Chapter Three

Dean woke up with a full bladder. He glanced over at Sam, who lay on the other bed, fast asleep. Dean climbed out of bed and unlocked the door, pushing the chair out of the way. Last night, Sam had locked their bedroom door, shoved a chair under the door handle, and salted the door and window. Dean hated to admit it, but it made him feel safe. How could he have let this happen? He should have been able to fight Marcus off. How could he have let that bastard break him down and make him vulnerable? He was a failure. A Winchester wasn't supposed to let someone get the jump on them.

Dean pushed those thoughts aside and walked into the hallway. The bathroom was at the end of the hall, but to get to it, he had to pass…the door.

Okay, no big deal… Dean thought. I can do this. It's just a door.

Dean took a deep breath and contemplated just waiting for Sam to wake up. Eventually, his bladder won out, and Dean took hesitant steps in that direction. As he got closer to his old bedroom, his pulse pounded harder and harder. He took steady breaths to calm himself, willing his eyes not to look at the door as he passed it. However, his wandering eyes got the better of him.

Stupid eyes.

The second his eyes lighted on the locked door, his memory took over. The feel of rough hands on his hips, the handcuffs digging into his skin as he struggled, the pleasure-filled moans coming from the attacker, the sobs breaking from Dean's throat, the man breaching Dean as he thrust into him, the semen running down his legs—

Dean jumped away from the door, running into a table and knocking it over. He went down on top of the table, hitting his forearm on the corner of the table. He yelled in pain as he pressed himself into the wall, trying to get away from the horrible, nightmare-inducing room.

Sam jerked awake when he heard the crash and the yell.

"Dean!" he yelled as he darted into the hallway.

The table was knocked over, and Dean sat against the wall, scrambling to get away from something. Sam spotted the locked door, and everything clicked. Sam rushed forward and pulled Dean into his arms, pulling him off the floor. Sam took him into the bathroom and shut the door. He placed Dean on the edge of the bathtub.

"Dean, why didn't you wait for me?" Sam asked as he hugged Dean close.

"Had to go," Dean replied.

"You could've woken me up," Sam told him.

"Didn't want to," Dean replied as he gripped Sam tighter. He hissed in pain.

"What is it?" asked Sam as he pulled back to look at his brother. "Are you hurt?"

Dean nodded. "Hit the table." He lifted his arm, which had blood running down it.

"Damn, Dean," muttered Sam as he took Dean's arm. There was a gash on the top of his arm near the elbow. "We gotta clean this up." He stood up, fishing the med kit out of the cabinet. He spotted Dean squirming on his seat, and remembered the reason Dean had wandered into the hall in the first place. "After I give you a minute."

Sam walked out of the bathroom and closed the door. Bobby was picked up the table.

"Is he okay?" Bobby asked.

"He had to use the bathroom, but didn't want to wake me, so he tried to get here by himself," Sam explained. "I guess passing that door was just too much. He's got a good gash on his arm, but he'll be fine." He heard the toilet flush and a cabinet being knocked on twice. He took that as an "I'm done" sign. "Excuse me."

Sam came back in to find Dean sitting on the counter with the open med kit next to him. Sam closed the door and turned on the faucet. He gently lifted Dean's arm over the sink and cupped his hand under the water, making sure it wasn't too hot. Sam took the pooled water in his hand and dumped it over Dean's arm, washing the blood off. Once it was clean, Sam sanitized the cut and started stitching. When he was done, Dean smiled at him.

"Feel better?" asked Sam.

"Loads," Dean told him. His face scrunched up in disgust, and he lowered his head, sniffing his shirt. "Need a shower."

"I'll bet," said Sam. "I'll get your stuff." He went back to the room, grabbing a bar of soap, Dean's shampoo, and a fresh change of clothes. He brought them back and handed it all to Dean. "There are towels under the sink. Oh, and…" Sam fished the ointment out of his pocket. "For…yeah…I'll be in the living room."

Sam left Dean to his shower, and headed for the living room. Bobby was in the kitchen, making breakfast. Sam flopped down at the table, leaning on his elbow.

"Everything go okay?" asked Bobby. Sam didn't answer. "Sam?"

