Okay, so I'm a little nervous about this one. Enjoy (and don't hate me)!

oOo

"They will run you down, down 'til you fall

And they will run you down, down 'til you go

Yeah so you can't crawl no more."

- Way Down We Go, Kaleo

oOo

The Men of Letters' dungeon was quiet, finally. Darkness filled the empty corners, deep shadows cast by the dimmed spotlights overhead stretched out languidly. Dean had tweaked the lights, fixing it so that only the two on the sides were illuminated, leaving the other four off. Despite the blankness of the walls, the room was surprisingly warm: yet another mystery of the bunker that they couldn't explain but accepted nonetheless.

Sam's cries and screams for his brother to stop, to let him go, that he didn't want this life, had ruined Dean's resolve. He didn't know what Sam was hallucinating but he did know it involved him. The idea that an imaginary version of himself was creating such suffering in his little brother left him cold. He had finally cracked, stumbling from the room when he couldn't take the wails of despair anymore, sobbing brokenly out in the hall where Sam couldn't hear him.

He'd waited so long to get Sam back: fought so hard, braved all the heartache and the pain, knowing that he would get Sam back. But he hadn't realised the implications; that he might not get Sam back, not wholly. Dean knew the detox wouldn't last forever – it never did – but it sure as hell felt like it. Yet that wasn't the worst of it. Even when the demon blood was finally out of his system, Sam had been broken. It would be Dean's job to put him back together again and, god help him, he didn't know how.

I'm not strong enough.

He hadn't felt so inept since Sam had been institutionalised all those years ago when Dean had tried everything he could to save Sam from the torment cause by his visions of Lucifer. Cas had taken it all away, but he couldn't do that this time. The tiniest of voices in the back of his mind whispered that he could, but the overwhelming guilt that struck with it brought fresh waves of tears as he curled himself up into a ball, hugging his knees and resting his forehead on them. He would never do that to Sam again; they would never meddle with his mind. He'd learned that with Gadreel.

He'd failed before he'd even begun.

Finally, he got angry. Enraged. The red veil descended and he destroyed the inside of one of the storerooms. Literally. Armed with a long handled claw hammer he found lying around, he vented his frustration, his helplessness, his guilt, on the boxes and crates, not caring what was inside. By the time he'd finished, he was in a swathe of splintered wood, glass fragments and twisted metal. A sheen of sweat coated his skin as weariness descended.

The wails had stopped.

He had returned to the dungeon to find Sam slumped in the chair. Checking his pulse and his pupils revealed that the stress of the visions had gotten to be too much for his struggling body. Fatigue, mercifully, had robbed him of consciousness.

The older Winchester had draped a soft blanket over him, before curling himself up on the floor, watching his brother. Eventually, his own weariness caught up and he slept on the cold stone surface.

oOo

Sam jerked awake, a guttural moan escaping his throat as the pounding headache thrummed behind his eyes. His head rolled up, easing the strain in the back of his neck after sitting with his head lolling forward for so long. He was relieved to find that the metal collar had been removed; it probably would've strangled him in his sleep. A cold breeze drifted across his skin, making the tiny hairs on his arms rise even though his insides burned. Cracking open his eyes, he glanced around, relieved to finally be alone. The demon version of his brother had continued to inject him with his own blood over and over, leaving only a score of minutes between each ministration, until Sam's exhausted body shut down and everything went dark.

The lights were bright overhead, the spotlight above him almost painfully dazzling but at least it was quiet. Giving his wrists an experimental tug, he found the rope around his right wrist had started to go slack. Grunting with exertion, he wriggled his arm, bending and pulling, trying to get it to loosen further, all the while keeping his hearing tuned for sounds of his brother's return.

It took longer than he'd have liked, but – finally – Sam pulled his wrist through. Triumph filled him as he grappled with the knot securing his other wrist, finally freeing himself. Sam stood up, ignoring the nausea the movement brought with it, as he stumbled quietly to the edge of the shelves that concealed the dungeon. They'd been left open, but Sam was cautious; he hunkered down, peering through the boxes towards the doorway, checking for his brother.

