Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters contained herein. They belong to the owners of Supernatural.

Rating: T for mentions of rape and PTSD. Nothing explicit. I am one of those who believes that Lucifer raped Sam in the cage , and this is mentioned here.

Author's Note: Sam is a sex-repulsed asexual in my stories. In this story, I deal with PTSD from Hell, so I tried to make it as realistic as I could for a person who was tortured by the worst for 180 years. I do not think the show did a good job of that at all, so things here may seem out of character with what happened on the show. READ THIS: If you do not believe that kisses can be anything besides sexual or romantic, turn back now; this story is not for you. If you are one of the few who can believe that kisses can be given in pure affection, nothing else, then read on. Dean does kiss his brother in this story, but out of a desperation to make Sam breathe again. It is not sexual or romantic or slash or pairing in the slightest.

Locked In

It was yet another half-scuzzy bar that Sam and Dean were unwinding in, just like the many they had visited over the years. The walls were dark and the lights low, with tables and chairs scattered about in a way that seemed labyrinthine. At one of the high tables sat Sam, deep in his laptop in search of a potential case. Dean was at the pool table, half hustling some guys who were up for a few games; by half meaning that he knew he could beat them without pulling wool over their eyes. It was late, somewhere between 10:00 and 11:00p.m., and Dean was glad for the brief respite in between cases and Leviathans. He was worried about his brother, though he tried not to let it show, for Sam's wall was down and Hell was loose in his head. The night he found Sam in the warehouse shooting thin air was still heavy in his mind as a reminder that his little brother was unstable and vulnerable. Every so often Dean would glance up and check on Sam.

On one of these surreptitious check-ups Dean caught sight of a brunette watching his brother from the bar. Normally this wouldn't hold his attention longer than it took to smirk, but this girl wasn't just some chick in a bar looking for some distraction from life; she was clearly a skank, what with her tight, short skirt and clingy plunging top that showed off her giant breasts as well as her mid-drift. She had a good figure, but had so much skin showing that she might as well be naked; she wore high heels and thick lipstick. She was exactly the kind of girl Sam would never go for.

Good luck, sister, Dean thought with amusement, especially since he now knew that Sam never wanted sex (he was asexual). It was even more fun now to watch him blush and squirm with embarrassment when girls hit on him too bluntly since Dean knew that they stood no chance and that Sam wasn't just being modest. Make no mistake, his protectiveness for his brother in this area had shot up, now extra wary of anyone who tried to push his brother too hard. This protectiveness is what caused Dean to take a second look at this woman.

She wasn't just staring at Sam in admiration of his beauty. The look in her eyes made Dean's eyes narrow. She was staring at Sam with a vicious lust, one that made it clear that Sam was sitting naked in her eyes, and not in the clothes and jacket he was actually wearing. She seemed as well to be doing things to him with her eyes – painful, kinky things. It seemed especially wrong to Dean that she was looking at Sam that way. Dean gave her a long, careful look, assessing her threat level, for even Dean wouldn't go with her with the look she had in her eyes, and Dean would go with just about any girl.

He'll notice her staring soon, Dean thought. And sure enough, within a couple minutes Sam looked up and scanned the room in search of the eyes he could feel staring at him. He caught sight of the woman leaning against the bar and he stiffened with discomfort before swallowing and quickly looking away. Sadly, the woman noticed and, taking it as an invitation, pushed off the bar and made her way over to Sam.

Dean watched her approach Sam and say something, to which Sam shook his head and his mouth moved in a negative response. The brunette leaned closer and said something else, and Sam appeared to give her a firm, though polite – that politeness would be his bane, Dean was sure – response, but it wasn't enough. What happened next takes longer to describe than it did to happen. The skank leaned close, placing one hand on Sam's inner thigh as she whispered something extremely dirty in his ear while her other hand reached around and behind his waist to slide over his butt. The reaction was shocking and instantaneous. A look of horror came over Sam's face as he shoved her away while leaping from his chair at the same time, knocking it over. The girl bumped into a table and barely had time to look offended before Sam had reached the door at a run. Dean knew that something very wrong had happened, and, dropping his pool cue on the table, took off after his brother.

Dean found it difficult to keep up with Sam's long legs, but though Sam was bolting as if for his life, Dean was fast and able to keep his brother in his sights.

