Legalities, as always Sam and Dean and all things Supernatural do not belong to me. They are the property of the CW and Kripke Enterprises. I wish they would share, but I don't think that is going to happen so I guess I will simply play in their sandbox for a bit.

Rating MA: For language and injured Dean and Sam throughout the storyline, they will also be M/M pairing although they are not brothers in this story. Pairings won't happen till later chapters, so be sure to review the warnings before reading.

Author's Note: This story will follow Sam and Dean they continue their lives and try to deal with the challenges of their own pasts and tragic past of a child named Adam Milligan. This ride will get bumpy before it gets smooth, so be prepared.

IF YOU READ MY OTHER STORIES AND DO NOT READ NON-RELATED SAM/DEAN PLEASE DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER :You have been warned.

THIS IS SLASH!

It is NOT beta'd. Please excuse the mistakes (they happen when I type too fast).

Previous Chapter:

It was early, too early and he'd rather be in bed, but he had to know. How much damage had he done? Had his plan worked? Was Dean beyond redemption…beyond help? Brandon couldn't stop the wry smile that split his once handsome face into a sick imitation of what it had once been. A nurse walked briskly down the long hallway just ahead of him, he pulled the ballcap lower, hiding his face from the distracted eyes of the woman. He'd slipped past the posted security easily enough and finding out which floor Dean was on had only taken him a few minutes of listening.

The admissions nurse had been whispering to her co-worker about the tragic figure on the sixth floor. A man that had barely survived a horrific kidnapping. Satisfaction blossomed in his chest as he thought of what he'd done to Dean. He'd earned every one of those crushing blows, not to mention the fact that he'd owed the man something for shattering his heart by refusing what Brandon had demanded.

You're mine, Dean. Now everyone else knows that too. He schooled his expression before turning up the long hall toward the elevators and the sixth floor.

End of Previous Chapter –

Chapter Twenty-five

Collisions of Fate

Sam allowed his mind to simply float as he drifted in and out, just on the edges of awareness. He was so tired; his hear sore and fractured in ways that he hadn't thought a human could survive, but survive he had. His fingers twitched where they wrapped gently around Dean's unresponsive left hand, the veil of sleep thinning as he was slowly pulled back into the tragedy that was their reality. He'll never know for sure what hauled him back, but in the coming years he'll reflect back on that moment with a level of gratitude that he has no hope of expressing.

He had pried his sticky tired lids apart, waiting for his eyes to focus in the dim light, he'd been startled into full awareness by an unfamiliar presence. His blue-green gaze focusing in on a single unknown shadow that didn't belong and his breath froze in his chest when realization crashed over Sam.

Brandon was leaning over Dean. Yet it wasn't the injured man he was watching, his eyes were focused solely on Sam. He was running his fingers along the multi-colored bruises marring Dean's strong cheekbones and jaw. But it wasn't merely the sight of this man; a man that the lawyer hated with every fiber of his being, that had froze him in place, at least it wasn't only that, it was what he held in his other hand. The glint of burnished metal caught the light and the sleek silver barrel of the 1911 shifted in his direction.

The handgun was now aimed directly between his eyes and no matter what type of training he had; Sam knew that he wasn't faster than a speeding bullet.

The scarred man said nothing as he continued to stroke the love of Sam's life in a way that left a bitter rage swirling inside him. He seethed internally as he watched, unable to do anything. Every muscle was tense and ready to strike out at the first hint of an opportunity.

Brandon's puckered mouth pulled back in a sick mockery of a smile, but his eyes…oh God, his eyes…they seared into Sam with hatred and contempt burning in their dark depths. If it had been possible, he was certain he would have burst into flames, leaving nothing but a smoldering pile of ash as the only evidence of his existence.

Coming face to face with, what Sam considered, the very face of evil, scared the hell out of him. And yet that wasn't what continued to root him to the uncomfortable plastic chair, it was Brandon's far too close proximity to Dean's sleeping form. Grinding his teeth together as the anger reared up, dwarfing his fear and loosening his tongue, Sam narrowed his eyes and spoke for the first time.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he hissed through his teeth, Sam's fingers clenching and unclenching with barely contained fury.

At first Brandon didn't answer him, he simply continued to stare at Sam, contemplating his next move. When he did finally move, his actions sent a new burst of rage coursing through Sam. Brandon's dark eyes remain fixed with barely contained anger, the barrel of the pistol trained on Sam's forehead, he leans over and places his lips against Dean's.

A fraction of a second before something primal can burst through Sam's shocked expression, Brandon pulls away, almost reluctantly and sighs. "I told you before, Sam. He. Is. Mine." He strokes Dean's face, it's almost gentle, "He never told you how much he loved me, did he? He craved my cock. Couldn't get enough of it. It didn't matter what the consequences were, he'd risk anything to feel me inside him. Quivering with need, like the whore his father turned him into—"

Sam's soul screams in denial, in seconds his heart is sliced up and left bleeding, as he's forced to listen to the filth spewing from between Brandon's burned lips. "Stop! Please, just fucking stop…" His voice had started out strong, but the second his words had past his lips, it had sounded small and uncertain, overloaded with pain. At the look of satisfaction on the other man's face, Sam lowers his eyes, desperately trying to hide the intense hurt those devastating words had inflicted.

