Blood Pact
Chapter 11

Author's note: Alright everyone. Here it is: THE LAST CHAPTER. I want to thank you all for being so amazingly patient with me and for contributing so much to making this a really cool story with many twists and turns. It feels more like teamwork than anything else and I'm incredibly thankful for all the constructive criticism and the ideas you shared with me in the commentaries. Now without further ado… this is Option B with a tiny bit of Option A and I hope you all enjoy it!

Dean was eying the crumbling mass of desolation that was the building's outside façade- big neon-colored letters flickering uninvitingly from where they were lined out above the double-winged door of the clinic.

The dirty window frames were colored a sickening shade of mint green- the dusty glass panes reflecting the pale moonlight as Dean jogged up the stairs to the entrance and hammered his knuckles against the chipped mahogany door.

"O'Boyle, open up!"

"Dean, maybe you should lower your voice," Cas suggested, shooting a nervous glance around the neighborhood, but all Dean could think about was that his little brother's blood was decorating the inside of his car and saturating his own clothes- which meant that he honestly couldn't care less about waking the damn neighbors.

His kid brother was bleeding out on the backseat of the Impala because of someone Dean had brought into their lives- someone Dean had trusted- someone he had considered a brother- so everyone else could just shut the hell up until Sam was taken care of.

He had called O'Boyle at least thirty times on the way here- rattling off a list of injuries and things the guy was gonna need- antiseptics, alcohol, cotton pads, clean gauze, dental floss or surgical silk and a thin needle for the stitches.

And the guy had grudgingly given Dean his address over the phone, sounding more grumpy about having to help them out than anything else.

His words had been running together into a deep slur and Dean really fucking hoped it was due to lack of sleep and not because the good doctor had drowned half a bottle of Jack prior to their phone conversation.

"O'Boyle I swear to god if you don't open up right this second—"

Dean was about two seconds away from kicking the door in, when it was finally opened with a rusty squeak, revealing a guy in his late fifties, grayish hue to his wrinkled features and a skeptic expression on his face. "Winchester."

Under different circumstances, Dean would have probably pretended to be happy about this little reunion- would have put on his best fake smile and patted the older man's shoulder in fake friendliness.

But Sam's life was hanging on a thread and Dean couldn't bring himself to play the pretense game when every second they wasted brought Sam closer to the dark abyss of no return.

"My brother's still in the car. Can you help me carry him inside?"

O'Boyle opened the door just wide enough to reveal himself and Dean swallowed when his gaze dropped down to the wooden cane the older man was leaning on like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

"Afraid I won't be of much help there, boy."

"What happened?" Dean grimaced.

"Kelpie used my leg as a chew toy," O'Boyle shrugged like it was no big deal.

He hobbled to the side, grunting a little as he dragged his bum leg behind and Dean couldn't help but wonder if the guy had even gotten treatment for that one or if he'd just decided to patch himself up at home.

He really hoped O'Boyle was more careful with his other patients because there was no way in hell, Dean was going to sit by and watch O'Boyle butcher his brother up like that.

"Alright, I got it. Just hold the door open, okay?"

Charging down the stairs, Dean opened the door to the backseat of the Impala and motioned for Cas to take the other side. "Go grab his legs. Careful, though."

Sam was curled up and shivering, his face ghostly pallid against the black leather of the backseat.

He had passed out on their drive here, shock and blood-loss finally taking their toll on his battered body and Dean instinctively pressed two shaking fingers against his brother's throat to check for a pulse.

He just waited long enough to feel the sluggish beat of Sam's heart against his fingertips before he withdrew them again with a shaky sigh and slipped his arms around his brother's waist.

Sam's head flopped forward against the jut of his collarbone and Dean reached up to gently cradle the back of his brother's neck as they worked Sam's unresponsive, pliant body out of the car and into the cool night.

Dean's fingers must have brushed the incision mark on Sam's neck, from where Benny had bitten him because even lost in unconsciousness Sam let out a pained little sound and tried to withdraw from the touch.

"Shhh… I'm sorry… I'm sorry. It's just me."

Sam calmed down almost instantly at the sound of his older brother's voice, an instinct that was ingrained in him from the earliest stages of his childhood.

Even if Dean didn't deserve his brother's trust; not after what had happened at the docks.

Not after Dean had played best friends with his own brother's tormentor, unbeknownst to the fact that Sam was getting hurt right in front of his eyes.

Dean swallowed, decidedly shoving the bitter thoughts aside.

This wasn't the time to wallow in self-pity and contempt.

Sammy needed him.

"You got him?" Dean asked sharply at the way Cas seemed to struggle with the weight of Sam's lower half and Cas grunted out something intelligible in response.

They both carried Sam up the steps to O'Boyle's porch and followed the older man inside the old clinic.

The smell of antiseptics and hand sanitizer was strangely comforting and Dean was glad to see the various rows of glass cabinets filled with what looked like medical equipment and medicine, even when most of the furniture was covered in grime and dust.

"Where to?" Dean asked O'Boyle, hitching his brother's torso up a little higher in his hold and resettling his grip.

Sam was surprisingly light in his grasp and Dean could tell that it wasn't just because Cas helped him with the burden.

His brother had lost weight over the past couple of weeks.

He had lost weight because he had gotten blackmailed by a monster- Sam he hadn't been able to sleep or eat or do anything else in the wake of Benny's torment and Dean hadn't even noticed.

How could he have been so blind- so ignorant to the fact that his brother had been wasting away?

Living practically in one another's pockets with all the motel rooms they shared and spending hours on end inside the Impala whenever they worked a case had practically annihilated any sort of privacy between Dean and his brother.

Much to both of their dismay, there really wasn't any way to see the other one naked- or bare-chested sometimes. And even if he wouldn't be caught dead saying it out loud, Dean had made sure to pay attention to his brother's physique- checking whether the kind had enough meat on his overgrown bones. Checking for any injuries his brother might have failed to inform him about. Checking for older wounds and their healing process.

And sometimes, looking at the scars littering Sam's arms and torso, counting them, memorizing them, because they were like a track record of all the times Dean had somehow failed his little brother- all the times he hadn't been there to keep Sam from getting hurt.

"Over here," O'Boyle led them into one of the adjacent rooms with fluorescent lighting and white tiles lining the walls. It looked like an old operating room and Dean felt a cold shiver wrack his spine at the air of grief and cold detachment that lingered in the air.

He hoisted Sam's unresponsive body up onto the clinic table and instantly reached out to brush the sweat-soaked bangs from his brother's forehead in a tender gesture of reassurance. "You'll be alright, Sammy. You're gonna be just fine, you hear me?"

"Get out of the way," O'Boyle placed a meaty hand on Dean's shoulder and firmly pushed him aside, taking up a stance right in front of Sam's face. He was carrying a small med kit in his other hand- a dirty little metal casket that looked like had seen better days.

"What are we dealing with?" O'Boyle asked low in his throat, sounding less than enthusiastic about having to stitch Sam back together.

Dean scowled at him from where he was taking up a new spot right next to the cot and reached out to entwine his hand with Sam's.

His brother's long fingers were chilled.

They needed to get him hooked on a couple of O-negatives and they needed to be quick.

"Blood loss, mostly… he uh- he got bitten by a vamp."

O'Boyle's hands stilled almost instantly where they had been prodding at Sam's face and his gaze shot over at Dean in a mix of shock and annoyance. "You bring your vamp-infected brother to my damn clinic? Do you want to kill us all, boy?"

Dean forced himself to take a deep breath and stay calm.

Bashing the guy's face in wouldn't help Sam. They needed the guy in one piece.

"He didn't get infected. Look, can you just do your fucking job and take care of him?"

It was the wrong thing to say.

Lightning fast, O'Boyle pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans and trained it on Dean, eyes sparking furiously as his fingers tightened on the trigger.

"Woah, easy…" Dean's heart skipped a beat and he tentatively raised both of his hands in the air, sending a fleeting glance over at Cas. The angel was equally baffled by the older man's reaction, mirroring Dean's gesture of surrender. "Take the gun down, alright? Let's talk about this."

"You think you can just show up on my doorstep when you're brother's been used as vamp chow? Who tells me the boy isn't going to turn hallway through the check-up, huh? You seriously expect me to risk my damn ass for a Winchester?"

Dean clenched his teeth, jaw muscle ticking in barely suppressed anger.

If looks could kill he was pretty sure their conversation would have been ended then and there.

Was that guy demented or something? Had he forgotten all about the hunting life? All about the fucking lore? Or maybe he'd never even known it in the first place.

"He was bitten, but the turning ritual wasn't completed," Dean bit out, voice low and threatening, the words grating like gravel on his throat. "The vampire's blood didn't actually enter Sam's bloodstream. He's not going to fucking turn."

"And I suppose I'm just going to have to take your word for it?" O'Boyle sneered, not sounding the least bit convinced.

Dean barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Go ahead. Check him for fangs, then!"

