Chapter 8 ~ Don't You Dare

Dean left his plate with the half-eaten eggs and bacon on the table, grabbed one of the IVs and a sterile catheter from the cupboard, and headed upstairs towards his and Sam's room.

He had thought about moving into a different room, but rejected the idea. He mostly spent his time beside Sam's bed in one of the chairs, and he hadn't gotten a lot of sleep the past two nights. And anyway, he wanted to be there when he woke up.

He was concerned about Sam, about what shape his little brother would be when he did. Maybe his condition was much worse than they realized. Maybe the demon had just been playing with him all that time, and Sam was already gone. Maybe he'd never been there while the demon played his sadistic games. Maybe Sam was too broken to come back...

Maybe...

That thought shattered the older hunter's heart. Sorrow. Guilt. He'd been supposed to watch over Sam since he was born. Dean had thought a lot about it over the last week, all the fights they'd had in the past five years since their reunion. How many times they'd split up. He would've never thought that something like this could cause that much damage...

He thought about the anger he felt when the hospital called him about Sam, about the mix of fury and concern he'd felt when he entered the hospital - and the shock when he finally saw his brother for the first time after nine weeks: Sam, under the shower, bruises and wounds exposed to Dean and the world. The fading scars from the stitches around his brother's lips that had kept his mouth shut. The healing gashes on his little brother's torso, thighs and legs...

... but the ones that hurt the worst weren't the visible injuries on his body. They would heal, and over the years the scars would fade. But what this thing could've done to Sam's mind, Dean didn't want to imagine. He refused to think about it - he just couldn't.

The older sibling reached the bedroom door, still open a small gap like he'd left it. He took a deep breath, swallowing down all his worry before stepping in.

Dean's gaze fell instantly on his brother, and he froze without taking another step inside.

Sam had moved.

When Dean had left him, Sam was lying on his back. Now he was curled up on his right side, sheets and blankets pulled over his head.

The older hunter's eyes narrowed as he checked the form on the bed. It seemed a bit odd at first, like someone had stuffed pillows and blankets under it. It was almost like when Sam was three years old and his big brother would come to wake the little pain-in-the-ass up for breakfast. The memories brought a light smirk to Dean's face. Those were good memories - they'd been happy, more or less, back then.

"Sammy?" he asked gently. The sheets and blanket moved a little bit, as if the form underneath had flinched.

"Sam?" Dean moved slowly to his brother's bed, putting the IV and the catheter on the nightstand beside it, and tried it once more. "Sammy? You awake?"

Of course he was... and his big brother hadn't been there when he woke up. He could've kicked his own ass for not being around.

The older hunter kneeled down beside the bed, hoping his brother wouldn't think of him as a threat. There was another movement under the sheets and blankets in response to Dean's softly spoken words, and then they remained still.

"C'mon, Sam, I'm going to unwrap you there." Dean lowered his voice - maybe he was still too loud? ...or Sam couldn't recognize his voice...

"You're gonna smother yourself under those sheets, kiddo." Dean took a grip on the uppermost sheet-and-blanket layer and started to pull it back slowly. He didn't want to scare his little brother even more. Damn it, he didn't really even want to tear him out of the only situation where he probably felt safe, but he had to. Dean wasn't quite sure you could suffocate under layers of sheets, but he sure knew it couldn't be comfortable at all - at least not for his brother's lungs.

He tilted the layers back, just far enough so he could see Sam's head. The younger Winchester just lay there, curled up with his hands over his ears as if he didn't want to hear something, his face buried between his knees.

Dean swallowed. He didn't know what to do. Did he dare touch him?

Something deep inside of him told him to go to Sam, to soothe him. To whisper gentle words to him, letting him know that his older brother was there. Although, after all that had happened, after their fight - and especially since who knew what Sam remembered of everything that had happened since - Dean wasn't sure if he deserved his brother's trust.

"You're a freak, Sam. A bloodsucking monster, fucking around with a demon whore. You exchanged me for Ruby. You've let me down like you always do. You ran away like you always do. You never wanted to be part of this family, and I sold my soul for a thing like you, even though Dad told me I'd probably have to kill ya..."

Dean had wanted to hurt his brother with his words. He'd wanted him to feel the pain he'd felt after Sam's betrayal. "I wish I'd let you die in Cold Oak. I wish I'd never sold my soul for you. You're less worth than any monster I've ever killed. If you weren't my brother, Sam... if you weren't my brother, I would've killed you a long time ago." He'd seen the raw hurt in Sam's eyes, tears stinging... and then Dean had grinned at him - he'd just grinned, because he knew he'd hurt him far more than beating him up ever could have done.