It wasn't that Dean hadn't told him about Brandon and what they had shared so long ago, but hearing it in graphic detail has left his insides quivering, strangled with anguish.

A sick twisted smile pulls across Brandon's face as his free hand slips inside his jacket, removing a long silver blade.

Almost like something out of a Shakespearean tragedy, Dean's eyelids flutter and the intense forest green peeks out at the world. He's unfocused as his gaze roams slowly over the darkened room before landing on the man standing to his right; they blow wide in confusion and fear before a wounded sound erupts from him.

Sam's heart shatters at the realization that it isn't him that Dean is going to see first, it's Brandon. And the moment those green eyes land on the other man a heartbreaking sound slips between his lips and he starts to shake just as his eyes roll up and he starts to seize. A jittery panic squeezes Sam's heart so tightly that he's certain it'll result in some sort of arrhythmia right before movement catches his attention.

The knife reflects the tiny amount of light inside the hospital room as the blade shifts toward Dean's exposed throat.

The frozen shock drains away instantly and before he fully understands what he's doing, Sam is moving to stop Brandon. With an iron will he didn't know he possessed, he ignores the writhing, trembling body of the only man he's ever loved and launches himself at the sadistic bastard that has haunted them for far too long.

He feels slight pressure and there's a dim burning sensation when he lands on top of the other man. But it is nothing compared to the ferocious rage that bursts out of him with violent intentions. He grabs the hand holding the pistol and slams it into the metal feet on Dean's hospital bed. With a yelp of pain, Brandon's fingers reluctantly release the weapon and it skitters across the tile floor.

From somewhere deep in the back of his head, Sam wonders what happened to the knife? His momentary introspection costs him a staggering blow to the side of his head and his vision narrows dangerously. Only through his stubbornness does he retain his grasp on the conscious world. Drawing back his knee he sends it forward, colliding solidly with Brandon's ribs. A grunt of pain lets him know that the blow has at least done some damage.

Sam latches onto the collar of the thick jacket that his opponent unwisely chose to wear and he twists it, driving the air from Brandon's lungs. His other fist launches a precisely placed punch to the gasping man's shoulder and Sam hears the crunch of cartilage.

A howl of rage followed by agonizing pain as another overzealous, but debilitating blow slams into his side. Sam's vision does more than narrow, it flickers and grays at the edges. I'm seconds from losing consciousness and it if I do… He'll kill Dean or perhaps do something even worse?

His body consists of nothing but burning, screaming agony as he forces himself to remain awake. Brandon had thrown him off and was crawling unsteadily to his feet. Sam could see him casting his eyes around, looking for something. The gun… He rolls his blurry vision around, ignoring the brutal beating his body has just taken and the still unidentified fire burning along his ribs. He wants nothing more than to curl in on himself, give in to the pain, allow his mind to drift back to the sweet nothingness of oblivion. But he can't.

"You are so pathetic." Brandon hisses before sending a well-aimed kick into his torso. The loud crack of breaking ribs and the sudden agonizing pain that follow are nearly his undoing.

Through the haze of red he watches his attacker shift toward Dean, his intension so clear that even through the blinding pain, Sam sees it. His instincts are confirmed a moment later when Brandon grabs Dean's IV and tears the needles from his hand. A steady stream of blood runs down the pale skin, landing in splattered droplets next to Sam. A pained moan from the bed above him alerts him to Dean's return to awareness.

"S'my…"

Brandon leans in at the confusion he hears in Dean's voice. "He's not here, Dean…it's just you and me." He sneers through the obvious hatred, rough hands grab at the injured man, hauling him up so Brandon can look him in the eye when he tells him this. "He's never going to be here again."

XXXX

The first thing edging its' way into his consciousness is the slight sting of a needle being ripped away. After everything that he's suffered, Dean's not sure why that seems important. He slowly becomes aware of other things his body is telling him. He's stretched out on a bed, not the dingy cot in Brandon's basement. A shudder rolls through him and he struggles to keep his breathing even. The next thing he notices is that everything and he does mean everything hurts. Like he's been at the gym for a week straight with no break.

Or I somehow landed back in Hell Week during black ops training. He can't place why that doesn't feel completely right either, and yet there is something about that which seems relevant. His entire body feels sluggish and seems to be ignoring his commands to wake up.

So Dean goes back to understanding where he is. Starchy bed sheets that smell faintly medicinal quickly solve that mystery and he continues to try and piece his current status together. Somewhere in the room he can hear the faint rumbling of voices, but there's an odd sensation like he's been wrapped in cotton and it's keeping him from fully reacting to what's around him. His senses have been dampened and Dean only knows of one thing strong enough to knock him down like this, morphine. Which means that the nightmares that had been plaguing him weren't simply inside his head.

