Envy

Disclaimer: I don't know which cemetery they went to. I don't know where they are. Wait…no…they're not mine. That's it!

Beta'd: By the ever-morphing and fabulous Wysawyg. Not only is she a wonderful author, but a great friend who is willing to tell me the hard truths when I need to hear them.

Thank You: To everyone who is reading! A special thanks to the anonymous reviewers I can't thank personally.

An Extra Thank You: To Heather for her medical expertise on this one. I appreciate the help, even though it will come into play more in the next chapter!

Time Line: Early June 1998. Dean is nineteen and Sam recently turned fifteen.

……………………………………..Envy Slays Itself by Its Own Arrows………………………………………

"Let him go," Dean repeated again. He watched her face crumple and knew she was hurting. A part of him felt she deserved it after everything she'd forced Sam to endure and the fact that she'd screwed with his mind fell right behind it. He couldn't even muster up a decent amount of pity for her.

"I'm sorry, Dean," she stated so softly he barely heard her. "For everything."

Rose whipped the gun away from Dean in a blur of metal and towards his brother. "Rose, no!" he shouted. He pulled the trigger on his pearl-handled colt and two gunshots echoed throughout the cavernous basement.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean's heart lurched into his throat and he swallowed it down along with a rush of panic. He ran the short distance to Sam, fell to his knees on the mattress and pushed Rose's inert form off his little brother with no regard for the blood on her or Sam. His fault, this was entirely his fault.

"Sam," Dean pleaded. Please, let him be alright. "Sammy, come on man, talk to me."

"Dean?" Sam croaked. His voice sounded tired and disoriented even in that one small word, but it was heaven to Dean's ears.

"I'm here," Dean replied, as he tugged on his little brother's shirt to pull him farther away from Rose. "It'll be okay."

Dean tried to avoid looking too closely at the blood-spattered wall in front of him and concentrate on his brother instead, but he could not avoid it. The wound on Rose's shoulder caused by his bullet had done very little damage, but the shot fired simultaneously by Rose left a gaping hole in the back of her head and a red, flesh-dotted, spray pattern on the wall, Rose and his little brother. He'd been so angry with her for what she'd done and a small part of him had wanted her dead, but this…he hadn't wanted this.

With a steady pulling motion he dragged Sam to the far end of the mattress and stared angrily at the cuffs on Sam's wrists, the flayed skin and the deep purple bruising. He needed to get them off his brother so he could remove the crimson-stained shirt and check for injuries. Not to mention, removing the flecks of brain matter stuck in his brother's hair. Jesus, Sammy.

"It hurts," Sam whispered, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

"What hurts?" Dean asked anxiously. He grimaced as he reached into Rose's pockets searching for the key to the cuffs.

Sam did not answer, but screwed up his face in pain. He quivered and pulled his knees up towards his chest. "I'm so tired," he whispered before his features went lax and he lost consciousness again.

"Sam?" Dean shook his brother gently, but received no response.

Belatedly he remembered the lock pick set in his jacket pocket and pulled it out to open the cuffs. When the cuffs were unlocked he whipped them across the room and they skittered along the concrete floor. He slipped the pick set back into his coat and tapped it once.

"Sammy?" Dean tried again and this time Sam moaned lightly, but he did not move or open his eyes.

Dean carefully rolled Sam's shirt starting at the hem until he could ease it over his brother's head, keeping the cellular bits contained inside a cotton fabric cocoon. A quick check revealed a spectacular display of bruising on Sam's back, but the injury that garnered his attention was a shallow graze on Sam's deltoid from Dean's own bullet on its way into Rose's shoulder.

His moment of hesitation had gotten Sam hurt and it was a mistake that could not happen again. He had shot Rose to stop her from firing her gun, but he'd been a fraction of a second too late and she had fired as well with deadly consequences. If she had been aiming for his little brother…Dean shuddered unable to complete that thought.

Not wanting to use Sam's soiled shirt as a makeshift bandage, Dean took off his button up shirt and wrapped it around his brother's arm. That would have to hold him for now. He tucked Sam's t-shirt under one arm and hoisted him into a standing position.

