A/N Hi, all! Sorry for the delay. I actually had Chapter 7 written, but I'd included an OC character's POV in addition to Dean's and...yeah. It was bad. So, near total rewrite.

I hope y'all enjoy this one, now that it doesn't suck (I hope)

Still own nothing recognizable.

Thanks so much for the follows & comments.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

By the time he and Sammy had worked it all out between them — even going so far as to make some anonymous calls to the local hospitals to find out which one was most likely to not bill two abandoned, itinerant kids — they'd both been satisfied that they were on a path which would free Sammy from John's abuse and ensure that no one, no where, could split them apart.

They got to St. Joseph's Hospital feeling confident — and happy that this time, it would be an actual doctor who would pop Sammy's shoulder in, then reset and cast his broken arm and ankle.

They were promptly separated pretty much as soon as they walked through the door.

"Take me to my brother. NOW," Dean yelled at the nun standing in front of him. He'd been yelling at a variety of aides, orderlies, nurses and, yes, nuns in full habit, for about 15 minutes, now, ever since he'd finished the basic paperwork for Sammy's treatment, and then realized that they'd taken Sammy somewhere away from Dean while he was checking stupid boxes.

"Sir," the nun said calmly, and put what he supposed was meant to be a calming hand on his arm.

Dean glared at the delicate hand, then slowly lifted his jewel-hard emerald eyes to meet the nun's gaze.

The hand was slowly retracted, but the nun — Sister Kimberly, from the hospital ID hanging around her neck, intertwined with her rosary and cross — continued giving him meaningless platitudes.

"Your brother is fine, Mr. Winchester," Sister Kimberly assured him. "He's getting the best possible care, I assure you."

"Due respect, Sister," Dean snarled with no respect whatsoever, "if you want to assure me, then TAKE ME TO MY BROTHER!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean noticed several injured parties awaiting treatment move to a section of the waiting room that was much further away from him.

Good. Should be afraid, Big Brother Dean decided.

Nun's not, Hunter Dean noticed.

She will be, if I don't see Sam in the next three minutes, Big Brother Dean vowed.

Some other part of his brain frowned. I'm trying to intimidate nuns. My life is so fucked up.

"Where is he?" he demanded again, reigning back his temper just slightly. Dean had always figured that, as a Hunter, there was a decent chance he was going to Hell as it was. No need to ensure it today.

"Mr. Winchester," the Sister tried again.

"Dean," he interrupted. "My name is Dean. My brother's name is Sammy — Sam," he corrected himself, knowing how much the 15-year-old hated to be called Sammy by anyone but him. "He's badly hurt, I know he's scared, and I. Need. To see him. NOW."

A petite woman in a white coat stomped angrily towards him. "Thank you, Sister," she said with a smile. "I've got it from here."

Sister Kimberly nodded, and favored Dean with a warm, sympathetic look that almost made him regret yelling at her.

Almost.

"Blessing be on you and your brother, son," Sister Kimberly said serenely and glided away to speak with other waiting patients and family.

The petite woman — Doctor, he corrected himself, glancing at her name tag — stepped up close to him, and poked a delicate finger into his sternum.

"What," she hissed, punctuating every couple words with another sharp poke, "the hell do you think you're doing, screaming at people in my ER? There are other patients here, and families who are worried enough without some IMBECILE shouting!"

"Ummm." Dean absently rubbed the sore spot on his chest where the little spitfire doctor had been stabbing him with her small finger. "I…I just need to find my brother," he said, softly, and shot a nearly apologetic glance at the rest of the people in the waiting room.

She stared at him for a moment, her face an angry — but beautiful, Dean noticed — thundercloud threatening to loose some pretty heavy lightning at him. After a moment, during which Dean found himself inexplicably looking down from her furious brown eyes, she relaxed slightly.

"And your brother is…?" she asked quietly after a moment.

