Fanfiction Writing Month: December [1530]

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

After about two weeks in the hospital, Cas was free to go. Dean still had to stay, and obviously, Sam stayed with him. So Amina stayed at Melisende's home so she could keep an eye on them.

Dean and Sam were now so intensely codependent that they could never stop touching one another. When Dean had to have an emergency surgery, Sam screamed and screamed and cried; he threw himself against the wall, thrashing and kicking and punching until they allowed him to be in the room with his brother. He held Dean's hand the entire time, falling asleep against the operating table. Sam's hands… The swelling had gone down, and he could use his left hand a little, barely able to move it. The right hand was still a mess of broken bones and torn ligaments; Dr. Salvador didn't think that he would ever be able to use his pinky and ring finger again.

Eventually, the boys came home, although Dean still had a thick cast on one arm and generally traveled in a wheelchair if he was going long distances. Sam also couldn't use his right hand, and Castiel slept for much longer than usual, going to bed at 8 and waking up at 9 most times.

Everyone at Sonny's was ecstatic that Dean seemed somewhat normal. He ate (although now began to check again if the food was poisoned) and slept through the night, only waking up two or three times due to his nightmares. He didn't want to be touched by anyone other than Sam. Well, he allowed Castiel to hold his hand, and sometimes hug him, but any other touches sent him into a terrified state. Dean only ever wanted Sam to touch him; actually, he never stopped touching Sam. He needed to know Sam was physically there at all times, so he physically held his hand or put an arm around him.

Their recovery was a painstakingly slow process, but eventually it got better. They tossed the wheelchair into the attic, and the boys' stack of medication in the bathroom cabinet dwindled to only pain medication, Dean's antibiotics, and sleeping pills.

It was easier for them to build a safe place for Sam and Dean Winchester, but only slightly. Luckily, they were out of school, but it was almost time for it to start. August was not a good month for either of them. Sam, when frustrated with his crippled hands, would kick and shove and scream, but when Sonny or Amina tried to come closer to help him, he would start crying and pleading for his father not to hurt him. Also, the lawyers and police continued to press into the boys' life, wanting answers about what had happened. Needless to say, Dean and Sam could not talk about what happened, even through sign. Jaime told them everything he knew, but it was not enough. Castiel only remembered waking to see Dean in pain and John raising a belt to Sam.

Fortunately, the boys didn't have to attend the actual trial; Lee McCarthy, John's accomplice, was arrested and sentenced three life sentences in prison for attempted murder, child abduction, kidnapping, torture, false imprisonment, illegal possession of firearms, use of firearm to resist arrest, administering chloroform, wounding with the intent to cause grievous bodily harm, and cruelty to persons under sixteen. It didn't look like he'd be getting out unless in a coffin.

They also didn't attend John's funeral; when Sonny mentioned it to them, Dean shut down and Sam hyperventilated until he passed out.

The Winchesters didn't start school again until January; Sonny's boys came and went, all except Dean, Sam, Cas, Jaime, and Andy. Each of them had nowhere to go and were unlikely candidates for adoption due to their age. In November, when they were considering sending the boys back to school, Sonny overheard a conversation he never expected to hear: Sam and Dean fighting. Sonny had already spoken to them about the possibility; Sam was ready, and Dean was not.

Shockingly, their conversation was almost entirely in English. Dean was at the piano; he usually went there if he'd had a difficult dream or flashback. Sam approached his brother. "Dean?"

Dean no longer needed constant physical reassurance of his brother's whereabouts. He continued to play, slipping into something melodic and peaceful. "Yeah, kiddo?"

"You remember what Sonny said...about going back to school?" Sam's feet moved of their own mind, pacing and stepping anxiously.

"Yeah?"

"Well...I was thinking...maybe we could."

Dean's answer was quick and simple. "No."

Sam stopped shuffling. "Wh-what?"

"You heard me, Sammy. No."

Sam cleared his throat. "Listen, Dean, if I could just—"

"No."

