|"Because it hurts."| |Chapter 6. Part 4.|

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A/N: WARNINGS: Are all the same as they have been and I'm adding a WARNING for foul language, which I know I tacked in the first WARNINGS, but I didn't want anyone to forget that I warned for it, so, I'm re-warning for foul language, just as a reminder.

Special Thanks to: Stoney Angel who is now going by the Pen Name, Frakking Toasters, as her generously supportive comments have really helped stay the course..

Right now I kinda wanna snuggle my pet 'fic monster'… I'm sorta starting to miss the crazy little ball of fluff.

Reviews equals carrots and all my super cute baby mutant plot bunnies need to eat.

So, please review!

The story is picking up right where it left off!

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The darkness just fades away.

This time Present day Dean is looking at the inside of the cab of his father's truck and he can see Past Sam's reflection in the passenger side window.

The kid is still probably around only thirteen years old and he looks physically and emotionally exhausted and he also looks wary and filled with a deep, dark sadness.

"So, I told Dean…" His father's voice is cut off by the hitch in Sam's breath.

The child starts clutching at the door handle. The truck is still moving when the door flings open.

"What the hell, Sam?!" His father yells as Sam tries to jump from the still moving truck.

His father slams on the brakes and Sam is being pulled back away from the door, but he isn't going without a fight.

"No!" The child shouts as he struggles "He can't know! He can't ever know!"

"Sam!" His father bellows frantically as the child squirms free and his long legs are carrying him out towards a vast expanse of Californian desert… "SAM!"

The child is sobbing frantically as he runs, his body betraying him with every step he takes because all of the pain, it's slowing him down. It's making him tired. So tired. It all hurts so bad.

It feels like the worse sort of betrayal and that hurts too.

Nothing makes sense in his bewildered and terrified mind All he knows is he can't go home. Not if Dean knows.

He won't be able to bear it if his big brother resents him or hates him even more over what's happened.

It doesn't make a lot of sense. He knows it doesn't. There's other reasons Dean can't know. There's other reasons he can't face Dean if Dean knows.

It's best if he just doesn't think.

So he lets go of rationality, of logic and just runs as fast and as far as his traitorous body will take him.

His mind is a complete blank when the ground comes rushing up to meet him.

He lays there frozen. Like a scared rabbit, caught in the jaws of a wolf, the rabbit's trying to pretend it's made of stone so the wolf will just lose interest and let it go. It's best not to struggle. To feign lifelessness. To pretend you're stone.

But stone doesn't have a frantically beating heart. Doesn't breathe, harsh, sobbed out panting breaths of fear, despair, sadness.

Stone doesn't whimper and cringe.

The wolf is telling the rabbit that everything is okay. That Dean thinks the rabbit had really bad appendicitis.

The rabbit can live with that if the wolf can swear that Dean will never know that the rabbit's just a fur pelt now. Everything that was ever inside is gone now. He's hollow, flat… Lifeless. Maybe he is made of stone?... Maybe the rabbit got away and the wolf simply picked up a rock in it's place instead?..

Nothing makes sense.

The world tilts and he feels like maybe the wolf grew wings.

When he's able to really focus again, he realizes he's back in the truck and the wolf has one hand on the wheel, the other arm is wrapped around him, keeping him close. Keeping him from trying to flee again.

The child wants to ask how far he had gotten, how long he had been running. But there's no point. Because apparently he hadn't been able to get far enough, fast enough to evade capture.

There's a sick sense of dread. His father must be so disappointed in him. For so many reasons. But the only thing the child could think of right now was of how disappointed his father must be in him for being so slow.

His father's voice tells him that he's not a disappointment. His father's voice cracks and says he's sorry, that he will spend every day, proving that he can do better. That he can be better. That he can be a better father.

The child doesn't really care if his father gets better or worse or stays the same, all he cares about is keeping his brother from getting hurt by the man, keep his brother from being hurt by him.

He can hear his father crying. He must have said that out loud.

There's a vague memory. The doctor had said there might be side effects, but without the medicine the kid would be miserable from so much pain during the ride home.

