Summary: "Demons I get. People are crazy." Sam and Dean attract the attention of said crazy people in a bar. Sam is taken and it's up to Dean to find him...again. Hurt!Sam. Protective/Brotherly/Loving!Dean.

Setting: Sometime Season 7, but before Bobby's death.

Warnings: Mild language. Violence. Torture but not too insanely graphic.

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. None of this is my property or under my ownership in any way. The first sentence is a direct quote from the show. It is found in Season 1, Episode 15: The Benders

Truer Words

"Demons I get. People are crazy."

Truer words were never spoken. Even years later they were still the absolute truth. People—regular people—were insane. Give him a Wraith or an Angel any day.

Sam was jerked back to his current situation by a slap on his cheek. He did his best to glare at his captors. Apparently he had a habit of attracting the attention of the morons in bars. Dangerous morons but morons nonetheless.

He had been with Dean at the local bar as they took a night off and relaxed. Surprisingly even Lucifer had left them alone. Well, until now where he was now hovering and very closely examining his wounds. And by that he meant that Lucifer was digging his fingers into the wounds and basically trying to rip his skin off.

Anyway, they had been at the bar. A guy had bumped into Dean's chair, making Dean spill beer all over himself. The guy, naturally, made the whole thing Dean's fault, clearly wanting a fight. Dean hadn't risen to the bait and Sam had politely told the guy to get lost. After purposely shoving Dean's shoulder and glaring at Sam, the guy had returned to his buddies across the bar. They forgot about the guy for the rest of their night.

Until they began to walk back to the motel.

Jumped by the guy and his five buddies, Dean had been hit in the head with a hammer (who the hell brought a hammer to a bar?) and he had gone down. Shocked by how much blood was surrounding his brother, Sam had froze and been taken down as well. The simultaneous punches to the nose, gut, and head had delivered him to the dark quickly.

Now here he was, two days later. He thought it had been two days anyways. His hands were held above his head with rope and then a chain. Suffice to say he had long since lost feeling in his hands and arms. His shoulders, though, were in agony. Despite the numbness, he could feel the slashes, minor skinned areas, the bullet hole, and the blood that continued to slide down his arms and down his back.

They had removed all but his boxers and he was freezing. It was winter in South Dakota and they were in some kind of rundown abandoned building.

His torso was red with blood and white hot with pain. He knew his back was the same way. The guy from the bar who was the leader and his main attacker had a fascination with knives and carving. He had either experience or medical training, though, because he knew exactly how to inflict excruciating pain without causing death.

The guy also had a sick obsession with his anti-possession tattoo. Most of the more recent torture had been towards it. The guy had slowly carved the outline into his skin and had already removed part of it. It was useless now and he just wanted the guy to move onto a different area of his body.

Actually, what he really wanted was Dean. He wanted his big brother. He wanted the brother he wasn't even sure was alive.

He couldn't help the scream when he felt a blade get brutally wedged under his shoulder blade.

"Damn it, Dean, sit the hell down!" Bobby snapped as Dean struggled to even take a step, a hand pressed to his head and his face screwed up with pain.

"Bobby, Sam..."

"I know, Dean, but you've also got a cracked skull. You won't do Sam any good if you make things worse by letting your brain swell."

"Those psychos...have...Sam...crap, my head," Dean said and fell back on the couch, his face buried in his hands.

Bobby rolled his eyes and held out the prescription drugs the hospital had given them. "Take your damn pills so you can function enough to be helpful."

Dean would have glared had the mere thought not sent a slice of white hot agony through his head. He just held out his hand to receive the three small pills. He knocked them back with the offered bottle of water and then sat completely still, waiting for the pain to go away. It only took a few minutes but he could swear he sat there waiting for thirty years.

"Better?" Bobby said dryly and Dean managed to glare. "Now, do you have anything to help find Sam?"

"I do actually. There were security cameras at the bar and I know for a fact we were in front of one when the idiots attacked," Dean said. His head was a dull ache now but it still made him want to lie down and never move again. Who the hell had a hammer with them at a bar?

"You think you can lift their pictures? Then what?"

"We do what we always do, Bobby. We hack into government files, find out who the hell these guys are, and find out where they could be keeping Sam," Dean said. "How long has it been?" At Bobby's raised eyebrow, he knew he had asked the question before but he really didn't care. He'd had his head bashed in with a hammer. He was allowed to repeat himself.

"Two and a half days," Bobby said. "You were out for a long time after the surgery."

Right. He had to have surgery to deal with the massive swelling his brain had been going through. He could feel the line of stitches on the back of his head without even touching them. God, San had been with the idiot from the bar and his friends for over two days. Who knew what they had done to Sam?