It still felt like yesterday. Dean remembered every single word he'd said to his little brother. He'd been so full of anger, doubt and wrath. And now... now he just wanted to have his brother back. He wanted Sammy, the geek boy, the walking encyclopedia of weirdness, his pain-in-the-ass-little-brother... but it was all different now.

Dean laid his hand over Sam's hand, still pressed to his ear. "C'mon, Sammy. Look at me, kiddo." He swallowed down his tears. "I know you're in there." He just had to be.

He felt Sam's hand loosening and guided it downwards. Then his little brother stirred. Hazel eyes blinked and then flew open, taking a careful look at the person beside him.

"That's my boy." Dean smiled softly, squeezing his brother's hand gently.

Sam's expression turned from confused and questioning into fear, pain, and disbelief... all within seconds.

This couldn't be real. It just couldn't. He wanted the darkness back. He didn't want to be here, not again. He didn't want to be awake. He wanted to be dead.

Sam knew what he'd done, had felt the knife dig into Dean's flesh. He remembered their fight. Dean was mad at him. The things he'd said, that he should have killed him like their dad had said. No, Sam shouldn't be here. He'd let Dean down. The only one he'd ever counted on, the only one who'd ever counted on him... at least, he thought Dean had. And damn it, Dean had been correct: What had his little brother ever done right?

Sam was poisoned with demon blood.

He'd run from his family to find his normal life in Stanford.

He'd died, and made Dean sell his soul.

He'd let him down with a demon - let him down so many times it hurt. And now that he'd done everything wrong, now that his brother didn't trust him anymore... what was he worth now? What was his life worth? Why had Dean even come for him?

His head hurt like a bitch. No, his whole body hurt like a bitch. This all was - he just deserved it, he deserved all of it, Sam knew it. Oh god, his head hurt. All these thoughts, emotions, all this guilt. Why hadn't they just killed him? Why hadn't they just ended him like they should have?

Because they wanted to use him to kill his brother, that's why. They wanted him to kill Dean, and he knew he'd at least hurt his brother badly. He'd seen all the blood back there in Bobby's kitchen.

...although something was different now. He could feel it. The voices were gone. The voices that told him that he wasn't worth anything, the voices that constantly told him he was a monster, that he didn't deserve a brother like Dean... they were gone. Just memories now. It didn't matter, though - they were right. Sam knew he was just a burden on his big brother. That's all he ever was and ever would be.

"Sammy..." he knew it was Dean's voice. He knew his brother was calling for him... but he just couldn't. All the fear. All the pain. All the emotions rushing through his mind and body. His thoughts jumped, tearing at him, teasing him, rushing back and forth, up and down. Dean's words echoed in his ears over and over again. He was a freak, a monster, not worth saving...

"Sam?" Dean called again, and he opened his eyes and saw him... saw his brother beside him, emerald eyes smiling down at him, squeezing his hand.

Dean knelt there beside Sam, holding his hand, talking to him. It had been more than half an hour now, but it didn't seem like Sam had heard a single word he said ...or worse: maybe he didn't understand...

It didn't matter. Sam was alive and awake. That was all that counted right now. He would figure out the rest, whatever it would be. Whatever this whole situation meant. Whatever it would take, Dean would do it for his little brother.

Sam's expression didn't change as he began to cry silently. No noise left his mouth, no sobs... nothing. Just tears over tears, wetting the pillow under his head.

Dean lay his hand on Sam's cheek and rubbed the tears away with his thumb. "It's okay, Sammy. I'm here... I've got you." The older sibling brushed his other hand over Sam's hair. "Don't you cry, kiddo. Everything's going to be okay. You're safe now, trust me."

Sam moved his head a little more so that his mouth wasn't covered by his knees. Hazel eyes meet green ones.

"Please." It was silent, but unmistakable.

Dean's eyes locked with Sam's, and the older brother smiled - damn it, Sam was talking. "It's okay, Sammy, you're safe," he repeated comfortingly.

"Please..." Sam's voice sounded steadier, more self-assured. "Please... end this."

Dean's heart shattered. His brother didn't have to say what he should end, he could sense it, but he had to make sure there was no chance of a misunderstanding.

"What, Sam?" He nearly choked on his own words. "What do you want me to end?"

