Okay - so here we go again.

I kept writing, and stuff came out.

I need to send a serious thanks to melja for reading and sending me feedback over the past few days - couldn't have gotten this done without you!

And thanks to everyone else who read and reviewed. I'm being serious when I say that these chapters would not exhist if the reviews weren't coming with encouragment and discussion. - not to mention the occational, but blatant begging for more : )

As for the story - much like the first two chapters this chapter hooks up to episode 3 - Bloodlust, so there are definate spoilers. But more importatnly, unlike chapters 1 & 2 where I sort of tag from one spot in the episode, chapter 3 skips around trhought all of Bloodlust - so you sort of need to know the episode if you're gonna read this chapter.

I try to include enough set up each time I skip to a new section just to make sure it's clear where we're at. Hopefully it is. That said, there is some dialogue directly from the episode towards the end - I indicated that dialogue with both quotes and itallics.

So enough lead in - here ya go -

Decisions In Blood

Ch 3

You can't… you can't… Sam pulled his arm hard to his chest. Last time it was for him… this wouldn't be for him… this would destroy him.

Sam leaned his head back against the trunk of the car and looked briefly to the sky, realizing. After a moment he pulled his eyes shut, grabbed at his scalp, and dropped his head forward as he let the voices come.

Dean stood at a distance watching his brother suffer from an obscured view. I can't… I can't… He thought harshly. Dean turned away. He had smashed out the window, he had smashed in the car. It felt good, it felt like relief. He had his own way of dealing. Different from his brother's, but it worked, it worked for him. His way would be time, time to cope, time to recover, time to fight: punch after punch, stab after stab, shot after shot, whatever it took. However long, however hard, his grief would work its way out. It had to. It had to. And Sammy couldn't be any part of that. He just couldn't. Dean's face tightened as he glanced back at his brother.

I don't care that he needs me; he always needs me. I'll do what I said. Keep my promise. Watch out for him. But grieve with him? Open up and give him what he… god damn it, Sammy! Dean's fists drew tight as his thoughts progressed. He can't fix me! He can't solve me! He can't save me! Look at him. He can't even save himself! Yet he keeps marching over here, throwing out hooks, and thinking I'll bite. I won't bite! I won't hook! I won't grieve the way he wants me to! He needs to get that into his fucking head!

Dean continued to watch as his brother almost on cue began punching his fist into the side of his head.

There ya go Sammy, pound it in. Pound my message into your fucking head, cause I'm tired of trying to make myself clear. I don't need you to save me, and I don't have the energy to save you. This isn't for you to fix, and if your way of grieving is by trying to fix me, than you'd better go find another vice, cause you can't push your grief into me, the way I've been pushing mine into that car.

Christ, what did I do to the fucking car?

Dean crouched into his fighting stance and threw the punches down hard. Sam had gotten Gordon clear of the saw, and that meant it was all him, him and the vampire. He stood on the dock at the mill and immersed himself into each swing. He felt the bone break beneath his fist, and reveled in the wet cracking sound it made. He grabbed the saw, and brought it down slowly, pressing all his strength into it, thrilled that he could give it that extra shove when it hesitated at the stubbornness of the bones. Blood splattered his face like mud stomped up playfully during a childish romp in the rain, and that's almost what it was like. Like re-discovering a childhood game he'd forgotten he loved.

Sam's breath stopped as he gazed at his brother. He could still see the crowbar in his hands, he could still hear the pounding of metal in his head. This was no fixable, replaceable, hunk of metal, this was something that felt pain and suffering. This was different, but the anger was exactly the same. Sam wanted that anger, Dean's anger, he wanted it brought onto himself full force. Sam stood on the dock and gave Dean the criticizing stare he knew he was suppose to, but inside… he just wanted that anger. If anger was all Dean had to give, then that's what Sam planned to take.

Sam sat on the bed in the motel room. He had blown out of the bar in his usual huff towards Dean. It wasn't much, but it was a beginning. He didn't need to fake how he felt. He was flat out pissed. Pissed at his brother, pissed at Gordon, pissed at the whole damn situation. Always the outsider, he'd sat with the other men listening to them gloat and reminisce about good times which had only happened about sixty minutes earlier. What the fuck? Sam thought. He didn't like Gordon, and he didn't trust Gordon, and the fact that Dean was buddying up, and throwing the guy in his face like some poster child for hunters, only fueled the anger Sam planned on using to bait his brother.

