Tony sat on the floor, his back up against the wall outside Sam's bedroom door. His elbows propped on his bent knees, palms of his hands covering his eyes, and fingers gripping the front of his hair as he listened to Sam's screams...

This is how it had gone the past couple of nights. Dean stayed with Sam while he slept. It was the only way Sam could sleep; knowing Dean was there and that he was real. But the nightmares were so bad that it took a while to pull him back out. Tony had torn down the stairs the previous night at the sound of Sam's horror, as did Gibbs. They'd gone to the bedroom and had tried to help, but Dean was the only one who had any kind of handle on it. So all they could do was be nearby to offer assistance, if necessary.

That's what Tony was doing now. He'd been on the couch almost in a deep sleep when he was violently ripped from it by Sam's shrieking cry. He'd run to the room, going in just long enough to tell Dean he was there, then shut the door and sank to the floor. He listened to them both; Sam's terror, and Dean trying to bring him back. Dean had started out strong, but his voice sounded more and more broken as it went on.

"It's okay, Sammy. You're not there anymore; it's not real. You're safe now. You're home. I'm here with you, Sam, okay? I'm right here... Please, Sammy, come on. Wake up, little brother. You're safe...I promise. 'm not gonna let anything happen to you. 'm gonna keep you safe, okay? Not gonna let you go, ever again...Sam..." Dean recited over and over.

All while Sam struggled through the haze of nightmare that kept him locked away from reality. "No! No please don't... No more! Please...please...no more." His voice gradually got softer, as if he'd been slowly hoisted up out of a deep well, calming as he ascended; slowly returning to consciousness.

"That's it, Sammy. Come on," a little hope returned to Dean's voice. "Open your eyes and see where you are; home with me. At Gibbs' house, remember, Sammy?"

"De- Dean?" Sam weakly croaked out; voice hoarse from the screaming.

"Yeah, buddy, it's me," Dean replied, cradling Sam who was half in his lap, half in Dean's arms. Sam slowly pulled his eyes open and looked up at Dean. Relief seemed to morph onto Sam's face, and Dean gave him a small smile of his own similar feelings. He watched as Sam reached out to place a hand on Dean's chest, then pulled at Dean's shirt. This seemed to be a routine for Sam, now; a way to know he was really there with his brother. He held the material, then pressed closer to him, burrowing his head into it and breathing in; enough to smell him. Only then did Sam marginally relax; body shaking still from the earlier exertion. And Dean held onto him, stroking a hand through his hair until he was completely relaxed again, and drifting off to a more peaceful sleep. Dean didn't waste the chance at getting some more rest, himself.

In the hall, Tony pushed up off of the floor quietly, and started back toward the couch. He was slightly startled to find Gibbs there waiting for him. He was sitting on the edge of the cushion closest to the hall, elbows on his knees and his hands clamped together out in front of him. He looked up when he heard Tony enter the room.

"Boss? What are you doin' up?" Tony whispered. Gibbs raised a brow, as it should've been obvious. "Oh. Right," he nodded, making his way back to the couch. "I think he's got him back to sleep now," he informed him.

"You should go upstairs," Gibbs told him quietly. "There's ear plugs in the side-table drawer in the guest room. I'll stay down here the rest of the night."

"You need to sleep too, boss."

"I got some. I'll be fine," he replied, watching as Tony sat down beside him. "DiNozzo..."

"Not like I can go back to sleep right this minute, boss," Tony argued. "Not the way my heart's beating right now," he swiped a hand down his face. Gibbs narrowed his eyes, appraising his agent. Tony didn't usually openly admit to something effecting him in that way. The exhaustion must have won that fight. "Ya know," Tony continued, "They say that...the things that go on in Hell, you can't even imagine the horrors. Well," he let out a small laugh, "I listen to Sam's screaming and I can't help but to try and imagine what it was that happened to him. And it's downright horrifying. But I know that it's so much worse than what I'm picturing...and that scares the hell outta me." He shook his head, not even looking to Gibbs for a response. "How is he awake? How is he alive?" he turned to him this time briefly. "The things they've done their whole lives... To think that he's strong enough to get through these nights without completely shutting down... It's almost unfathomable to me."

"Yeah," Gibbs nodded, not looking away from Tony. "He's strong. The both of them are. But they're not indestructible. In fact, I'm sure if they had a choice in the matter, they'd have chosen a different life for themselves."

"A choice," Tony laughed again, shaking his head in disbelief. "That's another thing I just can't accept. It pisses me off, boss. It makes me so...angry; what they've had to go through. It's not fair to them. None of it. And it's like it never ends. They keep taking it, and they don't run away and hide. They just keep taking it..."

