Author's Notes: Cross-posted on Ao3 (originally published June 13, 2021 under pseud "landoftraitors"). NO wincest. This was my first bit of writing after writing nothing for months, so it might be a little rusty. Warnings: nightmares/hallucinations, mentions of Sam's torture in Hell (nothing super graphic though), sleep issues, language, canon-typical angst with fluff to make up for it.
Stone number one. Trust.
Sam can barely trust himself after everything that's happened. Why should you trust yourself when the devil's been inside your head? Why should you trust yourself when he keeps showing up in places he shouldn't be? Why should you trust yourself when there's nary an angel on your other shoulder to fight his sinful pull? Why should you trust yourself when it feels like no one else ever has?
So maybe he can't trust himself yet. But he can trust Dean. His older brother makes the whole trust thing hard sometimes, but Dean has always loved him. Never once has he doubted that, not really; not in the deepest part of his core which holds memories of the last slice of bread, and scraping the edges of the peanut butter jar, and the last bowl of Fruit Loops. That part of him will always remember squeezing into a motel bed with Dean, and the soothing sound of his older brother's reassuring whispers whenever nightmares filled with fire and screams would overtake Sam's mind. With that innate love, comes trust. At least that's what they both hope.
The trust starts small; it starts with truth. It starts with answering honestly when asking each other how they are. The duality of the (mostly unspoken) agreement was something Sam made sure Dean was aware of.
"I just- I need you to promise me- this can't be a one-way thing," he had said, "if you're gonna help me with my shit, I need you to let me help you with yours."
True to his nature, Dean resisted. Insisted he was fine despite knowing that Sam, devil on his shoulder or not, can see right through him.
But, in the end, their traumas were one in the same. Tortured in different ways, yes, but still quite literally hellish. Still years upon years of trying desperately to stay sane while being forced to face the worst parts of yourself.
Sam's first step in trust with his brother came the next day.
It took several minutes of Bobby's nagging before Sam relented and headed upstairs, leaving his research behind.
It wasn't that he didn't want to sleep- he did. God, he wanted to sleep. But the daytime cage hallucinations seemed to pale in comparison to the terror that found itself locked within Sam's psyche at night, leaving him to wake up in a cold sweat feeling as if he'd just spent the last several hours running a marathon rather than sleeping. He knows, however, that he needs to sleep; he also knows that if he doesn't, it'll have Dean and Bobby worrying more than they already are (which is so much that he's worried they'll both drop dead of hypotension or a heart attack at any moment).
As he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Sam tried to ignore Lucifer's incessant talking, but it was proving impossible.
"...and sleeping isn't gonna do anything, you know that, Sammy. Sleep isn't a very good escape when the thing you're running from is inside your own head," he whispered the last part, sending waves of irritation down Sam's spine.
"Will you shut the fuck up already?"
"Awww," Lucifer pouted mockingly, "you know I can't, it would ruin all the fun!"
Closing his eyes, Sam pressed on his injured hand with his non-injured one, trying to focus on the waves of pain under his skin rather than Lucifer's taunting. His chest fell with a sigh of relief as the image of Lucifer faded away, the low drone of the ceiling fan now the only thing he could hear.
Peace. Silence. He basked in the glory of it all, soaking it in, enjoying the welcome change until exhaustion took over and his eyes fell closed for what was the first time in days.
What was worse than the physical torture, however painful it may get, was the emotional torment Lucifer forced onto Sam in the cage. Telling him over and over that Dean had forgotten about him. That he had never truly forgiven him for anything.
You see, Sam Winchester is a man of logic. A man of facts. Surely a Stanford student with the knowledge and training required to kill demons, werewolves, vampires, and the like can understand when the Devil is bullshitting him.
But hundreds of years of playing house with said Devil would mess with anyone's head. Hundreds of years of the biblical angel Michael in the body of your newfound half brother laughing at the torture you were experiencing would tarnish anyone's soul. Even the crumbling, near demonic soul of the brother of a righteous man.
True to Lucifer's promise, that soul didn't get any rest tonight.
He knows he's asleep. He can feel that the vibration of his vocal chords as he screams is not staying within the confines of his brain, but has escaped into the real world. He wants it to stop. He wants to wake up so he can get a goddamn break, but he can't shake himself loose of The Cage's grip long enough to do so.
Michael's laughing and Lucifer's beration echoed in his ears, and a sort of demonic screech accompanied it, sounding as if from the very depths of Hell Sam was currently in.