"Sammy," he responded equally quietly, although he didn't know why. "Sam. Sam Winchester." Dean watched her as the thunderclouds evaporated from her face.

"Sam," she frowned and met his eyes again, this time with suspicion. "The 12-year-old with the dislocated shoulder, broken ankle, and eyes he knows entirely too well how to use for his advantage."

Dean couldn't help the small bark of laughter at the description. "That's him! And he's 15, actually. He's just small for his age."

"So, if that's your Sam," the doctor reflected quietly, "then you're Dean."

Dean startled slightly.

She smiled at him, fully this time. "He's been asking for you. If you can give me just 10 minutes — at the most— I'll take you where Sam was taken myself."

"You don't need…Just tell me where, I can find it," Dean countered. "Don't you have patients or something?"

The little doctor shook her head "My shift's ending," she explained, "I just need 10 minutes, maybe less, to get the next shift briefed on who's here and why. Honestly, I was planning to go there anyway. And you and I need to talk. Can you give me 10 at the outside?"

Dean considered, only for a moment, then nodded his agreement. He figured that having a doctor around would be handy if and when CPS arrived. And if they hadn't been called yet, well a talk with the apparent head of the ER would guarantee that they would be. "Okay."

She smiled at him, patted his arm briefly, then walked over to talk to another doctor, a couple nurses and Sister Kimberly.

He watched her go and found himself relaxing, just slightly. Something about her made him believe that she would get him to Sammy.

And once he was with Sammy, it would be okay.

Everything was going to be okay.

===========SPN=============

It was only 7 minutes, 26 seconds before the lady doctor returned.

Of course Dean timed it. How would he be able to trust someone who couldn't be straight about how long they'd take to do something?

"Okay, I'm all set," she told him, and gestured towards a pair of double doors that led further into the hospital. "Let's go where they took your brother."

"So if that's your ER, were you the one to treat Sammy? Sam?"

"I was."

"How is he?" Dean asked her, too anxious about his little brother to worry about acting cool, she noticed.

"He's had a rough day," she admitted.

Dean snorted a laugh. "Lady, you don't know the half of it," he muttered, and completely and deliberately ignored the quizzical look she shot him. "What did you do? His treatment?"

"We reduced his left shoulder," she reported.

Dean snorted a laugh. "And I'll just bet the little idiot refused any pain meds," he shook his head in fond exasperation when she nodded confirmation. "And the breaks?"

She paused and looked at him expectantly. "What do you know about the breaks?" she wondered.

"I didn't cause them, if that's what you're thinking," he said mildly. "But I checked Sammy over when I found him. Dislocated left shoulder, we already talked about that. Three breaks in the same arm, one in the humerus pretty much in the middle of the bone, one each in the radius and ulna, about two or three inches below the elbow."

She stopped in the middle of the hall and looked at him. Dean came to an abrupt halt beside her.

"What?" he wondered.

"How do you know what, exactly, was broken?" she demanded. "Did you take him to a clinic or something before coming here?"

"No," Dean shook his head a little confused. "What do you mean, how do I know? I felt them. His right ankle is all screwed up, too," he added, "but you can just see that. I didn't have time to check out his left wrist, but that was swollen and hot. I figured maybe a bad sprain, if we're lucky. Other than that ankle, no breaks in his legs, nothing to note on his right arm, except a little swelling around the elbow - probably hyperextended when he was trying to protect himself."

"You seem to know a lot about medicine," the doctor noted quietly, and started walking again, Dean keeping his pace slower than normal to stay even with her shorter legs. "You thinking about being a doctor? You'd be a good one, I think."

Dean scoffed. "Right! Eight more years of school. No thanks. I didn't even finish high school, Doc. Barely got my GED. I'm no candidate for med school."

"But you already know so much," she said, and looked at him with her eyes slightly closed.

Dean shook his head and ran his hand through his short cropped hair. "That's just lousy experience," he assured her. "What I know, I've needed to know."

