Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way!

Summary: Sam and Rowena make a deal to "save" Dean, and Dean ends up paying the price. Hurt!Dean and Protective!Sammy. SPOILER ALERTS for episodes S10E17-S10E19.

A/N: PLEASE BE ADVISED! This chapter deals with some potential trigger issues including non-con touching between an adult and a minor so proceed with caution! Thank you!

"It wasn't Bobby Singer who pulled your brother out of his darkness last time. It was you, and I have faith you'll be able to do it again when the time comes."

The angel's words gave Sam a moment of comfort, then left him feeling hollow. He didn't want to just be there to pick up the pieces. He wanted to stop his brother from shattering in the first place.

Cas had clearly resigned himself to Dean's impending fate already, but Sam wasn't willing to do the same.

Not yet. Not while he still had a card to play.

Just as the button on the boy's jeans gave way, Dean managed to raise his left knee high enough to connect with the side of Randy's head, effectively knocking him off the edge of the mattress with a surprised grunt.

Dean followed through with the kick, using his momentum to flip himself over and get his knees under him for better leverage. Facing the headboard now, he leaned back and pulled with all his strength and his heart leapt with hope at the whine of grating metal.

The decorative pole he was cuffed to was slowly separating from its curved frame. Emboldened and riding an adrenaline high, Dean shifted slightly and pulled again from another angle, desperately trying to weaken the fused framework.

He studiously ignored the blood dripping from his tormented wrists and the screaming of his strained shoulders. If he could just get himself free, a little blood loss and a few muscle tears would definitely be worth it.

Dean was so focused on the fusion point between the two pieces of metal that his pounding heart nearly stopped in his chest as a heavy body suddenly collided with his back, jackknifing him forward into the headboard and instantly releasing the tension against the cuffs.

His hands instinctively shot out to catch himself on the bar he was cuffed to, just barely preventing his face from slamming into the unforgiving metal.

Before he had a chance to regroup and straighten up, Randy plastered himself against Dean's bare back, caging him against the headboard.

The man's left hand clamped down over both of Dean's, keeping them secured to the bar in front of him and eliciting a pained cry from the boy as the pressure twisted his broken finger even more out of place.

"You Winchester boys just never know when to quit, do ya?" Randy panted next to Dean's ear, prompting the boy to struggle even harder.

That is, till Randy's right hand brought a hunting knife up to Dean's throat in clear warning and the boy finally froze, not even daring to swallow with the blade nestled so closely to his Adam's apple.

"That's more like it," the man praised, nuzzling against the side of Dean's face and causing the boy to grimace, reflexively tightening his hold on the bars to keep his hands from shaking. "Now, let's all just try to relax, shall we?"

Dean grunted in frustration as Randy pressed the blade more sharply against his tender flesh, drawing blood and forcing Dean to tilt his neck further and further back until his head was resting against Randy's shoulder, their bodies aligned in an awkward embrace.

"Ya see, kiddo, even wild stallions can be broken if you know where to apply the right amount of pressure."

Keeping the knife firmly pressed to Dean's vulnerable throat, Randy slowly released the boy's hands, smiling to himself when Dean's grip stayed tightly glued to the bar.

Pushing his advance, Randy trailed his fingertips up Dean's left forearm, then slid his hand underneath Dean's elbow to caress the smooth, taut skin of his stomach. Still, Dean barely twitched, but Randy relished the steady quickening of the boy's labored breathing.

Dean's heart was nearly beating out of his chest, and he knew Randy could feel it since he was pressed so closely to him. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to regain control of his rising panic.

Randy's hand continued its gentle mapping of Dean's defined torso, then allowed his touch to venture lower, inch by inch, over the tight denim until he found his mark and the boy's breath hitched.

Screw the knife.

Dean released the bar in favor of throwing an elbow back but he was barely able to nudge the man in the ribs when the chains drew his hands up short, nearly dislocating his right wrist in the effort.

The violent movement did nothing more than amuse Randy further and leave Dean with a new, steadily dripping stream of blood down his throat and onto his chest.

Pulling the knife out of the way, Randy shoved Dean forward the last few inches to effectively trap his torso against the headboard, Dean's hands and forehead pressed firmly to the wall behind it with no room to struggle.

"Careful, kiddo. Another reckless stunt like that, and your daddy will be collecting your lifeless body when he gets here."

Randy eased back just enough to press his palm and the flat of the blade in between Dean's tense shoulders, keeping him pinned while his other hand returned to the front of the boy's jeans, sliding the zipper down without further preamble.