His father had said that he didn't want his son to have to be in any more pain from this.

He wishes someone would have actually asked him. He rather be in pain than feel drugged. It's a strangely disorienting feeling. It's a vulnerable feeling.

He really doesn't like it.

He makes a mental note. A promise to himself. He'll take the meds the doc prescribed for him the way he's supposed to, but after that… He's never going to do drugs of any kind ever again.

His head is swimming. He's drowning. No one hears him call for help. He doesn't like this feeling.

He won't willingly let someone do anything to him that might make him feel like this and he damn sure won't ever do something to make himself feel like this.

The child wants to tell his father that there's other things besides pain that can make a person feel miserable.

That pain is really just a confirmation of life.

That this sick, floatie numbness where he feels weak and vulnerable and disoriented is a conformation of things he doesn't want to ever have to deal with…

"Please.." he begs with a sob. He doesn't know how to deal with this. He doesn't want to have to know how to deal with this.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy." He hears his father's tear filled voice whisper right before the fog consumes him.

He doesn't know how much time has passed, only that the sky outside the cab of the truck has grown darker and that he doesn't feel so hazy anymore.

He wonders where they are.

He shifts and his father tightens the one armed hold on him.

"Wh?.." He asks groggily. He doesn't really remember very much of the drive and what he does remember is vague, like a dream that he's not sure was real. By the way his father is holding him, he figures that it's reasonable to assume that most of what he remembers really did happen… It's humiliating knowing that his dad saw him so out of it like that.

"Hey, kiddo… You waking up?"

"I… Think so…" Well, how else could he answer that question?… He's not feeling very sure about anything right now, least of all that he's really awake and that this is all real and that it all hasn't just been some horrible nightmare with a few sprinklings of halfway decent dreams tossed in to make him believe it's somehow reality.

He feels detached from the whole ordeal and he wants to keep it that way for as long as possible.

But his curiosity gets the better of him.

"Where are we?..." He's feeling more aware now and knows they've had to have been driving for about three hours.

"Bout an hour and a half from home…" His father replies.

Something about that answer feels off. Did they leave California? Why was it taking hours just to drive home?

His furrowed brow must have given away his confusion. "Doctor Robert's "office" is in San Francisco, that's all the way on the other side of the state from where we're staying."

It's not a lot… But the fact that his father had actually had enough patience to answer a question he hadn't even had the chance to ask yet was the little that was going a long way in his father's favor.

"Oh.." He said with a shrug… His father had driven all the way across the state to get him help..

He sat there in the comfortable silence thinking of all the long hours that had gone into each trip he's ever been on. How some of those hours had been thick with anger and tension, how some of those hours had been light with happiness and good memories.

He had spent so many hours on the road. Hours… Hours… HOURS!

A realization struck him blind with anger as it lit up in his mind.

"You lied to me.." he spat out as he pulled away from his father. He had been hurting physically, mentally and emotionally at the time and hadn't exactly been in the right state of mind to catch the lie back then, but he was thinking more clearly now.

"What?..." His father sounded genuinely confused.

"The night.. The night that… That 'It' happened. You yelled at me for calling you while you were in the middle of a hunt. You said you left the hunt because of MY CALL, that the monster you were after got away because of the call I made to you!.."

"Sam… I know I was wrong… I know now that it was an emergency and I'm sorry that I didn't hear you out…"

"I'm not talking about you not hearing me out… I'm talking about the fact that a monster got away and you blamed the call I made when you were already on your way home when I made the call.. That monster got away because something else happened and blaming me for it was more convenient than owning up to however you screwed the hunt up…"

"Sam.." His father growled in warning.

"No.. Don't you… You don't get to deny it… That hunt was two states away… TWO… And you were already back when Dean and I got back to the room that night… It would have taken you hours to get back if you had only left right after the call, unless you had already been on your way when I called. The phone call that I made that night had nothing to do with why you left in the middle of the hunt… Admit it.."

"Sam.." His father's voice was a broken plea this time.