"Please, Dean." This broken sound, eyes pleading. "Please, end this... I don't... please... please... I can't- END THIS, please, Dean."

Dean's face sharpened, eyes serious, all the joy over his brother's awaking gone. He looked away, trying to focus on something else - the plaid of the blanket on the bed. Was Sam honestly asking him for this?

"No."

Dean let his hand slip from Sam's cheek and stood up quickly, squeezing his eyes shut as he turned away. "No, Sam."

He left the room without looking back.

Dean needed air, fresh air. It felt like something had closed tight around his ribcage and throat. He had to get out. He nearly stumbled over the stairs on his way down, then caught himself, rushing on past Rufus and out the front door. Out of Bobby's house and everything in it, down the few steps of the porch, and into the salvage's backyard, where he would be alone for sure.

He almost hoped that Rufus dared to follow him. At least then he'd have someone whose nose he could break, damn it. He so wanted to hurt someone right now. He wanted to beat the shit out of someone else, since he couldn't beat himself up.

That wasn't Sam. Sam would never ask him for a favor like that. He would never even consider something like that... would he?

Who the fuck knew what they'd done to him. Who knew in what ways the demon had messed with his little brother's head... and he'd paved the road for them, all on his own. What kind of brother would say the things he'd said? Would tell him to split up for good this time and take off? Dean had. And Sam hadn't even given him shit for it.

Now he wanted to hurt someone even more, break some bones, and Dean knew exactly who would hurt for this: The bastard they had locked down in the barn.

While Dean was watching Sam, Rufus and a couple of his friends had gotten a hold of a demon. Tied him down to a demon-proof chair with a devil's trap on the floor and another one on the ceiling, and angel sigils all around the wooden walls to make sure no one else interrupted his little chat. The bastard would pay for every single slice, bruise and scratch his companions had given Dean's brother.

He'd tell Dean everything he wanted to know. Everything... no matter how long it took. Dean hadn't been Alistair's best for nothing. He'd mastered the art of torture.

Seven days had passed since Sam had woken up. Seven days of silence, obedience and quiet tears. Sam hadn't let a single word slip since he'd asked his big brother to end it all and been denied.

Only Dean was allowed to get near him, to touch him, to change the bandages and check on his bruises. Only Dean was able to enter the room without Sam hiding in the furthest corner. He barely left the room, not even when Dean went downstairs. Sam refused to follow.

Dean was still worried. Sam didn't eat as much as he was supposed to. He didn't even drink as much as he should. Rufus had managed to make a run for supplies a couple of days ago, bought fruit and all that rabbit food Sam usually loved. It was rotting outside in the trash now.

Sam had changed. Dean hoped that one day he would be at least half the Sam he knew. This was all so screwed up. He wished he could make it all up to his little brother, take back all the words he'd purposefully said to hurt him. Damn, he would have traded places with him, no matter what.

The older Winchester had a full plate on a tray in his hands when he went downstairs to the kitchen. Sam just had picked at his breakfast. Now it was cold after standing nearly untouched on the bed for a couple of hours. Dean would try something different for lunch later. Maybe this Sam liked bacon cheeseburgers and fries. He'd eaten them in the hospital, anyway.

"Just give him time." Bobby was sitting in his wheelchair at the kitchen table when Dean entered the room.

"Please, Bobby, don't. Just don't. He's a mess." Dean snarled and bit his lower lip. He couldn't believe his own words.

The older Winchester put the tray on the counter next to the sink and turned around. "I don't know if I can deal with this by myself. He ain't talkin', he ain't eatin'. He doesn't even look at me, Bobby."

"Oh, c'mon, stop whining, boy." Dean had missed that grumpy voice this past week. "Pull yourself together. He's your brother, of course you'll deal with it. And you're not all alone, by the way. You've got me. And Rufus... occasionally." Bobby glared with wide eyes at his adopted boy. "You've all the time you need for fixing it."

Dean glared at the retired hunter. "Time?! Time is the one thing we don't have. It's the a-freaking-pocalypse. Seals are gettin' broken and we should be stopping it. We have to stop it." He sighed, his gaze falling on the clock on the wall above the table. It was just after 11:00 a.m.

"You don't have to do nothing about it," Bobby stated firmly. "There are plenty of other hunters out there, and Castiel. You take care of your brother until he's ready to face the world. You can't fight both of those battles at the same time. Try it and you're gonna lose one of them."

The former hunter sighed at Dean's expression. "Don't be a jerk now, Dean."