"Come on, Sam. Let's get you out of here."

Dean pulled his little brother's uninjured arm over his shoulder and Sam's head dropped to his chest. When his knees buckled Dean bent low to get under his brother's dead weight. He flipped Sam over his shoulder and noted with dismay that Sam had lost weight. His brother's bony hips digging into his shoulder were a testament to how thin Sam had become between the bouts of sickness and his time spent under Rose's dubious care.

He staggered under the awkward burden, but never stumbled as he made his way towards the stairway. With a soul chock full of guilt, he slowly climbed the stairs out of the basement and did not once look back.

Dean had no trouble opening the passenger door and gently setting his brother safely inside. He placed his jacket between Sam's torso and leather seat to keep his brother's bare skin from sticking. He cracked the window and locked the door before shutting it. He stood separated from his brother by only inches debating on whether he should go back inside and clean up the evidence or not spare the five minutes and get Sam far away from there.

He knew what his dad would say and in the end that almost won out. Five minutes to clean up a mess that would avoid possible entanglement with the local police was worth the price of leaving Sam's side. He couldn't bring himself to do it. He had been looking for Sam for days and now that he had finally found him, he couldn't leave him to wake up alone even if it was in the relative safety of the locked Impala. He had left Sam in the locked apartment only four days ago and look how that had turned out.

Decision made, Dean ran around to the driver's side, slid into the car and peeled out of the driveway. He kept the music turned off so he could listen for Sam's shallow breathing. He didn't like how out of it Sam appeared to be and he had no idea how many Xanax Rose had given him. There wasn't a question in Dean's mind, Sam needed medical care.

A hospital meant they would be separated from each other by medical professionals, the same medical professionals who would have an ethical and legal obligation to report suspected abuse and no doubt about it, Sam had been abused. The police would be contacted, possibly even child services and, while Dean's police report earlier and the evidence at Rose's would support Dean's claims, he could not bear the thought of being separated from his brother again while the establishment put their collective brains together and figured it out.

What he needed was a clinic, a small, but busy facility preferably in a rougher neighborhood. The doctors and nurses there would have less time to ask too many questions and while they would probably still alert the authorities, they would not have the man power to separate them or watch them to make sure they remained at the clinic. With that in mind, Dean turned the Impala off Palm Avenue and headed deeper into the city in search of an appropriate medical facility.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

After he slapped the final gauze pad on Beninger's face, John closed the first aid kit and stuffed it back into his pack. "That should hold you until you get to the main peninsula," he stated, standing up and offering the young cryptozoologist a hand.

"I really am sorry," Fred replied, abashedly. He accepted the offer of help from John and nearly passed out when he went from lying on the ground to an abrupt standing position. "Argh," he moaned, "Head rush."

"Take it easy, kid," Bobby stated, patting Fred on the back. His bedside manner was notoriously bad and it still beat John Winchester's any day. Fred bent slightly and rested his hands on his knees. He nodded his head in response and Bobby left him in order to speak with John who had walked back to the trail.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" Bobby asked, squinting in John's general direction.

"The tracks. It looks like rain and we need to follow after that thing and make sure the job is done before we lose the trail," John replied, not looking up.

"Why don't I follow the bear and you take Beninger to the doctor on the main land?" Bobby suggested.

John stood up and shot Bobby a look of disgust. "You want me to baby-sit your fledgling while you finish this hunt by yourself?"

"He ain't mine," Bobby protested out of reflex. "I was thinking he probably needs stitches and you could call your boys while you had reception. It's been several days; they may even be here by now."

"They better already be here," John replied, firmly. "And Dean has it covered."

"I'm sure he does, I just thought…"

"There's no way I'm leaving you to finish this on your own," John interrupted, "Especially not for an insufferable fool. He can wait until we follow the bearwalker tracks and make sure it's over." John looked over to Beninger and nodded. "Looks like he has his bearings back."

Bobby turned in the direction John nodded to spy Fred carefully picking his way over to them. His face was pale and he looked as if he was in pain, but he did give Bobby a half-hearted wave. "Appears you're right." He turned back to John and added, "Let's get this done. I'd like to sleep in a real bed tonight."

