Hark! A...not so timely update. In anyway shape or form. But I am still here and I am still working on it. I really apologize for all of this!
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"You were lying about his feet," Dean said after he was sure Sam was asleep. John nodded.

"There's still glass in some of the cuts. We're going to have to pick it out and then clean it out. Get the tweezers." Dean grimaced and moved off to the bathroom. They spent the next half hour carefully picking out glass from Sam's many cuts on his feet. Very rarely did Sam stir which did nothing to sooth John or Dean's fears. Once the cuts were clean, John carefully cleaned them while Dean wrapped them.

However, when John moved up to his wrist and pushed the bones back into place, Sam woke up very quickly. He whimpered pitifully, not really conscious enough to know what was going on. He only knew that he was feeling pain and he wanted it to stop. It took Dean holding his arm in place to get him to sit still long enough to wrap the bone. After John finished setting and cleaning it, Sam tossed and turned for awhile, breathing heavily, before he finally drifted back into sleep.

"I'll sit with him for awhile," Dean said. John nodded; he needed to help Bobby with the clean up anyway. He paused on his way out and rested a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"There was nothing you could have done Dean," John said gruffly. Dean shook his head.

"I knew I should have stayed with him. I knew it."

"And if you had been here, maybe you would have both gotten killed. We'll never know Dean," John said with a shrug. "Besides, you know Sam won't blame you. You can't blame yourself."

"Sam will," Dean said helplessly. "He'll blame himself for this whole mess. He won't tell us, but he'll think he wasn't strong enough, or smart enough, or something, to get away."

"Maybe, but those are his demons to deal with. Not yours." John walked out and shut the door firmly behind him. Dean leaned back miserably and settled in to wait the night out.

Sam flipped over quickly, trying to regain his balance before Dean, no the shapeshifter, not Dean, could attack again. His head was ready to burst in pain though. What had happened to it again? His whole body ached and he was losing track of where all his injuries came from, or where they all were. A drop of blood dripped off the table, onto the back of his hand. Oh, so that's what had happened. He had hit it on the table. Wonderful.

Sam tried to pull himself up, but it was hard when he was still shaking, his wrist was definitely broken, and his vision was spinning. There was no way he was going to get away. Sure enough, a hand clamped on the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to the familiar face.

"You know," the shapeshifter drawled. It was easier to tell the difference between Dean and the shapeshifter when he talked. Dean would never talk like that. "I keep wondering when you're going to get the hint."

A punch landed against his jaw, knocking his head sideways and making his ears ring. Sam didn't really feel it though. Pain was a just a constant thing now, nothing new.

"See, dad and I don't really need you. Why do you think we always leave you behind? We don't want you to mess up and get us all killed. We know you're going to one day."

Another punch landed on his stomach, irritating the cuts that were still bleeding. God, he was never touching glass again.

"We've been waiting and waiting for you to get a clue, but for being so academically smart, you sure are stupid. Seriously Sammy, let me spell it out for you. We don't want you with us. You aren't part of the family."

Sam desperately wanted to fight back, verbally and physically, proving that he was part of the family and that he was strong enough to keep up with him but he was tired and so, so weak. Maybe Dean, no the shapeshifter, had a point…

"Now let's see if we can give you something to remember this for the rest of your life." From what Sam could see of the shapeshifter did not look good. There was a strange smile on Dean's face, one that Sam had never seen before. His hand held up a long piece of glass, deadly sharp. Understanding dawned on Sam and once again he started to try and get away, but the shapeshifter just laughed as he flipped him over and held him down, a knee on the back of his neck, slowly cutting off his supply of air as intense pain sparked in his back. Sam knew he was screaming…

"Sam! Wake up damn it!" Sam instinctively moved away from the voice that he had heard only seconds ago, taunting him. Pain flooded his back, his wrist, his body, but he still pushed away, desperate. "Dad!" the voice called again. Sam forced his eyes open trying to take in his surroundings. John appeared out of nowhere, making Sam jump, a frown on his face.

"Sam calm down, it was just a dream," John said soothingly. Sam took in deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. Dean stood a ways away from the bed, his arms clutched around himself looking lost. Sam wished he could just melt away so he stopped hurting his brother. It was Dean who had been trying to wake him up from his nightmare, not the shapeshifter Dean. And once again, he had flinched away from the one person who always had his best interests at heart. John started to rub Sam's shoulders, trying to help calm him down, but all it did was spike the pain in his back. Sam cried out and tried to shift away, but the pain just got more intense. Now that he was awake, Dean moved closer, even more quickly once Sam started crying out.

"Sam, where does it hurt?" John and Dean were asking him, but the pain was too bad and Sam kept his mouth closed, knowing if he opened it all that would come out would be screams and whimpers.

"Where didn't we check?" John gave up trying to get an answer out of Sam and turned to Dean. Dean scanned the area near where John had been touching—after all, it was after he had touched Sam that he had shown real pain. Sure, the shoulder was black and blue, but nothing that would cause this amount of pain.

"His back," Dean said suddenly. He had been more concerned about the ribs then Sam's back. "Dad, his back."

John sighed. Now they would have to put Sam through more pain in order to flip him over. "Alright Sam, this is going to hurt a little bit."Dean could see the slightly sarcastic line by his lips cover the pain lines. He could practically hear Sam saying yeah, thanks for the heads up dad. Like I didn't know that. "On the count of three Dean. One, two, three." Dean and John tried to roll him onto his side as gently as possible, but Dean saw Sam grip the bed with his good hand. His knuckles were white. Dean almost copied him when he saw Sam's back.

Width-wise across Sam's back were deep, ragged cuts. Obviously a piece of glass had been used; a knife would have cut much smoother. The edges of the wounds were puffed up and Dean could already see infection setting in. Dean turned without prompting and gathered the alcohol and bandages.

"Sorry Sam, we're going to have to flip you all the way. These have to be cleaned and you have to stay off of them," John explained, at the same time wondering what the hell they were going to do about his ribs. It would be brutal to leave Sam putting all his body's weight on them. "Dean, grab the vicodin."

Dean raised his eyebrow at that. John only gave them heavy pain killers when it was bad. Sure, he knew Sam was bad, but he was trying to deny that Sam was that bad. He grabbed the capsule out of the bag and returned the bed, grabbing Sam's water cup to fill up.

"Give him two pills," John instructed as he finished situating his supplies. Dean wanted to protest, but when he saw Sam's pain-glazed eyes he shut his mouth. What Sam needed now was a hospital, not home doctoring. They didn't really get a choice though.

"Here Sam," Dean said, holding the pills out for Sam. Sam stared at them stupidly, his mind slow to catch up. Dean helped him sit up, trying to ignore how tense his muscles got when Dean touched him. Sam obediently swallowed the pills and, with Dean's help, laid back down, this time on his stomach. He was out before they even started working on the cuts. "I shouldn't have killed him so fast," Dean muttered.

"I agree with you," John said with a small smile that was mostly masked by his concern and guilt. "But it was necessary. We needed to take care of Sam."

"What did you do with the body anyway?"

"Luckily our motel is out in the middle of nowhere. We took it out in the forest and burned it. No one saw us." Dean heard the meaning behind his words.

"But you still want to leave as soon as possible."

John nodded. "We'll leave tomorrow, and just move to the next town. We'll just give him more pills to help knock him out."

"And Bobby?"

"Going the opposite direction for a long time. If anybody saw us and raised questions, that should help throw them off our trail. These are all going to need stitches. Sterilize a needle," John said wearily. One of these days, Sam would catch a break. He would.