(RE)BORN YESTERDAY
PART 2

Sam sat in the back of the Impala with Castiel. He couldn't remember how long it was since he hadn't felt cramped sitting behind his brother. Now, his knees didn't even reach the edge of the seat, leaving his bare feet to dangle out in front of him. The seat belt cutting across his neck left him feeling choked. And he could barely see out the window. With nothing to look at except the car interior and patches of sky, the back seat felt like a cage.

To add insult to injury, he was still wearing the giant white t-shirt like a dress. The lack of clothes and diminished size left him feeling vulnerable. The prospect of crowded aisles, packed full of people and merchandise, turned his stomach.

Since Dean had left to fight the Darkness, everything seemed like a dream—or an extravagant hallucination. Just yesterday, his memories of the cage were blurred under the distance of years and layers of repression. He had the occasional dream and flashback, but there was always something else worthy of distraction. Now, he remembered the cage and Lucifer perfectly.

That thought had Sam digging a thumb into his left palm, but it didn't help. Holding his hand up to the light, he studied the flawless skin. The scar was missing. The place sliced open on glass shards and stitched back together by Dean was smooth. The wound he'd continuously re-opened to ward off hallucinations of Lucifer and discern what was real in a world rife with illusion was gone.

Sam pinched his palm harder, trying to force his mind to focus on the present. The pain was different without the scar tissue and damaged nerves. He tried pinching the inside of his wrist, arm, and elbow to see if they did a better job grounding him. While there wasn't the instant gratification of seeing Lucifer flicker out of existence, it did distract from the mounting anxiety. He moved on to his legs, methodically pinching from thigh to ankle. The skin turned pale white before growing dark red in each place. It became an experiment, cataloging the various sensations and visual side effects.

When changed his tactic to scratching, a large hand wrapped itself loosely around the offending fingers. Looking up, Sam found Castiel watching him in concern. "Samuel, you are hurting yourself. Why?"

Sam saw the others glance back at them, but they seemed to accept Sam and Castiel's Enochian conversations as private, and their attention didn't linger. "I..." he wasn't sure how best to explain, "it helps?"

"What is it helping?" Castiel pressed quietly as he gently rubbed the abused skin.

"I know real. Keep me here, or wake me up. Pain more real. Different from...before." He clenched his free hand, digging the small fingernails into his palm.

"Before?"

Sam swallowed down nausea as his mind jumped to lakes of fire and raining lava. "The Cage. Lucifer hurt me, but it different."

"Ah," Castiel sighed in understanding, "Are you having trouble distinguishing between reality and memory?"

Sam nodded silently, worried that he would either vomit or cry if he spoke. A sensation like cool water flowed over his skin, soothing away the nausea. Looking up, he caught the glow of grace for a second in Castiel's eyes before they returned to their normal blue.

The angel smiled sadly. "Your human mind was incapable of dealing with the centuries of imprisonment and pain. Neither was your soul. By giving you his grace, our father has provided an opportunity for healing, but it will take time for you to properly process those memories. Be patient with yourself, and know that you are not alone on this path."

Sam was speechless with gratitude and slumped exhausted against Castiel's side. He had never really experienced the kind of support Castiel was offering from anyone besides Dean. And their relationship, while currently solid, had been shredded and burned countless times over the years. There were others who had been friends and allies—Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Charlie, Kevin. But they were all gone. Dead because of their association with the Winchesters.

"Are you two done passing notes back there? Because we're here." Dean was giving Sam a measured look that said he didn't need to understand their words to know something was wrong. The brothers' had their own language comprised of gestures, nods, and glances.

Sam gave his best smile, but his brother saw right through it judging by the increased concern on Dean's face. "Yeah, let's get this over with."

"Wow, you boys must really hate shopping," Mary said, sensing the tension, "You'd think we were going into a nest of demons instead of Walmart."

"Actually, I think we'd prefer the demons." Dean said seriously.

Castiel got out of the backseat and walked around to the other side. He lifted Sam out for the car and settled him on his hip. The lack of shoes meant he had to submit to being carried again. Dean had fought to be the one to carry him, but Castiel won based on his lack of clothing knowledge and untiring strength.

