Note: Ya I know. It's a day late. But I've been late for every single thing my entire life, so it only makes sense that reality would transfer to my writing life. In my defense this wasn't supposed to exist. I didn't decide to write it until like 11pm and now it's 6am and look what happened.

"Alright, Sasquatch. Time to get you to bed, kiddo."

"Hmm?"

Dean chuckled at his little brother's hummed response. The kid's eyes had been drooping since the end of the fireworks display – the starry sky not captivating enough to keep Sam nearly as alert as the exploding colours had been.

"Let's go, off the top of the shitty car. We need to get back to Bobby's before the old man sends the cavalry out to collect our asses." Dean insisted, nudging at the slimmer frame.

"Just cause it's not your car, doesn't mean it's shitty, Dean." Sam stated with a chastising stare as he slowly slid off the hood of the vehicle.

"Yeah, it does." Dean countered, watching as his little brother folded his long limbs into the passenger seat, frowning at how clumsy the process appeared – the kid was exhausted, sure, but he was usually a little more graceful than that.

"Don't worry. You'll fix her." Sam encouraged, patting Dean supportively on the shoulder once the older boy dropped down behind the wheel.

"Yeah, I'm working on it."

"I know." Sam concurred, his head bobbing in a groggy nod.

"I'll be able to get a lot more done once the trunk lid arrives." Dean mumbled, grimacing at the jarring drive out of the field and onto the road, the old clunker had no shocks.

"That's good." The younger man said through a yawn.

"Well, it's progress anyways." Dean grunted.

"That's good. Progress is good." Sam parroted, sounding very near loopy.

"How about you get some shuteye, buddy. Your firework show took us about an hour out, so you might as well get in catnap."

Sam made a non-comital noise in his throat, but not three minutes later the kid was curled up against the passenger door, eyes closed and breathing steadily. Dean twitched a smile at the sight, but a moment later was pressing his lips into a thin line as he tried to think of the last time he saw his brother getting any rest.

They were sharing Bobby's spare room, but Dean hadn't seen the kid sleeping in his designated bed furthest from the door since they'd arrived at the hunter's house. Dean had been first to bed every night, working on the car until it was too dark or he was too damn exhausted to be of any use, at which point he would return to the house, hop in the shower and then straight to bed. He would wake with the sun in the morning, but had never noticed Sam's presence in the other bed – though the sheets were rumpled every day so it was hard to tell if they had been utilised at all.

Dean clenched his jaw, trying to think of any morning he had even bothered to roll to the right to even check if the kid was in his bed – but he couldn't recall ever looking. Something that left a sick feeling in his gut.

Just how inattentive had he been as of late?

That question had Dean's mind turning in circles, his jaw clenching, and his stomach churning all the way back to the salvage yard.

He pulled up close to Bobby's front porch – not wanting the over-tired baby giraffe in the passenger seat to have to stumble too far in the dark.

"Wakey-wakey, sleepy-head." Dean prompted, gently nudging the man to his right.

Sam flinched, jerking into consciousness, a wince flashing across his expression – something that had his big brother scowling.

"I'm up." He slurred, wiping a hand over his face as he owlishly took in his surroundings.

Dean squinted, studying the kid, but he was only given a moment to do so before Sam was pushing open the door and leveraging himself stiffly out of the vehicle. Dean followed suit and exited the car, moving swiftly around the front to grab Sam's elbow as the kid wobbled up the front steps. He wanted to peg his brother's lack of coordination on exhaustion – but a part of him was sensing that wasn't the whole story, the part of him that was forever attuned to his kid, the part that he had been desperately trying to shut the fuck off since John had died.

Because Dean couldn't handle his own pain let alone his and Sammy's combined, and he couldn't see his little brother's agony and not do anything to help it – but he was in no position to heal Sam's hurt; so instead he tried not to see it, which involved shutting down the piece of his soul that was always concentrated on his kid. He hadn't imagined he could ever be successful at such a venture, but his absolute confusion as to the current state of his little brother showed Dean that he had clearly done a better job at shutting Sam out than he ever thought possible.

And with that realization came no relief, just frustration and distress.

"It's about damn time."

