Previously:

"Denton. He's….."

"DEAD, Sam." Dean knew Sam's memory was returning and that, as anyone would be, he was afraid. "He's dead and he's NEVER hunting anything ever again."

Sam closed his eyes appearing to have fallen asleep, but inside he remained awake for quite a while as the memories of his torture at the hands of the seasoned old hunter became painfully vivid. Sam had never known that kind of physical pain coupled with the emotional like that and though he knew the hunter had been warped, he couldn't help but feel like maybe he was a "supernatural" and worry that maybe that part, growing up inside of him, would one day reveal itself to be everything Denton claimed it would be. Too tired to go any further with that thought, Sam drifted off to a medicated sleep looking once again for the peaceful land of oblivion.

Chapter 13

Dean sat quietly awake in his chair watching Sam supposedly sleeping. Dean knew his little brother well enough to know Sam wasn't really sleeping, well at least not at first anyway. Sam's sleeping was much more active, with tossing and turning a given. No, Sam had shut down. Why? Dean wasn't quite sure. His immediate thought… Denton. Not knowing whether it was better to let his brother have some time to sift through the rubble of the demolition site of his heart or whether he should speak up, Dean placed his hand on Sam's unbroken arm to assure him that he was there if he needed him, and just sat quietly keeping his vigil as his own thoughts began to consume him.

Having spent most of his time and energies focused on Sam and his well being the last week or so, he'd had little time to sort through what happened or acknowledge the effect it had had on himself. Now, sitting quietly watching his brother, wondering what his thoughts might be, the flood gates swung violently open and his fears began pouring down over him like a tsunami: powerful, unexpected, and devastating.

Denton had frightened Dean on all kinds of levels.

On the first level, he had made it very real that Sam was indeed supernatural…not in the evil sense of the word by any means as Denton had concluded, hell there wasn't a single evil bone is Sam's entire body, never had been, never would be, but supernatural in the "special" sense. Dean was fully aware of Sammy's "special-ness" in the form of his visions, but the connection to being "supernatural" had never been made before in his mind. Dean feared there were other Dentons out there who might misunderstand his supernatural abilities and try to hunt his little brother again. The thought frightened him deeply. Denton had been brutal, cruel, malicious, and hateful and his brother had suffered mercilessly under his control and Dean could not tolerate his brother ever suffering such an atrocity again.

Dean's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a deep breath being slowly taken in and stressfully released. He shifted his hand slightly on Sam's arm to remind him he was there, and could only hope that Sam was wearing a hard hat in the construction site of his mind. He wished he could walk the site with him, clearing the path of fallen debris out of his way as he walked, but Sam was choosing to walk the site alone and all that Dean could do was watch. His thoughts began to wander back to Denton as he tried to come to terms with all that had happened and how it had effected him.

Denton had initiated another fear as well, the fear that he might someday follow down the dark path the old hunter had taken. He had been a noble hunter, years ago, a little rough around the edges, but a descent huntsman fighting against evil for the sake of those who needed his protection. He had actually been admirable, willing to risk himself for the cause much like Dean was now. But somewhere, Denton had fallen off of humanity's plane of existence and stumbled into the abyss he was so desperately trying to destroy. Dean couldn't help but wonder if it was inevitable for all who spend a life time hunting, studying, immersing, and surrounding themselves with evil. Dean had been immersed since he was 4 when he had been thrown head first into the murky waters of the supernatural deep; Denton plunged into its depths when his mom became a vampire when he was ten. Both had been submerged at an early age and Dean couldn't help but wonder if he, like Denton, might get drown on his way to the surface.

He had felt the waters nearly overtake him several times before. He had been ready to kill Max and Roy for the sake of the cause having determined both to be using the dark forces of evil for their own bidding. Then there was Meg and her 'brother'; he didn't even flinch and found himself bordering on detesting the kill and being satisfied by it. Finally, there was Denton. Dean was glad the bastard had forced his hand and really did enjoy watching his life drain from him. Was it justifiable to enjoy killing something that was hurting your loved ones or was this the start of the same path Denton had begun years earlier, the drowning Dean so desperately feared?

Dean reassured himself that whenever he had stepped anywhere near the edge of humanity's plane, Sam had always pulled him back to safety. Sam always seemed to keep his plumb line straight….to remind him of the value of life and to step in when Dean needed to be redirected. It was a comfort to know that his little brother would always be with him making sure he made it to the surface where his humanity lay.

Dean looked upon his brother appreciatively, so glad he was there and able to be looked upon. He watched the slow and steady rise of Sam's chest which now indicated he was no longer awake, but had fallen asleep. Dean knew that sleep was not always peaceful for Sam either, but it had to be better than being alone in his mind with Denton. Dean felt sorry for his little brother; there was no peace in being awake and even less when he slept.