"You not only hit me… But… You hit me with absolutely no justifiable reason… You… I mean… I would've understood if you had at least really thought that I had done something wrong.. But.." The child cried out each word with heartbroken sobs.. "I didn't do anything.." his breath hitched "I didn't do anything to deserve.."

"Sam…" His father's whisper sounded almost fearful "You have to understand I was drunk… I didn't really know what I was…"

"Just… Just stop.." The boy stated with a shake of his head as he pulled himself closer to the passenger side door. The truck slowed down noticeably, his father probably thought he was going to try and jump out again… He actually was a little tempted to do just that, but his rationality was firmly in place and it was telling him that it would be unwise… Earlier when he had been trapped in the hazy fog of strong pain killers he had gotten away with it. He had no delusions that he'd get away with such theatrics now that his mental faculties were mostly back online.

It was a wonder he was getting away with this outburst. With verbally berating his own father… With outright forcing full accountability onto his father's shoulders… And, all of a sudden, he doesn't really care, it's about time his father shouldered some of the blame. His father will probably find some excuse to punish him anyway, so he might as well give the man a reason.

"So… What happened that night?... What made you leave in the middle of a hunt?.."

"Sam…"

"No… I have a RIGHT to know what happened!" The child growled "And more importantly… I have a right to know what made you think that it was okay to blame ME!" his growl turned into a swallowed sob "Why you always think it's okay to blame me.."

"You're right…" His father sounded defeated…

Good. The man needed to learn how it felt. Because it's how he almost always feels and it's time his father knows just a little of that pain as well.

He just 'mmphs' in agreement and raises his eyebrows, silently telling his father with a scathing look that he needs to elaborate. That he's not getting out of this so easily.

He's been getting out of too many things far too easily lately. He needs to know there's going to start being harsh consequences for his wrong choices.

"You're right…" His father states again, it's a little stronger now. "It was a Chupacabre and it was me and one other hunter against it… No matter what we did, the bastard wouldn't die. And worse than that. I made the mistake of cutting off one of the damn thing's hands."

"Oh, dad…" His voice is a shocked and angry groan of frustration.

"A man died because of me… A little girl lost her dad because of me… A good woman lost her husband because I didn't… Because…"

"Because you went in without having done the proper research first!" The thirteen year old snapped "And now another hunter's out taking on a hunt that you couldn't finish without the proper backup because you wouldn't listen to me!... People won't die because of me… They'll die because of your ignorance!"

"You better watch your tone, Sam…"

"Or what?!" He's getting a bit hysterical now… He knows his mind is being devoured by lunacy, but he's so tired of fighting the pull of this righteous insanity. "You gonna beat me?! Call me worthless and useless some more?!.. Send me away?! WHAT?!... What are you gonna do?!"

The truck has come to a stop now, his father reaches across the seat a grabs the front of his shirt. He flinches violently and shrinks into himself. Fear eating away at his anger. A voice in his head is chanting "Bad idea. Bad idea… Such a bad idea… Oh god, he's gonna kill me…"

He's pulled across he seat. His body is too weak to really do more than put up a sadly feeble struggle that will do nothing to save him.

He doesn't realize how badly he's trembling until strong arms wrap around him and help him keep from flying apart like an exploding toaster. His dad asks when he's ever seen a toaster explode, he whispers "Don't ask.. One time when Dean was about ten he wanted to see what would happen if he put the toaster inside the microwave.. It wasn't pretty."

His dad laughs and hugs him tighter. He feels a little bad now for yelling at him. He wants to take back the mean things he said.

His dad says not to worry about it. That he deserved to hear that and more, That nothing anyone could say or do would be enough to punish him for what he's done. For how he's failed as a father.

He tells his father he hasn't failed, that there's still a chance…

His dad breathes a sigh of relief.

That makes the child feel a little bit better. He hopes his dad knows he loves him. That he wants to be able to trust him again.

His dad gives him one more comforting squeeze before turning back to the wheel and starts them back on their journey home.

The thirteen year old spends the rest of the ride hoping that maybe… Just maybe… Things really will get better.

