Dean was lying on the hard stone floor of his cell. Shivering uncontrollably, because he was so cold. Barely able to feel the tips of his fingers or toes anymore, but he certainly felt the hot burning pain from the lash marks across his back.

His father had gotten angry with him again and whipped him because he had displeased father with the progress of his training.

He’d tried. He really did. But it hurt his head so much he simply couldn’t concentrate. Blood had poured from his nose but still the heavy weight had only moved a couple of inches before he collapsed shaking and crying, clutching his head.

His father had yelled at him then. Backhanding him so hard he’d tasted blood in his mouth. Then his father had whipped him. Only seeming to grow angrier with him every time he cried out in pain. Ignoring the eight year olds pleas for forgiveness and promises to please him.

Dean sniffed. Tears of pain leaking silently down his cold cheeks despite how he tried to hold them back. Knowing if he was seen crying he would only be punished more, but he couldn’t help it. It was no wonder his father was so angry with him. He was so weak…

He was half unconscious when he’d felt it. So shocking against his freezing cold skin he almost cried out in fear. Flinching away from it, but it remained. Only the barest light touch along his tear stained cheeks, so soft and warm. He’d never felt anything like it before and to his shame more tears fell from his eyes brought on by the touch.

Who are you? He’d asked silently, but there was no answer. Only the soft touch… and it was enough. He stopped shaking. Closing his eyes he’d finally been able to sleep. Feeling safe and warm for the first time in his life.

*

Dean’s eyes snapped open when he felt the light warm touch against his bruised cheek. Not a dream or memory but real. He met Sam’s eyes, confusion was becoming a familiar emotion to him now, and he couldn’t say he enjoyed it.

“Why are you doing this?”

Sam was surprised by the question, and even more surprised that Dean hadn’t snapped at him or sneered some jibe. There was pain in that question. Pain and confusion and Sam felt his heart thump just a little harder in his chest. He reminded himself the man was dangerous. He reminded himself that the man had nearly killed his father. He reminded himself Dean had tried to kill him and tried to kill Jim. Even with all that, he felt a connection to the man he couldn’t explain. He wanted to protect Dean. How totally screwed up was that? But he remembered watching young Dean being beaten and tortured and feeling ever last lash on his own back. He remembered comforting him and wanting to help him and make him feel safe. The feelings he had for Dean were surely stemming from those dream memories, and, he acknowledged, weren’t something he seemed readily able to ignore at the moment.

Sam gently brushed his thumb over Dean’s bruised cheek before letting his hand fall away.

“Doing what?” Sam asked, not really certain which “this” Dean might be asking about.

Dean’s eyes narrowed a little, wondering if the hunter was knowingly being obtuse or if he really was that oblivious to what he was doing. Touching him like… that, giving him blankets and a coat, tending his wounds…

Take your pick, he almost told the younger man, but instead he remained silent. His lips forming a thin line as he turned his face away from the hunter. Not wanting to see that questioning… open… expression anymore. It made him uncomfortable for reasons he couldn’t define.

Just like the way Sam had touched his cheek made him uncomfortable, even though it was so familiar. Like his dream… Dreams he had never, ever, told anyone about. Not even his father. Afraid of being punished for them, but more afraid that if his father knew of them he’d somehow take them away.

When Dean turned away, Sam sighed inwardly. What was he supposed to tell the man? He guessed Dean wanted to know why he was taking care of him. Sam should be trying to get information out of him. That had been the whole point of taking him alive. Dean was anything but an idiot and Sam knew it didn’t make any logical sense that he was acting concerned towards him. If anything, Dean probably thought it was some mind game Sam was trying to play with him. Why, when Dean had tortured his father and attacked Sam, would Sam want to do anything remotely kind for Dean? That was screwed up and a mind game was the reasonable conclusion to draw.

“I’m not trying to mess with your head, though everything I’ve done says otherwise and I know it. At the factory I wanted to beat the hell out of you, hurt you the way you hurt my dad. Obviously, with that spell bag on you, we planned on taking you alive to get information out of you. And just as obviously, for the scars you’ve got and what you said, there’s nothing I can do—or at least, nothing I’m willing to do—to get that information.” Sam paused, knowing that he knew how to get creative because of the dreams. The thought of doing those things to Dean almost made him sick. “You’ve killed at least twenty hunters that my dad knew of. Since you’re no good for information, there’s no logical reason for us to keep you alive. And I suppose I wouldn’t stop Jim or Bobby if not for the fact I’ve dreamed about you all my life. About you being hurt. I’d…feel everything you felt. I’d feel the same sting on my back when you were whipped or the sharp pain of when they’d cut you and the agony of them cauterizing the wounds. I was always kind of surprised when I’d wake up and not have the injuries I saw and felt you experience. I don’t really remember details of who was hurting you and I never knew why, but I knew you felt guilty or like a failure, so I always figured it was punishment.

“Did you…experience any of my life? Sometimes at night, when I was upset, I’d swear you were with me. Sometimes I thought you were in the bed with me, your arm over me like you were trying to protect me. At least, that’s the way it made me feel. Were you there with me like I was with you?” Sam almost felt stupid asking it. It was insane…wasn’t it? Just because he’d dreamed about the man didn’t mean the man actually went through those things…right?

