Dean carried his exhausted little brother up to bed and tucked him in. He hoped the long sob session had worn him out enough that he would sleep soundly for a while. Poor kid needed it.

He quietly slipped out of the room and went downstairs to find Bobby. The older hunter was outside clearing sticks and fallen branches from the yard. Dean went out to help him as a pretense for getting his advice.

"It feels so good to walk again. I just had to get out here and do something!" Bobby commented once Dean was close enough. He was smiling but Dean's face was grim. Schooling his expression, he asked "How's Sam?"

Dean sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, unsure where to start.

"That good, huh?" Bobby interjected before Dean could say anything.

"Yeah... I mean, Bobby, he's so messed up, and he has all these powers he can't control."

Bobby paused what he was doing and looked at Dean with intense curiosity. "Like what?"

"Um, well, we already know he's telepathic, but he's not great at keeping his thoughts to himself. He can move things with his mind... Not reliably though. And I tried to grab his arm at one point and he had this like... forcefield around him that I couldn't move past. Who knows what else he can do?"

Bobby nodded thoughtfully then continued gathering sticks. "This doesn't have to be a bad thing, Dean. Before, he could only use his powers with demon blood. Now, he doesn't. So maybe we have to help him and train him to manage them, but I think that will be a lot easier than trying to make him suppress them."

"You want me to encourage his powers?!" Dean was livid.

"It's not a matter of encouraging or not. I think that horse is out of the barn, and it has been for a long time. You just didn't want to accept it."

This conversation was not going the way Dean had anticipated. "How are you so friggin' calm about this? How can you want Sam to keep playing with his powers? It's not right!"

Bobby dropped the pile of wood he was collecting and turned to Dean. "It can't be a coincidence that I got my legs back and you could hear again when he woke up. Sure, this whole thing is crazy and it's gonna take a while to figure out, but I really think this could be helpful in the long run. Imagine a telepathic and telekinetic hunter! And what if he can still pull demons without the blood? You two might be able to pack this Apocalypse up quick!"

Dean's eyes narrowed as he listened. "So that's what this is, you wanna use Sam as a tool?"

Bobby's face contorted in irritation and betrayal. "No, son, of course not. What I'm saying is that I think these changes in Sam are permanent. From what I've read in the journals, it's likely impossible Sam will just be able to put this behind him and forget everything. So I'm telling you to accept Sam for who he is now, powers and trauma included, and stop wishing he'd go back to the way he was before. And you better not try to force him, because that will go about as well as water on a grease fire. Sam's different now, but it doesn't have to be all bad. You're just choosing to see it that way."

Dean absorbed the words and felt them settle on his soul like a thick blanket of suffocating ash. He hadn't even realized it but Bobby's assessment was dead right. Some part of him was hoping they could get their way through this and somehow, he'd get his Sammy back. But he didn't need to read the hunters' journals to know that his hope was a fantasy. He could feel the untampered despair radiating off his little brother like it was a physical phenomenon. Sam was not him; he couldn't unhealthily compartmentalize like Dean had with his memories of Hell. Plus, Dean didn't have psychic abilities to factor into the equation. That probably added a whole layer of complexity he had no way to understand.

"Dean?" Bobby asked, startling the younger hunter out of his reflection.

Dean closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath. "I... I think you're right. I want Sam back the way I remember him but it's not fair to ask that of him. Truth is, I'm scared of what he can do now. We've never seen something like this before. I don't know how to handle it."

"You're not gonna be handling it alone, son. You got me, Missouri, Castiel, Lindsey, Ellen. You have people on your side. We'll figure this out. We always do."

Dean nodded weakly. "I know, I just..."

Bobby slapped Dean's shoulder as he walked away. "Me too, Dean, me too."

Later in the evening, Dean brought up a bowl of thin soup for his slumbering brother. He sat down in the chair he had practically lived in while waiting for Sam to wake from his coma and put the soup on the nightstand. Sam looked so peaceful sleeping that he was loathe to wake him. But the kid needed to eat. He had a long road to recovery ahead of him.