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He and his dad are both exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally, when they finally reach their destination. But there's a certain kind of peace between them now. An unspoken understanding of sorts.

The child knows that he no longer has to be afraid of his father… And from now on he's going to call his father out on every choice on every order, because it could mean the difference between life and death.

He knows that his father knows that his youngest son is no longer afraid of holding him accountable for everything he will ever say or do from here on out. He knows that his father knows, that, that means that a lot of heated arguments will be in their futures. But there's a certain kind of peace in knowing he'll be heard…. That his father will make a strong argument just to establish dominance, but now it's never going to be anything more than reasserting that he's the authority of their household. There's not going to be anymore hitting or hurtful words like before. He can feel safe in making sure his concerns will be heard by his father.

He doesn't have to be afraid anymore. The monster that was hiding beneath his dad's skin is gone now and he hopes it won't ever come back.

His dad cooks supper for them for the first time in a long time and the three of them eat at the table like a regular family. His big brother wants to see if he has a cool scar on his stomach now. His dad says the doctor didn't actually have to remove his appendix, that he just has to take a few different antibiotics for a while and get plenty of rest and he'll be good as new.

His big brother whispered to him that he got gypped cause girls dig scars, but that's cool "Means more girls for me."

He rolls playfully jabs his elbow into his big brother's ribs and rolls his eyes, their dad tells him he can't be rough housing. His big brother sticks his tongue out at him…

And he thinks… That here in this moment his family loves him and that makes life worth trying to live…

He no longer wants to die.

His dad makes sure he gets all the meds he's supposed to have then his dad makes him a comfortable place to rest on the living room sofa because his ribs are still tender… There's no mocking him for needing to sleep in a reclined position, this time around, his dad wants him to be able to be comfortable.

It's not a lot, but it goes a long way. His dad is earning back his trust, little by little. He's earning his forgiveness, little by little.

And over the next week life stays as good as it could ever be for him. His dad takes care of him. His big brother spends time with him. He even gets to go ahead and go back to school so long as he doesn't have to participate in P.E. which won't be a problem because school will be out for summer in exactly two weeks' time and end of school assemblies and plays will be taking over the gym and the field around the track, so there's not going to be any P.E. for the rest of the year.

But things start to go downhill one day when his big brother's teaching him how to play Texas Hold'em.

He's sitting there, trying to figure out if he should raise or call. They're only betting cookies, so it shouldn't matter either way. But he wants to win at least one hand to show that he's getting the hang of it.

He looks up and sees his big brother staring at him with an expression of hurt and anger.

"What?" He honestly doesn't know what he's done to put that look on Dean's face.

His big brother tilted his head and huffed "I just realized what today is, is all…"

"And?…"

"You must have been pretty mad at me to get rid of your bracelet, huh?"

"Uh… I have no idea what you're talking about…"

"Your bracelet, Sam… The one I gave you for your birthday last year…"

A pang of fear stopped his heart for a fraction of a second, then he remembered that his big brother doen't know why his bracelet is gone. "I didn't get rid of it, Dean."

"Uh huh… Yeah, right." His big brother stated with bitter sarcasm "You got mad at me for not remembering your birthday and threw it away, didn't you?"

"No… I'd never do something like that…"

"Whatever, Sam… Glad to know it was worth so much to you…" His brother tossed his cards onto the couch and started to storm off.

"I lost it… Okay?" The younger boy cried out with a hasty plea… "The night I got sick, dad had to carry me out to the truck and .. It must have fallen off my wrist." He lied "I would never have thrown it away." That part, was the honest to goodness truth. He wouldn't have ever done something like that, no matter how mad he was.

His brother didn't look like he believed him… Is this what they'd come to?.. His brother didn't believe him…. Didn't believe in him.

His world came crashing back down around his ears again.

"If I had thrown it away, then why would I still have this one?" He asked as he held up his other wrist that was still adorned with the first bracelet his big brother had ever given him. He's so glad the bad men hadn't taken this one too. Losing them both would have broken him beyond repair.