Dean grabbed an abandoned cart from the parking lot and they all made their way inside. "Everyone remember our cover story?" he mumbled. They were going with the "tale of lost luggage and airsickness" as their excuse for carrying around a mostly-naked child.

Once inside, they headed straight for the kids' clothing area. For a while, Dean just grabbed packs of generic t-shirts, underclothes, and socks. Mary looked confused by the lack of input from the angel and her youngest. "Dean?" she started, unsure if she was overstepping her bounds, "How limited is our budget?"

"What?" he looked surprised by the question.

"I just...we haven't talked at all about finances, so I have no idea how we're paying for this." She gestured toward the small pile of plain clothes. "These prices are so much higher than they were thirty years ago!"

"Don't...there is no budget. No limit. Get whatever you want, and don't worry about money." Dean blushed, not quite ready to explain their credit card scams.

"Well, in that case," she picked through a rack of print shirts, "do you think Sammy would like something with a bit more...variety? Or color?"

"Um," Dean grabbed two sets of socks, comparing prices and quantity, "I don't know. Maybe?"

Mary stared at blue shirt with a cartoon starfish and tried to imagine her sons as children, "What did he like to wear when he was little before?"

"He's not actually a kid, though." Dean decided to go with the package that held more pairs. Sam had always gone through socks faster than any other clothing item.

"Yes, I know that," she glanced over to where Castiel was standing and studying a clothing display featuring superheroes with Sam, "The fact is I have no idea what he wore—as an adult or a kid. And if I understand the situation right, he isn't going to change back anytime soon which means he's going to wear these clothes until he outgrows them. Right?"

"Yeah, I guess." Dean stopped browsing and turned toward his mother, unsure of her point.

"Well, what is he comfortable wearing? What's his style or favorite color? It can't be plain white t-shirts."

"We, uh, we don't really make clothes a priority," he gave a strained laugh.

"Dean," she hesitated, "I don't really know my place here yet—especially with you boys. So if I'm overstepping, please feel free to tell me. But I've seen you with Sammy. I know you both grew up too soon, and that you probably took care of him more than most big brothers."

"So?" Dean asked defensively.

"So, if you know his exact age based solely on the length of his curls, why can't you tell me what he likes to wear?"

Her tone was gentle, but it still hit Dean like a slap. Images of child-Sam in ill-fitting hand me downs flashed in his mind. Seeing himself learning how to sew holes and patches to make old clothes last even longer, making belts out of blind cords stolen from motels, late night laundromat trips to get the unacceptable smells and stains out of the outfits fished from church free bins.

Dean looked Mary in the eye and hoped the fear of her judgment didn't show. "I guess because we've never done this. Not really. I mean, we've gone a couple times to get cheap suits for undercover work. And we hit up thrift stores once in a while to replace our stuff when it's ruined on hunts. But we grew up that way. Clothes were cheap or free, and we didn't usually have a choice. Especially Sam—he always got my clothes before anything else." He ran his fingers through his hair to ease the shame of trying to explain such a small part of their childhood to his mother. Knowing she would be horrified if she learned even half of the things they lived through as kids—and that he would be the reason if she ended up hating John. "You're right, though. I should know these things. Even if I couldn't get him new clothes, I should have known what he wanted."

"Sweetheart," she said gently, wrapping an arm around his back in a half-hug. She started to say something more, but stopped and smiled instead. "How about we ask him?"

Dean nodded, and relaxed at her easy affection. "Sammy! Get over here!" he called and watched Castiel walk them back to the cart.

"What?" Sam hissed in a whisper.

"Whoa there. I'd ask what got your panties in a twist, but I know you aren't wearing any," Dean teased with a frown, studying his brother, "Why are you whispering? This isn't some stealth mission."

"I..." Sam exhaled slowly, "Nothing, it's just a headache. What's going on?"

Dean glanced at Castiel but he just gave a small shake of his head. Whatever was going on, Dean would have to get it out of them later. "Pick out some clothes or I'm getting you all Frozen gear."

Sam looked in the cart and saw the packs of plain white clothing. "Those are fine," he said, shrugging.

