Road Trippin' With Lucifer
A/N: Set immediately after the hospital scene in "7.3 The Girl Next Door."
It always bothered me that the writers used the "three weeks later" device and skipped Sam's grounding to reality and healing. If it was still bad enough that Sam could space out with Dean directly addressing him, it must have been horrible when he woke up. This would have been excruciating for Sam and thus you know it was hard on Dean and Bobby. The show never really addresses Dean's guilt either. So, I have written this to fill in these three weeks (and possibly beyond, we'll see), trying to imagine what the process would have been like for Sam. I apologize it starts out a bit slow, but I am trying to be true to what I expect the physical healing process would be, not to mention the psychological recovery.
Warnings for language in most chapters. Torture, graphic and otherwise, in many chapters. Self-harm and mentions of suicide in some chapters. Dubcon and sexual violence in some chapters, though these will be indicated and will be written in a way that one could skip without missing any plot.
Excessive amounts of guilt, angst, hurt, comfort, schmoop, and occasional bad-assery.
Also my first fanfic, so sorry if I struggle with formatting and convention. Reviews, comments, advice, and requests very much welcome! Enjoy!
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Day 1
Twelve hours. He'd been driving for more than twelve hours. Bobby blinked against the exhaustion threatening to consume him. In all reality, he had made excellent time. Sioux Falls to Whitefish normally took around sixteen hours. But Bobby didn't have that luxury. Dean was passed out next to him. As far as he could tell, Sam had not woken up. A broken leg Dean could handle, but they'd had to whisk Sam away before he'd gone for the MRI. The extent of his injuries was completely unknown. He'd done all he could to stabilize Sam per Dr. Boreseren's instructions. He sighed. I can't believe the world is ending ...again... and we're smack in the middle of it… again, he thought bitterly. The bright blue of the generic hospital sign caught his eye and he maneuvered the ambulance towards the exit ramp. He just prayed Sam would be okay. He dialed a number on his phone as he elbowed Dean awake.
"Dr. Boreseren, it's Bobby Singer. We're just pulling up to North Valley now. Should we go to the ambulance bay? … Got it. … See you there."
Dean rubbed his eyes and sat up. "We here already?"
"Yeah. Dr. Boreseren will meet us to take Sam." Dean looked at Bobby with concern. Bobby knew what he was thinking. "Rufus and I took care of a poltergeist at her house a few years back, so she's familiar with what can happen on hunts." This satisfied Dean's anxiety as he turned to look at the still body of his brother. The shallow rise and fall of his chest told Dean at least Sam was alive.
A small army of nurses was waiting to receive them. As soon as they stopped moving, the back was a flurry of action and Sam was rushed off before either of them could unbuckle their seatbelts and get out. The subtly attractive doctor gave Bobby a nod and Dean a tense smile before turning to follow her nurses.
They were shown to a pleasant but still-too-sterile waiting room. Dean hobbled in on crutches, having refused the wheelchair. He collapsed into a loveseat and spread out his leg. Bobby sat such that he could watch both Dean and passing traffic. The older Winchester sighed and hung his head over the arm of the couch. They sat in tense silence for a few minutes until Bobby could no longer tolerate it. "Dean, you feel like telling me now or you still need your beauty sleep?" Dean had been too exhausted and drugged out to explain during the drive. "What the hell happened?"
"I thought I told you. There was a Leviathan at your place. We—"
"No, no, from the beginning. One minute I'm on the phone with Sam, next I come back, my place has been torched and you two are gone but the Impala is there. I thought the worst. Then I get a phone call that you're in the hospital! Missin' a few details in the middle there."
Dean gulped. He'd barely had time to process it himself. "Well, uh, I came back from checking out the swim team and Sam wasn't there. No note, nothing. I knew it couldn't be good. Thank God I put his damn GPS on. I tracked him to this abandoned warehouse. I walk in and he's staring at his gun, totally out of it. Then he points it at me. Clearly scared shitless. He said he thought he was with me. He kept looking to the side, like he was listening to someone. Said he couldn't remember driving there. He was going out of his damn mind. Then he shoots at nothing. Nothing was there." He stopped, the memory of the terror on Sam's face stealing his words away.
