Author's Note: Possibly the funniest episode of the entire show is "Mystery Spot" (season 3, episode 11). In true Supernatural fashion, it's also one of the most heartbreaking. Sam had to watch Dean die more than a hundred times, and live for months after his final death, becoming increasingly hardened until he would actually kill an innocent person without a second thought. Of course everything worked out eventually, but you can just see how shaken and haunted he is at the end of the episode. I was a little disappointed that we didn't get to see more of Sam recovering from this experience. We watch him reeling with relief overpowered by grief and horror, but then in the very next episode he's completely back to normal. I don't know how much time is supposed to pass between that episode and the next, but you can't just shake off an experience like that really quickly. I've had vivid dreams where family members died, and even though they really were just dreams and not a horrifying time loop that I had to live through for real, it still took me a day or two before I could shake off the effects of the dream and stop staring at my family members who were still alive. I'd imagine it would be a hundred times worse for Sam. So here is my bridge between "Mystery Spot" and "Jus in Bello." Hopefully it's not too OOC *cringe* They're at the end of their rope, so I think all of this is justified, but I guess I'll see what other people think.

You think no one will notice how you're feeling
When you cry yourself to sleep
You feel stuck on the outside looking inside
Wishing this life wasn't your life
And you think you're damaged way beyond repair

…

Wish you were someone else
Every night you fall to pieces
Knowing you can't save yourself

- "Invisible" by Disciple

The bathroom light clicked off and darkness enveloped the room. The neon sign blinking Vacancy into the night shone blurrily through the curtain. Sam stared at it, lying still and silent in his bed. Behind him, he heard the sounds of Dean sliding under the sheets of the other bed. "Night, Sammy."

"Good night."

And so came the end of another day. It was the same every night. The motion, the bustle, the noise of the day fell still, and there was nothing to distract him anymore. While the sun was up and there were monsters to hunt, he could pretend. He could focus on whatever job they were pursuing, research obscure lore, and banter with Dean just like he always did.

But when night fell and his only companion in the darkness was the gleaming motel sign, all of his pretense crumbled to pieces. He couldn't lie to himself like he lied to Dean. He knew he wasn't okay.

Sam hated himself for this brick wall he always seemed to run into. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't clamber over it and move forward. It was a sign of his weakness, that he was hemmed in by something that hadn't even happened.

Dean didn't get it. Sam had explained to him what had happened, but there was no way to really convey what it had been like, watching him die a hundred different times. And then, to watch him die and realize that this time, he wouldn't wake up to start Tuesday all over again.

To Dean, none of that had ever happened. He'd simply woken up on Wednesday and gone about his business like any other day. No one else in the world would have noticed a difference either. The only person who held the memories of those awful months was Sam.

Closing his eyes, Sam listened to Dean's steady breathing and let it soothe the tight knot in his chest. By all rights, it should have been like waking up from a nightmare—a horrible nightmare, one that clung to you the rest of the day, but a nightmare nonetheless. Something that you knew wasn't real, fading away like mist as the sun rose.

But every day of those blank, terrible months stood out starkly in Sam's memory. He had lived through each and every one of them. He couldn't just bounce back immediately, forget any of that had happened, and go back to normal. He did his best to pretend that it didn't bother him anymore, for Dean's sake. There were things he'd purposely neglected to go into detail about, because Dean didn't need to know what had happened when he died.

Especially because Sam had a feeling it would happen again if they couldn't prevent Dean from going to Hell.

There was a darkness inside of him. Up until now, Sam had done his best to ignore it and pretend it didn't exist. He knew the yellow-eyed demon had ensnared him in his plans from birth, but he'd been determined not to let that hold him back. He'd been certain that he couldn't be swayed by a mere demon, that his good intentions would protect him.

But now...how could he deny it any longer? He'd seen what he'd become if Dean died. Even though he often complained that Dean was a bad influence on him, he realized now that his brother was the only thing holding him back from the edge. Without Dean...he was a monster.

With a shudder, Sam pulled his covers up to his chin. This ugly beast had been hiding inside him all along; it was a wonder no one else had noticed it yet. Oh, maybe he wasn't as bad as a demon. Maybe he wasn't as evil as some of the beings they'd come across so far. But all there was inside of him was a festering mass of anger and a thirst for revenge. Wasn't that why he'd gotten back into hunting in the first place? He'd wanted revenge on the monster who had taken away the two women he'd loved most in the world.

It would be no different when he lost Dean. He'd seen it with his own eyes, done the deed with his own hands. Without someone constantly reminding him who he was, he let that monster take over everything. It emptied him of everything that kept him human, leaving only a cold, hard anger behind.

He could still feel the crunch of the stake in his hands smashing through bone and tissue as he stabbed the Trickster in the heart. The sudden flash of confusion and doubt as he wondered if he'd been wrong and that was Bobby after all. Even though it had all been set up by the Trickster from the start, Bobby had been right. Something essential in him had withered away, making him willing to sacrifice an innocent life just to get revenge.

It was hard to breathe. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to contain himself. But what was the point? He already knew how weak he was—how pathetically incapable of doing the right thing. He was no better than any of the creatures they hunted down on a regular basis. What right did he have to talk and laugh with someone like Dean? How could he even look into his eyes anymore?

Tears dripped onto the pillow, and he muffled his nose and mouth in the blankets as he took a shuddering breath. As ever, he was just a pathetic kid trying to wear his big brother's clothes and prove that he was a man. He couldn't do it anymore. Not on his own. He wasn't strong enough. He reached for the top of that brick wall and jumped as high as he could, but his fingers just scraped the side, nowhere close to the top.

