Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 28: Head Games

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Sam's flipping his crap. And part of Dean knows it's the infection and the other part of him knows it's so much more, is everything crashing down on his brother while his guard is down. While he's lost in his own head, not sure what's real and what isn't.

It takes Dean back to Sam in the panic room, talking to people who weren't there…. yelling for him. For him to let him out….to help him. 'And I never did.'

Sam's shout of "Don't touch me!" brings Dean back to the present to see his brother skittering away from Cas' touch, from Risa's gentle words. Though his height has him towering over Cas and Risa, Sam suddenly seems small..vulnerable. Especially when he stumbles back in retreat until his back's hitting a wall and then he shifts himself right into a corner.

But to prove that Winchesters are often down but never truly out, Sam grabs the table beside him and knocks it over, creates a roadblock that anything that wants him has to go through. Bending down, he picks up the shard of glass from the cup of water that sailed to the ground when the table went, deftly holds the shard in his hand in an offensive grip. Is uncaring that blood's dripping from his palm as his makeshift weapon hurts him before he even gets the chance to use it on anyone else.

And that's enough for Dean. He won't let this go on any longer. It has gone on far too long as it is. Turning to his friends, he commands "Leave" and Risa does but Cas only draws to his side like he thinks his order was only for Risa, that they will handle the Sam thing together. "You too, Cas," Dean clarifies, is thankful for Cas' loyalty, his friendship but this right now is about him and Sam, about them being brothers, about his screw up and Sam's.

"Dean, he's not thinking straight," Cas points out. Sam roughly shoving Dean away from him, causing Dean to slam into the cabinet as he leaped from his bed moments ago is more evidence of that than Cas needed. "He might not realize it's you." Wanting Dean to face just how badly things could go, he spells it out for his friend, "He might hurt you."

Dean's response is automatic, preprogrammed, instinctive…even if not true. "Sam wouldn't.."

"He has before," Cas brutally cuts through Dean's delusion, knows Sam has hurt Dean before, emotionally..and physically. His mind can't help but return to the memory seared into his soul, of Sam choking Dean in that hotel room. And he had wanted to go there, to stop Sam, to save Dean…but Zachariah had forbidden him to interfere, had said Dean needed to know that his brother had taken sides and it wasn't with him. 'I won't stand idly by again and let them hurt each other, even unintentionally.'

Dean flinches at Cas's direct hit, has tried so very hard to switch gears, to block out those types of memories since Sam's come back. Memories he had prodded like a wound the years they were apart, needed that pain to keep himself from missing Sam, to help him remember why he had left Sam, why he shouldn't even want Sam back.

Straightening his stance and holding Cas' troubled gaze, Dean undauntedly announces, "Guess now he'll get his chance to hurt me again. Go Cas," he bids with a jerk of his chin toward the door, but hidden under his exterior is a plea for Cas to just let him do this. Because he needs to do it, alone, for Sam's dignity and for his own in case things go sideways. Needs to know if he can trust Sam. If the little brother who once protected him as fiercely as Dean protected Sam is still there when push comes to shove, if that Sam even exists anymore. Or if Dean just wants him to.

Seeing the familiar stubborn set to Dean's jaw, Cas knows it will be an uphill battle to change Dean's mind but he's willing to wage that war to ensure no more scars mar his friend's soul. 'Not to mention how crappy Sam will feel if he does hurt Dean while he's not in his right mind,' because Cas wasn't stupid or blind, knew that Sam never forgave himself for any harm he brought to Dean, just lugged it inside, somewhere deeper than Dean even carried his own guilt. So deep Sam could pretend it didn't exist and Dean never saw…but Cas had once had heavenly insight at his disposal, saw what was there, would always be there.

"I'm staying, Dean," Cas steely vows, unabashedly going toe to toe with his fearless leader.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Cas, I'm not some delicate flower, I can subdue my little brother if he gets cagey."

"Gets cagey?!" Cas incredulously repeats, eyes going over Dean's shoulder to Sam who is crammed into a corner brandishing a glass shard.

"Ok, more cagey," Dean clarifies, knows Cas is going to protest even as his friend opens his mouth. Changing tactics, he quietly cuts across Cas' intended objection with an earnest declaration of "I owe him this, Cas. I …I left him out there to get…." Dean's hand drifts in the air, toward his delirious brother caught up in old memories and he swallows hard. "…to get sliced and diced and hunted and…." Dean's voice breaks as he thinks of all the scars Sam bears. Shaking his head, he looks away. Doesn't know how to verbalize it all, that he owes Sam privacy to have his breakdown, that he should be the one to pull Sam back from the brink, to find some way to conquer his brother's tormented memories, to make things better for Sam…like Sam had for him just by stepping into the camp.