"You think I'm stupid? There won't be any damn fangs until he's fully turned! It might be hours until then," the guy reasoned, casting a nervous look back down at Sam's unconscious form.

Dean followed his gaze and swallowed at the clamminess Sam's skin had taken on- a fine sheen of cool sweat covering the kid's forehead and arms. Sam was shivering against the cot, his lax fingers wracked by small tremors in Dean's gentle hold.

He was fading and he was fading fast.

And Dean was NOT going to lose his brother because that stubborn dumbass of a doctor was afraid to risk his own skin.

"Look," Dean took a step forward, lifting his arms even higher when O'Boyle's eyes went wide with panic. "You can test him with silver if you want… I've got deadman's blood in the trunk of my car. For all I fucking care you can try both on him, just get a damn move on before it's too late, alright?"

O'Boyle looked skeptical for another minute or too, but the words seemed to take some of the wind out of his sails and when he hesitantly lowered his gun again, Dean allowed himself to take a measured breath in relief.

He squeezed Sam's fingers, just for the heck of it, trying to lend reassurance.

"You try anything funny and your brother's officially past the fucking point of saving in my book, you got that, boy?"

"Crystal," Dean forced out from behind clenched teeth because what else was there to say?

"Good," O'Boyle praised quietly before turning around to rummage around in one of his drawers for what looked like an engraved Babylonian silver knife. It was old and valuable… the kind of thing they'd found in the man of letters bunker.

Sam would doubtlessly gush about the craftsmanship- the delicate manufacturing- the historical value or some other nerdy crap if he was awake right now, but he wasn't and instead of Sam's enthusiastic chatter the only thing that filled the air between O'Boyle and Dean was tension.

The old man pulled the knife from its sheath and Dean straightened, every fiber of his being screaming in protest at what was about to come.

Sam was already hurt, goddamnit.

Forcing him to watch his little brother get hurt any further- even if it was for something as minor as a small cut to the finger, was almost unbearable to Dean.

O'Boyle took Sam's hand- the one that wasn't entwined with Dean's fingers and pressed the tip of the knife against his palm.

With a swift flick of his wrist, the veteran cut Sam's skin open, causing the younger man to let out a soft sound of protest, even in his deep state of unconsciousness. O'Boyle's eyes were wide as he dug the blade in deeper, even as Sam's blood welled and trickled along the silver surface of the knife.

"Alright, that's enough," Dean sharply bit out, protectiveness taking hold.

He reached over to grab the older man's wrist and forcefully yank it back from his brother, causing his injured hand to lifelessly fall back to the cot.

Dean pulled a bandana from his jeans pocket and rushed to tie it around the bleeding cut in Sam's hand- one more scar added to the list of failures in Dean's head- one more thing he was forced to stand by and let happen- one more goddamn thing to hate himself or.

I'm sorry Sammy.

"What the hell is wrong with you? A small cut would have done the damn job!" Dean growled out in a sharp tone as he watched the folded fabric get saturated with Sam's blood.

"Better safe than sorry," O'Boyle responded and spat a glob of saliva to the ground, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Wow. Just wow…

Dean was starting to seriously regret his decision to come here instead of taking Sam to a goddamn hospital. This guy was totally off his fucking rocker and now Sam's life was essentially in the hands of a PTSD-crazed nutjob.

"Seriously?" Dean narrowed his eyes at the guy in disapproval. "You always treat your patients with that level of trust and hygiene or is it just because we're old friends?"

O'Boyle snorted and dropped the bloody blade into the nearby sink.

"Don't get cute with me, boy. You've always had a big mouth on ye'."

"Just… can we get on with the damn program now?" Dean urged, washing a tired hand over the worry lines in his forehead. He felt drained- utterly exhausted after everything that had happened in the past 24 hours- and he just wanted for Sam to get better.

To be safe and whole and talking.

He wanted Sam healthy and strong and eating. Regaining his strength.

He wanted for them to talk things out and make things right between them.

To erase the terrible look of hurt and longing from Sam's eyes and make him understand that they were still brothers- that Dean had never meant to make him feel like the fact that Sam was the most important part of Dean's life was no longer true.

"You guys the same blood type?"

Dean nodded eagerly. "Yeah, we are. Take as much as you need."

He rolled up his sleeve, eager to finally get a chance to help and O'Boyle patted the seat of an uncomfortable-looking metal chair next to his work counter. "Sit down."

Dean's fingers were shaking so badly- the adrenaline coupled with the shock and his own injuries- finally getting the drop on him.

He tried not to let it show, but when his fingers kept getting tangled up in the fabric of his flannel, O'Boyle swatted at his hands with a grumbled curse and roughly yanked Dean's shirt off of his uncooperative limbs. "Damn' Winchesters and their goddamn layered clothing. You'd think an experienced hunter like yourself would dress appropriately on the goddamn job."

Dean cocked an eyebrow at the guy's words.

Were they seriously going to discuss his fashion choices?

"Alright, listen, pal, I'm not in the mood to—"

"Shut up and lean back," O'Boyle shoved Dean back into the seat with a firm palm planted against the younger man's chest, before returning back to the counter.

He gathered a rubber tube, a needle, and a few cotton swabs from a cabinet without another word before searching over Dean's arm for a good vein to use.

They were both quiet for a while, O'Boyle deeply lost in thought as he prepped an IV and the necessary medical equipment for the transfusion.

Dean's eyes were transfixed on Sam the entire time, half-afraid his brother was going to stop breathing in the meanwhile. The movement of Sam's chest was shallow enough to be reason for concern. His skin was clammy, lips a pale shade of violet and the quivers that had so forcefully shaken his frame earlier were now barely detectable.

Damnit.

"There any chance we can speed this whole thing up?" Dean growled out, his patience snapping like a rubber band that had been stretched too far. That old bastard was taking his sweet time searching Dean's arm for a vein when he should be freaking out instead. "My brother's dying, in case you haven't noticed."

O'Boyle's only reaction to the hunter's words was a cold glower.

Then he returned back to his task at hand, carefully checking Dean's pulse and doubtlessly finding it a bit too weak. Placing the palm of his meaty hand on Dean's chest, he timed the younger man's respirations- which were also a little too shallow for the doctor's liking.

"You think it's smart to give your brother blood with a nasty concussion?"

"I'm all ears if you have a better suggestion," Dean gave back because it wasn't exactly like the guy had any banked blood in his shady clinic.

O'Boyle shrugged. "It's your body."

Dean couldn't help narrowing his eye at the cold indifference in the other man's gaze, like O'Boyle had been alone for so long- traumatized from whatever crap he'd been forced through during his time in 'Nam—that he couldn't even relate to a love as essential as the one of a brother for his younger sibling.

"Just do what you have to do, alright?"

With a snort, O'Boyle tied the rubber tube around Dean's arm just above the dip of his elbow, forcing a vein to appear beneath the pale skin. He swabbed the area above the vein with disinfectant and shoved the needle in with more force than necessary.

Dean winced and looked away as his blood started flowing through the thin plastic tube attached to his arm. He pumped his hand a few times, to speed the whole process up, thankful that there was finally something- no matter how insignificant- that he could do to help his brother.

"About time," Dean complained and shot a dark glower in O'Boyle's direction.

O'Boyle ignored the comment and adjusted the drip to flow at a rate of one unit per 20 minutes.

"I don't know why you even bother," the older man shot a derogatory glance in Sam's direction and the words, coupled with the look of pure contempt in the guy's face, caused Dean's hackles to rise in instant protectiveness and anger.

"The hell are you talking about?" he demanded sharply, eyes narrowed in distrust.

"That boy's as good as dead… even if I give him your blood, his body's going to fight the intrusion, sucking up his last energy reserves in the process. My best guess is that he won't make it through the night—"

Dean was up from his seat so fast, it sent his concussion-wrecked brain spinning. His hand darted out to grab the next best thing from the nearby counter and yanked O'Boyle close, left hand shooting up to press the sharp blade of a rusty pair of scissors against his exposed throat.

"I've been listening to your shit for the past twenty minutes without saying a goddamn word, but so help me god, O'Boyle, your only fucking concern right now should be saving my brother's life," Dean hissed in the other man's face, their noses mere inches apart and eyes blown in the flickering neon light of the room.

"Dean," Cas said in a warning tone, resting a palm against the enraged hunter's shoulder.

Dean's breathing was hard, nostrils flaring with each intake of air that whooshed through his lungs. He forced himself to calm down, taking a step back as he slowly released the doctor's coat.

"Mark my words," Dean jabbed his index finger forcefully into the older man's chest. "If I notice you're not doing everything in your goddamn power to save him, Sam won't be the only one losing his life tonight. Do you understand? Do I make myself clear?"

"Dean, that's enough!" Cas tried to intervene, trying to pull Dean's hand away from O'Boyle's throat. After a second or two of intense glaring, Dean finally relented, lowering the scissors he'd used as a make-shift weapon.

"You're just as much of a fucking lunatic as your father, boy," the older man growled out low under his breath, rubbing his throat, where the metal had so harshly bit into his skin just a moment ago.