Dean looked from where he was focussed on Sam's slow climb up the front steps. Bobby was standing behind the screen door, arms crossed and frown firmly set in place – the hair he had left slightly askew thanks to the lack of a baseball cap.

"Never heard of a firework display that went on for five hours." He grumbled, pushing the door open as the brothers finally arrived on the top step.

"Yeah well, Sammy wanted to go seventy-five miles out of town for the show."

"Was the closest one." The youngest hunter grumbled as he stepped into the house.

"That still leaves two hours unaccounted for."

"Didn't know we were being timed." Dean grunted with an eyeroll, nudging his little brother towards the stairs that lead up to the spare room.

Bobby rolled his eyes, mumbling something less than charitable under his breath as he marched into the kitchen.

Dean frowned as Sam made to move towards the couch.

"Wrong way, dude. Bed is that way." He stated, grabbing the pair of bony elbows and pointing the tall frame back towards the stairway.

"I was gonna watch some TV." Sam explained, hesitating at the first step.

"Not a chance, slugger. Your over-tired ass is getting into a bed right now."

Sam scowled over his shoulder, his mouth opening in what was an obvious protest.

"Now, Sam." Dean adopted his most parental tone, leveling the taller man with his best 'cut-the-bullshit' look before nudging him forwards.

Sam released a dramatic sigh as he started shuffling up the steps.

Dean supervised the kid's slow-motion ascent, tensing when Sam wobbled drunkenly about halfway up, but forcing himself to remain in place when the young man steadied himself. His jaw was still firmly clenched, but legs no longer ready to book it, by the time his little brother cleared the final step and disappeared down the hall.

"Well, it's about damn time."

Dean turned to his right, eyebrows raised at the older hunter who was giving him a knowing look.

"What are you whining about now?" Dean questioned through a grunt, feeling a little too exposed under Bobby's focussed gaze.

"Boy, it ain't no secret that you've been dodging that kid since you two showed up here."

Dean wanted to counter the accusation, even though it was conveyed with not even a hint of judgement. But he couldn't. Because Dean had been avoiding Sam since John had died. He was avoiding the puppy dog eyes that oozed sympathy and understanding. He was avoiding the young man who reminded him of John's last and final order and how goddamn insane it was. He was avoiding the boy who was looking to his only remaining family member for answers that Dean didn't fucking have.

He was avoiding the kid who was all forgiveness and love and was refusing to place any blame on or express any anger towards the man who had made him an orphan. They both knew why John died, and it wasn't no damn heart-attack. It was Dean's fault, but Sam never looked at him with anything but compassion in his hazel gaze.

Dean was avoiding that compassion because he didn't fucking deserve it.

But Sam didn't deserve to be shut-out and shunned by the only family he had left.

"C'mon now, son. Ain't nobody blaming ya. You' been grieving." Bobby said, his gruff tone suggesting that Dean had let some of his guilt to seep through his expression.

"Yeah, well so has Sam." Dean dismissed, not allowing his transgressions to be so easily absolved.

"Maybe."

Dean frowned at the response. "What do you mean by that?"

Bobby shrugged, as he moved closer. "Hell, I don't know. The kid is quiet in just about everything he does, always has been. I'd imagine he's the same way with his grief, so maybe he's going through it. He's a hard read, you're the only one who would really be able to tell. But he's been so laser focussed on you, I'm not sure he's dealt with anything else."

Dean pressed his lips into a line as he looked up the stairs, eyes on a dark hallway, but his mind on his little brother.

"I figured he was dealing. He was letting me be, so I figured we were both just dealing." Dean rasped, realizing that perhaps he had done too much assuming as of late.

Bobby snorted, attracting Dean's gaze once again. "He's letting you be all right, but not because he's occupying himself with anything. Anything other than making sure that you've rested and eaten and got all the parts for that precious car of yours."

Dean raised an eyebrow. He had known Sam was the one leaving his lunch and dinner on the work bench everyday – originally he had thought it to be his surrogate uncle, because the food never came with a mandatory chick-flick session, but the way each meal was made perfectly to his liking he knew it had to be prepared by the person who knew him best.

