A/N: I'm sorry I got a little behind, but the book is finished, edited and proofed, so I am back to fic full-time for a little while. I'll have a new hurt Dean story up later this week too. I heard someone is having a birthday and she likes a tiny little bit of hurt Dean, just a little though! I'll catch up on my review replies as well! Warnings as before.

In Darkness Let Me Dwell

Chapter Nine

That caus'd my sorrows and these tears

The red-throated hummingbird was hovering outside the window, the flowers fluttering in the breeze from its wings. Dean's heart was slamming against his ribs, it was suddenly hard to breathe. The only thing keeping him from shattering apart was the grip he had on his brother's wrist."It's here," Dean said.

"The alarm hasn't gone off," Sam said is his "be reasonable" tone.

"Oh, god, it sees me." Dean took half a step back from the window, his eyes locked on the hummingbird.

"What?"

Something was whispering to him, in the well-remembered voice. The voice that played in his head when it was wearing his body. Pain flashed through him.

"Sammy, it's here, you have to… Oh god, please…" The words ripped through him, aching, he could taste blood in his throat. He felt the first touch of it on his chest, he tried to tear it out. "No! Please! I'm sorry, please, no!" He stumbled back, Sam caught him. "Sammy, it's here, you have to believe…" It was inching into him. "OH GOD STOP!" It was angry that he'd left, angry it hadn't been there for his awakening. "I said I was sorry! PLEASE! STOP!"

"Dean, give me your arm!" Sam shouted. Dean's offered his arm. No, please no, not again. The needle bit down. Was this all a dream? Am I still there?

"Sam…" Dean said, trying to focus on the wavering form in front of him. The face was suddenly shifting. Sam caught him as he fell.

"If you're out, it can't find you, Dean."

"Sam, don't let it… If… Does… Kill…" Dean couldn't go on, the drug was working too fast. The last thing he heard was the alarm before darkness claimed him.

The pain was there, filling him. He was watching through eyes that were no longer his own. No, no. He struggled to free himself, it held him captive. He tried to cry out, pain shot through him. Where was the one who saved him?

"Dean!" That one's voice suddenly sounded.

"Mphf," he tried to speak, even that sound caused agony to shoot through his body.

"Ah, Dean, no. Please." That one was crying. He could hear the tears in the voice.

"Mfph."

"Hang on." That one—Sam's—voice said sadly. A moment later everything began to fade, even the touch of the thing was gone.

Consciousness returned slowly. At first it was just a difference in the dark, then a cottony softness enveloped him. He drifted there, wondering what had happened. A nightmare maybe? Quiet voices were murmuring somewhere close to his head. A moment later he heard the door shut. His hand was wrapped around something warm, the gentle throb of a pulse beating under his thumb. Sam. A little more reality returned. They were at the clinic, Sam had brought him earlier that day. Then… His heart sped up. It was here, looking for me. It knows… A hand came to rest on his forehead.

"It's okay," Sam said soothingly. What's wrong with his voice? His brother sounded like he'd been crying, almost. "You're safe, Dean." Dean opened his eyes, Sam smiled at him. "It's okay, you're safe," he said in a soft sing-song.

"Sam?"

"Dean?" That was in an entirely different tone. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" It was hard to speak, harder than it had been just a little while before.

"Thank god." Sam scrubbed his free hand across his face. "I thought I'd lost you again."

"Lost?"

"You…" Sam swallowed. "You didn't know me, it was like when I first found you."

"Oh, god, Sam." Dean blinked, the light coming through the windows was muted. "How long? What time is it?"

"Dean…" Sam hesitated.

"Sammy? What?" Dean struggled to sit up, Sam helped him.

"It's one in the afternoon."

"The drug put me out fast, but not for too long." He looked at Sam. "What's wrong?"

"Yesterday," Sam choked out.

"What?"

"It was yesterday, Dean."

"Yesterday?"

"Yeah," Sam said softly.

"What happened?" Dean asked, not sure he wanted an answer.

"Do you remember the hummingbird?" Sam said. Dean nodded. "I gave you the drug. It was here, the alarms went off right after you were out. You woke up several hours later, but you…" Sam swallowed. "It came back, we sedated you again, and kept you out all night."

