Author's Note: Hands up everyone who thought I was going to let this one go. ;-)

I always was planning to tag this, but I've been busy, so I didn't get around to writing the tag until a couple of days ago. Thanks to Cheryl for doing a super-fast review and helping make sure I had the full set for the first half of the season.

I hope you guys enjoy this. I don't think I'll be putting anything else on this series until after the hiatus, so Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! (And if you're reading In Libris Libertas, don't panic – I will be updating that regularly.)

Thanks to my wonderful reviewers: Katy M VT, CeCe Away, nupinoop296, jafreckleslover, sammynanci, cookjar, SPN Mum, judyann, BerrySPNFMA, doyleshuny, criminally charmed, scootersmom, Eavis, Lamarquise, stelladelnordxd, Likaella, SandyDee84, ThePinkyPop, Scribble2Much, twomoms, Twinchester Angel and BranchSuper.

Summary: Waiting in the hospital, Sam's having a much harder time fending Lucifer off.


Different and the Same

It was that tone from the heart monitor that did it.

It brought on the memories like a flood. 10:41. Lucifer. Lucifer making me relive 10:41 over and over, telling me that if I'd made the deal with Azazel before Dad could, Dean might never have gone to Hell and the Apocalypse might never have happened. Lucifer looking at me through Dean's eyes and teasing me with Dean's voice and methodically snapping my bones with the same hands that I was used to feeling in my hair when I was sick.

Dean was across the room. He hadn't said anything, but I knew he was close to breaking. He needed Bobby as a father-figure even more than I did. I had Dean.

I slipped away from the waiting room. I felt Dean's eyes on me as I went, but he didn't try to stop me. Maybe he thought I was just going to the bathroom or to the vending machine down the hall. Maybe he didn't care where I was going.

I wasn't alone, though. Lucifer was with me.

"You see?" he gloated, keeping pace with me as I walked down the hall. "Bobby Singer, too. I'm impressed, Sam. Even I haven't caused as much devastation in my family as you have."

"Shut up."

"Fighting words. But you have to admit, Sam, your track record is… unique."

I opened the nearest door, because I really needed to get away from this. It was marked Personnel Only, but when has something like that ever stopped me?

I found myself in a supply room. There was a man there – the dude was tiny, even shorter than Dean. (Well, if you didn't want to be the standard for short, you should've eaten your spinach, Dean!) He – the dude, not Dean – frowned at me.

"You shouldn't be in here."

I know there was an appropriate response to that – I'm sorry would have been good, or I was looking for the men's room. But my brain right then my brain was Swiss cheese, and all that stuff I'd told Dean about knowing my way around the hallucinations was turning into a lie because I could hear Lucifer and I could feel his words seeping into my soul.

"I need a scalpel."

Because digging my thumb into my now perfectly healthy hand wasn't working anymore. Because I needed to take care of this myself instead of bothering Dean with it. Because there was only one thing I could think of to stop the hallucinations even temporarily – well, there was another thing, but I didn't think asking Dean to repeat the Stone Number One speech would go down very well right then.

"Why?" the guy asked suspiciously.

I still had it together enough to know that saying To cut my hand so I don't hallucinate Lucifer would probably get me a bed in the psych ward.

Unfortunately, I didn't have it together enough to come up with a reasonable explanation.

Lucifer laughed. "You see? He already knows you're crazy. If I'd known it would work this well, I'd have done this to you long ago, Sammy. It's so much more interesting than watching you writhe and beg when Dean is tying you down to the rack for me."

I'm not quite sure what happened next. I probably just grabbed a scalpel and dug it into my hand. I remember that there was sudden, sharp pain, followed by the welcome absence of Lucifer. Someone was freaking out, making a lot of noise and then there were a lot of people freaking out and making even more noise. Then it all goes fuzzy – not bad memory fuzzy, but morphine-in-the-IV fuzzy – for a while.

The next thing I knew, I was blinking up at Dean.

Dean looked scared.

"Sammy?" he asked as soon as he saw my eyes were open. "Oh, thank God. They said you were going to be fine, and they had you in surgery before you lost too much blood, but… Are you OK?"

I tried to say Dean's name, but all that came out was an embarrassing whimper. Dean squeezed my shoulder.

"It's OK. Don't try to talk." I tried to reach for Dean, but something held me back. Dean shook his head. "They have you on suicide watch – hey. Hey. Calm down, Sammy. It's OK. I know you weren't trying to kill yourself. I'll bust you out just as soon as we know about Bobby."

Oh God.

Bobby.