"Are you getting soft, Singer?" John asked, tossing Bobby a genuine smile.

"No and neither is the ground," Bobby grumbled. He waved Beninger to follow and fell into step beside John.

The early summer weather was unpredictable in the Midwest, but Bobby agreed with John. It smelled like it was going to rain. The tracks were easy to follow in the soft, damp dirt. A half an impression here and there, a large bent branch and drops of red led the way to the bearwalker.

Bobby spotted the man lying in the broken underbrush at the same time as John. "There," John pointed. Bobby nodded in agreement and turned to the struggling student.

"You stay here," Bobby instructed. "You don't want to see this."

"Are you kidding?" Fred asked. "I didn't trudge all the way out here and get bitch-slapped by a bear only to miss the grand finale of this journey into madness."

"Uh, yeah," Bobby replied drawing out the word. "Suit yourself. Don't say I didn't warn ya."

Bobby and Beninger joined John by the fallen man. The old man on the ground breathed in shallow panting gasps, one hand weakly grasping the silver-tipped arrow embedded in his chest. John looked up from where he knelt by the man as they approached and shook his head.

Beside him, Fred took in a sharp breath. "How?" he asked quietly.

"I told you, you didn't want to see this," Bobby told him. "Stay here." He sighed deeply when Fred once again failed to listen and crouched down beside the man.

"What happened?" Fred asked, placing a hand on the old man's shoulder. The old man opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you're trying to say."

"Thank you," the man whispered, his eyes landing on Bobby. He drew in a final shuddering breath and fell silent.

"Was he?" Fred asked, looking up at Bobby. "Was he the bearwalker?"

"Yeah," Bobby replied. Fred staggered to the bushes and Bobby grimaced in sympathy at the sounds of retching.

John looked over at Fred and then back to Bobby. "Are you ready to get this done?"

"You bet."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Dean started to pull over the first time he heard Sam moan. By the time he was able to maneuver through traffic to pull into the closest parking lot Sam was rocking in the seat and fumbling with the seatbelt. "Sam, stop it," Dean commanded, pulling the Impala into a spot farthest away from the other cars.

"Dean?" Sam asked quietly, surprise clearly evident in his tone. He jammed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Too bright."

"Come here," Dean said, simultaneously releasing the seatbelt and tugging on his brother's neck. Sam followed his gently urgings and buried his face in Dean's shoulder. He gave Sam a minute to acclimate and said, "We can't stay here, Sam. You need a doctor."

"No!" Sam startled and threw himself back against the passenger door. He hissed when his back came into contact with the doorframe.

"Sam, your wrist looks like hamburger and you're doped to the gills. You need to get checked out," Dean replied. He could hear the edge in his voice, but he kept his facial expression carefully neutral.

Sam blinked at his brother in obvious confusion. He put a shaky hand up to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun and licked dry, chapped lips. "What?"

"You're hurt," Dean explained, his tone gentler. He held Sam's left arm and raised it until Sam's wrist was in his brother's line of sight. "See? And a bump on the head, not to mention enough Xanax in your system to keep you knocked out for several hours. Do you know how much she gave you?"

Sam's face crinkled in confusion. "I uh, what?"

Dean gently released Sam's arm. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I don't see any other choice here. You need a doctor."

"No!" Sam replied fervently. He began fumbling with the door handle in an attempt to get out of the car.

"Hey, hey, stop," Dean instructed. He tugged on Sam's shoulder and he obediently sat back against the seat.

"I just want to go home," Sam stated his breath hitching. He hung his head, dejected. "Please, Dean. I just want to go home."

"Sam." Dean ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He should take Sam to the doctor there was no question about that. In the light of day, Sam looked worse if that were possible. His face had an ashen quality to it and his body trembled from involuntary tremors. "Sammy," Dean started again, the apology clearly evident in his tone.

"Please," Sam whispered. He placed a shaky hand on Dean's shirt sleeve.

"Sam," Dean replied, resigned. His head, bent on doing what was responsible, waged war on his heart that begged him to listen to his brother. The battle ended in a sigh of long suffering. "Okay, we'll go to the motel."