"Let's go find these jackasses," Dean said and got back to his feet. He closed his eyes at the strong wave of dizziness and nausea.

"Dean?" His eyes cracked to look at a blurry Bobby. "I can check the cameras and hack files myself, you know. You should rest."

"I-I have to find Sam." He unconsciously ground the heel of his hand into one of his eyes as if it would stop all his current ailments.

"We will," Bobby said. "However, I'd rather not have Sam pissed at me because I let you run around with a cracked skull."

Dean glared out of his other eye but Bobby saw the agreement. "Fine, but if you're not back in a half hour, I'm finding you and shooting you. You find them but we go after Sam together."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Bobby said. "Now lie down and don't move until I get back. Everything you need is on the table."

"Go, Bobby. I'm fine," Dean said and carefully lay back on the couch with a groan.

Bobby slapped a cold, damp cloth in Dean's hand before he left. "Stay."

Dean grumbled in response and draped the cloth over his eyes. He heard Bobby leave but really couldn't give the older man much attention.

"Maxwell Mags. Used to own an auto shop, went out of business. Still owns the place," Bobby said as Dean confirmed the picture of the guy that had caused all kinds of problems. "It's about a forty minute drive." Dean looked at him and Bobby snorted. "Which means it's only twenty minutes away."

"Exactly," Dean said and dropped the file. "Let's go." He snatched his jacket off the back of the couch and pulled out his keys, stalking out to the Impala.

Maxwell Mags was about to realize he had screwed with the wrong set of brothers. With Bobby beside him and the gas to the floor, they flew out of Singer Salvage and headed for Maxwell and Sam.

He had lost too much blood, he knew that. Sam's head was to the side, being held up by his suspended arms. It was impossible to focus on anything anymore though he was well aware of Lucifer's contributions.

He couldn't feel a thing in his hands anymore and even his once painful shoulders were numb. His head felt heavy and light at the same time. Blood had run into and over his eyes from the slice along his hairline. He felt the still flowing blood on his neck from the shallow but dangerous cut. It was enough to let him bleed out but didn't actually damage his throat.

It hurt like a bitch to swallow and it made him want to cough every time which was even more painful due to the small rusted dull nail that had been carefully wedged into the hollow of his throat. Again, enough to cause pain but would not cause permanent damage.

He had a couple more of the same nails in his legs and had been shot in the thigh and abdomen. The bullets had exited his body and missed anything vital.

The blade was still under his shoulder blade. The guy had broken it off in his shoulder. His right collarbone had been completely broken. Cuts of various sizes and depths covered his body, allowing him to slowly and painfully bleed out.

His tattoo was gone. The guy had literally taken it off, an idea that made him feel extremely ill. He thought he had left being skinned behind in the Cage. Apparently not because the guy had removed it. They would need Cas to heal that to stop the massive scarring. If he even got away anyways which he was seriously doubting.

He had come to the conclusion that Dean was more than likely dead. The hit he had taken had been way too hard and there had been too much blood for Dean to be able to walk away. So it was just him now. He was the last Winchester. He was just Sam now. He wasn't a brother anymore, he wasn't Sammy. He was just Sam, the guy who was slowly going insane because of Lucifer.

His thoughts were proving more damaging than the physical wounds being inflicted on him. He could feel himself fading as he gave in to his injuries and grief. What more did he have if Dean was dead? Dean had always been all he had, had always been his life. You can't exactly live if your life is dead, can you? He let his eyes drift close and indulged in his happy memories of Dean.

He barely reacted to the slice on his cheek and the snap of one of his ribs. He couldn't even open his eyes now and there was a rushing sound in his ears. He supposed this was it. He didn't know where he would go, if he would go to Heaven or Hell or be stuck somewhere completely unknown. Maybe he'd get to see Dean though if he saw Dean anywhere but Heaven he'd be devastated. Dean deserved Heaven and nothing less.

He thought he heard some different noises around him but really wasn't sure. He thought he felt ghostly touches on his face but figured it was Lucifer. His eyes remained shut as he waited to fade away completely and possibly join his big brother.

"Sammy," Dean breathed as his heart shattered at the sight of his little brother.

Sam was red, completely red. It was like Carrie except that it was Sam's blood, not pig's blood. He was sure that underneath that blood his brother was white. There were cuts everywhere, too many to count. Sam's wrists were in shreds from initial struggling and then just from the strain of holding Sam's dead weight. He had been shot three times and, in all technicality, his throat had been slit if not fatally. There wasn't a single area of Sam's body that hadn't been tortured. He had to turn away at the sight of where Sam's tattoo had once been.

