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John had taught his sons everything he knew in order to protect them … if only he had realized it wasn't a demon that would take his youngest from him. Sam!Whumpage and Dean and John Angst aplenty!

I know I promised this story earlier, but I was stuck with a serious case of writer's block … blame it on the finale. I couldn't get Sammy dying out of my head to write but a paragraph here and there. So, one hard drive crash and one computer frying from lightening later, here I am!

Oh yeah, I own em all right … that's why there's a season three!!!!

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"I hate you!"

The words were the sharpest weapon in the youngest Winchester's arsenal, the only weapon he could wield at the moment; after all, you can't very well salt and burn your own father.

"Well, Sammy, sometimes I hate you too."

The words that John Winchester tossed back to his youngest were no less scathing. Sam paused in his rant, in his latest battle with his father, and stared at the man who was supposed to love him above all else. Finally, his resolve crumbled and he turned and fled down the hall to the room that was currently his. The slam of the door signaled his defeat with such clarity that it made Dean wince from his spot on the couch where he'd been pretending to be invisible. Pretending nothing, they didn't even realize you existed.

"Go get your brother, Dean; we need to leave within the hour."

So much for being invisible!

"Dad?"

"What?"

John Winchester sounded exasperated as he paused in his own preparations to leave, the weapons he was packing laying on the kitchen table.

"Don't you … I mean, weren't you a little hard on him?"

John turned to stare incredulously at his son; the eldest boy who fell so flawlessly into place; a place that John created, and it had little room for error.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Well, no dad, I mean, his birthday is tomorrow and …"

"And nothing, Dean. Your brother needs to learn to make sacrifices. I'm tired of his selfish behavior! Now go get him out of his brooding and let's go. This ghost is killing people. I think that takes precedence over a birthday."

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Dean's birthday had been nearly five months before, and while the Winchester's never celebrated anything with the same flair most families did, John had made a big show of taking them out. It wasn't without its perks. Sam had gotten a taste of what normal could have been, even if for just one night. And Dean? Well, he'd gotten the Impala.

Perhaps fourteen wasn't as grandiose as eighteen, but Sam felt slighted just the same. It wasn't like he wanted something as cool as a car, but he did want that night. The night of togetherness that made him feel like his family wasn't as screwed as it really was.

What he got instead was a shouting match with his father. Well, Sammy, sometimes I hate you too. And, despite the fact that his hurtful words had come first, he couldn't help but feel like his father's words were true. That John Winchester did hate his youngest son.

"You gonna talk to me, Sammy?"

Sam just stared out the window, saying nothing at all. He was getting quite good at brooding, making Dean wonder just where that little kid with the million dollar smile had gone to.

"I'm talking to you, Sam."

Nothing, just utter silence as they pulled up to the old mansion where one Barnard Fountain had met his demise nearly fifty years ago, leaving behind one nasty ghost in his wake.

"Dad's signaling to you."

Dean glowered at Sam a moment before John Winchester's obvious distress made itself known. Frowning, he opened the door to go meet his father. Sam, despite his outward indifference, moved to the trunk to gather weapons. He could hear his father and Dean talking in low tones, but frankly he didn't pay them much mind.

"Sam? Are you listening to me?"

Sam pulled from his thoughts to realize that John and Dean had both approached the car, and by the look on his father's face, he could guess he'd been speaking to him.

Sam did what anyone would do in that situation … he faked it.

"Yeah, dad, of course."

"Then what did I just say?"

He blinked, his eyes darting from John to Dean and back. "That you um …… "

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Damn it, Sam, you better not screw up on this hunt!"

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Sam trudged along behind Dean, the look his father had given him flashing vividly in his mind.

"Damn … I bet they had some wild parties in this place."

Sam ignored his brother and just brushed passed him and headed up the stairs. Their father went to search the grounds to find the grave while Sam and Dean searched the house.

"Oh come on Sammy, I'm sure once this hunt is over…"

"There'll be another one for him to push me aside for."

"I promise Sam, tomorrow I'll take you out, we'll have pizza, go to a movie or something."

Sam didn't say anything; he just continued his climb up the stairs then moved down the long hallway.

"Sammy?"

"I just … for once want him to think about me, to think about what I want. I just want to have one night, Dean, one night!"

Dean's mouth opened to retort that, but closed almost immediately. Despite him wanting to defend his father, Dean knew that Sam was right. John rarely ever put Sammy first.

Silence lingered between the Winchester siblings as they moved through the house, though Sam was never far from Dean's sights, in fact, he watched his kid brother like a hawk for any signs that his brooding might end soon. It wasn't fair, Dean knew it wasn't, but there wasn't anyway he could figure out how to make it right between his father and his brother.

