Don't own any rights to the Boys, songs, or Ridley James' Brotherhood AU.

This story is not approved of by the Brotherhood creators nor considered part of the Brotherhood. The Brotherhood creators have offered me support of completion of the story but have expressed a preference that future stories involving the Brotherhood avoid the types of topics found in this story.

For full disclaimer, see Chapter 1.

fRating: M. Warning. Some chapters have very mature themes of violence, torture and rape and attempted suicide. Almost all chapters have some bad language. Although I've attempted to avoid some of the more explicit details, sometimes it just can't be done and tell the tale.

If you are a fan of Dragonfly, see my profile to get the link to the dragonfly fan site.

Breaking the Wings of Dragonflies

Chapter 27

I wanna hear you laugh again, without the ache to bring you down
No we'll never be the same, if only I could take your pain
If it's true what people say, there still is beauty in each day

—No more cry, the Corrs

Then:
April, Kentucky

Finally, Sam thought something between elation and aggravation, finally they got to take Dean home. Well, Pastor Jim's home, but it was one of the few places that felt like what Sam figured a home probably felt like. Cullen Ames, Caleb's grandfather, had hired an air ambulance, transporting Dean from Illinois to Louisville, Kentucky and gotten them away from the Dementors. Sam was certain his dad had asked Cullen to do it, which kind of surprised him, but then, Dean was in no condition at the time to make such a long road trip. At the hospital in Louisville Dean's violent reaction to his first name caused the hospital staff to quickly resort to calling him by his middle name of Mathew. Reluctantly, Sam and the others accepted the practice when they had to call Dean by name.

Sam had been very happy when the doctors in Louisville considered Dean well enough to transfer him to New Haven. The hospital in New Haven was only an hour from Louisville and just a short distance from Pastor Jim's. Sam had listened as Dr. McCoy told his dad that physically 'Matt' was healing well and the reconstructive surgery on his hand was proceeding better than the specialist could have hoped. With therapy, the reconstructive surgeon predicted Dean would regain as much as ninety percent use of his hand. Refusing to accept that his brother wouldn't heal completely, Sam vowed he would help get Dean as close to one hundred percent as possible; he would make sure of it if he had to nag his brother endlessly to keep up with his therapy and make him push his limits. He didn't want his brother to remember the Dementors every time he tried to use his damaged hand. It just wasn't going to happen if Sam could do anything to prevent it.

Although Dean's physical condition improved every day, Sam watched as his mental condition balanced those scales, slowly degrading with each rising of the sun. Dean withdrew deeper and deeper into himself as the days passed. But now they were moving his brother once again and hopefully being at Pastor Jim's would help. Of course Dean was doing anything but cooperating.

"Dammit, Matt!" Sam's frustration was plain. It still felt awkward calling his brother by his middle name but he felt funny calling him Ace or Deuce, too. He wished he had a nickname for his brother outside of the typical brotherly names of 'jerk' or 'dick' or whatever. Captain One Helluva Big Brother was just a little too much of a mouthful most times, though he often just called him 'brother.' He glared at Dean. "We're trying to get you out of here and to Pastor Jim's."

Not acknowledging his brother at all, Dean stared out the double paned window of the hospital room.

"Fine," Sam snarled. "I'll tell Dad you don't want to get dressed and would rather go buck-fucking naked."

Dean still didn't answer him; he didn't even seem to hear him. Taking a few deep breaths, Sam bit back his anger. Dean only hid deeper if someone yelled at him. How was it that Dean always knew how to make it better for Sam but Sam didn't know how to make it better for him? The answers must lie in that elusive 'big brother manual' he teased Sam he had. Someone was slacking on putting the right info in the 'little brother manual' then Sam decided. Little brothers had to take care of big brothers sometimes, after all.

Patience.

Pastor Jim counseled him that patience was the key to working with his brother but sometimes it was just so hard to be patient when Dean stubbornly ignored the outside world and everyone in it. Even him. After a final breath to calm himself he laid a light hand on his brother's shoulder feeling Dean try to shift away from his touch. The sudden movement elicited a strangled gasp from Dean as he jerked his still healing body.

"It's just me, Brother," Sam reassured him softly. "You know I wouldn't hurt you. I'd never hurt you. You mean everything to me."

Swiveling his head, Dean looked at his little brother, his eyes dull and almost vacant. After a moment his gaze focused on his younger sibling. Recognition flickered in those empty eyes, returning a faded spark of life to them. "Sorry, Sammy," Dean murmured and leaned into his brother's touch. "I just didn't…I didn't know it was you." He turned his gaze back out the window. It was a bit of a cloudy day, threatening a light rain shower, and the greening trees swayed in the gusty spring breeze.