She nodded. "Well, you were exactly right about all Sam's injuries, except the right ankle."

"Nah, that was broken," Dean countered. "No way it wasn't; it was practically turned around."

"It wasn't broken," she countered. "It was partially dislocated, and shattered."

Dean stumbled a little and grabbed her by the arm, turning to face him. "Shattered?!" he repeated. "What…He'll…what…"

"Dean," she said and reached up to put a hand on his shoulder. "He'll walk again," she assured him, and watched as Dean started breathing again and closed his eyes in relief.

"Thank god."

"He will need surgery," she clarified, and his eyes flew open, the hard emerald that he'd initially pierced her with darkening to a turbulent sea green.

"Surgery." Dean looked away, biting his lower lip. "How're we…" he muttered to himself, then looked down at her again, putting his own hands on both her shoulders. "Tell me. What does he need? Whatever he needs, you do it. Whatever it is."

The little doc looked up at him and he would've sworn there was a hint of moisture in her eyes. "He'll end up with some screws and a couple of rods holding his foot and ankle together," she told him as gently as she could. "He'll be laid up afterwards for a couple months, but with care and time and good physical therapy, he should walk again just fine."

Dean nodded. "Okay. Okay. We doing that here? Now?" he wondered.

The little doctor started walking again, not saying anything further, and Dean followed, his worry and fear growing with each step.

He reached out and grabbed her elbow pulling them to a stop once more. "Doc? Doc, come on. What's going on?" His eyes widened as something she'd said earlier finally sunk in. "What did mean, you're taking me where they took Sam? If…Doc, if something happened to…If we're heading…". He closed his eyes, unable to both look at her and voice his fear, "please tell me we're not on the way to the morgue."

"What? NO," she assured him and put a small hand on this arm. "Dean, he's not dead. If he were, I'd've told you immediately," she assured him."And anyway," she chuckled, "he couldn't walk again if he were dead, now could he?"

"You'd be surprised," Dean muttered to himself, suppressing a shudder as images of the hench zombies came to mind.

They started walking again, turning a corner and heading towards a pair of half glass doors that didn't exactly calm him down.

"Surgical waiting," he read and followed her through the doors to a small two person sofa away from the room's other occupants.

"Sit down, Dean," she urged gently.

"Doc…"

"Please. Sit."

Dean sank onto the seat, and watched as she sat beside him, his breathing getting faster and shallower by the moment.

"Aw, man," he breathed. "When a doctor — even a pretty one — tells you to sit…Man, that is never going to be good. Doc? Come on! What's wrong with Sammy? Where's my brother?"

"Dean," she said calmly. "He's in good hands," she tried to reassure him, but Dean started to stand, biting his lower lip.

"Dammit," he whispered, and sat back down when she grabbed his wrist. "Tell me. Just tell me. What's wrong with my brother?" he asked, his voice tinged with a desperate fear and unshed tears.

"We were bringing him back from x-ray," she explained. "We'd already examined him, and hadn't found anything beyond what you found," she admitted.

"But."

"But," she continued, "before we could get him back to the treatment room to set his breaks, he started coughing."

Dean frowned. "Coughing," he repeated. "That doesn't sound..oh, shit!" He closed his eyes and nearly doubled over, holding his head in his hands. "The footprint. It was right over his liver," he realized. "Dammit. How the fuck did I miss that?" His head snapped up. "What happened? Don't sugar coat it, Doc, just tell me. Tell me!"

"After about a minute of coughing," she told him as gently as she could, "he started coughing up blood."

"Fuck," Dean breathed, closing his eyes tightly. "That's why he's in surgery," he deduced, looking at her once again. "Not his foot. Internal bleeding."

"Yes."

"Dammit. DAMMIT!" Dean surged to his feet and paced away a few feet tenting his fingers together over his mouth. "I missed it," he said in a voice so broken, so devastated that the little doctor got tears in her eyes, too. "I didn't even palpate his stomach. Of all the stupid…"

The doctor was suddenly at his side, gently taking his arm to lead him back to the chairs. "Dean," she said soothingly as they sat again. "It's not your fault."

