There's a window in the emergency room exam cubicle Dean is in, a room with a view, and the window has blinds, left open for no apparent reason. The blinds, like the thin cotton curtains separating this exam room from nine more just like it, are semblances of privacy – illusions. Dean's privacy has been scoured away, like scrubbing the peel off a potato. He feels raw, and like the exam violated him again. He can hear his brother with the doctors, police, and school personnel talking about the "incident." He lies unmoving on the exam table trying to pretend he is anywhere else until the sedative the emergency room doctor injected does its job and he drifts away.
Sam is guarding Dean's cubicle, knowing all the protection he offers now is too little too late. But this, making them all leave Dean alone right now, is the most he can do to try to make anything come out right from this situation. He authorizes charges filed on Dean's behalf. Then he glares at Ms. Ortiz, Doctor Davis, Mr. Roberts, and Ms. Melendez as though this is entirely their fault, even though he knows that the blame rests as much on him.
Dean did not want to be at school, begged Sam to bolt with him, just take off. Crap, they had to drug him to get him to go. Sam did that. Dean seemed to prefer being stuck in this regressed body over being forced back to high school. And now look what happened, sleeping pills at night, anti-anxiety medicine by day, a sedative to knock him out. His brother's guard slipped and Dean will be forced once again to deal with the psychological damage of being sexually assaulted. Sam wishes he could bleach the very idea from his brain.
"We did this to him," Sam accuses the group. "He didn't even need to be there. You…" He whirls on Ms. Ortiz and Doctor Davis, "You thought he needed to be around kids his age. Well, that's really worked out great for him, hasn't it?"
Sam turns to the school principal and counselor. "And you were supposed to keep him safe…" Sam breaks off. He can't finish that thought because Sam knows he and Cas should have put Dean's physical safety above everything else. They were supposed to have his back because he couldn't defend himself. Sam forgot that some monsters are human.
"Fix this," Sam says, including all of them. "I am not sending him back there. You all just go away – you've done enough." As the others walk away, Sam looks over at Cas, who is sitting in a plastic chair, hands loosely drooping, shoulders slumped. "Cas, as soon as I can I'm taking Dean out of here…"
In his head he hears the echo of the words he just uttered to the group: "just go away – you've done enough." It's stuck in his head and he hears it in his brother's voice.
Cas looks up at Sam. "As soon as we leave, I will heal his physical wounds; but I am worried Sam." Sam nods. He's worried too. He wants to go back in and stand next to his brother. He wants to physically be able to comfort him, but Dean hasn't wanted anyone to touch him, and he told them to go away and leave him alone in a flat monotone, like he couldn't find the strength to be angry or upset.
The attackers are on the other side of this emergency room, separated by two glass walls and a narrow corridor, Sam can watch as their parents sometimes step from behind their curtained cubicles to talk to the police officers there, to school administrators, their lawyers, their doctors. He hopes to see them led away in handcuffs soon. He swallows a flash of anger that has him wanting to go tear them apart, knowing that he can't or wouldn't. He turns his back and slumps into the seat next to Castiel, two silent sentinels staring at a closed curtain.
When Dean wakes in the early morning when the sun just starts to cross the horizon, it's in his bed at house on Padre Island. He's in no physical discomfort, so he figures Cas used angel mojo on him. The physical stuff was never that much to begin with. His brother and the angel are sitting on either side of his bed. Sam has his head at an awkward angle drooling onto Dean's bedspread. Dean wants to push his hair out of his face and tell him everything will be fine; but he's not sure it will, and the part of him that lies so glibly seems to be missing right now.
Dean turns his head to catch the angel's eyes. Cas's look is stoic, as though he expects the older Winchester brother to yell, complain, to do something about him sitting there, caught watching him sleep again. Dean's eyes slides away and he gets out of bed quietly to lock himself in the bathroom.
Taking care of business quickly, Dean then starts a shower as hot as he can stand. Dean finds he can't close his eyes under the water. And the whole thing is making him hyperventilate. He jumps out, towels off, and redresses in the clothes he had on because he can't walk out into his room undressed. He takes two of the sleeping pills in his medicine cabinet, and two anti-anxiety pills for good measure. Dean has to talk himself into leaving the bathroom at all. How's he supposed to sleep, anyway, with them staring at him?
He slips out the door and across the hall to the room Charlie used when she visited. He locks the door, knowing his brother could open it in two seconds, and he knows locked or not, Cas could get in, but he hopes they'll respect his privacy. He climbs into the bed and pulls the covers over his head, waiting for sleep's oblivion to hide him. Maybe when he wakes up he'll feel more like he wants to face anyone.
The phone ringing in his pocket wakes Sam a few hours later. He jabs buttons to silence it before it wakes Dean then he realizes Dean isn't there.
"He's asleep across the hall," Cas answers before Sam asks. "He had a panic attack earlier when he took a shower and he took sleeping pills to go back to sleep."
Sam rubs his aching neck. "You could have stopped him. It's not the healthiest way to cope." Sam grouses at him.
"There are worse ways," Cas answers. "Sleep can be healing, and your brother really wants to be left alone. We need to allow him as much privacy as we can." He stands. "I have been considering our options, and I have something left to try. I'll be back when he wakes up. You should try to sleep too, Sam. He'll need you when he awakens." With a flutter of wings, Cas is gone, and Sam decides he's probably right.