His big brother deflated, the anger was gone as quickly as it had arrived and now it was obvious that the older boy felt bad. Which made the younger boy feel horrible because he had caused that.

"Sorry, Sammy." His big brother whispered as he sat back down on the far end of the couch by Sam's feet.

"Me too." The younger brother replied as tears formed in his eyes "I swear, I didn't mean to lose it."

The major crisis that could have come from this had been successfully adverted. But the next few crisis wouldn't be avoided so easily.

His dad started having to be out of the cabin more and more again… This time the man was actually trying to bring in some honest money by fixing up people's cars and trucks around the town they lived in.

And it had been good money too, seeing as how they were in the middle of the desert and the nearest mechanic was sixty miles away.

But his dad having to be gone more again, meant Dean having to be responsible for more again.

At first. It had been okay. His big brother had taken it all in stride. But then those old resentments started to creep back in when all the seventeen year old wanted was to go to his Junior Prom two days before school ended and the answer had been a firm and nonnegotiable "No."…

Then, came a phone call for help that his father couldn't turn away.

An hour after the phone call he was looking at a cheap plastic, weekly medicine dispenser his father had picked up at the gas station and his father was telling him he'd be fine so long as he took each evening's worth of meds on the right evenings and no more than that.

And… Wasn't that just super awesome parenting?... His father wasn't just breaking a promise he made to another grown up, he was also giving a thirteen year old child who was known to have suicidal thoughts access to a week's worth of dangerously potent, MIXED, medicines all at once and hoping the divider would keep the kid from popping more than one day's worth of pills at a time.

It was just sad how clueless his father could be sometimes.

The seventeen year old Dean wasn't very happy with this turn of events either, if the way he slammed their bedroom door after their dad left that night was anything to go by.

The next day he could occasionally hear his brother grumble that he could be out. He could be at Prom. He could be making out in the back seat of the Impala with 'What's Her Face'.. But… No.. He was stuck at home, babysitting his helpless kid brother.

And the night closed with a bitter tension thickening the air.

It was making the thirteen year old start wondering why he was even still trying… But he did his duty. He took the right meds the way he was supposed to. And then he laid on the couch silently crying himself to sleep.

When he woke up he trudged to the bathroom and started seriously thinking about taking up his self-chosen instrument of punishment once more… He was the reason his big brother lost out on the opportunity to experience an important rite of passage.

But the thought of cutting has lost it's appeal. All he can think when he looks at the edge of the blade is that he wants to cut.. Bad things.. He wants to punish bad things… And when he looks in the mirror, he no longer sees a bad thing. Because he's not the one who told his big brother 'No.' about the Prom, he's not the one who dumped his kid off on Dean while he went traipsing around the country side, chasing after things from nightmares.

Blades are for cutting bad things… And he doesn't think he's bad. Not anymore.

So, he puts the blade away and showers and gets dressed for school.

His new school isn't so bad, he's actually managed to make a couple of friends he knows he's never gonna see again once he leaves this place. It's like a game… See who gets attached first. Him or them. It's always him. He's just too desperate for human connections that don't hurt.

He spends two hours after school at the town library because his brother is late picking him up and he is not going to even attempt walking over sixty miles to get to the tiny little town next door where 'home' is.

His brother seems agitated when he gets there and he wants to say "Don't look at me… I'm not the one who pissed in your Wheaties, dude…", but he keeps quiet. If his brother is going to be mad, then there's not a lot that can make him change his mind.

Dean is too much like their dad when it comes to anger and Sam knows he hasn't really got anything that will diffuse the situation. His big brother is not in the right mind set for hearing him out, even if he did.

His big brother says he wants to meet some of his friends at the park before they head back to the cabin and the thirteen year old knows it's his obligation to 'be cool' this is a big deal…. A total privilege. Hanging out with older kids. Cool kids, like Dean.

Except they're not cool kids, like Dean.

Turns out being seventeen doesn't automatically make a person awesome.

