Author's Note: Okay, Chapter 2 was really short. I'll try to do better in this one.

Gosh, I can't believe all the feedback I'm getting. Thank you so so so much for reviewing. (Getting this next chapter up so quickly is your thank you---I worked on it all day because everyone encouraged me to do so…Also, happy thanksgiving!)

Chapter 3: (both Sam & Dean's POV)

Next day

Dean woke suddenly at the sound of the door opening, his body tensing, making his chest tighten further as he gasped to breath normally. Automatically, he reached under his pillow for a weapon, panicking when he realized that in his hurry to get into a bed, he didn't put one in reach.

"Dean?" Sam called out to him, "Are you okay? You've been sleeping for almost fifteen hours."

Dean almost cried with relief that it was just Sam and not someone else sneaking up to attack him while he slept. It had happened only once right after Sam had left to go to college and his father had let him go off alone in a hunt. In the middle of the night, a drug addict had broke into the cheap motel room where he stayed in order to rob him. Asleep he wasn't as quick or agile, and the man who had broken in gave him a huge cut across his arm swiping at him with a rusted Swiss-army knife before Dean had knocked him unconscious.

Dean didn't answer. He couldn't, knowing his voice would break if he tried to speak. The sleep dampened his senses, the pain becoming tolerated while his body relaxed in order to heal itself. Problem was that he was awake now and the pain was excruciating. Dean couldn't move, not a single muscle without the stabbing sensation tearing him apart.

Sam walked over to his side of the bed, kneeling in front of him. "Dean?" His eyes shone with concern as he spoke. Reaching out, Sam itched to touch his brother, but pulled back at the last moment with the realization that he had caused the pain that Dean was now in. "Oh, god," he whispered, "I'm so sorry."

Dean breathed heavily, "Sam? It's okay. I'll be okay. I just need to catch my breath." Clenching his teeth, the hard gasp betrayed his words. He felt Sam's hands, one on his shoulder the other on his knee. They were gentle.

"Dean? Just relax, alright? Breath and relax." Sam rubbed his shoulder, whispering instructions in his ear trying to get him to relax. Dean just closed his eyes, trying to comply, knowing that if he relaxed it would get easier to breathe. He felt Sam's hands adjusting his position on the bed, pulling up his knees closer to his chest and turning him slowly so that he lie on his back instead of his side. A pillow slid under his knees, lifting them in a more comfortable position for his ribs.

The movement hurt, he couldn't lie about that or mask it in any way from his face, knowing it was contorted in pain and tears. Through it all, he gasped out a quick thanks. Sam didn't answer, his eyes shone with guilt. "Dean, I'll be right back, okay? I'm going to grab the first aid kit from car." Without waiting for an answer, Sam ran out as quickly as he could and grabbed the large first aid kit from behind the passenger seat.

Dean lie in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to his brother's footsteps as he ran back to his side, the kit contents clanging as he strode over. Dean shut his eyes as Sam sat on the edge of the bed, completely missing the look of hurt Sam had on his face. Dean still wouldn't look at him. Sam opened his mouth to say something, anything, but shut it after he realized that he didn't know what to say that would make everything better. There was nothing he could say. Everything was out in the open, in a moment of insanity he had spewed every horrible thought against his brother.

His lip quivered, so he swallowed hard before continuing his litany of nonsense, not even sure that Dean could hear him. "Dean, I need to see how bad I--how bad the wounds are, so I'll just get this shirt off, alright?"

Dean, eyes still closed, answered roughly, his voice hard and seemingly uncaring, "Whatever, Sam."

Sam rubbed his face with his palm, pressing it in between his eyes. He was getting a headache from the tension, but he forced himself to ignore it and to pay attention to the man in front of him. Slowly, he pulled unbuttoned the shirt starting at the neck and moving down until the entire shirt was open. Dean did not wear undershirts, hating the constriction of too many layers of clothing.

Sam gasped, placing a hand against his mouth to keep from screaming at the massive multi-colored bruises covering his brother's chest. "Dean! Why the hell didn't you tell me that it was that bad?"

Dean a sly smile now back on his face, taking on a sarcastic tone, "Gee, I don't know, Sam. I've never been shot in the chest with rock salt at close range. I thought I could handle it. After all, I've been bruised before--it just never hurt this bad."

