So, don't kill me or anything, but...I kinda forgot about posting this next chapter. In my defense, it was a crazy week at work and I was lucky to remember my own name at times! LOL Thanks for all the lovely reviews on the last chapter...seems I filled the plot hole well as several remarked that you couldn't find any plot holes :D Yay! Anyway, on with the story.

Cindy

Chapter 7 – Guilt is a Four Letter Word

"Dean, I'm fine. Go out and work on a car, or just go out and do whatever it is that you do when you go out. You don't have to wait on me hand and foot and you don't have to be stuck in this house day in and day out. I'll be fine for a few hours without you," Sam cried softly as Dean fluffed the pillow behind him for the tenth time in less than an hour.

Dean looked over at his brother then proceeded to pull the thin blanket that covered Sam's equally thin frame up over his stomach and tucked it in around him. "That better, Sammy? Are you cold? Do you need another blanket?" he asked, completely ignoring the indignant roll of Sam's eyes.

"Dean I…"

"Are you hungry? Do you want me to make you a bowl of soup or a sandwich or something?" Dean interrupted. "You really need to put on some weight, Sammy. One strong little breeze and you'll be blown away."

"I'm not hungry and I'm not cold. I fine, Dean. Please, just go do something…anything," Sam answered. "Dad and Bobby are here…they won't let anything happen to me. You need to get out…get away from me for awhile."

Dean glared up at Sam and sat down on the coffee table in front of the couch Sam was stretched out on, a large book resting on his lap. "I don't need to get away from you. I don't want to get away from you, okay?"

"But, Dean…Dad and…"

"Dad and Bobby can't take care of you like I can! They shouldn't take care of you! I should!" Dean snapped before readjusting the pillow that Sam's broken and casted arm lay upon.

Sam lifted his hand and gently grasped Dean's forearm. He smiled sadly when Dean's green eyes met his hazel ones. "Dean…it wasn't you. You didn't do this to me…she did. You couldn't help it. You have to stop blaming yourself 'cause I certainly don't blame you. I thought we had this all settled the day I left the hospital," he said softly, hazel eyes pleading with his brother to hear him.

Dean dropped his eyes and swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat. "I should have been stronger…should have been able to stop myself," he whispered, voice hoarse with emotion.

Sam sighed and squeezed Dean's arm. "You're the strongest person I know, but Dean…nobody could have fought the witches curse and won. I know you fought…"

"I should have fought harder!" Dean suddenly yelled, face turning red with anger causing Sam to flinch away from his brother. "You don't understand, Sammy! I almost killed you! I had your blood all over me! You have no idea how it feels…no idea how I feel. You could have died…almost did and it doesn't really matter if it was a witches curse or not…I should have fought harder. I should have told Dad something was wrong when I felt it. If I'd have said something, he never would have left and I never would have hurt you!" Dean pulled his arm out of Sam's grasp and lifted his hands to his face. He brushed his fingers through his hair then looked up into the wide, frightened eyes of his little brother.

"Dean…I…"

"Don't, Sam. Just…don't," Dean snapped before pushing to his feet and stomping towards the door. He grabbed his jacket and pulled it on then whipped the door open.

"Dean! Where are you going!" Sam cried out from his place on the couch.

"Out…like you wanted," Dean answered without looking over.

Dean stepped out onto the porch and shut the door behind him. Sam listened to the booted footsteps as his brother descended the steps and few moments later, he heard the rumble of the Impala as it roared to life. His eyes filled as he listened to the car peel away and before long he was left in silence, tears slowly trickling down his reddened cheeks. Sudden movement from the kitchen doorway had him hastily wiping the tears away. He looked over and saw his father standing in the doorway watching him, his expression showing deep concern. John blew out a breath and started across the room. He sat on the coffee table and reached across, draping his hand over Sam's blanket covered knee.

"Hey, kiddo…you alright?" John asked in his deep, raspy voice.

"Dean's mad at me," came Sam's whispered reply.

John squeezed Sam's knee and smiled at his son. "Nah, he's not mad at you, Sammy. He's got a lot on his mind right now. You've just got to give him time to work it all out," he said.

"It's not his fault, Dad. I told him that, but he won't listen to me and now he's mad! I don't know what to do. I wanted him to get out of here for awhile, but not like this. Not because he's mad. I just wanted him to take a break from taking care of me for just a little bit…maybe have a little fun? I don't know...I just…I always mess everything up!" Sam cried as he turned his head away and stared at the back of the couch.

