A/N: Here we are (finally) the last chapter to a story that was originally intended to be a one-shot. Then more was requested and I planned on adding only one more chapter. Well, I guess I just couldn't wrap it up in two chapters, so we're completing this story in a fourth chapter. I hope you like it, as I have to admit that this one did give me a fair amount of trouble. However, my girls Kanny Batmom and ZeldaIsis (also my beta) stuck with me and helped me get it to where it is today. I hope it doesn't disappoint. Thank you for all the favorites and follows, and especially a big thank you to those that took the time to leave a review. It really helps to inspire more to be written when I can see what people like and/or don't like. Thank you to everyone for being so kind.

Chapter 4

Helping Sam to roll onto his side didn't go as smoothly as Dean hoped it would have. At first, Sam was doing pretty good. He managed to get himself sitting up about half way, but that's as good as it got. It was right after that, when he let out a small cry, and then, just kind of went away on them. The grip he had on Dean's hand dropped and Sam started to fall back.

Dean gave the hand behind his brother's shoulder a little heave toward himself and jumped forward. Lunging over the bed, he threw his arm behind Sam's shoulders and pulled him toward himself. Bracing his free hand against the mattress, Dean was scared as hell when Sam wilted in his embrace.

"Sam—Sammy?"

He didn't get an answer, and he was about to tell Castiel to go grab the nurse, but then there was a soft grunt as Sam's hand grabbed at his shirt. His brother's head dropped against his collarbone, and Dean held him a little closer, "Easy, Sammy. I got you, man; I got you."

Dean looked across the bed at his friend. He had a hand on Sam's back, with that frustrated, constipated look, and Dean was sure he'd tried again to heal even a fraction of Sam's injuries.

Maybe if all this would have taken place back when Castiel had first joined their little group, all of this wouldn't be affecting him as much. But, over the years, and especially after that stint he'd done as a mortal, he had been molded into something different. Something better.

Castiel now understood pain and suffering. He was familiar with stress and fear, and he had experienced the suffocating sensation of empathy. In Dean's opinion, he was now more human than angel, and he was having his first taste at dealing with a friend who was busted up and suffering, and not being able to do a damn thing about it.

"Cas," Dean said, holding the back of Sam's head as he continued to pant clipped breaths against his shirt. "Come over on this side and give me a hand."

The angel looked over at him, "Dean, Sam is in distress. We should alert his nurse."

Dean would love to go out into the unit, screaming for Sam's nurse, demanding that they help his brother. But, it wouldn't do them much good. Sam was in pain; yes. He'd even go as far as agreeing with his friend that Sam was in "distress." It still didn't change that, about the best the ICU staff could do for him right now, would be to help him get more comfortable, and maybe offer a cool cloth for his head.

Instead of taking the time to explain what he already knew from years of past experiences, for his brother's sake, he kept it short and to the point. "They're not gonna be able to do anything. Now, get over here and help me."

Thankfully, Castiel knew when to drop an issue, and didn't waste any more time before rounding the foot of the bed. Pulling up beside him, he looked at Sam, and then Dean, waiting to be told what to do.

Giving a nod toward his brother's legs, Dean said, "Be gentle. Get a hand under his hip. Put your other hand behind his knee. On my mark, I want you to follow my lead, and we're going to pull Sam toward us and onto his side. Okay?"

Castiel nodded and Dean added, "Make sure you keep pace with me; the goal here is to keep his waist from twisting. Alright?"

The angel nodded again, "I understand."

"Hang on, Sammy. Just a couple more seconds," Dean spoke softly while adjusting his hold. "Okay, Cas. Easy now."

A team of professional people-movers couldn't have done a better job. Their movements were synchronized and fluid and, in less time that it would take to fieldstrip his Colt, they had Sam settled onto his side.

However, none of that made a bit of difference, because his brother hurt. And it was bad.

Straightening out the bedding, he watched Sam hold his head as he curled into himself, and breathed awful, pained grunts into his pillow. Dean took the hand still twisted in his shirt and squeezed it.

Sam squeezed back with a crushing grip, and again, the thought that he'd done this to his brother carved deeper into his brain. He'd already done so much damage. Every ounce of pain Sam was suffering through was because of him. His heart panicked, and he started to think he might possibly hurt his brother even more, simply by standing too close to him.

