Author's Note: This was supposed to be a one-shot. However, someone requested a continuation, so I wrote it. :D I'd love some feedback on this, and if anyone would like to see another one-shot in this verse, just ask, and ye (maybe) shall receive!

Six years. It takes Dean six damn years to track the thing down. He knew that the stab wound hadn't killed the shifter, knew from the moment Sam had kicked the thing down and Dean had thrust the knife into its leg. He knew the shifter had made it, but he'd had more important things to worry about.
Things like that moment when Sam looked up at him, with his eyes huge and bright, and didn't meet his concerned glance. Things like the blood trickling casually down Sammy's face and the months' worth of untreated bruises and tiny little lacerations all over his nose and cheeks.
After a year, he suggested hunting again, and Sam was so scared, but he didn't say no. He never says no anymore. Dean has to know, to be able to tell, when he means it.
He does it. It's not easy, because he never knows if he's hurting Sam even more, if he's done something wrong. But he does his best. So far, he hasn't fucked it up. Hasn't hurt his baby brother any more than Sam's already been hurt. He doesn't touch Sam, no more than necessary and never like that. He knows his brother couldn't stop him, and he knows he won't break the one promise he made himself when he put a name to what he thought of then, and even sometimes now, as his sickness. The one thing that stopped him from shooting himself the moment he realized he wanted to fuck his baby brother is the absolute certainty he has that he could never, never touch Sam. Not unless Sam wanted him to.
So he keeps his horny, lonely hands to himself and tries to content himself with helping Sam. That's all he wants from life. There are more important things than selfish desires, and he controlled them for years anyway.
The urge to hunt, to stop the evil that's everywhere, is harder for Dean to repress. This urge that he's had for so long, implanted in him when he was a child. It's a half memory, a gruff, quiet voice. "Son. There are bad things out there, and we gotta kill them. We gotta save people."
There's only one memory, one order, that goes back further and deeper than that. And it's three little words. "Look after Sammy."
Dean will. He couldn't, while he was in Hell. He… God, he failed Sam. The most hideous, forbidden thing. He let something hurt Sam. Something supernatural, something wearing Dean's face.
If Sammy didn't need him, he thinks the guilt would devour him. But he has more important things to worry about than his own feelings—loneliness, or lust, or anything else. He only cares about fixing his brother. After that, he can start saving the world again. After he's looked after Sammy.
They start hunting a few weeks after that. Sam goes with him, helps with research and talking to witnesses. He's so shy these days, so horribly, terribly shy. It gets him even more of the girls than it had before. They all want to know what's wrong with this beautiful man, they want to fix him. It's some kind of mothering instinct that Dean supposes he has to, but tries not to think about too much. They have enough issues without adding the mommy ones into the picture.
Of course, Sam doesn't flirt. He never did, and now it's worse. He can barely make eye contact with the girls. Dean doesn't look twice at them, now. Doesn't let his eyes wander like he always used to, over any stranger's body, male or female. He used to like the rise it could get out of Sammy, but now… he'd never do anything, anything to hurt Sam intentionally. The very thought makes agony and nausea flare in his gut. Never again. No matter how casually. No more teasing, no more sparring, no more jealousy.
When (he won't think if) when Sam gets better, when they have sex again, he'll be so gentle, so careful. No roughness, no pain-that-turns-to-pleasure.
He'll never let Sam get hurt. Never again.
"Don't you worry," he tells Sam quietly as they walk into the room where the ghost should be tonight at precisely 10:41. "I'll take care of you, Sammy."
Sam looks down and nods to Dean's shoes. Dean gently, so very gently, runs a fingertip across Sam's cheek. Sammy shudders under the careful touch and Dean lets his hand fall. "Sorry."
"'s okay," Sam says. So much guilt, all the time. Not just for what he's done to Dean. What he's made Dean do. But for how, now, Dean so obviously feels bad for something, feels like he owes Sam this, when Sam's the one who's fucking broken just from the punishment he deserved.
Dean wants to kiss away the pain but he can't. He knows that would only make it worse.
The hunt goes well. Sam's the one who shoots the ghost, while Dean burns it.
They get back into the swing of things after that. Four years later, when Sam is lying in his brother's arms, eyes closed, Dean whispers, "Sam, I want to go after that thing that hurt you." He feels Sam's body tense, and this time he can soothe the fear with the touch of his lips to Sammy's shoulder. He's grateful for that, more than for the pleasure they can once again share. Being able to comfort Sam is more important.