The boys Dean wants to hang out with, smoke… And it's not cigarettes they're smoking. He can't believe his big brother wants to hang out with these low lives.

But he's not going to say a word to their father because if their father found out either of them had been around dugs of any kind that weren't prescribed to them by a doctor, it'd probably start raining fire and brimstone, and that would be the pleasant part of their dad finding out.

His brother is seventeen after all… What harm could a little teenage rebellion do?

One of the guys offers him a 'hit' he says no… he doesn't want any 'hits' of any kind, 'thank you very much' (loser)…

The guy calls him a pussy… Which is just so vulgar and.. Gross.

He moves to take a few steps away, hoping the group of older kids will ignore him.

The guy who called him a pussy body checks him and he clenches his fists and growls at the guy to back the hell off.

His brother pulls the douchebag.. (See, vulgar, yet accurate, insult… ASSHOLE!) away from him and shoves him towards the other boys.. But it's with a laugh and some jokes about how "Little Samantha" just doesn't know how to cut lose and that he's hoping his sister will grow out of this 'bitchy' phase.

Really?... Oh, hell, no.

The thirteen year old storms off and climbs back into the Impala. He's not getting back out of the car until it's parked outside the cabin they're currently living in and his brother will be lucky if he ever speaks to him ever again.

And to think he had thought those little punks were so beneath his brother! Turns out his brother might actually be beneath them…

He knows his wounded pride and his hurt feelings are darkening his thoughts, but that had been humiliating and he is pissed off about it.

Present day Dean doesn't even remember any of this. He guesses he must have been too high to care but he's not high right now, and he cares so much that it's killing him to know that he was such an evil little shithead back then.

God, how had his brother been able to stand being around him back then after all the crap he had pulled? He wishes now that he had never touched Marijuana or booze, because apparently his dad wasn't the only Winchester that became a monster once he was under the influence.

When his big brother got back in the car, the thirteen year old wanted to gag, the 'distinctive' scent of 'pot' was sickeningly cloying and he did not want to have to be cooped up in a car for over an hour drive with that stench, even with the windows rolled down.

He let out a groan that voiced his annoyance as he cranked his window all the way down. He might not like it, but it was better than walking.

Once they were almost out of town his brother lulled his head in the direction of his brother and said "Man, you totally just embarrassed me in front of my friends."

"I embarrassed, you?" He asked indignantly "One of your 'friends' called me a freaking 'pussy' and then you turn right around and make it worse by calling me 'Samantha' and your SISTER… Sister?.. And I'm the one who embarrassed, you?.. Really, Dean?"

"They're not gonna hang out with me again if I can't start finding someplace to leave you. They don't want a rat around."

"A rat?" The younger boy asked with an angry scoff.

"Yeah, someone who might tattle on them.."

"I know what you meant Dean.. And you don't gotta worry cause I won't say crap."

"Oh, I know you won't, cause you were there too and little, Mister Goody Two-Shoes can't have anyone thinking he's anything other than flawless."

His brother wasn't just high, he was drunk as well. Just great.

"Dean, maybe we should go back to that diner so you can get some coffee or something."

"Maybe we should go to that diner so you can get some coffee." His big brother meeped out mockingly. "You're such a drag, Sam, no one's ever gonna think you're cool if you don't stop being such a dork."

"I'd rather be a dork for the rest of my life than some loser that smokes that crap."

"Well, don't worry, you won't ever have to be around that crap ever again, cause I found out that Bartsow has a Plucky's, I'll just start dropping you off there and doubling back to Yermo to hang out with the guys."

"No." The thirteen year old growled. "You are not leaving me at another Plucky's ever again."

"The hell I'm not… You think I wanna be stuck with you instead of getting to hang out with my friends?"

"You could always just leave me at the cabin."

"Yeah, when Hell freezes over. If someone ever started asking questions about why you're always home alone, dad would have my hide."

"He'd also have your hide if he ever found out you smoked pot and drove while you were both high and drunk." The thirteen year old stated smugly.

"You won't tell."

