A/N: I apologize now cause this chapter really isn't that good but I wanted to get something done. So sorry it sucks…it will get better.
John could not breath through the panic. His vision clouded in and out until eventually the lack of oxygen combined with the horrible shock of what he had done stole consciousness from him entirely, and he fell helplessly on the bedroom floor. A pair of Dean's boxers still griped tightly in his hand.

Dean was asleep. Barely. Constantly he tossed and turned and moaned out words Sam couldn't make out.

The man at the front desk had looked at Dean too long, it may have had something to do with the fact that he was unconscious in his arms, but it unnerved Sam none the less.

Every sound made Sam paranoid. Every crack the wood made, every squeak the bed springs made. Every sound warped into a sound their father -No! -That man had once made. The tree against the window was the sound of him trying to get in; the sound of the dripping sink was the sound of his socks on the floor. The terror was endless.

Dean moaned quietly and curled deeper into the comforter Sam had wrapped around him-her.

Sam couldn't stop himself from pulling Dean tighter into his arms. Sam would not let him go, last time he did…last time…never again.

"You're safe Dean."

Sam kept talking, he couldn't stop, the silence was too…terrifying.

"I'm going to keep you safe."

Sam considered turning on the television, but he didn't want to let Dean out of his sight, out of his arms for a second. He didn't want any sounds form the television to interferer with the other sounds.

'What now?' Sam thought to himself for the thousandth time. All their things, all their research was back…there. But they couldn't go back there, there's no way. Of course, that was a lie.

Hours passed. Sam watched paint peal off the wall. The sun fell and darkness stole the world and all that was left was a flickering streetlight outside their window.

Hours passed, Dean continued tossing and mumbling. Nothing could be done, Sam waited for the sun.

6:14, Dean woke.

He said nothing as he found himself woven deep in his younger brothers arms, and he couldn't help but think to himself how pathetic he had become.

How the mighty have fallen.

"Dean?" Sam thought he felt Dean tense in his arms.

Dean did not speak, he refused. He knew if he tried opening his mouth and talk all that would come out was a choked cry that was clawing at the back of his throat.

"It's all okay now Dean." Sam wanted to say more, but could think of nothing.

A rotten chill ran up Dean's back as the sound of his own name, suddenly he realized how much he hated his name. It sickened him.

"You-you can take a shower if you want." To get the smell of John off you…but Sam didn't say that last part…

Silent, Dean removed himself from Sam and walked, painfully, slowly, into the bathroom, and shut the door.

For the fist minute Dean didn't know what to do with himself. He forgot who he was and what he was doing, he forgot how to walk and what made the walls crack.

Slowly reality returned to him, and his feet began to move him. The shower was dirty, but cleaner then him. The water took too long to get hot, Dean fell to his knees before the water hit lukewarm.

Pathetic, and with all the strength he had left he dragged himself into the tub. It was only after he was wet he realized, he had clothes on. Clothes that were not his, on the body that was not his.

Dean hit the shower nozzle with the back of his palm and the water fell onto his filthy head. Unable to stand, he slid down on his back and looked up at the cracked ceiling and the water falling down on him.

Perhaps he could go the way of the turkey, if he was quiet enough. He shook that idea from his head; he couldn't do that to Sam.

He striped the wet cloths from his body and pushed them to the end of the tub. They clogged the drain, and the water rose around him.

Perhaps a good old fashion drowning, but he couldn't do that either.

Maybe if he stayed quiet Sam would forget he had a brother/sister and leave.

The soap was out of Dean's reach, to get it he would have to stand, and to stand he would need legs, and he had none of those things anymore.

Could he keep going? He finally had to ask himself. Could he really get up after this, or would this be his final fall? Could he face Sam again? Could he really drag himself back up, did he have the strength?

"Dean?"

Stop calling me!

Knock, knock. "Dean are you all right?"

Dean opened him mouth, nothing came out.

It was of no use, Sam came in, and Sam looked at him. Sam saw his naked broken female body again floating pathetically in a half filled tub of filthy water.

"Dean?"

Stop calling me that, Dean wanted to shout, but every time he opened his mouth, nothing would come out. Nothing that resembled words, just quiet sighs and moans.

Unable to do anything, for what felt like the thousandth time, Sam fell to his knees, much like Dean had, and pulled his wet dirty brother into his arms.

"I'm sorry." Sam whispered, barely audible over the water. "I'm so sorry, I- I."

Dean could not move, he could not take his brother into his arms and promise him things he knew he could not keep. All he had the strength to do was to keep his mouth shut and allow no water to get in, and to just keep breathing

Sam cried until the water turned cold, and only stopped when Dean began to shiver.

As Sam dressed Dean in the hotel robe, the last piece of dry clothing they had left, he finally allowed himself to say it out loud.

"We have to go back."

"…I know." The first words of the day have never been so bitter before.


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