"Sam?" Dean said quietly, careful not to scare him. "Sammy, c'mon, wake up. Got some food for you." Dean frowned and debated whether he should try shaking him away. Considering how much touch freaked Sam out, he decided against it. "Sammy!" Dean said louder but got no response. Dean chewed on his lip, pondering what to do. If Sam could speak with him telepathically, maybe he could too?

'Sam! Wake up. Got some grub for ya.'

Sam's eyes flicked open and glanced around anxiously before settling on Dean. Dean smiled and held the bowl up. 'Bobby made a light chicken soup for you. We gotta start you off slow before moving into real food.'

Sam blinked at him, surprise decorating his face. 'Y-you're lips aren't moving. Are you—'

'Speaking to you with my mind? Hell yeah, I am.' Dean grinned impishly, rather pleased with himself for this discovery.

'How?'

Dean shrugged. 'Guess you and me are just that connected. I didn't even really have to try.'

Sam pushed himself up to sitting as he thought about it. He made a 'not bad' face. 'It doesn't scare you?' Sam asked timidly.

'Scared? Nah! This is pretty damn cool, honestly. I was kinda jealous you had all the cool powers anyway. So not fair.' Sam's body seemed to perk up at the acceptance and the teasing. The soft smile he gave Dean was more than a worthy reward for Dean's recent change of heart. 'Anyway, eat up and then back to bed. You gotta rest. There's someone who wants to see you tomorrow if you're up for it.'

'Lindsey?!'

Dean nodded and felt a pip of excitement in Sam's mind. 'Yeah, she said Ellen gave her the day off so she's hoping to be here around noon.'

'Yeah, I'd like that.'

'Good. Okay, lemme help you with this and then we'll get you settled in.'

Sam reached a thin hand out to Dean's knee. 'Thanks, Dean. For everything.'

'Always, Sammy.'

Sam woke of his own volition feeling surprisingly well rested. He turned towards the nightstand and saw Dean passed out in the chair, head hanging uncomfortably. Sam tapped Dean's knee and his brother jolted awake. "Wha-what's going on?"

'Hey, Dean.'

"Sammy, hey, how are you feeling?" Dean moved to rub his sore neck.

Sam nodded and sat up. 'Pretty good, actually.'

"Ready to see your girlfriend today?" Dean said with a smirk.

'She's not my girlfriend. But yeah, I'm looking forward to seeing her. I, uh, I'd like a shower first...'

"Yeah, no problem. I'll have breakfast ready for you when you're done."

'Thanks, Dean.'

"Don't mention it." He ruffled Sam's hair and stood up, smiling at how right this felt.

Sam flipped the covers back and forced himself out of bed. He saw all the items he'd need for his shower resting on two towels on the dresser. He smiled internally, touched that Dean would be so thoughtful. He gathered up the toiletries in the towels and made his way to the bathroom. He moved frustratingly slow but knew he had to build his strength back up. Once inside, he relieved himself then put everything down on the closed toilet lid. Glancing in the mirror, Sam noted that he barely had any scruff which meant Dean must have been shaving him. He also noticed that his hair was not oily and unkempt, so Dean must have been washing it. Had he washed the rest of him? Had Dean seen his body? He probably had. Dean had probably seen the fleshy tale of his failure and abuse. Shame prickled his skin and he wanted to peel it all off. But there was nothing to assist him in this act: the bathroom was devoid of razors, scissors, or anything sharp; even his fingernails had been cut extremely short.

Instead he focused on cleaning himself up. He went through the motions detachedly. He couldn't remember the last time he had brushed his teeth or his hair. Back in Oklahoma, he guessed. He allowed himself to linger in these tasks, subconsciously avoiding the next step of the process. He brushed his teeth to the point where his gums were bleeding and his hair such that a large nest of hair decorated the hairbrush.

