Hey, new chappy, hopefully everyone is still enjoying...thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! they really mean the world to me!! bambers;)

Chapter Thirty-four

"Shouldn't you be inside with Dean?" Deacon called out as he stepped from John's truck and headed to where John was sitting outside the motel room door.

"It's not like he's going anywhere," John replied evasively, not looking Deacon directly in the eye.

Deacon took a seat beside John, and stretched out his legs, crossing them casually. "Bobby came to the hospital an' told me what happened. An' for what it's worth, I think you were right."

John tilted his head to the side, and glanced at the doorway to their room, then looked back at Deacon. "He hates me . . ..he's my son an' he wishes that I was dead. There is no being right in this situation. Everything we're gonna say or do is just gonna cause more pain for him."

For several seconds Deacon mulled over what John had said, and his heart went out to his longtime friend, knowing how much this was killing him inside. "Think it's time you took him to see Sam. The longer you wait, the harder it's going to be on both of them."

"Sam's not strong enough yet," John tried to argue, but the look in his eyes clearly said he believed the same thing as Deacon.

"I'm not saying that you let Sam see him, but Dean needs to see his brother," Deacon reasoned, in complete agreement with John that Sam might not be physically or mentally strong enough to face Dean yet. "He needs to know that Sam did try to save him from Dominic."

"An' what if it doesn't work? What if only makes matters worse?"

"How much worse can things really become?"

For several very long moments John remained silent, and then gave a curt nod. "Alright, but I need to do this alone."

"Figured as much. I'll give Bobby a call an' tell him you an' Dean are on your way there. An' I'll have him make sure he's gone before you get there."

"Thanks, Deacon."

John slowly rose to his feet, and headed back inside the motel room, leaving Deacon behind. "Dean, want you to come somewhere with me," John said, giving his son the opportunity to say no if he wanted to.

Huddled in the same corner of the room as he'd been sitting in earlier, Dean glanced up at John, confusion registering on his features. "Where are we going?"

John thought for a moment to lie to him, but under the circumstances knew that would further add to Dean's distrust in him. "Gonna take you to see Sam, an' after that if you still want to go back to your new family, I won't even try to stop you."

"You'd really let me go?" Dean quirked a brow, and for the briefest of seconds, John was certain he saw a look of sad disappointment flash in his son's eyes.

"If that's what you really want," John barely managed to choke out, the heartbreak clearly evident in his tone.

"This isn't some kind of trick," Dean asked suspiciously, "when I do leave, an' I promise you that I will, you will just let me walk away?"

"I give you my word."

"Okay, I'll go with you." Dean pushed away from the wall, and slowly made his way across the room to get a new shirt to put on. Once finished, he followed John out to the truck in complete silence.

The ride to the St. Peter's Memorial Hospital was relatively short, and Dean was thankful for that as his nerves were nearly shot by the time they reached the hospital's parking garage. Shifting restlessly in his seat, Dean anxiously eyed the sliding glass doors at the entrance of hospital. Cold sweat prickled at the nape of his neck, and beaded at his brow as he stepped from the vehicle, and if John wasn't there to catch him when his knees buckled, Dean would've fallen flat on his face.

"D-don't think I can do this," Dean voiced in a barely audible whisper, knowing that John wouldn't have brought him to the hospital if Sam had really left him behind, and didn't think he could face his little brother after all he had said and thought about him. "Wanna go back to the motel."

"Yeah, you can do this, Dean." John carefully hitched his arm around Dean's waist to keep him upright, and slowly led him toward the entrance.

Dean's panic rose to a near staggering level as he entered the building and the sliding glass doors shut behind him. His body trembled uncontrollably as his father led him down the long corridor toward his brother's hospital room. As the hallway began to swim before his eyes, Dean broke free of John's hold on him and backed away, butting up against the wall. "Really can't do this."