He tried to take a step back, but Sam wouldn't let him. The grip on his hand intensified, and with all that pain and hurt beating down on him, the kid found the strength to tug him back toward himself. Then Sam used a strength he couldn't spare and called his name.

He knew what his brother wanted and held no illusions that he'd be able to deny him anything he asked of him right now. So, he was mindful as he took a seat in the open space on the bed.

He was aware that his hip was only an inch or two away from the incision in his brother's stomach, and he started to scoot over a little. But, then Sam's legs curled up behind him, pressing against his back, and Dean knew he was stuck. His brother was curled around him like a damn cat, and he resigned to the fact that he wouldn't be going anywhere for a while.

Dean touched a hand to Sam's shoulder, giving it a squeeze, and watched him breathe. He didn't like what he was seeing, and even though he was pretty sure it was a needless gesture, he looked down at his watch and started counting.

By the time the secondhand made one full rotation, Dean had counted thirty-three breaths. Placing his free hand over the one that still gripped his leg, he leaned in and spoke softly, "Easy, Sammy. You're getting a little carried away with your breathing. Slow it down."

Sam's rapid, shallow breaths whittled down, but things weren't looking much better. He was trying to control his breathing by holding each breath for a few seconds, and then exhaling slowly. Dean knew that was what his brother was trying to do. What he was actually doing, was something entirely different.

Deep, gulping breaths were dragged in, and instead of holding them for a bit, they were almost immediately exhaled in a fractured burst. Then, another was sucked in before the previous breath had been completely exhaled. It was a fantastic recipe for hyperventilation.

The grip on his leg intensified, and Dean frowned, pressing his palm against his brother's chest, "Slow it down, Sam."

Laying his palm over Sam's chest was a gesture he picked up from their dad. It's something John used to do when he and Sam were young. If they were scared, or hurt, or really sick, his large hand would settle over their heart and make the bad, a little better.

It's not something used very often between them anymore, but their father's touch would never be forgotten. It was familiar, and soothing, and it meant something different to each of them.

To Dean it reminded him of a time when they didn't have to figure everything out on their own. When they had someone there to watch out for them and keep them safe. He wasn't sure what it meant to his brother, but he knew without a doubt, it was something good, because it always had the same, calming effect.

Sam's heart continued to pound beneath his hand, but his breathing was already losing that erratic edge. Looking up at his vitals, Dean knew they were still uncomfortably close to throwing off alarms, and he really wanted to get Sam calmed down before Kailyn came rushing in.

It's not that he had anything against the nurse doing her job, it's just that Dean knew that's not what Sam needed right now. He didn't need someone fussing over him, asking him questions, and making him talk. What Sam needed was quiet and calm. He needed to know Dean was beside him, and that he had things under control.

He looked back down when Sam curled around him a little more. Screwing his eyes shut tighter, he brought the hand gripping Dean's leg to his head and set them back a step by breathing out a choked gasp.

"C'mon, Sammy...," Dean wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders and leaned in close. "Remember what Dad taught us: Don't fight against the pain. Don't resist it. You'll just make it scream louder. Acknowledge it, but don't let it take control." He was quiet, and when nothing improved, he added, "Do some of that peace-guru meditation stuff."

Sam swallowed and forced out, "… trying; can't concentrate."

It irked Dean to hear that, because Sam's all about meditation—meditation, health food, working out, "reducing his carbon footprint"... Sam's deep into that kind of stuff. He's like, the Buddha of the Midwest, and it was just wrong, on so many levels, that he couldn't find his happy place.

So, he asked, "Do you want help getting focused?"

Sam was quiet and then actually cracked open an eye and fixed him with a brief look, "… how?"

Dean smiled, "You used to play that cd every day for months. If I tried hard enough, I think I could probably still recite most of it verbatim."

The corner of Sam's mouth turned up the slightest bit and he gave him the smallest of nods.

"Alright, Sammy." Speaking low, Dean tightened his one-armed embrace, "Allow the weight of your body to sink down toward the earth. Breathe deeply, letting go of the pain a little more on each out breath."

Giving Sam a little time, Dean watched and waited for his breathing to become mostly controlled, and then said, "Good, Sam. Now, allow the breath to settle. Let it find its own natural rhythm..."

Dean looked up at the monitor as he continued to talk his brother through the mediation technique. The more he talked, the more Sam's pulse and heart rate slowed. Once they stopped fluctuating up and down as much, Dean trailed off and let his brother take the reins.