He couldn't avoid it anymore. He had to face himself and how his body had been altered. But not quite yet. He closed his eyes as he shakily stripped off the t-shirt. Feeling blindly for the rim of the bathtub, he sat down and pulled off the sweatpants. Cool air kissed his skin and it was more than the cold that had him shivering. He remained there for a while, unable to remove his final layer of protection against the world. He dreaded seeing his skin, a living history of what was done to him, of what he had deserved. He slipped his thumbs under the hem of his boxers and felt many other phantom fingers doing the same thing. He froze momentarily then forced himself to keep going. He was safe. Dean was here. No one would hurt him. He slid his boxers down and flung them into the corner with the other clothes. He wrapped his arms around himself and gathered the courage to open his eyes.

Said courage took its time.

When he finally opened his eyes, the first thing he saw were countless scars crisscrossing his thighs. He honestly couldn't place all of them and he was sort of grateful for that. He kicked out his legs and saw similar patterns on his shins. Angry red circles glared at him from the tops of his feet and he had to push down his nausea as memories of his crucifixion surfaced. He checked his wrists and found matching scars. Moving his arms had allowed him to see that even his genitals were not free from lasting evidence of torture. He pushed those memories down hard and scanned his arms. Rings of scar tissue braceleted his wrists, a hundred different restraints patterning his torn skin. His fingernails were marred and irregular, clear signs of malnutrition present. Thick red depressions indicated where fingers had been chopped off. His elbows and upper arms were pitted with myriad pinpricks, physical memories of needles pushed in too hard, too deep, too fast.

His torso was a warzone. He remembered getting the wards, but it seemed as though they had been recently applied. Did Dean and Bobby do that? To keep Lucifer out? The thought of Lucifer caused an unpleasant tightening in his chest and made the newest scars flare painfully. He brought his hand up to trace the marks gouging down from his shoulder to the bottom of his ribcage. He recalled forcing Lucifer out his body in his head and how Lucifer's true form had clung to him and tore into him like this with glittering, obsidian talons. Sam blinked hard at the thought that those wounds had manifested on his physical body. He didn't even what to think about what that meant. His hand moved to his throat and he felt the remnants of the shock collar burn there and he swallowed painfully. He didn't even need to check if the wards on his back were still there because he could feel them anytime his body shifted, the persistent tug of the taut tissue a constant whispering reminder of his crimes and punishment.

Breathing long, slow, intentional breaths helped him calm his racing heart. Shower. He needed to shower. He turned and twisted the tap on. The water quickly turned warm and he forced himself into the cleansing stream. Who was he kidding though? Maybe a shower could wash off the physical filth, but his soul was a sewer of grimy moral failings. Nothing could remove the indelible stain of his sins, from the traumatic killing of the kid Antichrist Jesse Turner, to his participation in his own abuse, to his murder of demon meatsuits while he drank them dry. At some point in his mental wanderings, he had slid down and was sobbing into his scarred knees. Not that he had a choice in the matter, but he didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be alive.

A soft knock on the door derailed his train of thought. 'Sammy? You okay in there?' Dean sounded very concerned.

'Y-yeah. I'll be out soon.'

'Let me know if you need a hand,' Dean offered.

'I'm good, but, uh, thanks.'

He heard Dean move away from the door and he forced himself through a quick cleaning ritual. Wash hair, scrub body, rinse off. All with eyes closed. He'd open them someday. But that day didn't have to be today.

It didn't take long for Dean to prepare a small bowl of oatmeal with cinnamon for Sam. He figured his brother would take the usual quick shower he used to take and was surprised to hear that the water wasn't even running when he brought the food up. He put his ear to the door and listened as Sam spent an inordinate amount of time brushing his teeth and hair. He heard Sam eventually move to take his clothes off but the shower didn't turn on as he expected. He stood there wondering what Sam could be doing when he heard shallow, hyperventilating breaths from his brother and he suddenly understood. This was probably the first time Sam had seen his body clean in God knows how long. He was likely looking at all his wards and scars. The thought pained Dean and he wished again he could scrub all those marks off Sam's body. Another ten minutes went by before he heard Sam take several deep breaths and then start the shower. It only took about 45 seconds for the sobbing to start and Dean slid down to the floor, letting his head rest against the door. He longed to go in and console Sam but he knew Sam wouldn't react well to being intruded upon in such a vulnerable state. Anger threaded through him at the thought of his fierce brother brought to his literal knees by these fucking hunters. God help them if, no, when, he found them.