As he shuffles around working out the kinks from falling asleep in a chair from his back and neck, Sam decides to look in on his brother. When he finds the door knob locked, he pulls out his pocket knife and unlocks it in one swift motion, letting himself in the room quietly. He checks his brother's pulse, a little worried that Dean has taken sleeping pills, but Dean seems to be fine, just sleeping deeply while hugging a pillow. Sam straightens the blankets and pulls them up over Dean's shoulders. He strokes his fingers through his soft hair, but pulls back when Dean flinches at being touched.
When Sam stumbles out of bed around noon, he decides it's time to get some food into both of them. It has been at least 24 hours since they ate, and that can't be helping, especially when the doctor last week already said Dean was underweight. He checks the internet news and winces to see an account of the attack by the local station. Four students arrested for sexual assault at local high school, the headline reads. Sam scans to make sure the account doesn't name his brother, and he sighs with relief that it the victim isn't identified except as a minor boy.
As Sam makes eggs, toast, and bacon for the both, as well as coffee and pouring two big glasses of milk, he listens to voice mails from the principal, the CPS caseworker, and the school counselor. He decides to call back after he gets a better idea of how Dean is doing. He arranges breakfast for them both on a tray and carries it up to the room Dean is sleeping in still. Sam sets the tray on the nightstand and pulls a desk chair over next to it. He walks to the windows at the front of the house and pulls open the curtains allowing the bright day to light up the room.
"Dean, hey, bro. Wake up, man. Time to eat something." Sam shakes Dean's shoulder and jumps back as his brother springs up swinging a hunting knife he had hidden under the pillow. Dean scrambles up, getting his feet under him, and crouches on the bed. He blinks sleep-filled eyes and lowers the knife when he recognizes his brother.
"Locked door didn't tell you anything, Sam?" Dean growls.
Sam snorts. "Like you thought that flimsy lock made any difference." The taller man has one goal right now. He wants to get something nourishing in his brother. Talking would be a bonus and it can wait until Dean brings it up. Food can't. "It's time to eat something."
"No thanks. Not hungry."
Sam expected that answer. "Here, just drink some milk then." Sam holds out the glass and waits expectantly. Dean takes it and gulps it down, more because he is thirsty than any desire for nourishment. Sam accepts the glass back. "Cup of coffee?" He offers next.
Dean glares. "Kinda counterproductive to me going back to sleep, don't'cha think?"
Sam avoids answering by stuffing food from his own plate in his mouth. Dean narrows his eyes at him to show he knows that it's a ploy. "I don't want to talk about it, Sam." He's making this as plain as he can, just so his brother understands that the topic is off limits. "I'm not talking," Sam answers around another mouthful, somehow managing to look stubborn while chewing.
"I'm going back to sleep," Dean says, again in a just-stating-the-facts tone. Sam makes a noncommittal noise, and takes another bite. He holds out a piece of bacon to his brother, like he's luring a stray cat. "Go away, Sam." Dean is still not putting a lot of emphasis in his voice, so Sam ignores him, takes a big bite of his toast. He's been dealing with Dean for years, and he figures he'll be able to tell if he pushes his brother too far.
"Why are you still here?" Dean's starting to sound angry. "I want you to leave me alone, Sam." He finally moves from where he's been crouching the entire time. So, it's turning his back on his brother to sit on the edge of the bed with his arms folded across his chest defensively (knife's gone, Sam notes) to stare out the window. Sam counts this as a win for responsiveness.
Dean clears his throat. "I'm done with the high school thing, Sam."
"Agreed." Sam answers, picking up his mug of coffee. Dean whirls with a surprised look. He had expected to be told to suck it up and act like a man that he needed to get "back on the horse" and not be a drama queen. To not give in to his fears. He's been telling himself that in his head since he woke up. "Excuse me?" Dean practically squeaks, freaking adolescent vocal chords.
"I agree. I'm sorry I didn't listen, I'm sorry for what happened, and I'm ready to take off outta here if that's want you want. Whatever you want. This is all my fault, and I'm sorry." Sam can't put it any more clearly.
Dean levels his gaze at Sam. "I told you I'm not talking about this, Sam. And I'm not. But you can't blame yourself. What happened wasn't your fault, none of this is. You've been doing the best you can. I'm the one who fucked up near a fairy. I'm the one who let my guard down at the school. Not your fault. Got that?"
Sam is glad to hear Dean's voice growing stronger, his big brother instincts kicking in; and he feels slightly guilty about manipulating his brother, but not enough to stop. "I'm glad you don't hate me for what happened, Dean, but I should have listened to you. And you kicked ass in that confrontation, Dean. You sent all four of them to the hospital." He holds out a different piece of bacon and this time Dean takes it. He stuffs it in his mouth and chews, keeping an assessing look at his brother.
"You know this ain't fooling me, right?" Dean states matter-of-factly. "Pretty blatant manipulation, Sammy." The younger Winchester shrugs.
"You know we need to talk, right?" Sam's as matter-of-fact as Dean had been earlier. "And you know you can't hide in bed with the covers over your head, so get up and we'll talk about getting the hell out of here." Sam picks up both plates, handing his brother one more strip of bacon before heading back downstairs.