"Bobby, it was bad. Really bad. He didn't know what was real." Dean swallowed the anguish creeping up his throat. "He didn't say it, but I could tell Lucifer was there, taunting him. Tricking him. He kept looking away or looking over my shoulder. I could barely keep his attention on me." He dragged his hands down his face. "I grabbed his cut, pressed into it, told him that was real. He seemed to believe it. That's when you called. So we shagged ass back to your place only to find it burnt down. We started looking for you, that's when the Leviathan jumped us. Tried shooting it in the head. Fat lot of good that did. Thing tossed me into a car, broke my leg. Sam got a tire iron to the face. I dropped a car on it and called 911." Dean sped through the Leviathan encounter. It seemed like the least of their worries now.
"And Sam?"
"Uh, on the way back to your place he said he wasn't seeing anything. After the Leviathan, he was unconscious until they got him in the ambulance. He woke up for a little bit, then…" He paused, trying to gauge Bobby's reaction. The man had a perfect poker face. "He seemed to see something and then he had a seizure."
"A seizure?!" Bobby exclaimed, unable to maintain his composure.
"I don't know. They said he was seizing. The EMT gave him some valium." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know what to do, Bobby. This is all my fault."
"How?" Bobby challenged.
"I insisted we put his soul back. This wouldn't have happened if we'd left it alone."
"Oh, and leave the real Sam to suffer for all of eternity?"
Dean nodded as he considered this. He had a point. "You're right... I just... God. I think he was gonna kill himself. The way he was looking at his gun. Lucifer was just revving him up to do it. I can't live the rest of my life like that. Talking Sam down from the ledge all the time. 'Cause one day I'm not gonna be there and Lucifer will get to him."
Bobby sighed. The same thought had crossed his mind. "We'll figure it out. If you could break him out of it once, maybe he can learn to do it on his own. Kid's survived a lot. He'll get through this, too."
"I don't know, Bobby. You shoulda seen the look on his face. He really didn't know. He didn't. He couldn't tell if I was real, standing right in front of him. Who knows what Lucifer has been saying? The damn devil is fucking with reality." Dean groaned but it came out as a growl. "I can't, I just can't."
Bobby opened his mouth to respond but found he had nothing to offer. They'd get Sam through this one way or another. After a painfully long spell of silence, Dr. Boreseren cleared her throat to announce her presence. Dean practically flung himself at the doctor in anticipation.
"How is he?!" he asked urgently.
"Well," she held Dean's eyes evenly. "He's suffered a rather severe concussion. He has some mild edema—fluid buildup—around the frontal lobe. We'll have to keep him for observation until the swelling subsides. As long as the pressure doesn't get too high, he should be okay."
"When will he wake up?"
She shrugged apologetically. "I'm not sure. Normally I would say a few hours to a few days, but…" She hesitated, looking between Bobby and Dean.
"What is it?" Bobby encouraged.
She inhaled. "His MRI shows levels of brain activity I've never seen before. Even unconscious, his cortical networks and limbic system are firing at an unusual rate, especially in areas that aren't normally so active."
"What does that mean? Which areas?" Dean asked, his concern increasing exponentially.
"I can't really tell you what it means without having a baseline image of his brain for comparison. Everyone's brain is different, maybe he just has a lot of basal activity. But," she laughed a little, "I can't believe it's that high." She shook her head. "The brightest regions were by far the hippocampus and amygdala. Damn near maxed out the level of detection."
"What do they do?" Dean pressed, impatient.
"The hippocampus is involved in memory processing. The amygdala functions primarily for basic decision-making, parts of memory, and emotional reactions, especially fear and aggression, as well as the fight or flight response." Dean's stomach dropped. That had to be Lucifer. Her pager beeped. Glancing at it, she looked up at the two men. "Sorry, I gotta take this. I'll let you know if there's any change in Sam's condition."
"Can we see him?" Dean asked hopefully.
"Yes. He's in room 2612." They mumbled thanks as she turned and scurried down the hall.
Dean turned towards Bobby, panic painting his features as he grabbed his crutches. "What the hell are we gonna do? It's frying his brain, literally."
"You heard what she said, Dean. It could be he just has high basal levels of activity. He used to be a psychic. Hell, he could exorcise demons with his mind! He doesn't exactly have your average brain."
Dean gave him a stern look. "Don't be cute, Bobby. You know what she meant."
Bobby sighed. "What do you want me to do about it? Nothing we can do. Just gotta wait."
Dean stopped talking as he concentrated on moving. They ambled towards Sam's room as fast as Dean's leg would let them, which was far too slow for the young hunter. Bobby tried to help, earning him a string of expletives. He fell behind Dean, ready to catch him if he toppled over.