He yanked the scissors from Dean's grasp and tossed it into the blood-specked sink, safely out of Dean's reach without a much as a second glance. Dean had to give it to him, for someone who had just been attacked; he put on a pretty calm veneer of indifference.

Maybe Dean shouldn't have threatened him with his life. It really didn't seem like O'Boyle cared much about living to see another day.

"Look what you've done," the doctor sneered, readjusting the needle from where it had slipped from its cannula. "You keep sabotaging my handiwork like that and no threats in the world are going to keep that kid from dying. Now get back in that damn seat before I strap you down to it."

Dean shot O'Boyle one last, lingering glower, before he reluctantly sank back into his chair, yanking his shoulder out of Cas' grasp.

He watched as O'Boyle repeated the whole procedure with the rubber tube, this time trying to detect a vein on his brother's unresponsive limbs.

Rolling up one of Sam' torn and bloodied sleeves, the veteran inserted the needle in his arm and hung a saline solution on a metal stand and Dean tensed, remembering the vicious treatment he'd been subject to earlier.

"Be careful with him," Dean admonished, even though Sam showed no signs of distress to the outside world, his face still utterly blank and void of emotion as he lay unconscious on the cot.

"You always this protective of him?" O'Boyle rolled his eyes at Dean's motherhenning.

"Yes, Dean has a very nurturing and protective side when it comes to his brother."

O'Boyle shot Cas a sideways look that managed to be shocked and weirded out at the same time.

Whatever he was thinking about Dean's companion, it probably wasn't anything good.

Shaking his head a little to himself, O'Boyle reverted his attention back to Dean.

"You know he's a grown-ass man in his what- late twenties?"

Dean snorted.

Yeah, Sam had never quite looked his age.

There was just something about the way his shaggy, brown hair fell into his eyes and about the dimples carved into his cheeks that made him look much younger than his actual years. And secretly, Dean had always suspected it was Sammy's patience and willingness to help everyone around him without expecting anything in return, that made him seem younger in a way.

"He's my little brother," Dean shrugged like he shouldn't have to explain this to the guy. "Doesn't matter how old he is. That's one thing he's never going to outgrow."

"What's his name?" O'Boyle asked while working Sam's hoodie off his chest with a bit of effort, leaving him a shivering, pallid mess against the table.

"Sammy— Sam," Dean corrected himself quickly because no way was he going to let that ice-cold bastard going to use Sammy's nickname when Sam was too out-of-it to give him hell for it.

"Dean reserves the sole rights to that nickname," Cas unhelpfully supplied from the side and Dean started thinking maybe he shouldn't have brought his dorky friend along.

"That so?" O'Boyle asked and if Dean didn't know it any better who would have said there was a hidden smile in the older man's gruff voice. "I remember when you were about 4 or 5 years old- your brother here was merely a baby… your dad once came here for supplies. You gave me a death glare when I picked your brother up. That fire in your eyes… you never lost it, huh?"

Dean couldn't remember that.

He'd spent years trying to bury the memories of his mom's death and the years that followed from his mind.

But the story rang true to his ears- sometimes when their dad had drunk a bit too much, he'd taken a stroll down memory lane with them- revisited some embarrassing stories dating back to their childhood years. And one thing that never failed to amuse them all had been the fierce protective streak Dean always had when it came to his little brother.

"You really love that kid, huh?"

Dean's eyes widened a little as he looked over to meet O'Boyle's gaze.

It wasn't something they ever said out loud between the two of them.

And yet it didn't make the words any less true.

"What part of 'he's my brother' did you not understand?" Dean's eyes were filled with a wayward glint of affection that broke through O'Boyle's carefully crafted steel façade.

"Huh," the older man said with a bit of wonder in his tone, which pissed Dean off because had he seriously expected any other answer to his fucked up question?

Family was family. A bond forged in blood and genes and shared history. It trumped everything.

What was not to understand about that?

O'Boyle dragged a wooden stool closer to the cot and sat down before he started systematically patting down Sam's body, lifting one limb after the other and testing its flexibility, then searching it for any wounds he might have missed.

Dean watched with more than a little unease as the veteran began to check Sam's reflexes by landing a soft blow to the hollow of his elbows. Sam flinched and wrinkled his nose, head lolling from one side to the other, but his arm barely twitched in response.

O'Boyle frowned and repeated the procedure, this time with more force and the soft noise of protest his brother let out was enough to propel Dean forward.

"Hey, enough of that. He's responsive, alright?"

O'Boyle ignored Dean's protest and shot Cas a look over the table top.

"Is there an off button to this guy?"

"I don't understand," Cas looked flabbergasted at the question and this time, it was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. "The human body does not accommodate buttons."

"Your friend is weird," O'Boyle stated as he shone a light pen in Sam's eyes to gauge the reaction and sensitivity of his pupils to various degrees of light.

Weird didn't even cut it.

But Dean wouldn't be caught dead talking shit about one of their closest friends with an asshole like O'Boyle. Especially not, after Cas had saved their bacon back at the barn. Without Cas' help, Sam would already be dead by now and Dean was forever going to be grateful for that.

"So what happened?" O'Boyle turned Sam's head to the side so that the younger man's face was angled to face his older brother and started to prod at the bite wound on Sam's neck.

"Vamp gone haywire?"

Dean thought back to the way Benny had looked all hyped up on demon juice, his fangs extended, pupils blown and eyes thickly veined and demonic as could be.

He thought back to the way Benny had beaten Sam- tortured him- in front of Dean's eyes and to the terrible things he had said- things that would give Crowley or Meg a run for their money.

About using Sam as a drug dispenser- keeping him locked up and hidden away for his own perverted drug addiction- his own thirst for blood.

Sam- Sammy… who never wished bad things upon anyone.

Sam who was the most selfless, heroic person Dean had ever known.

Sam who would give his own life in a second in exchange for somebody else's safety.

Sammy, who used to look at Dean like he'd hung the moon and stars- like he had a solution to every problem- like there was nothing bad or embarrassing enough that Sam couldn't tell his big brother about it- that Sammy, who had yearned so much for his brother's love- his brother's affection that he was willing to sign his own life over to an abomination- a heartless and cruel monster.

"Yeah," Dean croaked out weakly, shame-filled gaze dropped down to his hands- his own fingers still coated in dried flakes of his brother's blood. "Yeah… I guess you could call it that."

"How much blood did he take?"

Dean shook his head, the shameful admission weighing heavy on his heart. "I don't know."

Because apparently, it had been going on for days, weeks even, while Dean had been completely oblivious to the deal Sam had struck with Benny.

O'Boyle let out a slow breath and let his intense gaze linger on Dean for another moment.

"What kind of stuff's the kid taking?"

"Stuff?" Dean frowned, genuinely confused.

"I believe he refers to Sam's abuse of illegal substances," Cas intervened from the side, much to Dean's annoyance. "You remember how you asked me to check him for—"

"I remember," Dean harshly cut the angel off, adding a warning glower to his sharpened tone for good measure and hoping that Cas got the message to 'shut the hell up'.

"What's he on?" O'Boyle asked with a hardened look in his eyes.

"He's not on anything," Dean bit out through clenched teeth.

He thought back to the way Sam had desperately clung to the fabric of Dean's flannel shirt- begging his big brother not to turn his back on him during their fight in the car after Dean had found the puncture wounds beneath his elbow.

He remembered the tears in his little brother's voice and the desperation in his eyes as Sam all but begged him to believe that he wasn't using, that he hadn't gotten addicted to everything they've lived through together the first time during Sam's detox from the demon blood.

And there hadn't been a trace of guilt or self-hatred in Sam's eyes.

Dean had seen nothing but raw honesty his brother's eyes when he swore that he hadn't been using. Sam had sworn on Dean's life, for god's sake. And they both knew how valuable- how serious- a promise was when it came at these stakes.

So yeah, maybe in the heat of the moment, Dean had asked for Cas to check Sam over for drugs- but it had been more out of spite than everything else. In that moment with Sam being all jealous and bitchy about Dean's friendship with Benny, Dean hadn't been thinking clearly.

He had been hurting and he had wanted to hurt Sam back- hitting the younger man where it would doubtlessly cause the most damage: the endless question of trust between them.

By asking Cas to check Sam for drugs in his bloodstream, Dean had essentially proclaimed Sam's earlier promise that he was clean, invalid- had made his younger brother feel like he couldn't fully trust his word. Like that basic, essential bond between them- the one that had been built and strengthened over years of brotherhood and friendship- was finally broken, crumbled like a house of cards.

And Sam had still come after Dean, despite everything.

He had still somehow managed to save Dean's ass- to sacrifice himself for his older brother, despite his own poor state AND the fact that Dean had said these terrible things to him.

The vampire who saved me- who was there for me when you weren't? The vampire who's my friend and who needs me- is that the one you're talking about?

Benny might be a vampire, but at least he's been there for me when I needed him the most. He was there for me when you were away- getting your happily-ever-after and he saved my ass when you couldn't be bothered to care I was gone.

