So, here goes the next chapter – glad you stuck with me so far.

OcherMe beta-ed it for me, but of course I made some changes afterwards, so all mistakes are and will forever be mine!

Oh, and OcherMe, if you read this: I love how you manage to correct some of the sentences so they make more sense (hopefully) and still don't take my own personal style or whatever you want to call it away from it (even if that's maybe not a good thing, sometimes.) And I just love those little comments you squeeze in every once in a while - they always make me smile ;-)

Chapter 10

How he reacted as fast as he did he had no idea but Sam spun himself around and ducked at the same time, barely avoiding getting hit at the top of his head, then charging forward. He drove his shoulder into something muscular, hitting it with full force.

Sam heard a grunt and a whoosh of air being expelled as his charge drove the air out of his attacker and together they tumbled into the table, toppling it over, hitting the wall hard before collapsing onto the floor. The brunt of the impact drove the air out of both of them for a second but for some reason Sam would never quite understand, he couldn't get on his feet fast enough, even though he was on top, and suddenly his opponent gave a violent buck, twisting himself underneath Sam with surprising strength. He managed to turn to his side, kicking one elbow into Sam's abdomen and Sam toppled forward, the air momentarily catching in his throat, unable to draw in a decent breath, not quite able to expel it, either.

The attacker took the chance Sam's momentary weakness provided him with to bring one knee up, managing to dig his foot into the carpet and buck his hip up once more. He threw Sam off balance, then rolled himself away and shifted to a low crouch, one hand on the floor in front of him for leverage, the other one clutching something…something that Sam couldn't really get a look at but knew what it was nonetheless.

Dean's chin was down, almost touching his chest, the low light from the parking lot outside their door casting the upper half of his face in complete shadow. Long and lowered lashes helped to extend the darkness over his eyes, revealing nothing more of his face but the strong set of his jaw, the wide blown nostrils as he breathed heavily, yet with forced composure. His chest was heaving, the veins in his forearm standing out sharply against slightly sweaty skin.

For a moment Sam was dumbstruck and almost mesmerized by the sight of his brother, the predator that he resembled more than anything right now, the dangerously composed assailant before him who was ready to strike at any second.

Dean lifted his eyes just the tiniest bit, the poor neon-light washing into the room from the parking lot revealing narrow slits of green that reminded Sam so much of his brother, yet at the same time he couldn't have been more alien to him as he was at that exact moment. It was then that Sam knew that he couldn't hesitate…that he wasn't fighting his brother right now. He was fighting a Dean without everything that made his brother human, he was fighting Dean without a conscience, without the love for his brother, without reason. Without everything that made Dean Dean.

The realization made Sam shudder…

…and then act.

Sam propelled himself forward, swung out an arm and reached for Dean's ankle, barely missing as his brother shifted his weight, his free hand shooting out to grab Sam's wrist instead, twisting it to the point Sam thought it might snap with the strain. Sam groaned out, ready to haul his whole body at his brother, tackling and felling him, no matter what that would do to his wrist in the process, when again Dean surged forward, slamming into him with full force and landing a teeth-rattling blow to Sam's jaw. When the younger hunter had cleared the cobwebs suddenly cottoning his brain he felt himself being pinned underneath his brother's muscular body once more. His back was pressed into the stale smelling carpet, his forearms painfully pushed down by Dean's knees, hands effectively immobilized.

Dean's Bowie-knife gleamed dangerously in his hand as he pressed it smugly against the soft skin of Sam's throat right above his Adam's apple. The ever sharp edge already sliced into the first layer of skin but Sam didn't dare to even hiss as he feared that this slight movement of his throat might cause the knife to embed itself deeper into his skin and flesh. Dean's eyes were vicious, almost black in the dim light of the room now.

"Dean…"

There it was again, that pleading whimper. Goddamn it. Anybody else he'd have just flipped off by now, wrenched out a shoulder or clogged out but this was Dean he was talking about here. Somewhere in there, it was still Dean.

"Who the fuck were you talking to?"

It wasn't Dean's voice anymore but a low hiss, a feral snarl, nothing more.

