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 –

Dean's heart seized painfully when Sam dropped like a felled tree, not even trying to save his face from slamming into the cold tiled floors. The sickening 'thud' had him swallowing a fear he couldn't begin to control.

"Sammy?!" Dean gasped out hoarsely as he tried to haul his traumatized body from the elevated hospital bed; his heart was hammering inside his chest at the mere thought of losing Sam. He'd expected the doctors and nurses to come flying through his closed door and save the man he loved with all his heart. But no one came and the sticky red stain beneath Sam's body continued to grow at an alarming rate. Dean couldn't watch Sam bleed out on his hospital room floor and the thought of it spurred him into action.

Ignoring flares of pain that erupted along every nerve ending, he forced his damaged body to roll off the bed. Tears sprang forward when he hit the unforgiving floor just as his destroyed right hand slammed down; the agony was indescribable. Electrifying pain scorched along the edges of his vision bursting in flashes of white light nearly forcing him into the waiting darkness. With a strength he wasn't sure he'd still possessed, Dean slid his broken parts toward Sam's unmoving body.

His white blankets wrapped around his ankles, trailing after him like a chain that tethered him to the bed. With a cry of frustration he kicked up sending another blinding wash of anguish cascading through him, but at least his legs came loose of the binding material allowing him to move forward unhindered.

Sam's face was turned away from him which meant that Dean had stop his movements and stare intently at the broad expanse of chest to see if it was moving. He stopped breathing as he watched or the slightest movement. It felt like an eternity before he finally saw the barest shift in Sam's chest.

"Sam?" he whispered and carefully settled himself near his lover's shoulder.

Dean's right hand throbbed and he nearly blacked out several times as he slowly lifted the gauze-wrapped limb, gently sliding his exposed fingertips along the other man's chin. He didn't know what he'd expected. But what he got was exactly, nothing. Sam didn't so much as shift beneath his questing fingers and a sob erupted from somewhere so deep that it felt like his soul was screaming out. A large tear pooled in his right eye before dripping off those long lower lashes that were the envy of his younger sister.

The hot tear dropped onto Sam's shirt, soaking into the material and drawing Dean's green eyes down. With a strangled sound he realized that while he'd been lying here crying like a little bitch, Sam had been bleeding out. Scrambling to force his disobedient body into compliance, Dean folded himself up onto his knees.

The room spun dangerously and bile threatened to spill as he leaned back and twisted his left hand into the blanket that had nearly choked his ankles to death. With a tug that left him breathless with pain, he managed to pull the offending material toward them and then all those years as a combat medic clicked into place. Despite the handicap of his completely useless right hand, he managed to get the blanket into position just as the door finally crashed inward.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" a man exclaimed as he dropped to his knees by Dean. Carefully he placed his hands over the stained red of the injured man's left hand, applying more pressure than Dean was capable. "I've got him, Dr. Winchester."

It was the use of his name that focused Dean enough to realize that he knew this man and it was obvious that he knew Dean. Another set of hands reached down to hand the guy a trauma pad, which replaced the blanket and before he knew what was happening, Sam was being lifted from the floor and placed carefully on a gurney. He squeaked in protest when they rolled the lawyer from the room, "Sammy." He whispered brokenly.

That was the moment his body decided it had had enough and efficiently cut off the waking world as it sent Dean into the sleek darkness of his own mind. Thankfully, he didn't dream this time, he simply slipped away from his troubles and the nearly constant fear.

End of Previous Chapter - - - -

**Remember, this is a slash story so be prepared and stop reading if you don't like that.**

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Psychiatrist

Medical psychiatrist Doctor Benjamin "Bennie" Laffite took a deep breath, his blue eyes lifting to take in the ungodly time. It was 3:43 in the morning and he was no closer to solving his problem than he'd been fifteen hours earlier. Groaning he grabbed for a mug, without looking at it he took a large swig and immediately started choking.

"Oh God." Bemoaning his ice-cold coffee, he shoved his chair back and headed out of his office.

The long hallway was dimly lit and only a few nurses shuffled about doing checks on the unfortunate souls checked into the intensive care unit. He made the right-hand turn toward the doctor's lounge and focused on the hot cup of java he would be taking back with him. It wasn't that he thought the black brew would be good, but it would be hot. He could deal with the bitter taste as long as it was strong and very very hot.

Pushing open the door Bennie stumbled to a quick stop. A petite redhead was folded over the single table, her arms stretched out supporting her head. She had dried tear tracks running over her high cheekbones and a small frown etched between her sculpted eyebrows. His eyes dropped to her left hand and he threw up mental hands when he saw the shiny gold band on her ring finger.