"Hey, c'mon, keep looking at me," Sam said, glad he had finally gotten something of Dean's attention. Now if he could just keep it. "We're going to get you moved to Pastor Jim's. It'll be better there, don't you think?"

Dean gave a small shrug. Hospital. Pastor Jim's. It was all the same as far as he was concerned and didn't matter. It had mattered once. Pastor Jim's had always been a safe place...well, mostly safe anyhow. Holidays were occasionally spent there, and when they were, they were freaking awesome. Usually Caleb and Mac were there...no. No. He didn't want them there. It wouldn't be safe if they were. They'd know. They'd know everything. Every guilt, every shame, every failure…

"You always like going out on the pond at Pastor Jim's. We can take you out in the row boat, maybe fish a little or something. And there's the garden, and Atticus and Harper Lee will be all excited to see you. Probably slobber you half to death when you first get there."

Sam sighed. Talking to Dean was like talking to a brick wall. Best to turn to the more important things right now while Dean was still 'hearing' him. "The nurse already gave you your sponge bath, right?"

No answer. So much for the idea that his brother was still listening to him. Sam growled to himself, and pulled the wheel chair that Dean sat in back a little from the window. He got between Dean and the outside world, locking his gaze with that of his brother. Sometimes it was the only way Sam could reach him. "Did the nurse give you a bath?"

"Are Mac and Caleb there?" Dean asked softly.

How could there be fear in Dean's eyes with that question? Sam wondered. Caleb was Dean's best friend. Yet—Sam got it. He didn't want Caleb or Mac and their telepathic talents seeing anything inside his head either. He didn't want them seeing anything that happened in that warehouse. It was bad enough that he had to tell his dad about it. "No," he assured his brother. "Just me and Dad and Pastor Jim. Did the nurse give you a bath?"

They weren't there. Good. That was good. Really good.

Dean gave a slight nod. She'd been a pretty blond nurse. Blond like Tara. It was all he could do not to shove her away, to scream at her to leave him alone, not to touch him. It was all he could do not to pound his fist into that pretty face of hers. So instead he had simply hid away.

"You need to get dressed. Dad got some undershorts and pants that snap on the side so you don't have to try to get them over your cast, and then he got you some flannel shirts kind of the same. I made sure he got you a blue plaid, a red plaid, and a solid green one. I'm going to help you get dressed, but I can't do this alone. I need your help. Please?" Their dad offered to help get Dean dressed but Sam had better luck keeping his brother engaged in the world around him if it was just the two of them, so unless he had to, he wasn't going to ask for their dad's assistance.

Dean stared into his brother's pleading eyes. He hated the pain he saw in them. That, like everything else, was because of him. He would prefer to just stay hidden in his safe little niche in his mind but Sam needed his help to…do something. He wasn't sure what, he hadn't really been listening, but his brother needed him and he would do what he could. He would try at least. Giving a small nod he agreed to whatever it was that Sam wanted him to do. "Yeah."

With a sigh of relief Sam brought over the new clothes. It took them awhile but, between the two of them, they managed to get Dean dressed before their father returned to Dean's room with the news 'Matt' was officially released from the hospital. They loaded the wheelchair bound Dean into the church van and got him situated, making certain the chair was firmly strapped in place.

Jim drove while John sat by his eldest son and kept a close eye on him, ensuring the van wasn't jostling him too badly or in case something happened and Jim had to make a sudden stop. John had always teased the pastor that he drove like a little old woman, but right now, on this trip, he was so very glad of the smooth stops and starts and the deft avoidance of any major bump or hole. He swore he wouldn't tease Jim about the way he drove ever again. The man drove as if the most precious cargo in the world was in that van and as far as John was concerned it was. His two boys.

As they drove through town, people waved at the van. All of Jim's parishioners knew that the eldest Winchester boy had suffered some sort of bad accident; his name was included in their prayers every Sunday. Many had children that knew the boys from when Sam and Dean had the occasion to attend school there. The parishioners showered Jim's household with casseroles, desserts, puzzles, movies, books, games and other things to help keep the family fed and Dean entertained during his recovery. One of Dean's classmates made the ultimate sacrifice and loaned Jim (loaned, he stressed) his Playstation and every game he had for it.

