his chest.
He had heard the disappointment in Dean's voice, seen the resentment in his eyes. It was just like his father at the hospital, telling him that if he had just killed the demon Dean would be okay, as if the youngest Winchester needed to be reminded of that.

Sam sighed, this was Dean, the big brother whose opinion he held above all others, it wasn't a punch in the gut, it felt more like a stab wound. Like someone had shoved a blade into his abdomen and was slowly turning it, never letting the pain ease up.
Sam wondered briefly if Dean knew the effects those four words had on him. 'Too little, too late.' 'Probably sums up most of my life,' he thought, closing his eyes.
First Jessica. He told her so little truth of his past, maybe if he had explained himself things would've been different. He'd had those nightmares for how long? That's right, weeks. Weeks and he never once thought to mention them to her, to warn her, and he arrived too late. Too late to save the love of his life. The one woman…he squeezed his eyes shut, banishing the thought from his mind. That grief was still too raw, it felt like the wound had been reopened when his father had passed and everything was burning and hurting all over again.
Sam couldn't stop the silent tears that now flowed down his cheeks as he curled in on himself even more.
First Jessica, and now his father...
He let the tears he had been holding back since his father's death loose, intermingled with tears of grief over Jess. In short, he was a sobbing mess and soon he was gasping for breath as the tears continued to pour down his face, unrelenting.
It was too much, all of it. Why was it his family that always had to sacrifice something? Hadn't they sacrificed enough already?

oooOOOooo

Dean walked into the kitchen and grabbed a dishrag to wipe the grease and grime from his hands, the movements so routine now he hardly had to think of them as he did them. His thoughts drifted and he turned to Bobby.
"Where's Sam?" he asked.
Contrary to Bobby's thoughts, Dean still cared deeply for his little brother. He knew that Sammy had to be hurting as much as he was. He just needed a break from Sam's constant worry and the way he always wanted to talk things out. Dean wanted a little distance right now to sort through everything that had happened. It didn't take a genius to know that his sudden medical miracle and his father's sudden death were somehow connected to each other.
"Panic room," Bobby replied, briefly glancing up from his newspaper to watch his reaction.
Dean raised an eyebrow, "Why's he in there?"
Bobby shrugged, "Been in there a good four hours though."
"I'll go get him," Dean promised, already heading towards the basement.
He had known beforehand his words would hurt his little brother, that was why he had chosen those precise words, but he never imagined they'd had this effect. He could remember trying to coax a younger Sam out of the panic roam when they were little. That place had always been his brother's safe haven whenever he and their father had an argument while at Bobby's.
"Sammy?" Dean asked, knocking on the metal door.
No response.
Dean knocked harder, "Sam! Open up!"
Still nothing.
"Sam I swear if you don't open this door-" his threat was cut off as the door opened slowly. An inch at a time. His big brother instincts started ringing, something was terribly wrong.

oooOOOooo

Sam didn't know how long he sat with his back pressed to the wall and was too lazy and tired to lift up his wrist to check his watch and find out. Gosh, he was tired, exhausted. His whole body felt like it was weighed down.

His shirt stuck to him and sweat dribbled aimlessly down his face. He tried to remember if he had eaten or drunken anything that day and was shocked to realize that he hadn't. And he hadn't had anything yesterday either. He supposed that was why he had a killer headache right then.
'Maybe that's what Bobby had been trying to tell me,' he thought absently.
He picked at a string in his jeans. He heard the footsteps coming down the stairs. Dean's footsteps and he sounded angry.

'What'd I do wrong this time?' the bitter thought crossed his mind, and he made no move to open the door when his brother started knocking.
'Go away,' Sam silently urged his older brother, 'I don't want to argue…just go away…'
Instead the pounding increased in pressure, "Sam! Open up!"
'Huh, that's a new one,' Sam commented in his mind, licking his dry lips, 'He almost sounds like Dad. Except Dad would probably just kick down the door.'
When it became clear that Dean had no intention of leaving him in peace Sam struggled to his feet.
"Oh God," he murmured leaning against the wall to prop himself up as nausea and dizziness overwhelmed him.
He started the trek to the door, black dots swarming across his vision.
"Sam I swear..."
Sam tuned out his older brother and focused on the task at hand, opening the door. It had never seemed like such a problem before. How hot was it in here anyway?

Somehow he got the door open. He leaned on the metal frame to try and hide how shaky he felt as he looked down at his brother. The black dots swarmed his vision and before he knew it he was falling. Falling forward, right into his brother's arms as the darkness overcame him.

oooOOOooo

"Shit Sammy," Dean muttered, shifting so that he could get a better hold of his younger sibling. He had expected many reactions from Sam when he had come down here, but fainting wasn't one of them, "Bobby?!" he called. Noticing with relief that Sam already seemed to be stirring in his grasp. "Hang in there Sammy," he whispered.
With Bobby's help, they managed to get Sam upstairs and stretched out on the couch. Dean gently laid his hand over Sam's forehead and was relieved to find no sign of fever. That meant that the heat must have gotten to Sam.
"I'll grab some water," Bobby mumbled, coming to the same conclusion.
Sam opened his eyes slowly and groaned, squeezing them tight once more. Dean huffed and couldn't help the fond smile that crossed his face as he swiped sweaty bangs out of his brother's face.
"'s meh faul," Sam mumbled. To anyone else the words would've been too garbled to understand, but Dean understood.
"Damn right," he agreed, "What were you thinking locking yourself in an oven for four hours?" Despite the reproachful words Dean's voice was gentle as he carded his fingers through Sam's mane of hair.
Bobby came back with a glass of water and a damp washcloth and left the boys alone once more. Dean got Sam to take a few careful sips of water before placing the cup back down on the coffee table and wiping the back of Sam's neck and forehead with the damp cloth.
"Not that," Sam muttered, his eyes still looked sort of dazed but his voice sounded clearer.
"What?" Dean asked.
"I didn' mean that."
Dean sighed, he had a feeling something like this would happen once Sam woke up. A sick, or in any way hurt, Sam always had something stored away to talk about. At times he felt greatly honored that when Sam was sick he entrusted everything to his older brother, and at other times he just felt weighed down by it all, knowing that he had let his brother down too many times to earn that trust that shown in those hazel eyes.
"What did you mean Sam?" he asked gently.
"Dad...impala...Jess..." the last name came out a mere whisper but Dean caught it and mentally kicked himself for not expecting Dad's death to bring up Jess'.
"Sam, none of that was your fault."
"It's like you said..." Sam continued as if he hadn't heard him, "Too little...too late..."
Dean paused from wiping Sam's forehead.
"Is that what this is about?" 'Of course it is,' that little voice told him in the back of his head, 'you chose those words to hurt Sam, and you succeeded. "Damn it," Dean whispered, burying his face in his hands for a second to collect his thoughts and figure out how to fix the damage done.
Sam flinched at his brother's angry tone, still too out of it to grasp his brother's body language, or how his words had effected Dean.
Dean laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, "Get some rest Sammy," he said softly, "Then we'll get some food in you and we can talk, okay?"
Sam's eye were already drooping as he whispered, "Okay."
It wasn't enough, Dean knew, it wasn't near enough. But it was a start, and that's all he needed. Neither of them were dealing, he realized. He doubted either of them could. But they would work through this like they had worked through everything else up till then. Together.

The End

*Thank you so much for reading! I'm really trying to get my old stories back on here so thank you for your patience as well. As per usual, please review if you have the time, thanks again! :)*