"Is that all, Sammy?" There was something in his brother's eyes.

"We've thought for a long time there were members of the task force working with it."

"Right?"

"It took one of them yesterday, I think when it couldn't find a victim to take. A man named Eric Jones. He was in the hall outside our office. I heard him screaming. I got the door open as his heart exploded." Sam frowned. "I wonder why it hasn't come after me?"

"You have to be…"

"Dean?"

"Initiated." Dean looked out the window, the sun muted because it was overcast. "Followers go through an initiation ritual that allows it to see them, and even use them as a carrier for a part of itself."

"Part of itself?" Sam asked, curiosity lighting his eyes. Dean smiled inwardly. Sam in research mode, it made it all a little more normal suddenly.

"It has two parts, the energy that invades the victims here, then a physical presence that uses…" That used me. Violated me.

"The hosts?" Sam said gently.

"Yeah. The two parts can be united in the Nameless." Dean sighed. "Is there any coffee?"

"Sure." Sam hesitated, then smiled. "Can I have my arm back?" Dean looked down, his hand was still locked around Sam's wrist. He let go with a smile. Sam got up and walked over to the coffeemaker. Their cups from the day before were set beside the machine, the handles precisely aligned with the edge of the file cabinet. Dean looked over at the desk. The few papers were tucked in the corner of the desk, the computer keyboard was perfectly aligned with the monitor, the monitor in line with the back of the desk. Sam's laptop took up a small space on the front edge of the desk, it, too, was lined up with military precision. Huh.

"Thanks," Dean said a few minutes later when Sam brought a cup of coffee over. Dean frowned at his brother. Sam looked terrible.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Nothing. Good coffee, Sammy. How can I help?"

"What?"

"I remember we were talking about how you wanted to talk to one of the victims, but couldn't."

"Dean…" Sam trailed off, a pained look crossing his face. What's wrong, Sammy?

"Ask, Sam, remember, it's not me, just a victim" He grinned, Sam frowned and tears pooled in his brother's eyes. "Sam? We need to treat this like any other case." How can I? When I… Oh, god. Dean swallowed the emotion that tightened his chest.

"Okay, Dean," Sam said, sitting down at the desk and opening the laptop. "Does it still hurt to talk?"

"A little."

"A little? Right." Sam sighed and poked at the keys on his computer.

"It's okay, Sammy."

Sam took deep breath and looked at him. "What can you tell me?"

"You need to take a break," Sam said an hour later. Dean looked over at his brother. Sam's eyes were red.

"You too," Dean said quietly.

"Yeah." There was a tap at the door. Dean's heart sped up. "It's okay." Sam said. "What?"

"It's Ronny, Sam."

"Come in." Sam looked at Dean. "He was out of town yesterday, he doesn't know." The young man opened the door and came in. The resemblance to Randy brought a lump to Dean's throat. They didn't kill either one of our brothers. Dean sighed.

"Hi, Sam. Hello, Dean." Ronny said, smiling at him.

"Hi, Ronny." Dean smiled back.

"Dean?" Ronny stopped and stared, then looked at Sam. "Sam?"

"He came back yesterday," Sam said quietly.

"Welcome back, Dean." Ronny walked to the desk and leaned on the edge so he could see both of them. "We found another house, just outside of town."

"Have you been there?" Sam asked, all business. Dean watched his brother. Sam had obviously taken a leadership role in the task force.

"I was. It's a little different than the rest. There's an offering table out back, still covered with…"

"Flowers?" Dean sat up. "Are they fresh?"

"Yeah, hardly wilted. You need to check it out, Sam. There were more nests there than I've seen before too."

"Dean will you be okay if…"

"I'm going with you," Dean said, cutting his brother off.

"Dean, no."

"I might be able to help, Sam."

"Sounds like a good idea, Sam." Ronny smiled at him. "I'll meet you at the car in five minutes?"

"Sure," Sam said. He waited until Ronny was gone before he turned to Dean. "I don't think you should go, Dean."

"I might be able to help," Dean repeated. Sam was shaking his head. Dean took a deep breath. "Sammy…" He paused.

