On to the next chapter, folks! This one contains Winchesters trying to solve their own issues. Which means that things probably aren't going to go smoothly. Hope you all enjoy, and that you've been having a good weekend!

Chapter Seven

The next few days passed slowly. Dean and Bobby made little progress on finding Cassandra's whereabouts, but Bobby sent out a hunter's APB to everyone he knew so if Cassandra dared show her face anywhere near another hunter they would be onto her. Dean knew she was smart, but he also knew that she had a temper as the petty murders she and her brother committed could attest. He also knew that he and Sam were her number one targets right now, so he wasn't entirely certain that if they didn't just sit tight she wouldn't find them herself and save them the trouble.

And they had enough trouble as it was already. For himself, Dean was getting better, though his shoulder was still sore and stiff and his hand still useless, but aside from the physical wounds, he wasn't sleeping well at all, continuing his stay on the couch until Sam felt comfortable enough for him to sleep in the same room as he did. Bobby told him he was being an idjit and to just stay in the room anyway, but Dean didn't want Sam to wake up from a nightmare in the middle of the night about Dean torturing him and see Dean himself only feet away. The kid was in bad enough of a debacle as it was; he didn't need more to flip him to the crazy side. Besides, Dean wasn't sure how many times he could stand seeing that betrayal and fear on Sam's face. He had always been the one to soothe that, not cause it.

So Dean tried his best to avoid Sam as much as possible, except to check on his several times a day when he knew he was asleep. He couldn't help that, even though seeing Sam sent an ache of self-hatred through his chest, he had to see that he was still all right. Bobby painstakingly took care of the younger Winchester by himself, but Dean could tell it was wearing on the old hunter, and he knew Bobby's silence on the matter wasn't going to last much longer. Sam was still unable to get out of bed by himself, much less walk across the hall to the bathroom, so Bobby had to get up in the middle of the night to help him, not to mention change his bandages, bring him food and force him to eat, and clean up vomit that was the result of too much food too soon during Sam's fever that at least had disappeared after several days being terribly stubborn. Dean knew well enough that their father never would have done half the things Bobby did for them. He would have told the boys to suck it up and make Dean take care of his brother even if it proved traumatizing to Sam. That made Dean only feel worse about putting the burden on Bobby but he just couldn't do that to his little brother. He knew what was best for Sam and he wasn't going to compromise anything else for that.

He sat outside on the porch one morning with his untouched cup of coffee beside him. He had needed some fresh air, but it didn't seem to be doing anything to clear his head. He had hardly slept at all the night before because Sam had had a particularly bad bout of nightmares and his screaming kept waking him up. It had set all his nerves on end and kept his body from relaxing.

He started as the door opened and heavy steps creaked out to stand behind him.

"Dean," Bobby called him. "Come inside, I wanna talk to you."

"I'm not really in the mood, Bobby," Dean muttered, running his hand over his face.

"Dean Winchester," the older hunter said in no uncertain terms. "You get off your ass and inside right now."

Dean sat up straight and pulled himself to his feet, knowing he couldn't argue with that. Bobby stood aside to let him in and then motioned for him to sit at the table before he leaned on it to look Dean in the eye.

"You need to talk to your brother, Dean," he said. "I don't care what happens, I don't care what you two say to each other, or how long it takes, but I'm trying to get you to see sense, and you need to do the same for Sam. You idjits are the most stubborn people, apart from your daddy that I have ever met in my entire life. But you're stupid too, because you can't see anything clearly, can you?"

"Bobby, I only know that Sam doesn't want to see me. He thinks I'm a monster," Dean protested, his good hand clenching into a fist. He could feel the healed indents Sam's teeth had made there. A constant reminder of the unforgivable things he had put his brother through.

"And that's because you've done nothing to assure him otherwise since you got here. You've hidden away from him; how can you expect him to think any different if you don't at least try to talk to him? Every time he has a nightmare it sets him on edge again. I know you think that you being there will only make it worse, but I think not being there will do more damage than not."

"I did try to talk to him! And he just told me to go away," Dean retorted. "I don't think it's going to go any better now!"

"Well, whether or not it goes well, I'm going to lock you two into that room until you kiss and make up."

"I'm not kissing him," Dean said with a touch of his old wry humor.

"Well, you just do what you need to, Dean," Bobby said. "But get your ass up there now before I kick it six ways to Sunday."

"Yes sir," Dean said with a growl and shoved himself up from the table and went to do just what Bobby asked.