Scanning the master bedroom, Dean shook his head as nothing registered on the EMF meter… not one blip, not one flash of lights. Moving to the door, he motioned Sam with his hand.

"Come on Sammy, maybe dad already finished off old man Fountain and we're done."

Nodding, Sam started after Dean, but paused as something shiny glinted off the beam of the flashlight he held. Stepping from his path to the door, he bent to retrieve what looked to be an old coin.

"Hey Dean, I think I found something … "

Just as he spoke, he glanced up to Dean lingering in the doorway when a blast of cold air suddenly made a chill race up his spine. Frozen, he watched as the door to the room slammed closed with a driving force that sent Dean not only out of the room, but into the adjacent wall with a thud that finally broke Sam's momentary paralysis.

"DEAN!"

Sam moved but two steps before he was hurtled through the air to slam hard into his own wall with a thud that cracked old plaster. Before he could recover, Sam was lifted into the air only to be flung like a rag doll into an old bookcase. As a shower of books rained down on his fallen form, somewhere in the background he could hear someone calling his name, but it sounded distant and surreal.

Reaching out with one hand, he tried dragging himself from underneath the rubble of books and shelves, some inner voice telling him to move when his body just wanted to lie here, wanted to fall into the blackness that was threatening.

"Dean …?"

His voice was raspy and harsh to his own ears while his head swam and his heart hammered for something he was supposed to remember. Just as he was dragging himself clear of the rubble, a bitter laugh echoed through the room, the noted chill reminding Sam just what it was he was supposed to remember.

"Mine…"

The hiss sounded in his ears as a vice-like hold clamped down on his wrist, jerking him painfully to his feet. But it didn't stop there, the pull lifted sneakered feet off the ground, causing Sam to kick his legs out to try and gain purchase, but the hold only jerked him harder, causing him to cry out as he felt his shoulder leave its socket.

"Mine…"

The hiss filled the room, darting left and right, circling around as if taunting him by its very presence. The sound was deafening, maddening. He closed his eyes to try and shove it away, but still it echoed around him, hissing venomously in his ears before suddenly, it just stopped.

And Sam fell crashing to the floor.

The thud left no mistake that ribs were broken, or at the very least cracked, and Sam lay unmoving, stunned. His eyes open, he just stared with one cheek pressed to the floor. Unable to move, unable to answer that voice calling his name … it seemed so far away now, fading into the nothingness of his mind.

"Mine…"

The hiss came again along with the vice grip of before, only this time, it wrapped around Sam's throat as it lifted. His legs kicked wildly, his hands coming up to the invisible force cutting off the air to his lungs. Seconds ticked by, his kicking became feebler, his hand losing its fight against the unseen force holding his throat hostage. And just before he felt like his lungs were going to explode, fire erupted before him and he was falling again to hit the floor with another thud that took all consciousness with it. Dad must have burned the sucker. His last thought before the world faded to black and Sam sunk far away from the pain.

He didn't hear the door slam open, the ghost's hold on it now gone. He didn't hear his brother's anguished call of his name. Sam Winchester was lost in a world where ghosts and pain no longer existed. A world where fathers celebrate their son's birthdays, not drag them out to be the plaything of a vengeful spirit. A world where normal was a good thing … a world in which he belonged.

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"Family of Samuel Winchester?"

Both John and Dean stood quickly. They'd been at the hospital for what felt like years rather than hours. And since patience was not a Winchester trait (at least in the elder two) sitting there had been like their own personal hell.

For Dean it was far worse than that. When he'd been thrown from the room, a fear gripped him that he couldn't remember ever feeling, hadn't honestly felt since Sam was a baby and he'd carried him out of their blazing house. It consumed him so completely that he could feel the tendrils of panic lapping at his flesh, making him shudder as he tried the door over and over again.

"SAM!"

He could still hear the crashes from behind the closed door as if they were still happening, he could still see his brother's limp body lying on the floor in a heap when the door finally gave way. He could still hear something screaming. Only later … much later … would Dean realize it had been his voice that filled the mansion's room with terror as his kid brother lay broken on the floor.

"I'm Dr. Joseph Hafer, Sam's attending physician."

"How's Sam?"

His father's voice snapped Dean out of his daze to look between his father and the doctor. The man was young, or at least the brown hair and lineless face would indicate, but looking closely at deep brown eyes, there was an age within that belied his youthful appearance.

"He's recovering."

"What? Where? Can I see him?"

"Mr. Winchester … "

"I need to see Sam."

"Mr. Winchester, I need you to come with me, there's some things we need to discuss."

The doctor glanced to Dean as if to say privately but John just gave him a look. Anything he had to say, he could say in front of his other son. Sighing, Dr. Hafer nodded his acknowledgement and motioned down the hallway.

"This way please."