Sam did his own reminiscing. He pictured the punches flying as they had at the mill, just as hard, just as vengeful, just as damaging, but each landing on him. Punch after relentless punch Dean would beat him, beat him to a bloody mess. He would put up a fight, he would have to, but only enough to keep Dean going, only enough to keep him invested. He had a plan, and he would carry it through no matter what it took, anything… anything just to get Dean to touch him. Just touch him.

Sam dropped back onto the bed. His head hurt like hell, it seemed to always hurt like hell. He shut his eyes and dug his knuckles into his skull. He could feel them coming, the voices, his damn voices. They were so distinct, each representing a different side of him. They were nothing more than his own internal voices, and this simple fact mislead him to believe he could control them, he could silence them. He couldn't…

…what the fuck do you think your planning, Sam? You can't do this to him.

You have to do this to him.

I can't take this. Just go away!

…if you force Dean to brutalize you to the severity you need…

It won't stop otherwise, it won't go away.

Shut up! Get the fuck out of my head! I can't think straight!

…he'll only fall deeper.

It's the only way to make it stop.

Please make it stop… I can't… I can't anymore…

…he'll hate himself more than he already does.

This is the only way. The only way to silence it.

Please silence it…. just… make it stop!

…it'll be your fault, Sam. You'll have done it to him.

You have to do it to him.

I can't do it to him… I… I…

…to your own brother.

It's this or the blade. You decide.

I did decide!

…both will destroy him, but if you make it at his own hand…

Decide Sam.

"No!"

…decide.

Decide…

"NO!" Sam screamed and rolled off the bed onto the floor. He knelt on the carpet banging his head into the side of the mattress, screaming into his head for it to stop.

...leave your brother the fuck out of it.

You can't handle this much longer…

"I KNOW THAT! " Sam screamed at the room as he stood and moved to the dresser. "Don't you think I fucking know that!" He grabbed his bag and rummaged through it. "And I will… I'll leave him alone!" Sam pulled a small bottle of prescription painkillers from his bag. "I'll fucking leave Dean alone, just… leave me alone!" He grabbed the short tumbler style motel glass from the side dresser and stumbled into the bathroom. He filled it with water, and set it down on the sink.

"Ahhh." Sam gasped and pressed the back of his hand into his temple. "It hurts," he cried. "Why the fuck does it hurt like this? So much?" Sam weakened momentarily, then shook it off. He pushed down on the safety lid to the pills with his palm and twisted. The damn things wouldn't open. "Fuck!" He pressed on the bottle again. He had no idea how they'd acquired them, he didn't really give a shit, he'd found them in their supply of meds, and they were the only thing that seemed to help his headaches. Sam kept pressing and twisting, but the bottle wouldn't cooperate.

…you're right to leave Dean out of it.

You still need to fix it, to find a way.

"Shut the fuck…" suddenly the lid twisted open, and taking the bottle with it, popped completely out of Sam's hands. "NO!" Over half the pills burst into the sink. "No…" Sam gazed at the pills. He needed them, they were all that helped, and now the greater part of his supply was melting in the sink. "Shit!"

Sam picked up his usual dosage of two, threw them into his throat, washed them down with the water, then looked back down.

The small red pills shined up at him all bright and bleeding into the wet sink.

Sam picked up two more and swallowed. He stood staring at the rest, absorbing, processing, the pain… the fucking pain. Sam ran his hand through the sink skimming up the remainder of the pills, then threw them into his mouth, licking the bitter remains off his palms in a furious panic. There were at least twenty, and he would need to take more. He held them in his mouth, then tilted his head back and dumped the remainder of the bottle onto his tongue.

Sam stared at himself in the mirror, holding the pills in his mouth, and the water in his hand. Another voice entered his head, a voice that wasn't like the others.

Sam what are you doin'?

Dean?

Sam what are you doin'?

Going crazy. Putting a stop to going crazy.

No Sam, not like this.

I… I have to, Dean.

No Sam, not like this.

I can't feel this way anymore, Dean. I can't spit these out.

You can… and you will!

