Yay! I'm back with a L-O-N-G chapter! I think I cover a lot of stuff in here and I am impressed with it, myself. I just finished it and I'm already buzzing to write the next chapter!! Who knows when this thing will end…or if it will ever end! Too much going on in my head!! We've come a long way people…26 chapters so far…YOU ALL ROCK! Now go read….

Sam made it into the kitchen, Dean's arm in his grasp, warm body pressed to his side. He could hear Bobby yelling at them both, but it was coming out garbled and unclear.

"What…hell…you boys…I'm too old…and your father", Bobby's words should have made sense, but they just weren't connecting. Sam took a deep breath and tried to focus his eyes on Bobby, but things were cloudy and Bobby was blurring. The room started to move and he lost his grip on Dean. That's when everything went black.

Sam went down like a ton of bricks. Too big and heavy for Dean to hold up and too fast for Bobby to catch.

"Shit, Dean! What the hell were you two doing out there? Where did all of this blood come from?" Bobby was pulling Sam up from the floor and into a chair at the kitchen table.

"Blood? What?" Dean immediately started searching Sam's body, stomach turning at the sight of blood soaking his little brother's jeans. He ran shaking hands under Sam's shirt and all over his back, only finding the warmth of Sam's skin. "We gotta get him out of these clothes…find out where the blood is coming from", he barked at Bobby.

But before Bobby could move to help him, Dean was pulling Sam out of the chair and dragging his body down the hall. Bobby ran ahead, into the second room, turning on the light and throwing the bedspread and pillows to the floor.

Dean plowed through the doorway and dropped Sam on the bed, wasting no time ripping the shirt from Sam's body and pulling his jeans off in one pass. He was ready to throw the jeans on the floor when he saw the rip down the back of the left leg, and that's when it hit him.

"Oh my…oh my God. The car. I pushed him into the car. He must've…shit", Dean pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Shit!" He yelled at the top of his lungs. "We gotta flip him over", he told Bobby. But Bobby wasn't moving fast enough. "Flip him over!"

Bobby helped Dean turn Sam onto his stomach, careful to keep his head at an angle so he wouldn't be smothered by the pillow.

Dean's hand ghosted over the gash on the back of Sam's thigh, all torn flesh and dripping blood. He pulled the bed sheet up and wiped the blood away, more flowing out of the wound as he did. He started moving on instinct and training, pulling his belt off and wrapping it around Sam's thigh. He pulled it tight and tied it off, making a tourniquet.

"Get me your med kit and some towels and water", he told Bobby, eyes never leaving Sam.

Bobby ran out of the room and Dean started wiping the blood away with the sheet again, all the while talking to Sam.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I didn't mean to hurt you. I wasn't…" his voice trailed off and cracked. "I just wanted you to fight back…give me a reason to leave. A reason I could live with. I'm sorry".

Bobby came through the door with the med kit in one hand, a jug of water in the other and towels slung over his shoulder. No one talked. Dean poured water over one of the towels and started to clean the wound. He dried it and started stitching it carefully, making every stitch small and tight. It took him twenty minutes, sweat beading on his brow. When he was done he wiped it clean with alcohol, dressed the would and taped gauze pads over the area. He took the belt off and gently rolled Sam onto his back.

Dean took a deep breath and scrubbed his face with his hand before shoving the supplies back into the med kit and standing at the foot of the bed.

Bobby cleared his throat in an effort to remind Dean that he was there. Dean turned his head and looked at Bobby. "I'm just gonna sit here with him for a little while. Make sure the wound doesn't start bleeding again, be here if he needs something or wakes up."

Bobby just nodded and left the room, pulling the door closed behind him. Dean scratched the stitches on the back of his head as he sat down on the foot of the bed, tucking his legs beneath him. Sam's breathing was still ragged, but better, and his color had improved. He reached out and touched Sam's foot, rubbing his thumb across the warm tan skin. Sam had done the same to form a connection back at the hospital. If it was good enough for Sam, it was good enough for Dean.

Fear and grief compounded by panic and regret plagued Dean.

He'd spent a lifetime afraid on the inside, confident and brave on the outside. Terrified in dark empty motel rooms, holding little Sam close to his own small frame. Scared and shaking on the cold, damp ground in the woods, holding his own bleeding arm and whispering promises to Sam that he was alright and everything would be okay. Frightened and tense, a sawed off rifle warm in his grip, spent gunpowder permeating the air, Sam cowering behind him and the hissing body of some big bad crumpled at their feet.

This was his life. Always anxious and fearful. Always hiding behind a cocky grin and smart mouth. Always fiercely protective of those he loved. Always ready to fight any evil that threatened the people who made up his world.