Mary stepped forward, "They are fine as undershirts. But you need other things. Long-sleeves and dress shirts, pants and shorts, shoes..."

Sam's eyes widened with each item listed. Looking to Dean proved useless. His brother was just as uncomfortable, but nodded in firm agreement with Mary. "I don't need that many things..."

Castiel cleared his throat, "Sam likes neutrals and earth-tones—no designs or logos. He also prefers to dress in layers. And, if I might add, with his new...sensitivity, it would be best for him to wear softer, less abrasive cloth-types."

Mary smiled in gratitude, "I can work with that." She grabbed a couple long-sleeved gray shirts and held them up to Sam, checking the different sizes against him. "Dean, how about you grab some different pants and we'll see if we can't figure out his size before he tries them on."

Soon, their cart was filled with more clothes than either boy had owned at any one point in time. The staff at the dressing rooms were very sympathetic to their story of lost luggage, and allowed them to go ahead and open the underwear so he could try on pants. Mary left the boys to pick out her own clothes and quickly rejoined them.

Two hours later, Sam was beyond exhausted. Fully dressed for the first time since being shot, he still allowed Castiel to carry him. Mostly because he was half-asleep and Castiel was actively blocking him from absorbing the thoughts and feelings of the crowd. The angel had explained that Sam's grace was stronger than he'd anticipated. It was instinctively reaching out in new places to learn and explore everything, including the people. The first twenty minutes of their shopping trip had been agony in Sam's skull.

By the time they reached the Impala, Castiel insisted on continuing to hold his sleeping charge for the return drive. "As an angel, I can keep Sam far safer than some 'boosting' seat."

Dean knew Castiel would have done air-quotes if his arms weren't full of snoring mini-Sam. "Fine, it's on you to fix it if we get pulled over by a cop for endangering the life of a minor."

"Of course, Dean," Castiel said as he adjusted Sam so the boy was laying down more.

"Wonderful." Dean muttered.

Time eventually lost its meaning in the cage.

In the beginning, Sam was vaguely aware of its passing only because Lucifer was fond of anniversaries. Every decade marked the start of a new theme. Ice that crystallized the blood in his veins and caused body parts to shatter. Water continuously dripped onto his forehead, running down the straps keeping him immobile, and filling the room until he drowned. Razors, knives, chains, and whips wielded by visages of everyone Sam had ever known.

But the physical pain seemed child's play in comparison the Lucifer's mind games. During the brief time the archangel had inhabited his true vessel, he learned every secret, every fear, every thought Sam had ever experienced. And he utilized every single one.

His favorite was a variation of Gabriel's 'Mystery Spot.' Lucifer would trap Sam in time loops and force him to relive every trauma, every mistake, every shameful moment of his life.

Five years re-experiencing the day he left for Stanford and no matter what Sam did differently his father always found the letter. Twenty years watching Jess burning on the ceiling over his head. Fifteen years helplessly screaming from the back of his mind as he replayed the week he spent possessed by Meg. Thirty years dedicated to the actual 'Mystery Spot' Tuesday, now featuring new scenarios courtesy of Lucifer's imagination. Another ten years where Sam existed floating in an endless black void with only his hearing—and Dean's snarling voice repeating the dreaded voicemail from the day Sam released Lucifer from the cage.

Not much changed when Sam lost his physical body. The cage was a virtual reality prison where the inside was controlled by the archangels. And since Lucifer loved to hear Sam scream and beg, he manipulated reality and forced Sam to continue existing on a physical level. After a few years, Sam forgot he'd ever even lost his body.

Occasionally, Sam's soul was pushed to the side when Lucifer became distracted by Michael. The two archangels would scream in their native tongue and tear at each other. Their true forms filled the cage, leaving no space for Sam to hide. Their grace burned and shredded everything in its path.

Such was the case now. Michael had again found the corner where Lucifer had been 'teaching' Sam Enochian. The light bringer had Sam locked in an electrified dog cage. Every time Sam got a word wrong or spoke English, the wire walls channeled enough volts to cook grid patterns into his skin. The current lesson had been going on for seven years when Michael interrupted.