"He goes out every night after you've finally dragged your over-worked ass inside and up to bed, picks up the dishes you're always leaving behind and if there's any food left the kid goes out to the store the next day and finds food he thinks will better tempt you."

Dean quirked a smile at that information, it was just so Sam – and now that he was thinking about it, he had eaten a lot of his favourite foods in the past few weeks.

"He put a rush order on that trunk lid you got coming in from out of state, because he knew you were itching for it. Found out yesterday that he could get it for you by the end of the week, but wanted to save that information for today, wouldn't tell me why."

"It was so he could get me to go to the firework show. Offering up some good news to get me in a better mood before making a request." Dean explained, knowing full-well the inner-workings of his kid brother. "He used to do it with Dad all the time." He added sullenly – both due to the thought of his father, as well as the fact that Sam was now walking on eggshells around Dean like he had with John – a fact that did not sit right with the older brother. Sam had done that dance when he needed something from their dad, but with Dean he had always been straight forward – always trusting his big brother enough to freely come to him with questions or requests.

"Clever kid." Bobby commented with a smirk.

"Yeah, maybe too clever sometimes." Dean muttered with a sigh, hating that Sam felt he had to strategically ask Dean to do such a simple thing – hating even more that the older man had considered turning Sam down and had only caved because the 4th of July was their holiday and because he'd been so damn grateful that the kid wasn't pushing him to talk about his feelings. Now that he was giving the situation an ounce of thought, Dean could clearly recall the insecure look Sam had been sporting and the timid way he had approached the workshop to pose his inquiry.

"Kid hasn't paid a drop of mind to his own health, been driving me up the damn wall."

If Bobby had wanted to re-acquire Dean's absolute focus, that was the way to do it.

"What the hell do you mean his own health?" Dean growled, sounding dangerous to even his own ears.

"Don't give me that look. I've been trying. But that stubborn idjit doesn't listen to me. Never listened much to John either. He eats like a fucking bird and he won't sleep anywhere but the damn couch and I—

"Couch?"

"Damn, boy, you can't tell me that you haven't noticed you've spent every night alone in that room." Bobby spoke, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

"He was awake every night I went to bed, I figured he just came in after and got up earlier. He's always been an early bird." Dean defended.

"That kid might be up every morning with the sun, but your ass is out in that shop before any of the damn birds have started chirping."

"So he's been twisted up on that couch every night for weeks?" Dean gawked.

"Like a pretzel." Bobby confirmed with a nod.

Dean scowled. "What is that dumbass thinking? He's going to ruin his back – he's been too tall for that couch since he was seventeen."

"I told him as much. Doesn't listen to a word I say though. I think he's afraid of waking you."

"Waking me? Sam doesn't even snore." Dean's level of confusion was climbing nauseatingly high.

"He's been having dreams."

"Nightmares?"

Bobby nodded, his expression somber.

"Dad?" Dean croaked.

"I don't know. Tried to get the kid to talk about it. No luck. I've heard him on nights when I've been up late in the study, he's not much louder than a whisper, because leave it to Sam to suffer as silently as possible."

Dean released a choked sound at the painful accuracy of that statement.

"Heard him call out for your daddy, which makes enough sense I suppose. He's called out for that girl a time or two, the one he lost."

"Jess." Dean filled in, his voice cracking – jesus, Sam had lost so fucking much.

Bobby nodded in confirmation. "But mostly – well most the times I've heard him coming out of a nightmare at some absurd hour of the night, it's you he's calling for."

The searing pain that pierced through Dean might as well have been from a physical spear for all the agony he felt.

"Anyways, you got him up into an actual bed, which is more than I've managed to do since you two showed up, so maybe you can get him to take his damn pills. He's supposed to have them at dinner but he didn't have any."

"We – uh, we got burgers before the fireworks – did you say pills? What pills?" Dean asked, feeling like wave after wave was hitting him and keeping him under, each new tidbit of information leaving him more eviscerated than the last.

"And he ate it all? I haven't gotten him to eat a full meal since—

"Bobby, what pills?" Dean snapped. He was well aware of his little brother's poor eating habits, though he made a mental note to pay them more mind going forward, but he didn't know anything about any pills. "For his headaches?" Because he did know that Sam had some pretty wicked headaches after the accident but that was to be expected post-concussion.

