Chapter Text

"God Sam I'm fine," Dean said, clutching at his side. Sam jumped out of the driver’s seat and pulled Dean's arm over his shoulders.

"Would you drop the act? I know you're hurt." Replied Sam as he dragged Dean to his room. Blood was seeping through his brother's shirt. A shame, Sam thought, the green shirt was one of Dean's favorites.

Once they arrived at his door he tried to pull away and lock Sam out. The younger hunter was having none of it and held on to the hand that lay begrudgingly across his shoulders and swung Dean around so that he couldn't reach the door handle. Finally, after a few muttered complaints from the older man that he wasn't a child, Sam carefully laid Dean on his bed.

The younger of the two looked down at his brother with triumph in his eyes. Contrary to Dean's previous protests that he was being treated like a child, the expression he wore on his face that of an extremely pissed off 5-year-old. He had no idea how a 35-year-old seasoned hunter could manage that. In spite of everything he laughed slightly and opened up the first aid kit he had grabbed from the car and had stuffed into the duffel bag. Dean just lay on the bed with his arms crossed starring up at Sam.

"I need to see what I'm going to be stitching Dean, lie on your front." Sam said as he threaded the needle.

Dean stayed still. Defiance in his eyes.

"Why do you have to be so difficult? I'm trying to help you!" Exclaimed Sam. He set down the needle and went to turn his older but smaller brother, however when Sam turned back around he saw that Dean was now lying on his stomach. It was hard enough to treat his brother's injuries at the best of times, but with things so fractured and broken between them this was going to be damn near impossible.

Sam knew that he was in for a long night.

He sighed and lifted Dean's t-shirt.

Four deep gashes were on Dean's lower back, two required stitching whilst the other two would heal on their own. There were also plenty of bruises littering the rest of his torso, Sam pulled Dean's T-shirt up further to reveal a nasty purple bruise complete with a deep cut which had obviously festered, untreated. The cut was at least one week old and the bruises must have been there even longer as they were yellowing at the edges. Deep concern was starting to brew in Sam's stomach, he suspected that Dean had been keeping injuries from him and he was willing to bet these weren't the only ones.

"Dean you’re going to have to take off your t-shirt." Stated Sam, matter-of-factly, as he grabbed the rubbing alcohol. He waited for a moment, expecting to hear some sarcastic remark from his brother, something along the lines of Geez Sammy buy me a drink first... but a gruff annoyed voice barked back instead.

"What? Why? The cuts are at the bottom of my back Einstein, you can get to them just fine." Dean said in protest, lifting his head off the pillow. The hostility Sam was receiving wasn't much of a surprise to him, he knew that Dean's smart-ass defence mechanisms were out worn out these days... Hell, they were pretty much non-existent. And he knew who shouldered most of the blame for that.

"Yeah but they're not the only injuries that need treating are they?" Sam blatantly asked. He was getting real sick of tip-toeing around his brother like he was made of glass. If Dean was going to be a brash asshole then so was he.

The older hunter's green eyes narrowed as he tugged the t-shirt back down, "You know what? Screw you Sam, I let you in here to do one job. So either do that job or get out." Returned Dean viciously as he tried to get up.

Sam easily pushed him back down, holding on to the hunters right arm to prevent him from moving again. However Dean instantly shook his grip on the branded limb off as if Sam's hand was searing hot. It hurt to see Dean react to him like that, even though it was Sam's own doing. Though he was sick and tired of Dean treating him like dirt, deep down he knew it was all because of those bitter, anger-clouded words he had confessed to his brother 3 weeks ago... you want to work, let’s work. If you want to be brothers... those are my terms... Dean was simply following orders, like he had been trained to do.

Almost sensing another fight coming on if he persisted, Dean angrily flopped back down and Sam decided not to push his luck for the time being. He set to work on Dean's side, stitching him up like they'd done a hundred times before. This time it was different. Dean had stopped any physical contact with his younger brother lately, and had been doing everything he could to distance himself from him. Not that Sam really gave him a chance but on the few occasions where he had to pass anything to the now 'business-associates', Dean would actually take steps back to throw it to him. Every time Sam had stretched out an arm to help him, Dean had either ignored it or pushed it away quickly. He wasn't sure if this was Sam's punishment or Dean simply felt like he didn't deserve help. Another theory that had formed in his head recently, encouraged by the worried look the older hunter had in his eyes as he hastily pushed Sam away and by the way he had reacted to his brother touching his right arm just now, was that Dean was actually frightened that he may hurt Sam if he held contact. Either way it had weighed heavily on his mind.