The thought of Sam's nightmares and visions tugged at Dean's already full heart as he feared what Sam's powers ultimately meant. His brother's visions created a fear in him...not of Sammy, like Denton had, he would never fear his own brother, but for Sammy. The demon had plans for him and that scared the shit out Dean. He feared that the demon might try to turn Sam and he feared what it might do to him when it tried. Denton assumed the demon would be successful and that Sam was evil simply because he would become evil, as if he were a larva, a beginning developmental stage of a creature yet to be, and was destined to become evil once full grown. Dean didn't believe that. He believed Sammy was good and that evil would be swallowed up in the end by Sam and not vice-versa. Still, Dean feared what Sam would go through in the process and what the final cost would be.

Dean turned his head towards the night stand he had haphazardly placed next to him when he'd taken up his residency at his brother's side. The clock on its table top brightly announced 3 a.m. , it's soft green lights claiming all was well. He turned off the light over Sam's bed, covered his sleeping form loosely with the white hospital blanket that was askew on top from the tossing and turning his brother was inflicting upon it. It almost looked as if it would have abandoned ship had it not been neatly tucked under and cornered at the ends. Then Dean sat back down, slouched into his comfortable sleeping position, more like uncomfortable to be honest, and leaned his head back against the dented wooden border of his tacky orange chair.

Dean couldn't believe that even though dead, Denton still continued to play chess with him in his mind, with his thoughts. At lease Sam was safe. He hadn't recalled the chess match so evilly strategize by the supposed chess master, at least not fully…at least not yet. Having watched Sam shut down not too long ago, he wasn't sure anymore. Dean could only imagine what Denton had said to Sam those many hours he was held captive and he prayed to God that Sammy would never recollect any of it. It had seemed for a time to have been wiped clean from his mind. A protective thing the mind does when it experiences trauma the doctor said. Trauma.. … God, Dean hated Denton. His only hope, no prayer, was that Sam would continue to remain oblivious at least to most of what took place and be able to put it behind him. He couldn't imagine his little brother having to deal with the memory if it should fully return.

Hours later, having wandered the empty corridors of his mind searching for understanding that had been locked behind what seemed impenetrable doors, Dean was feeling like he had found a few keys. The first one unlocked the shackle that had temporarily chained him to a destiny like Denton's. Sam always was and always would be his plumb line, keeping him on the straight and narrow path of fighting for the right cause. He need not fear his path's future because he would not be walking it alone.

The second key had been harder to find but brought Dean tremendous peace and an even stronger sense of purpose. He need not fear what Sam's powers meant for Sam. He knew in his heart that Sam was good and that his powers would be used for good. It was who Sam was and the only thing Sam would ever do. The powers weren't something to be feared but embraced as the very tools used in the fight against evil. Sam would defeat evil and not the other way around, Dean was confident of it and it renewed Dean's sense of purpose…to protect Sam and make sure he was successful in the skirmishes along the way. He wasn't sure on what scale the battle would be fought, but he knew his brother's gifts were going to be the weapon's used to win.

Dean's eyelids slowly began to droop as the night shift began its final rounds. Still, he pressed on trying to finish his final thoughts.

His last fear, brought on by Denton's cruelty, was that Sam's supernatural-ness came with a price and Dean feared the price would be his life. He had almost lost his life for being supernatural once and the unknown future seemed to loom threatening over him. Dean could bear almost anything but that...

Finally, having exhausted himelf completely from his labyrinth of thoughts, Dean fell into a deep restful sleep.

Sam on the other hand wasn't as fortunate.

Somewhere in the darkness of the hospital room, a dream eerily wormed its way into Sam's unsuspecting mind. The nightmare began as most often do….darkness hanging heavily, gripping fear, and the feeling that something dreadful was about to happen. This nightmare was no different. Sam was hanging helplessly chained to a ceiling while Denton circled, mercilessly inflicting pain upon his helpless exposed body. Torturous instruments repeatedly sliced through his flesh while warm blood dripped down his throbbing chest. Then there was the sound of his ribs being shattered as a tire iron beat mercilessly on his rib cage and the snap of his arm as the bone splintered into pieces when one blow had missed its mark. Denton's words were scattered throughout the nightmare- maliciously spoken, dripping with hatred and disgust… "evil, abomination, must be destroyed, punished-then there was more pain…to his eyes, his head…more blood as his skin was sliced and peeled layer by painful layer. Midway through the nightmare, Sam had suspected it was a dream but though he struggled and struggled, he was powerless to wake himself. Trapped in his nightmare with no means of escape, he finally screamed his brother's name in desperation hoping somehow Dean could get him out.