Sitting still, he remained silent as he began to count Sam's respirations for a second time. His breathing wasn't perfect, but at twenty-seven breaths in a minute, it was workable. His pulse and heart rate were still high enough to let Dean know that the pain remained a big a problem, and he wracked his brain, trying to think of another way he could help.

And then he got an idea.

Sometime last year, just before Thanksgiving, Dean had gotten his bell rung pretty good. They'd been out near Seattle, looking into what sounded like a vengeful spirit. Well, they'd found it, and she was most definitely vengeful.

They had been prying up the floorboards in a shack that had to date back to the '20's. He was saying something, he had no clue what. Next he knew, he was on the floor with a persistent little brother leaning over him, demanding that he keep taking while Sam finished the job.

Back at the motel, the migraine that was working on making his brain explode was bad enough that when Sam had the idea of using some sort of new-age guru maneuver on him, Dean hadn't argued.

Hell, Sam could have told him to go live in the desert for a month and contemplate on his spirituality, and Dean would have signed right up. If it meant he'd get a measure of relief from the pain in his head.

Thankfully Sam's solution hadn't been anywhere near that drastic. And, although Dean may have been skeptical in the beginning, there was no doubt that it had brought the pain down to a moderately tolerable level.

Now, he was hoping that it would do the same for Sam—if he could just remember the damn name.

Digging out his cellphone, Dean spent a couple minutes looking it up, but then for the sake of time, went straight to the source.

Giving his brother's shoulder a squeeze, Dean spoke low and soft, "Hey, Sam?"

There was a beat of silence, and then, "...Mmm?"

Squeezing his shoulder again, Dean's thumb rubbed back and forth, "What was the name of that thing you did last year when I had that killer migraine?"

"…"

"After that S&B out by Seattle... Acu—something... acupuncture?"

"… pressure."

"Pressure...?"

"acupressure."

"Shit; that's right. Okay; hey, you want to give that a try? See if it can help at all?"

Dean sat and waited for Sam to decide if he wanted to risk it. It didn't take very long for him to come to a decision.

"k."

"Okay, man. Hang tight for just a sec."

Doing a search, he brought up a website on his phone. Scrolling down the page, Dean nodded to himself while looking it over. Most of what he was seeing on the how-to page was familiar, and he felt a bit of renewed confidence over being able to help.

Dean scrolled back up to the top of the page. He decided that a slow start, beginning with the areas that didn't involve touching Sam's head, would be best.

Turning down the brightness on his screen, Dean set down the phone on his thigh. "Alright, Sammy," he said while looking at the illustrated instructions. Then touched the back of one of the hands Sam had pressed against his forehead. "Give me your hand."

The hand Dean touched moved toward him, and he captured it in both of his. He looked at his phone again, and then used his thumb and index finger to pinch the webby part between Sam's thumb and index finger. Applying deep pressure, he counted to sixty in his head.

Scrolling down the page, and continuing onto different pressure points, he started in on the ninth or tenth spot. And, just like he did with all the other areas, his eyes skipped up and watched Sam while he counted.

He couldn't say that he was seeing any improvement in his condition, but Dean thought he remembered it taking a while, back when Sam had done this for him. Considering that, he worked on the first ten pressure points a few more times, and then prepared to move onto the next stage.

It was a tricky move, because the next areas required him to touch Sam's face, neck and head. And, if he remembered things right, that hadn't felt especially great. However, thinking back again to that motel room in Seattle, he was pretty sure after bearing through the initial discomfort, it had been then, when he'd started to notice the beginnings of some major relief.

Dean inhaled a deep breath, "Okay, Sam. Gonna move on to some pressure points on your face."

Reaching out, his hand hovered with hesitation, saying, "Let me know if you need me to stop." And then he let it come down and settle over brother's head. He focused on the area that the website called the Third Eye. It was located just between the eyebrows, where the bridge of the nose met the forehead, and Dean pressed his thumb against it.

Sam flinched, his legs jerking against Dean's back as his shoulders hunched with added tension, but he didn't hiss or groan, or try to duck his head away. Believe it or not, Dean took that as a good sign

Holding his hand still for a moment, Dean wanted to make sure the pressure wouldn't get them moving in the wrong direction. He watched as Sam raised the hand lying across his leg and touched it to his forehead, but that's all he did. He didn't make a move to reject Dean's touch, and that gave him the green light to begin moving his thumb in a tight circular motion. He counted to sixty.