"Dean come on…get off and lets just…"

"WHO THE FUCK WERE YOU TALKING TO?"

Dean was shouting now, little droplets of spit hitting Sam's face and he resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut and turn his head away. The pressure on his throat increased and Sam tensed up even more, trying to still the automated urge to swallow.

Damn, that knife was sharp. No wonder, the way Dean kept sharpening it every free minute he got.

Sam tried to contemplate his options quickly, but there weren't too many right now. Either tell the truth or not and he couldn't come up with one good reason why he should lie right now. It wasn't as if it could make matters any worse.

"I was talking to Bobby…"

A quick flash of something crossed Dean's face, too fast to grasp or hold on to. Too quick for Dean himself to latch onto, it seemed.

"What were the two of you talking about, huh? Trying to sneak up on me, conspiring behind my back? Were you trying to jump me, or better yet, run away from me again, leave me behind…? Didn't think you'd need Bobby's help for that, you were doing pretty good there all by your pretty self the first time around…"

Dean's breathing was laboured, his eyes squeezed tight so only tiny slits were showing, squinting in the almost nonexistent light of the room. The only illumination came from the window where the motel's neon sign flickered in, bathing the room in dim, greenish light, giving the whole situation a slightly surreal tinge.

Sam forced himself to stay calm, to do what he did best, to assess the situation, weigh it, try to talk his way out of it. Dean himself once told him that he could talk his way into and out of almost anything, it was one of the reasons Sam had decided he wanted to become a lawyer, as a matter of fact. Actually, Dean telling him once upon a time that he'd make a good lawyer, negotiating with him over everything, turning his words around in his mouth until they'd fit his needs.

And if that didn't work right now, he had to find an opening in his brother's act, his posture, anything to get the drop on him. It wouldn't be easy, Sam knew that, Dean being the skilled hunter that he was, but Sam had two advantages at the moment:

One, he'd been trained by the best, by Dean himself, and their dad, so he knew the moves, knew how to read the signs.

Two, he had the advantage of reason.

At least he hoped that it indeed was an advantage at the moment.

Because as sure as anything, Dean was impulsive on a good day, but with even the last snippets of rationality taken from him Sam didn't know if he had any idea how long it would take his brother to snap completely. He had no idea how his brother would react.

The only thing Sam could count on was some last piece of Dean still being in there, somewhere, some last piece that would keep him from hurting his own brother. Because Sam didn't know how far he could go himself, in the end, to keep Dean from doing anything stupid, something that he'd come to regret later. And if he actually managed to do harm to his little brother, Sam knew that it didn't need any anger demon, no fucking Ragazara to drive Dean over the edge, once he'd realize what he'd done.

"Answer me…what the hell were you talking about?"

Sam clenched his hands, forced himself to breathe low and steady, forced himself not to swallow again when he felt the knife slicing deeper, severing another paper-thin layer of skin.

"Dean, come on…try to think this through. You know what happened, right? Try to remember… I'm on your side…I'm trying to help you!"

Dean spat out a laugh, leaned closer to Sam's face, the tips of their noses almost brushing.

"I think you're lying. I think you're trying to sneak behind my back. You were trying to fucking. Sneak. Behind. My. Fucking. Back…"

"Sneak behind your back to do what, Dean? What would I do…? You're my brother. What do you think I would do?"

That seemed to stun Dean for a moment, his forehead wrinkling as he kept his eyes trained on Sam, staring at him yet unable to come up with an answer.

"Shut up…just shut the fuck up."

"Dean, come on. Look at me. Look at me. I would never hurt you…this is not you…you don't mean that…you are not yourself… Just look at me and try to remember…please."

Sam would have liked to think that it was his logic or clever reasoning that got Dean to actually listen to his words, but the truth was, it most likely was nothing he said, but rather the way he said it. The slight undercurrent of pleading, of fear in his voice, maybe the sheer look of desperation in his eyes, eyes that his brother never had been able to deny anything. A whole lifetime of training, conditioning, of reacting to the slightest change in his baby brother's voice and his demeanour was too much to get rid off that easily.