"Hey," Gibbs put a hand on his shoulder in attempt to ground him a bit from the small meltdown he seemed to be heading toward. He was momentarily struck silent when he felt the slight tremors under his hand.

"I couldn't do it," Tony said. "I couldn't do what he's doing in there. I wouldn't want to. It's bad enough he had to go through all that in the first place. But to relive it? After finally getting out of there? After having a sense of normalcy for just a little while, only to be thrown back into the fire? I couldn't. I'd...I'd rather..."

"Don't you say that," Gibbs managed to say sternly, though speaking low and quiet, and it forced Tony to meet his eyes. "He's in there fighting to stay whole; fighting not just for himself, but for everything. Maybe even just for Dean."

"God, Dean...what he's going through in his head right now in there; I can't even..."

"Exactly," Gibbs told him. "He's in there fighting right beside him like he's always done. Like they have always done. They're gonna get through this, just like they have everything else."

"But what if they can't get through this?" Tony asked. "What if this...is what breaks them?" he asked with moisture threatening to drip from his eye.

Gibbs took in a long breath. "Then they go down fighting," he replied. Tony's eyes darted back and forth between his. "And I expect the same from you," he narrowed his eyes. "Because you sure as hell wouldn't be fighting alone, either."

Tony looked at him long and hard, schooling his emotions by breathing deeply through his nose. And after a few long moments of silence between them, he spoke, "I love you, boss. You know that, right?"

Gibbs mouth curled up on one side.

"I'd do the same for you," Tony told him. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah, Tony, I know. I never doubted that for a second."

*~.~*

Castiel found Crowley holed up in a camper that he'd covered in sigils. The demon was sitting in front of a small television when Castiel appeared. He seemed not to notice his presence. So he made the tv shut off. "Hello, Crowley," Castiel said calmly. Crowley kind of froze, aside from the movement of his eyes in Castiel's direction. "You look stressed."

"Bullocks," the demons said. Then he found his ability to move, and pushed up out of the chair. "So, the jig is up. You found me."

"I never lost you," Castiel replied, looking around the small apartment. "These...scratches," he indicated to the sigils, "They're all useless."

"Still. Can't blame a girl for trying," he smiled. "Fancy a drink before you smite me?"

"No," Castiel had a ghost of a smile on his face.

"You like to bend 'em right over, do you? Let's go," he told him, spreading his arms out, turning his head and closing his eyes in preparation.

"I'm not going to kill you, Crowley," he responded. Crowley cracked open an eye to look at him. "I have plans for you."

He turned his head to face him. "Wha's 'at?"

"I want to reopen the door."

"To purgatory?"

"Yes."

"You'll have to wait for an eclipse," Crowley shook his head and turned toward his drink.

"I cannot wait that long."

"Well, there's no other way."

"Find one," Castiel demanded. "Find one quickly, and I'll let you live and return to your post as king of Hell."

"And if I can't?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, "Then I'll have no use for you." And with that, he vanished...

Crowley let out a breath, rolling his eyes as his head fell back in defeat.

*~.~*

It had been a week since Sam woke up. Every day and night was the same. But Dean was determined to make some kind of progress; something...anything to bring some sense of normalcy to his brother. So, this morning he decided that Sam was going to get dressed and have breakfast at the table instead of in bed. He told Sam of his plan during a rare moment of lucidity, and the younger Winchester simply nodded in compliance, willing to try at least.

So there they were, attempting to get him dressed. Sam had been moderately successful in pulling a tee shirt on over his head, and with some help, found the arm holes. He was frighteningly weak, Dean noticed. Probably from the lack of sleep and all the fight he went through each night through the nightmares. This didn't even count the things he experienced during the day.

Sam's gaze seemed to be fixed on the pair of socks that laid on the bed near the foot of it, as Dean helped him into his jeans. "You pull 'em up, alright, Sammy?" Dean got him to meet his eyes for a moment and Sam nodded, pushing slowly up from the bed so that he could pull the jeans the rest of the way up his hips. "Good. Alright. Now sit back down and let's get these socks on you."

Sam's gaze fell back on the socks as he lowered himself back onto the bed. "N-no," Sam said.

"No what?" Dean asked. "You wanna do it yourself?" Sam swallowed, glancing at his brother fearfully, then back to the socks.

"No..."

"Then let me help you," Dean reached for the socks.

"No!" Sam caught Dean's hand, and Dean furrowed his brows, confused. "D-don't...touch," Sam's breathing had picked up, Dean realized.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Dean rose from where he was kneeling on the floor in front of him. Sam just looked from him to the socks and back, over and over; eyes filled with fear and uncertainty. "They're just socks, Sam." He moved to pick them up, but Sam dove to catch his hand again.

"N-no! No!" Sam cried out in desperation as Dean picked them up with his free hand.