'Sam!' he called, trying to stop his brother. 'Sam! Stop!' But it did nothing. It was as if Sam didn't hear him. Sam ran to the park that was a few blocks from the bar and disappeared inside it.

'Dang it,' muttered Dean as he turned and ran through the trees. 'Sam!' He slowed down as he no longer heard his brother's footsteps. 'Sammy!'

Dean was worried. Sam never reacted like that. Never, that is, unless the Hell in his head surfaced. Dean felt like wringing the chick's neck for bringing up memories that would make his brother react like this. And at the same time, he wondered what memories her actions would have released.

Then he heard it: a small, quiet whimper coming from behind one of the big trees. He walked towards it.

'Sammy?' he softly called. He heard shaky, harsh breathing and felt his heart drop to his stomach as he rounded the tree and saw his little brother. Sam had his back to the tree with his knees pulled up to his chest and one arm wrapped around his legs like he was keeping them closed and safe. With his other arm he was gripping his jeans in his fist as he shook with fear and watched something Dean could not see, his eyes darting away sometimes as though something moved.

Dean kneeled in front of his brother. He wasn't acknowledged. 'Sam?' he asked.

Sam was lost in his mind. He was not hallucinating, as Dean feared, but was caught in a flashback, which Dean would learn was far worse. He was trapped in the cage, where the floor was covered in bone and hardened flesh, the intricate bars that made the wall were alive with flame, and chains hung from the ceiling. Sam gasped in a breath as he fought memories of being shackled to the ground, cruel clamps of iron locking his wrists and ankles in place, with his knees bent in the air. He squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered his clothing burnt off by scorching flame, or ripped off by hateful hands. He cried out as he remembered the brutality, the heartlessness, and the violation that came next, that reduced him to screams and tears and begging.

'Sam!' Dean called when his brother cried out in fear. Sam's breathing picked up and he watched with naked horror and terror something off to his left.

'No. No please no,' Sam pleaded softly. He whimpered as the devil that he saw walked closer, but then vanished to appear closer off to Sam's right, toying with him. The devil did not look like the harmless Nick that he had once possessed – not fully, for his true form bled through and mixed with the form of the unfortunate man, revealing hateful and hard eyes, and the ugly black and red colours of his true form seemed to burn under the skin of the man. He grinned wickedly, then reappeared on Sam's left side, fixing him with a monstrously lascivious look, every inch the predator.

Dean was helpless as his little brother shoved himself back farther against the tree as tears ran down his cheeks. He was clearly afraid of something that seemed to move slowly closer, but when Dean grabbed his arms and called his name he didn't respond. Dean came to the conclusion that Sam could not only not hear him but also not see him. That frightened him; how was he supposed to reach his brother if he could not see or hear him? Sam shifted and made little noises of distress.

His eyes grew wide and he whispered 'No;' then he held his breath. And continued to hold it.

'Sam?' Dean said again once he noticed he stopped breathing. He didn't even take a big breath first, just clamped his mouth shut and held it. 'Sam, take a breath.'

Sam didn't respond. He watched the figure with growing terror, and continued to hold his breath even though his lungs demanded air. It was a trick he had learnt in the cage: if he held his breath long enough he would pass out, and escape some of the less physically painful, but more psychologically scaring, torture. If he passed out he could escape for just a few minutes, until either his breath came back or he was rudely awakened by pain. It was worth it to escape for those few minutes. The torture was still painful, just not as painful as the other forms of torture. The devil never let him escape for more than a few minutes, but he found it funny that Sam tried to escape at all.

Dean knew none of this, and even if he did he would still try to get his brother to breathe, for he was afraid that if Sam lost consciousness he would be locked inside his mind for who knows how long. He started to feel panic as Sam continued to hold his breath.

'Sam! Breathe!' he yelled shaking his little brother by the arms. 'Come on, Sammy, breathe!' Nothing. Sam started to squirm a little as he fought to not take in oxygen. 'Sammy…' Dean breathed. This was lasting too long. Then a thought came to him. It seemed to come from outside his own head, but it made sense and he acted on it.

He had to snap Sam out of his flashback, so what would convince him that he wasn't in the cage? What he had never had in the cage. He had never experienced gentleness or affection while in the cage, so show that to him. How to do that? Well, the thought supplied that too.