Dean studied Sam's expressions and body language. The tension in his shoulders, the pained crease in his forehead, the blush of his fingertips as they pressed against his brow. They were all were markers that Dean used to adjust his movements.

Scrolling down the page to find the next spot, Dean scowled down at his phone. The next one was called Bright Light. It consisted of two points situated in the inside corners of the eyes, just below the eyebrows. And, really freaking close to the bridge of the nose. He thought about skipping it, considering Sam's broken nose. But, he was going to leave that up to his brother to decide.

"Sam?" Dean asked, and received the same hummed response as before. "Hey, the next spot is at the inside corner of your eyes. But, it's close to the bridge of your nose. I'm not… um—" Looking away, Dean breathed in a steadying breath. "I'm not exactly sure where the break is. I'm not sure if we should skip it or not."

Sam was quiet as he thought about what Dean was saying. Then, his brow knitted and he cleared his throat. He spoke just loud enough to be heard, "Go ahead."

Rubbing an anxious hand across his brow, Dean stared down at his phone. His lips moving as he read, he studied the exact placement of where his fingertips needed to press. He looked the information over a couple of times, and then looked at his brother.

He was gentle as he moved Sam's hand out-of-the-way, and then he touched the tips of his thumb and middle finger high on the bridge of the nose.

His touch was feather-light at first, but then gradually increased in pressure. He'd gotten to about half-power, thinking they might actually be okay, but then Sam winced with a grunt. His hand captured Dean's, pulling it away.

"Okay, Sammy." Dean said, squeezing his brother's hand. "I got it; that one's a no go."

After moving past the next three pressure points, Dean pressed his thumb into a spot on the edge of Sam's shoulder, near the base of his neck. He counted to sixty and then held the spot a little longer.

"Doing okay, Sam?" Dean asked, looking back at his phone, and scrolled down the page. "Is it helping at all?"

Sam remained silent, and Dean was too as he read up on how to perform the next pressure area. Sliding his fingers beneath the hair at the back of Sam's neck, Dean felt his way along the area between the back of his ear and his spine. He found the muscles he was looking for and pressed this thumb into the point where they came together. He'd held that spot for about twenty seconds, when he heard Sam's soft reply.

"… think so."

Dean released a pent-up breath. Sam's voice was stronger and he seemed to be able to respond to him with minimal effort. It must be giving him at least some form of relief. A little while later, Sam rewarded him by letting the hand covering his eyes fall away from his face, and come to a rest across his knee.

Moving through a few more areas, it became impossible to miss how Sam was continuing to relax. The tension that had him wound so tightly was coming undone. His shoulder dipped a little and his head sunk into the pillow more.

He wasn't sure if the pain was actually lessening, or if Sam was just able to deal with it better. Either way, it was a positive outcome; and right now, Dean was going to take all the positive they could get.

Carefully skirting the wound above Sam's temple Dean found the pressure point at the corners of his forehead and pressed. He counted to fifteen, and then began to rubbing in a circular motion.

Dean began to lose time as he sat there, comforting his brother. His hands went on auto pilot, and his mind started to wander. It tried a few times to take him back to the events of half a day ago. When it did, he'd push that away and reroute it back to where he needed it to be. A place where he thought he might have found a temporary solution to their problem.

Getting Sam to agree with it? That was going to be the hard part.

A twinge pulled at the middle of his back, and sitting up straighter, Dean winced at the stiffness as he looked down at Sam. He was still. He hadn't moved, and his eyes didn't open when Dean's hands didn't make it back to his head. He dared to hope the kid was asleep.

Dean rested his hand on Sam's shoulder and dared to lean back just a bit against the legs still pressed against his lower back. He needed a change of position and figured that would have less chance of rousing his brother than if he were to get up and stretch.

Looking around the dim room his eyes came to a rest on the monitor showing Sam's vitals. His heart rate and pulse were still elevated from his baseline, but compared to just a little while ago, there was a big improvement.

Dean looked down at his brother and thought back to when Sam had been rushed off for emergency surgery. He and Cas could only stand there and watch as the hospital staff had taken Sam from the trauma room, and disappeared around a corner with him. One of the trauma nurses had started to say something about showing them to the surgical waiting area, but Dean was already turning them toward the exit of the ER. He found a quiet corner, and then got up close and personal with the angel, demanding to know what exactly had happened when Castiel had arrived at the bunker.