Dean's voice slammed into his head hard and before he knew what he was doing, Sam found himself leaning over the trash can spitting the pills from his mouth. He hurled them out, then gazed longingly at their remains. They lined the can in a messy spattering of white chalky clumps. Small bits of them still wore their red coating, but most of that had either bled out onto the sink, or melted away in Sam's mouth. He could taste it, bitter and vile. Sam shifted his focus to the taste in his mouth, then began to gag. Coughing and spitting he pushed himself off the floor and bolted out of the room, then out of the motel.

Sam pulled the door shut, then fell against it and slid down to the floor. What the fuck was that? He questioned. Dean's voice, it was too clear, too real, and those words… they were… I've heard those words.

Sam shook it off. No… no… just forget it. Just… Sam ran his mouth along his sleeve, wiping the remaining spit and pill residue away. As he did, the fabric pushed along his arm, up towards his elbow, revealing his scars. They were almost gone, all that remained were four faint lines. He hadn't done it. Hadn't reopened them when he had the chance, and now, should he choose that exit, he'd be forced to return to the blade. But he wasn't going to choose that, he wasn't going to cut, he wasn't going to bait Dean, and he wasn't going to swallow pills. Sam pulled his sleeve over his scars, then rolled his head back against the door. He looked up at the clear night sky, laughing slightly as his eyes glazed over with tears. I'm stuck, he thought with a sigh, I'm really stuck.

Sam was sick of this. He was done for the night. He stood, brushed his tears away, shook off the remaining pain, and headed towards the soda machine. He needed something to wash the putrid pill taste out of his mouth.

"You're good. You're a monster pain in the ass, but you're good," Dean somewhat complimented his brother upon realizing Sam had figured out exactly how to get back to the nest, even though he'd been blindfolded.

Dean tried to wrap his head around what had happened in the past few hours. All he had done was toss Sam the keys and let him leave the bar, let him leave the bar to go be his normal, broody, above having a good time, self. That was less than a few hours ago and in the time which passed, Dean had returned to the motel to find it empty, spent a good twenty minutes with Gordon silently worrying about the fact that Sam wasn't there, and when Sam finally did show up, greeted his brother with a fight and a punch. His brother had been kidnapped by vampires, and now they were on route to chase Gordon down and if Sam had his way help those vampires?

Dean drove the Impala down the dark night road, following his brothers directions to the nest. It wasn't a long drive, but it was quiet, and Dean entrenched himself in that quiet as he tried to wrap his head around not the events of the night, but the events of the past ten minutes.

What the hell happened back there? Dean questioned himself. You punched him. You swore you wouldn't take it out on him, and then you just straight out punch him, and you were proud of it. Idiot. Dean paused, then continued, playing both sides. It's not like he wasn't asking for it. He was seriously asking for it. I mean that crap he said, even if it were true… well some of it was true… the hole was true. But that shit about replacing Dad with Gordon? That was a big damn leap. I could see if I'd been hanging with the guy for a couple of months, but it was a few damn hours. What the hell was he thinking saying that shit? It was like he was trying to provoke… me…

A cold shiver ran down Dean's neck. Holy shit. He wanted me to hit him.

Sam sighed as he studied the map, and Dean glanced over. Sam could feel Dean staring at him, he was sure of it. He turned quickly, but as he did, Dean turned away, setting his eyes back on the road. Sam hesitated, then returned reluctantly and suspiciously to his map.

Sam stood just outside the truck watching the sunrise, thinking about how different this morning would be if vampires really were 'allergic' to daylight. But they weren't, and so the large group of docile vampires he had spent the night helping pack and prepare to get out of town would get in their vehicles and flee via a sun flooded street.

Sam sighed, stepped up to the back door of the truck, and opened it.

"Hey," he said peering inside with a friendly smile. Lenore was in the back seat, slumped against the far door, resting, recovering. She returned his smile.

"Hi, Sam," she said weakly. "Sit down for a minute?" She lightly patted the seat next to her.

Sam stepped inside and sat down. He took a good look at her. She was still weak, but her wounds were already healing. It seemed like she'd be okay.

"How ya feeling?" He asked, genuinely concerned.

"I'll live… thank you for that," she said.

"You don't need to thank me," he insisted. "I just… I'm sorry you got hurt."

