Author's note: Chapter 7 contains graphic content so can be read on (warning: the demon rapes Sam) but can be skipped - everything you need to know should be covered in Chapter 8.

Chapter 8

Dean woke with a start, the images of Sam bruised, bloody and crying on the cold floor of the Bunker burned into his skull. He was panting, a heavy twisted feeling in his gut. Oh God, he was going to throw up.

He just made it to the waste paper basket just as the contents of last night's dinner made a reappearance. He wiped his mouth on a discarded t-shirt from his desk chair and sat back against the cool stone wall, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his forehead on them.

It can't be right, that dream, memory... He wouldn't do that to Sammy, ever. He wouldn't do that to anyone, would he? Was it the demon? Was it the Mark? Or was it him? Maybe he was fucked up in the head. But fucked up enough to rape his brother? So maybe he never had the best mental health, but how many hunters could say they did? The years on the road, his crappy upbringing, the shit they'd had to deal with over the years on hunts, not to mention his stint in Hell – they could all do things to a man's head. Bad things. But not this, please lord not this!

Dean shook his head. This couldn't be right, he couldn't have done those things... But the image of Sam crying in a naked heap on the floor just wouldn't leave him alone. He lifted his head and rubbed his eyes, his hands came away wet – he hadn't even realised he'd been crying.

Sam was sat at his desk, hunched over an ancient book he'd found in one of the rooms in the depths of the Bunker they'd started exploring that week. He knew it was late, that he should get some sleep before he would have to get up and supervise Castiel's attempt at breakfast – the amount of time that guy had almost given himself food poisoning – but the book on Sumerian folklore was fascinating

At least that's what he was telling himself. Truth be told, since Dean had started to remember his time as a demon, Sam had been more on edge waiting for the ball to drop. Sam didn't want Dean to remember, to see through his eyes what the demon had done. He'd put his demons to rest on the matter months ago, with a lot of help from Castiel and the Bunker's extensive library of books on demons and psychology. It would be hard to convince Dean of that and harder to get Dean past it.

A tentative knock on the door broke him out of his thoughts, he knew it was open and in the pit of his stomach, he knew it was Dean.

He plastered a fake smile on his face and turned around. The smile dropped as soon as he saw his brother's red eyes and the tear stains on his cheeks.

Damn.

"Dean," Sam rose from the chair and stepped into the middle of the room. "Did you have another nightmare?"

Dean's eyebrows knitted together as he looked at his little brother in confusion. Dean couldn't understand how Sam was still so filled with compassion for him after everything that happened.

"Sammy-" Dean stopped himself, remembering how the demon used that pet name. "Sam, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." He tried a smile, a genuine one this time.

Dean nodded. "Good."

The older man turned to leave but paused in the doorway, head bowed and voice shaky when he spoke. "No, Sam. You say you're good but the dream I just had says otherwise." He turned and looked up at his brother with pleading eyes. "Tell me it didn't happen, that you're really okay. Don't lie to me, Sammy."

Sam approached the doorway where Dean was still stood cautiously.

"I really am fine, okay?"

"Cut the crap and tell me I didn't rape you!" Dean snapped. "You've been avoiding me as much as you can since I got back, so don't tell me you're fine."

Sam hesitated and looked down at his feet, unable to meet Dean's eyes when he whispered, "It happened."

Dean bent over like he'd been hit in the stomach, hands braced on his thighs and gasping for air. His heart beat quickened and he felt like he was going to hurl again. He pushed past Sam and dry heaved into the small trash can next to the desk.

Sam knelt next to Dean, who stayed face down in the trash can, rubbing circles on his brother's back. "It wasn't you, Dean. What the demon did, he did to hurt us both."

Dean cried silently, using the trash can more to hide his face than as a vomit catcher. The only tell was the small shake in his shoulders. Sam pulled him up and into a hug, Dean's back to Sam's chest, and let him cry.

Sam spoke, not really knowing if Dean could even hear him or not.

