Author's notes: Time flows differently in Lucifer's cage than it does in Hell.
Summary: Post 5x22. Sam's out of hell and hunting with Dean again, but there's something wrong with little brother and the truth is a painful thing.
How Old Are You?
Sam stared impassively at some fixed point to the side. The lack of emotion only infuriated Dean more.
"What the hell was that Sam? You didn't say a word, didn't ask any questions, you just shot them!"
"They were imposters."
"They were kids!"
"I was right."
"You didn't know that!" Dean was ready to strike, ready to throttle the man in front of him and demand to know where Sammy was because this…this wasn't Sam. His bleeding heart little brother who would let himself get hurt before killing anything if there was even a chance…
Dean opened his mouth to yell some more, but Sam beat him to it.
"How old are you Dean?"
"What? You think I'm a shifter or something now just because I'm calling you on how you've been acting?"
Sam didn't respond, obviously waiting for an answer.
"Thirty-two." Dean ground out. "And you damn well know it."
Sam turned to look at him with appraising eyes.
"No, really." The bushy head cocked to the side a bit. "How old do you think you are Dean?"
The green-eyes man's heart skipped a beat as he realized what Sam was asking. Quietly, he responded.
"Seventy-two."
Sam regarded him for a moment before turning to walk away. The older Winchester caught his wrist and they both remained like that for a few beats, neither moving. Dean kept his head lowered slightly as he asked his question, already trembling a bit in expectation of the answer.
"…How old are you Sammy?"
Sam turned his head so Dean could just see his profile. He offered his brother a bittersweet smile that spoke volumes of the Sammy that Dean had always known. Shaking his head shortly, Sam pulled away from Dean's grasp and walked back toward the motel room.
Shocked and heartbroken, Dean stood there for hours thinking about what that look had meant and trying not to scream.