A/N: Sorry about the delay. I know it won't make up for it but here's a slightly longer chapter.

Please no pitchforks? :-)

Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. Also, Big Brother!Dean would be out in full force. He's not; therefore, Supernatural does not belong to me.

AU after episode 7x04


You'd think he'd be used to stuff like this by now. He saw bizarre and disturbing things everyday. You'd think he'd be so desensitized that nothing would be able to faze him.

And yet, here he was, standing stock-still while he forgot how to breathe.

It was him. And him was staring right at… well… him… And yes, it took Dean's brain took several moments to work through that and then several more to work out how he could be over there when he was very much right here.

But any confusion, any emotion that wasn't directly related to his hunter/protect-Sam mode, vaporized when Sam whirled around, gaze darting back and forth between the two Deans. Because confusion wasn't something they had time for. Not when there was a thing wearing his face and standing right there, much too close but at the same time, too far away. Too far away for him to do anything other than stare.

"Sam…" Dean started, but Sam's gaze kept flipping between them, clearly still trying to wrap his head around this development. And Dean couldn't really blame him. If he were Sam, he'd probably be even more confused than he already was. Because Sam didn't have the benefit of knowing that that Dean was not actually Dean. And the real Dean had no idea - until he managed to stick a silver knife in the bastard - how to prove it to him. The major difficulty with that plan was that to be able to stick said-silver knife in said-bastard, he'd have to get near enough to said-bastard to do so. And that was a bit of an issue because Sam was standing right between them. "That's not me."

Sam turned to look at him fully, forehead wrinkled. "Dean...!?" The look in his eyes was hopeful and shocked, yet so broken. And Dean wondered how long he had looked like that. It wasn't new; he could see that. Sam had been broken for a while but did he break before, during, or after Hell? If Dean thought back, analyzed all of their interactions, he could probably pinpoint the instant that look appeared in his brother's face. He just wasn't sure he wanted to.

Other Dean smirked and real Dean had enough. He lunged for his duffel, hoping to god that there was an easy to find silver knife in there. Though, that assumed that this thing could be hurt by silver. If it was a shifter, it would be. But if it wasn't a shifter, if it was something else entirely, silver wouldn't hurt it and they'd be screwed. Especially if it turned out to be a leviathan.

But then the thing laughed. It laughed and Dean froze because he recognized that laugh. Well, obviously he recognized the laugh because technically it was his. But then again, it wasn't his. There was a note to it, an emotion, something that he recognized, something that shouldn't have been in his voice. It wasn't a cold laugh. It was actually the exact opposite yet somehow, it still managed to work a chill down Dean's spine that none of the ghosts, werewolves, or wendigos he fought ever had. "C'mon, Sammy," the Dean-imposter chided. "I'm bored. Entertain me." And then he disappeared. Out of thin air. He disappeared out of thin air. Shifters couldn't do that and from what Dean could tell, leviathans couldn't either. Which meant he had absolutely no idea what it was. He also had no idea where the damn thing went.

And then Sam collapsed and everything went to Hell. And not hell in the metaphorical sense. No. That would be way too easy.

Dean was by his brother's side instantly, watching in horror as a deep slash appeared across Sam's stomach. And Dean was trained for stuff like this. He wasn't supposed to freeze, not after everything he'd been through. But Sam whimpering his name over and over again because he couldn't find enough air to scream and that's what Dean did. He froze for longer than his brother had and when he finally managed to tear himself from his terror-induced stupor, Sam had curled onto his side, arm wrapped around his stomach. "What the hell is happening!?" he finally demanded because Kathleen knew what was happening. Dean knew she did. This was why she brought them there in the first place.

"I-" She didn't finish whatever she was thinking, just dropped to her knees next to Sam. Dean wanted to tell her to hurry the hell up! Because he had just watched his brother die. He had just watched Sam's breathing stop in a dark and dirty alleyway. He wasn't doing it again. "Take my hand!" the woman ordered and Dean instantly did as she said, unwilling to argue, unwilling to question when Sam's life was on the line and she was the only one who had any idea at all what was going on. "Don't let go of your brother." Dean nodded, tightening his hand on Sam's shoulder. He wanted to tell her that he had no intention of letting go. He had never had any intention of letting go. But Kathleen bunched her hand in Sam's shirt and Dean remained silent.