Five minutes later Sam finished the last stitch, and as soon as he poured alcohol over the wound Dean pulled his t-shirt back down, sat up and motioned for the Scotch in Sam's hand. The younger brother reluctantly held it out to him and Dean quickly grasped it by the top of the bottle and proceeded to try and pour as much of the amber liquid as he could down his throat.

"Whoa, slow down!" Sam said as the older man ignored him and simply carried on, "Dean!" He reached for the bottle but Dean pulled it out of his grasp.

"Don't you have studying to do?" He hiccuped.

"I'm not going to leave you here drinking yourself to death." Replied Sam as Dean took another long swig of alcohol.

He laughed bitterly as the Scotch bottle left his mouth and mumbled, "Like you care."

Sam felt the same impact of those words as he would if Dean had screamed them into his face. It was like a bomb went off and he felt the weight of this last month come crashing down on him... The snide comments, the resentment… All the lies and the bone-deep betrayal he felt... And Dean still failed to see that Sam had stayed at the bunker (unlike him), was working with his brother again and still couldn't help but worry about him.

So no. Sam wouldn't take this shit any more.

He leapt up and flung his chair away from him causing Dean to stand up in shock.

"OF COURSE I FUCKING CARE DEAN! I'M HERE AREN'T I? I FIXED YOU UP DESPITE YOUR CONSTANT BITCHING! QUIT ACTING LIKE I'M GOING TO LEAVE YOU FOR DEAD!” Shouted Sam, inches from his brother’s startled face.

Dean looked completely taken aback, Sam hardly ever raised his voice. In fact it was infuriating when Dean would rage and shout at anything and everything only to turn to Sam who would just be sitting there, sighing in that sad empathetic way. It took a hell of a lot to make to make the younger man explode like that (only their father seemed to have been able to provoke that kind of anger from him) and in turn, it took a moment for Dean to respond. He relocated his own ammunition and flung a well aimed retort back at his brother.

"That's funny, so I'm meant to pretend that you didn't say we can't be brothers or that you wouldn't save me! Godsake Sam I wish you'd pick an angle, you're making my head spin." And it wasn't just the limitless hurt at Sam's cold 2 week old confession had inflicted upon him that was starting to make Dean's vision slip, the combination of the bad Scotch and the growing pain from his wounds were starting to catch up with him. Dean clutched his side and started to walk out the room, needing to escape the enclosed space of his bedroom that was adorned with attempts to show that he had a personality, that he had a life that he lived and breathed.

It all just hurt so much, nothing more so than the dull ache of the mark branded onto his right arm, a constant reminder of his failings and a promise of his long overdue punishment.

He never expected him to but Sam followed him through the halls, the injured hunter wished he would give up and return to his own room.

"Where are you going?" Sam called from behind him, proving he would be doing nothing of the sort.

"For a drive." Replied Dean gruffly.

"No you’re not," Sam blocked Dean off and spun him around, "You've been drinking and we need to talk."

"About?" Spat Dean.

"About what I said, about that stupid mark you got branded on your arm and about these bruises and god knows what else that you've been hiding from me!" Sam persisted as Dean avoided looking him in the eye.

"I'm not hiding anything." He insisted, though his voice betrayed how cornered he felt- he just needed to be free of it all. Once more Dean tried to push past but Sam stood in front of him, blocking his exit. He really didn't want to talk about this tonight when he was being swallowed by the agony of his bruises and brand new prickling stitches, plus the even more painful ringing of Sam's 'honest' words.

"Why are you doing this?" Questioned Sam as he tried to catch his brother's wondering and increasingly trapped eyes, "Dean, you could get an infection, you know how dangerous hunting injuries can get if they're not assessed, you taught me that yourself."

Dean stopped searching for an escape and brokenly slumped against the corridor wall, knowing that if Sam wouldn't let him leave the bunker- he'd have to find a different way of escaping. An escape that lay inside his pocket. He just had to lock Sam out somehow to use it... But his brother's question rang in Dean's mind... Why are you doing this? Why?