"Of course, it is," he assured her. "I didn't even think. Dammit. I was just so…" he curled his right hand into a tight fist and wrapped his left around it, bringing them up to his mouth again. "I get so angry," he admitted, "I can't even think. And when I found him… I was just angry. I wanted…." He stopped and took a long, deep breath; held it and let it out, visibly forcing his shoulders to relax. "Get it together, Winchester," he said quietly to himself. "This isn't helping Sammy."

"Sam's going to be okay, Dean," she told him and he jumped a little as if he'd forgotten she was beside him.

He turned to her, his eyes glistening with tears she knew he would never willingly shed. "You don't know that," he said flatly. "Not unless…have you heard from the operating room? Talked to the surgeon? A Nurse?"

"Not yet," she was forced to admit. "But he's in the very best hands," she promised him. "Seriously. The BEST trauma surgeon in the state."

He frowned at her, raising one skeptical eyebrow. "In Asheville," he challenged. "Not Raleigh, not at Duke. At a charity hospital in freakin' Asheville. The Best."

She smiled and gave him a little shrug. "I was surprised, too," she admitted. "But this is where he grew up. Max's whole family is here, and he doesn't want to leave. And for the record," she added, "Duke has tried. He keeps turning them down."

"Really," Dean mused. "Just because it's his hometown. Huh."

"Lots of people are like that," she told him. "Something like 40 percent of people never leave their hometown. I guess you're not from Asheville, though. You and Sam?"

Dean scoffed. "Me and Sam? We're not from anywhere."

"Where do you call home?"

"Home," Dean smiled and sighed. "Home is…it's just us. Me and Sammy. That's home," he told her and seemed suddenly calmer just saying the words. "He's gonna be all right," he said quietly. "He's got to."

"Dean," she said softly, and put an arm around his bent shoulders.

He swallowed and looked away from her. "It's my fault," he whispered, so softly she had to strain to hear him over the hum of distant voices and the ventilation system.

"It isn't," she countered. "Unless you're the one who beat him. Are you, Dean? Are you the one who beat your brother?"

Dean turned to stare at her, appalled. "No! Of course not! I would never…"

"I know, I know," she assured him. "I'm just making a point. If you didn't hit him, and I know you didn't, then YOU are not responsible for the shape Sam's in."

Dean shook his head, slightly. "That sounds so good," he admitted. "But you're wrong. I didn't protect him. I let him talk me out of protecting him. And because I did what he asked…" Dean fell silent a moment, then looked at her with those hypnotizing eyes of hurting green. "He could die. Couldn't he? Sammy could die."

For a brief moment, he watched the emotions on her pretty, heart-shaped face, and knew she was seriously considering lying to him, giving Dean the kind of comforting platitudes that she no doubt often gave families waiting for the worst.

He saw the exact second she decided to tell him the truth, and something inside him relaxed the tiniest bit.

"Yes," she admitted. "But I don't believe he will."

Dean frowned, watching her closely.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Dean," she assured him. "I have the feeling…you and Sam have been through a lot, haven't you. Not just today. All your lives. Haven't you?"

Dean took a deep breath and flexed his shoulders, and told her what he'd basically told her before: "Lady, you got no idea."

"Tell me," she urged.

Dean just laughed. "You wouldn't believe me," he said flatly. "And you don't want to know."

"I do, Dean. I want to know. What happened to you and Sam? Something set this off, this whole — cycle of violence. What started it?"

Dean just looked at her, went still and silent, barely breathing, and he could see that she was expecting him to not respond.

"What's your name?" He asked softly.

She blinked at him, surprised. "Dr Bloom," she responded, then shook her head. "But, I"m off duty now, and I think I'd rather you call me Maggie."

