A/N: WARNING: This chapter contains implied/referenced rape/non-con.

"Dean, I—I have to tell you some things, and I want you to know that—that it wasn't your fault. But I'm… scared. I'm scared you'll look at me differently, that you won't see… me anymore."

Dean just shook his head gently, some small part of him painfully astounded by Sam's words.

"Sammy, I always see you."

Liar, Dean's mind shot out, biting him, striking as swift as a slithering snake.

Apologize for that shit later, Dean told himself. Sammy's got the floor now, you ass.

And he would apologize later if he had to. For the demon blood and locking him up. It wasn't just what he'd done with Gadreel. It was all of it. It was the bruised, angry thing that was their relationship.

"Just… just tell me you're gonna be okay," Sam said.

"This ain't about me," Dean told him. "It's about you. And I'm sorry I ever made it feel like it wasn't. I'm sorry I… Hell, I'm sorry for everything."

"Then please…" Sam looked up at him, hazel eyes hurt and begging, "please don't be sorry for this." Dean didn't say anything, just clenched his jaw. Sam did the same, and then he swallowed roughly. "So you know how there are different kinds of evil out there?" Sam asked. "Yes, there's the stuff that kills, the stuff that hurts, but there's… there's more. There's the stuff that—that makes you not feel… at home in your own body. I… I don't feel at home here. Not in me. I don't know how to, and with the way things are going, maybe I—maybe I never will. I… Dean, when I was… when I was down there, in Hell, Lucifer, he…" Sam's voice grew quiet, his lips parted, and Dean wasn't sure his brother was breathing. But he didn't push him. He'd pushed him too many times on too many points. "He did things to me, Dean, things that—that no one should ever have done to them. It was… It was part of the torture, yes, but it was… different, somehow. More…"

"Sammy, if you're saying what I think you're saying, I want you to know that all I want to do is give you a damn hug right fucking now."

"Hold on," Sam told him. "I… I need to say it, I want to say it. This is my choice." Dean nodded, and Sam went on, "So… down there… he… he raped me. Lucifer raped me." Dean's world slid out from under him, and everything grew farther away. Existence was but a shadow of a thought, and Dean was left as just a tiny speck at the end of it. "I didn't want him to. I tried to get him to stop so many times, and I fought, and I— God, Dean, it wasn't enough. I couldn't—couldn't stop him, and he just wouldn't listen. I couldn't make him listen. I couldn't— I couldn't…"

Sam's words became incoherent, sobs ripping free of him as if his voice knew all this pain had been kept in for years. Dean pulled Sam into him, a mother comforting her child. And he didn't cry. He told himself he wouldn't cry.

Sam was mumbling now as he cried into his shirt, words tumbling and tripping over each other.

So many times he said he didn't want it, that he had tried to fight, that he'd been weak.

Sam calling himself weak — that was the final straw.

"Sam, listen to me," Dean began, "you're not weak. Nothing and no one can ever make you weak. What you're feeling, it's… I can only begin to understand it, but I know one thing for sure: You. Are. Not. Weak. You hear me? Sam, you stood up to Dad, you went off and fought for your own life, you found a girl, you… you did everything I wasn't brave enough to. You saved the world. You saved me, you saved Cas. That ain't weakness."

"But he—"

"Hurt you, and fuck, am I glad I already killed him."

Sam pulled back, face a mask of tears. "I don't know what to do," Sam said. "I wanted to get out of here, find a way to, I don't know, take back our story. But sitting here, thinking about all this… it makes me realize that… maybe I can't do this."

"You can't," Dean told him. Sam frowned, and Dean went on, holding onto his good shoulder. "But we can — all of us. You, me, Cas. We fix this, we fix us, and we fight."

Dean didn't know where the words were coming from, but he was shocked when he found that they were ringing with truth.

Great, so it seemed like the three of them were playing musical chairs with the cheery and out-of-reach concept of hope.

"Dean, we're stuck in here."

Dean just pulled Sam to him again, and started rocking him, mind traveling back to when they were kids, to when Sam needed a mom, when Dean needed a mom, and there had been no one.

"I know, baby brother. I know."

"I don't want to say goodbye."

"We won't. Not yet."

They sat in silence for a bit, and Dean said, "For what it's worth, Sammy, I think you're the bravest person in the world."

That was when footsteps sounded in Dean's ears, and Castiel came in. He paused, sensing the tension, the emotions, but then he joked, "And I'm not?"

Dean pulled away, and went back to his dishes.

"You're not a person," he joked. "You're a—"

"Wavelength of celestial intent, I know." Dean glanced over his shoulder as Castiel gripped Sam. "Are you alright?"

To Dean's surprise, Sam was honest. "No." Still, he went on, and Dean wanted to hug both of them as anger cooled in him, and a balm was applied, "But maybe we can be."

"So you two have discussed things?" Castiel asked.

"Yep."

"Good, then, Dean, I want to see you."

Dean held up his dirty plate in answer. Castiel just waved his hand and the grime was gone. Dean stared at it, dumb-struck.

"You can do that?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow at him, his expression beyond frustrated.

"I raised you from Hell. Why would I not be able to do that?"

Dean swallowed roughly at that intense gaze.

"Cas, I—"

"Come with me."

Cas left the room, and Dean was expected to follow. The tips of his fingers started tingling, and his stomach filled with hot dread, but he went after the angel anyway.