-To all reviews I didnt answer I apologize profusely. Thank you all so much! It's been a hellish week, and Im sorry. Accept my peace offering in chapter form :)-

20

Fresh Blood

The room was still, eerily so. Nothing moved, no sound was made, just pure and utter silence.

Lisbon broke it, letting out a long, relieved sigh. Everyone else seemed to remember how to move after that. Cho leaned against the back wall, shutting his eyes, breathing slowly. Rigsby let go of Van Pelt as she started to get up, keeping a hand on her shoulder. She nodded, signaling that she was alright.

Sam sat up, breathing shakily. He looked over at his brother.

Dean's face was still in his hands, still huddled over his knees, shaking. He made no sound, and that scared Sam more than if he'd been screaming.

"Dean?" He carefully put his hand on his shoulder. Dean whimpered, tensing and drawing closer into himself. "No…"

"Dean, are you okay? Can you hear me?" Sam gently coaxed his face up. Dean's eyes met his, bloodshot and bleary.

"Sammy?" He said quietly. Sam's qualms were confirmed. Fear had thrown Dean back into Hell.

"I'm here, Dean, it's alright. Shh…" He pulled him into a hug.

"I'm alright," he breathed shakily. "I'm okay. Ch-check on Cas." Sam looked down at the blood on his hands, bile in his throat. "Dean-"

"Check on Cas," he barked. Sam gently –reluctantly- leaned him against the wall and went to the unconscious angel. He placed two fingers on his neck, checking for some sort of pulse. A weak beat presented itself after a moment.

"Cas, Cas, wake up," he said, shaking his shoulder lightly. Castiel's eyes peeled open. He looked up at Sam groggily. "Are you alright?"

"I'm weak." His voice was strained and it sounded like it hurt to speak. "I'm very weak. I…I can't move."

"You gonna be okay?" He asked warily. The angel nodded.

"Eventually, yes." He looked over his shoulder at Dean. "He needs your help. He's injured."

"He told me to make sure you were alright." Castiel rolled his eyes.

"I'm fine. Help him."

Lisbon bolted to Patrick, who was shaking and crying on the floor. She gently lifted him into her arms, holding him close. He sobbed helplessly, blood on his lips, face bruised. His eyes were beyond bloodshot, popped blood vessels dotting an unknown pattern behind his irises, making that brilliant blue stand out even more.

"Shh, shh, shh, it's alright, Patrick. Shh, it's okay. It's over now, shh. Hush, hush, it's okay," she soothed. He whimpered, curling against her, hiding his face in her chest.

"P-please, please, I-"

"Shh, they can't hurt you anymore, honey. It's over, it's over now. Shh."

"No m-more…" He begged. She shook her head.

"No more, they're not gonna hurt you anymore. It'll be alright." She rocked him gently, kissing his forehead.

Minelli sat up with a start, gasping. He looked around for a moment, at everyone. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?" Dean winced at the sudden outburst; Patrick whimpered again, burying his face deeper in Lisbon's shirt.

"Sir," Cho said, snapping out of his daze and walking toward him. "If we could discuss this in your office-"

"Not in my office, Cho, what the-"

"Sir," Cho said firmly, silencing the older man in a second. "I will explain everything that's going on. But not here. Jane's been through enough without more chaos around him. Now please, let's talk in your office."

Minelli nodded, for reasons he wasn't quite sure of and followed him to his office.

Sam was looking Dean over, ignoring his protests and trying to make sure he was alright.

"Sammy, I'm- Gah!" He tensed and jerked away when Sam touched a bloody spot on his ribs. Sam glared at him pointedly.

"Shut up," Dean gasped through gritted teeth. Sam pursed his lips. He couldn't tell just how bad he was hurt through the many layers of shirts, but it had to be bad. Dean was putting on a good front, but then again he always did.

"Dean, knock it off," Sam said gently. Dean stared at him, jaw flexed. He wasn't angry, he was holding back pain. He looked over at Lisbon.

"We can take 'em in my office," she said. Sam nodded. He looked at Dean and Castiel, wondering if this was going to turn out okay.

"Sammy, I can do it," Dean grunted.

"Dean, shut up and hold still." He could see it in Dean's eyes that he'd gone through more than the rest of them. And he was right. Fear had a hold of them all for ten minutes. But Hell time and normal time are far from the same. Ten minutes for them, ten hours for Dean.

"Ow," Dean hissed softly as the peroxide-filled rag touched his bloody skin.

"Sorry," Sam muttered, not meeting his eyes. He sewed up whatever needed to be, wrapped and covered his black and blue ribs. Dean barely made a sound, and even if he did it was small and quiet.

"Guh." Dean shut his eyes, tight, biting his lip.

"Shh, it's okay," Sam soothed. He unzipped Dean's duffel, fishing out clean clothes. Dean sat up painstakingly, ignoring his brother's protests.

"Don't even think about it," he grunted, snatching his bag. "I can do it."

Castiel was asleep on a pallet in the corner, face buried in a pillow, clutching his trench coat tightly around him, face partially hidden by the blanket draped over him.

Dean changed under his own blanket, ignoring the agony that continually flared through him.

"Dean, be careful, you're gonna tear your stitches."

"Shut up, Mom," he looked over his shoulder. "Go help him."

Patrick was lying on the couch, his whole body, inside and out, in pain. His throat was on fire, heart severed and wracked, mind a jumbled mess, like static on a T.V. screen.

"Shh, hush, hush, it's alright. It's gonna be okay," Lisbon soothed, brushing curls back. He shut his eyes.

"A-are they alright now?" He shuddered. "M-my wife and d-daughter, are th-they okay?" Lisbon nodded sadly, smiling a little.

"They're just fine, honey."

Sam stood behind her, first-aid kit in hand.

"Why aren't we taking them to a hospital?" Rigsby asked.

"Wayne, you can't explain this to a doctor," Van Pelt said quietly. "They'll lock all of us up if we tell them the truth. And I think Sam can do just fine."

Lisbon stood, letting Sam take her place.

"Alright, Patrick, hold still. I'm not gonna hurt you. It won't take long, it'll be alright."

He was as careful as he could be, apologizing over and over.

There was a lot of blood and bruises, but he'd be alright. He kept shaking, trembling violently. He wasn't cold. He was terrified, the fear of his father still in the front of his mind. Countless beatings and thrashings. He'd been thrown down the stairs once or twice, head shoved under water. Utterly abused, and it was even worse if he didn't perform as well as he could've, if he didn't make the old man the money he wanted.

He shuddered again.

"It's alright," Sam soothed. "Just a little longer."

He covered him back up when everything was over, letting Lisbon sit back down.

Patrick was still trembling, tears seeping painfully out of his eyes.

"It'll be alright."

"I'm tired," he gulped. "I'm so tired."

"Go to sleep, honey. Just go to sleep. Rest." He let his eyes close, praying that those horrible dreams would let him be for just one night, er, well, dawn.

Lisbon sighed when sleep finally came to him, her hand on her forehead, still a little shaky herself.

"He'll deny all of this when he wakes up," she said softly. Sam nodded, looking over at his now unconscious brother. Even in sleep his face was contorted in unseen pain. Sam frowned, his lips pursed.

"So will he."