A/N: I apologize to anyone leaving a review that has not been responded to. I find it rude to ignore, but the response system here is so totally not what I'm used to I can't remember if I've responded or I haven't. To anyone that feels I've ignored their gracious comments, I truly apologize, and I promise to do better. Thanks for understanding.

Chapter 10

Dean never realized how exhausting it was to merely keep his eyes open, until he had to do actually do it. He had to keep it up though, it being step one in his eight step 'Convince Sammy You're Ok' program. At this rate, he wasn't sure he'd have the energy to make it even to step two. Sam's constant scrutiny tired him out just as much as breathing. Damn, this day sucks, he thought.

"Hey Sam, maybe we should just pack up and leave. This town's been nothing but trouble since we got here. It must have some really bad anti-Winchester karma."

Sam felt a slight sense of panic rise in him at his brother's suggestion, Dean being obviously blind to Sam's current situation.

"No Dean. You're in no condition to go anywhere right now. When you can drive, then we can leave."

"Come on Sam, I can drive."

"I bet you can, just not straight."

"Whatever, dude."

Dean threw off his covers, the cool air of the room brushing over his bare body and sending a chill through him from head to toe. Putting all his effort into making his movements look fluid and natural, he sat up, pulling his feet off the bed. They hit the floor with a hard thump, as Sam studied him intensely, waiting for any indication his brother needed help.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sam asked him, eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

Rising to his feet, arm tight against his side, he took a few short steps in Sam's direction, stopping in front of his brother and looked him directly in the eye.

"I'm going to drop the kids off at the pool. You got the newspaper there? Need a little light reading to amuse me," he shot his brother that 'Dean' smile, the one that usually got him his way.

"You can read the newspaper?" Sam suspicion obvious in his voice as he asked Dean his question.

"Sam, I've been reading since I was four. Hand it over, and give a guy a little personal space," Dean held out his hand, waiting for Sam to deposit his request. God, I wish he'd hurry up, I can't stand here all day.

Grabbing the paper from the table, Sam held it out to Dean, not quite far enough for him to grab, and most definitely not dropping it in his hand. Dean grabbed it from Sam's hand in one, quick swipe, tucking it under his arm as he went.

"Paper's two day old Dean," Sam informed the back of his brother's head, since he'd already turned around and started walking away.

"That's ok Sam. I don't remember the last two days anyway, so it will all be news to me," Dean announced, closing the door behind him.

Silently turning the lock, Dean dropped the paper and sank to the floor, thankful to be out of Sam's relentless stare, even if only for a few minutes. He had no intention of reading that paper, or anything else, since he still couldn't focus on it enough to make anyway of the words anyway. Leaning heavily against the tub, he breathed in slow and deep, feeling the cool porcelain against the hot flesh on his back. He couldn't decide if he was hot, or cold, or both. Sitting there breathing, he tried to regain some of the strength he'd totally spent just making his way into the bathroom, knowing he'd eventually need to make his way out again, and back into Sam's glare.

Struggling to his feet, he balanced himself in front of the sink, turning on the cold water and letting it flow into his cupped hand. Bringing it to his mouth, he took a good drink, trying to put out the fire now raging in his throat. He forced the water down, each mouthful he took in harder and harder to swallow. Splashing the final handful into his face, he looked up, the broken mirror driving a vivid flashback deep into his brain.

"Shake it off Dean, it was just a dream," he mumbled to himself, forcing the memory from his mind as he rubbed his aching back, cringing at his own touch.

The sound he dreaded finally came, as Sam's knuckles connected quietly but authoritatively with the door.

"Dean, you ok?"

"Sam, can I have more the five minutes of personal time, please?" Dean said it in his most annoyed tone of voice as possible, he himself not really believing it.

"You've already had fifteen Dean. Are you sure you're alright?"

Fifteen minutes! He couldn't believe he'd been in there for fifteen minutes already. "Five more please, bus isn't quite unloaded yet." Yeah, five more, because if I come out looking like this, I'm in deep shit.

"Five more, then I'm coming in."

Knowing Sam meant what he said, Dean splashed one more fistful of water in his face, running his wet hands through his hair and wincing when his fingers made contact with both sets of stitches in his skull. Flushing the toilet for appearances sake only, Dean unlocked the door and inhaled deeply before exiting the room, façade strongly back in place. He took the few steps from the door to the bed in stride, plopping himself back down and throwing his covers back over his legs as he grabbed the remote and cranked up the TV, randomly flipping through channels. Sam eyed him with a scowl, not quite sure how, exactly, to interpret his brother's behavior. He looked fine, walked fine, acted fine, but Sam knew he was anything but fine, and the longer Sam stared, the more Dean could feel Sam's eyes bore into him, as he looked for anything amiss.

Without turning his blurry sight away from the TV, he shot at Sam the burning question of the day, at least his question of the day.