"It's only a little bit further, Dean," John gently coaxed, "an' you really need to see him. You need to know without a doubt that Sam didn't leave you behind. You owe it to yourself to find it out the truth of things, cause until you do, there's nothing anyone can say or do that'll make things alright again."

Wrapping his arm around Dean's waist again, John led him the rest of the way to Sam's room. John carefully pushed the door open, so as not to let Sam know of their presence, and moved aside so Dean could get his first real glance at his brother in a very long time. Heart lodged in his throat, Dean watched as his little brother fidgeted and jerked around in his bed, every movement evoking some sort of cry of pain. Both of his hands were in casts, his pale and sweat streaked face covered in various cuts and bruises. From what Dean could tell from his vantage point, there wasn't a single area on his little brother's body that wasn't damaged in some way. But the thing that tore his heart out, and had him grabbing hold of John for support was the vacant look he saw etched in Sam's eyes. It was as if his little brother was gone, and only the shell of what he once was remained.

"Is he . . . he's not dying? He — he can't be dying." Dean held his breath as he waited for John to responded, praying for all he was worth that Sam would live.

"Had a couple close calls, but he's doing a little better now."

"Looks like he's in a helluva lot of pain, why aren't they giving him anything for it?" Dean took a tentative step forward into the room, but John grasped hold of his arm, stopping him from going any further.

"Dean, don't think he's strong enough to see you yet," John uttered, and then lowered his head when Dean turned to glare him.

"He's my damn brother, an' I need to be with him," Dean argued, not understanding why John wouldn't want him to be in the same room as his brother when he had brought Dean all the way there to see Sam. "An' he needs to know I'm here for him."

"It's just not a good idea at the moment," John said rather evasively. "He's still very weak, an' the doctors don't want anything upsetting him."

"An' you think seein' me will upset him?" Dean gave a curt nod, then raked his fingers through his stubbly hair. "Which is it," he eyed his father, voice raising in anger and guilt, "my lack hair that'll bother him or is it the fact that I betrayed him, an' wished he were dead cause I was too damn weak to figure out for myself that he would never leave me behind?"

"It's neither of those things, Dean." John licked his lips and then bit at the lower one as if trying to figure out just what he needed to say. "Don't know exactly what Dominic did to him . . . the doctors say it was probably hallucinations brought on by all the drugs that madman forced on him . . . but he's," he shrugged, a look of pity and sadness filling his eyes, "he's afraid of you."

"Afraid of me?" Dean repeated, feeling as if his father had just punched him in the gut, knocking all the wind out of him. "Didn't do anything to him."

"Like I said, it's probably because of all the drugs."

"Drugs? What kind of drugs?" Dean looked to his brother once more, and trembled as another round of guilt ate away at his tattered heart.

"Heroin and cocaine."

"Sam's addicted to heroin and cocaine," Dean breathed, tears flooding his eyes, and he had to look away from his brother or what was left of his heart would shatter.

"That's why they can't really give him anything for the pain. He's detoxing."

"An' his hands?" Dean mumbled as he rubbed away the tears in his eyes and those slipping down his cheeks.

"Some of his fingers are broken," John hesitated, and Dean knew whatever was coming next had to be really bad by the look in his father's eyes. "Dominic ripped off all his fingernails . . . the doctor says he's not sure they'll ever grow back properly."

"What else?" Dean asked, lowering his head in shame, not really sure he wanted to know anymore of what his brother had suffered in the sake of trying to rescue him. "Need to know everything that happened to him."

"Dean . . . ." John's voice trailed away as he looked to Dean, and then his gaze strayed to Sam.

"Said I need to know."

John hesitated for a few more moments before he finally uttered, "All I know for sure is that they beat him all to hell with some kind of chain. An' that was after they'd already beaten him up and left him for dead the first time."

"The first time?" Dean lifted a brow in confusion, his stomach churning violently in protest at the thought that someone would've hurt his brother so horribly and left him to die alone.