Dean quickly placed his right hand on the back of his brother's head and leaned forward and kissed him. It was absolutely not sexual and it wasn't romantic; it was affection shown in desperation, it was an ancient expression of love between friends. It was light and gentle and on the very top of Sam's lips, and lasted about two seconds, just long enough for it to register with Sam what was happening. Dean pulled back and placed his hand back on his brother's arm.

'Come on, Sammy,' he said, his voice shaking with desperation. He would never dwell on what he did, his modern masculinity wouldn't let him.

Nothing happened for the longest two seconds of Dean's life, then Sam breathed in a shaky and desperate breath in response to the gentleness.

'Dean?' he whispered, his eyes searching for his brother but not finding him.

'Yeah, Sammy. I'm here,' Dean replied, feeling grateful but tense, since his brother clearly didn't see him.

'How are you here? You shouldn't be here,' Sam said softly and nervously, as though he were afraid that someone would hear him, and he was.

'You're not in the cage, Sam. You're out. You're having a flashback,' Dean said. Sam looked right at Dean without seeing him. It ranked near the top of Dean's list of Most Disconcerting Experiences.

'Where are you?' Sam asked, his tone still the same. Sam still didn't see the trees; he saw the cage.

'I'm right here, Sam. I'm right in front of you.' He saw Sam's face shift into uncertainty. 'Feel my hands? I have your shoulders. I'm right here.'

Sam slowly uncurled his hands and carefully, shakily, touched the arms he could not see. He slowly followed them up to his brother's shoulders. Dean forced himself to be still, even though all he wanted was to grab Sam to him and hold him tightly. But he didn't; he wouldn't frighten Sam; he would let his scared little brother have as much control as possible. Sam reached his brother's jacket and gripped it tightly, then slowly came forward and – entirely by feel – curled himself into his brother, fitting his head under Dean's left cheekbone and closing his eyes. Dean wrapped his arms around his trembling brother and held him close.

Sam gasped in a breath as he struggled against the tears he knew were coming. He wanted to open his eyes and keep watch, but if he did he would find himself leaning against thin air. He let out a tight hum of distress.

'Shh, I've got you little brother,' comforted Dean, adjusting his hands.

'Dean,' said Sam with a shaking and strung out voice, 'I can't see you.'

'I know. You're having a flashback,' Dean said in a calming voice. Then Dean had to know: 'What are you seeing, Sammy?' he asked.

Sam shifted a little and tightened his grip on the jacket. 'The cage,' he managed.

'Ok. It's not real, Sammy,' Dean said to reassure him.

Sam heard a malicious chuckle and his eyes flew open. 'He's coming for me,' he said, his voice full of distress as he pressed closer to his brother, his breathing picking up.

'He's not real, Sam.' Dean said with his own voice strung out, nearing a loss of what to do. How do you keep someone safe from their own head?

Sam watched as the devil in his head drew closer. Sam whimpered as he slowly stretched out his hand to touch him. Sam drew in a harsh breath. 'No,' he said, 'No! Don't!' He flinched, hard, and tried to scoot back.

'Hey-hey! Sam! He's not real. He's not real. He can't hurt you. Try to snap out of it,' Dean said as he clasped him tightly. Sam turned his face into his brother's chest and hid. He started to cry.

'He… he hurt me, Dean.' Sam said through his tears, his voice ragged with fear and distress, 'He...mmm… he raped me, Dean. He raped me!' Sam sobbed out a couple breaths.

Dean froze. He expected everything but that. Dean knew what when on in Hell, the kind of tortures used, and that wasn't on the list. The devil was a specific kind of twisted sick. Dean felt an intense ache and rage for his little brother, for he knew that Sam was repulsed by sex to the point that he was afraid of it happening to him. And it had, in the most brutal way.

'It… it hurt,' Sam said when he gained control of his sobs. He had to breathe for control between words. 'He liked… making me hurt. Making me scream. I hated it. He locked me down…. and… and...' Sam lost control of his voice again and Dean pulled him impossibly closer.

'Shh, Sammy,' Dean hushed because he didn't know what else to do.

'Sometimes he was Ruby,' Sam continued, his face still resolutely hidden, 'Not… many times but… he knew I hated her.' There was a pause, and Dean felt tears course down his own cheeks. 'I screamed, but he didn't stop. He never stopped. Not even when I begged.' Sam whimpered tightly. 'The fire… it burned,' he said even as he shivered hard, 'And it hurt. I wanted you. I w-wanted to be saved, but no-one came. No-one could come… I was alone.' He continued to cry softly.

