Thank you to all the early readers/reviewers/followers/favouriters!

I forgot to mention: if you want to 'see' the building the coroner was in, Google Castle Hill, Winchester. It's one of my favourite buildings in the city!

So in terms of time scale, this is set about three days after Sam was rescued, two since the flight back to the States from the UK.

oOo

Maybe he was actually going to die this time.

"Oh, Sam. Always so full of hope. Faith. That's what I think I liked about you. You were so…blind to everything else. It doesn't seem to matter what life throws at you, you just refuse to give up and die. But then…doesn't that actually make you kind of a monster too?"

"No," he moaned, twisting his head away, clenching his burning eyes. "I'm not a monster. I'm not."

He could feel the breath tickling the side of his face, ruffling the hairs that clung to the side of his head. Desperation clawed up inside him, tearing at him, willing him to flinch, to move away. He couldn't. The bed was hard beneath him, unyielding even though he was pressing himself down into it. Sam screwed his eyes shut tighter, wishing he'd move away.

"See, now I made you, Sam. I made everything. I think I'm pretty qualified to say you're a monster" Chuck insisted, resting his chin on his hand, his elbow balancing on the bedframe. Sam cracked feverish eyes open, sliding his forlorn gaze over. The shorter man was knelt beside the bed, his face on level with the hunter's, uncomfortably close. Chuck suddenly stood up, making Sam jerk before he sat on the mattress beside the Winchester. "If you're going to doubt me, Sam, I'll prove it to you" he said brightly, a cheerful grin lightening his features. Sam shook his head, edging back up the bed, smacking against the headboard.

"No, I'm not – I don't…please" he whimpered, his voice breaking to a scream as Chuck stuck his hand into Sam's chest, through his ribcage, wriggling his fingers as he probed at Sam's thumping heart.

"Let's see what's inside, shall we?"

oOo

As soon as the scream echoed down the hallway and into the kitchen, Dean sprinted through the bunker, blind panic surging through him like ice. He'd only been five minutes! His shoes smacked against the tiles as he raced, water bottle clenched in his hand, down to Sam's room; the sound competing with the wailing from up ahead. He grabbed the door frame with his spare hand, swinging himself around on the momentum.

Sam lay on his bed, saturated in sweat, his back arched at an unnatural angle while both of his fists were clenched and pressed into the mattress at his sides. The cords in his neck were visible as he shrieked, writhing in unseen agony.

Dean lurched into the room, crossing to the bed like a shot, climbing up onto it, beside his rigid brother, tossing the water bottle to one side.

"Sammy, c'mon! Fight it! It's not real!" he shouted, pressing down on Sam's chest with one hand, the other grasping at his clenched fist, trying to anchor him.

oOo

It felt like his heart was going to burst. Chuck twisted and pulled, grunting with exertion, frowning with concentration, all the while talking over the sound of Sam's howls.

"Maybe I should've killed you off earlier in the books, like permanently dead, not the kind where you keep coming back. Dean was always my favourite. You got a bit…whiney," Chuck grumbled, nudging a rib out of the way. "No one likes a whiney protagonist; kills a decent story."

"P-please…stop!" Sam gasped, his eyes snapping open as he panted raggedly.

"See? That right there. That's what I mean. No one wants to hear you begging. You're like a broken record: the ultimate cliché. You do the same things over and over again and somehow always end up back in the same place. Don't you get tired of it?" A loud crunching crack reverberated off the walls as Chuck grabbed his chin in a bloodied hand, forcing the hunter to look at him. Sam felt the colour drain from his cheeks, leaving him cold to the core as Chuck waved a blackened hunk of meat in front of him.

"See? You're not good. You never will be with a heart like this" Chuck sighed, dropping the charred organ on the bed, wiping his soiled hands on the white bed sheets.

Sam heard the blow before he felt it, his head snapping to the side. He blinked hard, dragging his feverish, bloodshot eyes back across the room. Chuck was gone. Dean gazed down at him, regret sparking in the depths of the dark emerald green that was fixed on him. Sam scrabbled backwards, pulling himself up against the headboard, flinging the sheets of the bed back.

"Sam? What're you lookin' for?" Dean asked, watching his brother searching the sheets, crumpling them up. His hand snaked up to his chest before he pulled it away, checked it, pawed at his chest again. He looked down, up at Dean, down again, up.