"Dude, don't you have anything better to do then stare at me?"

"No, not really," Sam just smiled, his gaze unbroken.

"Sam, you're creeping me out. Go do something, I'm not going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight."

Dean didn't need to look in Sam's direction to know that his hard gaze had finally fallen elsewhere, letting him breathe a quiet sigh of relief. Step two, or maybe it was three complete, he dug his head into his pillow, training his eyes on the TV and trying as hard as he possibly could to appear to actually be watching it. He heard the soft tones of Windows start up, as Sam's fingers clicked away at the keyboard.

Dean's eyes slowly drifted closed, the time it took for him to open them getting longer and longer with each blink, until they finally just stayed shut. Not fully asleep just yet, his mind drifted to how truly horrible the last few days had been. He had hidden his pain from Sam, both the physical and emotional. He couldn't get the image of Sam's hateful eyes from his mind, as the click of the empty chamber from Sam pulling the trigger still echoed in his ears, and he couldn't help but wonder if his brother really did hate him on some subconscious level. Those were the thoughts he took with him as sleep finally settled in, taking him on the ride with it.

Sam had been clicking away mindlessly on his keyboard, concentrating on the sound of Dean's breathing. Sam knew he still wasn't totally with it yet, although he did have to admit that his brother had put on a pretty good show. Dean would be asleep within a few minutes of his head falling back into his pillow, of that he was sure. Hearing the deep, steady breaths, accompanied by the light snore, he knew Dean was out yet again.

Closing the top to his computer, he stretched out on his own bed, realizing he really hadn't slept very much over the last few days either, and it was finally starting to catch up with him. There was just something about Dean's light snore that always hypnotized Sam, the comforting sound lulling him into his own state of sleep, and as his world went dark, he fell into the deepest slumber he'd had in months.

Dean smelled something familiar, a scent he knew he didn't like. It was metallic, almost coppery, mixed with mold and dust. He opened his eyes, seeing nothing in the black room around him. His hands were restrained at the wrists, his feet shackled at the ankles, and his head and chest were strapped down to a cold, metal table. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark, but they never did, making him feel like a blind man. He heard sounds around him from all different directions, the chills coursing up and down his spine as he heard the soft chatter of rats searching for a meal. He struggled to move, but nothing would give. He was trapped, somewhere in the dark, with no one to help him.

He heard the heavy footsteps coming down the hall, fear rising inside as they got closer and closer, the sound of each foot hitting the ground all too familiar to his ears. He heard them stop mere feet from his head, as the sound of heavy breathing filled the stagnant air. He heard a switch flipped, the light it brought on blinding him, as the bare bulb hit him square in the face, battering his eyes. His captor spoke to him as he moved the light away, wanting Dean to see him face to face before he began.

"So, Dean, what kind of mess have you gotten yourself into now?"

The voice was unmistakable, and as the spots before his eyes finally dissipated, Dean found himself face to face with Sam. Forcing himself to look away from the crazed eyes of his brother, he tried instead to get a look at his surroundings, finding it difficult to make anything out without the luxury of head movement. The little room was filthy, the walls black with dirt and god only knew what else. He laid on a hospital gurney, or so he thought, probably taken straight from a psych ward. The psych ward thought told him he was yet again in that god forsaken asylum, down in the torture chamber basement. From the corner of his eye, he could see what appeared to be two very long, metal rods, with finger grips at the top, and a sharp pointed tip at the bottom. He'd seen them before, never close up and personal though, the thought of what they were used for making him break out in a cold sweat. His body immediately tensed, the action not being lost on Sam.

"Sam, what are you doing?" He asked, thinking that had probably not been the best of questions to start with.

"What do you think I'm doing, Dean? I'm trying to give you a mind of your own, that's all. Maybe, if I disconnect yours from Dad's, you'll be able to think for yourself. I mean, you really do only have half a brain, right. You can't function without someone else's other half. Don't worry, this won't hurt… much."

Sam picked up one tool, waving it before his brother's eyes as Dean struggled to break free of the bonds that held him tight to the table. Rubbing his wrists raw, he knew that was just wasted energy, he wasn't going anywhere. Staring at the torture device his brother now held in front of his face, his stomach turned as the bright light reflected off the shiny metal, right back into his eyes. He waved it back and forth, softly touching Dean's skin and drawing in down his face with the hard tip as he spoke to him, tormenting him.

"You know what this is, oh brother of mine? They call them the ice picks, pretty simple actually, and a rather overused instrument here at Roosevelt, all those lobotomies they performed so unsuccessfully. They'd just slide the tip under the eyelid, around the eyeball, and with a little mallet, gently tap it into the brain, then wiggle it around a little bit, cutting off one side from the other. It'll make you a new man, better then the pathetic shell of the one you are now. You know, I've really got to thank Dr. Ellicott for showing me the light. I never would have realized what a hopeless fool you are without him."