"What is it?"

"I can't, I mean I…" Dean felt tears in his eyes. "I'm not…"

"You're not okay?" Sam asked quietly. Dean nodded. "I know. I just don't want this to make it worse."

"I need to…" Dean looked away. I need to be with you, Sam. I'm afraid to be alone.

"What if it's there?"

"Then you put me out." Dean tried to sound casual. "Better there than here." Alone.

"Okay, Dean. I still don't like it, but okay."

The house was south of town, out where the plains took over, the vast sweep of grass reaching towards Texas. The lone building was at the end of a long road, the house surrounded by a large windbreak of trees. Sam parked in front of the porch. As Dean got out, the scent of rotting bodies flowed over him. He couldn't stop the sudden nausea. When he'd finished, he realized Sam had a hand on his back, gently supporting him as he'd vomited.

"Sorry," Dean mumbled.

"It's okay, Dean. Here." He handed Dean a surgical mask and slipped one over his face. Dean looked at his brother, trying to imagine the rest of Sam's face beneath the white mask. His hands started to tremble. Sam frowned at him, then pulled the mask off his face. "I'll make it without this." Sam looked over at Ronny as he got out of the Impala. Ronny met Sam's eyes and nodded. "We can handle it without the masks, Dean."

"Thank you." Dean said, looking at Sam. "Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for, Dean," Ronny said. "Are you ready? Should we just go around back?"

"No, let me look at the house, I might to see something—something that will help." Dean walked up the porch steps before Sam could stop him. Dean opened the door, the smell was bad. He gagged and waited until his stomach settled down, then walked it. Sam was right behind him as he turned towards the altar room to the right of the entrance. The black stones still stood in the room. Sam brushed past him and shoved the altar over. Dean's heart gave a painful twist. He put his hand on his chest and waited for the sensation to stop before walking to the broken stones.

"They sacrificed you on one of those, Sammy. I watched. I couldn't do anything to stop it."

"What?" Sam turned to look at him.

"They sacrificed you, or I thought it was you. They gave me something, then you were there, trying to rescue me. They killed you." Dean swallowed. "Ripped your heart out."

"Oh, god, Dean," Sam said. "Is that why?"

"Why? Why what?"

"This." Sam reached out and gently turned Dean's left wrist over. The healing slash was there, purple against his skin. Dean ran a finger over the scar.

"I think so. I don't remember actually doing it, but I must have." Did I? Or did someone else? Dean looked around the room, hearing the echoes of chanting, the drum, the screams of the victims as they were sacrificed. He turned and quickly walked out of the room and across to the antechamber. There were several bodies in it.

"Sacrifices?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." Dean walked to one, the face, bloated and gray, look familiar. It was a fleeting familiarity, but it was there. A memory was working its way into his brain. He wasn't sure if it was entirely his. It slowly formed. "Oh god. No. No." He backed away from the body and ran into Sam. His brother put a hand on his shoulder.

"Dean?"

"I think I did that," Dean whispered.

"What?"

"While it, when it…" He ran out of the room, Sam right behind him. Dean raced through the house and out the back. Recognition hit him hard. He stopped on the top step and looked out across the yard. There were three tables set in the space behind the house. "I was here, Sam."

"We found you in town."

"I was here, I remember. This place…" Dean walked down the stairs to the tables covered in fresh flowers. "This place is special." He ran a hand over the blossoms, fighting the memories that were crowding in. "They brought us here before it took me."

"Us?"

"Me and Nick." Dean looked at Sam. "Then I was here later."

"What happened to you when they brought you here?"

"It was a ritual to prepare us. We went through several. I told you about the water, and the first one. They brought us here a few days after you died." Dean looked away from his brother. The pain on Sam's face was almost too much to bear. "We were drugged. We were always drugged. The effects varied, but.... They tied us to the tables." Dean frowned, sifting through the images, trying to figure out what was real. "They poured something that smelled sweet over us, then."

