Author's Note: Thank you everyone for reading, reviewing and generally just making me feel good. My super awesome beta, Supernaturaldh, has once again worked her magic over my mistakes - she's a glutton for punishment and totally invaluable.

-o-

Negligence

Chapter 10

"Shhhh Sammy, I'm here." Dean soothed a hand across Sam's forehead, wishing he could take away his brother's pain.

Sam stared back at him, his eyes glassy and dazed. Dean watched as a small tear brimmed on the edge of his lashes before running free across his face. He wiped it away with the pad of his finger, smudging it into the grime on Sam's face.

"God Sammy." Dean cupped his brother's face, feeling his own tears pooling in his eyes. "It's gonna be okay. I gotcha….everything's gonna be okay now."

He wanted a response, needed one, but Sam remained mute; silent, glazed eyes staring blankly back at him. His abused body trembling under his touch.

"Let's get him out of here." John reached down to slide his arms under Sam.

Dean pulled the trembling bundle towards him, unwilling to let go. "No dad, I've got him."

John placed a hand over Dean's, halting his efforts. "Dean. Let me, he's heavier than he looks, you know that. We'll take him back to the room, clean him up and then figure out what the hell's going on here."

Dean kept a hand on his brother for a moment longer before reluctantly letting go and moving aside. He bit his lip as his dad moved in closer and took the spot he'd vacated.

John scooped up his youngest son and cradled him against his chest. Sam whimpered like a small child in his arms, his head supported by the crook of his elbow. He pulled Sam in a little closer and hugged him gently, careful not to aggravate his injuries.

"You're safe now." He whispered against Sam's ear.

Jim and Dean flanked John as he carried Sam, semi conscious from the room. Although their focus was on Sam now, no one disregarded the fact that somewhere out there, whatever had attacked Sam, was still roaming free. They all fought to keep their anger in check, thoughts focusing solely on Sam even as their eyes scanned the surroundings.

-o-

Frank pushed his hands deep into his pockets as he watched the scene unfold before him. He'd fought against his baser instincts to just flee, to put as much distance as possible between himself and the motel. But there was that one small part of him that couldn't let it go. It was like an unfinished story, and he needed to see it through to the end. So he remained hidden, keeping his distance as he waited and watched. They were on his territory now, and here, he was king.

His perseverance had paid off, he congratulated himself, as he watched his boy being carried across the parking lot. He wanted to rush out and shoot the older man right now, for daring to lay his hands upon his boy, his treasure. He wanted to slit his throat for daring to touch him, his boy! For holding his boy close. The boy was his, would always be his, just his. He seethed in anger and ground his teeth, forcing his body to remain still.

He watched their movements, slow and steady, and his hand twitched on the shotgun. It would be so easy, too easy, to end this right now. One part of him wanted to do it. Wanted to lift the barrel of the shotgun, take aim and fire. He moved his hand off the shotgun, resisting temptation. Their time would come soon enough.

This was just a setback, he reminded himself, a small pebble in a mountain of rocks.

His hands fisted at his sides as he followed their movements. Dammit, they were touching him, laying their filthy hands on his precious boy.

They were goddamn touching him! Tarnishing him. It wasn't fair. Wasn't right!

He's mine! He wanted to shout, to scream it out loud for all the world to hear.

-o-

Sam felt himself being lifted and carried, strong arms pulling him in close. His body was shaking so badly now that he feared he'd fall out of the sturdy hold. He could feel the heat radiating off his dad, smell the familiar scent of sweat, earth and smoke that he'd come to associate with his father. He breathed it in, tried to get closer, feeling safe in what seemed like the first time in forever. He never wanted those arms to let him go.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been held like this by his dad, as if he was special, cherished. Held safe for no other reason than just being there.

He closed his eyes, felt the rhythm of his father's footsteps, and listened to the deep timbre of his gruff voice as it echoed through his chest, not needing to know the actual words. It lulled him and he felt some of the tension leave his limbs. He was safe now. He could rest, sleep. He was safe now.

-o-

Dean rushed ahead of his father into the motel room and pulled down the covers on the bed so that they could lay Sam down.

"Get the kit Dean." John demanded as he peeled Sam's coat from his shivering body.

"I'll get it." Jim swivelled around and raced back outside.

"Dad?" Dean hovered at the edge of the bed, watching his father's ministrations.

John didn't pause as he propped Sam up into a seated position with his head leaning into his chest. "Help me get his clothes off Dean. We need to know what we're dealing with."

With gentle hands they stripped the clothes from Sam's body until he was laid out on the bed in just his boxers.

"Dear God." Jim whispered, resting the first aid kit on the end of the bed. Sam was a ghastly shade of white, mottled with a collection of colourful bruises scattered over his pale body. He looked like a train wreck, battered and scarred, and Jim wanted to curse whatever had inflicted such cruel injuries on the young Winchester. That the lad had suffered so much seemed to mock everything that he held dear.

