So I'm guessing there is only like 3-4 chapters left to go from here...thanks for reading and all the support and reviews. bambers;)

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Sam hadn't meant to push Dean so hard, and in truth understood why Dean chose to mentally block out the events that had taken place after they had both been injured. While most people preferred to bury particularly painful memories, if Dean could, he would've salted and burned them as well. From the bits and pieces Sam recalled from after his brother had hauled him up the basement stairs, and carried him to the Impala, their father had lit into him pretty good, blaming him for Sam's injuries. By the time their dad had figured out Dean was badly injured as well, Dean had already pass out cold. Sam had always believed he chose his time to lose consciousness as sort of a defensive mechanism, choosing to shut down rather than listening to what a failure he was. He could take pain – had proven that time and time again, but failing in their father's eyes was not an option for Dean.

As he absentmindedly stared into the depths of the darkened hole, he contemplated his reasons for dredging up the past, and selfishly had to admit that talking it through with Dean had helped clear his mind as to how things truly were between them. Dean would never hurt him – would rather die than see him in pain – and although he had always known this deep down, Dean's denial of suffering any pain at all had cemented it into his brain.

Closing his eyes, he trailed his fingertips over the crook in his arm, remembering how he had begged Dawn to shoot him up with whatever drugs Dominic had given her just so he could escape from the pain for a little while. In those drug induced hallucinations, Dean was the enemy . . . was the cause of all his pain instead of the hero who always gave way too much of himself. In truth, Dean gave away much more than he had to give, leaving him vulnerable to men like Dominic who would prey on that kind of selflessness for their own personal gain. In Dominic's eyes that made Dean weak – while in Sam's eyes it made him shine. Not just a cut above the rest, but a true hero.

With a heavy sigh, Sam sidestepped the weakened floorboards and trudged back into the kitchen. His stomach rumbled loudly as he glanced at the refrigerator, a nagging reminder that he'd barely touched his dinner, and had eaten very little over the past few days. Eyes narrowing, he stared in confusion at the seemingly new kitchen appliance, and then pivoted to take in the rest of the room, realizing for the first time that someone had completely remodeled it since the last time he was there.

Maybe this is why Dean is here? He scratched his head, confusion growing as he stared at the marbled counter tops and copper pans hanging above the center island. Was someone trying to move in here, and disturbed something they shouldn't have?

In his mind, he retraced his steps since entering the house, but other than this room, he couldn't think of any other that had changed at all. "That has to be it," he muttered under his breath, mentally kicking himself for not questioning why there was power running to an apparently abandoned dwelling. Yet for all that had happened the last time he was there, Sam couldn't sense any feelings of dread about the house. In truth, he felt an odd sense of peace that he hadn't known since before Dominic had entered their lives. Searching his mind, he tried to find a reason for the feeling, and finally reasoned that it had to be because of Dean.

Yeah, but he doesn't even want me here. Shaking away the notion of being an unwanted intruder in Dean's life, Sam yanked opened the refrigerator, rummaged around until he found a six-pack of beer, and pulled it off the upper shelf, closing the door with his foot as he turned around to take a seat. "So how do I get him to want me to stay?" he muttered, cracking his beer open, and taking a long swallow.

I pushed him away so many times, I doubt he'll ever forgive me, much less want me around.

As he mulled over ways to make Dean trust him again, he polished off three beers and was well into the forth when he heard the sound of the front door opening then closing. "Dean, I'm in here," he called out, hearing the floorboards creaking toward the stairs, alerting his brother that he was in the kitchen instead of upstairs. For a moment the footsteps halted, and Sam could imagine his brother grappling with himself as to whether he wanted to face him again or just head upstairs to bed instead. "Look, I promise not to bring up the last time we were here again, so can't we just talk?"

A relieved sigh slipped past his lips as he heard the creaking sound grow more distinct as Dean changed directions and headed toward him. Smiling, he gulped down the rest of his drink, lined it up alongside the others, and raised his head, tilting it toward the door.

"Kinda thought you'd be gone – " the words died in his throat as two of the men who had tortured him at the compound enter the room with guns drawn.

"It's been awhile, Sam," the taller of the two said with a smirking grin, "I was worried you might've forgotten me, but I can see that you haven't," he added, motioning toward Sam's trembling hands. "Looks like they healed alright – guess I'll just have to break them all again."

"You know," the shorter, brown-eyed man, whom Sam recalled taunting him before they'd broken his fingers, leaned casually against the entranceway, "you should always lock the doors cause you never can tell who might walk through them if you don't."

A sudden loud crack of splintering wood echoed from somewhere behind Sam, and his stomach heaved violently as more footsteps sounded against the floorboards. Without having to turn around, he knew there had to at least three if not more men entering through the back entrance, successfully barring any means of possible escape.

Swallowing hard against the thick lump in his throat, Sam managed to utter, "What the hell do you want?"

"Thought that was obvious," the taller man, who was obviously their new leader, waved his gun at Sam's chest, "we wanna watch you an' your brother die." His smile broadened, eyes alighting with derisive pleasure. "An' since he murdered our father, we're gonna kill you first, so he can witness it before we take care of him."

"You actually think Dean's stupid enough to just walk straight in here?" Sam slid off his stool, but before his feet came to rest on the floor, the barrel of a gun ground into his back between his shoulder blades. "He's a helluva lot smarter than all of you put together."

"An' he's a crack shot, too," the leader of the group added, holstering his gun as he came to stand in front of Sam. "Saw that with my own eyes. But I really don't think his intelligence or aim have anything to do with his desire to not to see your brains splattered all over the floor. So I'm pretty sure, he'll come and he'll be unarmed when he does."

