I deserve this.

Dean thought to himself as he dragged the blade across the scarred skin of his forearm.

For 30 years in Hell, he had told Alastair to stick it where the sun shines.

But one day, he couldn't take it anymore. He got off the torture rack, and started putting souls on.

The awful, horrible things he had done...there were no words. But worst of all, he had enjoyed it. A sin greater than the crime itself. He could never make up for what he'd done. He could never make it right.

But with every cut he gave himself, he felt a little better. He needed to punish himself.

But was it really punishment? After all, his favorite color was blood.

Sam watched his brother toss and turn, muttering in his sleep. Another nightmare. He debated on whether or not to wake Dean, but decided against it. Dean hadn't slept in days. He'd been running on adrenaline and caffeine. He'd finally passed out on Bobby's couch.

Sam checked his watch. 2:30 in the afternoon. Dean had only been asleep for half an hour, and already his mind was attacking him.

"You gonna wake him up?" Bobby walked in from the kitchen.

"If it gets worse."

Bobby sighed. "Poor kid."

"Yeah,"

Just then, Dean started thrashing around, half-screaming Sam's name, and begging for help.

Sam shot forward, and started shaking his brother's shoulders. "Dean, wake up! Dean!"

The older Winchester's eyes flew open, and Sam could see the terror leave his eyes as he saw where he was. "Sammy?" Dean was clutching his brothers sleeve, clinging to him as if he was the only connection to reality.

"It's okay, Dean. I'm here. You're safe."

Sam hated seeing his big brother like this. He'd always been the strong one.

But that was before Hell...

Hey guys, just a little author's note. I'm working on two stories at the same time. No, I haven't given up on Carry on my Wayward Daughter :)