At first, Cas had been reluctant to divulge the gritty details, but Dean pressed on, and eventually, with a big, labored sigh, his friend had laid it all out for him.

The news had made him take a temporary leave of his senses and he had turned and stalked straight out of the hospital, looking for anything he could destroy. It didn't take long, and a few alleyways later he'd come upon a stack of empty pallets next to an abandoned bicycle, minus one front wheel.

The bike had been the first victim to his anger as he snatched it up by the back wheel and swung it against the wall of the alley. He'd gotten in a good ten or twelve swings before the chain snapped. Maybe five more, and the frame had flung behind him on his backswing, leaving him with just the wheel in his hand.

He looked at the bent-up wheel, breathing heaving breaths of both exertion and rage, and decided he wasn't done yet. Flinging the destroyed wheel down the back of the alley, Dean had moved onto the stack of empty pallets.

Taking a deep breath now, he looked down at Sam. The gash on the side of his head peeked out from behind his hair, and Dean took care as he brushed his fingertips through the long strands, pushing them away. Holding his hair back with a hand to his head, Dean's thumb moved with gentle strokes as he leaned in to get a better look.

Thanks to the dark room, he couldn't tell much, other than the wound was held together by three butterfly closures. That information alone wasn't going to cut it, and he picked up cell phone again. Facing the screen away from his brother's eyes, he used the light to reveal the extent of the damage.

It was an ugly, swollen wound. Whatever had gone down; whatever he had done to cause it, Dean was able to tell that it had happened from one—maybe two blows. Blows hard enough to split the skin, probably on first contact. Looking at the placement, at how damn close it was to Sam's temple, Dean couldn't help but think how much worse it would have been if the impact had happened just a little lower.

Trying to figure out what he'd done to cause the damage, he looked down at his hand, but, easily ruled it out. If he'd done that kind damage with only a punch, his hand would be in much worse shape than just a few cuts.

It was stiff and sore as he flexed it, and Dean thought of how he'd destroyed the pallets in that alleyway. Cut, bleeding, and painful, Dean had made a tight fist to intensify the pain. He couldn't explain it, but he had needed to feel it. It was after he had concentrated on that pain for a while, that he was able to walk back into the hospital and focus on his brother.

He'd spent the better part of an hour, sitting in the surgical waiting room, picking out as many splinters as he could without a pair of tweezers.

Castiel had found him a wet cloth, but when his friend offered it to him, Dean had ignored him. He'd sat there for the longest time, just staring at his bleeding hand, and watched his blood run over what was left of Sam's. Their blood mingled, fresh blood oozing over dried, and the sight of it had given Dean a terrible foreboding in the pit of his stomach.

If he didn't do something drastic, and find a way to keep himself far away from his brother, Dean knew how it all would end. What Cain said would come to pass. And, he knew if that day ever came, the day where he kills Sam, it would be the end of both of them. His blood would mix with his brother's one last time, and then that would be it.

Flexing his hand again, Dean thought of how he had sat there while the doctors worked on his brother to fix the damage he had done. Cas had tried talking to him, but he hadn't listened. He was too far away within his mind, and had remained there, until the angel had taken his damaged hand in his own and began to wipe it down with the cloth.

Thinking of his friend, Dean looked over at the doorway, and then the chair on the other side of Sam's bed. Both were empty, and he frowned. If that featherhead went back on our agreement and slipped out on me...

Craning his head around, Dean looked harder over his shoulder, and then turned to look over the other before he spotted Castiel. He was sitting in the corner behind them, and in his hands was an issue of Cosmopolitan magazine.

Castiel's back was against the glass wall, and using light filtering in from the unit outside, his eyes poured over the pages. As Dean watched him, he couldn't help wondering what the article was about to have the angel so captivated.

"I'm sorry."

The whispered statement jerked Dean's attention back to his brother. Stroking a hand over his head, he asked, "What'd you say, Sam?"

Sam moved his head against the pillow, then opened his eyes and squinted at him, "I'm sorry."

Dean's hand halted, cupping the back of his brother's head as he scowled down at him, "What the hell for?"

"For this." Sam closed his eyes, "It's my fault."

"That's..." Dean shook his head, "Don't be stupid, Sam. There is no way any of this is your fault."

"It is."