Dean's words remind Cas that, Sam may wear his scars on the outside, but Dean wears his on the inside. Sam's are there for all the world to see, Dean's are there for no one to see. 'Unless Dean lets down his guard, unless he trusts you enough to show you his pain…like he just did now, for me.' Cas sighs, eyes slipping back to Sam before alighting again on Dean, knows that he can't betray Dean's trust, doesn't want it. 'And right now, that means you have to walk out the door, let him handle Sam, even get hurt if it goes that way.'

But he finds that, he trusts too, trusts Sam to not seriously hurt Dean, to pull himself out of whatever terror he's in rather than do great harm to his brother. Just like he trusted that Sam hadn't said the Big Yes, wouldn't, not when it meant betraying, hurting his big brother.

So CAs reaches out, gives Dean's shoulder a squeeze and reassures, "Sam doesn't blame you for what he's been through, Dean, but you're right, you're the one that can help him heal." Then he turns to go but then swings back around, says with a smirk, "And watch out for Sam's uppercut. That's the one you always fall for." Giving his best friend a mischievously wink, he hears Dean's peevishly grumble of "Do not!" as he slips out of the cabin, trusts the brothers to do what they do best: mend what's broken in each other.

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With how skittish Sam is, his eyes tracking the room like he is seeing croats everywhere, Dean makes his voice soft and soothing as he slowly approaches his brother, who's still heartbreakingly cowering in the corner. "Ok, it's just you and me. Nobody else from camp and no croats. Just us."

Starting to slowly slide the overturned table out of his path to his brother, it hurts Dean to see Sam try and scurry back deeper into the corner, to swipe his makeshift weapon through the air like he's under attack. Dropping into a crouch to be at his brother's eye level, Dean promises with every fiber of his soul, "Nothing's gonna hurt you, Sammy. I won't let it. Not this time."

Something in his tone manages to catch Sam's attention, stills his brother's frantic defensive moves, has his hands limply dropping to his legs and Sam's blown eyes sighting on him. Encouraged, Dean shuffles closer and when his brother doesn't recoil at his nearness or attack, Dean sits Indian style in front of Sam.

Holding out his arms, Dean ignores Sam's flinch when he almost touches him. 'At least I've snagged Sam's attention and didn't get a glass shard in my eye for my trouble.' Under his brother's wary watch, Dean pushes up his sleeves, shows off his unmarred forearms and wrists. "See, no cuts. I'm not sharing bodily fluids with anyone. 'Sides, you know that grosses me out."

Timidly, Sam reaches out toward Dean with his free hand, lightly touches Dean's arm even as his eyes swing up from Dean's arm to Dean's eyes, waiting for the trap. But Dean remains absolutely still, unblinkingly meets Sam's, thankfully, clearing gaze. Dropping his gaze and the glass shard, Sam concentrates on inspecting the proffered arms, skims his fingers from his brother's elbow to his wrist on both arms before frantically latching onto Dean's wrist with his bloody hand.

Dean winces, not at the terrible grip Sam's got on his wrist but at the blood, at his brother's blood spilling when it didn't have to. Shouldn't ever. Wordlessly watching Sam, Dean isn't sure if it's a good thing or not when Sam closes his eyes. When Sam's eyes fly open, they come up to his, seemingly searching for the truth. "Dean?" Sam hoarsely stammers.

Gracing his brother with a fond smile, Dean drawls, "You know anyone else who'd sit on the floor with you?" Registering Sam's reluctance to believe that he's real, that they are together, he gently says, "Last time we did this, we needed a talking board to communicate."

Sam's eyes widen at the reference of Dean in a coma with a Reaper after him. "Couldn't see you," he quietly mumbles, those memories a convoluted mix of terror, grief, relief and joy.

Encouraged by Sam's moment of lucidity, Dean softly mocks, "Yeah, hence the need for the talking board."

Bestowing a soft smile on Dean, Sam recalls, "Lady at the cash register where I bought it lectured me about it being evil, that I might open a door to the other side." His voice is choked as he says, "I told her…I hope so."