"Dean—"

"No."

"Dean, could you stop playing for just one second and look at me?"

Dean spun around on the piano bench, his fingers itching to return to the keys. "Fine." He signed NO, quickly and with obvious anger. "I said no."

"But Dean—"

"No means no, Sammy! How many times do I have to say it for you to understand? We're not going back there!"

Sam had prepared several counter-arguments for this conversation. "Dean, what are we going to do here? Sit around the house all day?"

"Kathy can tutor us, Sam."

"Not forever! She doesn't know everything. Sure, in English and history, but what about science and math? Et non doceb it nos usque in sempiternum!" She can't teach us forever!

"Scis, Sammy!" I know, Sammy! Dean was growing more anxious by the minute. "But for now, we're staying here, do you understand me? I non dimittam te, Sam! Non possum, non..." I won't let you, Sam! I can't, I can't…

"Dean, there's nothing to be afraid of! It's just school, it's just—"

"It's dangerous, Sammy. I have to protect you, got it? So I say we're not going back."

Sam frowned. "There's nothing dangerous there, Dean. It's not like before. With Dad—"

Dean's body language changed drastically at the word. "Nee illi." It was one of Dean's more common Latin phrases: don't call him that.

"Sorry. With him, it was different, I know, but here it's safe. Sonny will keep us safe; Cas will be there. I don't understand what you're so afraid of! We went before, and then it was fine." Dean's gaze darkened. "What's wrong with you?"

"Do you remember anything about your time with Sir?" Dean said, his voice low. "Don't you remember what he said about Mr. Lee?"

"The big guy?"

"Yeah."

"No, Dean." / I remember him hurting me and not much else."

Dean's fists tightened. "He worked at the school, Sammy. He'd been watching us for weeks. Weeks! He saw Cas and me, he saw you…"

"That's over now, though. It's been over, Dean! We're safe now! Lee's in prison, Dad—"

"I told you not to call him that!"

Suddenly, Sam snapped. "Dean, Dad's dead! You can go ahead and say it as many times as you want! You don't have to call him 'sir' anymore! He's gone!" Dean tried to interrupt him, but Sam continued, undeterred. "There's no more boot camp, Dean, and no more being afraid that he'll come and take us away! We're gonna be okay!"

"Have you forgotten what he did to you, Sammy? Those scars will never fade!"

"The scars show I've survived, Dean! Dad is dead, and he can't hurt us anymore!"

Dean pushed the sheet music off of the piano, upset. "I have to protect you, Sam! This isn't just about him! When he took you away, I lost you! I couldn't—I couldn't—" His voice broke. "I have to protect you! From them, okay? From every monster, every person outside of this house—"

Sam was angry now. "I'm not four years old anymore, Dean! I'm not a kid anymore!"

"You—"

"I'm twelve years old, Dean, and you can't keep me inside this house forever! You act like I'm gonna trip and fall onto a knife or something; you walk around me like I'm made of glass, but bene sum! I know you're scared after what happened with Dad, but it's over now! It's over!"

Bene sum meant I'm fine, but the words only seemed to make Dean more panicked for his brother's wellbeing. "Sam, it's not that simple—"

"Of course it's simple, Dean! The danger's gone—"

"The danger's gone? Are you listening to yourself? You sound like some of the civilians we worked with, Sam! There's danger everywhere, around every single friggin' corner, and you say it's fine? There are still the… the… monsters of the world just waiting for you to take a wrong turn, Sammy! It's never safe!"

"Don't you think I know that? I'm not an idiot, Dean! I know exactly how to get rid of monsters and how to take care of myself. You're treating me like a little kid!"

"You are a little kid, Sammy!"

Sam raged. "No, I'm not! And you're not my parent, so quit acting like it!"

Dean stopped; his angry hands fell to his sides. He looked, dumbfounded, at his little brother.

Sam suddenly felt a rush of guilt flood his chest; "Wait," he said, but Dean was already leaving the room. "Dean, wait!"

Then Dean started to run.