"Of course I can't fight on both fronts - not with my brother gone all 'beautiful mind.' He's just... he's not Sam, you know? Not the Sam I know. He's completely different. It's like he's given up. That's not the Sam I want. I want my Sam back. Geekboy. The one who knows everything better than you and makes bitch-faces." Dean paused. "He's all I've got, Bobby."

"That's why you're going to take care of him... and then you'll both take care of any seals, the apocalypse and Lucifer himself." Bobby smiled, his eyes glittering wickedly. "Speaking of which, what about that bitch in the barn? He spit out anything useful yet?"

Dean let out another sigh as he uncapped his beer bottle and swallowed a mouthful. "Not really... just that the demons that grabbed Sam didn't support Lucifer rising. Which, obviously, is pissing off the ones that do support Lucifer. So that tribe of rebels are now being hunted by their own, and I guess they're hiding pretty well at the moment."

He took another swig. "And damn, the bastard is pretty nervous about Lucy being back and all that stuff. I've got a feeling he'd rather die before telling me what's really up." Another pause, then he continued. "...And he was pretty confused about Sam."

"You talked about your brother with that sonofabitch?" Bobby asked in disbelief.

Dean shook his head. "I didn't - he did. Obviously they got ahold of the bastard we sent back downstairs a week ago. Apparently Lucy ain't happy about suckers who hurt his vessel." He paused again. "Lucy can't wear Sam for prom if he doesn't give him permission, so on the bright side, the way Sam is right now there's probably no chance of Lucy getting him to say anything. In that way, I guess it's not that bad."

For a moment, Dean wasn't sure if he'd said that last part out loud. Then he looked up to meet angry old eyes.

"You seen your brother lately, Dean? It's worse than bad. He ain't happy. He probably ain't in this world right now. How could you even say it's not that bad the way it is right now?" The old man's voice rose in anger with every word that left his lips. "If I could still kick the shit out of you, boy, I'd do it, right now. You sound like your dad, you know that?" Then, still grumpy but more softly: "Don't be like John, Dean. Hold onto Sam, and Sam will hold onto you. It might take time, but he will heal, and you both will survive all this."

Bobby rolled towards the fridge and got himself a beer. "When Rufus is done digging in the Katzunes, he'll get us some burgers from town. Now, what do you think Sam would like?"

Late that day, Dean was on his way upstairs to bring his 'beautiful mind' brother his bacon cheeseburger and fries, paper bag in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. After the first few steps, though, he looked up and stopped. Sam was sitting on the upper step, knees tight to his chest, both hazel eyes watching his big brother.

Dean hadn't gone upstairs since he'd carried the nearly untouched breakfast back down to the kitchen earlier. Now, over two hours later, his brother had left the room for the first time since he had woken up.

Dean stopped without coming any closer. He didn't know if he should. He didn't know if this Sam was Sam-in-the-hospital Sam or another demon playing another sick game with them both.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean smiled softly.

Sam's words echoed in his mind... "End this, Dean." He banished the thought from his mind, pretending it had never had happened. "I've got lunch for the both of us, kiddo. What do you say? Hungry?"

Sam didn't talk back to his big brother these days. He simply followed orders, unless it was about leaving the room, or eating or drinking something. Everything else about his behavior had been more than obedient. He acted extremely subservient, to be honest, another fact that scared the shit out of his big brother at times.

Sam looked at Dean pleadingly, his big hazel eyes full of fear, pain and anxiety.

"Wanna go downstairs?" Dean smelled an opportunity to get his little brother at least into the living room for the first time. "It's better to eat down there. We won't mess the bed up, kiddo." He kept his smile soft as he climbed up another step.

Sam flinched, beginning to breathe fast.

Dean groaned. He knew he wouldn't get an answer, so he set the bottle down and reached out a hand to his brother. "C'mon, let's go."

After a couple of seconds, his younger brother responded to Dean's prompt with a shaky hand. However, the further down the stairs they went, the more frantic Sam's breathing became. When Dean noticed, he slowed down, giving his brother more time to adjust. Finally, Sam stopped at the bottom of the stairs and wouldn't move any farther.

The older Winchester stood there too, and turned towards the younger. "Just a few more yards, Sam, and we're in the kitchen." Dean looked at him hopefully, pulling a little bit on his hand like he might leave him behind if Sam didn't follow. "C'mon, just you, me, and Bobby."