Playtime was over.

"Time to accept your fate, little buddy. No one's gonna get here in time to save you."

Sam's anger flared again as blood began to trickle down the right side of his brother's throat from a newly manifested cut. He didn't need to be a skilled hunter to figure out that Randy was using a knife to subdue Dean.

"Screw fate, and screw the cure," he stated with a growl, tightening his hold on his brother's broken finger once again, his other hand coming to rest on Dean's shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze in silent apology.

"Sam, don't!" Cas shouted in warning, but it was already too late.

Sam had realigned Dean's bones with a resounding snap, resulting in an agonized cry as the older man was yanked unceremoniously back to the present.

Wide, disoriented green eyes darted frantically around the room as Dean's brain tried to catch up to his body.

When the source of the pain fully registered, Dean instinctively tried to lunge forward, away from the warm hand on his bare shoulder.

Sam immediately tightened his restraining grip and released Dean's finger in favor of pressing his other hand firmly down over Dean's protective sigil tattoo, keeping his brother pinned to the cot before he could hurt himself any further.

"Easy, Dean," he coached softly, leaning over the older man so he could see his face. "It's okay. You're back now."

Dean felt the blade dig into his upper spine and leave a two-inch slice, forcing him to arch up off the cot with a hiss.

"No, S'm…" he grunted through a clenched jaw. "No, 'm not. I can still… Ah!"

The very tip of the knife pierced the skin of his lower right side as Randy adjusted his grip, practically digging the metal into Dean's kidney and preventing him from settling back down onto the thin mattress while a warm hand ghosted over the front of his jeans.

If his hips rocked the slightest bit, he'd impale himself on the phantom blade.

"…c-c'n still feel it, S'mmy," he stuttered out.

Sam's eyes widened in horror. He thought bringing Dean out of it would be enough. He thought he could stop it.

He was wrong.

Dean pulled desperately against his restraints. Please, not like this… Not with my brother watching…

Sam was on the verge of panic, his brain switching to default mode. "What do I do, Dean? How can I help you?"

When in doubt, Dean always had the answers. Sam felt all of eight years old again, and he knew it wasn't fair, but he needed his big brother to take charge and give him some instruction.

"Just go, Sam," Dean managed to croak out before another shallow slice just to the left of his navel stole his breath away. That pain was followed by a bruising grip on his left ankle and Dean knew exactly what was happening.

Randy was preparing to pull him back down to the mattress for easier access. Not bothering to set aside his knife, the man had wrapped his right arm around Dean's midsection and used his left hand's hold on Dean's ankle to jerk the boy's knees out from under him.

Gravity took care of the rest, and as the boy desperately grabbed hold of the pole once again for balance, he had no way of preventing his lithe, eighty-two pound body from landing directly on the blade.

If memory served, Randy had somehow managed to miss all the major organs, but Dean would never forget the brief moment of shock, followed by the agonizing burn of sharp metal entering his body.

Nor would he ever forget the sickening squelching sound his flesh made when Randy ripped the blade back out of him or the soft thud it made when the man carelessly tossed it onto the sheets by Dean's hip.

In retrospect, Dean wasn't sure Randy even realized what had happened at first. The man was so consumed by his thirst for revenge that Dean doubted he bothered to look at the bloody knife after he had pulled it free from under the boy's weight.

At that point, young Dean had been so focused on trying to get his paralyzed lungs to inhale again that he didn't even register the man wrestling the jeans off his legs.

Any moment now…

"Please, Sammy. Just leave," Dean practically whimpered, falling back down to the bloody mattress as soon as the sting of the blade moved from behind him to in front of him.

Sam took hold of his brother's good hand, trying to ground him in the present as much as possible. "I'm not going anywhere, Dean. I won't let you go through this again alone."

Dean frantically shook his head, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. "I don't want you to…"

His words died in his throat as the four-inch long gash Dean had been anticipating opened up between his left hip and ribs. His hand reflexively clenched around Sam's as the shock set in and all the blood left his face.

Soon after, the tension fled from his body. It was too much. The fear, the anxiety, the steadily rising fever, the endless loop of pain, the blood loss, the shame and denial…

He just wanted it to end.

Dean's eyes started to roll up into his head but Sam used his free hand to slap at his brother's cheek.

"Dean! Dean, stay with me, man…"

He was terrified that if his brother lost consciousness, he'd wind up fully immersed in the past again. Or worse, he'd never wake up at all.

