Okay, so this is my first official Supernatural story. I don't know where this came from. Dean just needed to be taken care of by Sam, okay. It's not my fault. Blame Dean. I guess you could blame Sam too. He likes to take care of Dean, you know. Anywhooo, this story will not be Wincest, just a lot of brotherly loving. Enjoy!

Also, just as a quick warning. There is mild adult themes. There is a very vague description of sexual assault in this chapter, and it probably will not get too much more detailed in future chapters.

Note: So decided to update this chapter. The only thing I "changed" was the beginning. There is a bit more description and extra dialogue. I thought it flowed a little better.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural nor any of its affiliates.

"Wishing you weren't too proud to beg, Dean?" A laugh danced across the walls, swirling and blending into the screams that reverberated through the room.

The voice grated on his ears, and unconsciously he cringed. He hated that voice. Hated the maddening sing-song quality of it. Fucking worse than nails on a chalkboard. "Bite me," Dean managed to choke out.

Another infuriating laugh. "See. This is why I could almost like you, Dean. Almost being the key word there." A gentle hand ran a finger along his jaw. "You have such an irrational amount of…what's the word? Spirit maybe? Determination?" Footsteps gently tapped across the floor.

Dean tried to smirk. "I like to think of it as bravery."

"Bravery?" the voice spat. "You think you're being brave, Dean? Think you're being a good little soldier and showing no fear?"

"I think I'm doing a damn good job of it," Dean countered.

The voice got closer, and Dean could feel the hot breath hit his face. "This little charade isn't going to keep you from getting killed. Bravery is a sham, Dean. You can pretend all you want, and you can keep telling yourself to be brave, but just know, it's a sorry excuse people like you use to pretend that they're not scared shitless. To pretend they're not already broken. You're broken, Dean, and the sad thing is, you don't even realize it." Lips grazed his ear. "So keep pretending. This still ends the same," the voice whispered.

To his dismay, a shiver ran down his spine just as the footsteps began to recede. "Why haven't you killed me yet then?" Dean called out, ignoring the sane part of himself that told him to just shut his mouth.

"In a hurry?" the voice was back in his ear.

"Just wondering why you're dragging this out. Demons typically cut to the chase and that's that if you know what I mean," Dean breathed.

The demon chuckled. "Is that what you think? That fact is, any demon with a shred of patience would be doing the exact same thing I am. A slow and painful death is what you deserve, Dean." It pressed a knife to his chest, tracing imaginary patterns over the damaged flesh.

The muscles in his abdomen tensed. "I could say the same about you," he muttered before mentally kicking himself.

"Ah well, agree to disagree," the demon sang, smiling as it tore open an old wound with the tip of the blade.

Dean's lips formed a hard line as he fought to keep any cries of pain at a minimum. He had already given too much away as it was. The knife traveled across his torso, and he bit down on the side of his cheek, hard.

"Can't talk anymore?" There was a quiet sigh, and Dean was vaguely aware of the sound of a knife being sharpened. He coughed to hide the cry that threatened to push its forward. He just needed to breathe. Breathe and go somewhere far away in his mind. It wasn't hard since he could already feel the merciful hands of unconsciousness tugging at the edges of his mind. When the knife plunged into his abdomen, darkness quickly consumed him.

He couldn't have slept long, he decided as his muscles were brutally shocked awake.

"Rise and shine." Cold water. Ice cold water.

Dean gagged, choking on the water that had drained into his throat. He pulled on his hands that were bound above his head, straining to get his footing on the floor again. He heard the sickening pop before he felt it. Red hot fire consumed his shoulder, and his vision blurred. His stomach churned, causing a wave of nausea to wash over him. Shit. More ice cold water drenched his skin. More choking, and this time he couldn't stop the onslaught of drying heaving. Water. Choking. Dark.

He thought about begging this time. Thought about it for almost a full second before, "Screw you," tumbled off his lips.

There was a sigh. "That big mouth of yours keeps you sane, doesn't it?" He didn't answer. "That's what you cling to because it's all you have left. Am I right, Dean?" He closed his eyes. "Oh speechless now, are we? That's a first," the voice whispered in his ear. "I can change that." Dean could almost hear the smile.

Suddenly he felt cool metal glide across his abdomen. It was a pole or bat of some kind. He tensed.

Do not beg.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut as the demon whispered something in his ear and then laughed. He felt hands pull at the hem of pants.

Do not beg. Don't you dare beg.

He swallowed back the bile that had risen in his throat. Shit, where was Sam? He couldn't. He couldn't. A lump clogged his throat, but he swallowed it back down. No. Sam would find him. He just had to hold on. Just hold on.

Without warning, a sharp pain shot up his spine. It felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside. Hot tears pricked the corners of his eyes. Fuck. Please, Sam. Please.

Pain.

Pain and more pain.

Consciousness sucked.

"I can kill you if you beg."

Death. Death sounded nice. It sounded so much easier. "You could try," but Dean was programmed to fight. Fight to the end. He smiled. It probably wasn't that far off anyway.