Dean feels his heart soften at his brother's words, at knowing how desperate Sam was to reach him…like he now is to get through Sam's feverous illusions. "Clerk probably called a priest in to exorcise the evil mojos you left in your wake."

But Sam's doesn't react to that guess, his serious eyes are too busy reveling in his brother's every feature. "You're really here? You're really with me?"

And it's suddenly painfully clear to Dean, the true heartbreak their separation caused Sam. "Yeah, I'm with you, Sammy," he vows reverently. He isn't expecting Sam to surge forward, to engulf him in a desperate hug but he knows enough to return it.

Eyes closed, chin resting on Dean's shoulder, Sam beseeches, "Don't go anywhere this time. No matter what I do, please don't walk away from me."

Dean swallows down the horrible shame for having left Sam like he did. "I'm not going anywhere, Sammy."

"Promise?" Pulling back, Sam's eyes sear into Dean's with desperate need.

"Yeah, I promise," Dean guarantees and he means to keep his promise this time, no matter what. Watching the tension drain from Sam's body at his vow, at the faith Sam had in him to keep his word, Dean feels his throat close up, knows that, if he isn't careful, he'll be the one turning on the waterworks instead of Sam. "Can we get off the ground now?" he poses, using his contrived grumpy tone.

"Dude, you're so soft," Sam scoffs, releasing the killer grip he has on his brother.

"I'm not soft…I just have an aversion to getting splinters in my butt," Dean brashly denies.

"Sure," Sam sarcastically draws as they help each other to their feet but when Dean goes to step away from him, Sam snags his arm. But then Sam hesitates, knows how chick flicky his request is going to come out but can't not make the appeal. Clearing his suspiciously blocked throat, he bids, "Hey, can we just….hang out…you and me. Less you have leader stuff to do…" Because he couldn't be selfish with Dean, not when others were counting on his brother now.

But Dean's smile is all for him. "Brother stuff wipes the floor with leader stuff."

Sam snorts at his brother's unique way to turn a phrase, to say the most sentimental stuff and still come off as Joe Cool. But Sam's eyes flicker to the door then back to Dean. "They all saw me go crazy, huh?" he embarrassingly surmises. "Not great for your leader status, having a crazy brother on display." And he so didn't come there to mess things up for Dean, never that.

"Sam, they all think I'm a borderline psycho. You got a long way to go to give me a run for my money," Dean sardonically assures him.

"So it's a competition now?" Sam taunts, eyes sparking at the notion.

"Always," Dean instantly shoots back with a cocky smile. "And I never lose."

"What?!" Sam squeaks in mock outrage. "You're such a lair," but there's affection for that trait instead of condemnation in his tone.

"Watch it or I'll put Nair in your hair," Dean threatens with a smirk, remembering their prank wars.

"Like you could find Nair," Sam jeers, not too worried over an undoable threat.

"For you, I find a way to do the impossible," Dean brags, is surprised when Sam eyes shine and his brother smiles warmly.

'That's so true, big brother,' Sam thinks, intently says aloud, "I know you do." And Sam hopes Dean knows that it has nothing to do with Nair, prank wars, or the competitions between them and everything to do with the times Dean has saved him. Figures Dean understood all that his words incorporated when his brother shyly ducks his head, mutely helps him climb back into bed. Then Dean pulls his wounded hand onto his lap, wrapped a towel around it before he starts to unwrap the bandage around Sam's forearm where a barbwire mishap scratched him up pretty good.

"You wanna talk about what you were seeing?" Dean quietly asks, his eyes on his brother's wound instead of Sam's face.

"You know what I was seeing," Sam just as quietly returns, doesn't need to draw Dean a picture or to heap more undeserved guilt on his brother either. "But now the only scary thing I'm seeing is you," he jokes, wants to steer things away from the hard, unchangeable nature of their lives.

"Good to know," Dean demurs, keeping himself distracted by the sight of his brother's injury. "We have to track down some antibiotics, get this infection taken care of."

"Before I hurt someone…" Sam bitterly concludes, causing his brother's head to come up.

"So you feel better, Sam," Dean stridently counters, his only concern his brother's well-being.

"Re-open it…drain them again. Maybe second time's the charm," Sam strategizes, didn't want Dean going out of the camp in some reckless search for antibiotics for him.

Recognizing the plea in his brother's gaze, Dean sighs, still a pushover for his brother's puppy dog eyes. "Alright, Sam, we'll try it your way."