Dean stared at him for minutes it seemed, then suddenly his shoulders slumped forward while the hand holding the knife stayed at Sam's throat. The fingers of his other hand were braced next to Sam's head on the floor, digging into the carpet. Dean's head dropped onto his chest, chin touching his t-shirt, droplets of sweat soaking into the fabric, staining it dark almost instantly. Sam could see Dean squeeze his eyes shut, see him wince in apparent pain, the muscles in his biceps bulging as he fought to lift his hand to his head to massage his temple. He didn't succeed, didn't make if off the ground at all but his upper body moved away from Sam's ever so slightly in the process of trying, giving Sam that small opening that he needed.

Sam waited a split second until he both saw and felt his brother's knife-hand move away from his throat the tiniest bit, barely a fraction of an inch but enough nonetheless. He knew the move was dangerous, knew he could hurt himself remarkably if it went wrong, but he also knew that he didn't have much time. Dean was most likely too far gone to react fully on big brother mode, even though Sam could see how hard he was struggling.

Sam bucked upwards, conscious of keeping his legs down so he wouldn't push Dean right into his own throat with that knife, but aiming to push him towards his own left instead. Relying on the fact that Dean, holding the knife in his right hand, would need to catch his body weight with his right arm and therefore being forced to let the knife slip, or so he hoped, without too much pressure, not doing too much harm in the process.

Under normal circumstances, it would never have worked, had Dean been completely on top of his game a simple ploy like that would have made him grin and hold on tighter. But then again, if he'd been alright, it would have never come to this.

Sam felt a burning sensation as the knife cut through another couple of layers of skin, Dean holding on tighter than he'd anticipated, but Sam wouldn't allow the pain to cause him to stop or falter for even a second.

He wrenched his hand from underneath his brother's knee, rolling himself over, immediately digging his own knee into Dean's abdomen, drawing a strangled gasp/groan from. Instantly Sam grabbed Dean's knife-hand with all the strength he could muster while struggling to get a grip on the other one, still free, still flailing.

Sam received a hit, loose fisted but still stunning, to his temple and another one to his lip before he managed to finally grab a hold of Dean's free arm, bringing it down to the floor with as much force as he could manage, all the time struggling to find leverage on Dean's right. Sam dug his fingers as hard as he could into his brother's wrist, searching for that spot, that thread of nerves that would cause his fingers to loosen their grip and let go of the deadly weapon he was still clutching tightly, as if holding on to dear life.

Dean struggled, spitting out a haze of unintelligible words, twisting and kicking and it was by pure determination alone that Sam managed not to be fought off this time. He found the pressure point, felt the knife slip from Dean's grasp as his finger's went lax for a second but the pain and loss of his weapon only seemed to make Dean double his efforts. And it didn't look as if he might let off any time soon.

Sam was barely able to hang on anymore, his brother might have been smaller than him but he was solid muscle and even though Sam always teased him about his outrageous eating habits there was not one excess pound of fat on his brother's body.

It was damn hard to hold him down.

And it was even harder to make a decision as to how to subdue him.

"Dean, please…just stop. Stop. I'm not trying to hurt you, alright? It's me…Sam, I'm only trying to help…"

This time Dean didn't stop, not even one second as he again managed to bring one knee up to hit Sam square in the back.

There was no use delaying the inevitable anymore.

Sam knew he had to be fast, he had about a second to act.

"I'm sorry, Dean…" he mumbled and that actually gave Dean pause, if only for a second.

Sam let go of Dean's right hand, choosing that one because it was the one still bandaged, still swollen and therefore probably not as strong. It was quick enough though, clawing for Sam's throat. Sam didn't even try to twist away, but clenched his free hand into a fist and hit Dean, hard, on the temple.

It wasn't enough to knock him out completely, but Dean's body went limp, head rolling to the side and even though all Sam wanted to do at that moment was hold him, make sure he was alright, apologize for crying out loud he knew that the window he'd been given was tiny to say the least. He had to act fast before Dean was up to par again.