But he never would have imagined, or dreamt in his worst nightmares, that the cause for the fear and the pain and the loss was the saving of his life.

Decades had passed him by and the fear was still here, changing now, turning into a different beast. He was losing his grip and he feared for his sanity. He was afraid of losing Sam to whatever he needed to be saved from. But the thing that scared him the most was the idea of losing Sam because of what transpired between their mother and a demon in his name.

This was his life. A world filled with evil and sorrow. A world oblivious to Dean's plight. A world kept spinning by Dean's vigilance.

Hours passed, Sam's breathing was normal, he had no fever, and the wound hadn't bled through the bandage. Bobby had come in once to offer Dean food, only to be sent away. He set bottles of antibiotics and pain killers on the nightstand where he could reach them easily when Sam came to. Dean resolved to stay right where he was until he knew Sam was okay and he was forgiven.

Seconds ticked by turning into minutes that morphed into hours. Sam had been out for close to three hours and showed no signs of waking anytime soon. Dean sat and watched Sam till he couldn't sit still anymore, so he gave Sam one last look before he left the bedroom and headed for the kitchen.

Bobby was sitting at the table, obviously stewing over something, when Dean walked in. He headed straight for the fridge and pulled out a beer.

"Why's he still out Bobby? I mean, he didn't lose that much blood. What's going on?" He twisted the top off of the bottle and leaned against the counter.

Bobby's eyes had the gleam of a crazy man and he looked at Dean like he was an idiot. "Your brother has been to hell and back these last few weeks. He hasn't slept, he was barely eating, never left your side. He pulled every trick and charmed every person in that hospital to make sure you got everything you needed and more than you wanted".

Dean's mouth hung slack.

"And then you go and drag him into the yard and try to start some shit with him. What the hell is the matter with you?" Bobby stood up and met Dean eye to eye.

Dean's body twisted and he put the beer on the counter top. "Ya know what? I don't need this". He pushed past Bobby and was out the front door before the old man could stop him.

He was moving fast, his feet eating up ground, his heart beating out of control. He was a few feet from the impala when he heard the man yelling at him.

"Don't you walk away when I'm talking to you, boy", Bobby yelled as he stepped up to Dean. "Now I don't know what's going on, but I know that you're going to tell me".

"Leave me alone Bobby", Dean was looking at the impala, carefully taking in the way the ripples in the metal and jagged edges sticking out. He saw the drivers door in the back seat and wondered what the hell that was all about. They hadn't cut Sammy out and the truck hit the passenger side.

"No Dean. I'm not gonna leave you alone. I've got your Daddy and your brother both laid up in my house and I want answers from you cause I can't get them from anyone else".

Dean heart was pounding against his sternum, looking for a way out. He couldn't tell Bobby the truth, it would just be one more person he would have to write out of his life. He was about to tell Bobby that it was private and not to worry that they would work it out, but he was distracted by approaching footsteps. When he looked up over Bobby's shoulder he saw his father moving toward them. A little slow, but steady.

"I'm sorry", he said as he he stopped a few feet from the two men. "I didn't know you were coming here. I'll get my shit together and go". Dean just nodded as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"No!" Bobby jerked. "Both of you are going to stay here and sort this shit out. Dean, you're gonna talk to me and Johnny, I want you to talk to Sam as soon as he comes around".

"Comes around?" John asked, clearly confused.

Dean stared at the jagged metal, protruding from the impala, covered in Sam's blood. "Sam and I were out here earlier and he backed into the car and got stabbed. He lost some blood and passed out."

"Jesus…fuck! Is he okay?" John asked running a hand through his hair.

"He's fine. I patched him up and he's sleeping it off". Dean explained, never actually looking at his father.

"Alright", Bobby said as he grabbed Deans arm. "House or yard?"

"Yard", Dean whispered.

Bobby flashed a look at John and tipped his head to the house. "And you get your ragged old ass back in the house and wait for your boy. We'll be back soon". And just like that he was dragging Dean out into the salvage yard; fenced in by rusted, dented, crumpled shells of cars.

Bobby stopped in front of the back end of a rusted out 63' Pontiac Lemans. It had been there for years and Dean could remember the desire he had as a teenager to restore it and take off with Sam where Dad couldn't get drunk and yell and no one would ask him to fix their problems.

"Now, I want to know what happened when you left that hospital that's got you all torqued up like this", Bobby stated flatly.

"S'nothing Bobby", Dean mumbled as he ran a soft hand over the rusted metal and chipping paint of the car.

"Like hell", Bobby barked out. "I get you two boys here, you won't look me or your brother in the eye, your Daddy just drinks himself unconscious, you start a fight with you brother when you and I both know you couldn't hold up your end, and he ends up taking the fall". Bobby's heart was pounding. Stubborn, obnoxious, pig headed Winchesters.