"Sam, please, don't. Whatever I've done, do I deserve this?"

"Whatever you've done? Let's talk about what you've done Dean? You drove Dad away with your ridiculous need to please, then, when you can't find him, you come looking for me. Drag me away from the good life I had, the good woman I had. When you finally get it through your thick head that I don't want to stay with you on your ridiculous quest, you bring me back, back to a dead girlfriend. You ruined my life Dean, now I'm going to ruin yours. When this is done, I'm going back to school, where I belong. I don't care if I ever find Dad. You need him, I don't."

"You don't mean that Sam, you can't mean that," Dean's voice was a whisper, the shock and hurt of what he'd just heard come from Sam's mouth too much for him to process, to much for him to bear.

Sam was done talking. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it. Forcing Dean's eyelid open, he placed the tip of the pick underneath, slowly sliding it around his eye until he felt nothing but soft tissue behind.

"OH GOD SAM, NO, PLEASE!" he screamed, his voice riddled with the terror he felt welling inside him.

Sam ignored him, that wicked, evil grin spreading across his face. Finding no use for a mallet to gently tap the instrument with, he grasped the free end of the pick, and with the palm of his other hand, gave the handled end a hard whack, driving the spike deep into Dean's head. The scream that escaped Dean's lips was shrill and blood-curdling, intense heat flooding his entire body as it started to shake violently. The reaction seemed to please Sam even more, as he viciously jerked the tool around, tearing through his brother's brain without any hesitation.

"Sam….." was the last word that escaped from Dean's lips, as his body went limp, his breath almost non-existent.

The gentle knock on the door woke Sam as Dean continued his light snore. Sam rose from his bed, knowing it could only be one person that had come to call. Opening the door, his face beamed, as he saw Jay standing before him, bathed in bright sunlight. She looked angelic as the sunshine radiated from her blonde hair, her soft face, her deep beautiful eyes, at least she did to Sam. He slipped outside, knowing voices were likely to wake Dean from his rest. Kissing her on the forehead, he drew him to her, wanting to feel her warmth against him.

"Everything ok Sam?"

"Yeah, everything's good. Dean's asleep, but I finally think he's started to heal, so we better keep it quiet. Come on, let's go inside. It's freezing out here."

It was cold this time of year, especially in Northern Illinois. Hell, it was cold anywhere north this time of year. They slipped back inside to the warmth of the room, never getting a chance to even look at one another. Dean's mumbling caught their attention immediately, Sam only able to make out part of what he'd heard.

"Sam……doing?"

The mumbling turned into jerking, Dean trying to move his arms and legs as some invisible force held them firm to the bed. Sam sat next to him, his voice usually calming, but this time seeming to only agitate Dean more. He twisted and jerked, each movement of attempted escape from the unseen terror finding no success. The next thing Sam heard made his skin crawl, the sound of his name from his brother's lips in a terrified beg shocking him momentarily, Dean's voice no longer a hushed mumble.

"Sam, please, don't. Whatever I've done, do I deserve this?"

Resting a hand on his brother's sweat soaked chest, he pulled it back the second he felt the heat pouring off him. Dean's body was on fire, fever wracking every muscle and joint of his already over abused body. Sam didn't know how much more his brother would be able to take before finally shutting down completely. He had to wake him, somehow. He slapped his cheeks, lightly, in the hopes of drawing him back to reality. Dean's next words sent Sam's mind reeling, the nightmare obviously centered around Sam himself.

"You don't mean that Sam, you can't mean that."

"Dean, wake up!" Sam shook him with a lot more force then he wanted to, desperation taking hold of him now, not just needing to wake Dean, but needing to save Dean. Needing to save Dean from him.

"Sam, what can I do?" Jay asked Sam, her face almost as horrorstruck as Sam's, yet her's had the slightest hint of a smile on it.

"Ice water, and a washcloth. He's burning up, we need to cool him off. Maybe the cold will wake him up and pull him out of whatever hell he's in now."

Jay bolted from the bed, grabbing the plastic ice bucket and running out the door. No sooner then her slamming it behind her, Dean's pleading turned into screaming, as Sam was on the verge of losing his sanity.

"OH GOD SAM, NO, PLEASE!"

The terror in his brother's voice made Sam start to shake, knowing he had to do something, but everything he did meaning nothing, as Dean continued his long, painful, bone chilling scream, followed by a fit of spasms he couldn't stand to watch. Sam thought he was going to pass out, until he felt Jay next to him, as she draped a cold rag over Dean's chest, then another over his forehead. The scream finally ending, Dean whispered one final word.

"Sam."

The way it escaped his lips, and the way his body went loose and lifeless, told Sam he had no other choice, and as he saw his brother barely breathing, he looked at Jay with tears in his eyes.

"Call 911."