What he wouldn't give to wake up right now, hallucinations be damned.
New sounds suddenly got thrown into the mix. They were low, just barely noticeable, but there. Sam could swear something was hitting his shoulder, but nothing was there. Just the bars of the cage and miles upon miles of empty space.
Just like he would concentrate on the pain of his bandaged hand while awake, he focused all his energy on the low sounds coming from… somewhere.
"...man, wake up… I'm right here… little brother…" the voice fades in and out, coming in waves.
He focused harder on it, tuning out the sounds of Hell and trying to focus on the sound of his older brother's voice. "Sammy! Sammy!" Dean's cries were a distant thing amongst images of fire and brimstone, but he persisted fighting against his subconscious before suddenly he was falling, toward what he didn't know, but surely this would kill him. Wind catching beneath him, still falling, falling, falli-
Sam's eyes bolted open and flew around the room as he tried to once again get his bearings. When they finally landed on Dean, who was kneeling beside the bed, he let out a shaky breath of relief.
Contrary to the now hazy look on Sam's face, Dean's eyes were wide with worry, scanning his brother for injuries out of habit.
Upon seeing he was awake, Dean tapped Sam's chest to get his attention. "Hey, hey, what's goin' on? You alright?"
"Water… I need- I need some water," his voice was barely above a whisper as he attempted to catch his breath.
Dean rose from his position on the floor and did his best to stay calm while he walked downstairs to get a glass of water from Bobby's kitchen. He didn't think he'd ever get used to seeing his brother like that. Scared. In pain. Screaming for his life. It doesn't matter that this was just a nightmare. The true horror was knowing Sam had actually experienced those things for hundreds, if not thousands of years.
Dean found his brother sat up on the bed hugging his knees and seemingly folded in on himself. It was a pitiful sight. Sam had slowed his breathing but still had silent tears running down his face; it was horribly nostalgic in a way, like they were kids again in a motel, Dean doing what he could to help his baby brother because it's what good big brothers do.
He held the glass out to Sam, who took it with a still slightly shaking hand and drank nearly the entire thing before setting it down on the nightstand. Dean walked around to the other side of the bed and sat himself down next to his brother, who turned his head away in embarrassment. Dean had seen enough of this, of him, already, he thought.
"Hey," Dean spoke, lightly nudging Sam's shoulder with his own. "Talk to me, little brother. You feelin' okay? You scared me there, man."
"`M fine," Sam mumbled in response.
They both knew that wasn't true.
Dean wrapped his arm around his brother's shoulders. God, he was gonna have to get all mushy-gushy again, wasn't he?
He started again, "I need you to talk to me, Sammy. That's what we agreed, right? No more bullshit. Learning to trust each other again. I don't expect you to tell me everything in one go. But you gotta be honest with me, or this isn't gonna work, and you're all I got right now, Sammy, so I need this to work." Dean tried desperately to bite back the tears forming in his eyes, staring at the ceiling and letting out a shaky breath.
He smiled a little to himself when Sam leaned into his touch, resting his head on Dean's shoulder and letting himself relax. Dean leaned his head onto Sam's and sighed; the nostalgia didn't feel so horrible now. Just bittersweet.
"I don't know how to deal with all this, Dean. All the other stuff, the- the vamps and the demons and Dad, it's easier to push down and forget. But this… it's different," Sam spoke quietly. His voice was still raspy from sleep and screaming.
"I know," Dean says. And he does.
He moves his hand from Sam's shoulder to his hair, running his fingers through it like he would when they were kids. "We're gonna figure this out. Promise. We're gonna find Cas, and get a handle on these leviathans, and find a way to fix all of… this. One day at a time," he reassures his little brother.
"One day at a time."
Dean leans back against the headboard, gently pulling Sam down with him so that he's laying on his chest. Sam breathes deeply and is truly comfortable for the first time all night. His brother is here, and he's safe in his hands. These are the hands that steadied him when he was learning to walk and steadied his own hands when he was learning to shoot. These hands pulled him from a fire, twice; and now they will see him through as many more as he needs; in his head or not.
This was the first stone. And like Dean said, they'll keep building on it. They'll keep building on it not just because they have to, but because they want to. They want to keep fighting for good. They want to keep being brothers. Because if there's even the slightest chance that Dean is right, that it'll be okay one day, that they'll figure this out, they have to take that chance; for everyone's sake.