"I promise you, I'm doing okay. I might still have some things to work through, but I'm a hell of a lot better than I was. I'm not going to lie, it was hard to understand what happened, let alone deal with it. If Cas hadn't turned up when he did... He healed me and he stayed with me, Hannah too although she mostly stayed out of the way. There were moments when I-" He sighed at the memory of how low he'd felt at the time. "Cas stopped me from doing a lot of stupid things in the first few weeks, Dean."

"Weeks?" Dean sniffed. "Cas said he was here for a few days."

"Almost three weeks. I don't know what I would have done without him... I- I wouldn't be here."

Dean pushed out of Sam's grip and scrambled to his feet, pacing to the other side of the room and halfway back.

"I did this to-"

"It wasn't you, Dean." Sam cut Dean off. "It took me a long time to realise that, and yeah, I hated you for a while back there but then I realised it wasn't you. None of it, those things you said and the things you did... it was the demon, not you, not my brother."

"I dunno, Sammy..."

"The demon said you, the real you, were MIA when I was trying to cure him. You have to separate what he did with who you are." Sam was at a loss, he didn't know how he could make Dean see that it wasn't his fault. "The demon, he said he didn't want to be cured, he said he liked the disease - but you didn't did you, Dean? You wanted to be human?"

"I- I don't know. Part of me thought those things."

"Not you Dean, the demon. You've got his thoughts and memories but you need to ignore those. Looking back now, you're glad you're not that anymore, right? Not a monster?"

"Dammit, this is so fucking messed up." Dean sat on the edge of Sam's bed, back to his brother and cradled his head in his hands. The conflicting emotions, or lack there of, of what he felt now and what he remembered feeling as the demon were giving him a headache.

Sam moved tentatively across the bed and placed a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder, cringing as Dean flinched away from the touch. He left the hand there and waiting for Dean to get his thoughts together.

"When I was that thing I did like it, the power and the pain. Making people suffer in the worst ways possible. But before and now... I never wanted that Sammy and I'm really glad you tried to cure me but I can't ever make up for the things I did to you, I can't live with myself for what I did to you."

"Dammit, Dean. I played the conversations we had in the dungeon over and over in my head after that night, I tried to analyse them from every angle to make sense of it. You know what made me realise it wasn't you? The demon kept talking about you as if you'd gone on holiday, like you'd left the building. I knew part of you must still be there because he kept bringing up things, personal things, but he was twisting them, putting his own evil spin on what actually happened – he was using your memories and your thoughts to manipulate me, and I think he was letting you see and feel it all because he wanted to torture you too." Sam was on his feet in front of his brother, pacing in the small space between the bed and the wall. "If it was you, Dean, you wouldn't have kept me alive, you wouldn't have- You wouldn't have done what he did and you definitely wouldn't have let me live to remember it. That was all demon."

"But the Mark turned me into a demon, I wasn't possessed. It was me."

Sam moved over to the pile of books piled against his bedside table, he pulled two thick hardbacks and a file of papers out of the pile and set them down on Dean's lap before sitting next to him.

"The Men of Letters were studying demons, in depth, everything from different types of possession to all the ways to cure a demon. We knew that much already, but a few months ago I found this file. It turns out that before the Bunker was abandoned, one of The Men of Letters was writing a book about what makes a demon a demon – basically Demon Psych 101."

"What are you saying?" Dean looked at the spines of the tomes on his lap, a collection of works by Sigmund Freud and a book titled 'Demons' with The Men of Letters insignia underneath.

"These books helped me, maybe they'll help you too."

Dean gave Sam a sceptical glance but agreed to give it a go. He wasn't the academic type like Sam, he didn't have much faith in his ability to comprehend much if any of the topics covered in either book.

"You got to promise me something, Sammy."

"What?"

"If I ever turn into a damn monster again, you kill me as soon as you get the chance. I don't want to hurt you anymore." Dean looked up into his brother's eyes, a raw intensity to them. "Promise me little brother!"

Sam pulled Dean into his chest, wrapping both arms around shaking shoulders.

"And you do the same for me, no excuses?"

"No excuses," Dean muttered into his chest.

"Then I promise."