Disclaimer: None of the things that you recognize belong to me. I'm simply borrowing them and they will be returned with no...with only a little damage.

I got this idea after watching Dean smash the Impala in "ELaC" and then Dean hitting Sam in "Bloodlust." I thought, what if out in the junkyard, Dean had laid into Sammy instead of the car. Hope you like this chapter. It is going to be a multi-chapter story. I'm, of course, still working on "Price of Fear" (because it's my pet project right now) and I'm bringing together my next chapter of "Oglethorpe House."

Hope you enjoy the first chapter.

It came out of him like a burst, unexpected and horrifying. Once it started, though, he couldn't find the strength to stop. The first blow had made Sam falter, the second made him fall, and all the other ones made him cry. He never hit back to defend himself, never made a move after the attempt to shield his face. Dean remembered the anger building, remembered his brother asking for the hundredth time, if he would talk to him; and something snapped. He would later remember only the first underhanded punch that had made Sam's head snap back, the sound of bone against bone. Everything else became a blur of emotions.

Dean had moved past Sam's hands effectively, straddled across his brother's body and continuing to land blows. Skin against skin, bruises forming and blood springing forth from his nose and mouth. He had given up fighting, given up the idea that he would be able to fight. He just lay limply on the ground, crying.

It wasn't his brother; couldn't be. It was a shapeshifter, or maybe he was possessed. He knew he should be fighting, shouldn't give in this easily, because Dean would regret it later, but he just couldn't. His brother was out of control.

The ground vibrated below Sam as heavy feet ran across the dirt to where the boys fought. Strong arms wrapped around Dean, restraining him, holding down his arms, and dragging him away from his brother. Another man dropped down next to the younger brother, gently checking him over. Sam flinched, drew away from the hands, and the hands backed off.

"I just want to make sure you're all right, Sammy."

Sam calmed, let the man run gentle hands over broken skin. The hands searched for broken bones, assessing his level of consciousness. A light shown in Sam's eyes, and he shied away again. "It's okay," the voice was back, comforting him. After making sure that the younger man would be okay, the man glanced at Bobby and nodded.

Bobby held onto Dean tightly, anxious eyes looking down at Sam, scanning Caleb's reaction to his condition. When he looked up, Bobby got close to Dean's ear and said in a low and dangerous tone of voice, "Are you calm now?"

Dean nodded and shook himself free of the older man, looking for the first time at the damage he had done to his brother. Horror and panic raced through him, filling him with dread and stealing his breath. 'Oh, god, what have I done?' His feet were moving of their own volition, trying to get to the boy he had spent his whole life protecting. Bobby grabbed him again and tried to hold him back. "Let me go!" He growled. At the sound, Sam shook, drawing back even further. Dean's heart clenched, knowing he had caused this. 'Oh, god, what have I done?'

"No, Dean. Give him some time. Let's go talk." Bobby reasoned, knowing that some of the trust Sam had for his brother had been lost.

"Sammy...I'm so sorry." Dean pleaded, moving closer.

Sam shook, backing up despite his own injuries, lost in his fear, and got as far as the side of the Impala. Dean stopped, put his hands up and moved away. His brother was hurting– bad– and he couldn't stop it, not this time. He glanced back at Bobby, at the tire iron that the man held in his hand, waiting to protect the one person Dean should have been protecting, and he nodded. Quietly, he followed him as Caleb rushed back to Sammy. He was shaking harder now, rocking himself in an attempt to get away. Dean noticed this, and thought about all the damage he had caused.

"Sammy? Sammy, look at me." Caleb implored, softly, in an attempt to stop the rocking that was causing further aggravation to his concussion. He reached out to cup Sam's face in his hand and made him look at him. When Sam's face was brought up, cold, vacant eyes stared back, not focusing on anything. "Oh, God," Caleb said, grabbing and shaking the younger man. He was completely out of it.

Dean heard the quiet curse, and turned around, glancing back at his brother. "What's wrong, Caleb?" Dean demanded, and the other man shook his head, dismissing him.

"Bobby, bring him in the house, and then come back and help me with Sam." Caleb said quietly, calmly, not looking at Dean at all.

"No! You tell me what's wrong with my brother," Dean roared, trying to get back to his side. He was ignored, as Bobby tightened his grip and started to drag him back to the house and Caleb turned back to Sam.

'Oh, God, what have I done?'

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Happy Hunting!