Sam practically held his breath, waiting for Dean to answer him. To either tell Sam he’d really lost it, or to confirm Sam wasn’t nuts and Sam had really been with Dean sometimes.

Well, it seemed like he had his answer, at least to one question. Sam knew exactly what he was doing, since the younger man started speaking and didn’t stop. Talking about everything he had been doing. Everything that confused the bound man. Everything he wanted an answer for, yet instead the hunter was only giving him more questions.

Why? It was a simple question, and yet none of the answers Sam gave to him were simple.

The hunter denied that it was a game he was playing with him. Not that his denial proved anything. Dean wasn’t stupid enough to believe just because the younger man sounded like he was telling the truth meant that he wasn’t lying. Perhaps even Sam believed he wasn’t lying. It was possible. Perhaps they were both being played the fool.

Because how could any of this be anything more than some kind of game? Why would the hunters be doing any of this without trying to gain something out of it?

Sam admitting how they’d planned on taking him alive for information was of little comfort. Though he looked at the younger man with a raised eyebrow when he denied that he was capable of it. Why then had they planned on taking him in the first place if he already knew he wasn’t capable of going through with his plans for torture? No, there was no reason to keep him alive. Then why were they keeping him alive?

Then the younger man talked of… dreaming about him… and Dean couldn’t stop from tensing at those words. What the hunter described. His punishments… How could he know? How? Asking him if he’d been there… with him… Those memories were so faint. Nearly forgotten. The only comfort he’d ever known in his life were those soft dream memories. He didn’t know how to offer comfort, especially for distress that wasn’t his own, but he had tried. He had tried, because he had to…

Dean shook his head. No. His orders had been clear. He’d been ordered to awaken Sam Winchester’s abilities and to bring him to his father, or kill him. It could not be true… Because that would mean his father had sent him to bring him the one he’d dreamed of. The only one who’d ever touched him with kindness. The only one who’d ever… cared… for him…

“It was a dream, nothing more.” He replied softly, looking down, somehow unable to meet the younger man’s eyes as he told the lie. He’d never had a problem lying before but now… he had to lie because he could not be the one, and if he was… then it was better that Sam kill him anyway…

When the man shook his head “no”, Sam felt a small hope wither inside him. He wanted it to be true. Not for Dean to have undergone the tortures Sam had seen and felt, but he wanted that featherlight touch of the arm across him not to be his imagination. Sam had never really had any long term friends. He didn’t have anyone he could talk to that was his age, not that he could tell them the truth anyhow. They were always on the road and the longest Sam could ever remember being in one school was five months. His dad hadn’t wanted him writing to any of the friends he made because that made them trackable. That touch on his cheek that had mirrored his own touch of comfort, that arm across him that had made him feel safe, the ..companionship…was a constant in his life that helped him make it through the lonely days, or the never-ending trainings that he grew to loathe and the father who he grew to resent.

Then Dean told him it was only a dream. But he looked away. This cock-sure, arrogant, prideful man wouldn’t meet Sam’s eyes while his voice was soft and filled with denial. Denial of the lie that it was only a dream. Sam wasn’t crazy.

Sam stared at him a minute, taking in his face that even beaten still held a handsomeness Sam couldn’t deny. The blanket around his shoulders had shifted and his hard muscled chest littered with bruises was visible. Sam wished that he could do something, anything, to reach the hunter before him and ease his pain. Ease the hurt in the boy that had been his friend.

“You’re a lousy liar,” Sam said quietly, resituating the blanket and coat to keep the chill off the man. He decided it was probably best to let the nightmare and the talk of dreams to lie for now. He thought maybe he was beginning to reach the man, if only a little, and he didn’t want to ruin that by pushing too hard. He refused to entertain what would happen to the man if he wasn’t Sam’s brother. Maybe it wouldn’t matter. If Sam was able to reach him, to free him from his servitude to the demons, maybe they wouldn’t have to kill him. Of course, convincing Dean not to kill them was a whole ‘nother task in and of itself.

“I’ve got a hamburger and some fries for you. Sorry but the fries are barely warm at this point. Mine weren’t really hot either. I haven’t had a chance to go out and get you more water, but I only drank half my shake. Not like you really need the cold of it, but the sugar will probably do you some good so you can have the rest. Hope you like chocolate. The burger’s pretty standard fair, onions, ketchup, pickles, mustard.” Sam unwrapped the burger and held it up for Dean’s easy access, hoping Dean wouldn’t feel too prideful to eat. He surely hadn’t eaten in at least a day and a half if not longer. The man had to be as hungry as Sam had been.

Dean glanced up when the young hunter called him a liar, frowning but saying nothing. What could he say? He had been lying, and not doing a very good job of it. He already knew that. He felt… vulnerable… in a way he hadn't felt in years. Not since he'd been a child… and he didn't like it. Not one damn bit.