He watched, every muscle tensed as he waited for her to do something. What that something was, he had absolutely no idea. And honestly? he didn't care as long as it made the holes that were appearing all over Sam's body go away. Blood was spreading across his brother's chest, seeping out onto the floor and Dean was pretty sure he was kneeling in it, feeling it soak his jeans. The hand gripping his own suddenly increased in strength, squeezing his fingers to the point where he was pretty sure they were about to break. He didn't make her let go though because this was Sam. And letting go was not an option.

And then the pain shot through his head. It was white hot, like someone was slicing his brain apart with a dull knife. A very dull knife. A very dull knife that had recently visited the fire. He heard himself cry out, white spots dancing in his vision. He felt the instinctive desire to grip his head, to hold it together himself. He heard himself sob but only vaguely. He didn't feel himself do it; didn't give himself permission to do it. But he heard it all the same, just a faint echo above the ringing in his ears.

He breathed deeply through his nose, pain dulling to an ache, something he was incredibly grateful for. But then of course, the second this thought crossed his mind, the pain shot through him again, twice as bad. And it wasn't any more fun the second time than it was the first.

And then he felt something snap in his brain. Something snapped in his brain and his vision went completely white.


When he came back to himself, he was crouched over with the top of his head resting on Sam's chest. He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead because - goddamnit - something had snapped in his head. Your brain was not supposed to snap. All those wires were there for a reason! As far as he knew, they were all important and he had just lost one. Twitching his fingers, he noted he could move them which he supposed was a relief. He could still see which was another relief. It was probably his smell or – god forbid – his sense of taste. Something had to be wrong because you didn't just get nothing when something snapped in your brain.

"Dean?" Kathleen asked, hand gentle on his back. "You okay?" He lifted his head and glared at her because she had snapped his brain! And goddamnit, no he was not okay! There was no aspect of this situation could be deemed "okay," even by the most naive, optimistic of saps. She recoiled from his gaze which would have been vaguely satisfying if she didn't look so concerned. And slightly annoyed. "Damnit!" she growled. "I should have expected this... Though not expecting the expected does leave life open for surprises!" She smiled but it fell away when Dean didn't return it.

He felt like there was a hole in his chest to match the one in his brain. There was something missing, something important. And he wanted it back. He didn't even know what it was. He just knew it needed to come back right now because… well… he wasn't him without it. And he liked being him. Dean Winchester was awesome, thank you very much, and he'd like to remain that way. But he couldn't if it didn't come back.

"What the hell just happened!?" Dean demanded, sitting up and gazing down at his brother's still face. That was when he started to panic. Sam wasn't moving. Sam was supposed to be moving. Sam didn't not move. He couldn't be dead, couldn't—

"Don't worry!" Kathleen interrupted his thoughts, apparently reading them at the same time. "He'll come around here soon. Give him a minute…" She sighed, glancing around the room. "I need to talk to both you and your brother at the same time because you're far deeper in this than I thought. Good for you. Means you can help. Though, you should have already. No, you couldn't've because you've upset him. Weakened it. Yes. Yes." Dean scrubbed his hand down his face, tuning out the crazy babbling. Incoherent people bothered him. They were expelling the energy it took to speak anyway. Why couldn't they do something useful with it?

It wasn't long before Sam sat up with a gasp, drawing in a deep lungful of air.

"Heya, Sammy," Dean sighed in both relief and exhaustion, grabbing his brother's shoulders to ground him. "You have something you'd like to share with the class?" As Sam took in his surroundings and as his gaze landed on Dean, Dean saw the confusion in his eyes shift to something else. And that something else was completely freaked. Not just freaked. No, completely and totally, one-hundred percent, I'm-a-deer-standing-in-Impala-headlights freaked. Sam's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, glancing over at Kathleen. And Dean realized then that it wasn't what had just happened that had put that look on his face. Sure, that was probably part of it because really? who wouldn't be terrified by what had just happened? But the way he wouldn't look at Dean said it was that and a whole lot more.