John reached up and gripped Sam's chin with his fingers then gently moved his head around until Sam was looking at him again, his wet, hazel eyes breaking John's heart as they gazed expectantly up at him. "Sam, you didn't mess anything up. You're worried about your brother and he knows that. Dean isn't mad at you, he's just upset with this whole situation. He's upset that one of the baddies used him to hurt you and he couldn't do anything to stop it. You know how he is, especially when it comes to your safety. Just give him time…let him take care of you the way he needs to right now. I know it's kind of a pain, but it's how he deals with things," he explained, his hand moving from Sam's chin to tenderly brush through his unruly mop of hair. "I kinda need to fuss over you a little bit myself and now that Dean is gone for a bit, maybe you'll let me do that?" he added hopefully.

Sam cocked his head and gazed up at his father with confusion. "Why do you need to fuss over me? You weren't to blame either," he asked softly.

"You're my son, Sammy and sometimes a dad just likes to fuss over his kids…at least he should want to fuss over them, and besides that, I sensed something was off with your brother, but I just brushed it off as him being tired. I felt something wasn't right yet still I left you two alone. If I had stayed…"

"Dad…this was a curse. If it hadn't happened that night, it would have eventually. You and Dean need to stop blaming yourselves and stop saying if this and if that. If I had killed the witch right out, she never would have had the chance to put the curse on Dean, so I guess you can blame me for what happened," Sam said as he carefully straightened his back so he wasn't slouched so much on the couch.

"Sammy…you are completely blameless in this entire situation and…"

"And so are you and Dean! There was a witch who was hurting people and we took care of her. We had no way of knowing she would curse Dean. You didn't know she had when you left and Dean didn't know she had either! If everyone would just stop blaming themselves, we could move on from this!" Sam cried breathlessly through clenched teeth, a fine sheen of sweat beading on his face.

John quickly knelt beside the couch and cupped the nape of Sam's neck, his dark eyes watching Sam worriedly. "Sammy…calm down. You're going to hurt yourself if you get worked up. Those ribs are still healing and so is your jaw," he coaxed as he moved his hand down from Sam's neck and gently pulled him forward so he could rub his back.

Sam rested his forehead on John's shoulder and closed his eyes. His ribs hurt to the point where it was hard for him to catch his breath and his jaw ached from the unfamiliar use. He sighed as the gentle pressure from his father's hand worked his weary muscles. When his body became lax, John carefully pulled him back and smiled when he saw that Sam had fallen asleep. He gently laid him out on the couch, taking the book from his lap and setting it on the table. He tucked the blanket around his body then pulled a chair close so he could watch over his son as he slept. The bruises were fading on his face, even the ones over his broken cheekbone and eye, but John could still see them in his mind's eye and it made him clench his hands in anger. He wished for the millionth time that he could resurrect the witch so he could kill her all over again for what she'd done to his family. He'd nearly lost Sam and Dean was so wracked with guilt that he was barely functioning. The only thing keeping the elder sibling going was the need to take care of Sam's every need. John figured it was high time he had a talk with his eldest. The young man couldn't go on like he was. His inability to cast away the guilt was not only hurting him, but his little brother too and John knew that Sam would never fully heal until he knew Dean no longer blamed himself for what happened.

John reached for the book Sam had been reading and opened it to page one. He shook his head as he read over the subject matter. Demon Possession and Exorcisms was not the type of book for a teenager to be reading and John hated the fact that the boy even knew about such things. John glanced over at Sam as the teen sighed softly in his sleep. He smiled then turned his attention to the book and began to read. He'd be there if Sam awoke and needed something, the man knowing he was no replacement for Dean, but cherishing the chance to take care of his baby without the boy's mother hen watching his every move. He knew it wouldn't last, that Dean would not stay away for very long, but he would enjoy it while he could. He shook his head and continued to read, his ears alert for any sound of discomfort from his sleeping teen, eyes moving over to Sam every now and then before returning to the tiny faded print on the pages. Finally though, when he checked on Sam for the fifth time in less than five minutes, John closed the book and set it back on the table. He scooted down a bit in his chair then rested his arm over the armrest of the couch, his fingers lightly brushing Sam's hair as he closed his eyes and listened to the soft sounds of Sam's breathing, the hunter eternally grateful that he still had this chance, that his baby boy was still here to watch over.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Dean slipped silently into Bobby's house and immediately made his way to where he had left Sam hours earlier. He'd stayed away as long as he could, finding a bar, drinking a beer or two and playing some pool to take his mind off of his assumed failure. His father and brother had no clue what he was going through. They thought that he should just be able to forget what had happened and move on, but he couldn't do that. Not when every time he allowed his mind to wander from the task of taking care of Sam, the images of what the witch had made him do filled his head. At the beginning, he couldn't remember what had transpired, but gradually over the first week of Sam's hospitalization, he'd begun to remember. A flash here, a memory there, but it was enough to bring him to his knees the first time it happened. Luckily, he'd been in the restroom and nobody had seen. He found the only thing that kept the memories at bay was devoting every waking moment to catering to Sam's every need. He knew it had to be wearing on Sam, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't bear to see what he had done while under the witches curse. He could feel it in his hands as he hit his baby brother, could hear as bones broke and his brother cried, begging him to stop.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and forced the memories back into the recesses of his mind. He opened his eyes and gazed down at his sleeping brother and smiled fondly. He spared a quick glance to his father who was sprawled out in the most uncomfortable looking position possible, his arm draped over the arm of the couch, lax hand dangling next to Sam's ear. Dean shook his head and chuckled lightly. He leaned over and gave John a quick shake then watched as dark eyes immediately sprang open and shot up to look at him. "Dean?" John rasped.