"Apparently Sam found out where Dominic was and went after him alone. They beat him up pretty damn bad, and when the hospital called Bobby, they had said that Sam was in a coma, and his spleen had ruptured."

"Don't understand, how did Sam end up back with Dominic then?"

"Bobby thought he was still in a coma, and left him alone. Sam woke up, an' basically left the hospital to search for you again. Dominic's men must've been waiting for him, an' took him to one the cult's compounds to further torture him."

"So, he could barely walk, much less defend himself, an' they kept on hurting him more." Dean sunk to his knees, and resting against the wall for support, he lowered his head and wrapped his arms around it. As hot tears trailed down his cheeks, he shook with pain and heartache. His little brother, the one person he'd sworn to protect with his life, had suffered excruciating torture for him, and Dean had cursed him, believed he'd betrayed him, and he had hated him for it. "How am I supposed to fix this?" he mumbled to no one but himself, and knew in his heart that there was nothing he could say or do to make up for all the horrible things he had wished on his brother in the time he had been kept as Dominic's prisoner. "There's no way I can make this right."

"It's just gonna take time to make things better, Dean, but you're strong an' so is Sam. You both jus' need time to heal."

Dean glanced up at his father, not really believing what he had just said, but was grateful to hear it just the same. "Dad, did you kill Dominic?"

"No," John reluctantly admitted, "after he killed Billy, Sam just started screaming like a madman, an' I had to get him out of there, so Dominic got away."

"Who's Billy?"

"She . . . she was the one who helped us find you both." John rubbed at the tears filling his own eyes as he continued, "She loved your brother. Risked everything to save him, an' in his own way, I believe Sam loved her, too."

Dean gave a nod of understanding as he slowly rose to his feet, and pushed past his father, needing to be with his brother. Once again, John grabbed hold of his arm to stop him from entering the hospital room, but this time Dean wasn't going to be stopped.

Shrugging free of his father's grasp, Dean briefly turned to face John and said, "Either you're gonna let me go in and see him or you're gonna have to drag me from here kicking an' screaming. But either way, Sam is gonna know I am here for him when he needs me."

"Dean — " John tried to argue, but Dean quickly cut him off.

"I'm not leavin' him alone again. . . not goin' anywhere until he can come too." With that, Dean determinedly strode into Sam's room, and closed the door behind him, leaving John outside.

For several long moments, Dean stood at the entrance, afraid to move or breathe for fear that it might somehow upset Sam. But then his need to be nearer to his baby brother won out, and he slowly closed the distance.

"Sammy," he quietly called out, and cursed under his breath at how loud his voice sounded in the quiet of the room. Sam turned his head at the sound of Dean's voice, and Dean's breath caught in his throat when he saw the unmistakable look of fear in his brother's dull, lifeless hazel eyes. Dean held up his arms in a gesture meant to show that he wasn't going to harm Sam in any way, and saw Sam flinch and shy away from him. "Swear to God, I'm not gonna hurt you, Sammy. Jus' wanted to be here for you."

Dean took a seat beside the bed, and reached out to place a hand on Sam's arm, but as Sam cried out and squirmed to the edge of the bed, Dean reluctantly withdrew. Terrified and not knowing what to do to help his brother, Dean glanced toward the door, praying his father would barge in and drag him out of there, knowing that was what Sam would want at the moment. But when his prayer wasn't answered, he refocused his attention on Sam.

"Sammy, I don't know what to say to you that's gonna fix this, but I swear on my life that I would never do anything to hurt you." Dean cautiously edged a little bit closer to the hospital bed, hoping that in some way, his nearness would reassure Sam that he was telling the truth. "If I had known . . . ." He hesitated, lowering his head briefly, terrified that if he said the wrong thing now he might lose his brother forever, but was also just as terrified that if he said nothing he would be swallowed up in deep growing chasm that was his own broken heart. "You have to believe me. I never even knew you were there, Sam. If I did, there would've been nothin' that could've stopped me from getting you out of there."