"Sam, you had no control over what Gordon did, you only had control over what you did, and you listened. Thank you for listening to us. Thank you for believing us." Sam heard her out, then smiled, feeling sort of good for what he'd done.

"You're welcome," he gave in. The moment the words exited his mouth, Lenore leaned forward, wrapped her arms around him, and pulled him into a hug.

Sam tensed at first, the feeling was so damn foreign to him, he'd forgotten what it felt like to be held, actually held. A strange shivering wave rippled through him, and as he shut his eyes, he suddenly found himself gripping his arms around her, squeezing her closer. A shudder of relief passed through him, and he gasped slightly. What are you doing? He thought, suddenly panicked. He abruptly pulled away.

Lenore leaned back into her seat, from the look on her face, she had clearly noticed something was up.

"You okay?" She asked in a gentle, nurturing tone.

"Yeah… yeah…" Sam blew it off. "I'm fine," he said shaking his head. Lenore smiled slightly, and lured his eyes to face her.

"Ya know, Sam…" she began slowly, "back at the house, when Eli and I had you tied to that chair, and we were discussing what we planned to do with you… I noticed the strangest thing." There was a long pause of silence between them, as Lenore stared him down in a calculating manner.

"Yeah, what was that?" Sam finally prompted.

"When I leaned forward and said we were going to let you go, return you unhurt, without a mark on you, I could have sworn I saw… disappointment in your eyes."

Sam held his gaze as he swallowed a thick knot of air. Shit, he thought. Shit. A feeling of both fear and relief pulsed through his chest.

"I um…" he fumbled awkwardly, then dropped his words and shook his head as if he didn't know what she was talking about.

Lenore studied him: his bottom lip trembled, his eyes gave away everything. He was holding back, he was hurting so bad inside he had no idea what to make of it. There wasn't much she could do given their relationship and the little time they had. She did what she could.

"It's okay Sam," she said soothingly, "you need to trust things will be okay."

Sam gagged slightly as his chest restricted upon hearing her words. His eyes glazed with tears, which he skillfully held back. Sam fidgeted uncomfortably, then retreated to staring hard at the floor. He pushed a couple of breaths out his nose trying to steady himself, then brought his head back up, and looking her square in the eyes, lip stiff, nodded firmly. Lenore simply cocked her head, she wasn't through with him.

"That was a pretty lame fight you tried to pick with Eli," she continued. Sam stared at her, knowing exactly what she meant.

"Yeah," he finally admitted, slightly laughing at his stupidity. "Yeah it really was. I um… tough talk isn't exactly my thing."

"It showed," she said bluntly.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, slightly embarrassed. "Yeah."

Lenore gazed at him, then reached up and unexpectedly placed her hand on the side of his face. Sam glanced to where she was touching him, then nervously looked her in the eyes.

"Sam," she said, her tone serious, "the next time you try to pick a fight, I won't be there to put a stop to it." She gave him a reprimanding stare, in hope of solidify her point. "Be careful." Sam nodded quickly, then turned away.

"I gotta go," he said stepping from the truck. Sam grabbed the door, paused, glancing at her one last time, and as he nodded goodbye, pushed the door shut.

"When I killed that vampire at the mill I didn't even think about it, hell I even enjoyed it," Dean admitted.

"You didn't kill Lenore," Sam retuned.

"No, but every instinct told me to, I was gonna kill her, I was gonna kill them all."

"Yeah Dean, but you didn't," Sam said pointedly, "and that's what matters."

"Yeah…"

Dean stood leaning against the driver's side door, arms on the roof, absorbing his brother's words as Sam watched him from the other side of the car. Throw him a bone, Dean urged himself, he's trying to help you. Hell, he is helping you.

"Because you're a pain in my ass," Dean finally returned. Sam smirked and shook his head. There ya go, Dean silently triumphed, ya got him to smile.

"Guess I might have to stick around and be a pain in the ass then," Sam joked.

"Thanks," Dean suddenly added, surprising not just his brother, but himself.

"Don't mention it." Sam glanced at him, then got into the car.

Dean stayed where he was, leaning, thinking.