"I don't…I-" he replied, gaze roving again. Dean pressed uncapped the water bottle, gently tugging on Sam's hand and wrapping his fingers around it. He kept his hand wrapped around Sam's, nudging the bottle up. Sam took the hint, bringing the bottle up to his lips and tilting it as Dean let go. He expected to feel the cool liquid saturate his parched throat which was raw and scratchy. Instead, it scalded his tongue, burning as he spat it straight back out, steam rising from the jet of water. He looked at Dean, horror in his eyes.

"That's holy water, you demonic son of a bitch!" Dean hissed, his lip curled in contempt. Sam threw the water bottle away, scrambling away, half falling from the bed as he backed himself into the corner of the room. He curled into a ball, rocking, clamping his hands over his ears as Dean rose up before him.

"Not real. Not real. Notrealnotrealnotrealnotreal."

oOo

The door screeched hideously as Castiel entered the bunker, a pizza box balanced in one hand with a white plastic bag dangling from the same wrist. He pushed the door closed, descending the curving stairwell, trench coat swirling around his knees. He heard nothing, unsure whether he should be relieved or not by the silence that cloaked the bunker. Sam's yells had become almost normal, expected, in their home during the last two days. They came in fits and bursts, raw and heart wrenching. He had finally begun to understand Dean's feelings of inadequacy during this process; he couldn't heal Sam. They just had to wait it out which wasn't good enough.

Cas walked up the steps into the library, the lights still on, casting a soft orange glow across the booklined shelves. He slid the pizza box onto the table beside Sam's laptop which sat dormant on the polished table top. The bottles clinked in the bag as he set them down as well, the sound uncomfortably loud. He moved noiselessly through the room, heading for the hallway.

"Dean?" he called softly, peeking his head in the kitchen. He frowned, noting the half-made coffee – the pot and filter sitting abandoned on the metal counter. Suspicion filled him; those hadn't been there when he'd left earlier. The whole room was a mess; used mugs and crockery piled up by the sink, some, Castiel suspected, beginning to grow their own lifeforms; empty takeout boxes and beer bottles strewn across the table. It would all have to wait. Sam came first.

Moving on, Castiel passed Dean's open bedroom door, the room dark and vacant. The hunter hadn't slept in there since they'd returned. He'd stayed by Sam's side the whole time, sleeping in the uncomfortable wooden chair he watched over his brother from. Cas continued down the curving hallway, following the gentle glow of light that pooled dimly, dispelling the shadows that tried to creep into the edges. Sam's door was cracked open, spilling a thin strip of light out into the hall.

"Dean?" Cas whispered loudly, sticking his head in the door. The room was dim, only a faint glimmer of light escaped the underside of lamp situated on the far side of the room. A shirt had been thrown over it to dampen its intensity further. Sam lay curled on his right side, back to the door, his chest rising and falling evenly beneath the thin white sheet that covered him. Dean sat in the hardbacked wooden chair, facing his brother, watching over him in the dark, one hand raised to his face. He turned and looked up when Castiel called his name. The angel frowned. He was holding an icepack to one side of his face. With a quick glance at his slumbering brother, Dean rose and motioned for the angel to step back out into the corridor. He pulled the door to, but didn't close it completely, his free hand remaining on the door handle.

"What happened?" Cas asked, keeping his voice low.

"He clocked me one earlier. It's fine, Cas" he added when the angel gave him a look. "He didn't mean to. He didn't know what he was doin'."

Cas pulled his hand away, inspecting the deep purple bruise that marred the side of his face, a shallow cut at its centre.

"That isn't the result of a light punch, Dean" Cas chided, reaching up with two fingers and brushing over it. The discolouration disappeared instantly under the light touch.

"It's fine. I've taken worse."

"If we're getting to that stage, Dean, we need to start considering restraining him."

"No."

"It won't be long before he is in danger of seriously injuring you or himself" Cas warned, bright blue meeting scowling green head on.

"No, I won't do it. We'll work around it."

"Dean…"

"I said no, Cas and I mean it," Dean growled, his jaw clenching as he stepped away from the door. "He spent four fucking months chained like a damned animal with no freedom, havin' every move dictated to him. I'm not gonna make him feel unsafe here where he belongs. He's been through enough. I told him we'd do this his way and I ain't breakin' my word."

Castiel sighed; he knew Dean was right even though he was too. The stubborn set of his jaw told the angel that there was no way he would budge on the subject. At least he was there to heal the broken limbs when they happened. He peered at Dean, scrutinising the lines and shadows that had formed in dark patches under his eyes.