He was alone in the darkness, his only companion his own wretched soul.

Dean sighed, leaning over the sink and staring glumly at his reflection in the cramped mirror. What was he going to do?

He ran a hand over his face, wishing his reflection had an answer for him, but it looked just as helpless as he felt. Finally, he pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezed his eyes shut, and shoved his mask back in place. Flicking off the bathroom light, he stepped back into the motel room.

Sam was already in bed, lying still and silent on his side. Dean walked over to his own bed, pretending nothing was on his mind other than where they were going to eat breakfast tomorrow. He slid under the covers and said into the darkness, "Night, Sammy."

"Good night," Sam muttered, and all was silent.

Dean sighed and let his breathing even out, staring up at the darkened ceiling. He was used to worrying about Sam; it was down in the job description of being an older brother. Besides, Sam required a lot of worrying; he seemed to alternate between doing something reckless and reeling back from the consequences. If he wasn't there to keep Sam in check, who knew what he would do to himself?

But the more time passed, the more Dean realized that he couldn't actually do anything after all. Sam had given him the basic overview of what had happened in the town with the mystery spot they'd been investigating, but the facts weren't enough to really understand what it had been like for him. What had it done to him to watch Dean die a hundred times over, and be unable to stop it no matter what he did?

More importantly, what would it do to him when Dean's time ran out for real?

As if on cue, a soft, muffled sound broke the silence of the room. Dean closed his eyes. Ever since that Tuesday, he'd been forced to lie in silence every night, listening to Sam cry himself to sleep. Normally, he would tease Sam within an inch of his life, telling him to man up because he was a hunter, for crying out loud.

But...somehow, Dean didn't have the heart for it.

Softly, Dean turned his head to look at Sam. The bedside table blocked him mostly from view, but Dean could see the lump that was his shoulder silhouetted against the window. The bratty little boy who was now taller and broader—and, okay, maybe just a little stronger and faster—than he was. Sammy, who tried so hard to be strong, who had been forced to endure so much. His baby brother, who would soon be completely alone.

Always before, Dean had pretended not to notice Sam's tears. He could preserve Sam's pride enough for that. But it had gone on too long. He was pretty sure it was also in the job description for a big brother to beat up anyone who was hurting his little brother. Even if that person was Sam himself.

Dean threw his covers off and stood up. Sam immediately fell still and silent, obviously trying to pretend he was asleep. Dean stood by the side of his bed, looking down at Sam curled up under the covers. For a moment, he considered just going to the bathroom and continuing to pretend. How could he hope to help when he didn't even understand what was going on in that thick skull?

But Dean sat down on the edge of Sam's bed and let out a long, slow sigh. He could feel Sam grow tense next to him, lying stiff and quiet on his side.

Sam had always been the sensitive one, getting emotional and opening himself up to greater pain. Maybe it was something inherent in his personality, or maybe it was something about being a younger brother. Maybe he'd just never learned how to make his mask as tight as Dean had. He liked to tease Sam about this, and a lot of things that Sam insisted on doing made him roll his eyes. But maybe it was just a sign that he wasn't as screwed up as his big brother.

Awkwardly, Dean rested a hand on Sam's shoulder. If he was as emotional as Sam, he would probably hug him and rock him back and forth and start crying too, but there were limits to everything.

Sam's shoulder suddenly shook under his hand as he tried to breathe and let out a choked sob instead. Dean gripped harder, staring at his other hand in his lap. There was nothing he could say or do to solve the core of this problem. He wouldn't always be there for Sam, even if they somehow managed to keep him from going to Hell. Eventually, he would have to abandon him. He couldn't hoist Sam up from the cliff he was clinging to, but maybe...just for now...he could grab his hand and keep him from falling.

Suddenly, he was reminded of a memory he hardly ever thought about anymore. It was so long ago, back when Sam was five years old and they were traveling around with their father. Often, their father would leave them for days at a time, locking them in their motel room and leaving Dean to take care of his brother.

And Sam, who had always been a crybaby, cried himself to sleep when their father was gone, keeping Dean awake too.

"Would you shut up, Sam? I'm trying to go to sleep!"

"But Deeeeean, I can't sleep! Where's Daddy? When are we going home?"

"We're not going home anymore. And I've told you a billion times, I don't know where Dad is, okay? Now go to sleep."

"I'm too scared to sleep. What if Daddy never comes back? What if he just leaves us here?"

"Don't be stupid. He's not going to leave us. He's trying to protect us."

"Protect us from what?"

"The bad guys. Can I sleep now?"

"Sing me a lullaby first."

"What?! I'm not singing you any stupid lullaby!"

"But Deeeeeean..."

"Okay, okay, fine! Just close your eyes and let's get this over with."

He had sung songs he barely remembered—songs a warm, gentle voice had murmured in his ear, soothing away his tears. And even though he couldn't remember all the words and wasn't very good with the tune, Sam had soon drifted off to sleep.

Dean smirked to himself. Sam was always a hassle to take care of, but maybe that was something every little brother was required to do. Humming tunelessly under his breath, Dean waited. Sam's shoulder shuddered a few more times, but gradually his breathing evened out.

The aimless humming slowly found its way to an actual tune, and Dean sang quietly, "It was the heat of the moment..."

Sam let out a wet snort into his sheets. "You suck."

Locking his hands behind his head, Dean leaned back comfortably against the headboard. "That's what big brothers are for, Sammy."

I need you to believe me; can you trust me
That what you see is not what I see?
The reflection in the mirror's telling lies
'Cause nothing you have done could change how much I love you

- "Invisible" by Disciple