Sam grabbed the knife and basically threw it through the still open door of the bathroom, out of both their reach. Then he grabbed Dean, who was groaning slightly but remained boneless otherwise, under the armpits and dragged him over towards his bed, pulling him on and leaving him quickly to dig through his duffel, cringing and sighing in relief at the same time when finding what he'd been looking for.

Dean was already starting to stir on the bed again, turning to his side, attempting to lift himself up, cradling his head in his hands, still too woozy to make much sense of anything, most likely still too numbed to get up and lash out again.

"Stay down…please stay down." Sam mumbled, more to himself than Dean, probably, as he leaned over his brother's huddled form, taking a hold of his right hand.

He winced in sympathy at the sight of the still bandaged wrist, the limb underneath the once again bloody gauze swollen, the puffy flesh extending up towards his fingers, leaving them pudgy and purple and obviously painful.

"Damn it…"

Sam remembered Dean's fight with the bathroom tiles then, a couple of hours ago when he'd come back into the room.

But he'd been able to hold on to the knife not too long ago so it couldn't be that bad, could it?

Deciding that the hand didn't need any more aggravation, Sam rolled Dean onto his back again, holding him down until he stopped struggling. Then he snapped one end of the shiny silver metal cuffs they'd once snatched from a sheriff's office on their escape around Dean's left wrist, quickly fixing the other end around the bedpost above his brother's head.

Dean didn't stop struggling, even mostly out of it he still kept up his incessant efforts to free himself from Sam's grasp, writhing and wriggling, tugging on his newly attached restrains without really knowing that they were there. His eyes weren't open yet his lips kept moving, mumbling, cursing, some words more intelligible than others, all of them furious and angry, his mind apparently fighting on where his body already wanted to give up the fight and just rest, just for a while.

Sam just stood there, holding on to Dean, mumbling soothing words without real meaning, praying that his stubborn brother would finally just let go and let himself rest. Easy had never been something Dean Winchester did well, Sam knew that.

He remembered a time when Dean had been sick, a cold that had developed right into a nasty pneumonia because Dean wouldn't freaking listen and stay in bed as their dad had told him to. He'd insisted on walking Sam to school when John had left on a hunt, had picked him up after again. By the time his temperature had climbed up to over 103 degrees, Sam, who had been only about 10 years old, had to fight like a madman to basically tie Dean to the bed in order to keep him still, to force him to rest and heal.

He'd thought it was hard then, him still being smaller than his older brother, but that had been nothing compared to right now.

"Come on…come on. Just relax, alright. Just relax. I'm right here, it's going to be alright. Bobby's on his way. He'll take care of us, he's found a way to help…just relax."

Sam's voice had taken on an almost singing cadence, knowing that music helped Dean calm himself down on pretty much every occasion he could think of.

He had to be tired, he simply had to. If he'd just let himself, his body would cherish the sleep, Sam was sure of it. The hit on the head sure had helped speed things along a little and Sam felt guilty as hell but there was nothing else he could have done.

As if just remembering it he suddenly felt the sting and burn emanating from the cut on his throat. The wound wasn't too deep, he was still talking and breathing after all, so it was nothing to get all excited about. Even though it did feel kind of strange, the sensation of the warm blood trailing down his throat to soak into the hem of his t-shirt chilling his skin, making him shiver.

This had been too damn close. He knew that it would have almost ended here…

And still he had no doubt that Dean could have taken him out far too easily, if this thing had really had complete control over his brother.

"You are so much stronger than this, you hear me? Just let go for now and I'll make sure that it won't get you, alright? I'll make sure that we'll get through this…"

It might have been a bit too late for that, Sam knew that much, but he needed the lie as much as Dean would need it, if he heard it at all.

One look at his watch told him that it was still some hours until Bobby would get here and he felt his heart sink a little at the prospect of sitting here all night and half of the day to wait for their friend. But if that was what it took then so be it. As long as they'd make it through this in the end, Sam thought he could deal with almost everything.

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Dean struggled for the better part of an hour, not resting, never stopping to writhe and wriggle, never stopping to talk but after a while Sam gave up trying to understand. The words were pure gibberish most of the time, incoherent, almost feverish.