Brandon had indeed found him and done…Dean's mind throws every sordid image and emotion at him in a slideshow that can never be unseen. Emotions that he thought he'd buried with his father's death quickly rising to the surface in an excruciating array of self-loathing and shame.

Somehow one of the voices penetrates his hazy prison and his heart nearly seizes as Sam's broken words wash over him. Struggling through the traumatizing images that are nearly blinding, he forces his unresponsive body to listen to him.

"S'my…" It isn't much, but it's all he can manage as his dry throat closes in on itself.

Fingers drift along his jawline, moving up and ghosting over the delicate arch of his eyebrow. "He's not here, Dean." Brandon chuckles derisively as he presses into the stitches that have barely begun to knit the gash along his hairline. Pain lances through his head and he presses further into the bed.

Dean starts to struggle as the panic blows open his fears and races through him. I'm as good as dead. But it's the next icy words out of Brandon's mouth that set his world tilting dangerously as every nerves howls in denial.

"He's never going to be here again."

The agony that overwhelms him and the ensuing pain is indescribable. They are scorching his very essence and it only takes a moment at hearing Brandon's words and his mind drops into a numbed state of shock. Without Sam, nothing matters…Dean knew he was so far from okay it was laughable, and that he might never again give to Sam the love and physical connections he had once lavished on his partner so freely. But fuck, he at least wanted the chance to reclaim something of their previous lives.

Dean can't do anything, absolutely nothing. He is completely at Brandon's mercy, and they both know it.

XXXX

Hearing the breathy way his name slipped past Dean's lips strengthens Sam's dwindling resolve. He pulls the last reserves of his strength and makes an uncoordinated move toward the silver 1911. Just as his long fingers close around the cool handle of the gun, Brandon notices his movements, but not quickly enough to stop Sam.

The struggling young man lurches unsteadily to his knees, grabbing the back of the chair and hauling himself up to his full height before pointing the 1911 at Brandon's snarling face. Sam's careful to keep his eyes on the ex-military man. He can't allow the devastating fear to rule his actions. Fear that would blind him to everything but Dean's current condition.

Suddnely, Brandon lunges at Sam and that's when the lawyer finally figures out what's been plaguing his side. Brandon locks his good hand around the hilt of the knife that's been imbedded between Sam's ribs. It's only due to the slick blood coating the smooth handle that he isn't able to yank it out and drive it somewhere more lethal.

Sam grunts as Brandon's heavy body impacts his weakened one. He nearly drops the gun when he stumbles, sinking heavily to his knees. His hands sliding down before resting limply against his sides. He nearly blacks out when Brandon makes another grab for the knife, this time succeeding in tearing it from Sam's bloody torso. His body spasms as it reacts to the 'cork' being popped lose from inside him, the blood now flowing freely and unfettered down his side. His eyes drift for a moment and he nearly groans at the sight. A growing pool of crimson is building beneath his knees and it's getting alarmingly large His numb fingers are barely wrapped loosely around the grip of the 1911. The lawyer lifts his gaze as the other man shifts closer, only to stare stop and down at him with a cold resolute fury.

Sam's mind flips back to nearly ten years ago when he first met Dean, the immediate flush of attraction that had confused him for the better part of their first year together. But what had sparked that night in the library had refused to be extinguished and ultimately neither of them had tried very hard. Yet now it looked as though they would both die at the hands of a madman that had bombed an entire hospital trying to exact revenge…a lover scorned…the thought flickered through his mind as he stared up into the insane eyes glaring back at him.

I need just a moment. He needs to look away, just for a moment.

And then the impossible happens. Dean's trembling fingers wrap themselves in the loose material of Brandon's jacket and he tugs the shocked man backwards, giving Sam the moment he desperately needed to focus his dwindling strength and haul the gun up again. Without considering that he was going to take another human's life, he easily pulled the trigger sending the bullet toward its target.

The report of the weapon resounding was the last thing he heard before watching the surprised shock register in Brandon's eyes, his hand clutching at the spreading crimson precisely where his heart should have been located. Instead it's just the muscle that pumps the blood through his body that studders angrily when the bullet rips it apart before lodging somewhere inside him.

Brandon's body begins the slow descent toward the cold merciless floor before tipping forward, landing in a crumpled heap near Dean's bed.

Sam's world spirals down to a single point and never felt the impact of the floor on his abused body as he too pitched forward. For a brief moment Sam had seen a light at the end of this long dark tunnel, but then it had been snuffed out by a violent descent into another kind of darkness.

TBC…

Author's Note: So this didn't get posted as quickly as I would have liked, but here it is anyways. Because of Brandon's background, I couldn't simply have Sam kick his ass and walk away. And I really wanted Dean involved; to the extent he was able. Next chapter we'll see them together for the first time where they're both conscious. It's going to be a bit rough while they work through Dean's psychological trauma, but with the help of those who love him most, he'll get there.

Please: If you wouldn't mind…please take a minute and review. Thank you.