"DEAN!" Sam screamed terrifyingly as he bolted awake in a cold sweat.

"Sammy?" Dean sat up awakened from his sleep.

"DEEEAN!" Sam begged frantically unaware of his brother's presence.

"SAM! What's wrong!" Dean hollered as he jumped up out of his chair hearing his brother's painful scream for help.

Dean grabbed on to his brother's trembling arms, confusion and panic streaming from his eyes. Trying desperately to make eye contact and settle his brother's trembling body, he begged, "Please, tell me what's wrong! Is it a vision?"

It wasn't until Sam was fully awake that he realized it had been more than just a bad dream. It was a memory, his memory returning to him in that sleepy state between sleep and arousal. The injuries on his body confirmed his suspicions, his scars matching the injuries inflicted in the dream. The nightmare had been real.

Sam's face reflected back the sheer horror he was feeling inside as he stared back at his brother and pulled his arms tightly against his trembling body .

"Sammy! Talk to me!" "Is it your chest? Are you in pain!"

Sam shuddered with fear and then his stomach started to heave uncontrollably. He struggled out of his bed in an attempt to get to the bathroom.

"Where're we going, Sammy?" Dean questioned, his movements synchronized with Sam's.

Dean tried to make eye contact with Sam and help him; he was willing to do anything, anything. Something terrible was happening but Dean had no clue what it was or how to help.

"SAM?" he questioned when he got no response.

"Gonna be sick" Sam choked out.

Dean tried desperately to aid his brother in his panicked attempt to make it there in time.

"Hold on, I'll help you." He placed his brother's unbroken arm over his shoulders and wrapped his arm around his waist.

"Ah!" Sam gasped as his brother's touch pained him.

Dean recoiled immediately fearing he'd hurt his brother further.

Sam stumbled awkwardly, his legs barely able to hold him up, desperately trying to make it to the restroom. Dean helplessly followed his brother shadowing him with his hands without actually touching him just in case he should fall.

Unfortunately, part way their, Sam's battle with his stomach was lost and he threw up. The violence with which he expelled his stomach contents tore through the tender stitches that held his broken body together causing a wave of pain to shoot through him that forced him to his knees.

"Ah …. God……" Sam cried out desperately trying to work through the pain.

"What can I do? Tell me what to do! Dean begged.

Dean felt absolutely helpless. He struggled to help Sam down but was powerless to do little more. He was afraid to touch him, afraid to inflict any pain on his already suffering sibling. When he pulled back his hand, it was wet.

"What the f…..?"

Dean looked back at Sam where he'd touched him. Blood had started oozing through his hospital gown where the stitches had torn.

"Shit!" Dean swore as he began to check over his little brother's body in fear.

"Help! I need help in here! Somebody help!" Dean cried.

"God, Sammy," Dean exhaled as he saw his brothers and his whole world falling apart around him.

Sam's body appeared to dissolve before Dean's eyes as it sunk slowly into a puddle on the hospital floor; Dean's heart dissolved right along with it.

Sam felt his world fading. His stomach hurt, his arm throbbed, his ribs were excruciating, his skin screamed in pain. He had to consciously force himself to breath slowly in and out regardless of the pain. It was almost like he was reliving it. He could still hear Denton's voice in his head…seething as he spit his venomous words at Sam in anger- words that cut deeper and more painfully than the knife the sick hunter was holding in his blood stained hand. It wasn't long before tears began falling uncontrollably down his paled face dripping into the fabric of his hospital gown and dropping mournfully to the floor.

Dean placed his hand gently on Sam's shoulder. Seeing his brother's tears...he knew.

"Damn" Dean exhaled..

He knew what was happening and why and his tears joined his brother's on the cold hospital floor.

The hospital room became a flurry of activity as Sam's condition was quickly evaluated. Sam, broken inside and out, reached out his hand searching for his brother's, needing to know he was there and that he wasn't alone.

"dean…" Sam uttered in barely a whisper.

Dean's hand slid quickly into his little brother's and offered a reassuring squeeze. He leaned in between two of the nurses as they worked.

"I'm here little brother." Dean whispered down close to his ear.

Sam turned his overly pale face toward his brother as the staff readied him for triage. His eyes were hollow and defeated, his body covered once again with bloody lines. His long brown hair was stuck to his face where his tears had dried; more tears threatened to be on their way.

Dean held on to Sam's hand as tightly as he dared to, his eyes reassuringly and compassionately glued to his little brother's as they wheeled his gurney through the hallway to triage. The hospital staff separated the brothers at the entrance, but their eyes remained locked until the doors cruelly blocked their view. Dean peered through the small square window trying to keep up his contact with his little brother, but it was impossible. Sam had already lost consciousness.