"Like we're friends," Dean returned, with just the slightest trace of sarcasm.

"I think you can use a friend," she observed. "You and Sam."

He shrugged. She wasn't wrong. And with that thought, he surprised both of them by starting to talk.

"Our mother was killed," he said quietly. "I was only four. Sammy? Six months old. And it all just…changed. I didn't learn why, or how much, until I was nearly seven. Sammy — Dad and I kept it from him until he was almost nine." He looked at her, and his eyes almost glowed with a knowledge too big for such a young man. "Some things you learn," Dean said, his voice soft and level, hiding emotions that could be only guessed at, "and it all changes. The whole world. And you. Most of all, you."

"Dean," Maggie ventured quietly. "Who hit Sam? Who's really responsible for this, Dean? It's not you. Who is it?"

"Sam didn't tell you?" Dean shook his head. "He never listens." He took another deep breath and closed his eyes before answering her, as if he couldn't bear to look at her when he confessed the truth. "It was Dad," he said softly. "Our Dad did this. He tried to do worse," he added, opening his eyes again.

"Worse?"

"After he beat the crap out of Sam, he left for a little while. We'd thought he'd be gone all night. He usually is, when he's done wailing on the kid. But he came back, after…I don't know. Half an hour maybe? An hour? I don't know how long. But we weren't expecting it. I barely had time to carry Sammy up into the loft before he came through the door."

"What happened?" Maggie pressed when he stopped talking.

"Turns out, Dad wasn't done with him. He wanted to kill him. He'd come back to kill him. To put him down, Dad said. About his own son. Bastard," Dean added in a whisper.

"Do you know why he wanted to kill Sam?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. He blames Sam for Mom's death. Sam," he repeated, "who was literally just a babe in arms. He was barely even crawling. But Mom's death was Sammy's fault," he confirmed bitterly.

"Did he hurt Sam again? When he came back?"

"Hell no," Dean spat. "I was there, when he came back. Sammy asked me to leave before the first…session. But I made damn sure Sammy wasn't alone with him when Dad came back. I made sure he didn't get anywhere near my baby brother again," Dean assured her, his voice growing deeper with anger and conviction. "I'll make sure the bastard never even sees Sam again."

Maggie nodded. "Sam also said it was your dad," she admitted. "But I had to ask you separately, to confirm."

Dean nodded his understanding, and again took a deep breath and flexed his shoulders. "It's okay," he assured her. "I figured you would."

"We had to call Child Protective Services, Dean," she told him. "After what Sam said. We didn't have a choice."

"Good," Dean said grimly. "Probably should have done it years ago."

"Why didn't you?" Maggie wondered. "And I'm not making a judgement," she promised hastily. "It just…it seems like you would want to. To get Sam out of there, if this has been going on for years."

"I did want to," Dean admitted. "But we couldn't. Not without running the risk of CPS separating us. And…We won't be separated. Ever."

Maggie nodded. "I thought that might be it. But something's different now. Is it because he'd never threatened to kill Sam before?"

"More fundamental than that," Dean explained with a smile. "I'm 19 now. And Sammy's 15 — both of which I can prove — and the judge will listen to him. Listen to me. And I'll get custody of Sammy. Nobody'll be able to split us up. Not ever."

"Oh, Dean" Maggie sighed and took his hand. "There's no guarantee of that," she told him, regretfully, and watched as his eyes grew wide with fear.

"But…"

"Dean," she said firmly. "I promise you this. I know the people at CPS. I'm an ER doctor. I've seen abuse…so many times. And I promise you. I'll do everything I can to help you and Sam stay together. I swear I will."

"Thank you," he whispered, and closed his eyes for a moment, willing the tears not to fall.

He stayed still, fighting his emotions for over a minute, then took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. "How long has he been in surgery?" He asked.

She glanced at the clock on the far wall. "Not too long. The Surgical team took him about 45 minutes ago."