He seems okay. Maybe he wasn't baiting me to punch him back at the motel. Maybe I'm just reading into it. He didn't punch me back. He didn't punch me just now. If he wanted to fight me, he had two chances. He didn't act on either of them. But if he doesn't want to fight, than what the hell does he want? Dean stared at the spot just in front of the steps to the house, thinking it through. He knows what's in you. He saw you with the crowbar, and you saw the look in his eyes after you killed that vamp. Dean tensed. God Sammy, please don't tell me that's what you want. He dropped his eyes downward, and turned away, it just wasn't something he wanted to believe.

Inside the car Sam tried to collect himself. He had put on a smile, consoled his brother, and even felt a small amount of hope when Dean thanked him, but the moment he sat in the car, the voices rushed and consumed him, calling him on all the shit he had pulled in the last several hours, all the shit he shouldn't have pulled. Sam stared at the bandage on his left arm, and ran his fingers across it longingly. He couldn't describe it any other way, when Gordon had cut him, it felt good. He had decided not to cut, he had decided not to bait Dean into beating him, yet in some small way last night he had managed to cross the line with both demons. Neither had helped, the brevity of both the cut and punch had only left him more wanting, more tortured, more lost.

Dean pulled open the driver's side door and got in.

"So, back to the motel to pick up our stuff and then breakfast?" Dean suggested, food sounding more important than sleep.

"Sounds like a plan," Sam said, snapping back into conversation.

"Alright, let's go then." Dean stepped on the gas and headed the car down the long, dirt road, as Sam turned to the window, intentionally hiding his face from his brother. He gazed at himself in the side view mirror. He had no idea what he was going to do, other than simply let it get worse.

Fifteen minutes later Dean pulled into the motel parking lot. He brought the Impala to a halt in front of their room, shut the car off, and turned to his brother.

"You wanna check us out, I'll get our stuff?"

"Sure," Sam agreed. "Meet you back here." Both men got out of the car and went their designated ways. Sam heading off towards the office, as Dean unlocked and entered their room.

There wasn't much stuff to grab, they hadn't even slept there. Dean pulled Sam's bag from the dresser, retrieved his own from the floor, and threw them both onto one of the beds. He glanced the room for stray objects, then headed into the bathroom.

The light was on and the door was slightly ajar. It was odd, but as he stepped inside he realized this was the first time he'd been in it. Like the main room, he glanced around checking for their stuff. There seemed to be nothing. Then, as he began to walk out, he spotted something on the floor near the toilet.

Dean knelt and retrieved a small empty pill bottle. He stared at it for a moment, recognizing it as something from their medical supplies, then noticed the inside of the trash can. It was coated with a mess of chalky, partially dissolved pills. Dean glanced out of the room, contemplating. He wouldn't. He just wouldn't.

Dean stood, tossed the bottle into the trash, and turned to leave. He had only made it one step when his eyes caught site of the sink. He froze momentarily as his first thought was that the fading red stains which streaked the white porcelain were blood, then realized the color was from the pills. Dean relaxed as it hit him, this was a good thing. The pills had obviously dissolved in the sink. Sam had probably just spilt them. He didn't take them. Dean convinced himself. You're being an idiot, quit worrying about him so much.

Dean continued to stare at the sink; at the bloodlike stains that ran into the wet drip of the leaking faucet; at how the image somehow seems eerily familiar. He shook it off, insisting it was nothing as he casually glanced up at the mirror.

The moment he looked fully into the mirror, Dean screamed and bolted away.

Dean stood in the corner of the small room, panting with fright, steering his eyes clear of the mirror. What the fuck was that? That was… it was…

Dean struggled to understand what he'd seen. When he'd looked into the mirror, the bathroom behind him had been a different bathroom, a larger, sterile, public style, bathroom, and the person who's face he had seen wasn't his own, but his brother's. Sam had stared back at him, clinging to the sink, a different sink, looking pained and desperate.

Dean ran one hand against his chest, and the other through his hair. He calmed himself somewhat, then stepped hesitantly back in front of the mirror. There was nothing there but his own reflection. What the fuck was that? He questioned again. Dean took one last look in the trash can, then one last look in the mirror. He honestly wasn't sure which had frightened him more, the unexplained image he had seen in the mirror, or the harrowed look of despair in his brother's eyes. Dean shut off the light and left the room. He had no explanation for what he'd seen.

Okay - thanks everybody! Again - please let me know your thoughts on this.

Really hope you liked it! I totally had fun writing it : )

Kate