Dean hated to hear this, but he would never shut his brother down from talking about this if he needed to. Sam kept so much Hell to himself, to try to seem fine, to not burden Dean, but even if he talked about it constantly Dean would never shut him down. He knew Sam; Sam needed to talk about things to process them most of the time, he just didn't because he had been raised by two guys who didn't need talk and didn't discuss feelings. Dean cupped the back of his little brother's head.

'I'm here, Sammy,' he said, his voice heavy with sadness. Sam scrabbled his fingers against his brother to let him know he was heard. It took awhile, Dean kneeling on the cold ground holding his crying and trembling brother, but eventually the tears stopped, for both of them, and Sam's trembling was down to fine tremors.

Sam looked up at his brother, his eyes red-rimmed and glossy. 'I can see you now,' he said; his voice sounded like it was being dragged over sharp rocks. His gaze was somewhat apologetic for putting his brother through this.

Dean looked at his brother. 'It's ok, Sammy,' he said, and Sam knew that he was talking about Sam's needing his brother. This was a moment Sam would never be teased or mocked for. He had a free pass to need his brother and cry. Dean stroked Sam's hair. 'We should head back if you're ready,' he said.

Sam nodded. 'I'm ready,' he replied. He was barely believable, but Dean knew that this was as good as it was going to get out in the woods.

'Ok,' said Dean as he slowly stood, pulling his brother with him as Sam got his legs under him. He kept his arm around his brother's back as they made their way back to the sidewalk, their legs stiff from being bent for so long.

'I left my laptop at the bar,' Sam said, his voice subdued.

'I can get it later,' Dean replied.

'I want to go with you,' Sam said, and Dean heard the real message: I don't want to be alone, I want to be with you.

'Ok,' he said.

They made their way back to the bar. Sam stopped just inside the doorway, not wanting to be around any people, especially in such a sexually-charged atmosphere, as most bars have. He watched his brother make his way to the bartender, as Sam's laptop was gone.

'Hey, did you see who took the laptop off that table?' Dean asked pointing.

'Yeah. I got it right here, along with the cash you won in your pool match,' the bartender replied. He was a tall, middle-aged man with no hair and an understanding face, but clearly sure and strong in himself; he had a weight in his eyes that he got from serving in war. He bent and brought up Sam's laptop and bag and Dean's money.

Dean was surprised. 'Thanks man,' he said.

The bartender smiled. 'This may be a bar, but I keep an eye on people's stuff. And your friend… brother?' he asked. Dean nodded. 'Your brother, I've seen PTSD attacks before. Ain't gonna let someone take advantage of him for that.'

Dean smiled a tired and thankful smile. 'Thanks.'

'No problem, son,' replied the bartender. 'Here's your cash from the previous games. The guys weren't too keen on giving it up, but I took care of them.'

'Thanks,' was all Dean could say. He slung the bag over his shoulder and stuffed the money in his wallet. Then he turned back to his brother who was watching him with a tired, worn-out version of the puppy-dog eyes.

'Let's go,' Dean said, and they walked out the door together.

When they reached the motel, the first thing Sam did was take a hot shower. Dean changed and then was quiet sitting on the end of his bed, trying to both think and not think about what happened. When Sam came out he gave his brother a weak smile and lay down in his bed, but he was clearly tense, expecting nightmares of the most horrific kind. Dean noticed, clicked off the light, and got up and walked to the other side of Sam's bed. He slid in behind his brother and pulled Sam to him, tucking his brother's back against his chest as if he were small again. Sam relaxed against his brother, and drew in a shaky breath.

'Thanks, Dean,' he said.

'Night, Sammy,' came the response.

The End.

Wow, that was hard to write. I feel so mean.

I know I took a few liberties with how a flashback works, but Sam did go to Hell; I think I'm allowed. In some ancient cultures, a kiss was given to friends as a sign of affection. Dean's thought is based on one I got, though mine was of something to say; it really did seem to come from outside my own head. Just so you know, it's God who gives him the idea.

Please do leave a review; I love them and read them all. Feel free to ask questions or prompt me through PM. ~Swiss Blue