"Dad…go to bed…I'll take it from here," Dean instructed quietly. "Thanks for watching Sammy for me," he added.

John stretched his arms over his head then looked down at his youngest son. He slowly pushed up from the chair and groaned as his stiff back muscles complained at the movement. "We need to talk about some things," he said as he cast his gaze to his eldest son.

Dean frowned, the young man knowing exactly what his father wanted to talk about. "Dad…there's nothing to talk about, okay?" he said as he attempted to move around his father.

John grabbed Dean's arm and held him in place. "Do you even get how upset this is making Sam? The stress your guilt is putting on him? He can't fully heal with this hanging over his head, Dean. You need to move on. I know how hard this is for you, but you have to do this for Sammy. Fluffing his pillows and waiting on him hand and foot is only dealing with his physical comforts. It's not helping him with the psychological effects of the attack. If anything, it's making things worse for him!" John snapped before he could stop himself.

"Dad…don't…please," Sam's sleepy, slurred voice sounded.

Both men looked down to see two bleary hazel eyes staring up at them. "Ah, Sammy…I'm sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up," John said as he sat down on the coffee table and took Sam's hand.

"It's okay, Dad…just..."

"Sammy, we should get you to bed," Dean interrupted as he too moved to sit down on the coffee table.

Sam looked up at him and smiled slightly. "Dean…I'm sorry. I wanted you to go have some fun…not get mad at me. I didn't mean for it to sound like I didn't appreciate everything you're doing for me," he said softly.

"Sammy…I wasn't mad at you. I'm just upset about all this crap. It sucks and I don't know what to do to make it better for you. I'm trying so hard, but apparently I'm just making it worse," Dean replied, the young man casting a sideways glance toward his father who at his words dropped his head down to stare at the floor.

"No…you're not, Dean. You're doing everything for me and I'm so thankful. I just…I just want you to stop blaming yourself for something you had no control over…that's all. Please, Dean."

"I…I want to, Sam. You have no idea how much I want to put this behind me, but I…I just can't. I remember everything that happened now and…"

"You remember ?" John asked with surprise. "For how long?"

Dean looked over and bit his lower lip. He'd hoped that his family would never have to know that he remembered what happened, but he should have known that would never work. If he were to make them understand why he couldn't just let it go, they needed to know what he knew. "I started getting flashes a few days after the attack. By the end of the first week of Sammy being in the hospital, I remembered everything," he explained, his voice hitching slightly on the last word he spoke.

"Dean…I'm sorry," Sam muffled softly, his dewy, sorrow filled eyes gazing forlornly up at his brother.

Dean smiled sadly and reached out to pat Sam's leg. "Nothin' for you to be sorry about, kiddo. I'm the one who's sorry," he replied.

"But, you have nothing to be sorry for either, Dean. It wasn't you...it was her," Sam cried pleadingly.

"Uh…I think maybe we should have this conversation in the morning. I don't want you getting worked up, Sam," John suggested as he watched his youngest son worriedly.

"Dad, I'm fine. I…"

"I think Dad's right, Sam. You need to get some sleep. We can talk more tomorrow," Dean interrupted.

"No!" Sam snapped as he pushed himself up as best he could, the teen hissing as the movement jarred his ribs, shooting pain through his chest. "We…we…"

"Sammy…take it easy," Dean cried as he jumped up and helped his little brother sit up. He pulled the pillows up to support Sam's back then when he was satisfied that his brother was comfortable, he sat back down.