"My God," he heard Bobby whisper. He glanced at the man and found Bobby had paled as much as he had.

"Cas," Dean tried to say but nothing came out. "Cas," he tried again and managed to choke out the name. There was a whisper of feathery wings and Cas was standing next to him. Dean saw Cas see Sam and his eyes widened.

"What has happened?" Cas said, clearly concerned.

"This idiot and his friends thought it would be fun to have a go at Sam," Bobby said, gesturing to the group of guys they had knocked out. Well, he was beginning to wonder if the one guy they had seen breaking Sam's rib was actually alive or not. A valid question since it was Dean that got his hands on the guy.

"Cas, Bobby," Dean said, moving to stand directly in front of Sam. "Help me get him down."

"Is he..." Bobby trailed off.

Dean glared at him but reached up a hand anyways and searched for a pulse. He felt his shaking increase as he struggled to find a sign of life.

"Come on, Sam," he muttered. "Sammy, don't you dare do this."

Then he felt a tiny flutter. It was nothing more than that but it was more than enough for him.

"He's alive," Dean announced and didn't resist the urge to touch his brother. He cupped Sam's bloody face and whispered reassurances while Cas and Bobby ensured it was safe to move him. Sam never moved or made a sound but Dean kept his attention on Sam's still extremely weak pulse.

"All right, I think we can get him down now," Bobby said, having tossed aside the broken blade in Sam's shoulder.

"Cas?" Dean said, wanting to be sure. He knew the Angel could only do so much but could at least make sure Sam could be moved.

Cas placed a hand gently on Sam's chest and briefly closed his eyes. After a few seconds he opened his eyes again and removed his hand. "He is safe to move but he is fading fast. He may not make it, not much longer."

Dean's jaw clenched. "He'll hold on if he knows what's good for him. Right, Sammy?"

They worked quickly but carefully, and were eventually laying Sam on the floor of the abandoned shop. Dean brushed Sam's hair back, wincing at the cut on his hairline and cheek. He worked hard to ignore the area of missing skin above his brother's heart as he triaged the rest of his little brother. There was a lot of damage but all was only fatal after time which had been given to Sam. He felt his eyes burn as he really took in what had been done to his brother and he never stopped running his hand through Sam's hair.

"Paramedics are coming," Bobby said, interrupting Dean's silence.

Dean nodded, never looking away from Sam. "Cas, can you do anything about his chest? Limit the scarring?"

"I can do my best."

Moving his hand from Sam's hair to Sam's leg and keeping his other on Sam's cheek, Dean looked at Cas as the Angel knelt beside them on Sam's left side. He watched Cas put two fingers to Sam's forehead and close his eyes. There was a flash of light and when Cas pulled away, the skinned area on Sam's chest was healed. There were a couple of very small, very light lines that stood as scars but it was nothing compared to what it would be without the angelic healing.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean said and Cas nodded, standing up once more. "Hang on, Sam," he whispered, once again brushing back the shaggy hair. He would never admit it but he would miss the long hair if Sam were to ever cut it. Sure he bugged Sam about getting a hair cut fairly often but, he's the big brother, he's supposed to irritate his brother.

He could hear Bobby and Cas talking but he blocked it out, making their conversation nothing more than muffled background noise. He could also hear the faint sirens that were getting steadily closer but ignored them as well. He refused to take even an ounce of his attention off his baby brother.

"You'll be okay, Sam, just hold on," he said. "Don't give up on me, Sammy. Come back, man. Hang on for me, Sammy, hang on."

The sirens grew even louder and he was soon being forced from Sam's side as the paramedics stabilized Sam enough to transport him. He was then forcing his way into the ambulance and grasping Sam's hand while they raced to the hospital, quietly begging Sam not to leave him.

They had lost him...twice. Once in the ambulance and once on the table. He still wasn't totally clear on just what Sam needed surgery for but he knew it was at least internal bleeding amongst other things. Whatever the reason for the surgery, Sam had died...twice. In the ambulance, the sound of his brother flat lining had made his own heart stop so painfully he was sure he would drop dead right there with his little brother.

They had told the truth. Told the doctors that guys from the bar decided they didn't like Sam and Dean and jumped them outside the bar, told them that they had taken Sam and, in self defence, Dean and Bobby had attacked the guys and Dean had killed the leader. He hadn't meant to kill Maxwell, at least not consciously, but it had happened. Apparently he had literally punched the guy in the face too hard. He had broken Maxwell's nose and it had been so bad that a fragment of bone had been pushed up into Maxwell's brain, effectively killing him. To the police and the doctors, it had been an accidental death and nothing was done to punish Dean. It was self defence and the man just happened to die.