John smiled hopefully as he saw Dean take interest in the scenery, smiling broader when he saw Dean's gaze linger on some of his favorite restaurants in town. His son hadn't shown much of an interest in food but maybe he could entice Dean to eat with take out as the bribe. When they passed by the school, Dean's gaze dropped to his lap, his breathing rapid and body stiff until the school was well out of view. When it was, his gaze hesitantly returned to the outside scenery. He seemed to straighten a little when Jim's place came into view and John saw his son's gaze sweep over the land, pausing on the pond.

"No one else is here, right?" Dean asked quietly.

John was almost startled speechless. His son rarely spoke to anyone now, and when he did, he wasn't the one initiating the conversation. "Just us," John confirmed. "Bobby and the others headed back home after you'd been in Louisville for about a week."

Seeming to relax a fraction, Dean nodded.

Jim pulled the van up beside the wheelchair ramp they had built. They quickly undid the straps holding the wheelchair in place and between Jim and John they carefully lifted Dean, still in his chair, to the ground.

"I've got him," Sam said and hastily moved to the back of the chair.

"Sure you don't want some help getting Ace up that ramp?" John asked.

"I've got it," Sam insisted.

Raising his hands in surrender John let his youngest deal with Dean while he grabbed the bag of things from the van that Dr. McCoy had sent home with Dean. The father couldn't help but feel a bit of pride as he watched his much smaller baby boy push his big brother up the ramp without too much effort. Jim had already propped open the front door and both dogs were locked up, at least until the Winchesters got settled. No one was quite certain how the traumatized youth was going to react to the animals.

Sam pushed the wheelchair into the living room and stopped. He was glad they had added that extra couple feet to the ramp like Bobby had suggested. Even so, that ramp seemed like Mount Everest when he was pushing Dean up it.

Following Sam in, John set Dean's things on the settee and gave Sam's shoulder a light squeeze. "Good job, Sammy," he told him then walked into kitchen.

"Jim--" John began as he watched the pastor pouring a couple glasses of sweet tea for his guests.

"Stop it, John," Jim admonished the Knight without even turning around. He put the ice tea container back in the refrigerator then handed John one of the glasses of tea. "You and the boys are welcome here for as long as it takes. No more arguments about it. 'Mathew' can sleep in the downstairs bedroom, you and Samuel can have the upstairs room."

From the living room Sam said firmly, "I'm staying with 'Matt.'"

Jim and John passed a look. It was a queen sized bed in there, but neither was sure it was a good idea for Sam to be in the bed jostling Dean, especially if Sam had one of his nightmares and even worse if he called out for his brother. Dean had certainly proven he would strike out with no provocation as at least one orderly at the New Haven hospital learned. When Dean was waking from one of his nightmares anyone was fair game until the teen was fully awake and knew where he was. The last thing Sam needed was a cast up side the head. Perhaps they could put a cot in there for him and that would work.

"All right," John said, knowing it would be futile to argue the point with his most stubborn of sons. He had to pick and choose his battles and besides, Dean probably would do better if Sam were there. "You can stay with 'Matt.'"

Wearily John sat down at the old wooden kitchen table. Getting his son out of the hospital and into a familiar and comforting setting hopefully would help bring Dean back to his senses. Even now, weeks after the attack, his son didn't like to be touched by anyone, with reactions that could range from flinching to cowering to even, upon occasion, lashing out violently. Getting Dean to talk was a wholly different issue unto itself. Provided he repeated his question two or three times, John could usually get Dean to respond to him but otherwise, Dean stayed silent and lost in his own darkness. Thankfully his youngest could reach Dean through that terrible veil of fear that cloaked and all but suffocated his eldest. Although his answers were short, at least he would talk to Sam. John wondered a little ruefully if it was because Sam nagged him into it and Dean just wanted to quiet the persistent, loquacious boy. That Dean talked to Sam when he talked to no one else, John understood. It was a brother thing. The most frightening thing to John was that his eldest did little else but stare off into space, his eyes holding a deadness the father had never seen except in some of the creatures that he hunted. The nightmares that racked Dean whenever Dean slept he refused to talk about to anyone, even Sam. If Dean didn't improve at Jim's farm, John didn't know what he'd do.

No. He did know. But he didn't want to think about that. Not yet. Not ever, he hoped.

Sam rolled the wheel chair into the oak floored bedroom. The throw rugs had been removed so the wheelchair wouldn't get caught on them. It seemed a little cold and bare without the colorful rugs.