He knew why, and before he could stop himself muttered the answer quietly...

"Because I deserve it. "

"What did you say?" Asked Sam apprehensively, he hadn't caught what Dean had said and he tried to ignore the feeling in his gut that this was going nowhere good. The younger of the two placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder, not caring if he might shake it off. Surprisingly he didn't, he only kept his eyes on the floor as Sam felt him shivering slightly.

Dean finally raised his head to look at him, green eyes empty and unfocused.

"Because I deserve it." He said in such a defeated and resolute tone that Sam's bottom lip began to tremble.

"You think you deserve what?" Whispered Sam slowly.

"The pain Sammy..." Dean's head dropped again, "I deserve the pain for what I've done, I deserve a hell of a lot more"

Sam sighed as his chest tightened. But he stayed quiet, silently willing his brother to carry on.

“Like I told you, I’m poison. And these wounds, they’re payback for everything. For Kevin. For everything I did to you. I’m… I’m just so tired. The only way out is this thing-” Dean rolled up his sleeve to reveal the angry red mark that had chilled Sam to the bone since he had first laid eyes on it in that hospital room.

“W-way out? What the hell do you mean?” Nothing was processing, Sam just couldn't believe what he was hearing, he refused to.

Dean's mouth curled into an empty smile, “I think I’ll be out of your hair soon Sammy.”

And with that ominous statement hanging heavily in the air he suddenly ran into one of the guest rooms and locked the door quickly on Sam.

Chapter Text

“Open the door. I swear to God Dean! Open the DOOR!” Sam desperately banged on the door in vain, he knew he wouldn’t get in.

The younger man cursed the Men of Letters and their never-ending security devices, was it really necessary to have deadbolts on every door? Sam supposed he would be grateful for them one day... But not right now. No matter how many times he hit the heavy wooden door it would not open, it was locked from the inside. Lock pick, he thought suddenly- it was in the duffel bag that he had left in Dean’s room.

“Don’t think I’m going anywhere! I’ll be back!” He yelled as he turned away.

“Yeah alright Schwarzenegger,” Sam swore he heard from inside the room, or was it just wishful thinking?

He ran into his brother’s just recently abandoned room, launched himself at the duffel that he had dumped beside the bed and frantically searched through the bag. Dean wasn’t going to do anything stupid was he? He wouldn't...

Are you kidding, after all that shit he admitted back there? Who’s to say he won’t take it into his own hands and do it to himself? Maybe you wouldn't have to worry about the Mark of Cain after all, maybe Dean will kill himself all on his own. Even if he doesn’t there’s still something wrong with him, he’s slipping away…

No. Dean was here. His older brother was always there, even when Sam pushed him away. Yet it was like living with an empty shell. Was Dean, his Dean, really still in there? That Dean was slowing dying and Sam didn't know what he could do. He didn't want to be a hypocrite, he didn't want to let Dean off easy or restart his self-sacrificing tendencies all over again. But he couldn't erase that burning feeling that told him that he was losing his brother.

Sam tried to silence the endless babble in his head and carried on searching for the lock pick.

That’s when he saw something else, something that made his heart stop.

He raised his head to look absent-mindedly at the med kit still spread across the bed. With sickening dread he noticed a needle was missing. Sam threw aside the bag and grabbed the medicine case, fresh concern and worry pounding through his body.

He had always had paranoia about the medical kit since he was 11 years old, Dad had been badly bitten by a Black Dog and they hadn’t restocked the bandages since their last injuries. He had nearly bled out as Sam and Dean desperately tried to find some clean material to dress his wounds with. After that Sam took it upon himself to always take a meticulous inventory of their medical supplies.

They had three bottles of Adrenaline and three bottles of morphine, they always did. Even when Dean was going to use Adrenaline on Garth and Sam was unsure that he would reunite properly with his brother, he still had replaced the bottle with a stolen one from the hospital out of habit.

He emptied the case onto the bed frantically. If Sam was truly honest with himself as he accounted for each item in the Med Kit, in reality he already knew what the answer was going to be. And sure enough…

There was only one bottle of morphine left.