Unworriedly, Sam watches his brother pour alcohol over his knife, ready to reopen his wound, has complete trust in his brother's skill as a field medic. After all, his big brother has taken care of him his whole life, from scraped knees to bullet wounds. So a little barbwire mishap…it's totally child's play for his brother. 'It's my body that's not holding up to its warranty. Course I don't think the warranty covered multiple deaths, croat attacks and duking it out with hell minions.'

He barely reacts to his brother's ministrations, keeps himself occupied studying Dean's face until Dean mocks him for it.

"Dude, I know I'm stunning but you're giving me that creepy Team Edward stare."

"Am not," Sam huffily denies but doesn't stop staring.

Putting the knife on the table, Dean prods, "OK, what?" as his eyes swivel from the now open and rebleeding wounds to his brother's curious expression.

"Meg…" Sam huskily begins, watches his brother's eyebrows go up in surprise at the name. "Meg and some of her friends found me…did…" he reaches up the hand not upturned on Dean's lap and traces the scar on his face, watches as his brother's features harden into hatred. "She wanted to bring me in, be the hero, reclaim her family "honor"." Here Sam snorts. "Twisted, huh? Her thinking her family had honor?!"

Jaw clenched, Dean bites out rancorously, "If only I had killed her before Bobby gutted himself to save me …and she did that to you." His eyes flickering to the scar down his brother's face.

Sam gives his brother a deadly smile. "You can take that off your to-do list," he declares, repeating Dean's words when he ended Azazel.

A proud wide smile lightens Dean's expression. "Nice, Sammy. And here I thought you weren't making friends out there."

Sam snorts at his brother's sarcasm. "Looks like you were the hit of the party too." Reaching out, he stills Dean's hand, his thumb tracing the scar there. "Bullet wound?"

Dean nods, vaguely recalls a bullet nicking him during the sniper fiasco. "Commando croats were encamped on a hill outside a city, snipering anyone who came down the road."

"So of course you thought it was a good idea to visit them?" a tinge of reprimand there at his brother's scary bravery.

Dean shrugs. "Not my best idea when we ended up going up against, not one sniper croat, but a sniper squad who were special forces in their former lives…and, oh yeah, had a few real possessed among their number." Doesn't mention one of those possessed practically confirmed that Sam said yes. 'More friggin' head games. I musta missed the 'how to emotionally screw over everyone and not make friends' mandatory class while I was in Hell.'

Sam's eyes narrow, thinks he heard about this one, about the mission where Cas went against Dean's orders and then nearly beat Althouse into a vegetative state afterwards. Deciding to let Dean keep the other details of that particular mission to himself, he nods toward his brother's face, to the small scar on the right side of Dean's forehead. "Knife?"

"Glass," Dean corrects, self-consciously rubbing his thumb over the scar. At Sam's questioning look, he qualifies, "Had to dive out a warehouse window to escape a wave of croats who thought I should join their block party."

"Soft landing?" Sam asks, recalling the time he and Dean did the stuntman jump out of that second story church window. They would have broken both their legs if the importance of dropping and rolling wasn't ingrained in their heads.

Dean snorts. "Depends…does a Volvo roof count?"

"Only if it was a ragtop," Sam replies, knows better to think that was Dean's luck.

"Yeah, not quite," Dean grumbles but is smirking because he knows Sam appreciates a good escape- from-the-clutches-of-evil story.

"Didn't think so," Sam returns, a matching smirk in place.

"You wanna know all the times I cried too?" Dean sardonically challenges.

'Yeah, I do. But you'd never tell me that.' And part of Sam wishes Dean would just let down his guard, not bottle it up, not sentence himself to being the strong one for everyone else when he was busy breaking inside. Aloud Sam articulates the opposite of what he really wants to say to his brother. "Let's stick to just the physical damage. I'll let Chuck deal with your psychiatric episodes. He seems like your resident therapist."

"Chuck?!" Dean sputters in denial. "He's more likely to need therapy than give it."

"Oh, I don't know. I think he really "got you" in his books, saw your softer side," Sam teases and waits for his brother's come back, which doesn't take more than a heartbeat.

"No, he…he "got you"…." Dean lamely rejoins, gives Sam a playful slap in the stomach when his little brother bursts into laughter. And Dean suddenly knows that, Sam's way stronger than any infection, is gonna be just fine. He'll see to it that he is.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.