"No, for his kidneys." Bobby supplied, as though the words were supposed to ring a bell.

"Kidneys?" Dean balked, his stomach dropping to the floor.

Bobby squinted across the space between the two hunters, looking perplexed before realization dawned his worn features and he frowned, his stare turning apologetic.

"He didn't tell you? The doctors didn't say anything?"

"Sam didn't tell me jack-shit. And we ditched the hospital as soon as we could, as soon as we got things with Dad…sorted. What's wrong with my little brother's kidneys?" Dean bit out, his fear dressing itself in anger the way it often did.

"He's okay, Dean. It's nothing to get riled about."

"That's my fucking decision, Bobby. Now tell me what the hell is wrong with Sam." He seethed, trying to keep his voice low – wanting to keep Sam out of the conversation until he had all the information.

"You've been working on that car non-stop, you really think anyone could walk away from that with nothing more than a few bruises and a couple scrapes?"

Dean practically growled, though there wasn't even a hint of accusation in Bobby's tone, Dean still felt the remark burned into him like hot iron.

"You planning on getting to the fucking point sometime today, old man?" He spat.

The hunter scowled, visibly unimpressed by Dean's attitude, but the younger man didn't give a shit. This was about Sam.

"You want a rundown, boy? Fine. You're a little late to the party, kid, but here's your rundown. A grade three concussion that was one goddamn hair away from being a skull fracture, and makes Sam squint and hold his forehead whenever he reads for more than a few minutes – kid hasn't been able to finish a single book since he got here. A dislocated hip that was – according to his doctor – a sonuvabitch to knock back into place and keeps Sam from being able to sit still for too long, and is also probably the biggest reason that boy shouldn't be sleeping on my couch. Two cracked ribs that I'm fairly certain are healed up but it's not like the stubborn idjit ever lets me take a look at him to be sure. And a kidney contusion, which is a scary-ass way to say bruised kidney. That's what the medication is for, from what I've read on the prescription it's not much more than a powerful anti-inflammatory that should help with the pain and quicken the healing – of course the most important treatment is rest but I haven't had any luck getting that to happen – hell, I can barely get Sam to take his damn meds. But I'm sure you'll have better luck. The kid has only ever really listened to you anyways. So here, get him to take his pills." Bobby instructed, holding the small bottle out to Dean who quickly reached for it, but the older man didn't relinquish them right away. "Assuming you're okay to spend more than ten minutes in the same room with your brother." Bobby added, with raised eyebrows.

Dean drilled the hunter with a dangerous glare, as Bobby studied him for a moment before quirking a smile and releasing the pill bottle.

"Good to have you back, kiddo." He declared, patting Dean on the shoulder, giving it a supportive squeeze before moving back towards his study.

Dean nodded, feeling more at ease and sure of himself than he had in weeks, because he now had a focus. He was aware of the problem and it was finally one he could fucking do something about. His concentration was now placed on a train of thought that actually had a destination and didn't send him spiralling helplessly into the abyss.

"Oh, and Dean."

The younger man paused on the first step, turning towards the call and trying to swallow the irritation he was feeling at being kept a moment longer from the examination he had to do on his little brother, an examination that was already long overdue. He caught the small object that was being tossed his way, a question arising the moment he saw it.

"Chapstick?"

"That little brother of yours spends most of each bloody day staring out the kitchen window at the shop, chewing his bottom lip damn near raw, had to buy some of that shit because it looked painful as hell. Made me look like a bloody pansy at the store." Bobby grumbled as he meandered out of earshot.

Dean snickered at the comment before moving determinedly up the stairs.

Thankfully, Sam wasn't asleep, because Dean needed to check the kid out before ensuring the moron got himself a full eight hours, more if possible.

He found the younger man brushing his teeth in the small bathroom next to their room. The tall frame was holding itself stiffly over the sink. Dean waited for Sam to spit and rinse, standing in the doorframe with his arms crossed.

"Uh, can I help you?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised as he wiped his mouth dry with the hand towel.