He waited the twenty or so minutes it took for the sobbing to quiet down considerably, then stood and knocked once lightly.

'Sammy? You okay in there?' He tried to keep his worry out of his voice.

'Y-yeah. I'll be out soon.' The hesitation and brittleness in Sam's response piqued his concern though.

'Let me know if you need a hand,' he said, knowing that Sam wouldn't take it, but wanting to offer his help nonetheless.

'I'm good, but, uh, thanks.' Sam sounded a little more sure of himself and that was a step in the right direction.

Dean sighed and went downstairs to heat up the food, hoping Sam would join him soon.

The only indication anything had happened in the shower was the lingering red puffiness around Sam's eyes. He had otherwise dressed himself in jeans and a flannel and gotten himself to the kitchen. Sam silently slid into the chair with the most walls behind it. Dean didn't miss it but decided not to say anything. He had the feeling that Sam wouldn't feel safe for a long time, if ever again.

"I made you oatmeal with some cinnamon for flavoring. I know it's boring, but we'll get you back to eating rabbit food in no time." He set the bowl down in front of Sam with a small spoon. "You want water or milk to drink?"

Sam flicked his gaze up at Dean and his eyes held an unreadable message. Sam looked down by the time he responded. 'Water, please. From the tap is fine.'

Dean did as he was told but wondered why Sam felt the need to specify. Man, there were so many new things he had to learn about his brother. And there were so many things he wanted to say to Sam but he felt if he opened his mouth, it would all come spilling out like an avalanche. If Sam's shower crying was anything to go by, the kid was still extremely fragile.

"So, what would you like to do today? Lindsey should be here around lunch time."

Sam shrugged. 'I don't really want to do anything... Maybe chill and watch TV? I, uh, kinda would like to just enjoy not being there.'

Not being with psychotic hunters who tortured and abused him. Sure, Dean got that loud and clear. "Yeah, that's fine. There are more episodes of that show you liked, uh, Bones, that you probably haven't seen."

'That sounds good. Will you watch it with me?'

Dean had to suppress the urge to squish his giant little brother in a hug. "Yeah, Sammy, of course."

Sam sat in eager anticipation of Lindsey's arrival. The relief he felt upon hearing she was alright was a soothing balm to his heart and he was excited to see her. He was waiting by the door, ready to let her in the moment she came up the porch. Bobby and Dean had made themselves scarce, claiming they had stuff to do. Sam appreciated their unspoken intention of giving him privacy, as he expected his reunion with Lindsey to be emotional and tear-filled.

He heard a vehicle pull up to the house and he stood up. He checked himself briefly in a mirror, trying to decide if his gaunt features and red-streaked eye would frighten her or not. He figured he probably wasn't as scary as the baykok so he should stop worrying. Footsteps sounded on the stairs and he moved towards the door. There was only one knock before he swung the door open, pasting his best imitation of a smile on his face to greet her.

"Heya, Bob— Holy hell! Well if it isn't my lucky day!"

Sam leant back in surprise, a buff, bald man with a beard standing where Lindsey should be. He looked slightly familiar but Sam couldn't place him.

"You're that demonic freak Tim and Reggie had a while back! I didn't know they were doing house calls..."

The memory of the man — Justin — as the first hunter to attack him at a hunter cage match supplied itself. Demons had killed his mother and he held Sam personally responsible. He'd inflicted a number of vicious wounds and was particularly fond of his knife.

Justin stepped forward, a gleam in his eye, and Sam staggered back, his heart rate skyrocketing and his throat closing up. "Lemme guess, Bobby's studying ya, trying to see what makes you tick? I wonder if he'd let me help... What do you think? Maybe we can open ya up and see if there are any clues on the inside?"

Sam shook his head fiercely, his hands held out defensively.

"Not gonna answer me? Or you can't?"

Sam shook his head again and Justin grinned. "Good. No one will hear you scream, then." He pulled out his switchblade and advanced rapidly, causing Sam to stumble and essentially pin himself against Bobby's desk.