"I'd rather get in trouble for being at a place where people were smoking pot than have you ditch me at another crappy kiddie restaurant just so you can go hang out with those loser potheads."

"You just love to screw up everything, don't you?" His big brother growled angrily.

"You're the one who's screwing everything up by getting high and drunk with people you have no business being around."

The brothers didn't talk for the rest of the ride home. And the few words they said once they were back at the cabin were spoken with anger or disappointment.

The next day went by in a blur, and when they got home from school his big brother was still royally pissed at him. Somewhere, deep down he knew his big brother was going to deal out retribution of some kind. He just didn't know how his brother was going to make him suffer.

He was achy and tired and he really had to take a dump but he was terrified of how much it was going to hurt. Of how it might cause him to start bleeding again. He remembered that Doc Robert had suggested he soak in a tub full of hot water to help his muscles relax so he could have an easier time with passing a bowl movement and right now, soaking in a tub full of warm water seemed like it would be an awesome idea.

His brother said he was heading out to Yermon to go hang out with his 'friends' so the child knew he had at least two hours of time to himself.

He filled the tub with steaming hot water then stripped down and eased himself in, hissing as his body got used to the slightly burning temperature of the water.

It felt nice. Just being able to soak out the aches in his muscles and still sore rib cage.

He dozed lightly, letting the water lull him into a soothing state of relaxation, he knew he'd have to get out soon and try using the toilet, but just thinking about it made him tense up. So, he stalled. It would be wrong to use a tub full of water and not at least use it to bathe.

He tried scrubbing the 'dirty' feeling from his skin and was unsuccessful, the water was starting to get cold, he might as well go ahead and wash his hair.

Massaging the shampoo into his scalp started helping him to relax again. Maybe, MAYBE, he'd be able to actually be able to use the toilet after all.

He was almost completely relaxed. His muscles were practically Jello by the time he was done getting his hair lathered up. He laid back into the water to rinse his hair and tried to keep a hold of that relaxing sensation that was thrumming through him, putting him at ease.

But then as he ran his hands through his hair, he felt gobs of hair, clinging to them.

Confused, he brought his hands around in front of him. They were covered in hair.

Frightened, he scrambled out of the tub to see that the water was full of hair… His hair.

His hair was falling out!

Sobbing he tried toweling what was left dry only to watch it fall out as well. The bathroom was a mess. Hair… His hair was everywhere except on his head where it belonged.

Oh, god… What if?...

A sob escaped him… What if he was sick?… What if the bad men had made him sick after all?

With shaky hands he dialed his father's cell phone number and when his father answered with a somber "Yeah?", all he could do was wail "Dadddy, I'm dying… I'm dying."

The line went dead. He hoped his father wasn't going to just leave him to die.

How long would it take for AIDS to kill him?

He was still trembling as he pulled on some lose sweats and a baggy t-shirt. He'd never feel warm again. He'd never feel safe again. He was dying. The bad men had killed him. And Dean was going to end up finding out what had happened… There was no way to keep it a secret now. How else would he have gotten AIDS?

The world was shrouded in a panic induced fog.

Why him?

He had been taking the medicine the way he was supposed to.

Everything was supposed to be okay.

But now nothing would be okay, ever again.

He was dying. The bad men had killed him.

His father must have flown. Or he might have been out of it longer than he realized.

His father was gathering him into his arms and the child started wailing what had happened, how all of his hair had suddenly fallen out and how it surely meant he had AIDS, how it surely meant he was dying.

He was bawling incoherently when he heard a familiar rumble coming from outside. His big brother was back too.

He tried to compose himself. Maybe they could tell another lie.. There had to be a lie that would keep Dean from knowing.

His father hugged him tighter then released him and met Dean at the door.

Dean could see him over their father's shoulder and he shrank into himself, he couldn't bear it if his big brother would look at him differently now.

Everything was muted. He heard occasional snippets of an argument.

Why were they arguing?

He was dying and his family had nothing better to do with his last few moments in the world than fight?

He heard words like "Practical joke" and "Nair" and "It was supposed to be funny."..