"Let's talk! Yes!" Kathleen stood, offering her hand to Sam who hesitantly took it, allowing himself to be dragged from the room. Dean followed after, practically stepping on his brother's heels because he wasn't getting left out of this conversation. Both Sam and Kathleen knew something about what had just happened. And Dean was going to find out what said-somethings were because this was spiraling out of Dean's control. And Dean liked it when things were in his control.


His brother's uncomfortable shifting and Kathleen's awkward prompting were driving Dean insane. The psychic kept trying to pawn off starting the conversation on Sam and said-Sam was a master at not doing things he didn't want to. So this wasn't getting anyone anywhere.

"Someone just tell me what the hell is going on here!" he ordered, glaring particularly hard at Sam who didn't meet his gaze, just stared pointedly down at the coffee table like he could incinerate it with his brain. And yes, Dean knew there were more elegant ways to get someone to talk but that had always been Sam's job. Dean had always been a straightforward, shoot from the hip kind of person. Sam was the one with the clever manipulation. And yes, Dean did consider using the friggin' puppy dog eyes manipulation. It was the epitome of manipulation.

Sighing, he sunk back in the armchair and half-wondered, if he glared hard enough, if he really could bore a hole into the top of Sam's skull and see what he was thinking. Though that thought was quickly disregarded because that would mean there was a hole in Sam's skull and that couldn't be good for his health.

"It started right after… right after I left," Sam started, brushing his hair out of his face. "I was… in that car and… I saw Lucifer." Dean froze, trying to keep the incredulous choking sound in his head and away from his vocal chords. Of all the things he had been expecting - of all the things he hadn't been expecting - that wasn't even on the list. Because really, what did PTSD from Hell have to do with any of this?

"Lucifer? Like hallucination-Lucifer?" And he felt irrationally angry. Yes, he knew it was stupid and pointless because if he had learned one thing, it was that getting pissed at angels didn't help anybody. But he couldn't help it. Why couldn't Sam, even with Lucifer locked away deep in Hell, ever get a break? This was supposed to be over. Lucifer was supposed to be leaving him alone. But he wasn't. Even after the apocalypse, even after everything Sam had done, he was still being tortured everyday. Because the memories were that bad, Dean knew. "I thought we were done with that! You told me you were better! You told me you hadn't seen him in weeks!"

"I hadn't!" Sam defended, eyes meeting Dean's. It was only for a moment and Dean felt a strange sense of loss when he looked away. "But um… he was there… and I had thought I was done with it too…"

Sam was cold. And it sucked. Really sucked. Epically sucked. The car he had stolen naturally, in true Sam Winchester fashion, had a broken heater. And it was cold at night when you had to sleep in said-car with no heater because it was more likely for your brother to hunt you down if you checked into a motel. Dean knew all of his aliases, even ones that Sam himself didn't know he was going to use. If Dean called around, he would find him almost instantly. No, it would be less likely for Dean to find him if he stayed in the car.

That wasn't the point though. The point was that Sam was currently miserable. More than miserable.

It sucked.

He had been feeling good too. He hadn't seen Lucifer in weeks. He thought his and Dean's relationship was getting back on track and he supposed that was what made this situation a gazillion times worse. He should have known. Sam Winchester didn't get to feel good; Sam Winchester was only supposed to be a miserable angst-ridden mess for his entire life. Well, his miserable angst-ridden self was back in full force so he hoped the universe was friggin' satisfied.

He was curled up in the front seat, knife clutched under his head, car pulled off of some abandoned highway in the middle of nowhere. It might as well have been negative ten degrees out, his jacket was pathetic, and it all sucked.

"Hurts, don't it?" The voice came from the back seat and Sam nearly impaled himself.

"Jesus—" he growled, dropping the knife in exchange for driving his thumb into the palm of his hand.

"I warned you about him, but did you listen? Nope. Of course you didn't." Lucifer smirked, dropping a notebook he had apparently found stashed in the back of the car. Or stashed in the back of Sam's brain. Or wherever it was that hallucinations found things. "Isn't this fun?" he asked. "Do you remember the things we used to do with Dean? In the cage?" Sam swallowed, pressing down harder because he didn't want to remember. He didn't want to know. More than anything, he didn't want to know what Lucifer had done to Dean. "Maybe you don't… I'll just recap for you then, shall I?"

