A few minutes later, the brothers found a table near the bar and sat down with their beers. Another few minutes went by before Sam broke their silence.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said. "I shouldn't have pushed you."

"Damn straight," Dean replied, pointing the top of his beer bottle towards Sam. "What if the bed wasn't there? I could've been hurt."

Sam tried not to roll his eyes. He knew Dean knew what he was talking about. And it wasn't the physical push. "Dean…"

"It's over, Sam!" Dean insisted, then, conscious of his surroundings, quietly added, "Let it be," before rising from the table and heading toward the exit.

Sam sighed, watching the retreating figure. He reminded himself that he still needed to let Dean take control, make decisions for himself, even if that included Dean keeping his emotions bottled up inside. Sam finished his beer, resigning himself to the fact that he'd just have to be there to pick up the pieces when his brother finally crashed, because somehow he knew it would eventually come to that.

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Dean was tired of fighting with Sam. He couldn't understand why his brother kept bringing up that night. The assault. His loss of control.

He looked at the outside wall of the bar, the streetlight across the alleyway lighting it up. The entire side of the building was one large mural, depicting a horse's head and the name of the tavern above it. He leaned against it, bending his right leg and propping his foot flat against the wall and feeling the cool painted brick against the back of his head.

What does Sam expect? Some chick-flick moment where I break down crying, telling him that the bad people had violated me and I was forever traumatized by it? That I'd never have sex or play pool again? "Right." I'd have done both of those things tonight, in this place, given the chance. But Sammy showed up.

"Who the hell are you kidding, Dean? You barely bought a beer on your own…" he muttered to himself.

Some noise at the end of the alley caught Dean's attention, interrupting his thoughts. He pushed away from the wall and headed toward the muffled voices. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

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Sam looked up from his beer to see the bartender and another man, the bouncer, running for the back door of the bar. Sam saw the small crowd following, several mentioning a fight of some sort, and followed them. He didn't need his special powers to know that Dean was somehow involved.

Once outside, he shoved his way past three or four people and saw Dean being pulled off some guy by the bouncer. There was a young woman nearby crying. From the look of her, it was obvious what the man Dean had fought had been trying to do to her.

"NO! Get off me!" Dean shouted, struggling against the bouncer's strong grip. "Get the fuck off me!" Sam rushed over to them. It was fear he heard in Dean's voice, not anger.

"Let him go!" Sam ordered. But the more Dean struggled, the tighter the man's hold became. "I'm his brother, I'll take care of him," he pled. "Dean," Sam called, hoping to get Dean's attention. "Calm down." But as the bouncer loosened his hold, Dean broke it, lashing out blindly. Sam blocked the punch and shoved his brother down to the ground, but that didn't stop Dean from continuing his fight. "Dean! Damn it!" Sam shouted, grabbing onto Dean's arms and pinning him down.

"Stop it! Fuckers! Stop!"

"Dean! It's Sam! It's Sam! Come on, Dean, it's me! Stop!"

Sam's voice and words finally got through and Dean stopped his struggles. "Sam?" he whispered, as if waking from a dream, looking around them. "Sammy?"

"It's okay," Sam soothed. "It's okay." He looked around at the crowd that had gathered and saw that the woman was gone. "She okay?" he asked about her. "What happened?"

Dean shoved Sam off of him and pushed himself up and back against the painted wall, dropping his head into his hands.

The bartender, holding onto the man Dean had fought, replied, "Joe here just went too far with Lisa, again." He shook his head, and then added, "She's okay, though. And we'll send him home."

"Take your friend home," the bouncer put in. "We'll handle this."

"Yeah, you'll handle this," Dean ground out as he got to his feet. Looking at the bartender, bouncer and the remaining crowd, he continued, "The guy should be shot! He was trying to rape her, for crying out loud! What the hell is wrong with you people!"

When Dean lunged for Joe and the bartender, Sam grabbed onto him, holding him by his leather jacket. "Dean…"

"You better take your friend home," the bouncer repeated, menacingly, stepping in front of his coworker.

Sam dragged Dean back, heading toward the alley's entrance, but said, "He's right. A woman was almost raped, and you're just letting this guy get away with it." He shook his head in disgust. "They're not worth it, Dean. Let's get out of here."