"Aww, laying yourself out for me? So thoughtful!" He sprawled Sam across the desk using several swift punches to the head and straddled his legs. Justin pulled Sam up by his collar, his head flopping to the side listlessly. He captured Sam's arms and zip tied them behind his back, the plastic cutting off circulation. He pushed his captive's shoulders down, smiling as Sam's head hit the hardwood desktop with a solid thunk. As he talked, he used his knife to cut through Sam's shirts. "Ever since I saw you that day, I've been just itching to get my hands on you again, make you suffer the way you made my mama suffer. Demons cut her up nice and slow, trying to get information. Thing is, she didn't even know where I was, but they gutted her anyway. Your turn, you fucking traitor."

Justin plunged his blade into the hollow of the demon spawn's throat and drug it down to the edge of his jeans, smiling at the prolific bloom of red that rose to meet him.

Dean was taking a long, hot shower, trying to work that kink out of his neck from falling asleep in the chair. He was also enjoying the thought of Sam smiling again once Lindsey arrived. He knew the woman was sweet on Sam and while he wasn't sure the feeling was mutual, he still thought it would cheer Sam up. It was hard to be perpetually upset with Lindsey around. She was good-hearted and bright-eyed, always willing to help out. They needed more people like that in their lives. He was about to put shampoo in his hair when he felt a sudden feeling of terror inundate his consciousness. His knees buckled with the strength of the sensation and he had to throw his hands out against the wall to support himself.

What the fuck?! he thought to himself before the realization hit him with all the force of a frying pan to the face. Sam!

'Sam!' Dean called out with his mind and his panic spiked when he got no response. 'Sammy, I'm comin'!'

He didn't even take the time to wash the shampoo off his hands, instead turning the water off and barreling out of the shower. He shoved his dripping legs into his jeans and wiped his hands off the best he could while running out of the bathroom. He pulled his knife out of the pocket and flung himself down the stairs. The feeling of fear was growing and forming a physical pressure in his mind. He winced against it and forced himself to keep going. He heard movement in the living room and crept silently there, knowing which boards creaked and which could bear his weight without noise. He turned the corner as a wave of pain struck Dean like a freight train while he watched a stranger carve up his little brother.

Without hesitation, Dean launched himself towards the intruder and tackled him to the side. The man yelped as he went down, trying to swing the knife to defend himself. Dean blocked him and tried to wrench the man's wrist but his hands were too slippery from the damn shampoo to get a good grip. The other man wriggled out from under him and retreated to the other side of the desk.

"Who the fuck are you?" the intruder spat, like Dean was the one who shouldn't be there.

"I'm Dean Winchester and that's my brother Sam. I strongly suggest you get the fuck outta here before I make what you did to Sam look like child's play." The growl in his voice left no room for argument.

"The Winchesters, huh? Yeah, I heard of you. Heard you two were some unstoppable duo, but I gotta say, your brother makes a real nice punching bag."

Dean's jaw clenched in anger as he tried to plan how to reach the man. Of course Sam picked that moment to try to get up. Panting heavily, Sam twisted on his side and tried to use his currently non-existent core strength to lift his torso up. Using the hand holding the knife, Dean motioned for Sam to lay back down. "Stay out of it, Sam," Dean barked. Instead, Sam's eyes focused on the blade in front of him and he scooched backwards on the desk, right into the intruder, who took full advantage of the new situation.

He put Sam in a headlock and put heavy pressure on his neck. "You know he can't die, right? The Devil brings him back. Doesn't mean we can't make his life Hell though." With that, he stabbed the knife into Sam's right ear and twisted.

A piercing cry shattered Dean's consciousness and he fell to his knees, the ability to control his muscles suddenly stolen from him. A split second later, bright light and a violent surge of power swept through the house. Dean felt himself thrown against the wall and pinned there. He could barely hear the sound of breaking glass all around him over the screaming in his head and the shouts from the intruder. His own voice joined the din as his brain became completely unable to deal with the furious stimuli consuming him. The telltale thump of a body shook the floor and the fever pitch of Sam's fear dropped a few notches.

