Author's Note: Well, folks, here it is, the end of this story. I had no idea it would turn out this way when I started it. I hope you all enjoy it, and I wish you all a very happy new year :)
Disclaimer: Yep, I still work for a living, I don't own the boys, I just torment them. A lot. :)
Bobby tossed back another shot of whiskey. He was dreading what tomorrow would bring. Dean had only been out of the hospital for a little over two months; the entire incident had been six months ago. Bobby knew that he would never forget pulling up to that cabin and seeing a medic carrying Dean in his arms like a limp ragdoll; like the blonde weighed nothing. Then they drug out Sam between a medic and a cop, handcuffs shiny against his bloodied skin. Jodi had approached quickly, determined to keep the older hunter out of the way, and away from Sam. The kid looked just like a serial killer.
Cheri had jumped into the fray to help. Sam had been taken to the prison and placed in the locked hospital unit. Dean had returned to the county hospital he'd been taken from. Sam had called the hospital and Bobby relentlessly, begging to speak with Dean. Bobby had ignored most of the calls after telling Sam that he was not welcome and that he would not pass any messages to Dean. Cheri had kept all calls from the brunette blocked at the hospital.
Dean had been a mess, physically and emotionally; the last thing he needed was Sam trying to get back into his life. There had been many surgeries to repair the bulk of the damage Sam's torture had done. Bobby had sat at the blonde's bedside many nights, watching the boy cry himself to sleep from the pain and aching deep in his bones. There were nightmares and panic attacks, infections and illness, depression and anxiety. The older man was exhausted from the ordeal; he couldn't even imagine how Dean was remotely staying sane.
He had been attending counseling sessions since he had been in the hospital, at Dr. Bourke's insistence; however, the young man had yet to speak. He continued working on physical therapy once he'd returned to Bobby's house, and Bobby made sure he went to each and every counseling session whether the boy spoke or not. He was surprised when he saw Dean writing in a journal, which Dr. Bourke later informed him, was at the request of the psychologist. Since Dean seems to prefer remaining silent, Dr. Osborne has asked him to keep a journal of writings and drawings she had said. Dean had left the book lying on his desk in his bedroom, so it didn't appear that he was trying to hide anything from Bobby. But tomorrow's gonna be hell he thought miserably. Tomorrow he was taking Dean to the prison to see Sam; to decide if he would cut ties with his brother or forgive him. Bobby was dreading the whole thing; no matter the outcome, it was going to be ugly.
SPN * SPN * SPN * SPN
It turned out that neither man slept well that night. Bobby had sat up in the armchair drinking coffee to sober up while Dean lay on the couch. The blonde woke himself every thirty minutes or so from a nightmare. As they entered the prison, Bobby caught a glimpse of himself. He was wearing his FBI suit, but his face was splotchy and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. Dean was dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, his face pasty and gaunt, his eyes dull and fearful. The older man wanted to run; to just turn Dean's wheelchair around and head back to the truck. However, he suppressed the urge and kept walking towards the "visitation" area.
He was surprised to see Dean's psychologist standing there. Dr. Osborne was a pleasant lady, with long red hair and honey brown eyes. Bobby smiled tightly at her while Dean remained blank. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked her. She shook her head. "Only Dean knows the answer to that". He nodded with a sigh, and then moved around the chair to help Dean up.
Even silent, Dean was able to let his wants and needs be known, but he hadn't put up any kind of fight when Bobby suggested that they use the wheelchair. Normally, the blonde would have fought with him about it, as he had many days; but not today. Today he had dressed in the clothes Bobby told him to, attempted to eat the food Bobby pushed at him, and had accepted Bobby's urgings to use the wheelchair without a single complaint. The young man in front of him was sick with fear, and again Bobby found himself fighting the urge to whisk Dean away from the situation. Let Sam rot in prison, or Hell, for all he cared.
