Author's Note: I thought this up on the spurr of the moment so forgive me for any mistakes!

Disclaimer: Supernatural is owned by the CW

Bloody Mary

Everything froze when Dean saw his brother on his knees clutching his heart in front of the mirror, the horrid image of Bloody Mary looming over the fallen Winchester. Thought flew out of his head as instinct took over. It was the very drive that burned to life when Sam was placed in his arms as a baby. The smell of smoke still stuck strongly in Dean's memory, marking the turning point in his life. That's when survival became second nature.

The glass shattered easily, littering the floor with glittering pieces of the mirror. Images of what followed played through Dean's head as he sat upon the creaking motel bed. It made his eyes close in anger, wishing he could have given the bitch a more painful death. What irked him further was the fact that Sam refused to even tell him his dirty secret.

Glancing at the bathroom door Dean sighed, running a hand through his blonde locks. He had an inkling that it dealt with Jessica and her death. Ever since he had pulled his little brother out of the burning building Sam has never been the same.

Nights are plagued with dreams that left the Winchester gasping for breath while the day is often filled with dazed looks and blank stares.

"Why the hell aren't you getting over this Sammy?" Dean questioned, his voice drowned out in the sound of the shower running, steam drifting from the bottom of the bathroom door.

He had purposely made the ride in his baby short, feeling Sam close up beside him while they drove away from the Charlie's house. What was more startling was the second take he did just as the ride began. He had seen something, Dean knew it. But again, Sam had learned the Winchester way, bottling up his worries till he cracked.

Dean couldn't blame him however, knowing so little about his brother's life during his time in California. It still hurt to know Sam refused to let him in. Before he could think on it a second more, the bathroom door opened to reveal the target of his thoughts clad in a dingy white towel. Water vapor spilled through the gape, swarming around Sam.

"Did you leave any warm water left?" Dean teased, smile slipping as Sam ignored him and didn't even bother meeting his eye before dashing to his bag and ruffling through for his clothes. Muscles bunched and stretched beneath the smooth skin of his back, probably as tense as the rest of him Dean would guess. Knowing he was going to get no where, the older Winchester grabbed his own bag before disappearing in the bathroom.

When the door finally shut Sam let out a breath, collapsing on the edge of the springy mattress. Tears glistened in his eyes, the ghost's words still ringing in his ears. He hated how they hit him so hard, stabbing a hole in his façade. Still pictures of his beautiful Jess on the ceiling blinded him momentarily, a hand shooting to rub his brow.

Though his eyes no longer bled, he felt as if he was hit in the head with a hammer. The dull throb had increased during the three hour drive, though he had kept the pain to himself. He could tell Dean was catching on, having always been good at reading him. The connection helped a hunt run smoothly, but made all his secrets be revealed. The concern only made him feel worse however, knowing that he could have stopped this all.

If he had only listened to his dreams and done something about it, Jessica More would still be alive and not below a grave marker. That was if they were able to salvage anything of course, the fire burning everything he had known and leaving him bare. His only means of revenge have gone cold, the trail for his Dad and then the demon lifeless as his former girlfriend.

Flattening his hand across his forehead he squeezed his eyes shut. Nothing blocked out the dirty whispers though, a tear slipping down his cheek. A part of him died with Jessica, his reality altered. He was never going to have a normal life. The demon made sure of it, taking his loved ones away from him. Who knew how long Jessica could have been alive for as she was on the ceiling?

He could almost feel the heat and smell his flesh burning. Suddenly a cool hand landed upon his shoulder, his limbs shrinking as he fell off the bed in fright. His hands softened his landing, red eyes staring at Dean.

The man had the most quizzical look on his face, hand still hovering in the air as he studied Sam. The Winchester hated the gaze, ducking his head and scrambling back into his sanctuary. The bathroom was still musty when he closed the door, leaning against the frame. Sweat had begun to sprout along his hairline, freshly shampooed locks already getting soiled.

The chaffy fibers of the towel around his waist reminded him that he hadn't even made a move to put his clothes on. Closing his eyes Sam held back a cry, sliding to the tiled floor slowly.

On the other side of the door Dean stood alert, inches from the wood as he listened for sounds of distress. He knew Sam was about to spill when he had found him motionless on the bed after coming out of his shower. His bag had been left open, clothes untouched. It was the point Dean has been waiting for, giving him the chance to help his little brother out finally.

The opportunity went out the window when he touched Sam's shoulder, the man turning into a wounded animal and darting to the bathroom so fast Dean didn't even have time to react. He had never seen that look of panic on his brother's face before now. And honestly, it scared the hell out of him. It has been months since Jessica died, and Sam was still picking up the pieces.

His dad at least had an outlet, hunting. Dean could remember the nights his dad sat cleaning his weapons and planning the next road trip. Beer had lend a hand as well, numbing some of the pain. Sam, however, had nothing other than a couple demons here and there. He always was the target, the older brother wishing he could switch places. He had least had a taste of a normal life before the demon surfaced and tainted their world.

His eyes swung to the yellow wallpaper that was peeling around the edges and the puke colored carpet below his bare feet. God, he would give Sam his white picket fence and green lawn if he could. Sam had never been made for this line of work, his brain too empathetic to take the death and despair without thinking it over.

"Sammy…" Dean called as the door opened, Sam easing out fully clothed. His gaze rose to meet Dean's for the first time all night. The blonde haired Winchester was shocked by what he saw. Orbs expressing turmoil and a jumble of other painful emotions begged him not to say a word. Opening his mouth he was immediately cut off.

"Please, don't Dean."

The voice tore at Dean's heart, his jaws snapping shut as Sam pulled back the covers on the bed beside his own and slipped beneath the sheets. His back took the brunt of the other Winchester's vision, eyes closing shut quickly.

Dean read the body language loud and clear. It screamed vulnerability, his mask falling as he found his shoulders slumping. "Please Sam, just tell me." Still, he persisted, needing to know before Sam killed himself with guilt. He earned a flinch from his brother, his legs straightening before he knew what was going on.

Sitting down softly on the bed, he inched over till his leg was flushed with Sam's back. The contact was not a lost effort, Sam slouching into it but refusing to look over his shoulder.

Seconds turned into minutes, the room staying quiet except for the commotion in the next room.

"Just let me in."

Dean froze as he heard Sam mumble something he couldn't hear. Leaning forward, he tilted his head towards his brother.

"What?" His mind tried to puzzle out the mutter but came up with nothing.

"I can't." Sam repeated, hands gripping the pillow under his chin in a white knuckle grip. Though his tone was emotionless, tears began to flow down his cheeks.

Dean swallowed, the back of his head hitting the backboard with a loud bang. His own limb settled on Sam's bicep, thumb making circles. "Alright, alright…" He said wearily, lids falling. "Even though I don't know what's going on in your head…." Nudging himself into a comfortable position, he looked over at Sam. "Know that I'm here. You're not going through this alone."

The comfort opened the flood gates, the pillow crowding around Sam's head becoming wet. If only his brother knew how alone he really was….