Rounding the corner of Sam's room, Dean's heart plummeted. Sam was hooked up to every kind of monitor possible. He supposed he should be thankful he wasn't on a ventilator. He dragged a chair to the bed and dropped himself into it. He grabbed Sam's hand and was disturbed by how cold it felt. He pulled the blankets over to cover every inch of Sam's tall body. Bobby let a sad smile conquer his face. Dean would always protect Sam, come Hell or high water. He smirked inwardly at the expression. How bad could high water really be? he thought. Looking at Sam, he knew the answer. Bad enough.
Fifteen minutes later, Bobby rose out of his bedside chair. "I'm gonna go get the cabin ready. With any luck, we'll have him home soon." Dean nodded absently, barely hearing anything but the shallow breaths of his little brother.
Nothingness. Despite the perception of being in an absolute vacuum, despite not having a physical form, Sam at least knew he existed. The cage? he thought. He felt cold, but it was not the soul-permeating cold of the bare cage. So he was not in Hell. "Dean?" he called out to the emptiness, only to have the sound swallowed up by void. "Bobby?" No response. He opened his mouth a third time and hesitated only slightly as he asked "Lucifer?" Utter stillness answered him and he felt cripplingly alone, more so than he had ever felt in Hell. Lucifer rarely spared him long enough for him to feel alone. As he considered an eternity of this, panic started to set in. Being trapped in Hell with Lucifer was one thing, but stuck with himself with only his thoughts for company? That may be the cruelest torture yet. He tried to calm his mind with meditation. Perhaps if he could reach an altered state of consciousness, time would become irrelevant.
He began chanting an exorcism as it was something repetitive and simple. He repeated the words so many times they lost their meaning. Awareness slipped away as the chant became only a syllabic rhythm and the frenetic pace of his thoughts slowed. On cue, just as bliss was within reach, that all-too-familiar laugh blasted through his consciousness. His concentration shattered as his psyche crumpled in on itself. No, he begged, please, no, no, no…The laughter intensified and he felt icy tendrils of despair curl around his soul. His spirit collapsed and he scrambled to hide himself away in the darkest recesses of his mind.
"Sammy…" The velvet voice sent shivers through his soul. He burrowed further, memories cracking around his passage, willing to destroy anything to flee the impending terror. "Come out and play… you know you can't hide forever…"
Dean's light sleep was interrupted by something hitting him in the face. Groggily collecting his senses, the piercing alert of the heart monitor struck him first. Blinking his eyes open, he was greeted by Sam's trembling body, his hand the offending object smacking Dean. He grabbed it and was about to shout for a nurse when one bustled in and checked his vitals. "Sammy, it's gonna be okay. We'll get through this. It's okay. I got you."
"I'll be right back," she assured Dean and quickly left the room.
"Don't worry, man. She's gonna get the good stuff. And you'll be fine. You'll be okay." He continued murmuring nonspecific comfort. The frantic blaring of the heart rate monitor slowed and Sam's shaking ebbed. Dean stroked his brother's wounded palm and the trembling ceased completely. His heart rate crept back towards normal.
By the time the nurse returned, Sam was resting peacefully, an elevated heart rate the only indication anything had occurred. She looked at the syringe in her hand and frowned. "What happened?"
"It just stopped. I-" Dean hesitated, hating how this was going to sound. "I grabbed his hand and it seemed to help." Dean could feel a slight blush of shame rise in his cheeks.
The nurse either did not notice or did not comment if she did. Instead, she looked at Dean with enthusiasm. "That's good. Maybe he can hear and feel you even if he can't wake up. Keep doing that. It will help him. Don't hesitate to call for help if it happens again though." She smiled and left the brothers.
Dean turned back to Sam. "I can do that," he said to himself. Thankful Bobby wasn't there, he caressed Sam's face with such tenderness he almost felt his balls shrink. He resisted momentarily then let the emotion take hold of him. "God, Sam, I just got you back from Lucifer. Don't check out now. You don't get that fucking luxury," he said quietly, frustration edging his voice. He gripped Sam's hand tight and laughed to stop from crying. "You're a Winchester. You have to keep going, whether you want to or not!" Dean got up and closed the door. He gently shifted Sam's body over so he could squeeze himself onto the bed with Sam. He would not leave Sam's side, even if that meant literally. He nestled in next to Sam, ignoring the discomfort of lying on his side and the cast digging into him. "It'll be okay, Sammy. Big brother isn't gonna let anything bad happen to you. I got you," he whispered in a continuous loop until sleep overcame him.