Are you really so selfish that you can't bear the thought of me caring about somebody other than you?

Benny's family, Sam. He's my brother.

God… Dean couldn't believe he'd said that shit to Sam's face and left him at the bunker, weak and miserable and hurting so badly that he had practically pleaded for Dean not to leave his side.

"I'm not fucking stupid, kid," O'Boyle rasped and harshly yanked Sam's left arm up to point at the bruises surrounding the line of needle marks on his brother's pale skin. "It's been a while since Woodstock but I know a fucking junkie when I see one."

Dean's vision turned red as a surge of unexpected fury rushed through him.

He had never taken lightly to people talking shit about his family, but calling Sam a junkie- when the kid was at such a breaking point already- having been used and misused in the worst ways possible- was taking things a step too far.

Yanking the injection tube from his arm, Dean got up from his chair, a murderous expression on his face as he took a threatening step forward. "Watch your goddamn mouth when you talk about him."

"You gonna threaten me again, boy? What are you gonna use this time? A pair of tweezers? Some cotton balls?" O'Boyle snorted. "How about you save us all the dramatic caveman-act and tell me what kind of drugs he's tripping on, or I won't be able to give him antibiotics- which would be signing his death warrant."

"He's not tripping on anything," Dean growled, saying the words slower, this time, pronouncing them all separately as if that would make them easier to understand.

O'Boyle gave him the look- the one that universally said the same thing: I'm not buying your shit.

"Listen up, Winchester, I might not have been out there on the field in a while- a little hard when your bum leg is about as useful as a fucking brick attached to your body, but I have heard stories about the two of you… none of them particularly positive."

"You don't say," Dean locked his jaw, bracing himself for the ex-hunter's next words. Of course, that fucking bastard would have heard about them. It wasn't exactly like their name was unknown amongst the hunter community.

These days it seemed like their own kind was just one more thing to add to the endless list of enemies they had- like all hunters, save for a view exceptions, were gossiping behind their backs somehow, exchanging stories about how these damn Winchester boys managed to screw the whole world over again.

"I heard that it wouldn't be the first time your brother here, messed with stuff he wasn't supposed to mess with," O'Boyle continued cryptically and Dean had a hard time suppressing the urge to smack the older man right in the fucking face. He knew what came next and he wasn't sure he could bear to hear it without losing his temper.

"Oh yeah? What kind of 'stuff' was he supposedly messing with?" Dean squared his shoulders, rolled his neck a little, ignoring the way his vision swam in and out of focus, lightnings of pain shooting through his concussion-riddled scull.

He had just single-handedly killed the fucking bloodsucker that had been hyped up on demon blood and hulking out. What was one more fucker to add to the list?

"You know," O'Boyle pursed his lips and shrugged. "Demons, demon blood, Lucifer… the apocalypse. I'm guessing you know all about that, given how close you two are."

Dean took a shuddering breath, fingers clenching into fists by his side. A steady stream of warm blood was trickling from the small puncture wound in his arm, slicking his palm and fingers where they clenched tightly.

Yeah, he knew all about it.

He'd been there to witness it all.

Enough so, to know, that absolutely none of it had been his brother's fault.

"Listen up, I'm not sure what you think you know about us and quite frankly, I don't give a shit. But my brother is not a junkie. And if you ever accuse him of that again once he's awake, he'll be the least of your fucking problems, you got me? I swear to god, you so much as mention any of the shit you've just said to me to Sam and I'm going to end you."

Because Sam didn't need another asshole to add to the shitload of guilt that was already weighing his heart down.

Dean had already added plenty to Sam's self-worth and trust issues in the last couple of weeks, by choosing Benny over his own flesh-and-blood brother- by disregarding Sam's promises and blatantly ignoring the fact that his little brother was getting tortured by his so-called companion.

No, when Sam was going to wake up, they would need to talk about a lot of stuff, but O'Boyle's mindless accusation sure as hell wasn't going to be one of them.

"Then where do these come from?" O'Boyle pointed at the puncture wounds in Sam's arms and dug his fingers into one of the blossoming bruises right below the young man's elbow.

Sam's expression shifted from peaceful oblivion to deep discomfort and when O'Boyle's finger grazed a particularly angry bruise on his arm, the younger man let out a barely-audible sound of distress, even in his deep state of unconsciousness.

"Alright, stop it," Dean's arm shot out to grasp the veteran's wrist and pull it back from his brother. "Can't you see that you're hurting him? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What is he taking?" O'Boyle hissed, getting right up in Dean's face.

Wow, no wonder Dad flipped his shit on the guy's ass.

"Nothing," Dean returned in a sharp tone.

God, they were wasting way too much time.

Dean should have just taken Sam and bailed it to the next hospital, insurance or not.

"The vampire was a messed up piece of shit, alright? He- he toyed with my brother… tortured him," Dean had trouble voicing the words, mainly because they were true. "He took his blood in more ways than one, okay?"

Dean could see the exact moment when the words sank in.

O'Boyle looked back down at the puncture wounds in Sam's arm and then carefully settled them back on the metal cot.

"If you lie to me about this," he said with an intensity that gripped Dean tight. "I can't guarantee anything. Drugs don't mix well with more drugs and your brother's going to need some heavy pills to make it, you got me?"

"Yeah, yeah I got you. Now can we please get this done with?"

"You're not going to like what's next," O'Boyle warned with a small grin, almost like he was enjoying this- like he had some kind of sadistic streak deep down inside that made him act like all of this was funny.

Like Sam wasn't fucking suffering while they were threatening each other and tossing out accusations.

Dean's whole expression hardened. "I'm going to tell you exactly what's next. What's next is that you're going to fix my little brother. Any other suggestion coming to you and you're going to do all of that at gunpoint, capiche?"

O'Boyle's smile slowly vanished from his lips.

There was a short moment, filled with electrifying tension.

Eventually, the words seemed to have flicked some kind of invisible switch in the older man's head, kick-starting him into action.

"I don't need a brat like you threatening me every five minutes," he grumbled, before hooking Sam up with the bag of blood Dean had filled earlier. Once more, the doctor pushed the needle in deeper than necessary, fixating the thin tube with little care or regard to Sam's discomfort.

"Help me get him out of this," O'Boyle gave a sharp tug to the remnants of Sam's shirt- the one he'd been wearing beneath the hoodie.

Dean looked at it and inwardly sighed, knowing it was one of Sam's favorites.

He reached out to brush some of the unruly strands from his brother's eyes and bit his lip.

"We're gonna get you a new one," he whispered, before giving O'Boyle a tight nod.

They worked together, Cas helping Dean to guide Sam's unresponsive body into a sitting position, while O'Boyle ripped Sam's shirt in half with one swift jerk.

The sound of the ripping fabric, coupled with the sensation of too many hands on him, had Sam jerk weakly in their grasp, head flopping back against Dean's shoulder as a raw sound tumbled past his shaking lips.

"Hey, shhh… it's alright," Dean instantly shushed his brother, feeling his throat close up on him at the way Sam buried his nose against the dip of his collarbone. It was endearing to see that even half-out-of-it and vulnerable, Sam sought out Dean's comfort- turned to his big brother in search of comfort and reassurance and protection.

"Put him back down," O'Boyle instructed, eyeing them warily and Dean somewhat reluctantly maneuvered his brother around to lie back down on his back, now fully exposed to the watchful eye of the old veteran.

Dean's whole body tensed and he swallowed when he looked down at his brother's bare abdomen- at the signs of abuse marking his brother's entire body.

The signs of abuse he'd ignored.

Sam's ribs stuck out of his chest in a pronounced way- barely covered by a thin layer of flesh that stretched tightly over the bones.

Jesus, Dean had noticed that Sam had lost weight, but he had no clue how much of his muscle mass Sam had actually lost in the past couple of weeks and months… If he had known, he'd have force-fed the kid a long time ago, shoving spoonfuls of their dad's famous kitchen sink stew down his throat.

And as if the weight loss wasn't horrible enough, Sam's ribcage seemed strangely deformed- some of the ribs visible cracked or fractured beneath the colorful bruising that decorated his skin.

Sam looked distorted and wrong.

Vulnerable.

Abused.

"You're trying to tell me a vamp did all this?" O'Boyle asked skeptically, all the while running callous fingers testily over the younger man's middle, persistently pressing his flat hands against the affected area to search for a cartilage one the ribs.

There was an odd popping noise like a shoulder popping back into space and Sam gasped, eyes ripped wide open and glazed over with pain. "N-nuh—stop—stuuhp—"

Dean was by his brother's side before he made the conscious decision to move, instantly holding onto Sam's shoulder, trying to gently- but firmly- press him back down against the cot.

"NO!" Sam cried out, voice hoarse and raspy with pain and panic as he struggled in his brother's hold, trying desperately to break free from the hands holding him down, even when his limbs were about as useful as Silly Putty. "Get off! Get OFF! Deaaan—"

"Hey, hey… you listen to me, I'm right here, brother. Right here, alright? Nobody's trying to hurt you, Sammy."