Dean's mind just kept going, holding on to the memory of the escape he had planned in his younger years. He could do this now. Tell Bobby the truth, tell Sam the truth…run.

"And I've seen that look on your Daddy and your brothers faces before", Bobby stared Dean in the eye. "I know you're thinking about running and there's no way in hell I'm letting that happen".

Dean was getting tired. "What do you want Bobby?"

"I told you. I want the truth, right now, before someone else gets hurt".

Dean didn't fight, just gave in, leaning against the Pontiac. "When I was small…like barely three, I got sick. They told mom that I wouldn't live to see my fourth birthday. So she made a deal", He stopped there and took a deep breath, looking at Bobby. Bobby knew what he meant by deal.

"For her soul?" Bobby asked.

"No. Yellow eyes never told her what he wanted, just told her he'd collect when he was ready", Dean's eyes welled with tears. "Sammy never had a chance. I got better and mom never said anything to anyone. It was just a miracle as far as anyone knew. Then she got pregnant with Sam and the demon came back. He staked his claim on Sam before the kid was even born", a tear fell from Dean's eye as he tried to finish, "and you know the rest".

"But I don't get it Dean. Why is all of this going on? The fighting with your brother, ignoring your father?" Bobby pushed.

"Dad knew about Sam for a year before he told me. He told me over the phone Bobby. I was sick and I was dying and he wasn't there and he asked me over the phone to save Sam or kill him", Dean wasn't holding anything back anymore…tears, truths, lies.

"I'm sorry he did that to you", Bobby offered, his brain silently devising ways to dismember John.

"That's not it Bobby. He didn't tell me I was sick as a child, he didn't tell me what mom did. When Rougon bound our souls I saw it all…the demon, the doctors, the crying. I saw myself dying as a child. Then he wanted to deny it when I asked him". Dean got up and started pacing. "If he had just told me sooner I could have saved Sam and I a lot of pain. I mean hell, the man sold his soul to keep me alive, knowing I'd never be able to live with the weight of something like that. That's why I told him to leave and not come back".

"What about Sam? Why are you fighting him like this", Bobby asked as softly as an old junk man could.

Dean's shoulders shrugged as he suddenly became very interested in the cuff of his sleeve. "When he finds out that everything that has happened to him and to the family is my fault, he's not going to want anything to do with me. I just thought…I thought if I could drive him away it would be easier than telling him the truth. I could give him some reason to give me a reason to walk out. A reason I could live with. One that didn't hurt so much".

"You know", Bobby started as he took his cap off and scratched the top of his head, "that is the dumbest thing I have ever heard".

"Yeah", Dean sniffled a little and gave a weak smile, "I know".

"And you know you gotta talk to your brother, right? Tell him the truth and let him decide how this thing plays out. It's his life Dean. You've done nothing wrong here…none of it is your fault. Your mama loved you…just didn't want to see you suffer. No one has ever meant to hurt anyone".

"Yeah", Dean scoffed.

"Alright, now, lets get inside and you go and talk to your Daddy and your brother", Bobby instructed.

"Yes sir", Dean offered as he shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled back toward the house.

Sam's long hair had fallen across his forehead, a few strands blowing up and down as he breathed in and out. John just stared. Somehow, his curly haired little boy had turned into a powerful man. The teenager who had yelled and stormed out of his life to go to college had turned into a sharp, gifted hunter. He watched Sam the way only a parent, or Dean he thought to himself, would watch a child. He noticed the way Sam's chest rose and fell, how long his son's fingers were and the way they held tight to the blanket his brother had laid over him. He saw the face of his baby boy in the firm features of a man. He was just about to reach out and run a hand along Sam's cheek, physical contact something the two had rarely shared, when the door opened and Dean stepped into the room.

"He alright?" Dean asked softly.

"Yeah, I think he's okay. But go ahead, I know you want to check him out". John stood up and moved away from the bed, taking his chair with him.

"Thank you", Dean mumbled as he slipped past John and up to Sam. He laid the back of his hand across Sam's brow feeling out a fever and took a breath of relief when he found none.

"Gotta roll over for me Sam", Dean said as he pushed Sam's body over.

Something came out of Sam's mouth, not actual words, but clearly a sign of acceptance.

Dean pulled the blanket out of his way and settled on the bandage covering the wound. He laid a hand on the skin, feeling warmth, but expecting as much. He pulled the bandage back and looked at what his beloved car had done to his beloved brother before replacing it with a satisfied sigh.

"Okay Sammy", he said as he laid Sam on his back once again, "all done little brother". Chancing being caught in the moment, he ran a hand over Sam's brow and down his cheek before standing back and offering the bedside space to his father again.

