Sam could hear Dean's voice, could tell he was talking to him, but the words were muddled. Sam felt like he was listening through water - his brother's words echoing in ever-increasing circles around him.

He had no idea what Dean was saying, but the older boy looked concerned.

His punishment must be over.

Sam tried to lift one hand off the table to pull up his pants, but when he did, his upper body collapsed on top of it. Sam lay panting, his face buried in his arms, snot running from his nose. He usually tried not to cry during his punishments, but this time he hadn't been able to stop the flow of tears. To Dean's credit, Sam cried silently, and his brother didn't see the depth of his devastation until the twelve lashes were over.

And Sam was right. Dean hadn't pulled a single one.

His body had passed the point of feeling like it was on fire about five lashes in. After that, the agony was mind-numbing.

He felt Dean's hand in his hair as his battered body finally collapsed altogether, falling in a heap on the floor at the foot of the table. Sam lay covered in meat slices and cheese, a chilled stream of milk spilling off the table and running down his neck, soaking his clean tee.

He opened his eyes to find Dean's frantic face next to his own. Dean's mouth was working, but Sam couldn't hear the words the older boy uttered.

All he could hear was his own pain. His ass was on fire. His feet … his sides felt like someone had driven a spear straight through, and his chest where Sam swore he felt the outline of the boot print … it was filled with dust. Sam needed to cough, but he couldn't muster up the energy. Instead, his failing body gave out a horrifying bark that even startled his brother. Sam could tell this by the way Dean's mouth fell open.

Another time, he would have laughed at his big brother's speechlessness. Another time. Not this time.

Dean was shaking him gently, which just intensified the pain. Sam's head rolled limply to one side and he uttered the only word that his mind could form.

"Please …"

Please what, Sam had no idea. Please make the pain stop, maybe? Please believe me when I tell you I can't remember? Please keep me safe from your maniacal friends? Please let this whole month be nothing more than a nightmare?

Please don't hit me anymore.

Sam struggled to raise himself up onto his knees, shoving his brother away. He climbed gracelessly onto the bed, losing his lounge pants in the process, and his shirt must have ridden up too because finally Sam could hear again, and what he heard was his brother's sharp intake of breath. Sam decided it must have something to do with his bruises, but honestly, he didn't care anymore.

Sam just wanted to die. He curled up on the bed and faced away from his brother, taking the short little breaths that were all his mangled body would allow him.

He closed his eyes and fell into the waiting chasm.

###

"Twelve." Dean counted off the last lash because Sam didn't seem willing to do it. If he was Dad, he'd give Sammy an extra crack just for insubordination, but Dean couldn't do that. Hell, it was all he could do to make it this far. He'd wanted nothing more than to go easy on his little brother, but he knew if he tried, Dad would just make Sam go through the whole punishment over again once he got home.

It was better this way.

Dean took a step back, looking at the floor. "That's all, Sammy. We're done." He said, turning and reaching for the phone. He shut off the hateful camera and threw the phone across the room. He'd expected Sam to turn and flee to the bathroom where his dignity could suffer without a witness, but he was surprised to find Sam still standing exactly where he'd left him.

The kid looked like he was bolted to the table. Dean took a step around to say something to him and froze at the look on the younger boy's face.

Sam looked devastated. His face was soaked in tears so heavy that they clung to his lashes and ran in rivers down his cheeks. The table in front of him was puddled with them, and Dean had never felt lower in his life. Sam's face broke him instantly. Whether it was the tears or the vacant stare that didn't seem to recognize him, Dean wasn't sure. The only thing he was certain of, in that moment, was that his little brother was hurting beyond his ability to bear it, and that Dean was the one who'd caused the pain.

"Sammy?" Dean murmured, his hand going unbidden to his brother's face.

Sam lifted one shaking hand then and tried to tug on his pants, but suddenly he collapsed on top the table, causing the leg to break and the whole thing to tumble to the ground, taking Sam with it.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, falling down after his brother. He buried a hand in Sam's hair and slipped an arm beneath him. "Sammy. Come on, man. Say something."

And when his brother's plea was broken and pleading, Dean was sorry he'd asked.

"Please …" Sam said, his eyes closing. He struggled onto his knees and pushed Dean away, trying to climb onto the bed. And as he went, his lounge pants puddled down around his feet. Dean was left looking at trauma unlike any he'd ever seen.

Even in all their hunts, all their run-ins with evil, vile creatures, Dean had never seen bruises like the ones that covered Sam's legs, front and back. And then Sam flopped over onto his side to face the wall, and his tee shirt rode up, and Dean felt all the air leave his body in a whoosh.

His little brother's body had been beaten far beyond what most people could ever withstand.