"Dean," Sam sighs, relaxing into the touch, but still worried. He can't see that thing again, can't face it. No matter what it looks like, he just… can't. Even though he knows that it's important to Dean, he can't. So selfish, that voice in the back of his head whispers.
"You don't have to come with me, baby."
"What if you get hurt?" Sam knows his voice sounds childish. But he knows that if Dean gets injured, or worse, in the pursuit of this thing, that Sam will never forgive himself. And he knows he can't live without Dean, especially not now, after everything.
"If you don't want me to, I won't, Sammy." Sam is more important than any kind of revenge. "But I don't… I feel like… Sam, if I kill it, if it's gone, then… then it can't hurt you anymore. I know you're safe. We'd plan it out ahead of time, really carefully. Okay? I'll be safe. I promise. If you let me do this."
They both know how important it is for Sam that he's the one in control. He makes the decisions. He's healed enough, now, that he can say no, and it means so much that Dean always, always gives him the option to. It almost lets him forget saying it, screaming it, over and over again, pinned to the bed, under Dean's hands and hips and hatred.
"O…okay." He takes a deep breath. "But only if I can go with you."
It isn't easy to say. He's afraid that the thing will hurt him again. He's afraid that even seeing it will send him back to that dark, terrible place he was in when Dean had first come back from Hell. He's afraid that it will kill Dean, while he watches, and he won't be able to save his brother, even though Dean's saved him so many times. He's afraid that it will come to a showdown again and this time he'll stop the wrong Dean, that he'll hurt his brother instead of the monster with his face.
But this thing hurt him. And Sam, the Sam from before, is still in there somewhere, and he knows how important revenge is. It's what's given his whole life shape, from the time he was six months old. He understands Dean's need. He'll go with his brother, and together they'll stop the thing.
It's the best-planned hunt they've ever been on. Between cases, they track the thing. It's obvious that it's the same one. It has a pattern. It finds people who've lost loved ones and takes the shape of the dead beloved, then slowly, thoroughly destroys their life. They kill themselves after months, even years, of abuse. It's easy to track, because they're always happy couples, obnoxiously in love, before the shifter takes the place of one of them. Also, when dead spouses come back to life, there's usually at least a newspaper article.
They know exactly where the thing will be. There's a young woman named Kara Evans in Minnesota. Six years after Sam got away from the thing, she lost her husband in a car accident. And woke up next to him the next morning.
She's been hospitalized twice since then.
They are prepared for what they see, but still, Dean's stomach turns when he sees the girl pinned to the wall, sobbing and whispering, "I'm so sorry, Andy, please. I didn't mean to, I'm so, so sorry."
Sam clenches his fists hard enough that his nails bite into his skin and begins to wonder if maybe, just maybe, Dean's telling the truth. If the thing was lying all along, if he never hurt his brother.
He wants it to be true so much it stings like the pain of fingernails in flesh.
"Get down!" Dean hisses, but the woman remains pinned, motionless, as he draws his knife. Dean sighs and lunges forward.
He doesn't stab it through the heart to kill it, but drives the blade through its leg, matching the wound he'd made last time he encountered this.
Of all the things he's ever killed, this one is the most terrible monster. Kara is screaming, "No, please, no, don't hurt him! Please!"
"This isn't him," Sam says quietly. "It's not your husband. Andy never would have hurt you."
Her eyes widen. And then she looks angry. "How do you know?"
"The same thing did the same thing to me, Kara. Dressed up in my… with Dean's shape. Hurt me."
Dean is standing over the thing, knife in hand. "I'm going to kill you," Dean breathes, kneeling over its chest, "so fucking slowly."
Andy Evans' body smiles, slow and gruesome. "Why?"
"You hurt Sam," Dean says, simply, calmly. It's how the world works. Something hurts Sam, and Dean kills it. Nice and slow, savoring every scream. He looks to his brother. "Sammy, you want to get the victim outta here? I'll kill this thing."
"Sure." Sam pulls the girl away from where she's standing. She won't move, so he picks her up. She's sobbing. "Who can I call for you, Kara?"
"My… my friend. Steve. J…just a friend, I swear!" She starts to cry hysterically again.
"What's his number?" It's remarkably soothing to be back in his role as the hunter, the protector. Not the victim as he's been for so long.
"I… Andy had me delete it… b…but it's… I know it."
Sam coaxes the digits from her and plugs them into his cell phone.
"Hello?" comes over the line.
"Hi. My name is Sam Winchester. I'm at the Evans' house with Kara. Can you come pick her up?"
The voice on the other end panics. "Is she all right?"