"Which side of the bed do you want?" Sam asked his brother. The left side was near the window which Sam liked. The right side was by the door, which Dean, in other days would have insisted on. Sam knew Dean preferred that side so as to place himself between Sam and anything coming into the room from the doorway, or grab hold of him and throw him out the door if something came in through the window. Even though Sam felt more than able to take care of himself, Dean would still insist on it and Sam figured he probably always would. At least, he would have. Now, his brother's eyes were focused on the window.

"Okay, I'll give you the left side." It was his turn to protect Dean, though it was pretty unlikely anything dangerous would make its way inside Pastor Jim's farmhouse…unless it was human, like the Dementors. But they had no idea where the family was. At least, it seemed unlikely that they would or if they did, that they'd bother to travel so far from their home turf. The brothers weren't a threat anymore as far as they were concerned, right?

He took the bag off Dean's lap and sensed rather than saw the barest flinch from his brother.

"Are you tired? Do you want to lie down?" Sam asked as he set the green duffle on the wooden chest at the end of the bed. Returning to Dean's side, he stepped between the window and Dean, locking his gaze with his brother. Dean's green eyes were so haunted it made Sam's heart ache every time he looked into them.

"Do you want to lie down?" Sam repeated.

Dean blinked as if just now seeing him and gave a half shrug in response but that was followed with a sudden yawn.

Chuckling, Sam bobbed his head. "Sounds like a 'yes' to me. Okay, c'mon then. We'll nap for an hour or so."

"Real men don't nap," Dean murmured softly. "They doze."

Sam grinned. Dean hated when they called it a nap. Kids took naps. "Okay. We'll doze."

Sam tugged the covers down then Dean let Sam help him out of the chair and into the bed. Carefully Sam lifted Dean's casted leg up and onto the mattress, pushing a pillow underneath it. After his brother was settled, Sam told him, "I'll be right back."

Not answering, Dean merely stared up at the ceiling, his body stiff and tense. Sam clenched his jaw and went out to the kitchen.

"'He's a little tired, Dad. We're going to lie down. Could we maybe have pizza for dinner? He loves pizza from Mamma Malones.''

"Sure," John said, giving his son a smile. "How's Ace doing?"

Sam shrugged. "Like I said, he's tired. The ride was hard on him even though it wasn't far, but it's not like he gets a lot of sleep."

John saw the faint anger smoldering in his son's eyes. He'd apologized to his sons and had been by their sides tirelessly since the attack. He had done everything in his power to see to it they got what ever they needed, even if he was going to owe Cullen for the rest of his life for the thousands of dollars it was costing. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but his boys, but he wasn't at all certain the most important thing of all he would ever regain. The trust of his boys. All he could do was to continue to be patient and help them as best he could. "I'll order the pizza when he wakes up so it'll be good and fresh. You let me know, okay?"

Sam nodded and returned to the bedroom.

"You cold? Hot?" Sam asked when he came in.

Dean was staring at the ceiling, getting himself lost in the shadows, picking out every little imperfection he could spot and doing the equivalent of cloud watching; making pictures and things out of the randomness before his eyes. One set of shadows and marks he decided looked like a fish. The next one was a cobra primed and ready to strike. A little to the right of that was a pitcher pouring a shadowy pool of water from its spout. Shifting his attention to a different spot he saw a bird soaring through the air. He found if he counted things, or played the cloud game, or analyzed every little imperfection he saw in whatever object was near, it kept his mind preoccupied.

The sound of Sam's voice in the previously quiet room startled him, drawing him out of his imaginings of objects seen in the shadows. He blinked a moment. Sam had asked him something. He tried to sort his thoughts and figure out what it was, but then decided it didn't really matter. Twisting his head his gaze went to the window. The clouds had cleared for the most part and the sun was shining again. "Open the window?" Dean asked.

"Sure," Sam said and lifted the lower sash. The wooden frame went about three quarters of the way up. The day was uncommonly warm and a fresh breeze drifted in.

Dean took in a couple deep breaths. The hospitals he had been in, the windows didn't open or they would tell him it was too cold. He didn't care how cold it was. That's what blankets and crap were for. He wanted the fresh air. The sounds and smells that drifted in the window at Pastor Jim's farm seemed to soothe his soul and he sighed, feeling a tiny bit of his tension drain free. This was the safest he had felt in a long time.

Sam pulled a thin quilt over Dean then went to the other side of the bed and slid in beside him beneath the covers. He threw a protective arm over his brother's chest and nudged himself closer. Dean's eyes closed and he relaxed into his brother, his breathing quickly softening to that of the sleep-laden.