"Why, Bobby?" asked Sam. "Why Dean? He's been through enough already. I mean, he just got back from hell, and now he has to go through this? Why does everything have to happen to us? Can't we ever get a break?" Sam looked up at Bobby, tears in his eyes. "This shouldn't have happened. After everything…I should've protected him better. I should have stopped it. I should've killed that guy myself."

Bobby came over and wrapped Sam in a hug as Sam finally let the guilt-ridden tears come.

Dean opened the bathroom door and walked into the living room, carrying his clothes and shower items. Bobby was setting food on the table as Sam helped him. Dean set his things down and walked up to Sam, the question in his eyes.

Sam smiled. "Yeah, sure, um…how about you put the silverware on the table."

Dean opened a drawer and pulled out knives, forks and spoons. He set one of each at each plate. They sat down and dug in.

Two weeks later…

Dean had come along nicely since the attack. He could now pass the bedroom door just fine…if Sam was with him. He seemed to be cheering up slightly, but he still flinched at sudden noises and didn't like anyone to walk up behind him without announcing themselves first.

Bobby had made French toast this morning, and Sam was sitting at the table across from Dean as they ate. Sam had been trying to find a way to bring up his idea.

"Dean, I was thinking," said Sam. Dean looked up at him. "Do you wanna go see a movie tonight?" He watched as Dean's expression dropped. "It's been out for a while, so the theatre should be practically empty." Dean considered, smiled and nodded. He reached his hand for his glass of orange juice to find it empty.

"I'll get that, Dean," Bobby said as he got up, grabbing Dean's glass. He refilled it with orange juice, and set it in front of Dean, turning to put the juice in the fridge.

"Thanks, Bobby."

Sam's head snapped up and stared in astonishment at Dean. Had he really just spoken to Bobby? Bobby turned and looked at Dean, smiling.

"You're welcome, Dean," Bobby told him. As Dean went back to his breakfast, Bobby and Sam shared a triumphant smile.

Sam looked back at Dean, who had dropped his fork. He was staring at the table, his face a little pale. "Are you okay?"

Dean suddenly darted from the table and towards the bathroom. Sam and Bobby followed to find Dean kneeling in front of the toilet, vomiting his breakfast into the bowl. Sam knelt next to Dean, putting a hand on his back.

"What's wrong?" asked Sam.

"Don't know," Dean moaned in between heaves. "Nauseous. Something I ate?"

"Then we'd be sick, too," Sam said, motioning to Bobby and himself.

"Stomach bug?" Dean muttered as the dry heaves subsided.

"Do you need some medicine?" asked Sam.

"No, it's passed," said Dean as he leaned against the tub. "Just rest."

"Here, go rest on the bed," said Sam. He helped Dean up and to their bedroom. "We'll cancel the movie, let you rest."

"No," said Dean.

"You still want to go?" asked Sam. Dean nodded. "Well, we'll see how you feel in three hours."

"Okay," Dean muttered as he rolled over, getting comfortable.

Sam walked out into Bobby's yard. He had no idea what was happening to his brother, and he prayed it had nothing to do with the attack. Sam stared up at the sky.

"What is this, huh?" Sam shouted to the heavens. "This is your great plan? You save Dean from hell, saying you have work for him? And then you let something like this happen? Why? Why didn't you save Dean?"

"We did," came a voice behind him. Sam spun around to see a man in a trench coat and a suit. He had a stoic expression on his face. "He is still destined to do much."

"You're Castiel, aren't you?" asked Sam. The angel nodded slightly. "Then why didn't you stop Marcus before he hurt Dean?"

"Human affairs are out of our influence," said Castiel.

"Out of your influence?" Sam repeated, credulously.

"We cannot affect free will," said Castiel.

"That's crap," said Sam. "You could've saved him, and you know it."

Castiel looked at him. "I am sorry."

Sam sighed in exasperation. "Then heal him."

"Heal him?"

"Make him feel better. Make the pain go away."

"I can't."

"Bullshit," Sam spat at him.

"I cannot take the pain away. He must go through this. God is blessing him."

Sam stared at him. "What?"

"God is turning this curse into a blessing. Something good will come out of this."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Sam. He suddenly found himself staring at empty air. He looked around; Castiel was gone. "Perfect."

Sam roused Dean from his sleep. "Hey, wake up."

Dean blinked up at him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "We going to the movie yet?"

"Yeah, you look better," Sam told him. "How do you feel?"