The room they were led to held but one table in its small interior. A young blonde woman of perhaps 30 sat at the table, briefcase open on the table, and a notebook in hand. John paused at the doorway, eyeing the woman.

"Have a seat, Mr. Winchester."

John reluctantly sat, but when Dean, defiant as always, refused, he tugged on his arm until the younger man sat at his side.

"What's this about? How's my son."

"Alive."

The sarcasm in the woman's voice nearly dripped from her mouth like venom, causing both John and Dean to turn their heads and eye her with a fair amount of suspicion.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester, Dean, this is Sandra Peterson, she's a case worker for Child Protective Services, she'll be handling your son's case … "

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John sat stunned, his gaze drifting from the doctor to the social worker and back again.

"Let me get this straight … you think I … hurt my son?"

Sandra Peterson took out her notebook, her eyes scanning over the information they had on file before looking back to John Winchester.

"Exactly how did Sam get hurt, Mr. Winchester?"

He and Dean had already thought of the fall back plan on their way to the hospital. It was one of the Winchester Prime Directives (behind Look after Sammy, of course) … always have a plan; always have your ass covered.

"He went out with friends. When he didn't come home on time Dean and I went to look for him. We saw a group of kids run from the old Fountain place, we investigated and found Sam. The best we can guess is he was jumped."

Sandra Peterson was what you would call an old soul. A still young woman of about 30, her age went well beyond her years. With blonde hair still her own color, and piercing blue eyes that hid behind the glasses perched on her nose, she gazed at Sam's father with a suspicious look. She had seen this before … too many times to count. What was worse was that most of the men (and women) who were abusers never got caught. Most of them kept their children, who in turn ended up being abusers themselves. She eyed the older son, Dean, and wondered if this was the case with him.

"And what about Asheville, North Carolina?"

John blinked, his mouth opening to retort the injuries Sam had sustained there, but she cut him off.

"And Clarion, Iowa? Was he jumped there, too, Mr. Winchester?"

Suddenly John's temper riled, his face flashed anger and he started to rise out of his seat. The only thing steadying him was a grip on his shoulder … Dean's grip that was so damn tight his knuckles were no doubt white from the effort. Seems John wasn't the only Winchester angered.

"I'll have you know I have never laid a hand on Sam! Never!"

"Mr. Winchester…"

It was Dr. Hafer that spoke this time, his voice calm and steady despite the circumstances.

"You son has a dislocated shoulder, two fractured ribs, bruising in his abdomen, chest, and back, a concussion, and a broken wrist. But the worst and most damaging evidence is that he was choked. He has a clear and very distinct hand print around his throat that is too large to be made by a child…."

John swallowed, his hands shaking at the very idea that someone could think he would hurt his baby.

"Can I see my boy?"

"Until this matter is cleared, I'm afraid neither you nor Dean will be permitted visitation."

"What? But he's my brother!"

Dean, having been the steadying hand of reason throughout this entire ordeal, suddenly sprang to his feet, green eyes going wild with fright … the very real fear that he might not ever get to see Sam closing in on him hard and fast.

"And your brother is now the state's concern."

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It was perhaps the longest three weeks in the history of the world. Dean was certain that nothing would have taken longer, not even the apocalypse. But, as he and John sat waiting for the judge to come back, he glanced around nervously then looked to his father.

"Why isn't Sammy here?"

"Maybe he's still too sick."

Dean eyed his father with one of those yeah right looks, his stare pinning the elder Winchester down.

"They've given you health reports on him, dad, you know he was doing fine."

John nodded. They had kept him informed of everything and anything having to do with Sam except let him see Sam. It had all but driven him insane. Twice he had tried to sneak in to see his boy, but they had posted guards … guards outside of his son's door as if John were some sort of criminal or something. The fact that Sam was not here, at the hearing the state had for his custody, worried John more than he was willing to let on to Dean.

Pulled from his thoughts as the judge re-entered, he rose as instructed, then lowered back down beside his eldest.

Judge Matthews looked at the Winchester's, his gaze steely and hard as he spoke in that gruff voice that said he meant business. He had seen a lot of things in his day, a lot he didn't care to repeat, and while he couldn't stop most things from happening … he could do this.

"Mr. Winchester, after reviewing your son's case thoroughly, I have decided to strip you of all of your parental rights and remand custody of Samuel Winchester over to the state of Illinois."

John's face instantly paled, his eyes staring in disbelief at the evil man that had done this.

"You … you can't!"

Dean sat stunned, too stunned for that moment to even speak.

"I have seen a lot of abuse in my days, Mr. Winchester, a lot of which I could do nothing about. This … I can fix this, and I will. Court's adjourned."

As the gavel slammed down on the bench, Dean's heart shattered into a million pieces. He heard an ear splitting scream without even realizing it was he that was screaming.

"Noooooooooo!!"

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