Sam turned his hand, driving his almost nonexistent nail into the scar instead. His teeth were clenched so tight he was pretty sure his jaw was going to be locked like that forever.

"See, we would create our own Dean, let him pull you off the rack and then we'd let you watch him die. Over and over and over…"

"Shut up," Sam growled, glancing down at his palm. He was pretty sure a bruise was forming but Lucifer was still there. He needed to go. Right now. Sam couldn't deal with this. Not anymore. Maybe not ever…

"And then sometimes," Lucifer chuckled, "we'd let him do the torturing. Let out all of his hostility towards you. You remember that, don't you?" Sam flinched, the memories pouring through his brain. He remembered all of that, remembered with a sense of clarity that sent a tremor through his body. He remembered exactly how he felt, the relief when he first saw his brother. And then there was the betrayal and sick sense of resignation whenever they had Dean stick the knife in him. The understanding. And the things Hell-Dean would say… He'd believe them too, especially the longer he was there.

In the early days, he would immediately know that it wasn't Dean. It was simple: he was in Hell, Dean wasn't. Basic logic. But after fifty years or so, he was so desperate to believe in something that believing Dean had come for him, even for just a few moments, gave him a small, admittedly pathetic amount of comfort. That was until "Dean" dug a knife into his side or was torn apart. So yeah, it started taking him longer and longer to remember that it wasn't really Dean. And after about a hundred years, he never remembered, not even when his "big brother" started carving him up. By the end, he had forgotten anyone in and everything about his life, even his name. Except for Dean. He never forgot Dean and he really had to wonder if that was part of their game.

"Do you remember when we'd string Dean up on the rack? Make you listen to him scream?"

"Shut up!" Sam growled, hand protesting as his bones ground together. Lucifer remained wholly unaffected, getting more and more amusement out of Sam's distress.

"Unfortunately, I'm going to have to give Michael the credit he deserves for that one. Really ingenious, if I do say so myself. It was always the best, wasn't it? When we got you begging for us to torture you instead? And of course we always complied - after a while... I mean, we're fair angels, aren't we?"

"I said shut up!" Sam grabbed the knife off of the bench seat where he'd dropped it and sliced it across his palm, blood instantly pooling inside the wound. It hurt because he hadn't measured it right and had cut too deep. But car went silent so the pain was well worth it. He felt strangely detached as he watched the blood run in between his fingers, dripping off them and onto the upholstery. But it was quiet and that was all that mattered. It was quiet and it was all fine. It was—

"Doesn't seem to work anymore, does it?" Sam jumped again when the voice came back, this time coming from the shotgun seat. Lucifer was sitting there, watching him carefully. "Go ahead and become a poster boy for self-harm campaigns if you want but it's not gonna get rid of me. Not anymore. Let's talk about Dean, shall we?" he said, linking his fingers together and settling more firmly in the seat.

"Why are you here?" Sam asked, voice nowhere near as strong as it sounded in his head.

"Lied to you, did he?"

"I'm not in the cage anymore. I know that. You aren't real," Sam said, pulling his knees up into his chest. Apparently, Lucifer thought his was funny because he chuckled to himself, pulling the knife from Sam's hands.

"No, we've established you're not in the cage," he said, picking at his fingernails with the blade. "But - little Sammy… where am I?"

Sam paused, chewing on his bottom lip. The blood was still dripping in between his fingers and he vaguely wondered whether or not he should bother wrapping it. "What're you talking about?"

Lucifer just smiled at him, leaning back in the seat. "Ah Sammy, we are going to have such a good time…"

"And then I was back in the cage," Sam whispered and Dean had no idea what he was supposed to think, let alone say. "And Lucifer was there. And Michael was there. And I was back. I woke up back in the car a couple hours later to find the thing covered in blood. I thought… Well, I thought I was hallucinating it all." Dean knew he should craft a response. He should say something, anything at all. But he couldn't because his brain had kind of shorted out.