Sam huddled in the cage, watching in horror as the two brothers went at it. Michael abandoned his vessel to meet Lucifer mid-flight in a blinding clash of grace and rage. But Sam stared at the still figure lying broken on the ground just a few feet away. Adam's body was twisted and decomposing. The only comfort Sam found was that it also appeared to be vacant. He only hoped that his little brother's soul had vacated when Castiel had holy fire-bombed Michael in the cemetery.

An eternity passed before Sam heard Lucifer return, once again taking the form of his previous vessel Nick. He looked at the crumpled vessel vacated by Michael with a look of revulsion. "How rude of him, leaving his trash here to litter our classroom." His foot shot, and the kick sent Adam's body flying far enough away that Sam couldn't see where it landed.

Lucifer turned to smirk at Sam's shaking form. "Well, my favorite pet, shall we continue?"

The drive back to the bunker was quiet but pleasant. Dean's tape of choice was playing softly to not wake Sam. Occasionally, someone would speak, but mostly they all kept to their thoughts.

A few miles from the bunker, Castiel felt Sam's body tense. A whimper escaped through thin lips. Years of watching over the boys' sleep had trained him to recognize the signs of nightmares and deal with them before they took solid hold. He tried to calm him using a small amount of grace, hoping Sam would recognize him. It was met with a sob as the boy twisted and fought in his arms. "Dean! Pull over!" Castiel ordered as he yanked back his grace and tried using his hands to soothe Sam.

At the first sound of distress, Dean snapped off the music. A glance in the mirror showed his friend's mounting concern and he immediately pulled onto the dirt shoulder. The road to the bunker was through a heavily wooded area, and traffic was thankfully rare. It definitely worked in their favor when Castiel bolted from the car and ran with Sam to the edge of the woods. Once there, he sat on a fallen tree and hunched over the boy, rocking slightly.

Dean and Mary jumped out of the car in time to see arcs of electricity run from Sam to Castiel to the ground. "Stay back!" Castiel shouted as he realized Sam was lashing out in his sleep. Wild tendrils of grace shocked his wings like a low-volt taser—strong enough to hurt, but not incapacitate.

Panicked screams coincided with the Impala's engine roaring to live. Then the headlights shattered in a blaze of sparks and glass, and the engine fell silent. Castiel had no time to answer the others' shouts and questions as he raised his wings to buffer the unrestrained grace.

Gathering Sam close, he caught images and sensations pouring off the boy. Saw the cage and understood why his grace was mimicking electricity. He cradled Sam to his chest with one arm and placed his free hand over the boy's forehead, trying to wake him with words and touch. "Wake up, Samuel. You are dreaming. Wake up and see that you are safe. You are safe with your brother and family. Wake up!" Castiel continued a litany of reassurances while he again tried to use his own grace to control the chaos erupting from the boy. Sam fought against him, kicking and scratching where he could, but Castiel didn't stop until he felt the boy respond. The frantic grace slowly settled under a layer of his own, but Sam continued to fight with his body.

The sound of a throat clearing drew Castiel's attention and he was unsurprised to see Dean had ignored his warning to stay away. "What's happening, Cas?" he asked, voice shaking with concern.

"We must wake him up," the angel explained, "I couldn't stop the nightmare in time and his grace became violent."

Dean glanced at the scattered glass on the ground. "Can I touch him?"

"Yes, I've got it controlled for now, but he needs to wake up. I may not be strong enough to contain it for long." Castiel's voice was strained. "Perhaps he will respond better to you."

Dean nodded and moved closer to his brother. He covered a flailing fist with one of his own hands and placed his other onto his brother's chest. "Come on, Sammy, time to wake up. Rise and shine! Open your eyes, come on!" He used his knuckles to rub hard across Sam's sternum, "Hey, Sam, wake up!" Dean barked his words, infusing as much authority and command into his voice as possible.

Sam took a shuddering breath and jolted awake. Dean immediately gentled his touch and simply rested his palm over his brother's pounding heart. He watched Sam's wide eyes dart around, uncertainty written all over his face at the strange sight of trees and foliage.

"Real?" he rasped dryly, looking between Dean and Castiel.

"Yes, this is real. Your brother and I are both real, and you are no longer trapped. You are safe." Castiel brushed the boy's sweat-drenched hair away from his face before continuing in English. "Would you like to sit up?"