"The old man was right, you do need this." Dean observed, handing over the chap stick as he stared clinically at Sam's peeling bottom lip.

"Oh, uh, thanks." Applying the balm before tossing it in his shaving kit.

"Jigs up kiddo. Bobby told me everything." Dean announced, entering the small space.

Sam had the audacity to look confused as he took a step back to accommodate his brother's intrusive entrance.

"I mean, I knew about the concussion – even if I wasn't conscious after… after the accident, I watched that bastard demon use your face as a punching bag." A shiver tore up Dean's spine as the memory of his helpless little brother being beaten into the ground flashed across his mind. "But the rest of it, your hip, your ribs—

"Dean, it's really not a big deal." Sam placated.

"Oh really?" Dean tested, pulling the pill bottle from his pocket and slamming it down on the countertop. "You wanna try that lie again?" He drawled, glaring at the taller man.

Sam at least had the decency to look mildly guilty as he eyed the medication. "It's not-

"Don't you dare. We both know bruised kidneys can go from uncomfortable to lethal in a minute. That shit has to monitored."

"I've been looking after it."

Dean barked a humourless laugh. "Sure, that's why you've been getting all that rest, huh?"

Sam opened his mouth, but Dean continued before the kid could cook up some lame defense.

"And don't even try to bullshit me on that, Bobby told me about all the sleep you haven't been getting. No shocker there though, that couch barely fits half of your sasquatch-sized ass."

"You work yourself into exhaustion all day, I don't want to keep you up at night." Sam mumbled.

"That's stupid. But we are going to get to that later. Right now, I need to take a look at you, because apparently I can't trust you to tell me the important things."

"It's not like we didn't have anything else going on." The younger man pointed out, his eyes downcast.

"Dude, I don't care if an asteroid hits the planet and kills half the population, you tell me shit like this!" Dean nearly shouted.

"You were dealing with stuff, I didn't want to bother you with this."

"I don't care what I'm dealing with! I don't care how much of an asshole I'm being or how difficult I am – you tell me. Knock me on my ass if you have to, but don't ever keep important shit like this from me again!" Dean swiftly snuffed out the spark of hypocrisy that lit up inside of him, his father's last order ringing in his ears.

"Okay, Dean. I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be secretive, or whatever. I just – I didn't want to – I'm sorry." Sam proclaimed, his tone soft and hazel eyes oozing sincerity as they focussed on Dean.

"Good. Now lift up your shirt and let me take a look."

Sam's expression twisted into a scowl and Dean was waiting for the protest he could tell was on the tip of the kid's tongue, but none came and eventually the younger man lifted the hem of his shirt, pulling the fabric up past his chest.

It didn't take long for Dean to spot the discoloration around his brother's right kidney. The pigmentation of the skin was unnatural and did nothing to soothe Dean's concern. Bruising marred Sam's chest and his left hip, some dark spots surrounded by shades of yellow the indicated the age of the injuries. Dean clenched his jaw viciously, furious with himself that he was seeing this damage for the first time.

"It's not pretty, but it's fine, Dean. Honest." Sam insisted softly, flinching just a little when Dean's fingers carefully traced the injuries.

"Yeah, well forgive me if I don't buy that. How bad is the pain? And do not lie to me."

Sam released a put-upon sigh, as though his big brother was being unreasonable – which he was definitely fucking not. "Like a four. Uncomfortable, but not overwhelming."

Dean grunted, because that sounded like a fair assessment, but it wasn't like the kid didn't have a history of underplaying injuries – it was a Winchester trait after all.

"You peeing red?"

"No, Dean." He whined, his tone reminiscent of a teenage Sam who was annoyed with his big brother's fussing. Well too damn bad. Dean was already late to the game, he certainly had no intention of forfeiting his position.

"Prove it." He ordered, straightening his posture and allowing Sam's shirt to fall back into place.

"No!" Sam replied, visibly appalled by the request.

"Oh relax, princess, I'll close the door and give you all the privacy you want – just don't flush so I can take a look." Dean reasoned.

"No. That is not happening. You're being ridiculous."

"No, that would be you. You remember when Da-Dad—" Dean stuttered for a moment but powered through to his point. "When he bruised his kidney, he spent two weeks on bedrest because it's so damn easy for that to become fucking deadly. You haven't been half as careful!"