"He doesn't understand a goddamn word you're saying," O'Boyle cursed low under his breath, struggling to force Sam's kicking legs back down to the cot. "It's the fever."

Dean ignored the older man, both arms still tightly wrapped around his brother's torso, even when Sam's leaden hands came up to fight him. Under different circumstances, Dean would have laughed at his brother's kittenish attempts to defend himself, but not when he wasn't even awake enough to give Dean one of his patented bitchfaces in retaliation.

Not when Sam was in pain and feverish and when his hazel eyes were filled with tears of confused panic and excruciating pain.

"Ben-ny—" Sam's voice broke as he shook his head from side to side, sweaty bangs falling lifelessly into his forehead. His chest was heaving, trying to suck in air through his burning lungs and leaving him gasping like a stranded fish on the shore.

The unnatural movement sent a sharp pain through his right chest and Sam's expression was taken over by raw agony as he let out a startled yelp.

"Cas, help me hold him down!"

"Please—stop, pleassee—" Sam gasped out voicelessly, a few tears of confusion running down his pallid cheeks. He was obviously lost in memory, reliving whatever horrors Benny had put him through in the last couple of weeks- O'Boyle's insensitive treatment, coupled with his feverish state having led to what appeared to be some kind of panic attack.

"'m nnot—m'not evil—" Sam sputtered, bony fingers painfully digging into Dean's shirt, grasping as much of the dirty fabric as he could reach with his hands and fisting it, pulling Dean down in a frantic attempt to get him closer.

"I know," Dean's voice trembled as he placed his palm against the side of Sam's clammy face, thumb light tracing the tear-covered skin right below his eye. "I know that, okay?"

"'m not a demon."

God, the words hurt.

Dean would have given his own life in a heartbeat if only these thoughts- this blame could be eradicated from Sam's brain- from his soul. If his little brother could finally leave his past mistakes in the rearview mirror and redeem himself of the sins he had been corrupted into committing. He would have given anything, to make Sam see- even if it was just for a moment, how much pure and innocent and GOOD Dean saw whenever he looked at his little brother.

"Hey, listen to me. I know you're not, alright? I know that," Dean's eyes were wet with unshed tears as he brushed his hand through Sam's tousled bangs, uselessly trying to comb the unruly mane back.

"D'nn…" Sam blinked, more tears breaking free and then there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes- almost like he could see through the fever haze and look right at his brother.

"'m sorry… not good 'nough…" Sam let out a wheezing cough, followed by a sharp keening noise as he squeezed his eyes shut against yet another wave of pain.

Dean thought he'd been broken-hearted before. He really did.

But nothing could ever compare to the emotional blow Sam's next words packed.

"S-such a let-down..."

"Sammy," Dean breathed out brokenly.

Dean had never- not even after that hotel room, when Sam had left him broken and bleeding on the floor to go after Lillith- regretted their brotherhood. He had never thought of Sam as a burden or a disappointment. Not back during their childhood years, when Sam had been little and needed constant care-taking and supervision. Not now, when they needed to have one another's back during the job. Not even when they were fighting each other tooth or nails.

"Sam—"

"You two are breaking my goddamn heart," O'Boyle growled out from the side, still struggling with the task of restraining Sam's massive limbs to keep him from hurting himself any further. "Can we save the drama for when I'm done with him?"

Dean shot him a glower for having dared to interrupt their much-needed moment.

But he could see the guy's point.

Sam wasn't even fully aware of his surroundings.

He was in some kind of fevered haze, thinking he was back with Benny- asking- pleading- for Benny to stop hurting him.

Yeah, those weren't exactly the perfect premises to make a declaration of love.

"Hey," Dean lowered his voice, gently carding his fingers into Sam's sweaty curls and looking down into his blurry gaze. "You're just a bit confused, alright, buddy? Benny messed with that ginormous brain of yours…"

"B'nny?" Sam's face scrunched up like the name alone was enough to cause him pain and Dean's protective streak flared at the realization of how affected his little brother had been by the vampire's torture- how much the horror of what he lived through still bothered him.

He stepped up to the metal cot, putting a comforting hand against his brother's forehead.

"He's dead, Sammy. That bastard's never gonna touch you again."

With a last shudder- almost as if reassured by Dean's broken words of comfort, Sam went lax again, every last bit of energy- of adrenaline finally drained from his bruised and battered body.

"Hey, hey, hey…" Dean muttered quietly, catching his brother's weight as his body slumped to the side, just in time to keep him from falling off the cot. "Sammy? Sam?"

"I think he lost consciousness," Cas supplied unhelpfully from the side.

"About damn' time," O'Boyle snorted and guided Sam's lax body back down in a way that granted him access to the young man's battered chest and abdomen. "You don't want him awake for what's next."

"And what would that be?" Dean growled out and took a bold step towards the older man, eyes promising unimaginable pain and slow death if the guy dared to say the wrong thing.

"Cool it, Papa Bear. Anybody ever tell you that you're worse than your old man?"

"You're not going to fucking hurt him," Dean pointed a threatening finger at the older man, voice coming out rougher than he'd first intended.

"I'm going to clean the wound on his neck, give him a muscle relaxant and wrap those damn ribs. You happy? Now get off my ass. I've had about enough of your damn threats. You and I both know you're not going to kill me."

"Yeah, I wouldn't be so damn sure about that," Dean grumbled unhappily, rolling his neck.

The headache pounding through his skull was about as subtle as a fucking sledgehammer and his vision was still impaired- Sam's clammy face swimming in and out of focus as a consequence of his concussion.

"I'll stitch that laceration on your head right after his," O'Boyle gave Dean an assertive sideways glance as if having read Dean's thoughts.

Dean grimaced. "I'm fine. Just take care of Sam, alright?"

"He's not the only one hurt," O'Boyle reasoned and then his expression softened a bit, almost as if he could see right through Dean's unwillingness to take care of himself before Sam was better.

"I bet you a fifty your brother Sam, here, is going to kick my ass if he wakes up to find you passed out on the floor with an aneurysm."

"I can confirm that," Cas asserted quietly, earning himself an exasperated eye roll from Dean. "Sam is quite protective of his brother, himself. They have an extraneous history of sacrifice and—"

"This isn't the time, Cas," Dean shot the angel a look, not needing a reminder of all the times one of them had sacrificed their lives or souls for the other. "No need to relive some of our greatest hits."

Dean was still haunted by the nightmares of Azazel, Alistair and Lucifer every other night, tasting hellfire on his tongue, feeling the agonizing ripple of pain of hellhounds tearing his body to shreds- and reliving Sam's death- over and over and over again in his mind- the way his back arched- expression torn into a pained grimace- the way his head fell lifelessly to the side, eyes closed.

Sam's original death- the one at Cold Oak- undoubtedly ranked among the worst of Dean's memories, maybe because his devastation, his grief had been so absolute- so incomparable at the time.

Similar to an old wound that had scabbed over but never fully healed, Dean was sure that he would never ever be able to forget the way Sam's pulse had faded against his fingers… the way his gaze had slid to the side, lids falling closed in eternal slumber.

"He's right, Dean," Cas quietly insisted. "You need to rest."

"I'll rest when Sam's better."

"Yeah, I don't mean to rain on your parade there, Winchester, but the kid?" O'Boyle prepared the syringe with what Dean assumed were the muscle relaxants for Sammy. "It's gonna take some time for him to get vertical."

O'Boyle tapped Sam's skin until a vein appeared and then pressed the needle in, slowly releasing the fluid into his blood stream.

Sam winced in unease and Dean reached down to interlace his fingers with his brother's, lending unspoken reassurance to the unconscious man.

"I don't care. I'm not going to leave my brother alone."

O'Boyle shook his head at so much stubbornness. "Fine, whatever, kid."

He grabbed a small bucket and filled it with water from the sink, dropping a washcloth inside it.

"Here," he handed Dean the basin with lukewarm water along with some hand disinfectant. "If you're not going to get catch any sleep, go make yourself useful and clean your brother up. I'm guessing he'd rather have your hands all over his body than mine."

Dean took the bucket with a curt little nod and let out a sigh. "You're going to stitch him up?"

"Yeah," O'Boyle assured with a heavy sigh and sat back down in his metal chair. "This might take a while."

Dean looked down at Sam's gaunt face and squeezed his brother's fingers. "I've got time."

"Thank you," Dean said in a hoarse voice that was barely audible.

He heard the soft clink of a glass being put down on the table next to him and felt a soft- almost tentative- pat on his shoulder.

"You need to stay hydrated."

Dean remained slumped in the chair next to the cot Sam was resting on, looking scarily pale against the pristine white of the sheets that covered him.

Cas dropped a set of fresh clothes on the edge of Sam's mattress.

"I was told to give you these," Cas cleared his throat and awkwardly gestured towards the metal door at the end of the hallway. "There is a shower at your disposal if you need it."

