Hi! So I wanted to get this posted before the Finale and I'm just barely squeaking it out in time!

This story is set during 13.22 Exodus. It takes place just after the scene with Dean and Sam talking and fills in the gap between that scene and when they walk up to Mary. Because I just needed another scene. :) I mean, Sam had to get cleaned up and find a new shirt and coat somehow, right? So this is that scene.

It also fits in with my story "Ashes to Oblivion" but it is not necessary to read that one first. This is nowhere near as dark or awful as that story, but it does leave some implications open as to what might have happened before Sam got to the camp.

posting this in a hurry on my lunch break! :) Hope you enjoy!

There were a hundred things Dean needed to do, but they were all going to have to wait. One thing and one thing alone was his priority right now. Everything and everyone else would have to take a number as far as he was concerned. Cas could deal with the devil while Gabriel went to find Jack. Mary could do...whatever.

Dean was going to take care of his brother.

It hadn't escaped his attention that Sam had hung back with their mom while he went to confront the devil. Once the confrontation was over and they knew approximately how long the rift might remain open, Dean had turned around just in time to see his brother fading into the background. He'd walked away without a word, leaving their mom standing there looking completely uncertain as to what she should do.

Once upon a time, he would have assumed she would want to jump in and help. But he didn't assume that any longer. He didn't assume anything about her anymore. Not since she'd come back from the dead and turned out to be a very different person than he'd expected.

So he'd offered her a quick smile, but shook his head. She nodded, her expression unreadable, then turned away. He'd gone looking for his brother and found him standing behind one of the cabins on the far side of the camp. Obviously, he hadn't been able to go far, but he'd gone as far away from the devil as he'd been able to.

Now, after their brief conversation, Dean was more than ready to get his brother cleaned up and out of his blood-soaked clothes.

Sam was staring blankly into the distance, abruptly looking utterly wiped out and like he was only partially processing what was going on around him. Dean couldn't blame him; he was having some trouble processing everything, too. He stepped closer, thumping his fist gently on Sam's shoulder.

"Hey. Come on."

Tired eyes focused on him as Sam nodded.

He had no idea who the cabin belonged to, but Dean hoped they weren't home. They went into the dimly lit cabin. It was empty. There wasn't much to it, but it would have to do. Right now, he didn't want to be around anyone.

And he didn't want anyone near his brother.

The fact that the devil had somehow made it through the rift was bad. The fact that he'd strolled into camp with a grin on his smug, evil face, was worse. The fact that Sam had been alone with him - had been brought back to life by him, of all people - was unspeakable. Like Sam needed another reminder of the monster's powers? Like he needed to feel indebted to his tormentor?

The anger was still burning through Dean's veins, but he had other things to focus on right now.

The priority now was getting Sam cleaned up. All the blood was giving Dean vivid, unwanted flashbacks. His stomach was rolling and there was a tight band of pressure around his chest. Shaking his head, Dean focused on the task at hand.

"Sit down," Dean instructed, pulling a chair back from the rickety table.

Sam didn't argue; just sank into the chair like it'd been a year since he'd been off his feet. Dean wondered if the devil had zapped them to the doorstep of the camp, or if they'd walked the entire way. Now wasn't the time to ask, though. He crossed the room and rummaged around a cupboard until he found a fairly clean mug, then filled it up with water.

Turning around, he found Sam's eyes had gone blank again. His face was pale, dirty, and still streaked with blood. He might be alive, but he looked like he was still dead. Like he might be wondering if he was still dead.

Which was unacceptable.

And then an even more concerning thought crossed Dean's mind.

Is he wishing he was still dead?

Chills ran down his spine and Dean set the mug of water down on the table harder than necessary. Sam jumped as if a gun had been fired. He looked up and the turmoil in his eyes was staggering, but he smiled and looked a little more alive.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. We'll get you something to eat next if you want, but we gotta get you cleaned up." Dean pushed the fear down and started mentally checking things off his list as Sam drained the mug of water in a few sips. "Get your coat off and I'll get you some more water."

Sam returned the mug, then slowly started pulling his coat off. Leaving him to it, Dean refilled the mug then wet a couple rags in the rainwater basin. He squeezed them out as best as he could. Turning around, he watched Sam drop his bloodstained coat on the floor, then rub his bloody hands on his jeans. He was staring down at the coat and rubbing his hands a little too hard against his jeans. Dean went back to him and set the mug and rags on the table. He kicked the coat aside and Sam glanced up at him.