Dean opened his eyes to see that everything had been blown away from Sam, who sat panting and wide-eyed on the now-clean desk with his freed hands folded over his middle. Motion caught his eye and he saw the curtains billowing in the breeze. Scanning the room, he realized all the windows had been blown out. Finding he could move, he stood up slowly and cautiously approached Sam, hands held out to the side.

The back door burst open and Bobby was shouting. "Sam? Dean? Are you alr—" Bobby stopped as soon as he entered the room and saw Dean's hand shooing him away. The living room was the picture of chaos and in the middle sat Sam, bleeding and terrified.

"Sammy? It's me, Dean, your brother. You with me?"

Sam's unsteady eyes blinked a few times then he nodded shakily. 'Wi-with yo-you,' he stuttered, clearly disoriented. Dean figured he had a decent concussion. Just what they fucking needed.

Dean's gaze found the other man and was relieved he seemed to be unconscious. "Who is that?"

'Hu-hunter. Justin. M-my fault demons ki-killed his mother. He l-likes knives.'

At that, Dean remembered the way Justin had cut into Sam. He went to examine Sam and raised his hands but stopped himself. "Can I touch you? I need to look at the wound."

Sam seemed woozy and not completely there as his eyes lazily followed Dean's movements. 'Can t-touch, but please don't h-hurt me, I didn't m-mean to...'

Dean gently rested a hand on Sam's knee. "Sam, I'm not mad at you. He was attacking you and you defended yourself. Nothing wrong with that."

'Wrong...' Sam echoed.

"What is?"

'I am...'

Dean huffed in frustration. He looked down and saw all the blood trickling out between Sam's fingers. "Fuck, Sammy, we don't have time to argue about this. I need to sew this up." Sam shrugged limply. "Bobby, get the first aid kit. Sam, is it okay if Bobby comes over here? He's going to help you."

'Nuffin' can help me...'

"Dammit, Sam," Dean huffed angrily, his emotions flaring at seeing how destroyed Sam was.

Bobby returned and the two cleaned the wound to the best of their abilities.

"I don't think it punctured any organs, so just stitching it up should be good," Bobby proclaimed. Sam flinched at the new voice.

'Jus' take 'm, take 'em all,' Sam murmured and it took Dean a few seconds to realize that he must be referencing when they were harvesting organs from him.

"No, no, no, Sam, no, we're not, oh God, we're not taking anything from you. We're fixin' you up, I promise," Dean soothed while they placed the first sutures.

'Don' lie. Lu'fer says bad t' lie.'

Lucifer says it's bad to lie?! Jesus fucking Christ. Dean felt way out of his depth. "Not lying, Sammy. We're helping. I need you to trust me."

'Jus' get I' o'er wif, please. I'll be g-good. Try not t' scream.'

Dean felt his eyes water as he understood that he was asking an impossible task of Sam. Sam couldn't trust him. Fear had taken up residence where trust should be. That would take so much more than stitches and antiseptic to fix.

Once they had Sam mended and back in his room, they turned their attention to Sam's attacker. The man was still unconscious by Bobby's desk.

"What should we do with him?" Bobby asked.

Dean's jaw ticked in anger. "Not let him go, if that's what you're thinking."

"Dean—"

"Bobby, Sam told me this guy, Justin, held Sam responsible for demons killing his mother and took it out on Sam. Carved him up, just like he was doing now. I can't let that slide."

Bobby gulped uncomfortably. "You can't kill him—"

"I wasn't saying kill him, just teach him a lesson. People need to know that hurting Sam is off limits again."

"Okay, I can see that. But you sure you can restrain yourself?"

Dean growled at the implication but demurred. "Fine, we'll do it together. That way you can stop me before I go too far."

"Deal. You, uh, wanna tell Lindsey what's going on?"

Fuck. Dean had forgotten all about her. "Shit, yeah, I'll call her right now." Dean took his phone out of his pocket and dialed her number. She picked up almost immediately.