"She's fine, physically."
"I'm on my way." Sam hears the jangle of keys being lifted and muffled swearing as the man on the other end rifles through his stuff, looking for shoes. Finally, he says, "Fuck it, I'll go barefoot," and gives up. Steve stays on the line, the whole way there. "What's going on?"
"Andy's dead. There was something that took his… that imitated him to hurt Kara. The same thing had happened to me, and my brother and I were looking for it. He's taking care of the thing that looked like Andy."
"By taking care of you mean…"
"He'll be dead by the time you get here." Kara gives a panicked sob at those words, and Steve gasps.
"She's there? Can I talk to her?
"Yeah. You haven't…"
"Andy thought… thought we were… I was…"
Sam says, softly, "Oh," and hands the phone to Kara.
She whispers, "Steve? God, I missed you."
"No, I'm fine."
"It's all my fault, anyway. I'm not…"
"Steve, don't say stuff like that about him!"
"I'm sorry. Wait!"
That's when the wheels screech up the drive. It's a midsized SUV, green, battered, and Steve tumbles out. He looks world-wearied, shadows beneath his eyes. He's tall, thin, dark-skinned, with cornrows and a soft smile for his friend.
"Kara," he whispers. "C'mere." His arms open, and she stumbles towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck and sobbing softly.
Sam watches, awed. This tenderness, this love? What Dean gives him? Is that what he deserves? He doesn't hate the woman, this stranger. He knows she's been hurt by the shapeshifter, that it was all lies, and yet she seems to hate herself as much as he hates himself. Maybe Dean's right. Maybe Sam doesn't deserve any of this.
His brother emerges from the house, blood dripping from his hands, stains on his clothes. "It's done," Dean says softly, blinking away the shadows behind his eyes. "It's dead."
"Thank you," Steve answers him, his arm over Kara's shoulders. He's speaking for her as she closes her eyes and sobs into his shirt.
Dean blinks back tears as he realizes that it can't have been as bad as it was for Sam. His brother couldn't bear to touch him, wouldn't accept comfort, for months after. Then again, the thing wasn't wearing Steve's fucking face. "Are you okay? To go with him?"
She nods. "I've got her," he adds clearly. The subtext is all-too-clear. 'She's safe with me.'
Dean smiles over at Sam and nods. "All right. Why don't you go?"
"Yeah. Thank you two, so much. She can't…"
"I understand," Dean whispers. "I really do. And good luck, man. You've got some hard times ahead of you."
Sam's eyes drop, ashamed, and Dean feels a little twist of shame in his gut. He knows his brother feels guilty for his dependence on Dean, but Dean doesn't mind, not at all. He loves being able to help Sam. He loves Sam more than anything.
"It'll be worth it, though," he adds, and Sam looks up slowly.
Dean takes his hand and they walk back to the car like that. It's a silent drive back to their motel, except for the blaring of Dean's music.
As they walk upstairs, Dean says, "Did that help at all? Do you feel better?"
"Do you?"
"Yeah," he admits.
"Then it's worth it, De." He bites his lip, hesitating. "You're allowed to want things too, you know. What happened wasn't your fault."
"Right. 'Cause it wasn't me who did it. I would never think that way about you, Sammy. Never do those things to you. It was a hunt that you got hurt on, hurt worse than ever before, but just another hunt gone wrong. Can you think of it like that? You didn't deserve it, Sam. It wasn't me."
Sam blinks away tears, turning down to face Dean and whispers, "I believe you." His voice cracks once, but he bends down and presses his lips to his brother's. They've kissed, they're having sex once in a while, but it's the first time Sam has made any move on Dean since the shapeshifter took his brother's form. Out of fear, out of the belief that he would have been manipulating Dean into a sexual relationship, he's not completely sure. He just knows that it doesn't make sense, that he shouldn't get stuck in that victim's mentality.
What he needs now isn't to cling to the past, to let it keep hurting him now that the monster is dead. What he needs is to accept the unguarded, unconditional love of the beautiful man standing here, staring up at him with glorious delight after one simple kiss.
"Sammy?" Dean manages, his voice thick.
"I believe you," the younger Winchester repeats, squeezing Dean's fingers in his and bending down to steal another kiss, whispering the only three words more perfect to Dean's ears against his brother's lips.
"I love you."
"You too. You believe that too?" Dean asks, tentatively.
"Yeah."
Dean pulls Sam against his chest, keeps him there, listens to his brother cry for a little while. When Sam's tears stop, he feels it may be for good.