"Shirt off too," Dean directed softly.

Sam started working on the buttons of his shirt; not an easy task with how badly his hands were shaking. Dean dug around the cabin until he found a shirt that might fit. Hopefully whoever lived in this cabin wouldn't mind sharing. He'd have to do some more searching to find a new jacket because there was no way Sam was putting that jacket back on ever again. Jeans were an issue, too, but he figured Sam would probably have to make do. His jaw clenched at the thought of any visible reminder of his brother's recent death, but there was only so much the camp's meager supplies could offer.

"You hungry?" he asked, returning to his brother, shirt in hand.

Sam shook his head, dropping his soiled shirts on the floor.

Dean kicked the shirts over next to the coat and asked, "When's the last time you ate?"

"Before we left," Sam mumbled, staring at the pile of bloody clothes despite Dean's efforts to get them out of sight.

Dean kicked them out the back door. They were going to be burned. Once that particular issue was taken care of, he decided food was the next item on the agenda. He hadn't eaten anything since before they'd left, either, and he knew he should be hungry, but he wasn't sure he could stomach anything right now. Sam was looking a little green under the dirt and blood. He was staring down at his ruined jeans and swallowing hard like he might be sick at any moment.

Back to distraction duty, Dean grabbed one of the rags and pressed it into Sam's hand. Sam took it without a word and started wiping his face. Having a task to focus on seemed to help a little and his skin slowly lost the tinge of green although he still looked pale as a day old corpse - an image Dean was very eager to forget.

Once he'd scrubbed the blood from his face and neck, Sam dropped the soiled rag on the floor, then reached for the second rag. He started scrubbing the blood from his hands. Dean felt the knots in his chest loosening as the blood disappeared.

"You alright?" he asked, cringing inwardly at the stupid question.

"I'm alive," Sam said, glancing up with a weary smile.

"So you said. What I wanna know is if he restored you to factory settings or if he left anything out."

His attempt at levity was rewarded with a snort of amusement. Sam grabbed the shirt from his hand and said, "I'm fine."

Their concept of fine was arguably not quite in keeping with the traditional sense of the word so Dean almost took it for what it was. A declaration that things were pretty shitty, but he was dealing with it.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?" Sam pulled the shirt on and ran his fingers through his hair.

Dean took a slow breath, then asked, "Did he hurt you?"

Sam stiffened ever so slightly. It wasn't obvious enough that anyone else on the planet would have noticed, but Dean did. He noticed and, had it been possible, the blaze of fury that rushed through his veins would have ignited Lucifer at that exact moment. He'd known, absolutely known, that Sam being brought back to life by his worst nightmare had come at a heavy price. Dean just needed to know exactly how heavy so he could add that to the smoldering fire of his fury that he was just longing to unleash on the devil.

"Dean," Sam started, "I'm fine."

"You are not fine," Dean shouted and instantly regretted it because Sam flinched. Lowering his voice, Dean said, "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Sam looked up at him and tried to smile.

Dean couldn't think of one single thing that was fine and he wished his brother would stop saying that word.

"Dean, really. It's ok. We've got a lot on our plates right now." His voice only wavered a little as he attempted to sound convincing. "We've got other stuff that needs our attention."

"What happened?" Dean asked, ignoring the attempted subject change.

Sam shook his head and pushed himself to his feet. "Doesn't matter. I'm alive. I guess I owe him-"

"No," Dean interrupted. "You don't owe that monster anything. You hear me?"

"He saved my life." Sam tried to sound like he was grateful, but the self-loathing expression said otherwise.

"And that is the only good thing about any of this." Dean was grateful beyond words that his brother was alive, but that didn't mean he was grateful to the devil. "But we don't owe him anything. You don't owe him a damn thing."

"Dean-"

"Shut up. I don't wanna hear it." Dean shook his head, the anger beginning to get the best of him. "You feel guilty for the devil bringing you back to life. You probably still feel guilty for cracking the lid on him in the first place."

He knew he should stop. Could see the warning, the pain, in Sam's eyes. Could see the color leaching from his face. But he couldn't stop.

"He is a sick, twisted piece of work and doesn't deserve anything from either of us, especially not your gratitude." Dean took a deep breath, his tone softening as he said, "I'm thankful you're alive, ok? But we owe him nothing."