Dean walked to third table, devoid of flowers, covered in dark stairs. "They sacrificed someone here. I remember the screams. It called something here, the thing was here in a host, but there was another part of it here as well. There were hummingbirds, a bunch of them. One large one, the biggest I've ever seen. I think it was real." He closed his eyes, letting the ritual play in his head again. He was trembling as he remembered, fighting the urge to run, fighting the urge to hide. Sam put a hand on his shoulder. "I don't remember much after that. I usually let the drug…" He stopped, not wanting to admit that to his brother.

"I understand," Sam said gently. "What else do you remember?"

"Not much, flashes of pain. I think it pierced me." Dean lifted his shirt. "Are there little marks about where my heart is?"

"I thought that was a rash," Sam said, running an hand down his skin. The small wounds ached, the pain increasing the longer he stood by the flower-covered tables.

"It happened then." Dean stopped. "And I was here again, when it was…" He looked at Sam. "I killed that man in there, Sammy."

"No, Dean, you didn't."

"I remember… No. Can we go?" Dean walked away from his brother, away from the tables. His foot caught something as he neared the gate. He picked it up. It was part of a sacrificial knife. Dean dropped it, watching the obsidian shatter as it hit the cement walkway. With a deep breath to control the panic that was consuming him, he walked to the car and got in, making sure the door was locked after he'd closed it. Sam and Ronny got in a few minutes later. Dean suspected the bag Ronny was carrying had the broken knife in it.

"I'm going to drop Ronny off at the clinic. It's getting late. I think we should head back to the house."

"Okay," Dean said. He looked out the window. I shouldn't have come here. I… I have to tell Sam what happened. He hadn't mentioned the ritual when it took him to his brother, watching the pain on Sam's face as he described the earlier rituals had been enough. Dean was quiet as they drove through town. He listened to Sam and Ronny's conversation, but it was more background noise than anything. The memories the trip to the house had stirred up, were getting the upper hand. Pain was pulsing through him, nausea was threatening to rip him apart and over it all was terror. Fear of the thing, fear of what would happen, fear for what Sam would say when Dean told him what had happened.

He was trembling, trying to stop the reaction. Dean could feel Sam's eyes on him as they pulled up in front of the clinic. Sam patted his hand to get his attention. "I'm going to grab the laptop."

"Okay." Dean said. He watched as his brother disappeared into the clinic. Dean kept his eye trained on the red flowers in front of the building while Sam was gone, looking for the hummingbird that had been there earlier in the day. No, yesterday. Sam said it was yesterday. Nothing was moving, but Dean was so focused on the flowers he started when Sam opened the door.

"On our way," Sam said, starting the car. As soon as the engine was on Dean reached over and grabbed Sam's wrist. His brother looked down at his hand, then over at him with a sad smile. "Can it find you at the house?"

"They would have had to perform the rituals there or an initiate would have to be there," Dean said.

"So, if I see anyone I don't know, I'll shoot them," Sam said with an attempt at a grin. "Even kids selling candy."

"Especially kids selling candy." Dean looked at his brother with a smile. He knew it didn't reach his eyes, knew Sam saw that as well. "Harry will be around."

"Are you and the dog going to start ganging up on me again?"

"He has good taste," Dean said, trying to still the panic that was flaring against his heart.

"Dean?"

"Sorry, Sam. Going there was harder than I thought it would be."

"Will you be okay?" Sam asked quietly as he pulled into the driveway.

"I don't know." Dean got out of the car and walked through the house. Harry was waiting on the back porch. Dean opened the door and the large dog bounded into the house. He scratched the dog's head, Harry leaned against his leg. "Hi, Harry." The dog looked up at him happily. "It's good to see you." The dog responded by wagging his tail, it quickly became a full body wag.

"Dean? Do you want something to eat?" Sam opened the fridge. "CJ said you could have soup."

"Chicken noodle?"

"Yeah, I had Bobby get some the other day." Sam closed the fridge and grabbed a couple of cans of soup out of the cupboard. Dean sat on the floor, Harry put his head in his lap as Sam heated up the soup. When it was steaming, Sam filled two mugs and sat on the floor beside Dean.

"Thanks." Dean looked at his brother. They ate in silence, Sam's shoulder a warm against his. Dean realized he was leaning more and more against Sam as they finished. When he was done, Sam took the mug out of his hands and stood.