He was close to yelling, close to screaming the bunker down as mounting panic threatened to take control. In seconds he was back to the bag and finally after what seemed like a lifetime, his hand grasped the cold metal of the lock pick. The hunter wasn’t even aware of leaving the room, the only thing that ran through his head was Dean’s unnerving voice…

I’ll be out of your hair soon I’ll be out of your hair soon I’ll be out of your hair soon I’ll be out of your hair soon I’ll be out of your hair soon.

All of a sudden he found himself in front of that nondescript door again.

This was a joke, it had to be. The door would open this time and Dean would be sat on the bed laughing his ass off, waving the bottles of morphine in his hands. I got you good Sammy, you should see your face! And then Sam would punch the living shit out of him, and maybe he would have to use that morphine in the end after Sam kicked his ass from here to Washington... But Dean would be alive. He wouldn’t have done anything to himself, it would just have all been an elaborate prank. A sick and demented one but a prank, just like they used to do- aeons ago.

“Dean? Please?” Sam asked in his most pleading voice, it was worth one last try.

No reply came.

His hands shook with fear as he started to use the lock pick, an eternity seemed to pass before he heard the faint click he’d been praying for. The sense of dread was unbearable as the door swung open and Sam braced himself for what was inside.

His eyes barely registered the plain untouched room, all he saw was the terror inducing scene directly in front of him.

Dean lay spread eagle on the bed with his eyes closed. The needle was grasped his left hand and a steady stream of blood ran down from his right arm.

The morphine had been ejected directly into The Mark of Cain.

Chapter Text

He was at Dean’s side in seconds, closing the space between them in three strides.

Sam grasped his brother’s shoulders and shook, “DEAN! DEAN COME ON OPEN YOUR EYES FOR ME, PLEASE!” Dean remained as still as a rag doll, his head rolling back and forth as Sam willed him to wake up.

It was like falling into an old nightmare.

Sam found himself crying over Dean's shredded body, his agonized screams still echoing in the room. He heard Bobby distantly speak from what felt like miles away, that familiar worn out but knowledgeable voice calling to him, instructing him... "...we should move him, son". There was so much blood when they lifted him, so much that Sam emptied what little food there was left in his stomach onto a meticulously trimmed rosebush when they finally got him to Bobby's car. For 4 months images of that night had haunted his sleeping and waking hours, the only thing that was worse than the guilt that clung to him during the day were the nightmares that came for him at night, nightmares of a screaming, torn-apart Dean with black eyes calling for him, asking Sam why he didn't save him.

He was going to save him this time.

Sam listened for Dean’s breath as he held his own, praying to every god under the sun that his brother was still with him. Each second was like agony, Sam barely dared to place his hand on Dean’s neck to check for a pulse, he didn’t want to risk getting the answer he was so desperately afraid of.

Just as Sam was about to give in, out of nowhere he felt a slow exhale of breath on the side of his face. The younger hunter nearly fainted with relief and gained the courage to check Dean’s pulse. When he finally found it, it turned out to be extremely thready. Alarm bells were ringing in Sam’s head, you’ve gotta get him to a hospital right now. Deans breathing had dropped to less than six breaths per minute. He was overdosing, and badly.

Sam hauled Dean up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, “Come on big brother, I’ve got you- you’re not going anywhere.” He murmured, more for himself than for Dean’s benefit. He knew the older man couldn’t hear him, he never could....

"How can you leave him like this? He should be taken to a hospital Dad!"

"They’ll ask too many questions Sam, he'll be fine, he's always fine".

His father's words rang in his ear. He's always fine. Sam wasn't sure if his Dad had been lying to himself or genuinely believed that Dean was always okay. "He'll be fine because he's always fine. Because he has to be, he has to be..." The image of the normally stoic man gripping Dean's arm with tears dripping down his face flickered in Sam's mind. He had been right, Dean had to be okay because he was the only one who kept them together. He was the true head of the family, the peacekeeper and the carer. When he was injured he would always joke around, smirk on his face, telling Sam to dry his eyes and to quit being such a baby, he was fine. But after Dad died something broke in Dean, something that Sam hadn't quite been able to work out what it was till now... Now it clicked into place. His ability to be 'fine' had been fractured and now, nearly eight years since their father had passed and all the shit they'd gone through, his act was so broken Sam could see straight through it. His game face was practically non-existent and Dean just kept on imploding with little or no effort to cover it up.