"I'll get some warm water and towels." Jim muttered, turning away, clenching his hands until his knuckles turned white under the pressure. He preferred not to think of himself as a man of violence, but there were times, like now, when evil preyed against the innocent, that he was driven to fight with physical force for the side of good. There were times when it was needed, just to keep the balance in check.

John kept a soothing hand on Sam's shoulder as he assessed the damage to his son's body. Now that his clothes were removed, and Sam was laid bare, he looked small and vulnerable, younger than he remembered, defenceless.

"Sam? Sam, can you hear me son?" He needed to find out what had happened, find out what had done this to his son.

Sam turned his head to the side and kept his eyes closed. He didn't want to talk, didn't want to remember.

"Come on Sammy." John cupped his son's chin and turned his face back around. "I need you to open your eyes for me, can you do that?"

Sam let his head relax into his dad's hand, making no effort to comply with the request.

John rubbed his callused thumb across Sam's face and fought back his desire to demand answers from his son. "Let us help you Sam."

"Sammy?" Dean perched on the edge of the mattress next to his brother. "Sammy, come on kiddo, open your eyes, I know you can hear me." He combed his fingers through the hair falling across Sam's face, pushing the damp curls away.

John waited for Sam to open his eyes, sure he'd respond to Dean, but his youngest remained mute, like he was there but nobody was home.

"John?" Jim held out the bowl of warm soapy water and a towel to his friend. "How's he doing?"

"Looks like he went a round with Mike Tyson, but that cut isn't too deep, might need a couple of stitches. He'll be feeling it for a few days that's for sure." John dipped a corner of the towel into the warm water and squeezed out the excess before running the cloth across Sam's face.

Sam flinched at the feeling of the damp towel on his face. He'd had enough. He couldn't understand why they couldn't just let him sleep. He wanted to roll onto his side, to curl up into a ball and disappear.

"Come on Sammy, spa treatment's over, we need to get some of this mud off dude." Dean took the towel from his father and took over the task of wiping clean Sam's face.

John stood up and stretched, looking down at his sons. Dean wiped gently, streaking the dirt with each swipe of the cloth as he tried to remove the mud splattering Sam's pale face.

-o-

"All done." John tied off the last stitch and cut the thread. He watched Sam's face closely for a reaction, but the silent tears running from the corners of his eyes were the only response.

With Sam being so silent he wished he could find some joy in the irony of the situation. When all he wanted was a few minutes peace and quiet, Sam's endless chatter often felt like the bane of his life, but right this minute he'd give anything for just a few words from his son. He'd give anything to take away Sam's pain.

He put the scissors back in the first aid kit before rummaging around for the small bottle of pills they always kept for emergencies. "Think you can swallow one of these for me?" he asked, shaking one out into his hand.

"Dean, lift his head up for me, I don't want him to choke." John asked when got no response from his youngest.

Dean let go of his brother's hand and slid further up the bed to prop himself behind his brother, pulling him up until his head was raised. "Come on Sammy, we're nearly done, just a little bit more."

John pushed the pill past Sam's lips. "Swallow Sam." He raised the glass of water to Sam's mouth and tipped until the water met closed lips. "Come on Sam, I need you to swallow for me. Please."

"Come on Sammy, just a little sip." Dean coaxed, rubbing a hand down Sam's arm as he felt Sam's body tremble.

Sam opened his lips and let the first dribble of moisture into his mouth, swallowing the pill down. The water was like rain after a drought and suddenly he just couldn't get enough. He took another sip and then wanted to scream when the glass was pulled away. He opened his eyes just a slit and reached out his hand and pulled the glass back, wrapping his hand over his father's as he guided the glass back to his mouth. The water sloshed over the edge as he gulped it down, desperate for more.

"Sammy, slow down, you'll make yourself sick." John held the glass steady and controlled the angle so that Sam couldn't gulp at the liquid.

When the water was finally drained, John pulled the glass away and placed it on the nightstand.

Sam took a deep breath, his eyes blinking as he tried to focus.

"You with me son?" John asked.

"Dad." Sam mumbled, staring at his father before looking up and seeing Dean gazing down at him. "Dean."

"Hey Sammy, how you feeling?" Dean asked with a smile.

"You came back." Sam whispered; a smile ghosting across his face before his eyes slipped closed again.

"Come on Sam, you can sleep in a minute. Just need you to answer a couple of questions first. Then you can rest, I promise." John grasped Sam's shoulder and gave him a gentle shake.

"Dad!" Dean protested.

"Sam! I need to know what happened." John demanded.

Sam opened his eyes again and looked at his dad. "Man." He answered, hoping that now he'd be allowed to sleep. He was so tired and things were starting to feel foggy.

"Man? What do you mean Sam? What man?" John persisted, even though he could see that Sam was struggling to stay awake.

"The man." Sam whispered, closing his eyes and succumbing to his medicated sleep.

-o-

John took a sip of the strong coffee and wrapped his hands around the mug as he tried to shake off his exhaustion. He lent against the kitchen counter and tried to rotate the kinks out of his neck as he stared across the room at his sleeping son. Sam was bundled under the covers, his face relaxed in sleep, and if it wasn't for his paleness, John would almost have been able to convince himself that this had all been a bad dream.