Sam sagged in relief against the seat and closed his eyes, his breathing returning to normal. "But I reserve the right to change my mind at any time," Dean cautioned.

"I'll be fine," Sam reassured him. He closed his eyes and Dean leaned over and refastened Sam's seat belt. He could not help but notice a slight wheezing in Sam's breathing. He sat for a moment, tossing his decision back and forth through his mind and re-evaluating the wisdom of caving to his little brother. "I'll be fine," Sam repeated. "I want to go home."

"I know, Sam," Dean replied. He knew he would not be able to change his mind without a good reason. He flipped the car into reverse and pulled away from the shabby convenience store. He could research Xanax back at the motel after he patched Sam up and if it turned out it was more than he could handle, he could still take Sam to a clinic. He worried that it would be the wounds he could not see that would prove to be too much to handle.

"Thanks," Sam said quietly.

"Don't thank me yet, Sammy," Dean replied under his breath. He pulled out into traffic and headed for the motel.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam leaned his head back against the seat back and tried to quell the tremors running through his body. He knew he was in the Impala with Dean and he was safe, but he could not stop the minute trembling. He moved his head closer to his brother and lightly brushed Dean's shirt with his fingertips. "It'll be okay, Sammy," he heard Dean reassure him.

The shaking gave way to a large yawn and he could feel himself drifting off again. He did not want to sleep anymore. He wanted Dean to drive and keep driving until they were in Michigan and they were back with Dad. The lure of drug-induced sleep pulled him closer to the edge of awareness, but he dug in his heels and held his ground. He hovered on the divide of wakefulness and sleep, his fingers still clutching Dean's sleeve and his ears tuned into his brother's breathing. He didn't want to sleep. He was afraid to sleep; sure if he succumbed when he awoke he would be back in Rose's dark basement.

His fingers twitched compulsively and he felt Dean twist in the seat to look at him and light fingers brush his hair. "I'm sorry," Dean whispered. Sam tried to ask his brother why he was sorry, but he could not manage the words past unresponsive lips. It came out as more of a low moan and the hand in his hair disappeared.

No, Dean, that's not what I meant. Sam breathed deeply and tried again to form a response, but it came out as a light snore. What's wrong with me? Sam wondered. He could feel the anxiety rising in his chest again and it brought its good friend nausea with it. He heard a slight rustle of clothing and Dean flipping his cell phone open.

The sound of ringing inside Dean's phone echoed impossibly loud in his ears and then – Dad's voice. Dean had called Dad and Sam listened for his father's voice. You've reached the voicemail of John Winchester. If you need help, leave a message.

"Dad." Dean spoke in a hushed voice. "I found Sam. He's, ah…" Dean paused and Sam guessed he was checking to make sure he was sleeping. "He's banged up. Not to mention she drugged him. I'll explain later. Anyway, he's pretty out of it. I'm going to patch him up and give him a couple of hours to sleep before we start heading your direction." Another pause. "I'll call you later, Dad, once I know more. You don't have to worry. I've got it covered."

The sharp click of the cell phone snapping closed caused Sam to jump slightly. He knew Dean noticed because his hand moved to rest on Sam's shoulder. He relaxed against the touch and felt the inexplicable anxiety slipping away. He allowed himself to dip further and his mind touched the gray fog of subconscious once, twice and then disappeared inside.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dean pulled into the Arborwood motel. He had checked in several days ago when he moved out of the apartment. He hated that he would have to wake Sam to get him inside, but slinging his gangly brother on his shoulder would surely be noticed. He killed the engine and slowly slid out from behind Sam who had fallen further and further over towards Dean on the trip over from the convenience store.

By the time Dean exited the car and walked around to the passenger side, Sam was already sitting up and blinking to awareness. His hazel eyes darted about frantically, taking in his surroundings and his chest heaved. "Sam," Dean said, grabbing his brother's arms. "It's okay."

Sam frowned until his eyes refocused on his brother. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For what?" Dean asked, his eyes scanning his brother's face trying to ascertain what Sam was thinking.

"For opening the door," Sam replied, his breath hitching. "For making you worry."