Sam really needed to go to the bathroom but didn't dare leave his brother's side until he'd at least settled down a little, fearing that he might hurt himself when waking up and finding himself tied to the bed.

That sure wouldn't sit well with him as it was, but Dean waking up handcuffed, confused and alone would definitely not help Sam's case along any.

When finally, after what seemed and felt like an eternity Dean finally fell into a fitful sleep Sam felt like toppling over, he was so spent and riled up, the sudden loss of tension almost making him loose his equilibrium.

Dean's wrist already was chafed and raw and Sam cursed himself for not having thought about this earlier, for not wrapping either the cuffs or Dean's wrist with something soft to alleviate the pressure at least a bit. Well, he had been kind of preoccupied at the time, but still…

He dug through his duffel, came up with a t-shirt he thought he was able to spare, cutting some strips off to gently wrap them around the sharp material of the cuffs. He had trouble contriving it between the metal and Dean's already swollen wrist, but he didn't dare take them off to do it more thoroughly, afraid that Dean would wake at just this second and this time find a way to finish whatever he'd set out to do.

Sam pushed one of the extra pillows from the closet underneath Dean's hand, supporting it a bit so it didn't hang in the shackle quite as heavily. He then circled the bed to tend to Dean's right wrist, the already banged up one, gently yet quickly unwinding the gauze to lay free purplish swollen knuckles, some split skin and abrasions marking the spot where Dean had probably hit the tiled bathroom floor, punishing himself effectively.

"Stupid ass…can't do anything the easy way, right?" Sam muttered dejectedly as he carefully bent Dean's fingers, tracing the delicate bones of his hand through the puffy flesh, finding a couple of bones that seemed to be cracked at the least. He'd have a hell of a hard time moving the limb, let alone the digits for some time to come. How he'd managed to hold on to his knife the way he had remained a mystery to Sam, but he guessed that it had something to do with adrenaline and sheer determination. Dean would manage to pull that off. He'd once walked five miles through the woods with a broken ankle, something like this could only elicit a weak grin from his brother. Too stubborn to admit defeat and while Sam had always feared that it would, sometime, catch up with him, it wasn't one of the worst trades that Dean came with.

Sam applied some antibiotic ointment liberally over the scrapes and the newly torn stitches, deciding that redoing them would probably not make much sense right now before wrapping the limb more tightly than before. Yet he still left the bandage slack enough to not make the swelling worse before settling the hand by Dean's side again, watching his brother roll his head sloppily on the pillow, lips slightly parted, forehead creased in a constant frown.

There had to be a way to keep him down, there just had to be…

But in the end, Sam resigned himself to the fact that there was nothing he could do except to simply knock him out or drug him up. Neither was an option right now…he might come to reconsider that decision later on, but right now he'd just suck it up and try to live with it.

Bobby was on his way…Bobby would save the day. He'd done it before, he'd do it now. Next to his big brother, the seasoned hunter was the one person that Sam trusted with his life.

And Bobby loved Dean like he was his own son…he wouldn't let this get the better of his brother. For either of them. Never.

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One thing was for sure, he didn't really feel all that great.

His head was throbbing and grinding, goddamnit. This had to be the worst headache of his whole life.

He groaned, deep and heartfelt, not caring if anyone could hear. He didn't care much about anything anymore…nothing but this urge, this bone-deep need to lash out, to fight… That and the pure need to protect Sammy…from vampires and demons, Wendigos and…himself, of all people.

He tried to roll onto his side, never having been too comfortable lying on his back, trying to cradle his head in his hands and maybe gouge out his own eyeballs while he was at it, stopping them from throbbing and expanding inside his skull any longer.

Rolling over worked, kind of, towards his left anyway, even though his shoulder hurt but the pain didn't really register amid all the other discomforts he felt right now. Bringing his right hand to his forehead worked too, but his left stayed where it was, extended above his head and a renewed tug revealed that indeed he couldn't move it, couldn't pull away and then he realized that he must have been tied to something, that someone had freaking tied him up.

He tore at the restraint, rolling his body over and almost passing out with pain when he almost wrenched his own shoulder out in the process.