"What your overly awkward friend means, is that you should go and get washed up," O'Boyle walked into the room. "Just don't get your stitches wet or I'll kick your ass."

Dean gave Sam a reluctant look, unwilling to leave his brother alone and yet he couldn't deny how tempting it sounded to hop in the shower and wash the grime and dried blood from his tired body.

A look from O'Boyle, however, told Dean that Sam would be watched in his absence. And more than that, the older guy's eyes also told Dean that if he didn't follow their suggestion, O'Boyle would drag him into that shower by the ears, injury or not.

After a long shower and a quick redressing, Dean felt at least physically clean- his conscience still heavy with guilt and tainted with self-hatred as he walked back into O'Boyle's self-proclaimed recovery room and reclaimed his seat by Sam's bedside.

He watched O'Boyle from the corner of his eye with a wariness that was probably misplaced after the older man had spent hours on putting them both back together, but Dean had learned better than to trust fellow hunters with anything but suspiciousness.

When the doctor stepped closer and handed him a couple of pills, Dean just cocked an eyebrow at the man in bafflement. "Take them."

"What are they?"

"Painkillers," he explained and Dean looked down at the round little pills in various colors with dubiousness. He had no reason to believe O'Boyle would want to harm them after everything he'd done for them, but a small part of his brain was still screaming at him in warning.

"Listen," O'Boyle said with an exasperated roll of his eyes. "I've helped you this fucking far, haven't I? What kind of reason could I possibly have to poison you?"

"You've had beef with my dad."

O'Boyle had the audacity to snort with laughter. Come to think of it, Dean was pretty sure it was the first time he saw the guy with a genuine smile on his lips.

"No offense, but your dad had beef with everyone."

Dean huffed out a soft laugh and shook his head.

As much as he loved his father, that was one thing he couldn't really deny about the man.

"Fair enough," Dean held O'Boyle's gaze and swallowed the pills dry.

O'Boyle, seemingly satisfied with the way Dean had finally relented, busied himself regulating the flow rate of Sam's fluids and checked his vitals.

"He's all I have," Dean said after a while when the silence became too much for him to bear.

O'Boyle was putting away his medical equipment, carefully cleaning glass vials, plastic tubes, and needles.

He never turned around to face Dean, but the hunter could still tell that the older man's interest was piqued- that he was listening intently to his every word.

"I couldn't bear it if…" Dean broke himself off, mouth slamming shut as if to keep more words from spilling unbidden from his lips. His eyes were suddenly shiny, throat tight with raw pain.

O'Boyle was silent for the longest of times, continuing to mechanically clean the room.

Before long, Dean found himself slumping sideways in his chair, eyes falling closed, no matter how hard he tried to keep them open and trained on his little brother's sleeping face.

"C'mon, boy," a gruff voice eventually said and Dean frowned when brawny arms slipped around his waist, lifting him up from the seat and heavily supporting his weight when he swayed on his feet. "Time to get some rest… I'm gonna wake you in three and you can thank your lovely concussion for that."

"S'mmy…"

"Your brother's alright, you stubborn bastard. Now get your heavy ass in bed. C'mon."

"Samm—" Dean's feet dragged on the floor and he nearly stumbled over the edge of the carpet, toppling onto the mattress of the cot O'Boyle had prepared for him and sending himself face-first into the pillows.

The last thing he was vaguely aware of was a grumbled "How the hell did John deal with you on a regular basis?"

Dark light was filtering into the room from outside when Dean stirred.

He squinted into the darkness, took in the faint smell of antiseptics and groaned when the events of the past couple of days hit him again; Sam's disappearances, their fighting, Benny's betrayal, the captivity, Sam nearly dying, being helped by O'Boyle.

He lay flat on his stomach for another second, blinking his heavy eyelids open and then shifted his head around just enough to find Sam in the bed opposite to him, in the exact same position he'd been in hours ago.

Dean's heart sank.

"I was just about to wake you up," Cas' voice caused Dean to whirl around, finding Cas hovering mere inches over him.

Rubbing a tired hand over his features, Dean scowled up at the angel. "Dude. Personal space? I thought we've been through this…"

"Sorry," Cas blinked, taking a somewhat bashful step back.

"How's Sam? He wake up while I was out?"

"No," Cas sounded apologetic, his eyes cast down as if he was to blame for the fact that Sam was still out like a light. "We've been monitoring him, though, and it seems like his heart rate and body temperature are stabilizing."

Dean tried to lift himself up and found it difficult, his limbs not really cooperating.

"Do you need me to—"

"Get out of my ass, damn it!" Dean hissed, patience snapping as he shot the angel a dark scowl.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas looked honestly taken aback by Dean's reaction- almost hurt- and Dean felt about two inches tall, realizing begrudgingly that he had hurt the angel's feelings.

"You're not feeling well. I should leave you and Sam alone—"

"No, Cas, wait a minute," Dean stopped the angel in his tracks. "That was uncalled for. I didn't mean to yell at you… it's just—"

"I understand," Cas appeased him with a soft look. "You're worried about Sam's recovery. Maybe you should go and lie back some more… the doctor said I could let you go back to sleep if you seem coherent and responsive."

"No, I'm good," Dean protested and swung his legs over the mattresses edge, wincing when his new stitches pulled a little at the movement. "How long was I asleep for?"

"Nearly six hours with the one break where the doctor asked you trivia questions."

Dean couldn't help but smile at that, remembering when O'Boyle had woken him in the midst of his pain-killer-induced haze and asked him how many fingers he was holding up and what year they lived in.

He had barely been with it back then, mumbling out slurred answers in an attempt to quickly go back to sleep.

"Do you need anything?" Cas asked, obviously taking his task of playing nurse seriously.

"I'm good, thanks," Dean said in a raspy voice and dragged himself up on unsteady legs. Now that the adrenaline and the shock had finally worn off, his entire body was riddled with pain, feeling like it had been hit by an eighteen-wheeler at top-speed.

He hadn't eaten a proper meal in days and his mouth felt as dry as if somebody had shoveled sand into it.

But what he needed more than food or water or the air to fucking breathe- was for Sam to open his eyes and look at him with his shiny peepers. To look up at Dean and say his name and for them to talk about everything that had happened.

He needed for his brother to get better.

And unless Cas found a magical way to reclaim his angel juice and fix Sammy with a swipe of his fingers, there wasn't a single goddamn thing in the world that would make Dean feel better.

Dragging himself over to the side of Sam's cot, Dean gently cupped the side of Sam's face and to his pleasant surprise found his brother's cheeks warmer to the touch than they used to be- a soft color adding a healthy touch to his slim features.

"God, Sam…"

Now wasn't the time to break down. It really wasn't.

"Why didn't you tell me what was going on?"

How could Sam have thought- even for a goddamn second- that Dean would pick Benny over him? That he would choose a vampire over his own family? His own brother?

"I'm not sure I'm supposed to tell you this, but…" Castiel softly started, looking over at Dean with a strange look in his eyes. "Sam asked me something before he banished me from the bunker last night. Before he came to your rescue."

Dean's heart skipped a beat at the words.

He had a feeling he wouldn't like where this was going.

"He asked me whether you'd still give his soul for him if you could change the past. He asked whether I believed that you regret your decision to make a deal for his soul."

Dean felt his heart crack and splinter at the words.

Did Sam seriously have such doubt in their brotherhood that he no longer believed Dean would go to the ends of the world for him?

Did Sam believe Dean would no longer die for him?

"What—" Dean swallowed thickly, closing his eyes. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him that you hold no regrets over having saved him."

Dean released a breath he wasn't even aware he'd been holding. "Thanks."

Thank you for telling him that, when he needed to hear it the most.

"I only told him the truth," Cas gave back easily.

Dean smiled before pulling the angel in for a heartfelt hug.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

Sam blinked, looking about five years old with his hazel eyes wide opened and his cheeks flushed a healthy shade of pink.

He studied the hand O'Boyle was hectically waving around in front of his face and shot Dean a questioning glance over the veteran's shoulder as if to ask his brother what the fuck was going on. "Ah… four?"

"That a question or an answer?"

"Look, I'm not concussed, alright," Sam's eyes narrowed at the guy and yeah, judging from the fiery spark in his brother's eyes, Dean could tell that he was feeling better, already.

Never one to be easily appeased, O'Boyle's face hardened.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that, huh, kid?"

"I'm not a kid."

Oh yeah, Sam was feeling better alright.

Dean barely managed to hide a grin.

"How many fingers—"

"Two, alright? And earlier it was four," Sam gave back grouchily, trying for a bitchface and not mustering the strength to pull through with it.

"Give it a rest, Sammy. You look like you need to take a dump," Dean teased from the side, relishing the way his little brother sputtered and blushed in response, shooting him a dark glower over the veteran's shoulder.

"Anybody ever tell you, that you're idiots?" O'Boyle said good-naturedly and Dean held Sam's gaze for a moment longer than necessary, noticing the same spark of fond reminiscence in his brother's eyes that he knew was reflected in his own.