"Sam…"

Sam grabbed his shirt sleeve tightly with white fingers. "Please don't be mad. I'm sorry."

Dean rolled his eyes, they were quite the pair. "It's not your fault." The instant look of relief on Sam's face caused a rush of renewed anger at Rose. She had obviously toyed with Sam's feelings and thoughts as well.

He must have emphasized one word too much because Sam's hazel fixed onto his face. "It's not your fault either, Dean."

Dean pondered Sam's words, but he knew they weren't true. He should have seen Rose for who she truly was and at the very least he should have picked up on the clues that she was unstable. "Come on, let's get you inside," he said after a beat. The frown on Sam's face alerted Dean that his avoidance technique had not gone unnoticed.

His little brother tossed him a reproachful look, but Sam did not resist when Dean hauled him to his feet or helped him walk to the motel. "Can you stand?" Dean asked, gently propping Sam against the doorjamb. "I need to unlock the door."

"I got it," Sam assured him, sagging heavily against the frame of the door. Dean rested one hand on Sam's chest to hold him steady and unlocked the door with the other. Sam nearly spilled into the room if not for Dean. "I'm sorry. Tired," Sam apologized again.

"Stop apologizing," Dean snapped. "This isn't your fault." Sam flinched at Dean's harsh tone and he mentally cursed himself. He was angry at the situation, at Rose and at himself, but he wasn't angry with his little brother. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm not mad at you."

Sam's lips turned in a wobbly grin. "Now who needs to stop apologizing?"

"Shut up," Dean replied with a return grin. "Come on," he continued with a grunt. "Inside."

They staggered in together and Dean kicked the door shut with his foot on the way by. Sam tried to collapse onto the bed, but Dean urged him on towards the bathroom. "Do you think you can shower?"

"I smell that bad?" Sam asked, his grin having given way to a thin line of determination.

"No," Dean replied, easing Sam down to the toilet seat. "But it would be a good idea for you to get cleaned up before I look at where you're hurt and you crash." No need to freak you out little brother, but I can't let you go to sleep with brain bits in your hair.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief when Sam nodded in agreement without pressing the issue. He reached across the small bathroom and turned on the water to warm up. He removed his shirt from around Sam's arm and bent down to examine the wound. The tiny window at the far end did not provide much light to see, so Dean flipped on the switch. A small groan followed and Dean turned back to his brother.

Sam pressed his hands tightly against his eyes. "Too bright," he complained.

Dean flipped off the switch and Sam sagged in relief. Dean vowed to get on-line to research Xanax as soon as he had checked out Sam's injuries. "Can you do this?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sam replied. He lifted his gaze to meet Dean's. "If it's quick. I'm really tired."

"I'll help you stand and with the sweats," Dean stated, wrapping an arm around his brother and lifting. Sam stood on wobbly legs, but he did not seem in any danger of falling. Dean pulled the gray sweat pants down to Sam's ankles and let Sam brace himself to step out of them. "You can finish with the boxers, right?" Dean asked.

"Definitely," Sam agreed, a blush climbing his neck. "I'll be fine."

"Leave the door unlocked," Dean replied, snagging the sweats and shirt to throw them away. "I'll be right back with clean clothes."

"Go," Sam insisted, pointing to the open door.

"Going," Dean said. He paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder towards his brother. "And Sam? Make sure you wash your hair a couple of times." Sam crinkled his forehead in an unspoken question. "Trust me on this one. Don't ask," Dean said. He waited for Sam's nod before leaving and closing the door behind him.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam stepped into the warm spray and sighed. The water cascaded over his skin, warming him for the first time in days. He allowed the water to run over his head, the gentle massaging beads of liquid soothing his throbbing headache. After only a minute or two, Sam could feel his legs getting tired and he decided to speed things up.

He lathered shampoo into his hair and rinsed, twice. He had no idea why Dean requested he do so, but he was too exhausted to argue with his big brother. His mind churned through recent events, but he found he remembered very little. He recalled the dark, Rose, and being cold all the time. He could not remember what order they occurred in or how long he had been there and he found it disconcerting.

