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AN: Sorry I haven't had a chance to reply to comments before posting this. I did read and love every one of them. Thank you guys. You're the best. Also, thanks to Kazluvsbooks for prereading.


Chapter 7

Dean sighs and walks over to the table to grab the bottle of whiskey. He takes a long pull and swallows it back was a grimace. Sam has been asleep for an hour now, and Dean knows he needs to move soon if his plan is going to work. Sam doesn't need to know what he's doing. He doesn't need Sammy to know how little he trusts him.

Dean sets the bottle down on the table and walks over toward the bathroom. He grabs the small wastebasket on his way. When he gets in there, he begins stripping the room of anything sharp, anything Sam could hurt himself with. The razors, the scissors, even the nail clippers, they all go. Once the bathroom is clear, he walks over to the kitchenette and repeats the process, leaving nothing behind that Sam could easily use. He even tosses the plastic knives from their take out the night before. Part of him knows that it's futile, that Sam is a seasoned hunter who could find a way, but he doesn't care. He needs to feel like he's doing something.

Once the room is clear, he goes over to the corner and grabs Sam's duffel. He picks it up and carries it over to the table. Piece by piece, he takes it apart. Eventually, he comes across a small bag that he knows to be Sam's toiletries. He opens the bag and dumps the contents out onto the table. There are various things, but what hits him like a punch to the gut is the knife. It's the pocket knife he'd given Sam for his eighth birthday, the same knife they had carved their initials into car with. It makes him sick to think of Sammy using it to carve himself. Unable to bear to throwing it away, he tucks it into his pocket, hoping that someday he could give it back to his brother.

He ties the trash bag up and walks it out the door, setting it down outside for housekeeping to take away. When he goes back in, he sits down at the table and grabs the bottle of whiskey again, taking another sip.

He looks at his brother and sighs. He's a mess, they both are. He wants to help Sam but he just doesn't know how.

Dean takes another slug of whiskey and swallows it down.

Sam begins to stir and Dean sets the bottle down. He's beginning to feel the warmth of the alcohol spreading through him, and it settles his nerves a little.

Sam makes a noise close to a whimper, and he knows he's having a nightmare.

He walks over to the bed and gives his brother a gentle nudge.

Sam wakes with a start, looking around wildly for a second before his gaze falls to Dean.

"Dean?" he asks.

"Right here, Sam."

Dean sits down on the edge of the bed, and Sam pushes himself up to sit against the headboard.

"You okay now?" Dean asks.

Sam runs a hand through his hair. "I'm all right, I guess."

Dean nods. "Good, how's the leg? Does it hurt at all?"

Sam looks down at his leg and his hand moves toward it. "It's fine."

Dean sighs. "We aren't going to get anywhere if you don't start telling me the truth."

Sam blinks, his hand rubbing the spot on his leg where the latest cut lies. "It aches, but I can handle it."

Dean nods and gets up, going over to the table. He grabs the bag of meds. He digs through them until he find the bottle he's looking for, and then he walks over to the fridge and grabs a bottle of water.

He walks back over to the bed and sits back down. He shakes two pills out into his hand and passes them to Sam. "Here, take these," he says, then hands him the water.

"What are they?" Sam asks, looking them over.

"They're for pain."

Sam looks at Dean and then back to the pills. "I don't—"

"Take them, Sammy. That's an order."

Sam hesitates for a second but then brings the pills to his mouth and swallows them down with a sip of water.

"You'll be due for antibiotics in a few hours. Why don't you try and sleep till then?" Dean gets up and walks back over to the table, putting the bottle of pills on the table. He grabs the bottle of whiskey and takes another drink.

When he looks over at Sam again, he can tell something is wrong. Sam's hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"Dean?" Sam says finally.

"Yeah," Dean says. "What's up?" He eyes Sam subtle movements, the twitchy hands. He knows something big is brewing beneath the surface.

"I … I uh … never mind. It's no big deal."

Dean's brows knit together in concern. Sam looks like he about to either cry or fight. He's seen the same look before.

Dean sets the bottle down. "What's going on, Sam?"

Sam shakes his head. "It's nothing."

"No, it's something. You can talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

Sam closes his eyes and draws a shaky breath. "I want to … I need to … you know." He tips his head toward his leg and Dean gets the message.

"Like now?" Dean asks, not sure what else to say.

"Yeah, like now."

"Shit," Dean says. He has no idea what he's supposed to do.

Sam bites at his lip and looks away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you."

"No, you're right to tell me. I just don't know what to say. Do you want to talk about it? Do you want a hug?" Dean says. "Whatever you need, man. Just tell me."

Sam swallows hard. "I just … I've been thinking."

"Okay," Dean nods for him to continue.

"I was thinking about all the other kids, the ones he could have hurt because of me, because I didn't stop him."

Dean closes his eyes for a moment. "Sammy, don't do this to yourself."