"Can I take a shower?" Dean asked. Suddenly he could smell the scent of rotting flesh wafting off his body.

"Dean, what's wrong?"

"I can smell it, the house, I need to get it off, Sam. Please." Dean held out his hand and Sam pulled him onto his feet.

"You don't smell, Dean."

"Yes, I do! Please, Sammy." He said desperately, pulling off his t-shirt and dropping it on the floor, the smell was suddenly too much to stand.

"Okay, let me get the water on."

"Hurry, Sammy, please." Dean followed Sam into the bathroom, his brother turned on the water and handed him a clean towel. Dean quickly undressed and stepped into the warm spray. He picked up the soap and started scrubbing at himself, trying to get rid of the smell that had permeated his skin and was now filling the steam in the bathroom. Maybe if I get the smell off, it won't find me. He scrubbed harder, tears running down his cheeks. I have to get it off, I have to get it off.

"Dean!" Sam's shouted and the water was turned off. "My god, Dean." Sam wrapped a towel around him and guided him to the toilet. "Oh god." Sam gently dabbed at Dean's chest with the towel. Dean looked down, blood was running down his chest from several raw spots. "Hang on," Sam said gently. He dried Dean off, then helped him into a pair of sweats. "Dean?"

"It can still smell it, Sammy. If it's off, maybe it can't find me." Dean looked around the small room as if it could find him there. "Maybe it can't find me again. It told me when it does…" Dean swallowed, trying to stop the words.

"Dean what happened?" Sam said gently.

"I told you they gave us drugs?" Sam nodded. "After awhile, Sam, I wanted the drugs. They let me see you after you died." Tears were running down Dean's face, there were answering tears in Sam's eyes. "It… It wore me, used my body like its own. I killed that man, I think I killed other people. I remember the taste of their blood in my mouth, the feeling of their beating heart in my hands."

Dean took a breath, it quickly became a sob. "It killed you, made me watch, then it killed me. Sammy, I wanted to die, I wanted…" The sobs tore out of his chest as he collapsed against his brother. Sam's arms wrapped around him and held him as he wept. "Oh, god, Sammy, it took me, violated me. Took everything I was and enjoyed it, then it came back for more. It, it was in me, Sammy. In my body. I can still feel it," he said, his head buried against Sam.

"It's not there now, Dean," Sam said in a soft sing-song. The tone reminded Dean of himself when he had tried to calm Sam as a child. "I won't let it take you again." Dean nodded, unable to speak around the tears, around the pain. Slowly the sobs diminished, he stayed against Sam.

"Sorry," he said softly when he could manage a whisper.

"You need to sleep," Sam said. "CJ gave me something to help, something that will let you sleep deep enough so…"

"I won't dream?"

"Yeah." Sam pulled one arm away from Dean. He stayed where he was as his brother ran some water in a glass. "Here." Dean lifted his head, Sam handed him a pill and the glass without moving the arm that was still over Dean's shoulders. Dean took the pill. While his head was back he felt a needle pinch his arm.

"Sammy?"

"It will help you relax until the pill takes effect, Dean. It won't hurt you, I promise."

"You wouldn't hurt me," Dean said, the warmth already spreading through his body.

"Do you want to lie down?"

Dean nodded and Sam lifted him to his feet. He leaned against Sam, his legs seemed unwilling to bear his weight. Sam half-carried him to the bedroom and lowered him onto the bed. Harry hopped up beside Dean and stretched out with a sigh. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"Dean, don't." Sam put his hand on Dean's chest. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I killed people."

"The thing killed people."

"I was happy when they gave me the drugs." Dean's eyes drifted closed.

"Of course you were, it let you escape for awhile."

"I let it take me," he said

"No, Dean, you didn't. It did that to you, you didn't help."

"Will I wake up me?" Dean asked. He felt Sam's hand trembling on his chest.

"Yeah, Dean."

"Promise?" He was suddenly afraid to sleep, suddenly afraid of what might happen.

"Promise," Sam said. Dean left himself drift into darkness, right as he slipped away he heard his brother's voice, full of tears. "Please come back tomorrow, Dean. Please."

To Be Continued