Sam looked up first at his father then his eyes settled on his brother. "You need to tell us everything you remember, Dean. All of it," he said softly, fearfully.

Dean's eyes widened and he shook his head. "Sammy…no. I can't…I can't tell you what I did. You don't need to know that…you've suffered enough," he said forcefully.

"So have you, Dean. Maybe if you tell us, you'll be able to forget and then you can move on," Sam persisted, hazel eyes taking on the patented puppy dog look that got him what he wanted nearly every time he used it, whether he knew he was using it or not.

"You were there, Sam…why…"

"Because, you need to talk about it, Dean. You need to say what you remember. I remember some of it, but not all…not after I passed out. I don't know what you were feeling at the time…not really," Sam said.

"Then maybe it would be best that you didn't know. Why burden you with that?" Dean asked, the young man clearly not wanting to go down this path.

"Look…I know it was bad, Dean…how could I not. The point is that you need to get this out so you can heal."

"But…"

"I think Sam is right, Dean. If you tell us then we can help you," John said as he repositioned himself onto the chair so that Dean could move closer to Sam.

Dean glanced over at his father, his eyes showing all of the fear and sorrow he'd been holding onto for the past weeks. "I don't know if I can," he whispered.

"Please, Dean…for me?" Sam pleaded.

Dean cast his gaze to his brother and once he met his eyes, he knew he'd been beaten. He couldn't deny his Sammy anything, not even this. He dropped his head and began to speak. "I…I remember having a dream and…oh, God…I…I hated you so badly in my dream, Sam…I…I wanted you dead and then…I woke up and you were there leaning over me. You said I was having a nightmare and I just…I lost it. I p-punched you in the face and you…you flew off the bed and then…then I was pulling you up from the floor and slamming you into the wall. You hit your head, hard, but…I didn't care…I wanted to hurt you. I said horrible things to you…I blamed you for Mom and…and I told you I wished you'd never been born, Sammy."

Sam stifled the sob that threatened to break free and reached for Dean's hand. Dean gripped Sam's hand like it was a lifeline as he stared into the younger sibling's eyes. "I can't do this, Sammy. I…"

"You have to, Dean…please," Sam said, hazel eyes wide as he stared at his brother.

Dean swallowed deeply then nodded reluctantly. "Okay…uh…I…I threw you across the room and you hit the door. You tried to crawl away…to get away, but…god…you were already so hurt and…I grabbed you and pulled you back. You kicked me and I remember the rage I felt…the absolute hatred. I made you suffer for that. I hit you over and over and over and I told you that I hated you, that Dad hated you. I told you I wanted you out of our lives and you…you knew…you said that it wasn't me. I was beating you and you were worried about me…you begged me to fight it, but I didn't listen…I…"

"You couldn't hear me, Dean…the curse wouldn't let you hear me," Sam corrected as he gave Dean's hand a light squeeze.

Dean shook his head and continued. "I hit you so hard then you were on the floor at the foot of the beds and I…I started to strangle you, but…but I stopped because I wanted you to die slow and painful. I got up and began to kick you over and over…wherever I could connect…it didn't matter, Sammy…I just kept kicking and you tried to protect yourself, but you were so weak and…there was blood everywhere…and then I finally stopped. I knew you were dying and I was glad…oh, God…I was happy. I watched you struggle to breathe and then I just stepped over you and went back to bed." Dean dropped his head and began to cry. He looked up at his brother and saw only love and sympathy in Sam's hazel eyes. He didn't see the fear and hatred that should be there…only love and it nearly tore him apart. "I…went to sleep listening to you dying…struggling to breathe and here you are worrying about me. Please forgive me, Sammy…please," he cried pleadingly.

Sam sat up straighter with the help of his stunned father and leaned toward his brother. "I forgive you even though there's nothing to forgive, Dean, but I do need one thing from you…just one thing," he said softly.

Dean looked up and gazed hopefully at his brother, the young man feeling amazingly like a weight had been lifted from him. "Anything, Sam…anything you need," he said.

Sam smiled warmly as he squeezed Dean's hand again. "I need you to forgive yourself," he whispered.

Ahhh, angst galore! Now that's what I'm talking about! One more chapter to go folks and then this one is finished. For those reading And the Deal Goes On, I should be posting later today or tomorrow. I'm almost finished with the next chapter then just need to proofread and fix any mistakes I find then it will be posted. So, let me know what you thought of this chapter and I'll get right to work on Deal. Loves~~

Cindy