Dr. Osborne helped Bobby move Dean into the room where he would speak with his brother. They got him situated in the chair and she showed him a signal he was to give if he wanted to end the meeting. Dean nodded once and turned his eyes to the table. Bobby stood from his kneeling position and pressed a quick kiss to Dean's temple. "I'm right here if you need me, sweet pea," he murmured, hoping the childhood pet name would be calming, before following the psychologist out the door.
A large metal door on the far side of the room opened with a clang. Dean jumped and then tried to calm himself, taking a few deep breaths. He had to do this. I have to make sure my Sammy is gone. Sam was ushered into the room wearing an orange jumpsuit completed with wrist and ankle shackles. Bobby was somewhat relieved that the youngest Winchester couldn't get to Dean; however, the blonde paled even further at the sight of his tormentor stood in front of him. One of the guards shoved him down into the chair. Sam's face was sallow and dark stubble shadowed his face. He was wearing the "Sammy eyes", as Bobby had dubbed it, meaning he was hoping to get under Dean's skin with the puppy dog eyes. Dean kept eye contact with his brother minimal.
"Dean. I'm so sorry," Sam began. "I never meant to hurt you, but there was this side of me that needed you to know that I love you; that I love you as more than a brother." Dean didn't look up. "De, you know that I would never hurt you on purpose. You know that, right?" Again, the older brother remained silent. "I see," Sam murmured. "You're just going to hide inside of yourself, is that what they all told you to do? That if you didn't talk to me that everything would be all better?" The brunette snorted at the lack of response.
"Yes, of course that's what they told you. You know what's really happening though, don't you? That they're trying to keep us apart; they can't stand that we're lovers". Dean felt his stomach drop and had to force the urge to vomit back down. Lovers? We're not even brothers anymore. He finally let his eyes rise, but could only manage to look at Sam's chin.
"You love me so much that you attacked me in the safety of our home? And then you kidnapped me from a hospital and tortured me?" he murmured, his first actual words spoken in over six months. "I didn't want to do that, Dean, but I had no other choice." Dean was shaking, grasping the arms of his chair tightly to hide the tremors. "There is always a choice. And you chose to hurt me instead of helping me." Sam sighed. "Dean, how could I help you if I couldn't even get near you?" The blonde shook his head slightly. "Because stealing me from a hospital room was so much better. You said you liked hurting me, that that's who you are, that it's all you. Now you're saying that you had no choice," he mumbled.
"Dean, I was delirious, and distressed, and terrified for you," Sam's voice was a cool mix of soothing and condescension, and Bobby could only pray that Dean would notice it. "No. You tortured me. You did this to me." Sam snorted. "You act like loving you is a crime. Isn't that what you always wanted?" "No," the blonde whimpered. "Not from you, never like that." It was Sam's turn to shake his head.
"Dean, why are you blowing things out of proportion? Just tell them you don't want to press charges so we can get out of here. You know I don't deserve to be here. We can talk about it all you want when we get home." There was a brief silence. "You hurt me. You would have killed me," Dean's voice was so soft that they all almost missed his words.
"Are you serious? You're the one who shot me three times, Dean!" Sam snapped. The blonde raised his eyes further to finally meet Sam's hazel. "You broke me. You tortured me. You tried to strangle me. You…raped…me." The accusations hung in the suddenly heavy air. Bobby gagged on the other side of the window; hearing Dean say it all out loud made it even more real than it already was.
"And you shot me! You made me do that! Some brother you are, Dean!" Sam's anger was starting to spark in the little room. Dean's breaths were becoming more rapid and strained. I have to get out of here. I need to get away from him. He raised a trembling hand and touched his left cheek, the signal Bobby and Dr. Osborne had been waiting for.
"You are not my brother. I'm only sorry that I didn't kill you. Goodbye, Sam" he whispered, green eyes still locked with hazel. Bobby came through the door, a tall police officer right behind him. The officer scooped Dean up from the chair and carried him from the room, Bobby following him closely, not even sparing a glance at Sam. As the metal door closed behind them and Dean was lowered to the wheelchair, Sam's furious screams began to filter out. They were muffled, but there was no mistaking the rage and unspoken promises of more pain as he screamed for his brother. Bobby dropped to his knees and pulled Dean towards him as the blonde finally broke down, sobbing into Bobby's shoulder. His message was clear to all present: Sam Winchester was no longer a part of Dean's life.