This is one of those implosions that he had not seen coming, God knows how. If Sam wasn't so busy carrying his unconscious brother to the car he would be beating the hell out of the nearest object to him right now for being so blind. But in reality he hadn't been blind, he chose to be passive, indifferent to Dean’s various cries for help and oblivious to his unattended injures.

Strictly business... Strictly business between us.

Well screw that.

Eventually he entered the garage and spotted the impala, flecks of mud littered her wheel trims and doors from Sam’s previous driving trip earlier in the night. One of the only occasions where Sam is allowed to touch Dean’s precious car is when the proud owner himself is injured, and even then his brother still manages to pick at him for every gear change and every turn. Though he resents the jabs he knows that no one could ever drive the impala like Dean, it comes as naturally to him as breathing. Sam lay Dean down across the back seats and promptly slammed the door, not even caring that if Dean was conscious he would have scolded his younger brother for hurting his baby. He swiftly slid into the front seat and jammed the keys into the ignition, the car roared to life as Sam floored the gas pedal and tore out of the bunker.

He couldn’t stop looking in the rear view mirror to check on Dean, trying to catch a rise of his chest to indicate if he was still breathing. The nearest hospital had never felt so far away.

The night stretched on as Sam eventually spotted the exit sign for a hospital. With tires screeching he finally pulled into the emergency entrance and ran out to grab Dean from the back seat.

“HELP! I NEED HELP!!” He screamed as he started to drag Dean towards the doors. In a flutter of activity his brother was pulled away from him and onto a stretcher while someone quickly asked Sam what happened.

“M-morphine… H-he injected it…” Sam stuttered out as he tailed the people who were wheeling Dean away from him. They ask for his brother’s name and age, Sam replies automatically, his mouth had never felt so completely numb and dry.

He feels a hand stop him from following Dean into the brightly lit trauma room.

“I’m sorry sir you can’t go any further.”

And just like that, Sam was shut out.

________________________

He sat and waited on the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the relative’s room. He had paced the corridor for half an hour before a concerned nurse had shown him to this clinical blue room at the end of the E.R, which is where he'd been trapped for going on three hours. Sam twisted his hands over and over in worry. This was taking way too long, what was going on in there? The sounds of nurses passing, the endless beeping of machines and that terrible hospital smell seemed to intensify. As the room began to spin Sam made a run for the bathroom.

He barely made it into the stall before throwing up what little he had eaten that day. For a couple of minutes he lay against the tiled wall, letting the cold surface cool him down as his breath evened out and he was sure he wasn’t going to hurl again.

On shaky legs he walked to the basin and washed his face. As he lifted his head he saw a red eyed and exhausted looking Sam staring back at him…

During the past couple of weeks Sam had tried to tell himself that he had distanced himself from Dean for their own good, but a little part of him had felt happy to have the moral high ground again. Deep down in his mind he thought that Dean deserved to suffer some of the pain that Sam had gone through, then maybe he would understand. But he never, not even in his darkest moments, wanted this.

It took every last ounce of control he had not to smash the mirror in front of him.

When he made his way back to the relative’s room there was a Doctor waiting for him.

“Mr. Squire?” The man asked.

“N-yeah. Yes that’s me.” Sam barely remembered the name he’d given and almost told the doctor that he had the wrong guy.

“Hi I’m Doctor Torrance, I’ve been treating your brother…”

Torrance. Like in The Shining. Dean would get a kick out that, despite it's cruel irony.

“How is he? Is he awake? Can I see him?” Gabbled Sam quickly as he stepped forward.

“Are you are aware that your brother suffered a serious morphine overdose?” The man looked concerned for Sam, maybe even a little bit scared of him too.

“Yes I’m the one who found him, now please… How is he?” Repeated Sam agitatedly.

“We treated the overdose with naloxone, which stabilized his breathing and heart rate. So far he’s been responding well to the medication but he’s yet to wake up. In cases like this, patients normally regain consciousness pretty soon after the drugs kick in. But the amount of morphine that was in his system… Mr. Squire, to be quite honest with you... I don’t know how he survived it.”

Sam felt the room spin again and had to clamp his eyes shut to stop another wave of nausea, “Can I see him please?” He pleaded.

“Yes of course, I’ll show you to his room.” Came the doctor’s voice.