I felt a horrible welling-up of guilt. I'd screwed up, and dragged Dean away from Bobby when he probably really needed –

"Hey," Dean said sharply. "No. It's OK, Sammy. They're not telling us anything about Bobby right now anyway. A nurse will come here as soon as they know something, and then we'll get you a wheelchair and we'll both go visit him, OK?"

"Dean," I said, getting the word out this time. Dean grinned at me.

"See? You sound better already."

"Sorry."

"You should be." Dean's voice hardened a little. "You know how I felt when they came and told me they'd sedated you and put you on suicide watch? And we were lucky that one of the attendants remembered seeing us together." I felt warm, reassuring fingers close around my wrist. "I know why you did it, and I'm not mad you did, but you should've told me you were having trouble, Sammy. I would've helped you deal with it."

"Too much," I mumbled.

"Too much? Too much what? Too much to expect you to tell me?"

I shook my head. Trust Dean to get it ass-backwards every time. Big brothers are so stupid.

"You… too much." I took a deep breath. "Too much to deal with."

"Oh." Dean's voice had hardened a lot more. "I have too much to deal with, so you decided that I didn't need to know you were having problems. Is that it?"

I swallowed. Yes was obviously the wrong answer.

"Sam?" Dean said. "Is that it? And don't lie to me."

"Kind of," I said as softly as I could.

All the anger vanished from Dean's face. He just looked distressed, and that made me feel even worse. I could deal with Dean angry, but Dean like this – quiet and miserable – was just too much.

"Dean, please –"

"Shhh," Dean interrupted. "Don't get upset, Sam. If one of your monitors starts beeping they'll throw me out." I felt a warm hand on my ribs. "I guess it's kind of my fault, too. I should've been watching."

"Dean –"

"But that's going to change," Dean interrupted again. He clearly didn't intend to let me get even one sentence out. "I'll stop feeling guilty about stuff that happens to you if you promise to tell me when something's wrong."

I felt a little disorientated. Had the world inverted itself while I wasn't looking? Dean was asking to talk?

"I've had some time," Dean said, correctly interpreting my silence. "You've been out of it, and I've been sitting here, and I had some time to think. I don't… I don't know what's going to happen to Bobby, Sam. I hope he'll be OK. I don't know. And if he dies, it'll be horrible, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to be there for you." I stared. Dean gave me a tiny smile. "Hey," he said lightly. "We got through it when Dad died."

As though that last sentence was some kind of catalyst, I felt the tears welling up.

"Hey, no!" Dean said quickly. "I didn't mean to – come on, Sammy, don't." I couldn't stop the sobs. I heard people hurrying into the room and voices, and I just knew they were going to make Dean leave.

I grabbed his sleeve.

I saw the doctor getting ready to give me a shot of morphine. I looked pleadingly at Dean. There was a lot of yelling, and I couldn't breathe, and then the soft restraints on my wrists were being loosened and I was being pulled upright.

"Just settle down," Dean said. "Settle down and they won't give you the morphine."

He pulled my hand off his sleeve and pushed my head down onto his chest.

"Dean –"

"Yeah. Right here. Shut up."

The combination of Dean's heartbeat and Dean's breathing and Dean's voice soon had me relaxing. After a few more minutes and a flashlight in my eyes, the hospital staff left.

"OK, kiddo?" Dean asked, sitting on the bed without letting me go.

"Sorry."

"Talk to me, Sam."

"Couldn't get rid of him."

"Lucifer?"

"Yeah… And you… You need Bobby. More." I ducked my head, because I couldn't look Dean in the eye and say this. "I have you."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "you do have me, and you always will. But I know you care about Bobby, and I've got you, too. I've probably got you more than you have me, because you're a girl and you like to talk. So why would you think I need Bobby more?" I shook my head, because if Dean didn't know, how was I supposed to explain it? "Sam?"

"I love Bobby," I said finally, still not looking up. "I do. But you don't have anyone else to… you know… You always take care of me."

Dean sighed. "Sam, you're an idiot."

"You're a jerk."

"You're a bitch." He drew back and pushed my head up, forcing me to look at him. "Seriously, Sammy, that's what you think? That having an awesome big brother means you don't get to be as upset about Bobby?"

"I don't –"

"Because that's the dumbest thing I've heard in my life. Sure you've got an awesome big brother – not arguing with that – but I've got something you haven't got. I have a little brother who thinks I'm awesome."

"I don't think you're awesome," I murmured half-heartedly.

"Sure you don't." Dean rolled his eyes. "Promise me you'll tell me when you need help, Sammy."

"Yeah."

"You promise?" Dean repeated inexorably.

I couldn't help smiling at him. "Yes, Dean. I promise."


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