Dean finally stopped struggling, broke free of Sam's grip and stalked out of the alley, heading toward their motel.

"We're getting out of this town, Sammy," he said as he entered their room, immediately grabbing his duffel bag.

"Dean…" Sam began, yet not knowing what more to say. He closed the door behind him and stood next to his brother. "Dean, what happened back there?"

"You saw."

Sam took a breath and let it out. "I saw what happened to the woman. What that guy tried to do to her. But what happened to you?" he asked. Then, added, "Tonight," for clarification.

Dean just stood there, silently, staring down at his hands as they toyed with the zipper of his duffel bag.

"Talk to me, big brother," Sam whispered, his heart beating uncontrollably as he charged into the unchartered territory of his brother's emotions. "You weren't there," he went on, cautiously, gently, touching the side of Dean's head. "Back in the alley. You weren't there, tonight. You were back in that other town, at "Davy's," weren't you?" It was a statement, answering his own question.

Sam nearly broke down himself, as the tears welled up in his brother's eyes, as Dean's lips trembled when he whispered, "I couldn't fight them." As Dean looked up and turned his head to meet Sam's gaze, the tears broke free, wetting his cheeks. "I couldn't fight them," he repeated.

Sam could only whisper Dean's name, not finding the words to comfort his brother, and moved his hand toward Dean's shoulder, hoping his physical touch would convey some form of comfort. But Dean just batted it away and stalked toward the other side of the motel room.

"Don't you get it, Sam!" Dean cried. "I couldn't fight them! I couldn't do a damn thing to stop them!" He returned to the bed, retrieved his knife from under the pillow and held it out in front of himself. "Even if I had this with me, I couldn't have used it! I was fucking helpless, Sammy!"

"As helpless as Michael Robertson. And that woman."

Dean stared at Sam, the comparison stopping him cold. He took another look at his knife, tossed it into his duffel bag, and sat down heavily onto the bed, dropping his head into his hands.

Sam sat down next to him, close enough that their shoulders just touched. "You'll get it back; the control," he said. "It's just gonna take some time."

Dean shook his head, closing his eyes as he did so. "I couldn't watch him do that to her. I couldn't let him."

"Of course not," Sam agreed.

"But… I just… I still had no control, Sam," he went on, opening his eyes and looking at Sam again. "Back in that alley, as I was the one doing the fighting, the hurting…"

"They, Todd and Maren, they were still in control?" Sam suggested.

Dean nodded, quietly admitting the truth. "Yeah," he whispered.

Sam tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling as he tried to figure out what to say next. "It's like a car crash," he finally said, his voice low. "You wear your seatbelt, obey the speed limit… but sometimes, out of nowhere, some semi comes along and T-bones you. Nothing you can do. It's totally out of your control." He brought his head back down and forced Dean to look at him. "It wasn't Michael's fault, it wasn't that woman's fault, and it wasn't your fault, Dean." He watched Dean swallow, his brother's Adam's Apple bobbing up and down, as he digested his words.

"I let my guard down," Dean argued, using the same words he'd used earlier in the night.

"Despite what Dad says, we're not soldiers, Dean," Sam countered. "Yeah, we fight the bad guys, and yeah, we might even be better trained than some real soldiers, but that's not whatwe are. Even we need some down time. Hell, you're the one that's always trying to get me to have some fun. You didn't do anything wrong, Dean. We were done with the hunt."

"Took my seatbelt off too soon?" Dean asked going back to Sam's analogy.

Sam knew Dean was going to be okay, now, and went with it. "The car was in the garage, Dean. Shouldn't have needed one," he replied, raising an eyebrow.

"This is already getting really corny, you know that, don't you?"

Sam smiled. "Next thing you know, we'll be parked at a drive-in, watching a chick flick."

Dean dropped back to lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Sam did the same.

"I think we'll just crash here for the night, Sammy. Leave in the morning."

"Sounds good."

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A/N: Thanks so much to my beta readers, Shywalk and November's Guest – your feedback has been invaluable. And thanks to all of you who have reviewed – your feedback has been invaluable, too!