"Just socks, Sammy," Dean insisted, holding them still in his hand.

Sam scrambled away from him, and back against the headboard, though he seemed to try and keep pressing further away. Complete terror written on his face was surmounted with hyperventilation and tears. "P-ple-ease...don't... N-no... L-leave...Dean... 'lone..."

"Sammy," Dean turned and shoved the socks into a drawer, shutting it before he turned back to his brother, and cautiously approached the bed. "Sam, they were just socks. They can't hurt me, and they can't hurt you, okay? Just socks." Sam just eyed the drawer, curling in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest. "Sammy, look at me," Dean told him, sitting carefully down beside him. "Sam!" Dean said more sternly, placing a hand on Sam's arm. Sam startled and met his brother's eyes. The older hunter felt bad for scaring him yet again. Though the sock thing hadn't been intentional, nor did it make much sense to him right now. "C'mere, Sammy," he said, softening his tone as he opened his arms toward his brother.

Sam let out a small sob as he moved toward him, burying his head in Dean's chest as his arms wrapped around his back. "'m sorry, Dean... Sorry..."

"Sshh, it's okay," Dean held Sam's head gently; his other arm hugging around his back. "No reason to be scared, though. I wouldn't give you somethin' that'd hurt you. You know that, right, Sam?" He felt Sam nod against his chest as he let out another sob. "Why did they scare you so much, huh? Can you tell me?"

Sam sniffled and stiffened, and seemed to be holding his breath at the question.

"It's okay," Dean told him. "If you don't wanna tell me right now, it's okay, Sammy."

"Not the..." Sam let out his breath and paused, trying to find words, which seemed difficult for him since he'd woken from the wall-breaking incident. "Not the same...there," Sam told him. "Different. Bad."

"Okay," he replied, absorbing the vague explanation. He remembered his own stint in Hell. There were things there that you couldn't really put into words. There was too much for the mind to process. Too much to accurately describe exactly what it was. There wasn't a sense outside of Hell that could give a living person the capability to portray or conceive it. One of the many reasons coming back from it was never fully possible. "Okay, Sam," he said again. "No socks today. But you gotta remember that here, they're just socks. Just cotton and spandex. And you kinda need 'em or your boots are gonna reek. And I couldn't, with a clear conscience, purchase you a pair of flip-flops."

His joke at the end had the desired effect. He felt Sam shake a bit as he laughed. "No flip-flops," Sam told him, a smile evident in his voice.

"Damn straight, no flip-flops," Dean replied. "You make me buy flip-flops, they're gonna be neon pink with little plastic rhinestones. I'm not even kidding."

"No flip-flops," Sam repeated, pulling away gently and meeting Dean's eyes. "You'll help me. To not be scared."

"Always, Sam," Dean replied, both happy to have gotten through to him, and saddened at this childlike state his brother had been thrust into. "Now," he cleared his throat and moved to stand up off of the bed, "You ready for some breakfast? Your feet might be cold, but your belly doesn't have to be empty," he smirked.

"Okay, Dean," he accepted his brother's proffered hand, and got up out of the bed. Dean helped him to the kitchen, where Tony and Gibbs were cooking. "Tony," Sam said upon seeing him. "Gibbs." He recognized them both. That was a good thing.

"Yeah, they're makin' us some grub, little bro," Dean told him as he helped him to his seat.

At the stove, the agents shared a glance. They were hesitant to immediately interact with Sam. Last time they did, Sam hadn't recognized them. Not only did he not seem to know who they were, but his mind had told him they were something that would hurt him. It hadn't been a good day.

So they turned around slowly and cautiously, looking to Sam to make sure he wasn't afraid, before they headed to the table with the meal they'd prepared. Gibbs looked to Dean, who gave him a short nod, and Dean looked to Sam.

"Hey, Sam, you mind if Tony and Gibbs eat here with us?" he asked.

"No," Sam looked to Dean. "I don't mind. I'd like that," he told him, and looked at the agents with a small smile. "Thank you...for breakfast."

Tony smiled back, "Any time, Sam."

"Feeling okay this morning?" Gibbs asked Sam, but the question was directed at both of them.

"N-not too bad," Sam replied.

"I think we're doin' pretty great, today," Dean added, setting a plate in front of his brother. "What would you like, Sam? There's pancakes, bacon, sausage, toast... You want some OJ?"

Sam looked at the plates of food laid out on the table, trying to decide. He pointed at the pancakes, unable to recall what they were called, in the moment. And Dean forked a few of them and plopped them onto Sam's plate. He knew how Sam liked his pancakes, so he simply prepared them without asking. Normally, that would've annoyed Sam; Dean would've gotten the "bitch" face. But Sam smiled gratefully at him.