Sam shook his head at him, "Dean, stop it! This isn't funny. Your lung could collapse or you could have internal bleeding. This is serious. I could've--." He stopped, a hysterical laugh escaping his lips. "God, Dean. I almost killed you."

Dean finally opened his eyes to look at his brother, they were shiny and wet as he tried to keep the tears from spilling over like his brother's. Sam was crying, both hands covering his face. "Sammy…don't. I seriously, I can't do this right now. Please, just stop."

Nodding, Sam quickly composed himself and wiped off the traces of his breakdown. He got up to wash his face in the bathroom, staring at himself for the first time since the asylum. He didn't even feel the pain, only heard the noise as the mirror shattered under his fist. Once he started, he couldn't stop--pounding the mirror in order to erase his reflection. "Damn it! Damn you!" Over and over he hit the glass, cutting into his hands making them bleed.

Blood dripped down into the sink, mixing with the trailing water down the sewer unnoticed. "SAM!" He heard Dean's shout and his moans as he tried to get up out of bed to come to his side. "SAMMY!"

Sam fell to his knees, his bloodied hands covering his face. Dean forced the pain away for a moment, putting it in the back of his mind as he crawled across the floor to get to his baby brother. Once he'd reached him, he sat besides him, trying to catch his breath--not touching but merely being near him.

Sam turned his face towards his brother, undisturbed by the fact that he was now covered with his own blood, sweat, and tears, "Dean, how could you stand to be near me right now? I tried to kill you. God, if there were bullets in that gun, you would be dead. The things that I said--I tried to tell myself that I didn't mean them, that it wasn't me that said them, but it was. It was me and everything I said had been inside of me for years now. The things that I hated about you and Dad: our 'freak' family. The times I wished we were normal…"

Dean listened as he wrapped Sam's hands with a towel to stop the flow of blood, his heart breaking as his brother finally told him the truth about how he felt. Dean truly failed his brother. "You hate me. I--I never thought that you'd ever hate me."

Sam whipped around quickly, "NO! No, Dean. I don't hate you. I swear to you. I never hated you, I just--I just hated the position we were in; the lives that we led. I--all I wanted was to be normal and now…Dean, it's ME. I finally figured that out now. I did this. I hurt everyone I ever loved. Mom, Jess, and now you. I'm the freak."

Later on, Dean would swear that it was the pain that caused him to start crying, but it wasn't. The pain in his chest was nothing compared to the one in his heart.

Sam watched as the stoic, ever sarcastic and cocky brother he idolized sobbed. "Dean? Dean, what's wrong? Does it hurt?" He sat up on his heels to push Dean's hands away from his face, checking to make sure that he was still breathing.

"Yeah, Sammy. It hurts a lot. It hurts to know that you don't trust me; that you wanted me dead. But it's okay, Sammy. I promise that I'll get over it. I just need some time to--to think, you know. I mean, Sam, I know that you're changing; that something happened to you in that house. Why do you think that I never wanted to go back there? It was that house that did this!" Dean bit his lip, drawing blood in his attempts not to scream. His ribs were on fire, the emotional outbursts not helping much. "And it hurts because I couldn't protect you from it. I-- God, Sammy--I tried so hard. I wanted to protect you and keep you safe. I wanted to teach you to fight those bastards; not to be a victim, like Mom. And I couldn't even do that right." His words came out in sobs, not noticing that Sam had wrapped his arms around his shoulders and was holding him against his chest.

They both sat there on the cold hotel bathroom floor for hours, holding each other for comfort and support. The storm passed slowly, making them both feel weak and without energy. Dean's chest had tightened uncomfortably, so he lay down on his side, his head and neck resting against his little brother's legs as Sam rested his hands against Dean, not breaking their perilous connection.

Dean let his eyes open to stare at Sam once more time before shutting them again to sleep, "Sammy?"

Sam gave him a slight smile, "Yeah, Dean?"

"We're really fucked up, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know that."

To Be Continued…?

Author's Note:

Well, what did you think? Too mushy? Not enough mush? Continue? Please Stop?

This chapter was pure "CHICK FLICK"!

So, please read and respond…probably won't be able to update for the next day or so 'til I get some new ideas, and Thanksgiving of course, but look for one soon.