"You're not real."
He could feel his face pale, eyes widening at Dean's proclamation.
…
Sam ran a hand down his face and over his mouth, a slight shake to his movement. He exhaled, feeling the familiar surroundings of the bunker turned Batcave turned new home.
Things had been rocky lately, more so than usual, as Dean was not as well as he was trying to convince everyone. The only upside, was that he had finally gotten the codex, and in turn, hopefully a cure for Dean. If Rowena kept her promise to find the spell in the book of the damned that is, then he would finally have a cure.
He felt guilty however. Lying to his brother, even though he knew it was the only way to save him from the darkness, the evil that the Mark was turning him into. Plus, the hallucinations caused from the Werther box had him on edge. Mainly Dean's reaction.
You're not real.
The words that left his brothers mouth when he had been entranced made him want to vomit. How many times….how many times had he asked himself the same question? How many times had he said the same words to the hallucinations of Lucifer years before?
To constantly question everything and everyone around you, never knowing if your own reality was true: it was torture. And he knew all too well.
Sam closed his eyes and put his hands together, resting them against his lips as he leaned on the dark wooden table he was situated at in the library. Being here, in a constant familiar and safe place, it made it easier, it made everything less heavy.
Sure, the weight of their problems may be heavier, the situations that they have themselves placed in, but having a constant to come back to was a comfort. It had been hard for him, to accept the bunker as a home, instead of a workplace. Even Bobby's house was more of a battle zone and work area then a resting place. But there were few sanctuaries that he could find on this Earth, in this lifetime. The bunker may still be where they plotted and researched, but having their own things surrounding them, having a real kitchen, showers and washrooms, a damn library…it was such a comfort.
It made things easier to differentiate when they didn't have to worry about motel rooms and making sure their fake credit cards were all in order, didn't have to worry about not finding a roof to sleep under at all. Not that the Impala wasn't a bad place to sleep (she was another constant) but having an actual bed was a luxury.
Though, the walls probably wanted to scream of the desolation and destruction that they had brought to this sacred place. To their home.
Kevin, Gadreel, Dean…
It was heartbreaking to remember; remember every little piece that had gone wrong and to look at the exact place where everything had gone down. Where he had…
Sam took a deep breath, closing his eyes harder as the onslaught of memories overwhelmed. Everything that had happened was so real, so real it made his whole body ache.
You're not real.
God. When Dean had spoken back in Suzie's home, he felt as though the floor had fallen from beneath his feet. He never ever had wanted to hear those three words come from his brother's mouth.
To question if someone was real, it was a dangerous thing. Enough that he almost couldn't take it anymore; that the hallucinations of Lucifer had almost had him…
Sam barked out a slight laugh. The thought was disturbing, all too real, but unattainable. Lucifer had almost made him shoot himself in the head; commit suicide. Exactly what the box had been trying to get them to do.
It was sorta funny, in a delirious kind of way. When he had said years ago that he would kill himself before he would let Lucifer in, he wasn't lying. And neither was the bastard when he said that he would bring him back, clean skin and without scars at all.
Fast forward to four years later and Gadreel had had him questioning whether there was something wrong with him, had him questioning if he was alone in his own body. God, it made him sick. The situations were so similar, and Dean, he didn't even realize. The deceit, the betrayal, it hurt so much.
He didn't see how having an angel forced into his body, without his consent, was so much like Lucifer. Not that he had told his brother about the disturbing flashbacks; Dean certainly had enough to deal with without him slowly losing it as well.
Sam consciously dug a nail into his palm, the white, curved scar that had faded with age.
He was real. And so was Dean.