"Fine, I'll stay in bed for the next few days if it'll make you feel better. But, really, I'm fine. I'd tell you if I was peeing blood."

"Would you?"

Sam rolled his eyes, as though the insinuated accusation was unfair. "Yes. I would. I promise." He added softly, the irritation giving way to a much more genuine expression.

Dean studied the kid for a moment, finding the honesty he was searching for before relenting.

"Fine. Now take your pills and then get your ass to bed." He instructed, filling a cup of water and holding it out to the younger hunter, watching as he swallowed his meds, before moving aside to allow Sam to exit the bathroom. "And by bed I don't mean the damn couch. By bed, I mean that mattress in the guestroom that you made a point of messing up so it would look slept in."

Sam's cheeks coloured and he ducked his head, nodding as he shuffled his way to their shared bedroom.

"Pain in my ass." Dean grumbled, slipping into the bathroom to take care of business.

He was relieved to see his little brother stretched out on the bed furthest from the door moments later when he entered the room. He rid of his jeans and switched out his t-shirt before climbing into his own bed, sighing softly as he relaxed into the mattress.

"Nightmares or not, you sleep up here in a bed for the rest of our time here. No more crashing on that couch. You're too tall for that shit."

"Yes, Dean."

"And you start eating enough to keep a sasquatch alive, no more of those bird-sized rations."

"Yes, Dean." Sam repeated.

"And take your meds on the regular like a good boy, I don't want to have to chase you down everyday and gawd knows Bobby is too old for that shit."

"Yes, Dean." His little brother sighed, the smile evident in his voice.

"Good." Dean grunted, momentarily satisfied.

"Sorry for not telling you about, you know, my kidney and stuff. I didn't mean to piss you off." Sam apologized, sounding appropriately contrite.

"What would have pissed me off was if I came in after a long day of repairing the car to find you on the floor– I mean, fuck, Sammy – what if something had happened and I didn't even fucking know! Do you even know—" Dean's jaw slammed shut, unable to even finish the thought let alone speak the words. The mere idea of Sam's death was so egregious and utterly unacceptable that it couldn't be entertained for even a second – the thought was completely rejected by Dean's body, mind, and soul.

"I get it, Dean. I do. I keep having these dreams…you almost didn't make it – I almost lost you and I- I just, I get it." Sam choked out, his emotion unavoidably evident.

Dean swallowed, committed to keeping himself together.

He wouldn't lose it. Not now. Though he knew he couldn't hold it off forever. He knew that burying all of his grief and all of his anger and all of his fear wasn't going to end well. He knew he was destined to explode and he hoped that his little brother wasn't in range when it happened. Because he didn't want to take his anger out on Sammy, the kid didn't deserve that.

Dean felt like he had so much anger inside of him that he was drowning in it. Anger at his father for leaving the way he did and the bullshit weight he put on his eldest son's shoulders before he left. Anger at himself for being the reason their dad was gone and for not being enough or doing enough to prevent all the things that had gone so terribly wrong. Anger at that yellow-eyed sonuvabitch for destroying their little family. Anger at Sam for being so fucking put together and so goddamn sympathetic and wanting to talk everything to death.

Dean wasn't an idiot, he knew all that fury was going to burst out of him – he was going to hit his breaking point.

But not now.

For now he was going to make sure his little brother healed properly.

He was going to make sure that Sam was dealing with his own grief and not simply supervising Dean's.

He was going rebuild their home, one car part at a time.

The time to shatter would come, but it was not now, not today – not on their holiday.

"Happy Independence Day, Sammy." He rasped after more than a minute, unsure if the kid was even still awake.

"Happy 4th, De." Sam whispered in return.

And in that moment Dean knew that even when the time came for him to break – he would be okay, because he still had his little brother.

And Sammy would always be enough to put Dean back together again.

The End atleast until next year.

Note: omg guys its 6am! I'm going to die today. I really hope this wasn't rubbish, I honestly can't even see straight at this point. ugh. Please reward me with a review/comment? That would be lovely! Thanks for reading! - Sam