SNSNSN

The next time Dean woke he felt much lighter. A good lighter. His shoulders weren't aching as much and the throbbing in his neck was almost gone. Weird. He could tell he was still chained up because he could feel the cool metal rubbing into his already raw skin. He could deal with this though. A little bit of chaffing around the wrists was – wait. Why was the chain moving? Dean tried to focus, tried to bring his muddled thoughts together. He felt a hand graze his own, and then a frustrated, "Shit." Did he say that? No, he wouldn't of been able to talk that loud. His throat was too dry. Then wha –

Oh.

Oh.

Someone was trying to cut him down.

He noticed the arm loosely wrapped around his waist that was trying to support some of his weight. What the hell? Why were they moving him? What now? What the fuck now? He tensed slightly, pulled back a little, but his muscles protested in response to the sudden movement, and he groaned slightly.

"Dean. It's okay. It's me. It's me." A hand cupped his cheek. He flinched, but he knew that voice. Right? He couldn't think, but it sounded so familiar. Who?

"I've almost got it. Just hold on. I'm gonna get you out of here."

Out? This voice was going to take him away from here. He was leaving? No. No, it was dream. It had to be. The only person that-

Dean choked back a sob. "Sammy?" Please, please, please.

"Yeah, Dean. Everything's okay now."

He let his body relax then. Sam was here. His Sammy would take care of him now. He heard a click, and then his arms fell to his side. He winced slightly. God, how long had it been? The world was spinning somehow through his closed eyes. It needed to stop because he was going to be sick soon if it didn't. He let his head fall onto the mass next to him, and then when the spinning finally slowed Dean opened his eyes. Sam was looking at him anxiously. His eyes were rimmed red. "It's good to see you," Dean whispered.

Sam tightened the grip he had around Dean's waist. "You too." He gave a half smile, but then his face darkened again. "Can you walk?"

Dean thought about the question for a second and then, "I don't know."

Sam bit his lip. "Okay. That's okay." He shifted his weight in order to better support Dean. "We can try."

Dean nodded. He could do this. One foot in front of the other. Simple. He took a step….and his leg gave out. Yeah, maybe not so simple. He took a couple of calming breaths. Why did everything have to hurt so fucking bad?

Sam glanced at him anxiously. "Dea-"

"M'fine, Sam," Dean mumbled. Because really. Everything was fine now.

Sam swiped at his eyes. "I think…I think I can carry you," he whispered.

Dean thought about it for a second. He knew Sam expected him to say no, but everything hurt so bad, and he just wanted to get out of this place as quickly as possible. He nodded his head. "Yeah, okay."

Sam cleared his throat and swiped at his eyes again. The hell, Sammy, Dean thought. Okay, so he looked like crap. Well, maybe slightly worse than crap. Did shit have a higher ranking than crap on the holyhellwhathappenedtoyou scale? Maybe. Sam hoisted him over his shoulder. "Shit," he groaned. No, shit should definitely have the highest ranking. Or maybe fuck. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck." Oh god, make it stop. Make it stop now.

"Sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry." Sam kept repeating. "Almost there. I promise."

An eternity later, and Dean concluded Sam had lied to him. Almost was not fast enough. "Sammy. Sammy please stop." He knew his voice sounded like he was about to cry, but he couldn't actually bring himself to care. He couldn't do this anymore.

"It's right there, Dean. Right there."

Dean opened his eyes. Stars. Oh look, they were outside. When did that happen? The car door creaked open, and Dean braced himself. Sam moved him as slowly as humanly possible, but it still caused him to bite back a moan. He bit down on his bottom lip until it started bleeding. Sam ran over to the driver's side and launched himself into the car.

SNSNSN

Okay. Okay. Hospital. Hospital. Dean made a whimpering noise as the car hit a bump. A whimpering noise. A fucking whimpering noise. Sam tightened his grip on the steering wheel. There was a knot in his stomach. Dean groaned, and the knot started to claw its way up his throat. No, he could not be sick. Not now. Not right now. Dean groaned again. Shit.

Sam put on the radio. Some stupid AC/DC song that Dean had left playing before he had….disappeared was on.

Sound of the drums beatin' in my heart. The thunder of guns tore me apart.

Yeah, not this song. He skipped to the next track.

"Music, Sam. Really?" Dean murmured incredulously.

Sam sighed, "I just…I need…" he trailed off. I need to not think for a second.

Dean saw how white Sam's knuckles were. "Yeah," Dean said softly, "I get it." Dean stared out the window and focused on breathing. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and god it hurt. It felt like he had been lit on fire. Or worse. In. Out. In. Out. He just needed to lay down. Lay down in a nice soft bed. Wait. His eyes widened. "Sam, where are we going?"

"Hospital."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Dean, you can't be ridiculous!" Sam yelled as he ran a hand through his hair.

"No hospitals, Sam." The tone of his voice was even, calm almost, and that scared Sam. Calm meant there was no arguing. None.

Sam cursed.

Dean continued to stare out the window. "Look, you can check me over at a motel, and then if you think I absolutely have to I'll go to a hospital. Okay? Please, Sam."

Sam tightened his grip on the steering wheel further. "Okay."

"Good."

Sam let out a harsh breath.

Dean moaned.

Sam turned up the radio.

Tell me what you thought! Now, I know Dean seems in relatively good shape considering, but once all of the shock and adrenaline wears off, he's going to have a lot of inner demons to deal with. I don't have it all planned out, but hopefully this goes where I want it to, but who knows with Dean and Sam. I do hope you stick around for the ride though! Reviews are always appreciated.