Sam didn't actually sleep. He just lay there next to his brother recalling how many times Dean had lain beside him, a protective arm across Sam's chest, after one of Sam's typical nightmares. Dean had always been there for him and protected him. But Dean was…broken. He was lost. Sam didn't know how to find him, how to bring him back and make him whole again. He didn't know how to fix his brother. The bitter accusations he had screamed at his father that first night in the hospital still burned inside him. It was his father's fault Dean was broken. If he'd only listened to them, listened to Dean, and gotten them out of that terrible school and terrible neighborhood. Sam should have tried harder to convince his father how bad it was. Maybe if he'd tried harder Dean wouldn't be broken now. His father had apologized, something practically unheard of in the Winchester household, but it didn't change anything. It certainly didn't fix anything. Except maybe his dad's conscience. Sam also knew though, that it was his fault, too. As much as he wanted to put everything onto his dad, he was almost as much to blame. He could wheedle Dean into doing almost anything. If he had only tried harder he could have gotten his brother to leave, snowstorm or no snowstorm.

Listening to the lull of the wind through the branches of the tree near the window, Sam laid quietly next to his brother. He could see white cottony clouds drifting across the deep sea colored sky and found himself drowsing, bits and pieces of dreams manifesting themselves in his half asleep state. They were mild nightmares, hunting for Dean, asking everyone where he was, but no one knew. Or him running, though what he was running from he wasn't sure. Just running. Then out doing the morning runs, then the black dogs were chasing him, then Dean was attacked by them and hurting, hurting bad, bad like at the warehouse. Blood everywhere around Dean, but Dean smiling at him, flipping through a porn magazine, oblivious that he was bleeding out everywhere.

Something snapped him awake, his breath coming a little faster than normal. What had woken him? Not that he was complaining, not at all. Then he realized that Dean, while still asleep had grown tense underneath his touch. Glancing at the clock on the nearby table he saw about forty-five minutes had passed. That was about right. It was always about forty-five minutes when Dean's nightmares started. Sam whispered softly in Dean's ear. "It's okay. You're safe. They can't hurt you."

"Sam!" Dean whimpered softly.

"I'm here. I'm safe. We're both safe. It's okay."

Gasping, Dean's eyes shot open, his pupils dilated as adrenaline pumped through his veins. His gazed raked over the room, his body frozen.

Sam sat up and brushed Dean's sweat-soaked hair off his forehead. "It's okay," Sam soothed.

"S-sammy?" Dean had a wild, fearful look on his face that Sam had become far too accustomed to.

"Yeah, right here, Brother."

Unashamed tears slid down Dean's face as he focused on his little brother. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I tried. But they hurt you anyhow. I failed you."

"They didn't hurt me. You didn't fail me . I'm okay," Sam reassured him and wiped away Dean's tears. He wondered how many times he'd told Dean that. It felt like a thousand. It always took Dean a minute or two after he woke up from a nightmare to sort out where he was and remember everything. It was like his brain was permanently fixed in the warehouse and he had to get to a window and look out on the world before it all came back to him.

"I thought they hurt you. I thought they…" Dean whispered, his heart racing as convoluted memories filled his mind.

"They didn't do anything to me," Sam said patiently. Right after a nightmare or scare Dean was at his most fragile, in some sort of twilight existence. "I'm fine. You just had a dream."

Dean was silent as he stared at his surroundings, struggling to place where he was and why he was here. Why he had casts on his body. He smelled the familiar smells and vaguely heard familiar sounds. Pastor Jim's. Then the memories broke over him like waves on a shore and his breath caught in his chest.

"I don't want to sleep anymore, Sam," Dean finally said.

"You want some pizza? Dad's going to order from Mamma's," Sam said, trying to sound enthusiastic, hoping it might make Dean remember how good the pizza was. Then Sam made a face. "We'll even get you that nasty fungus you like. On your part of the pizza."

"Not hungry," Dean said, turning his head so he could look out the window.

Dean's response was not unexpected but it still made Sam swear under his breath. They practically had to force feed him. "You hardly eat anything anymore," Sam said giving Dean his best worried and scared little brother look. He hated using Dean's protectiveness against him but sometimes that was all that would work. "Please, won't you eat a little?"

Gaze sliding over to Sam, the big brother in Dean won out. "Okay," he reluctantly agreed. "Some pizza."

Sam beamed at his brother. "You'll eat at least three pieces, right?"

Although he blanched at the idea, Dean nodded wearily. "I'll try." He would make the effort to eat one piece to keep Sam happy. At least it was Momma Malone's, the best pizza in Kentucky. He just hoped it would stay down. Sometimes food did and sometimes it didn't.