Dean nodded. "How long do you think it'll take? The surgery."

"It depends on how much damage there was," Maggied admitted . "Probably be several hours."

Dean nodded again. "I suppose I should get comfortable then," he decided and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest.

They sat there for a few minutes before Dean turned to look at her.

"You don't need to stay," he said, not unkindly. "I'm fine."

"I'd like to stay, if you don't mind," she told him, almost casually.

He tipped his head a little to one side. "Why?"

"It's been a long time since I've had a patient who affected me quite the way Sam did," she admitted. "I want to make sure he's okay. And besides. You could use a friend, remember?"

Dean nodded and tilted his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

Five minutes passed. The only sounds were the humming of the air conditioner and the hushed conversations of other families awaiting news on their loved ones.

"What?" Dean asked, without opening his eyes.

"What what?"

"I can feel you watching me, Maggie," he said mildly. "What do you want to know."

There were a few more seconds of silence before he got his answer.

"Sam had a lot of scars," she said quietly. "Some of them…didn't look like abuse. There's a set of three slashes, on his back, just over his kidneys. They look like an animal attack. But there are no animals I can think of that would leave only three claw marks."

Dean shrugged. "There are a lot of weird animals out there, Maggie," he said dismissively. "Dad dragged us around a lot, after Mom died. We ended up doing a lot of camping. You run into things."

"Sure you do," she agreed and he opened his eyes, turning his head to look at her.

"You're upset," he noted. "Not just about Sam, either."

Maggie shook her head. "I don't…I hate seeing kids hurt. I hate seeing anyone hurt," she admitted, " but kids…Too many kids today."

Dean sat up, pulling his legs back as if to stand. "Today?" He repeated and she nodded. "You had other kids today."

"Eight of them," she admitted. "Maybe you didn't hear," she frowned, "not being from around here, but there were eight kids missing from Black Mountain, a little ways north of here. They were found today."

Dean nodded eagerly. "Yeah, I know. We—we heard," he explained hastily. "On the radio. I"m surprised they were brought here."

"Black Mountain doesn't really have the facilities for that kind of trauma. They were airlifted here."

"They okay?" He asked.

"They're good," she smiled. "Five of them are already home with the parents. They rest should all be able to home tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Dean exclaimed, and frowned. "Even Sean?"

"Yeah, he…" Maggie stopped and stared at him as Dean's eyes grew wide. "How do you…"

"I heard it. On the radio," Dean back pedaled as hard as he could. "Umm.. one kid, think his name was Sean. Maybe. Could be remembering wrong," he shrugged. "But, uh, I heard that one of the kids was…hurt worse than the others. Just based on the newscast I heard, I'm surprised, that's all. News made it sound bad. Glad it's not," he added, and started to stand. "Would you like some coffee? I could use some coffee."

"It was you," Maggie breathed and Dean sat right back down, his legs suddenly going weak.

'W—Wha—Nothing was me," he assured her.

"You and Sam," she continued and Dean closed his eyes. "You're the brothers."

His eyes flew open and he turned to her. "Bro—what brothers?"

"You saved them," she whispered. "You and Sam. Your Dad too?" she wondered and Dean found himself nodding before he could stop it. "All the kids talked about it," she told him, keeping her voice quiet. "Two brothers, and their father. The brothers freed them. Their father got them out of the caves and called for help, stayed with them until they were life flighted out." She covered her mouth with one hand, and her eyes grew wide.

Dean stared at her, his heart pounding.

Maggie lowered her hand, and her smile grew wider. "That's where the weird scars are from," she breathed, and leaned forward until she was almost whispering in his ear. "You're Hunters."

A/N dun-dun-DUN.

Just as a heads up, I'm in basically a hell week for me (8 hours/day training, + time working for a customer + time writing a brand new webinar I have to present two weeks from tomorrow). So, probably not going to get a ton of time to work on chapter 8 this week. I'll get it done and posted as soon as I can.