The sight that greeted him upon his arrival in Dean’s room was by no means an unfamiliar situation. In fact, he had seen his brother in much worse conditions. Flashes of Dean’s heart attack, the car crash, when Alistair had almost choked him to death and countless other hunts gone wrong were imprinted into Sam’s memory forever. The older hunter lay in the hospital bed with a heart monitor beside him and an IV was hooked up to his arm. Dean looked the same as he had when Sam had burst into that guest bedroom; surprisingly peaceful.

As Sam made his way over to his brother he noticed that they had placed a bandage over the Mark of Cain. Though he was happy that he wouldn't have to look at that that angry accusing brand, he wondered why they had done it.

“Interesting scar your brother has,” Said Doctor Torrance from the doorway, as if reading his mind. It made Sam jump a little, he had forgotten he was still here.

“Tell me about it,” Sam replied sadly, he tore his eyes away from Dean's weak form and turned to face the Doctor, “Why is it bandaged up?”

“Well…” He looked uncomfortable under Sam’s gaze, “Whilst we were treating your brother, he was fading fast. Like I said before, I don’t know how he pulled through. But this… Scar… One of the nurses swore it was glowing, burning his skin. After that Dean finally started to react the IV medication. The nurse insisted we wrap it up, just in case.”

Sam’s jaw clenched, “So it’s still there?”

“As far as I know.” Said the doctor in a confused tone.

Great. Just Great.

Chapter Text

Dean's room always made Sam smile sadly. The room was a shrine to everything that made Dean Dean. He had his meticulously cleaned guns hung up on his wall, his vinyl collection, his pervy magazines, his memory foam mattress and a photo of him and their mother propped up on his paper-strewn desk. It was the only room Dean had really lived in since he was 5 years old, and his lost childhood was reflected in it. To Sam it served as a testament of all the things both he and his brother had been denied, but Dean seemed to be proud of it.

After Dean left him and Castiel on that bridge, a slightly tipsy Sam had made his way to the room where he half expected his brother to be sat at his desk reading with Led Zeppelin blasting out on his record player. Instead he had been greeted with no brother and complete silence. Sam had simply sat on Dean's bed for half an hour until finally he let out all of his pent-up anger and rage by punching the shit out of his pillow and then crying silently in frustration till he fell asleep.

They had not been a good two weeks, flashbacks of Gadreel's possession attacked him randomly throughout the day and Kevin's death replayed endlessly in his dreams. Though he hated himself for it, he had also missed Dean like hell, but at the same time wanted to throttle him within an inch of his life. His self-condemning words ringed in Sam's ears too. Poison. I'm Poison Sam. Ordinarily Sam would have argued, would have asked Dean why on earth he would think that. But on that night, clouded by resentment and anger, Sam had wondered if for once Dean was right about himself. It had also made him feel better too, yes it was Dean's fault, all his own mistakes not Sam's and he should feel like shit for it, he should suffer. However after four days without him, Sam started to regret not saying anything Dean could hold onto for hope. The only words Sam had really said to reassure him was "Don't go thinking that's the problem cos it's not." to which Dean didn't even understand.

He had meant that Dean's mere presence and self-hatred wasn't the problem, it was the way Dean always took away Sam's agency and never left him with any choice of his own. He didn't want his brother to hate himself. He wanted him to let Sam make his own decisions.

The saddest part was that Dean always thought he was saving Sam but in the end he was only condemning himself… Going to hell for him, risking death to bring back his soul, getting sent to purgatory and finally tricking Sam into getting possessed by an angel who subsequently killed their friend and other angels, along with their vessels, with Sam's own hands. Gadreel could have easily killed Dean too, that was a thought that always made him shudder.

After anything like this happened his brother always reverted to his T1000 brainwashing that Dad had drilled into him and would have definitely have gotten himself killed if Sam hadn't have been there. But that time he wasn't. A sick terrible vision of getting a report of a dead body that fit Dean's description all too well over the police scanner had ran through Sam's head occasionally. He quickly pushed it away, hating how it made his blood run cold, but sometimes he couldn't get rid of it. He saw himself heading to the mortuary, steadily repeating over and over in his head that it wouldn't be Dean, wouldn't be his brother. Then they would roll out the body and Dean's blank dead accusing face would stare up into Sam's and the whole world would cave in.