Of course she's married dummy. Look at her. The door clank closed and she jerked upright, her pale blue eyes spinning wildly as she tried to remember where the hell she was.

Bennie stepped forward, his face soft and concerned. "Hey, you okay?" She didn't look okay, but that was the socially acceptable way to ask even knowing the outcome.

She blinked several times before slowly nodding and then shaking her head 'no'. Her gaze jumped to the clock above his head and she surged to her feet; and swayed with exhaustion.

Rushing forward Bennie reached out to catch her before she collapsed and required medical attention herself. "I'm Dr. Laffite and you're in the hospital." She allowed him to hold her, which surprised him. Generally women were quick to push away-unknown men. You did say you were a doctor. He reminded himself.

Gathering her bearings she stepped out of his arms. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"I gathered that." Bennie watched as something passed through her eyes, like she was just realizing something terrible. Sometimes he hated being a psychiatrist, he always seemed to be reading between people's lines. This woman was panicked about something, or someone. "Who're you here for?" he asked, the cadence of his southern drawl easing some of her fear.

She swallowed, grabbing her purse and cell phone off the table. "My brother."

Her voice broke and Bennie got a bad feeling that her brother wasn't likely to survive whatever had landed him in the ICU ward. She started toward the door but he reached out to stop her. "I work here; maybe I can find something out for you?"

She stopped, her shoulders hitching as she turned toward him. "His name is Dean Winchester, he's a doctor too." Almost as an afterthought she added, "I'm Anna."

Plastering his best "friendly neighborhood doctor smile" Bennie turned back toward the door. He held it open watching her tense muscles loosen, just a bit.

They approached the night-nurse's desk and Bennie was gratified to realize he knew her, Joanna Harvell. The blonde grinned when she saw him, but that promptly died when she recognized the no-nonsense look on his face. "Dr. Laffite?" her brown eyes shifted to the woman at his side and then back again, "Can I help you with something?"

He leaned against her tall desk and let his stern expression slip away. "Hey Jo, can you get me some information on a Dean Winchester?"

She sucked in a breath and nodded slowly. "I don't need to look him up. He's in room seven." Rising to her feet she came around the desk to escort them to the glass-encased critical care room.

Bennie grabbed the chart off the wall and scanned it quickly before looking at the man lying in the bed. Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to you buddy? Leads and wires twisted around the man in varying directions, ending in multiple machines monitoring everything from his vitals to brain activity. His right arm was elevated and hanging in a 'floating sling', which meant severe damage the doctor assigned to his case was hoping to protect from further damage.

The man's face was a myriad of colorful bruises and stitches. He looked a bit like the scarecrow old man Nelson had had to keep the crows away from his corn. Growing up in the south meant farms and bayous for him. Even drugged out the ass this guy had pain creases marring his face.

Turning toward Jo he silently asked 'what the hell'? She shrugged and shook her head. Bennie's eyes dropped to the top of Anna's head, she was leaning against the glass staring silently at what he had to assume was her brother.

"I'll leave you two alone." Jo begged out before backing toward her station again.

Bennie smiled at her. "Thank you."

Anna hadn't said a word; she hadn't moved a single muscle. The only clue that she was still breathing was the soft puffs of air that fogged the glass with rhythmic regularity. She was in shock, he could see that; luckily he happened to be one of the most sought after trauma psychiatrists anywhere in the world. Placing a gentle hand on her shoulder he carefully turned her toward the door.

"You should go sit with him." He said, nudging her in that direction.

She turned glassy eyes on him, her lip trembling with the torrents of emotion she was holding back with nothing more than an iron will. He didn't know why but her strength touched him and he found himself very much interested in the relationship between this silently courageous woman and her obviously traumatized brother inside that room. Sometimes it was hard to turn off the doctor parts of his brain.

"I'll just wait here." She didn't answer and truthfully he hadn't really expected her to. He just didn't want her to be alone. Married or not it was pretty damn obvious that Anna was in need of additional support; that was something that he could provide.

A knot seemed to loosen inside her and the tears spilled down the mascara tracks on her cheeks. His heart went out to her and to be honest, Bennie was surprised he could still be so strongly affected by another's pain. He wanted to say something, to give her some small piece of hope, but he couldn't find the words.

Apparently neither could Anna, she didn't utter a single sound; instead she nodded once and then turned back toward the door.

XXXX

Sam let the floating sensations wash over him as he slowly returned to awareness. His head pounded mercilessly and he wasn't all the keen on discovering what else might hurt. He could feel tightness running all along his side, which indicated bandaging of some kind. His head was foggy and Sam was having difficulty gathering solid information to inform him about his current situation.