Except it wasn't. It so was not funny by any stretch of his imagination.

But, he understood now. This had been the retribution his big brother had chosen to rain down on him. This was his brother's way of getting even with him for messing up his childhood and he could deal with that.

It was actually a relief to know he wasn't sick, that he didn't have AIDS, that he wasn't dying.

But his father was FURIOUS…

He ordered the seventeen year old to go do a hundred laps around the empty lot that was out behind the cabin and the seventeen year old shot a glare at the thirteen year old, that promised more suffering the second their father wasn't looking.

The younger boy couldn't stand it. His brother was mad at him! And he hadn't done anything wrong this time!

He chased his big brother outside. "I'll run them with you.", he blurted out. He was the reason his big brother was in trouble, so he'd run the laps with him. Maybe then, his big brother would see that they're on the same side here..

"Just stay the hell away from me, Sam!" His big brother roared "I'm so sick of you ruining my life!"

The thirteen year old felt his heart stutter brokenly in his chest as his brother took off at a running pace that he would never be able catch up with. Tears formed in his eyes as he trudged back into the cabin.

When his father looked up at him, he broke down sobbing, wailing that he'd ruined Dean's life.

He looked at his father and screamed "He thinks I ruined his life. He thinks that I ruined his life because that's what YOU made him think! My brother HATES me because of you!"

"Sam…"

"FIX IT!" The thirteen year old bellowed "FIX IT NOW!"

His father looked like someone had just slapped him. He shot up out of his chair and the thirteen year old only continued to glare at him with venomous daggers of hate. The child wasn't going to flinch back, he was too pissed to be afraid of anything besides the possibility of losing Dean.

His father brushed past him and headed outside.

The boy heard his father call Dean's name. A few minutes later, there was more yelling. But now his father was yelling "What if that 'crap' had gotten in 'your brother's eyes, Dean? What if it'd caused him to go blind?! He could have lost his sight because of the stunt you pulled."

He could hear how guilty his big brother had sounded when he replied that he hadn't been thinking.

His father was a bit quieter now, but the child could still hear him say "You broke Sam's heart by saying what you said to him… Is that what you want, Dean, to hurt your brother?"

He heard his brother huff out "No, Sir."

His father replied "Sam's the only reason why you're not gonna have to do those hundred laps. Because he doesn't want you to be hurt, either… Do you understand what I'm saying, Dean?"

"Yes, Sir… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt him…"

"You shouldn't be telling me that… It's him you need to apologize to…" He heard his father sigh "He loves you, Dean. You have to love him too…"

"Yes, Sir."…

The thirteen year old choked back a sob, his father had just ordered his big brother to love him… That was wrong… It was so wrong. He didn't want his brother to feel obligated to love him. He didn't want his brother burdened by emotions he didn't really feel.

A few moments later, his big brother was hugging him and telling him how sorry he was.

Like daddy's good little soldier. Always following orders.

There was no comfort in his big brother's embrace. Because he knew that Dean didn't mean it.

Present day Dean broke down bawling… There was a lot of that conversation that the thirteen year old Sam hadn't heard.

Like their father saying "Somewhere deep down, you have to love him too… Don't you love your brother, even just a little, Dean?"

"Yes, Sir.. With all my heart."

Present day Dean got it now… Years ago when the spirit of Doctor Sanford Ellicott got to Sam… The things that Sam had said back then were finally making actual sense.

Sam had been angry because he thought the only reasons his big brother loved him was because of 'duty', 'obligation' and "Daddy's orders", but Sam had managed to fight to keep from pouring all of it out, because he really hadn't wanted to hurt his big brother.

Present day Dean was pretty sure he couldn't feel any worse than he was feeling right now.

All the times he had jumped to conclusions and wrongly judged Sam, because he thought he had known everything about his kid brother. Turns out. He really hadn't known anything about Sam.

He heard his brother's voice echoing from years back… Growling at him… "You don't know anything about me… And you never will.."

And now he understands what Sam had meant back then, too.

TBC…

~0~

A/N: Please, review! My bunnies need the carrots!