"Amazing," said Dean as he sat up and smiled. "Whatever it was went away. Maybe my toast was bad."

Sam laughed at Dean's joke—his first one since the attack. "Yeah, maybe. Let's go." Dean climbed out of bed, and they walked to the living room.

"See you later, Bobby," Sam called as they made their way to the front door. Sam noticed the lack of footsteps next to his. He turned to see Dean frozen halfway to the door. "What's the matter? Do you wanna stay here?"

Dean shook his head, and turned to Bobby. "Do you want to come with us, Bobby?"

Bobby smiled at Dean. "Sure, sounds like fun."

Together, the three of them headed out for the movies.

Two weeks later…

Dean still hadn't recovered from whatever was wrong with his stomach. Sam was getting worried. Dean woke up every morning for the past two weeks, and went straight for the bathroom, throwing up. Sometimes, he would run to the bathroom several times a day. Today was Dean's appointment, and Sam had especially noted Dean's poor health in his journal. They hadn't resorted to the anti-depressants, which Sam never would anyway. As they entered the doctor's office, Dr. Roberts spotted them.

"Sam, Dean, come on back," said Dr. Roberts. "It's a slow day."

Sam held onto Dean's hand as they walked to the exam room and sat down.

"How are you, Dean?" asked Dr. Roberts. Dean smiled at her, letting her know that he was fine. "That's great." If you wouldn't mind waiting here, I've got to get some equipment. Sam, can you help me?"

"Yeah, sure," said Sam, catching her drift. "Will you be fine here for a minute?" Dean nodded, and the two of them left the room.

"How's he doing?" asked Dr. Roberts.

Sam pulled out his journal. "He's doing better. He's opening up more, talking more. He started speaking to Bobby two weeks ago. We all went to the movies together. He did alright. But…he's been getting sick lately."

"Sick how?" asked Dr. Roberts.

"He's been throwing up nonstop for the past two weeks," said Sam. "At first, we thought it was something he ate, then we thought it was a stomach bug. Now, I'm not so sure. He's always so tired and aching. I'm worried."

Dr. Roberts stared at him. "Okay…I think I have some tests that I can do. Sam…I hate to ask this of you, but you're the only one he'll talk to."

"What is it?" asked Sam.

"I need you to ask Dean if Marcus used protection."

Sam stared at her. "What?"

"Please, ask him. I know it's difficult, but I need to know. It could help with what's going on with Dean."

"Okay, I'll try, but I'm not promising anything," said Sam. He entered the exam room to find Dean where they left him. "Hey, Dean. I have a question to ask you."

"What, Sammy?" asked Dean.

"It's kind of uncomfortable," Sam told him. "It's about Marcus." Dean froze, his eyes wide. "Dean, did he…did he use protection?" Dean closed his eyes. "Please, Dean. We need to know."

Dean took a deep breath. "No. No, I don't think so."

Sam hugged Dean. "Thank you, Dean. That really helps." Sam walked out to the doctor. "He doesn't think he did."

"Okay, that narrows down my tests," said Dr. Roberts. She handed him a blood pressure cuff, and she grabbed a machine on wheels.

"You can't put this cuff on the cart?" asked Sam.

"So he doesn't get suspicious," said Dr. Roberts. Sam nodded as he realized that Dean expected Sam to come back with something. They entered the exam room. Dean appeared to be doing fine, if not a little shaken from Sam's question. "Dean, I need you to lie back and lift up your shirt." Both Sam and Dean stared at her, confused. "It's to assess if there are any internal problems."

Dean frowned, but complied, lifting his shirt as he lay back.

Dr. Roberts lifted a bottle of gel. "Now, this will be cold, okay?"

Dean nodded, and she squirted some onto Dean's abdomen. Dean jumped a little at the coldness of the gel. Dr. Roberts placed the wand on the gel and smeared it around on Dean's stomach. She looked at the screen on her ultrasound machine, reading the screen. She frowned as she lifted the wand from Dean's abdomen. She handed a towel to Dean, and he wiped himself off.

"So?" asked Sam.

"It's impossible…" muttered Dr. Roberts. "It's just not possible…"

"Doctor?" asked Sam.

"I don't know how this happened, but..." Dr. Roberts looked at Sam, "Dean's pregnant."