He heard murmured words that weren't quite clear and a steady soft beeping that should trigger something. Swallowing he felt the dry scratchiness that informed him he had been in this condition for a while. Sam wasn't a big soda drinker, never had been. He tended to opt for good old-fashioned water, now Dean? He was a soda man through and through.

Sudden clarity wiped away any remaining cobwebs and Sam started struggling to sit up. He hadn't even gotten his eyelids open before a strong, but gentle, hand planted firmly in the center of chest and pushed him back against the scratchy sheets.

"Sam, it's okay. You're okay."

Castiel's worried tone sent shivers along Sam's spine. He did stop struggling when his side lit up with sharp stabbing pain. He willed his eyes to focus as he breathed through the consequences of his actions.

"Hmmm, where's Dean?" he asked, his slight slurring of that question worried him a bit. Sam was missing something vital, he just hadn't worked out what it was.

A sharp intake of breath and a long pregnant pause sent shivers along his spine. Something was very wrong.

Blinking away the fuzzy edges of Castiel's worried face, Sam waited for a response. Glancing over his head he knew he was in the hospital and judging by the pain he was in, there was a good reason for that.

A nurse past by the open doorway before Cas turned and gently closed it. "He's alive."

It wasn't enough information, not nearly enough and Sam cringed at the thought of what he didn't yet remember. The sterile antiseptic smell of the room made his suddenly nauseas. Sam blinked, his eyes dropping to Castiel's empty right hand—

Everything came flooding back. The explosion at the hospital, Dean's near death experience when the rescue teams had very nearly given up on finding survivors. The long road to recovery only to find out that someone in his past had been the cause of so much destruction and loss. Sam felt the emotions that he'd had months to process flood back in without mercy. The ferryboat trip and Dean's kidnapping.

And oh God, the sheer damage that had been done to his beautiful body and even worse; his mind came back with a vengeance. Sam's eyes widened and the beeping next to his head sped up until it was almost a solid steady whine.

"Calm down Sam." Cas stepped up and grabbed Sam's hand hoping to ground him in the here and now. "Dean is alive." He repeated with more force. "You got him back."

But Sam wasn't so sure as the memories of his conversation with Dr. Renner poured back into his head. Dean may never perform surgery again. He may never fully recover, physically, from his time in Brandon's custody. What if he couldn't get past all that and he left? Oh dear God…what if he leaves me?

He didn't see the rushing doctor as he quickly inserted a needle into the port above Sam's head. He did however feel the warm rush of indifference as the thick medication buffered his emotional response.

"No—" he started to beg when the medication sent him back into the waiting the darkness.

Castiel leaned back as Sam drifted off into the sleep of the medically induced kind. Groaning he ran his hand over his face. He needed to shave; and take a shower, but who was keeping track of such inconsequential things?

XXXX

Bennie was reading a book on childhood trauma when he heard the hiss of pain from his right. Glancing up he waited for the man in the bed to work himself back into the land of the conscious. He set the book aside and was careful to keep reasonable distance between himself and the traumatized man struggling to clear his mind of the cobwebs.

Several moments passed before Dean Winchester's eyelids slip apart ever so slightly and he blinked slowly. He didn't immediately turn to see where he was. He didn't grimace with the pain that Bennie knew he had to be feeling. Hell, he didn't even change the pace of his breathing.

Okay, so not a normal response. He waited until Dean finally shifted his head allowing his gaze to land on the unknown man at his side. Fear ghosted across his face before it was buried under what Bennie had to assume was decades of practice.

Dean didn't say anything, but he didn't look away either. A small bead of sweat rolled from his brow along the edges of his hairline only to disappear into the cotton pillowcase beneath his head.

"Doctor Winchester, I'm Dr. Laffite. Your sister Anna stepped out for some much needed food." Bennie watched as Dean assimilated the information. Good, your brain and cognitive functions are working fine. At the mention of his sister's name his breathing hitched. And you're emotional responses are there, again that's good.

Over the last two days Bennie had learned a lot about the man lying in front of him. Winchester was a brilliant oncologist and a talented surgeon. His blue eyes lifted to the encased right hand and he amended his thought. Was a talented surgeon? No matter how good the repair work had been, the damage to the nerves was too severe. Dean would never hold a scalpel again. That was a tragic loss for the medical community, but at least they'd retained the mind. Hadn't they?

Again he wondered if he should consider that a win? Bennie had requested to be assigned to the case along with Dr. Renner; she'd been glad for the help. Her expertise was in the body, his was in the mind; and he wasn't sure if this man's damaged psyche could be healed. All of it rested squarely on Dean's shoulders and his decision to fight for it.