"We've been told once or twice before," Dean grinned, feeling more like himself now that Sam was finally back with him, alive and safe and healthy enough to be pissed about some stranger calling him a kid.

"Think you can hold some grub down? I've got a few cans of soup in the cabinet somewhere…"

Sam nodded tentatively, probably just trying to get rid of O'Boyle, (that little shit).

And Dean cleared his throat only a second or two after the doctor had left, signaling for Cas to follow the older man's shining example and give them some time to talk.

"I think I should go to uh… help with the soup."

"Sounds like a plan," Dean flashed Cas one of his grins- the one's that meant he'd gotten his mind and then turned back around to Sam, once the door had fallen into the lock behind the angel.

Sam blinked and toyed with his blanket, looking lost and a little scared in the nest of blankets and pillows O'Boyle had swathed him in.

"So... you feeling okay?"

Sam nodded. "Little banged up, but uh… much better than before, I guess."

Dean took a deep breath and looked down at his lap, trying to find the right words.

Where should he even start? It seemed like there were so many things they needed to talk about, here… so many unresolved issues to address.

"Dean, listen," Sam bit his lower lip and gulped, looking so freaking nervous as he fumbled with the stupid blanket- like he couldn't openly speak his mind in front of Dean- like they had broken something irreparably between them and could no longer communicate as brothers.

Dean swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing up and down in a slow catch and drag.

"I meant to tell you the truth, I swear I did," Sam forced out in a rush, words running together in his hurry to get them out. Sam looked up and Dean felt his throat constrict at the fresh tears shining back at him from his little brother's guilt-filled gaze. "I didn't know he was going to sell it. If I'd known he was going to sell it, I would have never allowed him to take it."

"Sam—"

"I mean I'd have still wanted to save you, regardless of that. But you have to believe me that I didn't know his true intentions or I'd have—"

"Sammy, stop it," Dean cut his brother off in a voice that meant business. He held Sam's gaze until the younger man's shoulder dropped in defeat, face taking on the expression of a kicked puppy on Sam's face and letting out a long-suffering sigh.

There was more silence and then Sam's lips quivered.

God, his brother was such a drama queen.

"Okay, where do I even start?" Dean let out a humorless huff, baring his teeth a little as he looked up at the stained ceiling. A couple of hours ago he would have done anything to get Sam to wake up and now that his brother was finally walking and talking again, he had no goddamn clue what to say to him. Or how to put all of his thoughts and feelings into coherent sentences.

He knew that Sammy needed to be handled delicately right now.

And maybe that was the hardest part of it.

Because between Sam and him, they never had to dance around each other when it came to expressing their feelings.

Most of the time, they just knew what the other was feeling; recognizing simple indicators such as tone of voice or the slightest shift in facial expression.

But this time, Dean was insecure and clueless about Sam's emotional state. He didn't know why Sam had thought- honest to god assumed- that his brother wouldn't drop everything and come running for help the second Sam told him what Benny had done to him.

Dean opened his mouth and closed it again like a fish gasping for water.

Then he looked down at his hands, taking a shaky breath and gathering the courage for what came next.

"You're not a letdown, Sammy."

Wow, okay.

He hadn't exactly meant to haul out the big guns straight away, but the words Sam had muttered to him in his fever-induced panic had gripped Dean's heart tight and never really let go.

Sam's lips did that little twitchy thing that meant he was upset and confused.

"O-okay…" he said in a quiet voice, phrasing the simple word almost hesitantly and with no small amount of surprise. Dean could've slapped himself for his bluntness. The kid probably didn't even remember what he had muttered the day before, he had been so out of it.

"Look at me," Dean commanded and watched Sam's fingers still against the cover of the blankets. The younger man hesitantly lifted shy hazel eyes to meet Dean's intense gaze and swallowed. "I know we haven't exactly been on the best of terms in the past couple of weeks…"

Sam snorted softly.

Yeah, understatement of the century.

"Alright, maybe we've been at each other's throat lately. And I know a big part of that was my fault for acting like an ass half the time, but Sammy…" Dean's eyes went soft with emotion as he tried to convey all the feelings warring in his chest. "How could keep the fact that someone was torturing you- taking your goddamn blood- from me?"

Sam licked his lips and blinked a couple of times and Dean felt his heart clench in pain at the hurt he saw in his brother's eyes.

"I didn't want to lose you again… I just—" Sam's voice broke and he looked away, his composure threatening to crumble like a sand castle in a thunderstorm. Then, almost too quiet for Dean's ears, Sam whispered: "I was doing it to save you."

"Yeah but I didn't need saving, Sam!" Dean snapped, the thought that his baby brother had once again sacrificed his own well-being- his own life- for the sake of saving Dean's was unbearable and making him irrationally angry. "I mean did you miss the fact that I had already come back from Purgatory, alive and kicking? What the hell did you think he was going to do- zap me back with a flip of his fingers? He was a goddamn vampire, Sam- not an archangel!"

Sam winced from the blow the words packed, eyes growing wide at his brother's tone of voice.

He flinched back into the pillows, looking like a scared four-year-old that had been caught red-handed with his tiny hands stuck in the cookie jar. And god, but Dean was so tired of this. Why couldn't things between them be easier? Why couldn't they go back to the way things used to be when they were both younger and trusted one another without thought or hesitation?

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, sounding wrecked and Dean thought he might bust a vein or something.

"I don't want you to be sorry, Sam! I want you to stop throwing yourself into the fucking fire for me first chance you get just because some sadistic asshole is using me against you! Don't you see a goddamn pattern in all of this? We can't keep going on like this!"

The words flicked some kind of invisible switch in Sam's head because the next second, his expression morphed from one of guilt and self-loathing to incredulity.

"We can't keep going like this? Seriously?" Sam huffed out a breath in that smug little way that always made Dean want to swat him up his head. "Now you're just being a damn hypocrite, Dean. Don't you dare stand there and tell me you wouldn't have done the same fucking thing for me if our roles had been reversed."

"No, I damn fucking well wouldn't, Sam," Dean spat out angrily, pointing a finger at his brother's chest for emphasis. "You wanna know why that is? Because I check my fucking facts before I run off to do something incredibly stupid like giving all my goddamn blood to some piece of shit fang!"

"Like you checked the fact that Benny was one of the good guys?" Sam shot back without as much of a second's hesitation and Dean's eyes widened.

He swallowed thickly, the words sending him back on his heels.

Sam's expression went soft with regret the next second, almost like he knew how much damage he'd just caused with them, even if it didn't make them less true.

He opened his mouth- doubtlessly trying to apologize- but Dean just held up a hand, not giving him a chance to stammer out an excuse.

"You're right…" Dean nodded, flashing Sam a smile that was raw guilt and self-loathing. "Guess I really took the cake with that lapse in judgment, huh?"

"Dean—"

"I really thought he was a friend, you know?" Dean snorted, feeling disgusted with himself- an experienced hunter like him- falling for the dark and evil schemes of yet another manipulative son of a bitch. "Guess I was just too fucking dumb to see him for what he really was…"

"Dean, it's not your fault… you couldn't have known."

"Well, I damn well should have."

Sam sighed, slumping a little further into the pillows. "He was manipulating us both. Just in different ways."

"Yeah, wouldn't be the first time that happened, either," Dean said bitterly, for once glad that their parents were no longer around to witness the epic mess-ups of their sons.

"When we were in purgatory… he was just… there for me, you know?"

Sam swallowed, averting hi gaze like the words were too much to bear- like he didn't want to hear them. Dean knew his brother had felt some sort of misplaced jealousy over Dean's friendship with Benny and Dean had strived in it at the time, teasing Sam with it by calling Benny his family- his brother. But it hadn't all been for show.

"Benny saved my life time and time again. He did the same for Cas. We had one another's backs… and sometimes when we would sit around the fireplace, keeping vigil, we exchanged a few words about our life topsides… about the things, we missed- like a juicy stake… coffee… no-strings-attached sex."

Sam snorted at that because only Dean would start a conversation about his sexual exploitations with a vampire and an angel in purgatory. That shit sounded like the beginning of some lame-ass joke.

"He wasn't exactly the care-and-share kinda guy but it was nice having someone to talk to you at the time- a willing ear to listen, you know? In a way, these conversations were what kept me sane down there. I never knew... I mean there were no signs that he was—"

A goddamn monster.

Sam gave a curt nod, jaw clenched tight with tension at the way Dean opened up about his time in Purgatory. It wasn't exactly like they'd ever talked about this before. Dean had been too busy yelling at Sam and shooting him death glowers to actually talk to his brother.

"I'm glad," Sam croaked out eventually, trying to put on a smile for Dean's sake. It was a frail thing- quivering weakly on his lips. "If the only good thing that came of this was that I got you back from Purgatory, it was worth it to me."

Dean's throat constricted at Sam's heartfelt admission. He knew his brother wasn't lying.

That was Sam Winchester for you. Getting tortured at the hands of the vampire Dean had been best buddies with and still trying to see the good in that bastard.

