Beneath the earth it is cold and he is a prisoner within his own skin.

He knows how much Lucifer hates him; he can feel him fighting inside his head. It is pointless, painful and he clamps him down, hands against his own chest, a blockage in his throat, aching.

He doesn't know if it is hell; how can he know what hell is? He knows from what little Dean told him but there is no torturing here, no hanging from the rack, just cloying darkness and a war inside his skull that he can only hope to win.

When he emerges from the ground he cannot quite believe it; he has no idea how much time has passed, how many years, how many decades maybe. He stands, unsteady, on the mossy grass and he stares, eyes unaccustomed to the light. Lucifer is gone; it is the one thing he is certain of and he runs a hand over his empty head and laughs.

His brother looks tired; he wanted to see domesticated, he wanted to see happy, he wanted to see content but he just sees misery. Dean is on his knees showing Ben how to fix his bike. Ben smiles blissfully but Dean's smile is false. Sam watches for the longest time; watches until the streetlamp comes on over his head, watches until it bursts and showers glass on his unholy head.

Then he turns away and walks.

He doesn't sleep because he can't handle the dreams. He doesn't eat because he isn't hungry. His hair grows long, his beard covers his face and he is on edge, dangerous, a shoot first ask questions later hunter. No one would recognise him as Sam Winchester, no one who knew him before anyhow. He lurks outside Bobby's house for the longest of times and then he decides against it. He doesn't deserve friendship and he figures he can manage on his own.

Except he can't; he is so lonely that he aches with it. He misses his brother; he misses him so much it is as if someone has cut off his arm. He figures out that it is over a year since he has spoken to Dean and that the last REAL time he saw his brother his beautiful face had been beaten to a pulp, beaten to a pulp at his own fucking hands…

So – he muses – this is hell; he is totally and utterly alone. There is no one in his motel room, no one next to him in his car and there is no one in his head. He never thought he would miss Lucifer but at least he had someone to talk to.

It is Christmas when he cracks. A pine smell in the air and lights twinkling on Lisa's tree. There are presents underneath it and tinsel glittering around it and a turkey in the oven. Sam remembers his last few Christmases with Dean and he feels tears hot on his lashes. He blinks them back, rubs a hand through his freshly cut hair and lifts his hands to knock the door.

He is going to get a fist in the face or a gut clenching hug or maybe – if he is lucky – both.

But he is going to get his brother back…