"What the…"

He pushed himself up and away, uncaring that it wouldn't do him any good, knowing that it would not work but doing it nonetheless, rolling towards his right side now and trying to use his whole body weight to pull at the restraints, trying to wrench the thing off. His his bodyhishiiiligluzfkluzf

body cleared the mattress and he found his footing, bent over a little, arm at an awkward angle across the bed where it was still held tight, his wrist popping when joints and sinews strained to remain in their awkward position.

"What…nuhhh…"

He pulled, oblivious to the way the metal tore at his skin, not really feeling anything but the imminent panic and fury at not being able to move, to get away, to roll up and die…

Dean hadn't counted on the sudden surge of nausea and vertigo of being semi-upright, though and he went down again, cracking his knees first on the bed frame, then the floor. He had to rest his forehead on the mattress for a second, relishing the feel of soft and warm on his face while at the same time feeling constricted, smothered by it.

His free hand dug into the sheets, or at least tried to but his fingers were numb, barely moving as he tried to reach forward, to figure out what was holding him while still not being able to open his eyes, needing to see what made his escape impossible.

He had to half-crawl onto the bed again in order to reach his left wrist, bent awkwardly, elbow and shoulder strained to the point he thought they would just pop out of their sockets at any second now as his fingers found the shackles that were holding him. He felt the rough and cold metal of the cuffs, wrapped with something a little softer and warmer in places and he tore at the fabric, trying to get underneath.

What…how…? He'd been cuffed to the bed? Now…had this been not so damn uncomfortable… His memories clearly telling him that this was not some kind of kinky and highly x-rated dream or game but the biggest, most vicious betrayal he'd ever, ever encountered.

His own brother…his own brother, who he'd protected and pampered, who's diapers he'd changed, who he'd potty trained and taught everything the kid needed to know about girls and other important things in life. He'd given him everything he ever had and now this?

"Dean…"

A sound from somewhere in front of him and the mere tone of Sam's voice tore through Dean like a hurricane. At first it was relief, pure and unvarnished, a reaction so ingrained into his very core there was no stopping it, sired by years and years of mind- numbing habit and training and need and love… He slumped forward a bit, his muscles screaming and he wanted, so badly to lean forward into the welcoming strong arms he knew would be there should he fall, would always be there for him, no matter what.

"Dean…easy…just take it easy. Let me help you…"

The voice suddenly nearer, right in front of him, then there were hands on his shoulders, trying to steady him, no doubt, lending strength as much as doing the simple act of keeping him more or less upright. But the first surge of immense relief that brought Dean to the verge of actually sobbing at the sensation was replaced with something so far from relief or ease, it was almost crushing in its intensity.

He wanted those hands off…offoffoffoffoffoff, wanted Sam gone, as far away as possible, because even though he knew that it was wrong and that he stood no chance without his brother here to help him, to keep him safe he just wanted him to be gone. It was insane, the twirl of thoughts making him even dizzier than he already was and he knew at that moment that it was the sickest thing he'd ever experienced.

The knowledge that what he was doing and thinking was wrong, that there was no way his brother was out to get him, to hurt him like he felt Sam was and still there was nothing he could do to push past those feelings of anger and hurt and betrayal to surface and fight this.

They'd talked about it…a couple of times, under much fidgeting and awkward growls and shifting and not looking at each other…had talked about the time when Sam had been possessed. Sam telling him that he didn't remember most of what he'd done during that time and that it was the hardest thing not knowing, not being able to remember. If there had been others than Steven Wendell…others than Jo…or even Dean.

Dean had thought Sam was right then…had thought that it was the worst torture for sure, that there was nothing that came even remotely close.

Now he thought that he might have been wrong – both of them had been.

Because worse than not knowing…any day of the week, was knowing. Knowing exactly what he'd done and said and felt…even though he still knew that he was wrong. The worst thing was knowing all this but not being strong enough to fight it.

God, he wished he could be stronger…stronger than this, stronger than all of it.