At these moments he had whipped his phone out quickly and hovered over Dean's number. He would stare at it for a couple of minutes only to turn his phone off angrily, never quite gaining the courage to do it. Nine days after Dean had left, Sam used the Men of Letters phone to ring Dean to try and gain some piece of mind, knowing it was untraceable. He had answered with the same gruff "Hello" as he always did. Sam had to stifle his sigh of relief and quickly jammed the receiver back down.

Thank god, he wasn't dead he was fine.

Soon after he had ran into Dean in Wisconsin and quickly discovered nothing was fine. And nothing had been fine since the brothers had returned.

But this time Sam was going to fix it.

________________________

It had been five days since Dean had been discharged from the hospital in which he had stayed in for three nights. Sam had kept a constant vigil at Dean’s bedside until his brother finally woke up on the second night. After an initial confused gasp of Sammy, Dean had barely said two words to anyone other than to ask when he could leave the hospital. When they all told him he needed to be in for observation Dean’s face fell back into a blank unseeing expression which unnerved Sam.

During a coffee run he had stopped to glance through Dean’s window before returning to the older hunter’s room and had saw an entirely different looking Dean to the empty lifeless one he had sadly gotten used to.

Slumped down in the bed with a hand half covering his face, it took Sam a minute to realize that his brother was crying. Dean’s hand fell and his wet eyes travelled to the bandage covering the Mark of Cain. His finger lightly traced the edge of the wrapping, then in one fluid movement he pulled the bandage off to reveal the unchanged and undamaged mark. He looked at the scar for a moment before sinking further into the pillows. Sam took that as his cue to return.

The way Dean looked up at him when he walked into the room had been etched into Sam’s mind since that day, the simple look of total shame and maybe… was there a hint of disappointment? had nearly made him drop his coffee.

“Hey, look at me Dean. It’s okay, we’ll get you out of here soon.”

“Not soon enough.” whispered his brother as he pulled away from Sam’s hand.

Two days later Sam finally drove them home in silence. As soon as they entered the bunker Dean headed straight for his room, however this time Sam followed and stayed with him. He didn't want to let Dean out of his sight- Sam couldn't shake the irrational feeling that if he turned is back for a second, another substance would go missing and he would find Dean lifeless once more. The younger hunter was well aware that despite his brother’s silence, Dean was itching to tell Sam to go away. But Sam couldn't leave his side, it was like those unbearably tense days after the events at the Broward County Mystery Spot all over again.

The only strategy Sam had up his sleeve was tailing Dean until he decided to talk, or rather till he gets so sick of his younger brother’s constant presence that he finally gives in and tells Sam to leave him alone. He had thought this would have only taken a few hours at the most but Dean’s silence was still going strong three days later despite Sam’s numerous attempts to speak to him.

They had spent all their time since the hospital researching, Dean endlessly flicked through the Men of Letters library, pulling out random demonology books and looking at them with unmoving eyes. Sam had read each of the books cover to cover, what he really needed was a manual telling him how to fix his mute brother. He stared down at the table and spotted the battered old leather of Dad’s journal hidden underneath the mountain of stacked books and paper. Even better, Sam thought. Usually they only used the journal for intel but he was well aware that both he and Dean had read the mentions of Mom and of themselves in it too. It still hurt to read some parts and relive the past, that’s why Sam liked to regard it as a tool (and an effective one) rather than his father’s words and unshared feelings.

Sam opened it to the third page and read a passage that gave him some needed insight…

….Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a kid again. He never budges from my side- or from his brother…

He sighed heavily. So Sam’s plan of just following Dean around till he cracks probably wasn't going to work, if anything it was keeping Dean from speaking. This softly softly approach won’t get results, time for a change of attack.

Sam started to put the endless books that Dean had ‘looked’ through back on the shelves until the only book that was left was the one in Dean’s hands. He hadn't looked up once to see what Sam was doing and when his brother pulled the book from his clammy grip he stared at the empty table in shock.

“Dean, this needs to stop. I know for a fact that you’re not even reading those books, you're just hiding behind them.” Said Sam clearly, staring down at his older brother with a sternness lining his features.

Dean simply looked back at Sam, silently cursing him.

Pulling out the chair next to Dean, Sam sat down so that he was level with him.

Trying to catch his eye Sam pleaded, “Come on man, we've got to talk about this.”

