SHOUTOUTS\ANSWERS

Freedom is Lost: Thanks.

Mimifoxlove: Thanks. Yeah, I know, but what can I say? It's how I wanted. So did I.

Spuffyshipper: Thanks. Sorry this isn't soon enough. Oooh, fun. No, I noticed it too. Yep.

Windyfontaine: Yep. We'll see. Yeah. I'll let him know. Thanks. Here's more.

Jade: Thanks. Yep.

Charmed1of2: Yes, I did, and I am. Sorry this isn't soon enough. We'll see.

DISCLAIMER

Supernatural belongs to the CW. I only own the plot and characters you don't recognize. And just so you know, I'm currently working on the first chap of my next Hunters story. And some of Dean's outburst was inspired by a scene in an old movie called "Do You Know The Muffin Man?"

As soon as they got back to their hotel room, Sam headed straight for the bathroom.

"Sammy?" John questioned.

"You okay?" Dean added in concern.

"I need a shower," Sam told them. Then, he shut the door. A few seconds later, they heard the sound of the water running. John let out a frustrated huff and kicked the bed.

"Dad?" Dean asked.

"I'm sorry. I just---I wish I knew how to help him," John apologized.

"Me too," Dean said. He didn't need this. He can barely handle the memories from Uncle Lyle, he thought to himself. What was he thinking? He could barely handle the memories. In the shower, Sam shook as the water cascaded over him. He just couldn't shake the feeling of Kate's hands all over him.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," she breathed. Sam panted nervously. Then, another memory popped up. The covers lifted and Lyle climbed into the bed. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Stay out, stay out, stay out, he thought. His breathing became even more labored. He couldn't---he couldn't let the memories control him. Sam let out a shaky breath and went through a breathing exercise John had taught him when he was young. As he did so, he used the soap to scrub himself clean. Out in the living room, John frowned.

"Sammy's been in there a while," he noted.

"He's probably just tryin' to get clean," his son told him. "I mean, she did have her hands all over him. Those hands." Dean's eyes clouded. He remembered Uncle Lyle's hands.

"Dean?" John questioned.

"Yes, Sir?" Dean acknowledged somewhat absently.

"I---I know what happened to Sammy---what Lyle did to him. Uh, did he---" Dean froze as John stumbled over the words. Please. Please don't ask me that, Dad. Please, he thought frantically.

"Dad?" Dean uttered.

"Did---did Lyle---ever---touch you too?" John stuttered.

"No. No, of course not," Dean denied hollowly. He tried to suppress the lump in his throat to no avail. I---I can't tell Dad. He'll never understand, he thought. Lyle put a finger on Dean's mouth.

"Tell no one," he warned.

"Dean, I want the truth, Dude," John told him.

"I---I'm sorry, Daddy. I---" a lone tear streaked down the right side of his face. John found himself fighting his own choked throat. Oh, Dean. I'm so sorry, Dude, he thought. The man took his oldest into a hug as he began to cry.

"Ssssshhhh. Sssshhhh. It's okay, Dude. It's okay," John soothed as he felt the wetness against his shirt. He became vaguely aware that the water in the bathroom was no longer running, but he kept his mind focused on the problem at hand.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I had to keep quiet," Dean cried.

"Why? Why do you say that, Dude?" John questioned.

"He---he made me promise," Dean stammered.

"What do you mean?" John asked. Dean pushed his father away.

"It---it doesn't matter. I failed anyway. I let you down. I let Sammy down," he stated angrily. He began to pace. The tears were flowing freely now, but the hunter didn't bother wiping them away.

"Dean," John said, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.

"NO! DON'T TOUCH ME!" Dean screamed. "It's all my fault! Me! Mine!" he continued.

"Why do you say that, Dean?" John wondered.

"I---I knew," Dean confessed. "I knew," he repeated softly. "And the reason I knew---is because he did the same thing to me," he continued. John's breath hitched.

"Why couldn't you tell me?" he wondered as the bathroom door opened.

"Because he was protecting me," Sam stated, coming out in fresh clothes.

"Sammy," Dean said desperately.

"Dean?" Though the question was gentle, it was also firm.

"Un---Uncle Lyle said---that---that if I kept quiet---" Dean trailed off.

"If you kept quiet---?" John prompted.

"He wouldn't touch Sammy," Dean finished. "But, but, Dad, I---I didn't know---I---" Dean's tears came faster and harder and sank to his knees. Unsettled, Sam looked to John, who just shrugged helplessly. He---he didn't know how to deal with this. The two men just stared at Dean who continued to sob.