Disclaimer: Supernatural, the Winchesters, and any other characters and/or places which may appear do not belong to me.

Whumptober 2020, Day #12

Prompt(s): Broken down; broken bones

Author's Note: Tag to 12x07 Rock Never Dies. Today's fic is dedicated to my sister because she's been dealing with a killer headache for the past few days, but also because I love her. Love you Abbie. Hope you feel better quick.

And no she's not my biological sister but she's my sister okay? So are my two older sisters. Love you K. Love you E.

Today's Whumpee: Sam Winchester

"Goddamnit, goddamnit," Sam muttered, his hands wrapped around his head as he rocked back and forth on the mattress of his room. "Get out, get out, please," he begged. Ever since going up against Lucifer again, this time posing as Vince Vincente, Sam's memories had come back. Just like they always did after an encounter with the devil. It was the middle of the night, around 4 a.m. last time he'd looked at the clock.

Sleep wouldn't come. He hadn't really had any hope that it would, but he had still attempted it. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw those red eyes staring him, the evil grin, the face of the monster who had torn Sam's mind apart. No matter what face he was wearing, he was still Lucifer, and that face would always haunt Sam. In the light as well as the dark, during the night and the day, when he was alone or even with others.

Even the name could send shudders down Sam's spine. He'd gotten better over the past few years. But fighting him again just a half-day ago, it brought everything back.

A sudden knock at the door made Sam jump.

"Sam?" His brother's voice came through the door. "Sammy, what's wrong?"

Sam got off the mattress with trembling hands and legs, slowly walking towards the door. He opened it a crack.

Dean's features looked concerned, and when his eyes roamed over his younger brother's face, he seemed to understand.

Sam's eyes must've been showing his unspoken question because Dean started to speak. "I was getting some coffee," he explained, holding up the mug in his hand.

"Oh," Sam said lamely. "I — I didn't mean to —"

"Nah, it's okay," Dean said. He shook his head. "Couldn't sleep either."

Sam nodded, drawing back from the door and allowing Dean to enter. Sam sat back down against the back of the headboard, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on his knees.

Dean came over and sat down across from Sam. He sipped his coffee. Sam couldn't see him but he could sense his brother looking at him.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Dean asked after a few more minutes of silence.

Sam shook his head. But then he started to speak anyways. "It's weird," he began. "I — I feel… strong, brave when we're actually fighting him, maybe it's because I feel in control, but something about the — the aftermath, I guess you'd call it. After we… deal with him or… even after somebody mentions his name… I feel like I'm back… there… again. I can see his face, his real face, the way he was. I can almost… feel him. It feels like he's in my head again."

He glanced up and over to where Dean sat, watching him calmly.

"I — I don't see him or anything. I mean, when I'm asleep, but not when I'm awake or anything. I just… I just remember him. Everything he did. And I know I shouldn't, I know I shouldn't let him get in my head, but —"

"Hey, hey, stop." Dean's soft voice made Sam look up. "There's nothing to apologize for," Dean said. "You went through something that nobody, absolutely nobody, especially not you, should have to go through. It's completely understandable that you still… see him and… feel him." Dean took a deep breath as Sam nodded minutely. His brother's words meant more to him than he could say; he just didn't have the strength to show it right now.

Dean continued speaking a moment later. "I — I know it's different, and that I wasn't there as long… and I also know that he's dead, but I do think I know a little bit of what you're going through."

Sam looked up.

"Alastair," Dean said, his voice low. "He still gets to me, whenever his name coms up or something. I can still feel him. I can still… feel him there, behind me, using me." He wiped a hand over his face.

"Dean, I —" Sam began, but Dean cut him off with a hand.

"I'm not trying to make you feel bad or anything for me, okay?" he said. "I just want you to know that, even though it's not the same, I still… I still get it, okay?" Dean pressed his lips together. "I don't want you to feel like you have to hide this stuff from me just because you think I won't understand. I mean, I may not understand all the things he did and the — the specifics, but I understand you."

Sam nodded and blinked, slightly ashamed to find that his eyes were filled with tears. He wiped a hand over his face, trying to brush them away. Dean looked down at his coffee which was bound to be cold by now.

"You want a cup?" Dean asked, gesturing with the mug.

Sam lifted his chin from his knees and smiled slightly. He nodded.

"Okay then, c'mon, bitch." Dean stood up and waited for Sam to stand up too. He put an arm around Sam's shoulders as they walked down the hall towards the kitchen.

He poured himself and Sam a mug each. Sam was still quiet, but he knew Dean understood.

Dean slid the mug over to him as they sat at their small table in a comfortable silence.

"Thanks, jerk."