SPN * SPN * SPN * SPN
Three weeks had passed since the miserable visit to the prison. Bobby could still hear Sam's angry screams in his dreams, and he was certain Dean could as well. The blonde had immediately reverted back to silence, only crying in his sleep or when he thought Bobby wasn't paying attention. He began to struggle with physical therapy and often refused to go to counseling sessions. Dr. Osborne had taken to coming out to the house to see him; and although Dean preferred to ignore her, he did keep writing in his journal, even if he declined to share it with anyone.
After the conclusion of another fruitless session, Dr. Osborne sat at the table with Bobby. He felt that treating her to pie and tea was the least he could do to compensate for her trips and Dean's reluctance to participate in the therapy. "How has he really been?" she asked softly. Bobby ran a hand through his graying hair with a sigh. "Won't talk, hardly eats, barely sleeps, only wants to sleep. I don't know what else to do," he admitted, frustration evident in his voice.
"This is a classic trauma response," she said. "All you have to do is be there for him, and understand why he's reacting the way that he is." "How the hell am I supposed to do that when he won't even trust me enough to let me in?" he asked, an edge of anger to his tone. She patted his hand. "First thing you need to understand is that no matter what the trauma, the person usually feels responsible for the trauma to begin with." Bobby snorted. "Dean does that without a major trauma". "Exactly. He just terminated his relationship with his brother three weeks ago and now he's doubting himself." Bobby sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Again, nothing new with Dean."
It was now the redheaded doctor's turn to sigh. "No matter what, Dean needs to know that you are okay with his choices. That you understand the depression and the anxiety, the nightmares, his fear and panic. He feels like the only control he has is over his body." The older man studied the tabletop as he thought. Could that really be why Dean didn't want to eat or do physical therapy? Did he really feel that his control had been taken away? He felt tears building when he realized that Dean had always felt out of control and now Sam had finished taking away whatever he had left. He struggled to speak around the lump in his throat. "How can I help him to get it back?" "Give him choices, Mr. Singer. Ask him if he wants to eat apples or carrots. Ask him if he wants to go outside or watch TV. Ask him if he wants to talk or write notes. Give him back the power that you can," she offered. Bobby wiped the tears from his eyes and nodded. "I can do that."
SPN * SPN * SPN * SPN
Another two months had flown by without Bobby realizing it. Dean hadn't begun to talk, but he had adapted to Bobby's new habit of giving him constant choices. The boy began to eat more and although he continued to struggle with his physical therapy, he did not give up. Dean had made no attempt to get back into hunting, seemingly happy with puttering around in the junk yard or working in the garage. Movement became easier for him, and he seemed to enjoy getting out and about. He went to counseling sessions as Bobby asked, however, he remained silent.
Dr. Bourke had delivered the good news that his throat had healed from the massive damage and traumas, but Dean seemed to have forgotten he had a voice. Or was simply being stubborn, was Bobby's thought. Things continued to progress in a steady pattern, more time moving by, with Dean growing stronger and Bobby being there to support him. They had never heard from Sam again; Jodi assured Bobby that he was far from Dean.
He was a little surprised the morning Dean came downstairs for breakfast with his journal. Bobby raised an eyebrow at the book. "It's been four months today since I lost my brother," he said softly. The older man didn't quite know how to react to the words, or the fact that they'd been said. Dean's smile was small. "Dr. Osborne spent all this time talking about grieving and I guess it must be done because I feel okay now. I'm not alone; you've been with me this whole time. And I think I might be ready to let it go and move on." Bobby rose from the table, needing just to move, before returning with a mug of coffee and plate of toast for Dean. "You may be right, son. And whatever you choose, I want you to know that I'll be right there with you," he spoke softly. Dean's smile brightened as his green eyes locked with blue. "I know that, Bobby. And thanks."
The End. Please leave a review! :)