"Looks like he's kicked the habit, Markus," the brown eyed man said, nudging his head toward Sam while chuckling. "Last time I saw him he was so damn strung out, he was spouting off about demons coming to get him."

"Yeah, it does kinda look that way, doesn't it? But the thing about a recovering junkie is they're always just one good fix away from being a junkie again." Markus gripped hold of Sam's arm, and forcefully yanked up his sleeve. Fists tightly clenched, Sam stood paralyzed, a shiver of dread coursing through him at the thought of losing himself once again to drug filled hallucinations. "So what do you say, Sam? You itchin' for another fix?"

"N-No." Mouth suddenly bone dry, he swallowed convulsively. With a dead stare, he watched as Markus reached into his pocket, and pulled out a syringe filled with hazy liquid. Eyes locked on the sharp needle, he pushed himself backward, but abruptly stopped short as two men gripped hold of his arms.

"Do you know that in every sense of the word, Dean was one of us?" Markus took a step forward, closing the small gap between them, and raised the syringe to eye level. "If Father ordered it so, he wouldn't have blinked twice in killing you to protect the family."

Sam steeled himself, drawing on all the inner reserves of strength he possessed, and when that failed to bolster his faltering courage, he drew on something even more powerful. He focused all his thoughts on Dean. Their relationship. The unbreakable bond they had shared since childhood. Dean was his constant – the one person he could always rely on no matter the circumstance. If Markus followed through on his threat, which Sam had no doubt he would, and he did lose his way once again, Dean would find him and bring him back. That was what Dean did. Always.

"Think I know my own brother better than you, asshole, an' there's no way in hell he'd ever purposely hurt me."

"You give him way too much credit." Markus smirked as he jabbed the needle into Sam's arm, and squeezed the plunger.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Lucas followed Dean to the bar he'd seen him at a few days prior, and parked in the far corner of the lot. He wasn't stupid, he knew why Markus had chosen him to go after the middle Winchester. If there was one thing he had learned in his vast experience with the family, it was that there were always acceptable losses. He was an acceptable loss. Dean would kill him. Markus counted on it, of this Lucas was absolutely certain. In Markus' eyes, Lucas was the weakest link – the bait. His only worth measured in how fast he could make Dean react to the news he had to share.

He toyed with the idea of running, but the family would find him. They always found whomever they were searching for. Dean was proof of that. And maybe it would be better if Dean did kill him. He might be merciful, unlike Markus who would take pleasure in torturing him. No – for all Dean had suffered, for all his younger brother had endured, he would be every bit as brutal if not more so.

Yet, Lucas couldn't run, he was too damn tired and more than ready to confront Dean. The younger man deserved to have at least one victory, however small, before he died. He also deserved to hear the truth.

Lucas slipped out of the car, and trudged to the entrance. Hesitating at the door, he drew in a a deep breath to calm his nerves, and felt his gut clench as he yanked open the door. With a quick glance around, he spotted Dean at the bar, and made his way across the room.

He tapped the younger man on the shoulder, and took a backward step as Dean shifted in his seat to look at him. "Dean, I need to talk to you about your brother." A look of momentary surprise lit across Dean's features, followed by something akin to fear, then was masked in pure rage.

With lightning speed, Dean's hand whipped out and he clutched hold of Lucas' t-shirt and yanked him forward. "If you hurt my brother again, I swear to God, you won't make it out of this bar alive," he gritted out through clenched teeth.

"J-just hear me out, Dean," Lucas stammered, hastily rethinking his stance that he was prepared to die. "They watched you leave. They knew he was alone, an' they're bankin' on the fact that you'll come for him."

Dean's green eyes glittered with unadulterated fury, looking all the more ominous in the pale amber light emanating from overhead. "So you're here to make sure I don't disappoint them?"

"No, I just . . . I just wanted to go home," Lucas somehow managed to utter, trembling as Dean's grip tightened around the fabric of his shirt. "Markus said he'd kill my brother and sister if I even thought of leaving." He swallowed hard, thinking of his younger brother and sister, and pushed forward. "You don't know him like I do. The things he'd do to them . . . I've seen what he can do, an' I couldn't let that happen to them."

"But it's okay if he hurts my freakin' family?" Dean was off his chair in a shot, and dragged Lucas toward the entrance. Once outside, Dean slammed Lucas up against the wall, pinning him there with a forearm to the throat. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now?"

"The night Raine died. The night she was shot – that bullet was meant for you."

Confusion briefly flitted across Dean's features, but once again was quickly shadowed in anger. "What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"Markus. You took Raine from him." Lucas gulped down a lungful of air as Dean's hold on him loosened. "In his eyes, she was his and you took her away from him. When I saw him raising his gun, I knew what he planned on doing . . . knew he would get away with it, too. All he had to do was blame it on your family, and Dominic would've believed him. So I charged at him, but the gun went off, and Raine died because of me." Looking Dean square in the eyes, tears brimming in his own, Lucas searched for some sort of redemption, but found none. "I-I've never killed anyone before, an' God, you have to believe I never meant to hurt her or you . . . I was just a freakin' bathroom attendant in a house full of killers . . . please, I can't live like this – knowing s-she died because of me . . . knowing you an' your brother are gonna die as well."

For what seemed the longest time, Dean remained silent, holding Lucas' gaze, then finally released his hold on him. "Go home to your family, Lucas." He then pivoted on his heel, and headed toward his car.

"Dean!" Lucas shouted, chasing after him. "You can't go alone, they'll kill you."

"Maybe." Without turning back, Dean gave a curt nod. "But at least I'll take some of those bastards down before I do."