Authors Notes: This is a sequel to The Monster Underneath. If you haven't read that one, I suggest you go there first or this won't make a whole lot of sense! Some of you all pointed out in reviews that it needed a follow-up, and the thought just wouldn't leave me alone! Hope this satisfies!

Disclaimers: Sadly, I don't own Supernatural, I just use the boys for my own sick and twisted amusement.

Underneath the Monster

Heavy breathes and whimpers filled the small, dark space. Sam gagged as the sounds mingled and echoed in the metal room. What have I done? He was terrified and bile continued to crawl up his throat. Oh fuck. They'll kill me. His breathing increased until he was on the brink of hyperventilation.

He had given in to the madness of his demon blood and Ruby's teachings, and he had committed the most unspeakable act. Dean. Oh God, Dean. He'd attacked his wounded brother, forced what he had secretly desired from him for several years. I raped my own brother. And now I'm covered in his blood. The sweet tang of blood assaulted his nose; the thick substance was everywhere: his hands, under his nails, his stomach, thighs, groin, smeared across the lower half of his face, dribbled down his neck, on his tongue.

Bile burned higher up his throat, but refused to cleanse his beloved brother's taste from his mouth. I deserve to be punished. He'll never forgive me. He shouldn't ever forgive me. Sam had seen the horror on Bobby's face when he entered the room the brothers shared. The memory of Dean's sobs filled his ears, mixing with his own as he sat huddled beneath an old metal desk. He felt so weak and disgusting. Didn't even have the balls to leave. The haze clouding his mind had receded halfway down the stairs and shock had led him down the basement steps and into the panic room hidden in the darkness of Bobby's basement.

Sam sat curled tightly around his own naked and blood-covered body, hiding from his memories and his family. He wanted to rush back up the stairs and pray that it was all just a horrible dream or that his brother and surrogate father would forgive him for his crime. He believed that neither was likely to happen.

Bobby frowned down at the elder of the two Winchester brothers, unsure of what his next move should be. Dean's sobs had faded into whimpers and choked sighs as he struggled to draw breath. The most obvious choice was to take the boy to the hospital; Bobby was doubtful about treating the wounds to his throat. He wasn't sure about the amount or type of damage done; only that Dean couldn't breathe.

The only reason that he was still sitting on the bed was because taking him to the hospital meant that they would see his other wounds; there would be no glossing over the gaping hole in his stomach or the finger-shaped bruises, and definitely not the blood smeared on his thighs. Bobby reached over and picked up a limp hand, squeezing it tightly. It worried him that Dean hadn't once asked him about Sam; not a single question about where he was or if he was hurt. In fact, now that he thought about it, Dean hadn't said anything, hadn't even tried to protest at Bobby's manhandling to check the damage Sam's attack had done.

Dammit, Sam! Why didn't you just talk to us? God only knows what you did to your own melon, but you've broken your brother, too! The older hunter couldn't help but think that if Sam had mentioned that he was craving blood that they could have taken precautions and avoided the mess they were currently swimming in. Bobby was jerked from his thoughts when Dean's hand went lax in his own. Curses spewed from the older man's mouth as he realized the boy had stopped breathing, his lips tinged blue and half-lidded green eyes stared vacantly. "Balls," Bobby groaned, shaking the shoulder nearest to him. Receiving no response, he made a snap decision. Dean gasped in a shallow breath and let out a thin whine as Bobby wrapped him in the bloody sheet. "Sorry, boy, but you need help. I'll do everything I can to protect you both, but I'm not gonna let you die, not on my watch!"

Bobby grunted as he struggled to get Dean upright and down the stairs. The journey to the truck took forever, or at least it seemed that way to Bobby, who had half dragged, half carried the younger hunter. Dean's breathing continued to wheeze in and out, but the time between breathes was becoming more terrifying to Bobby. The boy in his arms was his son; he had felt he'd been a better father to Dean than John ever had. Look where your coddling has us now, John. You babied Sam and Dean's the one who continues to get hurt. Damn you, Winchester!

Bobby managed to fling the passenger side door of the truck open without losing his grip on Dean. He levered the young man onto the seat, slammed the door, and practically slid across the hood to the driver's side. Under any other circumstances, he would have laughed like hell. As he clamored into the truck, Dean began to list to the side, still gasping for air. Bobby watched with an almost disconnected interest as the boy's body slowly tipped until he was lying across the bench seat with his head resting on Bobby's thigh. The older hunter smiled sadly at Dean's one hand clinging to the sheet he was wrapped in while the other curled into Bobby's pant leg. "You just hold on, kiddo. I'll make sure you're safe, okay?"

He gently petted the boy's blonde hair, trying to assure him that everything would be alright. Dean's eyes slipped closed, breathing rapid and shallow. Bobby sat still for a few more minutes, simply watching the younger hunter until he felt warmth on his jeans, just below Dean's face. The older man scowled at the spreading stain of blood. "Balls!" he snarled as he started his old truck and slammed it into gear, the spinning tires flinging gravel in all directions.

Sam's head jerked up at the loud noises coming from above him. He heard Bobby's gravelly voice cursing, accompanied by several dull thuds. Sounds like he's dragging something. Or someone. He sniffled as he imagined the older hunter dragging his brother's body down the steps. His eyes widened as he heard the front door bang open and then closed again, followed by more cursing and car doors slamming. The old truck roared to life and gravel pinged off the side of the house as tires spun.

Where's he going? Is he taking him to the hospital? Sam felt some relief that his brother was alive; however, he knew that Bobby wouldn't take Dean to the hospital unless he was hurt badly or if Bobby couldn't manage the wounds on his own. Think, Sam. What did you do that could have spooked Bobby into going to the hospital? His mind reeled as he was swept back into the sensations of what had happened between him and Dean only hours earlier.

It was just sex. Nothing could have been hospital-worthy. Sam shook his head, trying to dislodge those thoughts. That was wrong; he knew it hadn't been "just sex". He had raped his brother and he had been vicious about it. That's why I'm covered in blood. He felt the crusted crimson pull around his mouth and was suddenly overwhelmed by the coppery tang. I bit him. I practically ripped his throat out.

The youngest Winchester remembered the feel of his teeth sinking in his brother's flesh, then pushing harder and deeper into muscle and tendons, and he couldn't help but shudder at the memory of Dean's screams. Bobby wouldn't want to mess with a wound to the neck. He'd get help.

Sam began to cry again as he realized the amount of physical damage he'd done to his brother. Not only had he violated him, but he'd crushed his windpipe and ripped the fresh stitches from a stomach wound. Jesus Christ! What the hell was I thinking? That doing that to him was alright? That he would want that? Sitting naked and shivering in the dark, Sam Winchester continued to destroy any self-worth he had retained and somewhere in hell, laughter carried on the darkness.

To be continued...

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