He stomped up the stairs, angry, and determined, but hesitated on the landing, just before he got to the room. His good hand was still clenched at his side, but it slackened and all the anger went out of him with a deep sigh. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the door, his hand on the knob.

"Sammy?" he called softly.

There was no answer, and Dean squeezed his eyes shut and fought the urge to turn away, forcing his hand to open the door and step inside.

Sam lay on the bed with his eyes closed, but Dean didn't think he was asleep. He closed the door behind him and went to the other bed, sitting down on it and leaning forward, resting his forearms on his thighs.

"Sam, I know you don't want to talk to me right now, and you don't have to say anything, but I do want you to listen."

Sam shifted slightly and sniffed, but didn't open his eyes. Dean took that as an invitation to go on.

"You know I'm your big brother, Sammy. I've always looked after you; hell, I can't remember much before that. It wasn't just my job, wasn't just an order Dad gave me, but because I cared. I really do care about my pain in the ass little brother, you know." He smiled a little and watched Sam's face for some reaction, but his heart sank when he didn't see any. "What I'm trying to say, Sam, is that I would never hurt you on purpose. You know that…I hope you would know that, anyway. So I'm wondering…" he took a deep breath, ashamed at how shaky it was, before he went on. "I'm wondering why you seem to think that I purposefully took a knife to you, Sam. You know I would never hurt my little brother like that."

There it was. Sam flinched at the word 'knife'. His breath caught and shuddered in his chest and he finally opened his eyes. Dean bent to look into them. "You there, Sammy?"

"Dean, I just…" Sam started and then shook his head. "Forget it, just go away, please." He tried to roll over to put his back to Dean, forgetting that he would be moving to his injured side. He gasped and Dean was across the room before he could help himself, instinct kicking in and he pulled Sam around and propped him up with a supporting arm around his shoulders. Sam instinctively clutched his shirt as he fought for breath, but as soon as he got it back, he let go and shrugged Dean off, only resulting in hurting himself more.

"No, no, Sammy, stop," Dean pleaded, and knelt on the floor, grabbing onto Sam's shoulders as gently as he could to keep him still. It didn't take much effort in Sam's weakened condition and that almost hurt Dean more than anything at the moment. "Just listen to me, Sammy, let's just talk a minute." He reached up to brush back Sam's hair that was obscuring his face, but his brother flinched away from him and he gently placed his hand back on Sam's shoulder instead. His little brother was looking down at his lap where his own hands rested. There was gauze wrapped loosely around his wrists and Dean knew there were awful abrasions under the bandages from the restraints. The ones that had torn into Sam's wrists while he struggled; when he fought to get away from his own brother. Dean gently touched one with his broken hand and Sam whimpered slightly in the back of his throat.

"Dammit, Sammy," Dean whispered, his throat choked. "What can I do to fix this?"

Sam's head shot up now, a life in his eyes Dean had not seen for days. He was glad of that at least, even if it was manifested in anger.

"What can you do to fix this?" he repeated bitterly. "I don't know if you can do anything, Dean. You say you were under her spell, but I never heard her cast one, never saw her do it. I think she said something to you that made you…and you won't tell me what! So hell yeah, I'm angry at you, Dean, and I don't know if I'm ready to forgive yet. Not until you tell me what she did. I would rather have had her torture me than you. Don't you get that?"

"Sam, I don't know what to tell you," Dean sighed, his eyes closed in frustration he was trying his best not to show. "She shoved me into the corner, cut her hand and forced her blood into my mouth before I knew what was going on. Then she took my amulet and covered it in my own blood and whispered a spell into my ear. After that I wasn't in control of my body anymore, except for a few times when I was jarred out of it from pain. I dropped the knife, didn't I?"

"Why can't you just admit it?" Sam demanded. "I'd rather you admit it than be a coward about it!"

"You want me to phone Cassandra and ask her?" Dean shouted back, unable to contain his anger another minute. Greif at the fact his little brother didn't believe him making him lash out. "Sam, I know I did unforgivable things, hell, I don't expect you to ever forgive me. I just want you to be okay, man. Can you at least do that? For yourself."

"How do you expect me to be okay?" Sam cried, tears sliding down his cheeks. "I don't even know what that means anymore. I just don't understand, Dean. Why did you have to turn on me too? You're right. I did trust you with my life, but you let this happen, and I don't know how I can do that anymore. Maybe later, but not now, not with everything else that has happened. I just…I can't, Dean. I can't trust someone who turns on me and won't give me a reason. Not after dad ran off somewhere, not after Jess…I'm sorry, but I can't. Things just aren't like they used to be. I thought they could at least be between us, but…I don't know, Dean. Maybe not."