Dean turned to the agents, "You guys sleep okay last night?"

It was a tough question to answer. They got as much sleep as they could, between Sam's nightmares; each switching out places on the couch. They were getting more sleep than the Winchesters were.

"Yeah. Slept okay," Gibbs replied, then shoved a forkful of sausage into his mouth. Dean signaled 'keep going' with his hand, telling them to continue talking, and he turned to his brother to see him observing the pancakes with some sort of confused indecision.

"You gonna eat 'em, or wait for them to do cartwheels?" Dean asked, and had about an eighth of a second more before he considered the fact that maybe Sam wasn't sure how to use a fork anymore. But then Sam looked over at him with a slightly amused smirk and reached for his fork. They all watched as Sam stuck his fork in the middle of the stack. Sam, who pretty much pre-cut all of his food into little squares before eating. Sam, ever polite, with good table etiquette; like full out napkin-in-your-lap manners... proceeded to pick up that stack of pancakes, flipping it so the fork was underneath and the cakes flopped over, almost touching his hand, then took a bite from one of the sides.

This was immediately followed by Sam letting out a snorting bit of laughter, amused with himself, even if he wasn't completely sure why. The rest of them snickered at the sight.

"Finally mastered the art of eating pancakes, Sammy," Dean told him with a smile. "I'm so proud." He moved to pick his own stack up in the same fashion. He had them ready to take a bite, then glanced to Sam, who now had his eyes closed, slowly chewing the mouthful of food. "Sam?"

"There was no taste there," he said, surprisingly understandable around the food in his mouth. "Nothing tasted. Nothing... would feel. But..." he swallowed the bite down, "But I ate anyway. Needed to. That's when..." Sam dropped his fork, his whole body jolting as his eyes opened, panicked.

"Sam?" Dean put his fork down and turned to him.

"That's...when...burning..." Sam said, his breath coming fast and hard, pushing himself from the table. "Burn...everywhere...inside," he told him.

"Now? Sam, are you hurting?" Dean jumped when Sam sprang out of the chair, almost immediately crumbling down toward the floor without the aid of his brother's help. "Sam!"

"Burns! Inside it...burns all the way...bleeds out of me... Can't breathe! Can't...scream...can't...breathe..."

"Sammy, you're okay!" Dean held him. "That's not gonna happen to you here, remember? You're safe now. You're safe, Sam! I'm gonna keep you safe, remember? Not gonna let anyone hurt you! The food isn't going to hurt you, Sammy..."

Sam stopped rambling and held onto his brother, listening, as well as he could manage, to his words. He tried to breathe; attempted to stifle the fear that had jumped out at him during an otherwise pleasant event. And he understood the logic; knew he wasn't in Hell. He knew that. He knew it because Dean was there, and he could touch him and smell him and hear him.

"Sorry," Sam managed. "Sorry, Dean... I'm okay," he told him. "I'm okay now. Sorry."

"Don't apologize, Sam," Dean said, relieved beyond belief. "Just glad you're with me. You wanna try an' eat some more? Or you wanna get some rest?"

"'m hungry, Dean," he told him, meeting his eyes. But he looked so tired, Dean was torn about what to do.

"Alright, Sammy. Let's get you to the bedroom and I'll bring the rest of your pancakes in, okay?"

"'kay," Sam replied, and Dean moved to help him up.

"Need any help?" Tony asked quietly. Dean looked over at them to see them both standing, but still back a ways, knowing to give Sam space during these episodes.

"If you can bring his plate..."

"Yeah, absolutely," Tony replied. "I'll bring it once you've got him settled."

"I'm sorry," Sam repeated, but this time to the agents. "Not what you...expected. Dealing with this. With me."

"Don't you apologize, Sam," Tony said, making his way over to him with caution. "Doesn't matter what it takes. We care about you, and we want to help you. No matter what."

"Why?" Sam furrowed his brows, a sad, confused look painting his face as he looked in awe at the agent.

"Why?" Tony repeated the question incredulously. "Sam...you sacrificed yourself...for all of us. You suffered things none of us can imagine. What you're going through now? It's because of that...and there's nothing anyone could say or do that would make me not want to do everything in my power to help you out of this..."

"Is...is there...way out?" Sam asked.

Tony suddenly felt like he'd chosen the wrong words. Dean decided to clarify for him.

"If there is, we'll find it," he told him. "And if there's not, then we'll figure out a way for you to be able to deal with it; get back to yourself as much as you can be."

"Y-you th-think..." Sam turned to his brother, "I...I can be m-me again?" he looked hopeful.

Dean put a hand on the side of Sam's neck; his thumb holding his chin steady as he looked at him. "I know you can, Sammy. You're still in there. I know you are..."

TBC...