"Hey Dean! I'm about 10 minutes away."

"Hey Linds, I'm sorry, but do you think you could come by tomorrow, or even later? A hunter showed up and recognized Sam, and uh, well, it kinda turned into a thing."

"Oh no! Is Sam okay?"

"The guy got Sam pretty good with a knife and we had to put in over two dozen stitches. He also got a mild concussion."

"Dammit! Let me come over and help take care of him."

"No, it's alright. Look, find a place to stay in town and I'll pay for it. Sam does want to see you, I just don't think now is the best time."

"Why are you shutting me out, Dean?"

He hesitated and decided he owed her the truth. "The hunter is still here. We're about to bring him downstairs. I don't really want you here for that."

"Oh. I see. I mean, give him hell Dean, he deserves it. But tomorrow sounds good, too. Let me know, okay? Ellen told me I could come back whenever. And she wants to see you three soon, too."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Lindsey."

"Yup. See you soon."

"You, too. Bye." He hung up and approached Justin. "Panic room?"

"Makes the most sense."

"Alright, I'll carry him if you open the doors."

Dean scooped up the smaller man and Bobby led the way, opening the door to the basement and the panic room.

"Can you pull the chair out so I can set him down there?"

Bobby nodded and entered the panic room to get the chair. Dean dropped Justin and slammed the iron door shut and locked it.

"Dean?! What the hell?!" Bobby pounded on the door. "What do you think you're doing, you goddam idjit?!"

"I'm doing what needs to be done, Bobby. Ain't no point you feeling guilty for it, 'cause I know I won't."

Dean dragged the man to another part of the basement, as far away from the panic room as he could get.

"Dean, don't do this. You know it's not right. Sam wouldn't want you to do this."

"I'm not doin' this for Sam!" Dean shouted back as he opened up the Pandora's box of his rage. "I'm doin' this because someone needs to fucking pay for what they did to my Sammy," he growled to himself. He tied Justin to a chair and waited for him to wake up.

Bobby kept yelling, trying everything he could to convince Dean not to follow through on whatever his plan was. But Dean wasn't listening. He was leant against a workbench staring at Justin's switchblade. Sam's tacky blood still clung to the gleaming edge. More blood that Dean failed to prevent from leaving Sam's battered body.

Justin started to move so Dean stepped forward and lightly patted his cheek, encouraging him to wake up.

"What the..." Justin struggled against his bindings but found he had very little wiggle room.

"Morning, sunshine," Dean hissed, twirling the switchblade.

"Dean, right? Dean, you gotta understand, man, he's the reason my mom is dead. Wouldn't you want a little revenge, too?"

"I get it man, I do," Dean replied casually. "But no one fucks with my little brother and gets away with it. See, he just woke up yesterday after being gone for nine months and you stole that from me." He circled the man and dragged the blade loosely around his neck.

"He— he can't die. He'll be fine."

"Fine? You think you'd be fine if someone beat and murdered you every day for months on end?"

"N-no..."

"Then why would Sammy be fine?!" Dean roared.

"Please, don't hurt me... I didn't know who he was..."

Dean stopped in front of him and used the blade to slowly cut through his shirt, just like he probably did to Sam. "You know, that's the second time I've heard that excuse. 'I didn't know, I didn't know he was your brother...' like somehow that makes it better? You go around torturing all the monsters you hunt?"

"No... But my mama—"

"A demon killed my mom, too. And my dad. And led to my brother's death, which led to mine. So I get the demon-killed-my-whatever sob story. Doesn't give you the right to do what you did."

"Wait, you really did die? I'd heard rumors, but..."

"Yep. Dragged down to Hell, whole nine yards. And you know what happened while I was down there?" Dean put the blade on the hollow of Justin's throat. The man didn't dare move for fear of Dean accidentally cutting him. "I became Hell's top torturer. Gold star student. It used to really tear me up inside, you know? I hated it about myself, that I had given in, I had failed. But maybe every cloud does have a silver lining, because now I know how to do this..."

