A/N: This only applies to the few people who saw this before; I've decided to pick this up as a story with multiple chapters. For the plot and to remove OOC actions, I've since replaced the role of the abusive girlfriend with Ruby. Previously Jessica, I thought about it and decided Ruby was a better fit.

It was raining when Sam showed up on Dean's doorstep with a black eye and a bag by his side. The poor man was drenched, as if he'd been out in this weather for longer than it took to get in and out of a car.

"Sam," Dean gasped, taking in the pathetic sight of his brother. "What the hell happened to you?"

The younger man broke eye contact, instead opting to look at a dying potted plant beside the doorframe. "Can I come in?"

Dean frowned at the obvious side-stepping of the question but moved aside anyway, figuring he would get it out of his brother that night whether or not he was in or outside of the house. Once Sam was inside, Dean locked the door and took a moment to run a hand through his short hair and clear his head. What the hell had happened to his little brother?

Sam had been distant the past couple of months, which cut deep for the brothers. They had been inseparable even into their teens and suddenly college-graduate Sam began to drift. Slowly, as time passed, Sam would ignore calls, texts, emails, and anything Dean would do to contact him.

But here Sam was, shivering and hurt. Dean wanted a name and he wanted an explanation now.

Sam had already scurried off to the bathroom to change into drier clothes before Dean could pounce. He went to start some coffee and waited with the cups on the couch. Sam took a while, longer than changing should be—like a girl picking between twenty different outfits. After Dean had finished a cup of his coffee, Sam emerged into the open. The bruises and cuts on his skin were visible now and Dean felt the anger swelling in his chest.

Dean stood abruptly from his seat, causing his brother to flinch, and demanded, "Who the hell did this to you? Sammy, answer me!"

He, however, caught the way Sam winced and took a step back, looking defensive and scared. It started to dawn on Dean that he may already know why Sam was here, bruised and battered, rather than at his own home.

"Sammy, did…" Dean's voice weakened. "Did Ruby do this to you?"

He knew he hit a nerve when Sam reached a hand to wipe at his eye.

Across the kitchen table was Dean's First Aid kit, laid out messily and taking up half the space. Sam was hunched over, trying to become smaller, with one arm laid out among the bandages and alcohol wipes. He hissed when Dean wiped at a few scattered cuts on his arm and felt vulnerable when the bandages were placed over top.

Dean did what he could to take care of the open wounds but paused when it came to the bruises. He couldn't do much for his brother's bruised collar bone or the little nail-shaped marks around parts of his arm and neck. He settled on worrying only for the black eye and retrieved a washcloth with some ice wrapped up. Sam didn't like holding the cold mass to his face and winced at the pain.

They were quiet. It was hard to talk with the tension in the air. Dean wanted to ask what happened, how long this was going on, and find out how his brother was doing besides the wounds. It was clear how broken Sam was, and he let it sit in his throat to save his brother more pain.

"You can take my bed," Dean said, breaking the silence. "You're too tall for the couch."

Sam didn't break a smile like Dean had hoped. "Thanks."

Then the ringing began. Sam's phone was quickly pulled from his pocket and Dean took note of the cracked screen. An image of Ruby popped up and Dean snatched the phone when Sam went to answer it.

"No," he said firmly. "I'm not letting that bitch talk to you and cause more damage."

"You're not Dad," Sam said, a hint of defiance in his voice. "She's my girlfriend and I'll make my own decisions!"

"Your ex," Dean said sharply. "You're not staying with some psycho bitch who likes using you as a punching bag!"

Sam just turned his head and tried to hide the hurt expression on his face and the sudden tears threatening to fall. He hated himself. He was a man and he was the abused one! He knows woman can abuse, too, but it was so unreal. Even when Ruby was throwing glasses and plates at him, it felt surreal. She loved him, she always said she loved him, and she hurts him. She likes to hurt him.

Dean turned the phone off and pocketed it for himself. "I'm not exposing you to your abuser and that's that," he said through clenched jaw.

"Men aren't supposed to be abused," Sam said weakly, staring at the floor and flexing his hand to bring back the sting of the cuts up his arm. Dean felt stabs of sympathy in his gut at how humiliated and betrayed Sam must have felt.

That night was a struggle. Sam couldn't handle being alone; the images of the past day and the months leading up to it flashed in his head.

"Sam," she said sweetly. "I want to spend more time with you. I feel like I come second, after your brother."

"Dean calls you too much. What grown men are so codependent? It's sad."

"Your hair is almost longer than mine. Soon you'll be the woman here, haha."

"Do you always have to talk about your dead mom? Jesus Christ, you're a broken record!"

"You're lucky to have me. No one else would put up with your whining!"

"I swear to God, if I catch you talking to that brother of yours one more time, you'll regret it."

"You're a pathetic fucking orphan! I'm the only family you've got so you better start fucking appreciating it!"

It caused aches deep within Sam's stomach and he felt like he'd get sick. The abuse started as small pinches, to slaps, to hitting, to throwing things at him. Ruby was just stressed, Sam was needy, Dean needed to stop intruding on his life with these weekly calls.

But he knew better. He knew what was happening and was too scared to try to do anything. She had done a number on him, making him believe he really was needy. He was convinced he was unlovable and she was his only chance at happiness—as long as he stopped fucking everything up.

Dean could hear light sobbing from his spot on the couch and couldn't ignore it any longer. The blanket over his legs fell to the floor and he got up, pausing to listen if the sobbing would stop. It didn't, so he approached the door. He didn't bother to knock and instead invited himself in, knowing Sam needed him but would only push him away.

Dean sat on the bed and Sam's breathing became irregular as he tried to stop the sobs. They didn't talk at all, it wouldn't have done anything to help at such a raw time. Instead, Dean laid a hand gently onto Sam's shoulder and rubbed. The touch was comforting and Sam craved more, having only been handled roughly since Ruby caught him reading an email from Dean weeks before.

To Dean's surprise, Sam sat up and weakly wrapped his arms around him. It was an embrace he needed so desperately. As Sam sat there, leaning into his brother's protection, he almost felt okay.