"It wasn't Benny who got me through Purgatory," Dean gently persisted, because sure, Benny had been the one to tell them about the ritual- he had been the one to show them all the technicalities of how to get out of that particular shithole, but in the end Dean's survival instinct had been triggered long before he even met Benny.

"I mean, yeah, he saved my ass a couple of times down there," Dean shrugged, trying not to think about how Benny did it with ulterior move in mind. "But Benny wasn't the reason I slaughtered my way through that hell, alright? He wasn't the reason I kept fighting. He wasn't the last goddamn thing I thought about before going to bed and the first thing on my mind when I woke up."

Sam's eyes filled and he sniffed, already knowing where Dean was going with this.

His eyes were filled with so much raw hurt and it pained Dean to know that he was the reason for it- that he was the one who let his brother believe that a damn vampire was more important to him than his own family.

"Was it busty Asian beauties?" Sam suggested with a watery laugh, nervously trying to break the tension and to keep Dean from taking this any further, probably because he knew he wouldn't be able to rein it all in once the floodgates opened. "Anime porn or cheeseburgers?"

"Better," Dean quirked a smile.

"Better than cheeseburgers?" Sam laughed and Dean pretended to ignore the one tear that slipped down his brother's slightly flushed cheeks, knowing Sam was clinging onto his composure with every ounce of power he had left inside.

"Better than pie," Dean took their little game even one step further, feeling an invisible weight being lifted from his heart at the way Sam's hazel eyes filled with a bit of happiness at their playful banter.

"Okay, now I know you're lying," Sam tried to hide his smile and failed.

Dean counted it a win. He'd always measured his success in Sam's happiness.

He hadn't even realized how much he'd missed to shoot mindless jokes back and forth like this- to be affectionate in his tone of voice and the exchange of meaningful looks between them- until just now. He needed this as much as he needed air to breathe. Needed for Sammy to laugh at him and throw him disapproving looks and shove his shoulder in when they walked on the sidewalk.

"You wanna know what I thought of- what really kept me going down there?" Dean asked, expression growing serious again as he watched the relieved smile on Sam's face slowly vanish.

Yeah, this time, he wouldn't leave things unfinished.

Sam needed to hear this.

"The Impala?" Sam tried for another joke but it fell flat.

"It was you, Sam," Dean admitted softly, bumping Sam's leg beneath the hospital blankets as if to say 'Duh! Idiot. Of course, it was you'.

"Benny was just a weak substitute for the brother I really needed."

Sam twisted the linen in his fingers, whole face scrunching up in a deep-rooted hurt that had only managed to foster over the weeks they'd grown more and more distanced with each other.

"Amelia was a lie. I never even met her."

Dean let out a slow breath. "Yeah, I figured…"

"How could you think I'd just not look for you, you stupid jerk?"

Okay, that was unexpected.

Sam's breathing was heavy and the tears blurring his accusatory stare, were only adding to the guilt in Dean's chest- were tearing right through all of Dean's defenses and hitting him in his stupid heart. "I tore the entire library apart, trying to find some kind of spell to bring you back, I went to the crossroads—"

"Sam—"

"Don't even bother giving me hell for that," Sam snorted angrily. "It's not like any of these goddamn demons would have helped me, anyway! I did look for you, Dean! Of course, I did. Don't you think you were the first thing on my mind when I woke up? Or the last goddamn thing I'd thought about when I hauled my drunk ass to bed? I was devastated after you left!"

Dean swallowed.

He never wanted for Sam to be devastated.

And the goddamn last thing he'd ever want for his little brother was to make a deal for Dean's soul.

He had just wanted to be missed… for Sam to give a damn about his death.

It had hurt to think that Sam was getting over him so quickly- that his little brother had been so independent that the loss of Dean had merely enabled him to pursue his personal dreams instead of leaving him the broken, tumbling mess Dean would have been in Sam's shoes.

It was like a confirmation of all of Dean's worst fears.

A confirmation of the fact that his family- and all above, Sam, of course- had never really needed Dean as much as he needed them.

And the one crucial aspect of Dean's screwed up personality- the one thing that rarely anyone ever seemed to notice- was that Dean needed to be needed by Sam.

That tiny glimpse of hero-worship his brother sometimes still showed, that residual bit of absolute trust and love and friendship Sam had always held for him, was what kept Dean sane. And it made him feel vulnerable and fucking stupid to expect that from his overgrown thirty-year-old brother but was something that was never going to change.

Dean didn't want to live without Sam.

And the fact that Sam could, was a tough pill to swallow.

"I left no goddamn stone unturned to find you, Dean! Did you seriously think I was going to run off with some girl without even knowing what happened to you? Without as much as trying to find you?"

Sam had left Dean before. With little care to how Dean felt about it.

Sam had always known what he wanted in life and he'd never been afraid to fight for his dreams. It had been something Dean loathed about his brother- maybe even something he begrudged him for because deep down Dean knew he didn't have it in himself to do the same.

"Guess we were both just being spectacularly stupid," Dean sighed, looking a little sheepish, but Sam wasn't letting him off the hook that easily.

"Dean, you're my brother. I told you this before, but there's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

"I know," Dean returned automatically, because yeah, he did know that. Sometimes it just took a little reminder to drive the meaning of that home. "I know that, Sammy."

"Good," Sam nodded, jaw locked in determination.

"And since we're already in the middle of yet another chick-flick, I'm just going to throw this out there… you are NOT evil, Sam. Just because our lives have been crappy, doesn't make you one of the bad guys, alright. If anything, the fact that our lives have been orchestrated by evil, should make the fact that we're still fighting the good fight more valuable."

Sam looked taken aback- mortified almost- but Dean just plowed forward, wanting to eradicate any doubt about his own goodness from Sam's mind and heart, once and for all.

"Now I know we've both got issues. And hell, after everything we've been through, I believe we're fucking entitled to be a little screwed in the head. But I've been there with you every goddamn step along the way- I've seen you get addicted to demon blood, and following that bitch Ruby and starting the acopalypse—"

"Dean."

Dean lifted his palms almost apologetically, knowing these were still sore topics for his brother.

"Look, just saying, alright? I've seen you go through all of that and come out of it stronger- smarter than before. I've seen you lose hope and faith and even confidence. But I have never ever seen you lose your humanity."

Sam pressed his lips together and Dean could tell how much his brother needed this- realizing he should have told Sam much earlier what came next.

"All I see when I look at you—all I ever saw when I looked at you—is my little kid brother. That floppy-haired, snot-nosed brat that would follow me around all the time, asking me stupid questions. That awkward teenage boy that would ask me for advice with the ladies. The smart guy that got into Stanford with a full-ride because he was just that level of geek… The guy that locked himself in a cage with the devil just so the freaking globe could keep on spinning. I look at you and I feel nothing but pride for the man you've turned into. You're good, Sam. You're as good as they fucking come, you hear me? And there's nothing you could ever say or do to convince me of the opposite."

Sam's expression crumbled and even though Dean should have really, really seen it coming- he still found himself surprised when Sam shot forward to wrap his gangly octopus arms around his older brother and held onto him for dear life.

His shoulders shook and his breathing was ragged, but Dean just hugged Sam back and pretended not to feel the warm wetness against his shoulder. "Such a girl."

"S-shut up," Sam hiccupped and Dean smiled softly.

"There're a couple of things you still need to explain to me, you know," Dean softly teased, a grin growing on his lips. "Like why the hell did you come up with such a lame-assed name for your fantasy chick? I mean- Amelia? Couldn't you at least try to make her sound interesting so I didn't feel like you dumped my sorry ass for some frigid librarian?"

"Veterinarian," Sam corrected softly, letting out a wet chuckle. "I hit a dog, remember?"

"Oh yeah, that's right. You left me to rot for some boring chick AND a dirty fleabag."

"Would you have believed me if I told you I'd run off with some stripper named Candy?" Sam challenged with a skeptical frown, before sinking back into the pillows with a yawn.

"No you're right, that sounds more like me," Dean softly laughed and shook his head, feeling like every piece of whatever had been broken between them was slowly but surely slipping back into place- feeling whole again now that they had talked- happily soaking in his brother's smile and the healthy tinge of color returning to his face.

"Jerk," Sam muttered sleepily, smiling back up at Dean with that same sense of relief in his hazel eyes- the same twinkle of gratitude for having restored a piece of their brotherhood.

"Bitch," Dean smirked.

They were going to be fine.

As long as they had each other, they were going to be just fine.

It was all they had ever needed, after all.

FIN.

I'm sorry this took half a year, guys. I know "sorry" doesn't even cut it at this point, but I needed to take a bit of a break from writing and the longer I stayed away from this fic the harder it was to get back into it. Anyway, I've said most of it in my author's note at the top, but I couldn't me more grateful for all of your patience and support! I sincerely hope you enjoyed the ending! Please drop me a final note if you can spare a few seconds of your time! Reviews always make my day. THANK YOU, GUYS! Xoxo