Now Dean sat next to Sam's bed for the third day in a row, waiting for his brother to wake up. Bobby was there almost constantly but left on occasion. At the moment he was alone with Sam.

That first twenty-four hours had been touch and go as the doctors said and it had been torture. Dean had watched Sam stop breathing, start coughing up blood, have blood start trickling from his ears, and go into cardiac arrest. The doctors had been sure Sam wouldn't make it and had even told Dean to say his goodbyes. Sam was going to lecture him but he had punched the first doctor to suggest he let his brother go. The three others that followed had been spared his violence as Bobby had been there each time to hold him back and 'politely' tell the doctors to 'shut the hell up before they got shot repeatedly'.

With his chair pulled up right against Sam's bed, Dean had his left elbow propped on the bed with his head supported in his palm while his right hand covered Sam's. Sam had been stabilized just yesterday but it seemed to be sticking around this time. Sam was breathing on his own and was doing so normally. Any and all bleeding had stopped and his concussion was gone. Now Sam just had to wake up.

Dean blew out a breath and let his eyes drift close. He hadn't slept since the day they had found out who Maxwell Mags was when he napped at Bobby's. It hadn't been a restful sleep due to his cracked skull at the time so his last decent sleep had been the night before they had gone to the bar. In all honesty, he had no idea how long that meant he had been without proper sleep but he couldn't bring himself to care.

When the fingers under his palm twitched, he knew it had been longer than just a few seconds since he had closed his eyes. A glance at his watch showed him it had actually been three and a half hours. Impressive for being at his brother's bedside in a hospital with doctors constantly coming and going. Deep breathing also alerted him to the presence of Bobby in the chair in the corner of the room. So apparently he had slept through Bobby's return and stay since the man was asleep.

The fingers fluttered again and he whipped his gaze back to Sam.

"Sammy?"

The fingers continued to move and when he lifted his own hand, Sam's flipped over so his palm was up and he grasped Dean's hand more solidly. Dean raised an eyebrow but allowed it. Hell, he would allow Sam all the chick flick moments he wanted for the next sixth months. The rule was temporarily disbanded.

"Sam?" he said, lightly squeezing Sam's fingers laced in his.

Sam's head turned towards his voice and his eyes moved under his lids. Dean sat and coaxed his brother into full wakefulness for the next while, never letting his hand leave Sam's. He eventually reached out to put a hand on Sam's chest as further encouragement. Soon, he was watching Sam's eyes slide slowly open, barely revealing the dazed hazel underneath. Regardless of the sight, Dean smiled.

"Hey," he said.

Sam swallowed and took a few tries to get out a fragment of his intended word. "D'n."

"Yeah, yeah, it's me, Sammy, it's me," Dean said. "How're you feeling?" He snatched the glass of water with a straw from the bedside table and held it up so his brother could take a few sips.

"I'm-I'm okay, I guess," Sam whispered, his throat sore from screaming and torture and dehydration.

"You're getting there," Dean said.

"What 'appened to the guys?"

"Five buddies are in jail. Leader is dead."

Sam's eyes widened, well, as much as they could in his current position. "D'n, what'd you—"

Dean held up his free hand. "Sam, calm down. His death was quite literally an accident. I punched him and I guess it was a touch too hard. His nose completely shattered and a piece of bone hit his brain. I honestly did not mean to but I'm not going to apologize either."

"'S okay," Sam said, already falling back into a real, healing sleep. "Woulda done...same..."

Dean smiled at his baby brother again. He got up from his chair as he watched Sam slowly drift back to sleep and sat on the edge. His hip bumped Sam's thigh and he brushed his free hand through Sam's dark shaggy hair. He left his hand in Sam's grasp and left his other hand in Sam's hair, a position Bobby would wake up to see them still in two hours later.

"I know you would, Sam," Dean whispered. "You beat them, Sammy. Time to get better and head home, little brother."

He stared at his not so little brother fondly. It never failed to surprise him just how much he loved the kid.

"Rest, Sam," he hushed when Sam began to get restless. He moved his hand down to the side of Sam's neck and squeezed lightly in comfort. Sam curled the best he could towards Dean and settled down immediately at Dean's touch. He smirked at Sam's common reaction. "Girl," he muttered but he never took his hands from Sam's neck or hands, nor did he leave the edge of Sam's bed even when his back screamed at him and his body demanded sleep.

He'd catch up later with his brother. For now he still had a little bit of protecting left to do...until the next situation.

The End