Blood was pooling across Dean's abdomen, spilling down his left side and soaking into the waistband of his jeans. Sam had to get the bleeding under control or his brother's fight would culminate here and now.

"Cas, keep him awake!" the younger man barked, reluctantly pulling his hand free and diving for the med kit.

The angel immediately took up Sam's abandoned post, squeezing Dean's hand in an unpredictable rhythm to regain the man's drifting attention. Then he gently turned Dean's face towards himself.

"Eyes open, Dean," he demanded, and true to form, the older Winchester forced himself to respond to the order.

Dazed green eyes locked onto inhumanly blue ones.

"That's it…" Cas encouraged. "Stay with us, Dean."

Sam piled layer after layer of gauze over his brother's wound and pressed down hard, desperately trying to get the bleeding under control so he could see the extent of the damage.

There was so much blood…

Apparently most of it had been Dean's after all. But Sam knew his brother was nothing if not a fighter.

"Hang on, Dean," he begged, unaware if he actually stated the words out loud or just kept repeating them in his head. "Just hang on."

Carefully peeling back a section of the gauze, Sam gagged at how deep Dean's wound actually went.

An injury this bad could mean internal bleeding as well, but without proper equipment, there was only one way Sam would be able to tell if any of Dean's organs had been nicked.

He'd have to go in.

Shit shit shit shit shit…

Before he could talk himself out of it, Sam grabbed a pair of latex gloves and pulled them onto his shaking hands. Then he liberally disinfected them, as well as Dean's entire lower torso, which startled his brother back to semi-awareness.

"S-S'm?" he gasped out, trying to make sense of what was happening. He lifted his head high enough to see Sam preparing for surgery.

"It's okay, Dean. I've got you. Just… Just try to stay still, alright? Cas, I need you to hold him down."

With a reluctant nod, Cas used his angelic grace to keep his friend from moving and simultaneously tightened his grip on Dean's hand.

"N-no…" Dean whispered breathlessly, catching on to his brother's intentions. "S'mmy, w-wait…"

He was getting more and more agitated by the minute at his own lack of articulation.

Damn it, spit it out already!

"Close your eyes, Dean. I'll make it quick, I promise."

Don't do it, Sammy, don't do it, please…

Sam had barely pushed two of his fingers into the wound up to the first knuckle when the agonizing pain forced the rest of the fog out of Dean's head.

"Gah! Sam, st-stop!" he screamed and Sam jerked his hand back out in fear, swallowing convulsively to keep the bile from creeping up the back of his throat again. Thankfully, his stomach was already empty.

"Dean, I know it hurts but I need to see how much dam…"

"D-Dad did," Dean finally forced out. "Dad ch-checked. N-no damage."

Sam paused, almost afraid to believe it. "Are you sure, Dean? Hey! Come on, dude. I need you to be absolutely sure here…"

His brother nodded weakly. "'m sure. 'm sure."

Oh, thank god.

Sam allowed himself a moment to regroup, a wave of dizziness washing over him along with the relief. He closed his eyes and squeezed Dean's knee to help stabilize them both, then let out a slow, shaky breath.

"Sammy?" Dean hedged. Tell me you understand, man. Tell me you believe me.

"Okay. It's okay, Dean. I hear you."

Dean dropped his head back to the mattress with a heavy thunk, each limb suddenly feeling like it weighed three tons, even after Cas released his hold on him.

"I still have to stitch it up though," Sam warned apologetically. "You're losing too much blood."

Dean managed a weary nod. Stitches he could handle.

"Make it fast," he huffed, blinking tiredly up at the ceiling. "Randy's gettin'…" Dean cut himself off before he said something he'd regret. "We uh…" he licked at his dry lips, trying to get his tightening throat to cooperate. "We don't have much time."

TBC

A/N: Hi SPN family! Sorry again for the massive delay, but hope the wait was worth it! I promise there is a perfectly good explanation for my lengthy absences between posts.

I can't go into much detail about it just yet for legal reasons, but in short, I was hired to write a feature film script a few months ago and very recently, the script was optioned by a major film production company so we've begun the development and rewrite phase.

That has been taking up most of my free time, but I assure you I won't forget about you guys or neglect to finish this story. I will continue to update as often and as quickly as possible, so please bear with me over the next few months as we begin the pre-production process, and fingers crossed all goes according to plan!

Thank you all for your continued support, and please keep those reviews coming. I swear they help me write faster… ;-)