With lightning fast movements, Dean stabbed the blade into several trigger points on Justin's torso, expertly slicing non-vital nerves and inflicting the most pain for the least amount of damage. He grinned ferally as the man screamed until his voice became ragged.

"I mean, granted, I couldn't actually kill the souls down there, but human anatomy is human anatomy and ten years is a long time to learn."

"Please, no more, I won't ever come near you again, I promise," his captive panted, tiny rivulets of blood from each wound glimmering in the light as his chest rose and fell in quick succession.

Dean paced back and forth in front of him. "Did Sam ever say something like that while you were slicing into him? He ever beg for your mercy?

He didn't reply and Dean slashed his left cheek. "Answer me!"

"I... I don't know! There were a bunch of us! It was hard to hear over all the shouting. I just wanted him to hurt the way he made me hurt!"

"I'm simply returning the favor," Dean snarled and sank the knife into his right eye. The resulting scream must have drowned out the telltale flutter of wings because it came as quite the shock to Dean when a strong hand grabbed his and pulled him away. He turned his head and saw Castiel, face stern and determined. "What the hell, Cas?"

"I could ask the same of you, Dean." Castiel took the knife and cut the ropes binding Justin. The man was whimpering and babbling about his eye. Even with a hand covering it, blood was seeping down his face. "Consider your debts paid, as an eye for an eye will make the whole world blind." Castiel glared at Dean then back to the man. "Leave here and never return. If you pursue either Sam or Dean, I will be honor bound to smite you. Do you understand?"

Justin nodded vigorously.

"Then go, and pray we never see each other again."

The man gave Dean a terrified look then ran up the stairs. They could hear his car start shortly after and speed away.

Dean turned to the angel and let everything loose, getting right up in Castiel's stoic face. "Goddamit Cas! Whose fucking side are you on?! That man tortured Sam, twice! Probably killed him the first time. And you're willing to just let him go with a fucking warning? Some guardian angel you are!" Dean stormed past him and up the stairs, slamming the basement door shut.

"I am not your guardian angel," Castiel called patiently. Getting no response, he walked to the panic room and released Bobby.

"Thanks for coming when I called," Bobby offered. "I didn't know what else to do."

Castiel was immediately confused by Bobby's sudden gain of stature. "You're walking again?"

"Oh, yeah, that. I think it's related to Sam waking up."

"Sam's awake?!"

Bobby smiled sheepishly. "Guess we haven't really kept you in the loop. Come on upstairs and I'll fill you in."

Upon reaching the main floor, Bobby looked around for Dean but he was nowhere to be found. He checked the driveway and saw the Impala was gone. Bobby sighed and grabbed a bottle of whiskey for himself. He understood Dean's motivation, but what was that saying about not becoming a monster in order to defeat a monster?

"You were saying about Sam?" Castiel reminded him gently.

He took a sip of the amber anesthetic and nodded. "So, yesterday..."

Dean gunned it down a backroad, desperately needing to bleed off some his murderous intent. He knew he had been wrong to do what he did, but he didn't care. If it was anyone but Sammy, he may have thought twice. But he watched that bastard cut Sam open with glee on his stupid, smug face. It was unforgivable.

He understood it was bad to let the torturer in him take hold, but he couldn't find it in himself to give a shit. He hadn't been lying when he told Justin maybe there was a silver lining here. Given the choice, he wouldn't repeat his stint in Hell, but he didn't regret all that he had learned. It made him dangerous and unpredictable.

Kinda like Sam, his mind supplied. Actually, a lot like Sam. In fact, if they were able to harness Sam's powers, Bobby was right, they'd be pretty unstoppable. The Apocalypse definitely took precedent, but if they happened to run into those sons of bitches that had captured Sam, well, Dean was ready to embrace both his own torture and Sam's new powers with open arms if it meant repaying even an ounce of the hell they'd rained down on his Sammy.

Dean grinned as he pushed the gas pedal down further, a new hunt spurring him onwards.

Uh, Dean, I don't think that's what Bobby meant by "accept Sam's powers"...

"Fear had taken up residence where trust should be." line inspired by Avatar: The Last Airbender. Credit where credit is due.