"But I'm right, aren't I?" he asks. "All these years I pretended it didn't happen. I let him get away with it. Who knows how many have been hurt because of me."

Dean knew he was right. If Sammy had said something, he and dad would have ended that bastard then and there. He would have never touched another kid. Mercy would not have been an option.

"You were just a kid, Sam."

"I wasn't a normal kid though, was I?" he says.

"Listen to me, Sammy. This wasn't your fault. None of this is."

Sam shakes his head. "I can't believe that, Dean."

"Look, Sam, we can still do something. We can try to find him now."

"How Dean? It's been years."

"We've gone on less before. We can start once you are feeling better."

Sam is quiet for a moment. "Will you stop me if I try to kill him?" Sam asks.

"I don't know. Do you want me to?"

Sam meets his gaze. "I don't know."

"Well we'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it," Dean says.

And in truth, Dean knew that if they found him that Sam wasn't going to get the option because Dean was going to gut him alive. He was going to slice into him in every way he knew how, keeping him alive as long as possible. He'd be begging for death long before it came.

Needing another drink, Dean walks over to the table and grabs the bottle. He downs the last bit and sets it back on the table. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and then sighs, looking over at Sam. He doesn't look like himself. He looks broken.

Dean rakes a hand over his face and sits down in the chair. Sam is staring at the wall in an unnerving way. After a minute, he begins to look twitchy, and then a moment later, he is swinging his feet over the side of the bed and standing.

"Whoa! Where you going?" Dean says, standing.

Sam rubs his palms against his sweats. "Uh, bathroom, I guess."

"You guess?" Dean say slowly, raising his brow.

Sam shrugs a shoulder. "Um, yeah. I need to piss."

Dean raises a brow at him. "Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"Where you really going?" He isn't going to let him get away with lying anymore. He cares about him too damned much to let anything else bad happen to him.

Sam's mouth opens and closes. "Just the bathroom."

Dean studies him for a second, trying to decide whether tying him to the bed is an option.

He has a feeling what Sam is thinking and so he decides to just go for it and ask. "Sam, I want a straight answer here. Are you planning on hurting yourself?"

Sam shifts his weight from foot to foot. His hands fidget with the hem of his shirt. It's enough of an answer for Dean.

Dean scrubs a hand over his face. "All right. Just sit back down."

"Dean—"

Dean puts up a hand to stop him. "I have an idea. I want you to hit me."

"What?" Sam looks genuinely shocked and it makes Dean smirk.

"You heard me. Hit me."

"No," Sam says, stepping back until the back of his knees hit the mattress.

"Why not?" Dean asks, shrugging. "You can't keep taking this shit out on yourself."

Sam tries to walk away but Dean grabs him, spinning him to face him. "Hit me dammit!"

Sam shoves him back. "Stop it, Dean!"

"Come on, Sammy. Let's do this." Dean crouches down, waving Sam to him. "Pretend I'm him. Pretend I'm everything that's hurting inside of you."

Sam bites at his lip. Dean can tell he's thinking about it.

"Get angry, Sam. Let it out!" Dean says. "That bastard touched you, Sammy. He violated you. You have to be angry!"

That does it. Sam face contorts in anger and then he snaps. He draws back his fist and lands a blow to the side of Dean's face.

"That's it," Dean says, wiping the drip of blood from his lip. "Hit me again! Let it out!"

Sam roars and charges forward, grappling with Dean. The wrestle like that for minutes until they are both near exhaustion.

Finally, Sam begins to break. It's what Dean's been waiting for.

"He touched me!" Sam says, pounding a fist against Dean's chest. "He touched me and I couldn't stop him!" Sam keeps hitting, and with each blow, Dean can feel him coming more and more undone. They topple to the floor in a heap.

"He touched me …" Sam's fists are no longer hitting him, but clenching the fabric of Dean's shirt. "He made me touch him." It's a confession that hits Dean so hard he can't draw a breath. He had never envisioned just what had happened between them. Maybe it was selfish of him, but he didn't want to know. Now he can't get the images out of his mind.

Sam's body shakes even harder and Dean reaches his arms around him and pulls him into his chest, petting his hair. "I'm so sorry, Sammy. I should have been there. I should have stopped him," Dean says, cheek pressed against his hair, tears streaming down his face.

"Why, Dean?" Sam pleads. "Why did I do wrong?"

"Nothing, kiddo," Dean says, swallowing back the lump in his throat. "You did nothing wrong. None of this is your fault."

Sam curls himself around Dean and Dean does his best to hold him, rocking him gently. He presses his lips to Sam's hair and whispers that it'll be okay because what else can he say? He has to make this right. Somehow he has to put his brother back together again.


AN: I just want to let you know that I am probably not going to be writing for a few days as there is hurricane heading my way and I don't know if I'll have power. But I have also written nearly a chapter a day for a week straight and I am tired, that and I am a bit unsure where to take this. I would love to know where you would like to see this story go. I love feedback, good or bad. It always inspires me. Thank you, Snarks