"I'll tell Dad to order it and I'll be right back." Sam got out of the bed and headed into the kitchen, finding his father and Pastor Jim sitting at the table, talking. His father, he realized, looked terrible. Like Dean, he'd lost weight and Sam knew his dad wasn't sleeping much better than the rest of them. He felt a pang of guilt, but one thought of his brother, and that guilt shifted to anger. His bare feet were silent on the wooden floor as he approached the two men. Their conversation died as both looked at Sam expectantly.

"He said he'll eat some pizza," Sam said.

A measure of relief washed over John's face. Getting Dean to eat anything was a battle and one that only Sam tended to win. "Okay, I'll call it in and go get it."

"Don't forget his mushrooms," Sam reminded his father. It was probably unnecessary but he had promised Dean mushrooms and he wanted to make absolutely certain they would be on the pizza.

"Of course, Sammy."

"It's 'Sam,'" Sam said firmly.

His father's eyebrow lifted and he froze as he was pushing himself to his feet. Locking gazes with his youngest he saw the grim determination and readiness to challenge John, daring him to argue. Sam. No more baby boy. No, Sammy was growing, had grown up faster than he ever should have, both with the lifestyle they led and now with this horrible experience. "Okay. Sam."

Pleased his father listened to him, Sam stood up a little straighter. 'Sammy' was the little brother Dean had always protected. It was up to him to protect Dean now, so it was time for him to grow up and be for his brother what Dean had always been for him: strong. That meant he was Sam now. Sammy was a kid. And he wasn't that, not anymore.

Listening to his father place the order, he made sure his dad was asking for everything the way Dean liked it: extra cheese, extra meat, onions and mushrooms. His father gave Sam a nod and something of a smile, then walked out the door, keys in hand.

"Sam," Jim asked, "how is 'Matt' doing? Really?" Dean was largely unresponsive around everyone except for the occasional bouts of violence he had around strangers. Jim sincerely hoped coming to the farm would help bring Dean out of his self-inflicted solitude.

Sam bit his lip. "He's all broken inside and I don't know how to help him, Pastor Jim," Sam murmured softly.

"You're doing a good job. You're being a very good brother," Jim said reassuringly.

"It's not enough. But I'll find a way," Sam said resolutely.

Jim could see how much this was eating Sam up that he couldn't help his brother. Just like Dean, he had to assume the entire burden for himself. "You don't have to do it by yourself. You father is here for —"

"He wasn't when we needed him," Sam snapped, interrupting the man. "He never was when we needed him! Other people always came before Dean and me. Always!"

"That's not true," Jim scolded him gently. "A lot of the things he does, he does for you boys. It just isn't always obvious that it's for you. And, Sam, he has been there for you a lot of times."

Looking Pastor Jim squarely in the eyes, Sam's own flashed angrily. "And a lot more times he wasn't. Dean took care of me. Dean's the one who's raised me. Dean took care of Dad, too. Dean did most the cooking, the laundry, the cleaning up. When Dad would come back from a hunt, he'd get Dad dinner, put Dad to bed, clean the weapons, and do everything." Sam's voice grew in volume as his anger manifested itself stronger with each word. "He's done everything Dad ever asked of him. He's given up everything for Dad and me. And when we begged Dad to get us out of that horrible place, Dad just told us suck it up and keep our heads down. And now Dean is like he is and it's all Dad's fault!" Sam shouted at Pastor Jim. And my fault too, Sam added bitterly to himself.

The pastor stood and went to Sam, resting his hand on the boy's thin shoulder. "You've got to forgive your father, Sammy—Sam. He didn't realize it was so bad. He was backed into a corner and was doing the best that he could. Adults make mistakes sometimes. Even your dad. He's human, Sam. He's not perfect."

Grinding his teeth, Sam pulled away from Jim's concerned touch. "I need to go check on Dean—Matt." Sam turned away and stomped back into the bedroom. Dean was practically curled up in a quivering ball, at least as much of one as his casts were permit. Sam kicked himself for using Dean's name loud enough that Dean could hear it.

"Brother?" Sam said softly, gently laying his hand on Dean's arm. "It's okay, Brother."

Dean pulled violently away from Sam and tried to hit him with his casted arm. Sam dodged the blow easily, accustomed to Dean's violent responses by now, but cursed himself. Why had he let his anger get the best of him and why did he say Dean instead of Matt? Because my brother is Dean. The broken one is Matt. And Dean's coming back, dammit. My brother's coming back!