Already he could feel his stamina waning, could feel the energy it took to be able to keep himself from lashing out and being angry sapping away. It took too much out of him, too much to fight this off… With Sam out of the picture maybe he could just let go…

The only reason he was still holding on was his little brother, he knew that. But he really was so tired of fighting…and god, did it hurt.

"Dean…come on…"

Those hands again, pressing him back, fingers digging into his flesh, hurting him, grating, scraping away at the last vestiges of rationality.

"Sam…" His voice sounded rough and painful even to his own ears.

"Sam…get away…let go of me and get…the hell away from me."

The sentence a mixture of threatening and pleading and he could feel Sam stiffen, apparently trying to figure out how to read it as well, then holding on even more tightly.

"Lie back down…come on, you need to relax. You're hurting yourself, Dean. Please…"

Dean could almost see the puppy dog eyes on him, even though he hadn't yet opened his own eyes but for some reason that only made things worse now.

"Get off of me…let go you freak… Untie me and let me go or I swear to god…"

He flexed all his muscles, sparring into his brother, groaning as his shoulder couldn't follow the movement and ground loudly in its socket, almost popping out.

"LET GO…"

Dean again threw himself forward, toppling Sam backwards, rolling to the floor and this time he felt and heard his shoulder giving up its position with a vicious pop that made his head spin as he heard himself scream out in pain. White hot tendrils of agony shot up into his brain, down into the tips of his fingers. His wrist was still caught in the metal cuff that almost cut off the circulation the way the limb was now twisted in it, making the digits curl towards his palm automatically as all the nerve ending spasmed in his arm.

His brother's words lost in a haze of agony and confusion and need…

He needed to end this, once and for all.

I can't hurt Sam… Dean repeated the mantra to himself, mumbling it over and over and over again as he felt Sam take hold of him from behind all of a sudden, strong arms snaking across his chest. Sam pulled him back and up again and even though Dean could feel his body fighting still he forced himself with all his heart to not kick and bite his way out of there like he really wanted to.

God it hurt. Everywhere. No exception.

Dean forced his muscles to relax as much as possible, forced himself not to smash his head back into his little brother's face, break his nose like every instinct told him to, to fight him off. Sam dragged him back onto the bed, trying but not succeeding entirely to not twist his arm any further. Dean again cried out, felt the arm that had held him around the chest sneak up towards his throat, settling there and then, with absolute and incorruptible clarity Dean knew what Sam was going to do.

Dean had taught him this exact move, after all, had freaking taught him to do this, never assuming that Sam would ever use it on him. His own brother.

"Nuhhh…"

He tore his eyes open then, tears of panic and pain stinging in them, burning ferociously as he blinked rapidly against the sudden intrusion of light on his tortured eyeballs. The room tilted, blurring around the edges and he tried to bring his good arm up to fight Sam off - only that even his good arm wasn't all that good really and his fingers didn't manage to hold on to his brother's arm, let alone pull it off.

He bucked his upper body up again, unable to control the motion let alone quench it, trying in vain to find some grip with his feet, twisting and writhing but already Sam had found good enough leverage, holding Dean's back against his own chest steadily. One strong arm snaked around his mid-section so he couldn't twist away, increasing the pressure with his right arm on his throat, subtly but continuously cutting off his air-supply. Sam was murmuring a never-ending cascade of words into his ear, words that never hit bottom.

"Easy Dean. I'm so sorry…so sorry…so sorry…just stop fighting…stop fighting…please…"

Over and over and over again until Dean could feel his body slipping, falling, the black around the edges of his vision creeping closer together, collaborating with the dark spots dancing before his eyes, tunnelling his sight to a mere pinpoint on the far wall.

The last thing he saw was the ugly landscape that hung there, brown and tattered like everything else in this ridiculous room, the hideous sight accompanying him into the darkness.

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AN:

Alright, so I'll make this real quick and go hide now. Please, no stone-throwing…I know it's kinda…I don't know. But I promise I'll make it better… Please don't give up on me just yet and wait me out, alright?

Other than that, as always, thanks for bearing with me and to all those who squeezed in the time to review – you're awesome, thank you!

If you wanna read on, the next chapter will be up next week as usual!