Disclaimer: Sadly, I still don't own Supernatural, just playing with the boys for my own entertainment.
Author's Note: My apologies for not responding personally to the reviews that have kindly been left. I wasn't sure if this story was worth finishing, but the few awesome individuals that did review gave me motivation to continue. I know this is short, but I wanted to give you all something to let you know I haven't forgotten or forsaken this story. Real life has just been a major pain in the rump lately. Enjoy!
Rain pelted against the window and Bobby looked up to see the trees bending to the wind's whim. The sky was grey and dark clouds hung low, seeming to smother out any light as it was already late morning. The older man had lost track of time upon reaching the hospital. Have we been here days, or has it been only hours? He looked to Dean in the bed, bruises and white dressings blinding, the doctor's words still ringing in his ears. It's only been a few long hours he thought. The doctor had told him that due to the nature of Dean's wounds and the trauma he was sure to have endured that he would remain under heavy sedation for the time being. Dr. Bourke had looked frustrated by Bobby's inability to name Dean's attacker or what had happened. His fingers tightened around Dean's limp ones, angry with the situation. It wasn't like he could just say, "His brother jumped him, could have been the demon blood, you know?" Bobby really wasn't sure himself what had happened, only that Sam had looked possessed and that Dean was bleeding out. Dr. Bourke insisted that Bobby go home and "get some rest" and he had finally agreed simply so she would stop pestering him. He continued holding onto Dean's clammy hand, reluctant to leave his boy alone. He had checked Dean into the hospital under the insurance that he had kept both boys under since they were little. It felt wrong to leave. I'm not John Winchester. On the other hand, he knew that he needed to return home to tend to Sam. I won't forsake either of my boys.
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Sam wasn't sure when it started raining, only that it seemed fitting. His tears had finally seemed to run out as he sniffled and hiccupped. He still sat curled under the desk in the panic room, too afraid to move. He knew that he needed to go upstairs to clean himself up and to accept the consequences of his actions, whatever that may entail. A little voice in the back of his mind told him that he had done nothing wrong and that there was no need for him to be punished. Sam was afraid of that voice, especially since it was the one that he allowed himself to follow towards hurting his family.
He was jarred out of his musings by the front door banging open and Bobby's voice filtering down the stairs. "Sam? Where the hell are you, boy?" he called. Sam's breathing quickened and he tried to tighten his body into something smaller and far less noticeable. Heavy boots sounded on the stairs, slowly thudding towards the panic room. The older man's voice sounded strained and tired, but not angry. Sam considered crawling out of his hiding place. He was desperate for Bobby to say he understood and that he still loved Sam like a son. I want him to say that Dean is okay and that he wants me with him. A shadow fell across him before he could move. Eyes flying up to the older hunter's face, Sam let out a choked sound that had Bobby sighing. "Sam, you need to come out of there and get yourself cleaned up," he said as calmly as possible. He knew that if he startled Sam or scared him, everything would go to hell and he already had one Winchester that would require his undivided attention.
The younger hunter nodded in agreement, but made no move to rise from his cramped position under the desk. Another sigh was sent up into the stale air. Bobby leaned down and held out a hand. "Come on, kiddo; let's get you out of this damp and into some warm clothes." Sam took the proffered hand and began to uncurl his tall body from under the desk. He was too afraid to ask about his brother even though he was anxious to know how he was or even where he was. Trying to avoid looking too closely at Sam's naked and blood spattered body, Bobby guided him up the stairs with a light hand on the boy's shoulder blade. Both men swallowed the tension that was thick in the air as they made their way up the creaking stairs.
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The darkness was hazy and warm; safe. Dean couldn't focus on anything in particular, thoughts and sensations flowing through him in a jumble. At first the dimness was comforting. I'm safe here, there's no one to hurt me here. It was quiet. And dark. No one wanting anything from me. Forcing anything from me. Stealing from me. A tendril of fear began to snake through the silence. Sammy touching me like that. Why did he do that? Flashes of that horrible night came back to him, beginning with the hunt. Sam had hesitated and Dean had taken the hit in his brother's place. He remembered blood and pain, Bobby stitching his stomach back together, Sam's eyes on him the entire time. He was worried, I got hurt. Sam's pupils blown wide, his nostrils flaring, licking his lips at the blood all over his hands. My blood. His brother's blood. Dean felt the fear clawing up his stomach. Sam had touched him, touched him like brothers shouldn't touch each other. He began to realize that Sam had been doing that for quite some time, touching whenever he could. And I never noticed. Why didn't I see it? Why didn't I stop it? Memories began to rise up, and Dean wanted to suddenly escape from the murky trap of his mind. Sam's huge hands brushing against his when he handed him a bottle of beer; gentle caresses to his arm or shoulder when their father died; Sam smelling his hair when he stood behind him; the stares whenever his blood was spilled and Sam's eagerness to patch him up; the lingering looks; hands grazing his hip or thigh in the car; his brother's newfound need to hug and the occasional brush of lips across his cheek. He's been doing these little things since he came back from Stanford. And I thought he was just trying to be a good brother. Dean felt his lungs constrict, fear and anger warring in his mind. Thoughts of his brother, his family that he fought so hard to keep, taking advantage of him without him even realizing was horrifying. He'll take whatever he wants. And I have always given it to him because I'm so scared he'll leave me again! Rage at Sam's audacity continued to battle with his fear of his own brother. The fear began to take over. He could feel Sam's hands on him, pushing him, his muscles screaming and straining, the searing pain of Sam entering him forcefully, the ferocity in which his brother bit into his throat. I can't breathe! It hurts! I'm scared! While Dean lay trapped in his mind by the sedation, his body responded to the terror and panic he was suffering. The heart monitor picked up speed, the beeps running together into the beginnings of high-pitched wail. Dr. Bourke had been checking on a patient nearby and immediately headed for Dean's room. As she entered the room, Dean began to seize, his body arching off the bed in response to his mind's desire to escape the torment. Strangled screams emitted around the ventilator, his head whipping back and forth, eyes clenched tightly and tears pouring down his bruised cheeks. She was relieved to know that her patient wasn't in actual danger; however, her heart broke knowing that his body was reacting so strongly to the trauma he had endured and was currently re-experiencing in his mind.
TBC… READ AND REVIEW PLEASE! HUGS!