Sam swallowed hard and nodded.

Dean grabbed his arm and pushed him back into the chair. "You look like you're gonna fall over. Sit still for a minute, will you?"

"We don't have time," Sam protested, but he didn't try to stand back up.

"We've got thirty some hours and I think I can spend twenty minutes to make sure you're alright."

Sam smiled and this time it reached his eyes. "I'm ok. Really. Could sleep for a week, but I'm ok."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "No lasting pain from getting your neck chewed on?"

"No. And thanks for the vivid reminder." Sam rolled his eyes. He touched his neck, then said, "It wasn't a pleasant way to go."

"It wasn't pleasant to watch, either." Dean clenched his fists, the helplessness he'd felt standing in that tunnel, unable to help his brother, had been torture. The sight of him being dragged away would haunt his dreams for weeks to come.

If he was haunted, Dean shuddered to think how Sam must be feeling.

As if in answer to his unspoken thought, Sam sighed heavily, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

Even though internally he was coming apart at the seams and wanted to be monitoring the situation out in the camp, Dean pulled out the other chair and sat down.

Sam straightened almost instantly and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Sitting down." Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "You look like you need a minute."

"We don't have time for-"

"We have time to let you catch your breath."

Sam didn't argue, just reached for the mug of water and took another drink. Setting the cup aside, he slouched back in his chair and closed his eyes. Apparently he was in agreement with taking a moment to catch his breath. Dean was relieved, yet worried. The pressure of a time limit on the rift, the unexpected presence of Lucifer, and concern over Jack all weighed heavily on him. He wasn't about to rush his brother, though.

"Stop staring at me." Sam didn't even open his eyes as he spoke.

"I'm not," Dean lied, looking away.

"You are. I'm not gonna disappear or fall over dead."

Dean glared at him even though Sam still had his eyes closed.

After a moment, Sam sighed, tilting his head back and staring up at the ceiling.

"Sam?"

"Hm?"

"What happened?"

Sam sat up and shook his head, a questioning frown on his face. "What are you talking about? You know-"

"I know you died and he brought you back," Dean said, trying to keep his voice even despite the pounding in his heart and the fear in his soul. "What else happened?"

"Nothing."

Sam's answer was too quick, too simple. He was maintaining eye contact, but Dean could see the panic. Could see the sweat breaking out on his forehead, the shaking of his hands before he crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his hands out of sight. Something had happened.

So Dean kept pressing.

"Nothing happened, huh? He was his usual pleasant, chatty self?"

Sam stiffened and offered a non-convincing smile as he said, "He was chatty, alright. Never shuts up. You know how he is..."

His voice trailed off and he swallowed hard, looking away. The problem was they both knew how he was and that was why Dean was only getting more concerned instead of less. Before he could say anything else, Sam was on his feet and attempting to give the impression he was anything but freaked out.

"We need to get back out there." He motioned to the door, all determination and passion twisted up in tight knots with pure fear. His back to Dean, he said, "We need to find Jack and-"

"Gabriel is looking for him." Dean stood up. His knees hurt and his entire body protested. He could happily have sat still for another hour or two. "Cas is out there keeping an eye on you know who."

Sam spun around so fast Dean took a step back.

"Cas isn't strong enough," Sam said, the words harsh. "If he tries anything, Cas isn't going to be able to stop him."

There was complete resignation in his voice. Resignation borne of painful experience. Recent painful experience. Dean couldn't help but wonder what had happened out there in the woods. Couldn't help but wonder what the devil had tried that Sam hadn't been able to stop.

Sam was still talking, "...and we need to find Jack. He doesn't know Gabriel and he's out there scared and he just met his father-"

"I know all that, damnit!" Dean ran his hand through his hair instead of punching a wall like he really wanted to. "I know. Ok? I know Cas isn't strong enough. But the thing is, none of us is strong enough."

He regretted his words as he said them. The effect they had on his brother was instant. Every bit of strength and determination vanished from Sam's posture, leaving him looking small and afraid.

Trying valiantly to dig them out of the hole he'd inadvertently pushed them into, Dean lowered his voice and said, "Look, none of us is strong enough to deal with him on our own. But we're gonna deal together, ok? We're gonna be done with him soon, I promise."