"What do you think he meant Dad?" Dean asked, taking a sip of his own coffee.

"Maybe exactly what he said." Jim piped in, refilling the kettle. He had a feeling they'd be needing plenty more coffee before this day was over. "Muddy boot-prints all 'round the place where we found Sam."

"Sulphur?" John asked, watching his friend.

Jim shook his head. "No sign of it, not that I could see anyway."

"What the hell's going on here?" John muttered. "Might not be the Ritz but where the hell is everyone?"

"Think its time we went and had a good scout 'round, don't you?" Jim placed his coffee cup back on the counter and looked at John.

"Yeah." John agreed. "Dean, watch your brother. We shouldn't be too long."

-o-

Dean watched the two men leave the room, feeling torn. He wanted to go with them, get answers, and hunt down whatever, whoever, had hurt his brother. At the same time, he didn't want to leave Sam alone. He'd left Sam alone once already and was now reaping the consequences. It wasn't happening again.

He pulled a chair across to the side of Sam's bed. He'd like nothing more than to lie down next to Sam and grab some sleep, but whatever had done this was still out there and he needed to stay alert. He sunk down onto the chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. He lent back and settled in to watch his brother sleep.

Dean jolted his head back, realising that he'd been starting to nod off. He stood up and stretched, moving into the kitchen to make himself another cup of coffee. His dad and Jim had been gone for nearly and hour now and he was starting to feel anxious. He paced the room as he slowly sipped his coffee, before returning to his seat, moving it a little so that he could easily watch both the door and Sam.

-o-

The sound of the door unlocking penetrated Sam's subconscious. With a jerk he snapped back awake, his heart freezing and the fear taking over. Please, god, no! He wanted to run, but he was tangled, sheets and blankets tying him down. He pushed at them frantically, kicking out with his feet as he tried to break free.

"Dean!" He screamed as the panic took over.

"Sam, shhhh, I'm right here." Dean lent over his brother and grabbed his flailing arms. "Calm down Sam, it's just me."

"Noooo!" He screamed, trying to twist away from the restraining hands. This couldn't be happening, not again.

Dean looked across at his Dad and Jim as they entered the room in a rush. "Dad?" He pleaded as Sam continued to kick and struggle against him.

John moved to his sons' side. "Sammy, come on son. You need to calm down. You're going to hurt yourself, undo all my handiwork."

Sam squirmed as strong hands held him down. He couldn't move. Couldn't escape. He wanted to fight, but he hurt all over andalready he could feel his body tiring with his efforts. With a sob he stilled his movements and let his muscles go lax. He wasn't strong enough to fight back, not this time.

"Sam?" Dean whispered, running his fingers through Sam's curls.

Sam felt the hands holding him down loosen their grip and the weight in his chest lessened a little. He opened his eyes and looked into the concerned faces of his dad and Dean. His heart started to slow and he took in a deep breath as the pain started to ebb away.

"Okay now?" John asked.

"Mmmmm." He mumbled, closing his eyes again.

"Try and get some rest." John whispered, pulling the blankets back up around his son and tucking him in. It had been too many years, he thought, since he'd done this. His boys were growing up so damn fast.

-o-

Sam pulled the blankets in closer around his body. It didn't seem to matter what he did, he couldn't feel warm. Rolling onto his side, he pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms in close as he made himself into a small ball.

He opened his eyes and watched as Dean moved across the room, taking a seat at the table with Pastor Jim and his dad. They spoke in hushed whispers and he couldn't make out the words. Every now and then they shot him fugitive glances, as if seeking answers to their unvoiced questions.

He wondered if they were getting ready to leave him again. He couldn't help the thought; it kept entering his head every time they went in or out the door. Would they leave him alone again? He knew he needed to make an effort to get out of bed, to be ready to leave. He didn't want them to think he was weak, useless, unable to hunt. He couldn't risk it. Couldn't face being left behind again.

As soon as he was warm, he'd do it. Get up, get dressed, and be ready for whatever his family had planned. Soon as he was warm, he thought, wishing he had on more clothes, an extra blanket, anything to keep away the relentless chill that he couldn't seem to shift. He let his eyes drift closed as sleep pulled him down again. He floated, giving in to his body's need for rest.

-o-

He woke up to silence and it took him a moment to remember where he was. He glanced around the shabby motel room, his eyes coming to rest on the window. The curtains fluttered, letting in sharp arrows of sunlight from outside. He stared at the movement, at the shadows beyond, and wanted to run across the room and pull the curtains fully closed.

His breath hitched in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel his heart pounding, as if it wanted to take a flying leap straight out of his chest and leave him for dead. He willed it to slow down as he tried to reason with himself. It was just his imagination playing tricks on him. He needed to stay calm.

He opened his eyes again with infinite slowness, as if the motion would go undetected by anyone watching. Through mere slits he looked at the window again, focusing all his attention on the one spot.

He could see clearly now, could make out the silhouetted shape through the shadows. It moved, coming closer, until it was pressed up close against the glass.

"Mine." The man whispered.

-o-

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