"Sammy, please," Dean whispered, grabbing his shuddering shoulder again. "Please don't do this now, it will only make it worse for everyone. I can't…I can't let you beat yourself up over this anymore. I can't watch you wither away."

"Then you should have thought of that before you took a knife to me!" Sam screamed, shoving him hard in the chest so that he fell backwards onto his butt, instinctively catching himself with his broken hand. Dean bit back a scream as he cradled his hand against his stomach, tears of pain making his eyes smart.

"Is it me?" Sam cried. "Is it my fault that everyone I care about dies or that I somehow manage to push them away?" he choked on a sob and buried his face in the pillow since he couldn't turn away from Dean.

The elder Winchester somehow managed to get to his feet and out the door. When he got downstairs, he finally allowed himself to vent and grabbed the first thing that came to hand, a heavy old book, and raised it with a shout to hurl across the room.

"Hey!" Bobby's hand caught his wrist to stop his progress. "That's a two-hundred-year-old book, ya idjit! Treat it with respect."

Dean allowed Bobby to take it from him, and slumped, so exhausted that he nearly hit the floor, and probably would have if Bobby hadn't foreseen where he was going and hooked an arm around his waist, guiding him over to the couch with a weary "Balls."

Dean slumped and Bobby pushed his flask into his hand. Dean drank without realizing he did so, the fiery liquor not really doing much to alleviate his troubles. His hand was still throbbing with pain, and Bobby noticed how he was cradling it.

"What did you do to your hand now?" he asked gruffly, pulling the limb closer for inspection before Dean could protest.

"Fell on it. Sam shoved me," he muttered, taking another swig from the flask. He winced as Bobby inspected his hand, and shook his head. "I don't know what to say to him, Bobby. He's determined not to believe me for some reason. I just don't understand why. I don't care if he forgives me, but I just need him…I need him to be okay."

Dean stopped before he started bawling like a girl and focused on breathing deeply to keep his emotions at bay.

"Well, he ain't gonna be okay, unless you two figure it out. I don't know either, Dean, but I do know that something's gonna hafta give eventually. This was a start. At least you got him to react, and that's something. I'm no psychology major, but I guess that's good. Maybe if you tell me more about what happened I could understand better."

"What is there to tell, Bobby?" Dean shouted, yanking his hand away and ignoring the pain that motion caused to shoot up his arm. He looked up to meet the older hunter's eyes, slapping his chest for emphasis. "I tortured my brother. You don't just get over that, not on either side! Do you even know what that's like? How he's screaming because of you, and worse, pleading for you to stop?" A sob broke Dean's voice and he didn't even care anymore that Bobby saw him this weak. He brought up his other hand and produced the bite-mark for Bobby to see. "You know why Sam bit me? Because for one instant I was able to break Cassandra's hold on me, and you know what I did?" A tear ran down his face as he shook his head in disgust of himself. "I put my hand over his mouth just so I wouldn't have to listen to his screams while I went on torturing him." He trembled just at the memory, horrified at what he had done, feeling it even more now that he said it out loud, admitted it to someone. "How do you even expect anyone to forgive that, Bobby? Tell me, because, I don't have a damn clue."

"Dammit, Dean," Bobby breathed and gripped the back of Dean's neck, pulling him against his shoulder. Dean didn't want to accept the comfort; he didn't deserve it, but he couldn't help himself and closed his eyes, slumping against Bobby's solid presence.

"I swear you boys will be the death of me," Bobby muttered, rubbing a brisk hand through Dean's short hair. After another long moment he maneuvered Dean back against the pillows of the couch, ignoring the tears that he was obviously trying to scrub off of his freckled cheeks. Bobby almost smiled even as his heart broke at the sight. Dean looked so young, way too young to deal with this crap life, but he knew that inside, Dean was anything but young. Never had been. But Bobby would be there to offer his support, be the adult for a while until Dean recovered from the trauma he and Sam had gone through. He ran his hand thought the slightly spiked hair again before he stood up.

"Try and sleep, son," he said in an oddly gentle voice. "We'll try again later."

"Yeah," Dean mumbled, his eyes already closed. He curled up on his side, but wondered if things would ever be the same between him and Sam again.