Dean huffed, "Oh, okay. I guess I must have missed the part where you managed to kick your own ass."

Sam winced, and then swallowed, "I should have stopped; pushed you too far."

"That's—Sam, no. This is not on you. This is... I..." Dean closed his eyes, "I'm the one that took on the mark. I'm the one responsible for my own actions."

"And, I'm responsible for you."

"No, Sam. It… No. It doesn't work that way."

"You're my brother. I'm supposed to look out for you—"

"Sam—"

"I'm supposed to be strong, if you're not. It was on me to walk away."

"No, Sam. It doesn't work that way." Dean growled, caught up in his emotions, and raised his voice without thinking.

Sam grunted, flinching his head away from the noise.

"Shit, Sammy, I'm sorry. I'm..." Dean moved to get up, but his brother's hand latched onto his thigh, gripping hard.

Castiel's hand appeared on Dean's shoulder, "Perhaps it would be better for you continue this conversation when Sam is feeling better."

Eyes still closed, Sam asked, "Cas, would you mind giving us a minute?"

The angel looked from his brother to him, and Dean shook his head, "Cas stays."

Sam opened his eyes, and gave him a look, "Why?"

Feeling the flush of emotion spread over his face, Dean said, "Because, he just does."

Sam looked at him in confusion, but his brother is smarter than smart, and even though he was trying to process things with a scrambled brain, it didn't take long for him to figure it out.

Closing his eyes again, Sam sighed, "You're being ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" Dean fought to keep his tone low, "I almost killed you, Sam." He was incredulous as he looked from his brother to the angel, "Why am I the only one around here who gets that?"

Sam bumped a fist against his leg, "You're not. Okay?" Then he forced his eyes open again, "But, you don't get to take all the blame for it."

Dropping his head into his hand, Dean sighed. He was quiet for a minute, and then scrubbed a hand through his hair, "Sammy, listen. I've been thinking, and I think, for right now, the best thing for me to do is to pack a few bags and take off for a while."

The news came as a shock, and Sam stared at him, giving him that same, damn wounded look for the second time in less than twelve hours—Fantastic, Dean. You're really batting a thousand today.

Turning his face away from the pillow, Sam looked straight at him, "What are you talking about?"

"I just think It's the right thing—"

"No."

"Sam."

"No."

"Look, I'm not talking about leaving tonight. Alright? I'm going to wait until you're back on your f—"

"No."

Dean sighed, "Sammy, listen to me. It's only until we can figure a way—"

"No, Dean. No." Sam scowled at him deep and hard, and then he got an arm under himself and was pushing himself onto his back again.

"Whoa; hey. Easy," Dean said, jumping to his feet and grabbed him by the shoulders. He tried to do some of the work for him, but Sam was moving faster than his body could handle right then and it had only taken one wrong move before he sucked in a hiss and grabbed onto his abused side.

"Damn it, Sam," Dean cursed, gripping his brother's shoulders harder, pinning him down against the bed. "Just lie still."

"We're not talking about this," Sam ground out. "It's not an option."

Dean glanced over to his brother's vitals, "Hey. Cas is right. Let's wait and talk about this later."

Sam shook his head, "I'm okay."

"You are miles from okay, Sam."

"If we don't talk about this now, and fix it, you'll do something stupid."

"No I won't." Sam gave him a look, and Dean sighed, "You're not going to drop this; are you?"

His brother's response to that was to give him a smirk. Rolling his eyes, Dean sat down on the edge of the bed again. "Fine. Are you going to hear me out?"

"No."

"Look. I know the situation sucks ass. But, if you'll just let me get this out, I promise you'll—"

"No," Sam grimaced, releasing a soft grunt as he shifted on the bed. "We need to fix this. You running away is not a fix."

Dean stared at his brother. "I'm not running away."

Sam stopped, letting his eyes slide shut as he took a couple of careful breaths. Then his hand came up, brushing against the side of his leg, and he looked at him again. "You leaving is not the answer."

"Then, what is? Huh? Clearly, staying with you isn't the answer either. We've seen where that's got us."

"Never would have happened if I—"

"Sammy, I swear…, if you try one more time to say this was your fault—"

"It was."

Dean didn't have anything to say that wouldn't make the situation worse, so he settled for folding his arms, and give his brother a hard look.

Sam looked back at him, saying, "Dean. The mark gives you a handicap. It influences you and wants to control you. I know this. I know what sets it off. I knew I needed to walk away. If I had, this never would have happened."