Dean waited, hoping that his brother would say something, but Sam gave no outward indication that he had even listened much less understood what Dean had tried to convey. "Damn it, Sammy, I didn't know." No longer holding back, Dean grasped hold of his brother's arm, needing to feel some sort of contact with him. "Thought you left me," he lowered his head, his stomach clenching painfully at having to admit his misguided fears aloud, "I mean, I waited an' waited and no one came . . . not Dad . . . not you. An' I was so damn furious . . . so damn furious."

Unconsciously, Dean's grip tightened around Sam's forearm as he recalled being left alone in the prison, and painfully relived in stark detail the moment when he realized no one would care if he lived or died. "Jus' wanted someone to come an' get me outta there . . . an' no one did." Still caught up in his own horrific memories, Dean unintentionally dug his nails deep into Sam's arm, and even though he vaguely heard his brother cry out in pain, he was too lost in his own pain to respond to it. "An' I was weak an' pathetic . . . did things I never thought I'd ever do jus' to stop the pain . . . groveled at his feet . . . God, I . . . ." Hot tears trailed down his cheeks as he remembered how he had kissed the Father's feet. He brushed his free hand across the mark etched beneath his shirt, and realized how true the word was in depiction of him. "He hurt me so damn bad, an' I was so freakin' screwed up that I didn't even blame him for it."

The present slipped away as the Father's menacing voice, taunted and tormented him, overshadowing Sam's screams and drowned out the sound the heart monitor beeping faster and faster. "An' I freakin' believed the sonuvabitch," Dean hollered, his deeply buried rage resurfacing as he unwittingly lashed out at Sam. His fingers slipped around Sam's throat, and tightened as he relived the excruciating pain of his skin being ripped away from the hooks he had been suspended from. "Would've done anything he asked jus' to be one of his freakin' children."

Someone grabbed hold of Dean from behind, and forcefully tried to drag him from the bedside. "Dean! Let go of your damn brother! Now!" John ripped Dean away from Sam and began to pull him toward the door.

The moment Dean heard his father's voice, his terrifying memories washed away, and his knees buckled as he saw the raised, bloody welts on his brother's arm. Sam clutched at his chest, gasping for breath as he fearfully looked in Dean's direction.

"Sam . . . Sammy?" Dean kicked out at his father, fighting with all his strength to get back to where his brother was, but his father's grip tightened in response, and Dean was too weak to break free. "Damn it, let me go! Wanna stay here with Sammy."

Sam's heart monitor rang out a warning, and a few moments later, several doctors and nurses rushed into the room to help him. "Get him out of here," one of the doctors yelled as he glanced back and John and Dean. "He's upsetting our patient. If he doesn't leave now, I'm gonna have someone call security."

"He's leaving," John quickly assured as he continued to drag Dean toward the door.

"What the hell's wrong with him." Dean jabbed an elbow into his father's gut, and momentarily broke free as a rush of air pushed past John's lips. "Sammy, I'm sorry . . . so goddamned sorry," he uttered, tone turning pleading as he tried to get back to his brother's side. "Didn't mean to . . . what the hell did I do . . . please jus' tell me what I did?" he begged of his father as John gripped hold of his arm once more, and yanked him toward the door. "D-don't remember what I did . . . was tryin' to make things better, an' I don't what happened. I swear to God, I don't know what happened."

"I know you don't, Dean," John lowered his voice as he flung open the door and pushed Dean through it. "but we need to let the doctors work on him now."

"Can't leave him . . . he needs to know I'm sorry . . . please, Dad, he needs to know . . . ." Dean sank to his knees, the rest of his strength giving out as overwhelming guilt took a firm hold of him. "Never meant to hurt him . . . never meant to hurt him . . . ." he muttered over and over again as everything and everyone slipped away, leaving him utterly alone in his own unending deluge of pain and heartache.