Sam stumbled backwards. His breath started to hitch as he lost control over the rise and fall of his chest. His heart beat even faster as less oxygen reached his lungs.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, kiddo. Nice and slow, okay?" Dean dropped the paper bag and sat down beside his brother, rubbing his back carefully. "C'mon, nice and slow, Sammy. It's okay."

Sam put his hand on the left side of his chest, trying to follow Dean's directions, but he couldn't, he just couldn't... He'd failed again. He felt it in his chest, he'd failed. As Dean's voice got more forceful, everything seemed lost again.

Just one single order, and he couldn't follow it.

"Hey, Sam, don't you dare. C'mon boy, breathe." Anxiety rose in Dean as he tried to keep his voice low. It wasn't easy. "Just- just slow down for me, Sam. Please? I didn't mean it." He could do nothing but watch as Sam's face got progressively paler as he tightened his grip on his chest, trying to catch a breath as he hyperventilated.

Without thinking, Dean pulled Sam into a hug. He'd wanted to do that since his brother woke up - hug him, show him how sorry he was for everything that had been said, for everything that had happened. A hug between them had always meant more than a thousand words could express.

It hurt Dean that something simple like going down the stairs affected his brother this way, inciting a major panic attack like this, and he cursed himself for not seeing the signs of it. He felt small drops of water hitting his flannel shirt; Sam was crying again, those same silent tears from deep within.

"You know it's okay. I'm sorry. You don't have to, okay? You don't have to. We can just sit here and wait until it's over, little brother, okay?" He cursed himself for not giving in and letting Sam stay where he was. Dean knew his brother wasn't himself right now, and obviously couldn't tell where his natural boundaries were.

Sam began to calm down as he curled up beside him, shifting his head into Dean's lap. The older man began to pet his hair, brushing his tears away on occasion. His little brother seemed so small and vulnerable right now, wasted and exhausted. Dean couldn't blame him for wanting to end this... but he couldn't let him give up. He had to get him through this, no matter how, no matter what. He couldn't let his brother go that easily.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I shouldn't have pushed you like that. I'm sorry. I know you can't. I was just too stubborn to see it." Dean rubbed Sam's arm gently, trying to soothe him more. It seemed to work, at least a little. He didn't know how long they sat there before Sam shifted a little bit and looked up at his big brother, tightening his grip on Dean's tear-damp flannel.

The younger Winchester didn't know why he was afraid. He couldn't explain it to anyone. Thoughts and memories, everything was mixed up - shouting, whispering, hissing. The fear stuck with him, deep inside his bones, so he'd just done what he used to do when he was a toddler, just followed Dean and his orders and suggestions as best he could.

He wanted to scream and cry.

Well, really, he wanted to end it all, the way he always did since he'd woken up seven days ago - since he'd remembered everything that had happened - but Dean had told him no, so he wouldn't ...at least for now.

To Dean's surprise, it was Sam himself who sat up and reached for the paper bag, although not without checking with his brother like he was asking for permission before he touched it. That stabbed Dean right in his heart. Had he really ever given his brother the feeling that he needed to ask for simple things like this?

They sat there for a long time, quietly eating the cold burgers and fries. Dean could've used the microwave to warm them up, but that would've meant leaving his little brother alone...

The older Winchester took his time, watching his brother as he slowly ate, shredding the burger into little pieces before eating it. Every now and then, Sam looked over to his brother to see if he had finished yet.

Dean thought he'd figured Sam's eating out. If no one else was eating, Sam wouldn't eat, and as soon as the other person finished, he stopped as well. Where that behavior came from, Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know. He just knew he'd fix it.

The younger man sipped at his can of Coke, and then handed it over to Dean, asking with his eyes as they fixated on his big brother's beer. The older sibling smiled and took a last gulp from the bottle before handing it over to Sam, taking the Coke in exchange.

The next day, late in the morning...

Since Rufus had left for a hunt two states over, the older Winchester figured he'd go on a supply run by himself. Sam was asleep and Bobby would be busy with research for Rufus' hunt, and they had a fallen angel to watch over his sleeping brother. He'd figured it wouldn't take much more than an hour to get back to Bobby's, but it hadn't been as easy as he'd hoped to find the right size of sweatpants for his little brother. He'd lost a lot of weight, and needed some new trousers for the time being.

Dean knew something was different when he returned with the supplies. Something wasn't right - in fact, something was way beyond 'not right.' And when he stood in front of Bobby's house and heard screams, the color drained from his face.

In one fast motion, Dean dropped the bags and drew his loaded gun.