Dean looked away, running a hand over his mouth, and sighed. "Sammy. I don't know, man." He looked back at his brother, "Man, I just don't know. This whole thing is so screwed up, and neither of us is willing to drop the blame for it."

"Okay, forget whose fault it was. Let's figure out where to go from here."

Dean thought about what Sam said. He thought about it hard, and he wondered if he'd be able to put his guilt and self-accusations on the back burner. "I don't know if I can do that, Sam. I don't know if I can shove aside what I did—"

"What the mark did."

"What I did…," Dean trailed off as Sam's nurse came in with his sad, little dose of pain medicine. A tense silence settled between them as Kailyn checked on her patient, and then left them again. The room remained in silence.

Dean sat in his spot on the side of the bed and watched Sam's eyes become heavy. One long blink led to another, longer blink, and after a couple more, his eyes remained closed. The lines of pain on his face didn't fade completely, but that crease in his forehead smoothed out enough to tell that pathetic amount of pain killers was actually helping him a little.

The crinkle of a page turning had Dean looking over his shoulder again. Castiel was back in his chair by the glass, looking through the same magazine, and this time he had to ask, "What are you reading about?"

"29 Sex Truths Every Woman Should Know." The angel answered, his eyes never lifting from the magazine. He perused the other side of the page asking, "It says 31% of men surveyed admit to faking an orgasm."

Castiel looked over the magazine at him, "Have you ever faked an orgasm?"

Dean felt his eyebrows shoot toward his hairline at the unexpected question, "Uh. No."

Castiel went back to the magazine, looking thoughtful, "Neither have I." Then, he looked at Dean again, "Why would someone want to fake an orgasm?"

Dean sputtered for a second, mentally kicking himself for asking his friend to share, but then the BP cuff engaged and he felt Sam's leg bump against his hip. Taking advantage of the distraction, Dean left Castiel to his sex facts and turned away to face his brother.

His eyes were still closed, but a frown played across his brow. The BP machine reached its apex and paused. Sam's frown increased, and Dean could almost feel the uncomfortable pinch as the cuff squeezed his brother's arm.

Sam's legs shifted beneath the blanket and Dean wanted to put a bullet through the damn machine for rousing his brother after he'd finally managed to slip away from the pain and get some rest.

There was a click and then another as the machine took its reading. Sam's eyes were still shut when the machine released the air in the cuff with a hiss and Dean mentally crossed his fingers, hoping he would drift back off. But, then he'd swallowed a couple of times and knowing what was coming, Dean reached across his brother and grabbed the cup of ice water, previously rejected.

Sam cracked his eyes open, and then gave him a grin of thanks when Dean handed him the cup. He took a few drinks and when he was finished, Dean set it back down on the same table. Looking back at his brother, Dean found him looking back. Taking one look at his droopy lids, Dean knew it wouldn't take much of a push to coax Sam to go back to sleep. And, that's exactly what he told him.

"Go back to sleep, Sam. Get some rest while the meds are fresh. We can go back to hashing things out later."

Sam was hesitant, and then asked, "You'll stay?"

"Yeah, I'll stay."

"Promise?" Sam closed his eyes, breathing out a weak laugh, "Not planning on slipping out as soon as I crash, are you?"

Dean gave his brother a look. Of course, Sam had known what he was planning a while back when he'd first refused to go into the room. Of course, his brother had worked his compelling and very effective method of persuasion to wear him down.

And, Dean figured that it was probably fortunate for him that he had. He still wasn't thinking straight; he was still allowing his guilt and grief over hurting his brother cloud his judgement. He had to admit that there was a part of him grateful that he wasn't going to figure out how to fix it all on his own. He was relieved that they were going to go at this problem like they have in the past.

Together.

It's how they did their best work. For as long as he could remember, it's just always been that way.

Reaching out to brush the bangs away from his brother's face, he gave him a smile, "No, Sammy. I'm not going to leave."

Sam stared at him, scrutinizing him for a moment, but then he must have seen something in his eyes to put him at ease, because a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he closed his eyes.

Dean watched his brother's features relax, and then his chest began rise and fall with deep, even breaths.

He sat there in his spot on the side if the bed, listened to the sound of Castile turning another few pages of his magazine, and watched over his little brother.

"I'll be right here."

Fin