Sam's body tensed at the change and looked at Castiel in suspicious horror. "Trick?!" The word was an accusation and question.

"What do you believe is a trick?" Castiel asked.

For a moment, the angel didn't think Sam would answer. The boy was clearly torn, still scared from his memories and unsure of this reality. "Wrong words mean punishment."

Castiel wanted to weep. Why had they never asked Sam about his experiences in the cage? How could they possibly heal the vast number of memories festering in his mind? Father, I do not know if I am best suited to help Samuel. Please, grant us wisdom and strength. This child is powerful and broken, and I fear I will not be enough to see him through this. He sent up the silent prayer as he slowly re-positioned Sam more upright, hoping it would help him feel more awake and in control. "We do not punish each other here, Samuel. You may speak in any language you wish. However, your brother and mother do not understand Enochian." He heard Dean make a choked sound as the man moved to sit next to them on the tree trunk.

Dean gathered his brother's tiny fists into his own. He used his thumbs to rub Sam's palms, easing the muscles in the clenched hands. It drew Sam's attention away from Castiel and he had to force a smile when he saw uncertainty in those hazel eyes. "Hey there, kiddo. Are you awake now?"

Sam stared for a moment before nodding.

Dean's smile grew warmer, more genuine. "Good. That's good," he sighed in relief.

"Is he okay?" Mary's voice was low and shaky.

"I think so," Dean turned toward his mother and saw her edge closer to them. The boy hadn't moved and his eyes were still glazed in shock.

Mary joined them, taking off her new jacket and passing it to Dean to place over his brother's shoulders. "We should get him back to the bunker. It might be easier on him being in a familiar place."

"Good plan. What do you say, Sammy?" Dean released Sam's hands and held out his arms in invitation. They all held their breaths when there was no immediate response, but eventually Sam leaned forward and reached for his brother. Dean picked him up and got to his feet. "Cas, can you drive us back? If the car starts?"

Castiel gave Dean a startled look, but the protectiveness pouring off the hunter let him know Dean wasn't going to relinquish his hold on Sam anytime soon. "Of course, Dean."

It took a few tries, but the Impala did start. Dean sat in the backseat, muttering reassurances in Sam's ear as they drove the final ten minutes to the bunker. The boy trembled the entire way as he stared unseeing out the window at the passing trees. Mary spent the ride turned around in her front seat so she could keep an eye on them.

As they pulled into the Men of Letter's garage, Dean was startled when Castiel slammed on the brakes. "What the hell, Cas?" Castiel's body was tightly wound and his angel blade suddenly appeared in his hand. The sight of it stopped Dean from commenting on mishandling his car and went on high alert. "What is it?"

"There is someone in the bunker." Castiel reported.

"Who? Is it those British bastards again?" Dean shifted Sam enough to pull his gun out.

"It is not human," Castiel frowned in concentration, "I can't identify them, but I know it's an angel. I can feel their grace."

"Do you think it's..." Dean couldn't say Lucifer's name. Not with Sam clinging to him in leftover terror caused by memories of the archangel.

Castiel seemed to hear the unspoken name anyway, shaking his head as he carefully got out of the car. "No. I would be able to recognize him now."

"Bring me the keys. We need weapons from the trunk." Dean moved around to the back of the car. He mentally sorted through their inventory to figure out what would be the best choice with which to arm Mary. "How are you with a blade, mom?"

"I may be a little rusty, but I always preferred them to guns," she said in full hunter mode.

Dean opened the trunk and swore at the dozens of shopping bags covering the weapons compartment. However, before he could reach for them Sam stirred in his arms. The boy's body stopped shaking and his eyes focused on the door leading into the bunker.

"Sam?" Dean asked, unsure of the change in his brother. Castiel moved to stand in front of them as the door opened. They stared at the figure who slowly walked out.

"It's about time you kids got back. Do you know that your kitchen is completely lacking in any real junk food? Seriously, how do you even live?" The man leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. Whiskey-gold eyes twinkled with humor and confidence.

Castiel almost dropped his angel blade as he took a step forward. "Gabriel?"