Dean pulled in a shaky breath, his eyes drifting to his elevated right hand. Understanding seeped into those green eyes and Bennie felt for the guy. In one moment his entire life had been changed through no fault of his own. The psychiatrist was grateful that the son of a bitch that had gleefully beaten this man into submission was dead or he might've seen the man Bennie had been before he crawled out of the bayous.

Over the last two days Bennie had read everything from the FBI reports to the unedited medical assessments of Dean's condition. He knew about the relationship between the doctor and the scarred terrorist that had once been his lover. Bennie wasn't one to judge, but a part of him wondered if this man's past was the reason he hadn't been able to see the soldier for what he'd been? All of Brandon's files had pointed at sociopathic responses and thoughts with narcissistic tendencies. How that guy had passed the psyche evals needed to be Special Forces was beyond him.

All of that had been enough to crack even the strongest person, but then Bennie had gotten into Dean's tragic childhood. A father that had used him and abused him while demanding loyalty because of Anna; that was the shit of nightmares; and he should know, Bennie had had a damn crappy upbringing himself.

Granted his hadn't been sexual in nature, but his own father had been a real son of a bitch and Bennie hadn't looked back once he'd left that place. Hell, he still bore the cigarette scars all along his ribcage and other scars that went so much deeper he'd had to dig to find them.

Dean's eyes drifted away for a moment before returning to meet his. "Is she okay?" the question was hoarse and so soft that Bennie had to lean in to catch it. That resulted in Dean pressing into the mattress like he could disappear down through it.

Chiding himself Bennie sat back, "She's worried about you." He waited for Dean to ask about Sam, the man he'd been in a steady monogamous relationship for the last, almost, seven years. But he didn't say a word about the man that not only saved his life, but nearly given up his own in the process. Bennie knew that wasn't a good sign. He'd seen this kind of thing before; a victim places the blame for what happened to them squarely on their own shoulders and will not allow their trauma to damage the ones they love.

It was a sad state of affairs not only for the victim, but also for all of the people who love and support them. Unfortunately he knew that if he couldn't get Dean to share his weighty burden, it was likely that he and Sam wouldn't make it; and it wouldn't have a damn thing to do with Sam.

"How much do you remember?" It was a ridiculous question because obviously this guy remembered everything. But Bennie's reasoning wasn't to have Dean relive his trauma, but to realize that he hadn't been alone in it. His little sister was suffering, their soon-to-be adopted son was suffering, Sam was most certainly suffering and so was he.

The blonde swallowed and looked away, "Everything." He said quietly.

Bennie took a chance and leaned forward again, he was careful to leave enough space that Dean wouldn't feel crowded. "And are you going to let him take everything from you?"

The question surprised Dean and his eyes flashed back to meet Bennie's steady gaze. A multitude of emotions warred behind those dark green depths and Bennie found himself rooting for this man. He was strong, he'd had to be, but to face what was coming would take a dedication and will forged and tempered in the fires of his tragic past.

Tears welled along his lash line, his inner turmoil clearly tearing at him in ways no person should ever understand. He lifted his gaze allowing evidence of his emotions to trail along his stubbled cheek. He pressed his scabbed lips together as his throat bobbed with repressed self-loathing and recrimination. Bennie tilted his head and sat silently as Dean worked through an answer to his question. It wouldn't be easy and there was still a possibility that this man would never fully recover what had been stolen from him in that basement, but if he wasn't even willing to try? Then none of this would matter anyway.

The psychiatrist had no idea how long they sat there in uncomfortable silence before Dean's red-rimmed eyes turned back to him.

"I don't know."

His ragged whisper sent a thrill of hope through Bennie. He'd hope for a definitive 'no', but he'd fully expected not to get any sort of answer at all. Chances were damn good that Dean didn't know what the hell to think right now. But if he was at willing to try? Bennie was going to move heaven and earthy to give him back the love, family and the life that he'd very nearly lost due to one man's act of selfish revenge.

Smiling Bennie leaned back, rewarding Dean's answer with the additional space he knew the man would be craving. Glancing up at the clock he noted it was 3:43 in the morning…what a rollercoaster ride this was going to be. He hadn't been home in three days and he couldn't find it within himself to care. At this moment there was nowhere Bennie wanted to be. Because he'd just set the wheels of recovery in motion, Dean simply didn't realize it yet.

TBC…

Reviews? Would love to know if you're still following this tragic little story?

Author's Note: MASSIVE apologies for the extremely long wait between chapters. I'd like to say I have a great excuse, but honestly? Life just got in the way. I know where I'm headed with this now, so it will be far easier to move forward with the chapters.