"But then it happened again. And again," Sam continued, swallowing thickly. "And every time I would wake up and blood would be everywhere. I'd have angel banishing sigils drawn into everything around me because… I don't know… It was stupid but I got desperate. They didn't work. They should've," he growled, pushing his hand through his hair. "But yeah, um… I guess I'd die... in the cage and you remember… you just come back, perfectly healed, ready for them to go again…" Sam's words drifted off, falling quiet.

Dean scrubbed his hand down his face, feeling that deep resounding ache start back up in his chest because Sam was never supposed to know. Sam was never supposed to know what Hell was like, was especially never supposed to know what Lucifer's Cage was like. If there was anything in this world that Dean wished he could have protected his brother from, it was that. But he didn't and now he wished he could protect him from the memories. Because sometimes, they were worse.

That was when Dean noticed that Sam had spaced out, eyes going unfocused. "Sam!" he called, snapping his fingers in front of his brother's face because Sam was remembering, was seeing it in his head. And if pulling him out of his thoughts was all Dean could do to protect him, then… it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. But it was something and he'd have to live with that. Because he hadn't been able to stop it in the first place. He hadn't kept Sam from going to Hell, hadn't been the one to bring him back, hadn't stopped the wall from being torn down. And now he was going to have to live with the knowledge that he couldn't do anything more than keep Sam from retreating into his memories.

Sam jumped, shaking himself. "But uh… Yeah… Apparently whatever happened to me there, in my head, happened here as well. So yeah… I'd bleed here. And die. And then come back to life completely healed." Dean glanced over at Kathleen who was nodding, muttering something to herself. Everything made sense in a way that didn't make sense at all. Sam's story fit with what Dean knew, the bleeding, the sigils, the dying. But the rest of it - the why and how - didn't make any sense.

Kathleen glanced up when she felt Dean's heavy gaze on her. "It's a psychic connection," she told them. "He's… connected to Lucifer."

Those were four words you never wanted to hear in reference to your baby brother.

The room had become oppressively silent and Dean felt like he was suffocating. "What?" he choked, feeling like the entire world was spiraling away from him. It probably was. How good would your oxygen intake be as you free-fell through space because your planet decided to drop you? He glanced over at Sam who was staring at Kathleen, resignation coloring his face. And that was just wrong on so many levels.

"Sam has somehow welcomed the devil into his mind and it appears Lucifer is using the connection to the full extent of its ability. Most bonds can't produce physical affects but this one can so—"

"It's 'cuz I said yes," Sam interrupted suddenly, staring at the coffee table. "I said yes and let him into my head and he never left. He's still in there, isn't he? We managed to put him behind a wall when I first came back but the wall's gone and he's in my head." And the pieces all clicked into place. Lucifer had come back with Sam's soul and he was in there, running torture on Sam even though Sam was out. Sam was out and it was all supposed to be over. PTSD? Dean could work on that. It would get better. A psychic bond to Lucifer? What the hell were you supposed to do with that!?

It was quiet for another moment before Kathleen whispered, "Yes. It seems… that this bond is so powerful that he can pull your consciousness into the cage with him. He can only do it temporarily though because to do so permanently he'd need your consent," she added quickly, noting Dean's darkening gaze.

"So Sam's being dragged into Hell every time he closes his eyes!?" Dean demanded, feeling relatively sick. The churning in his gut was enough to put him off eating for the rest of his life.

And nobody was looking him in the face which wasn't really making him feel any better.

"Yes," Sam whispered, biting at his lip and Dean squeezed his eyes shut, dropping his head. It wasn't in defeat, more in apology. They couldn't run from this. That was the most important thing Dean had figured out. He couldn't drag Sam off to a cabin in the middle of nowhere and shield him from the world. He couldn't lock him in a room, line all the openings with rock-salt and devil's traps to protect him. It wouldn't work because the threat was latched on to Sam, locked on him. And nothing Dean did could protect him from that.

"There's more…" Dean's head snapped towards Kathleen at the same time Sam's did, taking in her rapidly paling complexion. "I just thought about it now but… it's only logical that if Lucifer can drag Sam into Hell through this bond… then Sam can drag Lucifer out."


A/N 2: I shall be returning to a regular posting schedule now. :-)

Happy 2012!