"You can't promise that," Sam said softly, glancing at the door. "He followed me...us...here. You can't promise-"

"Yeah, well I am." Dean smiled, confidence, however tenuous, filling him. "I'm promising you."

Sam nodded, but his demeanor was a complete opposite of what it had been when he'd firmly declared - not even thirty minutes ago - that he'd handle Lucifer.

"Good. We got that settled." Dean pointed at the chair. "Sit down for another minute or two while I find you a coat."

He waited till Sam had done as instructed, then started digging through a trunk at the foot of a cot in the corner of the room. There wasn't much in the trunk and no jacket or even a sweater. Pushing himself upright, he looked around the room again and knew he was going to have to look elsewhere.

"Hey."

Sam looked his way.

"There's nothing here. I'll be right back."

"Ok."

"Drink some more water," Dean said, as he opened the door.

"Bossy."

Dean grinned.

It took him less than five minutes to find someone who was willing to share a coat. Turned out the coat they were willing to share belonged to a now dead friend. Dean took it anyway and decided not to share that fact with his brother.

Hurrying up the steps, he was careful when he opened the door. He didn't want to startle his brother and wind up with a gun or a fist in his face. As it turned out, he hadn't needed to worry.

Sam had his arms crossed on the table and his head down against them. He didn't move when Dean walked into the cabin.

Dean set the coat on the table and asked, "Are you alright?"

"You've asked me that before," Sam mumbled without lifting his head.

"And you've deflected every single time."

Sam didn't answer.

Resting his hands on the back of the other chair, Dean studied him for a long moment. Then he asked, "What happened out there. After he brought you back?"

"We walked." Sam sat up and shrugged; his eyes were blank. "It was a long walk."

"What did he do to you?"

"Don't ask me that."

Dean's heart hit the dirty floor at the whispered statement. Shit. It was as bad as he'd imagined. Probably a lot worse, in fact.

Sam was staring at him, suddenly with a hundred emotions shining in his eyes.

"He did hurt you." Dean's own voice was a mere whisper, his knuckles going white against the back of the chair.

"Dean."

"What did he do?" The words were harsh and tasted like sour milk.

"Don't ask me." Sam's gaze was on the scarred wood of the table. "I can't...I can't talk about it. Please, just stop."

Dean stopped.

The blaze of fury in his veins turned to a river of ice that froze him to his very soul. Sam wasn't denying that something had happened. Something had happened. He didn't want to talk about it; couldn't talk about it. The thing that brought Dean up short was the way he'd said it. So quietly. So quietly that all the pain and horror could be heard as if Sam had shouted the words. He'd gone so far as to beg for Dean to stop asking.

The entire situation left Dean helpless. He could take care of physical injuries. The emotional and psychological injuries were what he so often failed at healing. This time there were no physical injuries; at least none Dean could see. But Sam was hiding something and they both knew it.

If not for the fact they were in the middle of a war, Dean might have pursued the topic. There was no time, though. So, like usual, they were going to have to pick up and move on and face their worst nightmares.

"Ok." Dean nodded, throat tight. Heart-sick, he said, "Ok, Sammy. But I'm here. Whenever you want to talk about it, I'll listen."

"Thanks." Sam met his gaze. He reached for the coat and stood up. "We should get back out there."

"Yeah."

Sam pulled on the coat and glanced down at it. He tugged on the sleeves, then looked up with a smile.

"Camo?"

"Camo," Dean said, shrugging. The coat didn't look half bad on his brother. "When in Rome, as they say."

"Or when in the freaky alternate world," Sam suggested, still smiling.

Some of the turmoil in his eyes had faded, although it wasn't completely gone. He was exhausted, but pulling himself together, like he always did. Whatever came next, Dean had no doubt but that they'd be standing shoulder to shoulder when they faced it.

"Alright," Dean said, squeezing his brother's arm gently. "Let's deal with this freak show so we can go home."

Sam took a deep breath, steeling himself, then nodded. "Let's do it."

They walked out of the cabin into the uncertain future.

Dean had agreed to let Sam deal with the devil and he intended to honor that agreement, but he made a promise right in this moment. A promise to himself. An unspoken promise to Sam.

If things went sideways; if something happened and Sam couldn't do it, Dean would.

The devil had hurt his little brother too many times and Dean resolved right then and there that he would never allow him another opportunity.

It was time to end Lucifer for once and for all.