He shouldn't be saying anything anyway. He might have already said too much to this man. This man who he was meant to kill if he couldn't bring him to his father alive. Instead he'd been careless. He'd underestimated the young hunter before and that had led to his capture. Now all this talk of dreams, the past, being kind to him…

No. It was all some kind of trick. It had to be, and he was nothing more than a fool allowing the boy to play with his mind this way. Letting the Winchester boy distract him from his goal.

Even if he did manage to escape, complete his mission as he'd been ordered, the punishment he would face would be unlike any he'd ever endured in his life. If he escaped and he did not bring Sam Winchester to his father, Dean had no doubts he would suffer an excruciating slow and painful death.

He couldn't allow himself to be distracted. He would not fall for these tricks. He would escape and he would bring Sam Winchester to his knees in front of his father. That was his mission. Those were his orders and he would obey. He would always obey.

Dean kept his expression carefully neutral when the younger man offered him food. Hesitating only a moment before he began to eat. Though letting the hunter feed him like a child might have been a wound to his pride he knew too well he needed to regain his strength if he was going to escape. He needed to buy himself time as well. Let the Winchester boy think he was falling for his tricks if it would convince him to keep him alive longer.

He would learn far too late his mistake.

Sam was glad that Dean decided to eat. Coldness seemed to emanate from him, but Sam decided to ignore it. Sam, himself was on emotional overload. The man had to be just as twisted up about everything as he was and shutting down was one way to deal with it all. Dean didn’t have any support structure to help him through it all. Well, maybe he could convince Dean to let him be his support. But not now. He laughed to himself when Dean took a sip of the shake and surprise lit his face.

“What? You’ve never had a shake before?”

At the man’s wordless negation, Sam couldn’t stop his smile. “Glad you like it.”

After the man had eaten the meal, Sam saw the exhaustion creep back into his eyes. Sam rested a light hand on his shoulder. “Get some sleep, Dean. We’ll figure this out.”

Dean appeared to fall asleep almost immediately and Sam sighed softly. They were going to have to do something about keeping Dean locked up. The chair had only been practical if they intended to question him and …kill him. If they were going to keep him alive, they were going to have to come up with another way to hold the man. Sam didn’t mind hand feeding the man, but there would be other…necessities… before too much longer and Sam certainly didn’t want to have to deal with those.

Catching movementout of the corner of his eye, Sam’s attention snapped to the door. Bobby stood at the doorway, motioning Sam to join him. Sam walked over and Bobby stepped aside. Jim was out in the hallway. He stepped from the room and joined Jim and Bobby. He’d known a “discussion” was going to come out of this. Probably a freaking “intervention.”

Quietly, Bobby said, “Jim says you think that,” his voice took on disgust as he jerked his chin toward the sleeping man, “is your brother.”

Sam nodded hesitantly. “Yeah. I think he might be.”

Bobby scowled. “So I’m guessing you intend on keeping him alive for a spell.”

“Yes. At least until DNA proves one way or another. And I need to talk to Dad about it.”

“Why are you so all fired sure he’s your dead brother?”

Sam chewed on his lip a minute and decided he wasn’t willing to divulge that he’d dreamed abot the man all his life. Jim may have overheard, but if he hadn’t, Sam didn’t want to enlighten either of them. “It’s just a feeling.”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed, knowing full well Sam was keeping something from them. “All right. For now, we’ll try to keep him alive, providing the little bastard behaves himself.” At Sam’s look Bobby growled. “That man near tore apart John, was doing a number on you, and sent hellhounds after us. Don’t you be expecting Jim or me to show him kindness. You got it?”

“Yeah,” Sam said reluctantly. “I hear you.”

“Good. If we’re keeping him alive, we can’t have him tied to the chair for the next handful of days waiting on a DNA test, ‘cause I’m not cleaning up his mess.” Bobby resituated his ball cap. “Jim and I talked. We’re going to fix him up some chains in the basement. He can have a bucket for his business.”

Sam remembered the dreams of Dean curled up on the cold floor, hurt and crying. He wanted to foster friendship and try to override those images. They couldn’t afford to allow Dean to draw parallels to his time spent in the hands of the demons, not if they hoped to win him over.

“He’ll need a bed.”

Jim and Bobby gaped at him.

Jim shook himself free of his surprise and said, “We’re not giving him a cot. Anything that could be made into a weapon is not coming within his reach. It was a chair leg that he skewered me with, Sam.”

Sam huffed, but knew they were right. “Okay, then we find a mattress for him at least.”

Jim and Bobby passed looks and both shook their heads.

“Please?” Sam asked, begging them to agree to it.

Bobby rolled his eyes. “All right. I guess I’ll find him a mattress. Jim, why don’t you keep an eye on our friend, while I put Sam to work on setting up a place to keep him so’s he can’t kill us.” Bobby gave Sam a hard look. “I’m going to remind you of one other fact, Sam.”

“Yeah?” Sam asked, relieved the older hunters were willing to indulge him.

“That spell bag ‘round his neck, this was its first field test. I’m guessing we got two weeks or even a few months before it starts to weaken, when some of the spell components shelf lives come due.” Bobby paused. “I could be wrong.”