"Brother?" Sam said again. "You're safe. It's Sam. You hear me? It's Sam."

Silence reigned for a long stretch of seconds before Dean twisted his head a little. "Sammy?"

"Yes. You need to get up. Dad'll be back soon with the pizza, and it's time for your medicine. You need to get up."

Dean didn't move.

"You need to get up," Sam said patiently. Sometimes when he really got frustrated with his brother, he remembered back to all the tantrums he'd thrown and how Dean had been patient with him and soothed him. Sure there had also been plenty of times when Dean had marched out in a huff, slamming the door behind, but he was there for Sam when it was really important. Sam hung on to the almost chick-flick moments and tried to emulate his brother from those times: the brother who would tend to his scraped knee, or rub his back as he hiccupped air after one of his nightmares, or even when he refused to take cough medicine that Dean convinced him to take anyhow.

"I'm going to pull back the quilt and then help you sit up," Sam told him. He'd found his brother reacted much better and was much less likely to freak if he told Dean everything he was going to do. Carefully Sam pulled the quilt the rest of the way off Dean then he took hold of his brother's unbroken arm and pulled him to a sitting position. Dean grunted his pain.

"I'm sorry. That hurt your ribs, didn't it?" Sam said with a grimace, apology clear in his voice. He hated causing Dean any more pain. His brother didn't deserve any more pain, he didn't deserve any of this at all.

"Used to it," Dean said flatly. Even with all the pills he took, he still hurt. He vaguely recalled all the drugs Juarez had pumped into him. They had taken away the pain, all of the pain. At the moment he wished for that oblivion again.

After Sam coaxed Dean into the wheel chair, he propped his casted leg up. "Do you have to go to the bathroom or anything?"

Dean turned his head toward the bathroom attached to the room. Hiding in his safe place was good, but he would be damned if he would piss himself. He gave a slight nod. "Yeah. I do."

Sam wheeled him in and set the brakes on the wheel chair. "You need any help?" Sam asked.

A soft snort escaped Dean. "No. I can still piss by myself." Carefully maneuvering himself out of the chair, Dean leaned heavily on the sink. "Take the chair out. Gonna wash off."

Sam brightened immediately. That was the first interest Dean had shown in cleaning up without being prodded. He felt it was a good sign. Maybe being at Pastor Jim's was helping already. "Yeah. Sure thing. I'll wait right outside. Just call me when you're ready to come out."

Unlocking the wheels Sam backed the chair out and shut the door behind him. He sat down in the wheelchair and listened as Dean grunted and huffed inside. He heard Dean fill the sink and then the splashing of water. His attention turned to the window as he listened for his brother to call for him.

The white clouds began to gray over again as the sun played hide and seek behind them. From the window he could see some of the pond. The rowboat was tied up to the dock and bobbed lazily as the water lapped softly at the shore and rustled the cattails that grew in tall patches there. Sam soaked up the scenery. It felt good to be someplace where he didn't have to worry about child protective services or whether or not the appliances worked. A place with its own washer and dryer and eating off dishes that weren't chipped and broken. Even though he was mad at him, he was glad to his father was with them and not on some hunt he might not come back from.

Abruptly Sam realized that he hadn't heard any noises in the bathroom for awhile.

"You okay?" Sam asked and rapped softly on the door. When Dean didn't answer, Sam twisted the old enameled doorknob and peeked in. Dean sat on the toilet, its lid down. He held an open pocketknife in his left hand, staring at it.

"Brother?" Sam asked softly.

Dean looked up at him, tears dripping down his face. "It's covered by the cast, Sammy. Isn't that funny? I don't want to mess up the cast, so I can get to my wrist."

"Why would you—" Sam began, his gaze darting between the blade, the case, and his brother's tear streaked face. The implication was like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head and chilling him to the bone. How could his brother even think of such a thing?

Sam marched forward and snatched the knife from Dean's hand, setting it on the sink. He grabbed Dean's shoulders and shook him. "What do you think you're doing?" Sam hissed at him.

Dean looked stunned, staring at his little brother with shock.

"Okay, they beat you up. They did terrible things to you. They broke your bones, and burned you, and made you drink stuff, and …and raped you." He saw Dean's breath catch. "And then they gave you drugs and they tried to kill you. They were going to kill you. But you fought them. You had a sarcastic comment for anything they did. You were stronger than them. And you're going to let them beat you now? When they aren't even here? You're going to let them win?" Anguish filled Sam's voice and was mirrored in his eyes as he asked, "You're going to leave me?"