John nodded his thanks and returned to Sam's side, waiting for him to wake. He could feel Dean's eyes boring into his back so he decided to start the conversation.

"I'm sorry Dean. I'm sorry for what happened to you as a child, I'm sorry you lost your mother, I'm sorry you lost your father, I'm sorry you never got to be a kid because all I ever did was act like a child", John was rambling and not giving Dean a chance to speak. "I'm sorry I never told you about the cancer, I'm sorry you had to raise Sammy, I'm sorry I told you the things I told you the way I told you. I'm sorry you were sick and scared and I wasn't there. I'm sorry, son".

"Dad", Dean whispered as if to say 'you don't have to apologize'.

"No, Dean. I have spent too long being a marine and a hunter and not enough time being a dad. Yeah, I've always been a father, but the last time I remember being a dad was the night your mother died. I tucked you into bed and read you some story about a penguin", John told him, nostalgia in his eyes.

"The Penguin That Hated The Cold", Dean stated as he sat down on the end of the bed. "My favorite book".

"I told you that I loved you and I hugged you tight and then your mother came in. You two had this little ritual. She'd hold your little hands together and whisper the 'Goodnight Prayer' with you. She'd give you a hug and one kiss for every year old you were, then whisper something in your ear, I don't know what, and leave you to fall asleep".

"She told me that angels were watching over us", Dean scoffed, "Guess she was a little misguided".

"No, no. She was right. Angels were watching over you…they are the reason you got yourself and your brother out of the house that night. There were just other things watching then, too", John countered.

Neither man said anything after that, just watched Sam sleeping. It was hours sitting in the silence before John got up and headed for the door. "Gonna get some coffee. You want some?"

"Yeah, black", Dean replied.

It was only a few minutes before John was back, balancing to cups in his hands as he pushed the door back open.

"Thank you", Dean said as he took the coffee from his father.

John settled into his seat and looked at Dean staring at Sam. "Bobby said you and Sammy aren't getting along. Said it was a fight that got him hurt".

"I didn't mean it Dad, I swear. You know I'd never hurt Sammy". Dean's eyes begged his father to believe him.

"I know you'd never hurt your brother, Dean. But I also know you'd never let an argument between the two of you get so heated that it became a serious physical altercation", John went on. "So you wanna tell me what's going on between you two?"

"I don't know. I just… I've been so afraid for Sam to find out about mom and the demon and why she did it. I don't want him to hate me. Cause ya know, it's all kind of my fault. If I had just died when I was little his whole life would be different".

"Yeah, he wouldn't have you. No big brother, no best friend. Oh, it would have been dandy", John gave a nervous chuckle.

"You know that's not what I mean. He'd have the normal he wants. He'd be safe right now", Dean pressed. "I just thought that if I could push him he'd fight back and give me a reason to leave on my own before he found out the truth and pushed me away".

"What are you talking about?" The injection of Sam's voice startled both Dean and John.

"Hey, Sammy boy. Good to see your back with us", Dean jumped off the bed and came around to the nightstand. He picked up the pill bottles and started shaking caplets into his hands. "Your leg hurt bad?" He asked.

"Not too bad, but I won't refuse a pain killer", he told his brother, licking his dry lips. "What are you two talking about?" He asked as he looked from Dean to John.

"Nothing Sammy", Dean said, dropping the pills into his brothers hand.

But Sam wasn't going to let it go, enough damage was already done. He grabbed Dean's wrist and stopped his brothers ministrations.

"Unh unh Dean. You're not getting away this time. Tell me what's going on". He turned on the eyes and beamed at Dean.

"Yeah. Okay", Dean conceded. He looked to John, "Give us a minute?"

"Yeah. I'll be outside with Bobby". John got up and left his two boys alone to talk things out.

Dean sat down in John's chair and stared at his hands for a moment before he looked at Sam again. "I need to tell you a story, and need for you to tell me how it's going to end".

I totally stole that last line from David Lariby. Cookie for anyone who can tell me who David Lariby is and where he said it. So how was that? I gotta tell you, as I was writing Dean and John I think my heart almost exploded. I love a soft pliant John and an angsty Dean. So Sammy lives…sorry, I know some of you were looking for a near death/tortured experience. I've been thinking a lot about Bobby and I think I'm going to give him a very cool scene of his very own in which we see a very soft side of the old man. And oh…the angsty, emo crap is coming for Sam and Dean…get ready!! BTW…my muses dance is a cross between the silly kimono dance Jensen did in 'Blonde' and the awful dance Jared did at the Upfronts last year. Get the picture??

So go review my lovelies!! The muse can't get enough! And I can't either!! You guys rock my sox!! Review and I shall write…