Dean was pretty sure his world had just ended.

Sam was afraid of him. Sammy. The boy he'd practically raised from infancy, the kid he'd fight til his last breath to protect, the boy who, until today, had idolized him - that kid was gone. He'd been replaced with a sad, beaten, fearful Sam who blamed Dean for not protecting him from their father and who probably blamed Dean for most of the bruises on his face and on his heart.

And he hadn't just been trying to make a point by getting in that truck either. Dean had caught a glimpse of Sam's face as he struggled to lock the door before Dean could reach it.

It had straight-up fear written all over it.

Sam was so scared of his big brother that he'd chosen to climb into a stranger's car and drive off instead of spending one more minute with him.

And why shouldn't he be?

"You get more like him every day, you know."

"Come on, Dean. Tack the word, "boy" onto that sentence, and you could BE Dad."

Suddenly, Dean could see it. He WAS turning into his father. If someone had told him a year ago that he'd stand in his own front yard and tag team his little brother by beating him into submission with Dad's twisted rules, he'd have ended them right there.

What the hell had he become?

Sam didn't want any of this. He hadn't asked for that beating. Hell, he hadn't even done anything to deserve it. All he'd done was accept Dad's order to enter into a hunt with a bum leg - against his better judgment - and let himself get a little distracted. He'd still taken out the vamp, so what was the big deal? No harm, no foul. They should have congratulated the kid. But did they?

No. They'd ganged up on him and beaten the snot out of him and then left him lying practically unconscious in the grass. Dean knew that Sam had heard the Impala pull away. He knew Dean was in the house alone, that he was free to help him. What he didn't know was that Dad had threatened to schedule the same session every night for a solid week if Dean went anywhere near his brother. He'd wanted Sam to suck it up and come inside the house under his own steam, like a Winchester, he'd said.

But that had been a mistake, Dean now realized. Sam had seen him standing in the window, doing nothing, and that was probably when he'd made his decision to run. What kind of brother didn't lift a hand to help when the other was down and bleeding? What kind of man - and that thought really hurt - let his father cowl him into abusing and then neglecting his baby brother? And what did that say about that man's character? It didn't matter that Dad always used threats aimed at Sam to keep Dean in line. Dean should have manned up and stopped this whole thing from happening.

Dean wondered at exactly what point he'd lost his balls.

Exactly when had he decided that standing up to Dad was more of a hassle than protecting Sam? Exactly when had he become more interested in gaining Dad's approval than keeping Sam's trust?

The older boy stood barefoot and bare-chested in the road in the rain and rewound the tape in his mind - Sam climbing into the Impala after school, all light and happiness, all excitement and pride. He'd won someone's approval - his teacher's - and he wanted to make sure Dean was going to be there to share his happy moment. God knew approval came few and far between for the Winchester boys.

He'd wanted - hell, he'd needed - Dean's approval too.

But had he gotten it?

Dean thought back.

"He thinks I can win the science fair next week! Hey, you'll come, right?"

"Dad's home, and he's pissed, Sam."

"So what? Now I get punished?"

"I'd say it might help you remember to pay attention next time, wouldn't you?"

"So you agree with Dad?"

"This time? Yes."

Nope. No approval there. Just a threat of bad things to come and the affirmation that Dean was on board with all of it.

Dean stepped back into the driveway when a passing car honked and swerved, nearly hitting him, and he thought about the stranger that Sam had flagged down. His brother's voice had carried. He'd been desperate and crying.

"Please! I need help! I need to … to get away!"

What if the man behind the wheel was a pervert? Or worse, what if he was a monster? Sam had a broken arm, a broken rib, a broken spirit, and no weapons. Hell, the kid didn't even have shoes on his feet. He was no match for anyone in his present condition. And he was sixteen - just a kid. And a surprisingly good-looking kid too, which just made him more of a target.

What if Sam had jumped out of the frying pan that was his own miserable life, right into the fire of something worse?

Because of Dean's betrayal.

What if he'd done that?

What if, when Dean finally got to town, Sam was nowhere to be found? What if he just disappeared off the map after accepting a ride with a stranger? How would Dean ever survive something like that?

How would Dad?

Or would the older man even care? He'd be pissed that Sam accepted a ride with a stranger, no doubt. And he'd be worried about people seeing Sam in his current condition. But would he care? Like really care? Care like Dean cared?

Dean wasn't so sure he would.

All he knew was that they had to go find Sam. Right now. He ran back into the house and grabbed his shoes and his phone. And when his father's cell went to voicemail, Dean grabbed a shirt and his wallet and set out alone on foot to find the first car he could 'borrow.'

"I'm getting you back, Sammy." he vowed. "And when I do, I'll never let Dad hurt you again. I'll never hurt you again, little brother. I promise. I'm getting you back."

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who is reading, following, favoriting and reviewing :) I love hearing your feedback.