"Failed you. They won," Dean whispered. "Because I wasn't strong enough."

"Those are just dreams," Sam insisted. "Yeah, so they beat me up a little, but I got away," Sam lied, hoping he could convince his brother that they hadn't touched him, hoping that the lie might help Dean let go of the guilt he shouldn't be carrying. "I got away because of everything you've taught me about fighting. I got away because of you."

"They raped you, Sammy. I know they did." Dean's voice was barely a whisper at this point, a murmur as if he were only talking to himself.

"Those are just nightmares," Sam insisted again. "They didn't touch me. You didn't fail me. I failed you. I knew it inside me that you were in trouble but I didn't do anything. When I got home and you weren't there, it took me forever to find you. And then I had to call the police. I even lost your thirty dollars you worked so hard for."

Dean finally looked into Sam's eyes, his own filled with distrust. "Didn't touch you?"

"No, they didn't."

"Swear," Dean demanded.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I swear."

Dean sat in silence for several seconds and Sam could see his brother was trying hard to remember. He prayed Dean bought the lie, not that it would really matter he supposed. By tomorrow Dean would forget again or maybe the nightmares simply overwhelmed the lies Sam tried so hard to convince him were true.

The tension suddenly poured out of his brother. "Didn't fail you."

"You've never failed me," Sam said, sliding the pocket knife into his back pocket. Where had Dean laid his hands on a pocket knife? And when? Maybe it was in the bathroom and he found it. Sam didn't want to believe his brother had been planning it. He wanted to believe Dean came across the knife and the thought simply occurred to him. That wasn't much more comforting, but it was a little.

Sam hugged his brother, wondering if they were going to have to watch and make certain Dean didn't have access to weapons.

Dean put his one good arm around Sam and held him tightly. "Die before I failed you, Sammy. Die."

"Don't be an ass," Sam muttered wishing his brother would stop the recriminations though he suspected all the painkillers probably weren't helping his mood or memory. The antidepressants sure weren't doing squat. "And I swear, if you try anything so stupid as suicide, I'll hunt your ghost down and make you watch Lifetime movies until you puke ectoplasm."

"A fate worse than death," Dean agreed, dredging up a smile at Sam's threat. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm just….confused."

Sam held him a little tighter, "Dude, you're on massive painkillers. You have to do god-awful breathing exercises to keep from getting pneumonia. You have nightmares that rival me at my worst. You're stuck in a wheel chair and have like twenty or thirty bones on the mend, and burns that are still healing, and bruises inside you still. It's okay to be confused. But if you ever feel like you just can't deal, tell me. You can hold on to me. I'll help you. I'll lead you through it until I get you back out where you can see and think again. Promise me you won't leave me. Promise me." Sam pulled back from his brother and looked into his face.

Swallowing hard Dean offered the only thing he could. "I'll try."

The thought of losing his brother after all of this was almost more than Sam could bear. They'd been through too much for Dean to just give up now. He felt tears sting his eyes and moisten his cheeks. "No. Promise me!" Sam demanded.

Dean's face creased with pain. "Don't cry, Sammy. Please don't cry. Okay. Promise. I promise."

"You never break your promises. Never," Sam said.

Dean stared at his little brother. Sam needed him to be strong. He could try, at least for a little bit, while his thoughts were semi-clear and he could see and remember his brother. "Yeah, okay, okay," Dean said and grabbed a tissue and wiped away Sam's tears, ignoring the remnants of his own on his face. It took effort but he managed to keep his hands from shaking. "Just stop crying already," Dean said, a hint of his old self in his voice. Strong. He needed to be strong and give Sam reassurance. "You're acting like a girl, Samantha."

Sam sniffled. "Better than acting like a stupid jerk, Deana," he answered, though he would argue he was acting more like a scared to death little brother rather than a girl.

"Hah," Dean scoffed as he tossed the tissue into the trash. "You're being a girl. That means I can call you a bitch."

"Jerk," Sam said but was almost doing somersaults inside. This was the annoying, pain-in-the-ass big brother he wanted back. Dean could call him Samantha all he wanted just so long as he stayed with Sam and didn't get lost again.

"Bitch," Dean said and dredged up a half-hearted smile. "Okay. Get me the chair. Then get me my drugs."

"You have to do your breathing exercises too," Sam reminded him.

"After dinner," Dean said, trying not to make a face at the thought of eating.

Sam gave him a mild glare then relented. "Okay. After pizza."

When Sam turned away, Dean's smile disappeared and he looked back at the wrist hidden beneath his cast, a flicker of longing in his eyes.