A knock on the door preceded his brother's call. "Sam, are you okay in there?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, the weariness in his tone easily detectable.

"Are you about done?" Dean asked, his voice closer now. Sam could hear the notes of concern even through the haze of tiredness surrounding him.

"Yeah." He braced a hand on the wall of the shower when his legs started shaking.

"Okay, I'm leaving your clothes on the sink. One more minute, Sam. I mean it," Dean instructed.

"Yeah, okay," Sam answered, his fingers slipping a bit on the slick tiles.

"I'm right outside the door," Dean assured him.

"I'll be out soon," Sam managed.

He waited until he heard the bathroom door click closed before letting out a shaky breath. He was near the end of his endurance, but his whirling mind would not let him leave the comfort of the massaging spray just yet. It bothered him, that he could not remember Dean finding him or how his brother had managed to get him away from Rose. He didn't remember how he had hurt his wrist or when he had cut his arm. The bump on his head was a mystery and he knew Rose had done something to him, but he could not remember what.

He could feel the anxiety rising again and he tried to calm himself. It was not often he had trouble controlling his fears or pushing down his emotions, but he could not seem to get a handle on them today. He felt out of control and he did not like it. Sam turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, his bare feet hitting the cool linoleum. He pulled his boxers over wet skin, slipped a t-shirt over his head and left the bathroom still dripping water.

Sam made a bee-line for the bed. He took note of the booted up laptop on the table, but he doubted this small motel had Internet to plug into. Dean intercepted him and his brother's strong grip on his elbow helped guide him the rest of the way. Dean pulled the blankets back and Sam fell into the bed, closing his eyes and shivering against the cold. It probably would have helped had he taken the time to towel off, but he had wanted out of the confining bathroom.

Blankets were pulled up over him and Sam snuggled deep into the comforting warmth. Moments later Sam had nearly dozed off when the bed dipped and he knew without looking that Dean had joined him. Cool fingers touched his forehead and Dean's voice rumbled from the darkness. "You asleep already?"

"No," Sam replied sleepily.

"Too bad," Dean responded, his voice sounding sympathetic. "I think you're going to need some stitches in your arm and wrist."

"Head?" Sam asked simply, too tired to think of more words.

"Your head hurts or do you want to know if you need stitches in your head?" Dean asked.

"Yes," Sam yawned. He sought out his brother with his hand until he found Dean's knee. He gave it a light squeeze before letting his hand drop back to the bed to rest near Dean.

"I don't think you need stitches."

"Good," Sam replied with a small sigh of relief. He could hear Dean rummaging through the first aid kit and the crinkle of packaging.

He felt something sticky on his forehead and he raised a hand to brush it off. "Leave it," Dean said. "It's steri-strips."

"K," Sam whispered. He shivered as a blast of cool air hit him when Dean pulled the covers off his upper body.

"I think six or seven stitches should do it," Dean stated, his hand gently gripping Sam's arm. Sam did not even attempt to reply and he barely felt the pull of the thread through his skin. The darkness was surrounding him again and he knew this time he would not be able to stave it off.

He snuggled deeper into the covers as the tendrils of sleep invaded his mind. He stopped fighting it and let it come to take him. He was tired; somehow it seemed he had always been tired. Sleep enveloped his mind and he sank deeper into it.

He moaned when he felt the bite of the cuffs around his wrist, his skin worn raw from his earlier struggles. He moaned again. Somehow he had convinced himself Dean had found him and he had been free. He should have known it would not be that easy.

TBC

……………………………………………………….Supernatural………………………………………………...

AN: Red Sky at Morning made my week. Not only did I really enjoy it, the angst, the cougar attack (so fanon) and the bits of humor (did you see Jensen shove that entire appetizer in his mouth and still talk?) but the first victim's name was mine. I got to hear Sammy say my name like three times. LOL. How fan-girl is that? Now if I could only figure out how to create a .wav file for my phone. Hmmmm.

My NaNo muses are taking a backseat to the boys again. (sigh) I should just switch to a Supernatural story now while I still have a chance to make my 50,000 words. :D

Curse those Winchesters for being so darn irresistible. BG.