"You should go and rest" he remarked, cutting in again when he saw Dean was about to protest. "Sam will be fine; we're only going to be at the end of the hall and I can come back and watch him." Dean hesitated, but noted the slight tightening around the edges of Castiel's eyes. He grumbled, muttering under his breath about overbearing angels who always had to be right as they walked back towards the library.

oOo

Sam's eyes eased open, his body heavy and exhausted but no longer sweltering. His legs were curled up, pulled into a ball, one hand tucked under the pillow while the other was stretched out in front of him. He lay there in the semi-dark just listening to the nothingness around him. Once, the silence would have been a comfort. Now, it was too much. It made him feel alone, lost. His heart slowly thumped harder.

"Got yourself into a right mess this time, didn't you, boy?" He started at the voice, the jolt almost painful in his relaxed muscles. He rolled over, eyes widening in disbelief at the hunter who was sat in the chair where Dean had been. His rumpled old jacket hung loosely around his shoulders, Sam's eyes seeing the dim green even though it wasn't light enough in the room to see it. His dark blue hat was pulled down over his forehead, the peak slightly battered and a bit misshapen. He sat with his arms crossed over his barrel chest, mouth downturned beneath his grey peppered beard.

"Bobby?" Sam whispered, easing himself upright, slowly.

"Honestly, I leave you idjits alone for five minutes and you start tryin' to rain down hell on everyone" Bobby huffed, his scowl prominent but not unfriendly.

"It wasn't like that" Sam replied quietly, casting his eyes down.

"Then tell me what it was like" Bobby prodded. Sam bit his lip, teeth gnawing at the chapped skin.

"I can't. I just…" Sam paused, unable to find the words. Images tried to rise, quick flashes that he mentally shoved back down. "I tried so hard Bobby. For so long. I just couldn't do it anymore."

"So you gave up?! Since when do we quit in this family?" Bobby barked, making Sam flinch. He didn't reply. He couldn't. "You've pulled some damned stupid moves in the past – hell knows you've been in this mess before – but you always knew what was right deep down. I always believed you did. But this time? This time you went too far, Sam. You put yourself in front of everyone else. In front of the world. Dean. Cas. Me."

Sam shook his head, still unable to meet his eye. "No."

"Lookit me, boy" the older hunter ordered, waiting for Sam to raise his eyes. He glared across at him. "What part of you thought that any of us would accept you sayin' yes to Lucifer?"

"You weren't there. None of you were" Sam retorted, a spark of fire in his tone.

"Bullshit. You know I keep tabs on you up there, even after you left me with those damned angels, who, it turns out, don't take well to souls gettin' out and bustin' out the Scribe of God. Hell, I paid for your balls up then and the whole world nearly did this time. When're you gonna learn, Sam? This ain't all about you. In our line of work, someone else always pays when you make a crappy decision. I thought I taught you that. Hell, you made enough mistakes along the way to know it yourself."

Throughout Bobby's speech, Sam could feel himself shrinking. It wasn't so much what he said; it was his tone. So full of bitter disappointment, like Sam had just continuously let him down. He had. He knew that. Even when he tried to make things right, he just made them worse.

"I can't stand seein' what you do to yourself, Sam," Bobby sighed, readjusting his cap. "You know what the worst bit is? Knowin' how much you like how you feel on that poison."

Sam's head snapped up.

"No, that's not true! I didn't want it; I never wanted it" he insisted, voice breaking. Bobby shook his head, rising out of the seat.

"I wish I could believe that; I really do, Sam. But you're just lyin' to yourself. I can't stand seein' you do this – lettin' yourself become one of the things we're meant to hunt" he murmured as he stepped towards the door. Sam scrambled out of bed, ripping at the sheets that tangled around his legs.

"No, Bobby, wait! Please!" he shouted, stumbling to the door after the hunter. As he reached it, it slammed shut. He grabbed the handle, pulling at it furiously. It didn't budge. The hairs prickled on the back of his neck, a cool shiver stalking up his spine. He stood still, unable to turn around. Afraid of what he knew was there in the shadows. Watching him. He rattled the door handle again. Still it didn't budge. He slammed his fist into it, banging loudly.

"Dean!" he yelled, stomach plunging in fear when he felt cold breath prickling across his neck.

oOo

Not the longest, but you know me – they'll get longer over time! Wanted to get this out there quicker than usual.

Please review!