“Do we?” Came a low quiet reply and Sam nearly jumped out his chair and whooped in triumph. There was nothing to celebrate really, but just hearing two words come out of Dean’s mouth was the best thing that had happened in what felt like a lifetime. Sam kept his imploring and calm demeanour though, the battle was not won yet, there was still a long way to go.

“I’m sorry but we do. I can’t just go on and pretend like nothing happened. And you can’t either.”

He turned Dean’s chair so he was facing him, his brother avoided his gaze just like he had done on that horrific night.

“Dean…” Sam sighed sadly, “Why’d you do it?” He asked softy, tears threatening.

“Sammy…”

“You can’t just try to kill yourself and I expect me to just forget about it.”

“I wasn't trying to kill myself.” mumbled Dean, staring at his hands which were grasped in his lap.

Getting frustrated, Sam started to raise his voice, “Oh yeah? Well what was that ‘get out of your hair soon’ remark about then huh?” He said accusingly.

Dean seemed to shrink in his chair. Guilt rose in Sam suddenly. He wiped a hand across his face in exhaustion and shame.

“Dean look, I’m sorry. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am, but you scared the life out of me back there. I’m still pretty scared now. But I need to understand, and you need to talk. All this bottling it all up shit is getting way too old bro,” Sam smiled kindly and placed his hands over his brother's.

“I…” Dean swallowed and closed his eyes, “Just wanted some peace Sam, a break from it..”

“A break from what?” Asked Sam, concern growing.

“I know I said I deserved it, but it was getting too much. The bruises, the cuts, the Mark… I just wanted to take the edge off... So I swiped the morphine when you weren't looking. I was only planning on using a bit, I swear!” Dean’s eyes flew open, the wild green pierced Sam’s gaze with such ferocity, sadness and longing to be believed that he nearly looked away, “But after that argument and everything swimming in my head, the Mark started to burn Sammy… I wanted it to stop so badly I thought the morphine would make it stop…” His voice had dropped into a low whisper, a tear ran slowly down Dean’s face.

“It’s okay, I get it- I do,” Sam wiped away the tear with his sleeve, “I just wish you would have told me sooner that it was getting that bad.”

“Would you have even listened?” Dean asked dejectedly.

He sighed once more and tightened his grip on Dean’s hands, “Look I know things haven’t exactly been great between us and I’d be lying if I said that I don’t feel anger or blame towards what you did to bring me back but Dean… You’re still my big brother, despite everything I said, and of course I would fight anything and everything for you- I always have and I always will.”

Dean’s head dropped, he had known that deep down that Sam’s words had been born out of anger and grief. Despite everything he shouldn't have put Sam through this terrible week, even if at the time he had truly believed that Sam would return to his room and not bother him till he had used the morphine in peace.

“I’m so sorry Sammy, for everything. I thought this mark would help, give me a purpose. But it… Sam it’s doing something to me, I can feel it under my skin all the time. I can’t escape...”

Over the days since leaving the hospital Sam had thought about what Doctor Torrance had said;

…he was fading fast… I don’t know how he pulled through. But this… Scar… it was glowing, burning his skin. After that Dean finally started to react the IV medication…

The Mark brought his brother back to him. Though he knew this should worry him, his hatred of the angry red scar had turned to ambivalence in light of this information. Telling Dean about what the Mark had apparently done wouldn't help his brother right now, not when he was finally speaking about what happened.

“You will… Don’t worry, we’ll work it out. In the meantime you need to rest.” He pulled his brother to his feet and walked them to Dean’s room, it was proof of just how worn out he was that Dean allowed Sam to put him to bed. Afterwards he expected Sam to finally leave, however he pulled the chair out from under the desk, placed it next to Dean’s bed and sunk into it like he had done every night since they'd returned.

“You going to sit in that chair and watch me sleep again then Nurse? That how you get your kicks?” Dean asked sleepily, yawing as he buried his head into his pillow.

“That’s right, I’m not letting you out of my sight just yet,” Sam opened up Dad’s journal and glanced at his brother. Dean had turned onto his side, his eyes already firmly closed, and Sam thanked God that he looked nothing like that broken figure he had found in the room just 3 doors away from them. He smiled to himself happily and continued to reread his father’s journal once more, ignoring the lore…

…every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he’s trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night…

“I will too Dean, no matter what”