No one was there.

He could feel the demon blood humming inside of him but he knew it wasn't enough to tackle the demonic version of his brother. It would be like going up against Alistair or Lillith when he wasn't fully juiced the first time around. At most, it would cause a mild irritation for the demon, nothing more. No, he needed to escape but Demon Dean wouldn't let him go easily.

Sam needed to trap him.

Edging out, he poked his head out into the hall, listening. Still nothing. He walked slowly, silently, down the hall, slipping into the next unlocked room. The door clicked softly behind him as he shut it, leaving him alone in the darkness. Mentally, Sam mapped the bunker, considering his best options for both trapping the demon and escaping. Besides the dungeon, there was nowhere else that had the power to secure a demon. The Devil's Trap in the dungeon was useless having been broken by his brother. But…

That didn't mean he couldn't make one.

oOo

Dean yawned, waking when he heard soft mumbling noises coming from Sam. Propping himself up and rubbing his dead, frozen arm, the hunter studied Sam carefully. He was still asleep, head lolling forward uncomfortably, the corner of the blanket slipping from his shoulder. They needed a better solution than the chair; Sam couldn't stay sat down all the time he slept and Dean wasn't going to make him sleep on the cold floor either. He remembered seeing some old camping beds in one of the storage rooms. It would work for now. Sam's expression was strained, even in sleep, clearly caught in a dream. Dean got up, carefully pulling the blanket back up and tucking it in around his shoulders, hoping that he was dreaming about something good for a change before he left to get the camp bed.

oOo

Sam dropped the brush back in the jar, wiping his paint-spattered hands on his jeans. Dragging the rug back into place, he felt his heartbeat triple. He'd set the trap. Now he needed to be the bait. Jogging softly from the room, he headed back towards the main living quarters. He couldn't be sure exactly where his brother would be. He wasn't expecting to round the corner and smack straight into him, but then, neither was Dean. Sam backpedalled, stumbling as he turned.

"Who let you out of your cage?" Dean growled, grabbing at him, his arm snaking around Sam's chest and yanking him back. Sam grappled with him, slamming his heel down on his brother's foot and viciously smacking his head back, hearing the satisfying crunch of Dean's nose breaking under the impact. It was enough to get him to let go – and anger him. Sam ran, racing down the corridor, arms pumping, hair flying.

"Oh Sammy, you're just so much more fun when you fight back" Dean called, making Sam's gut twist. He kept running, listening to the sound of pursuit close behind him. The hall twisted around, leading back towards the control room. He bypassed the rug, grabbing the machete that he'd left on the table in front of him. He turned, chest heaving, waiting.

Dean rounded the corner, his steps slowing when he saw Sam had stopped. He wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. He grinned, teeth stained crimson from where the headbutt had cut the inside of his lip. "C'mon, Sammy. Don't fight this. We'll make the perfect team. You and me. Fuck saving everyone else. Think of all the fun we'll have" he crooned, prowling forward. Sam kept his gaze up, away from the rug, trained on his brother. The machete's handle was slick beneath his touch.

"It's never gonna happen, Dean. It can't be this way."

"Who says? God? What did he do for us? We were made for this Sam. We're the perfect combination; you get to drink all the blood you want from me and then we can do anythin'. Think of what we could do" Dean continued, stepping closer. One foot landed on the rug. "Think of all the fun we'll have. No more responsibilities. No more guilt." He stepped closer, both feet now on. "What do y'say, Sammy? I'm offerin' you everythin'."

"No. You're not. I want my brother. My real brother. And I want out of here" Sam hissed triumphantly when Dean took another step forward and stopped, halted by the invisible barrier. Sam grinned grimly, lowering the machete. His grin dropped when Dean smirked, looking over his shoulder. He heard the impact before he felt something heavy smack the back of his head. He crumpled to his knees, machete flying from his grip. Woozily, he looked up, a petite blonde figure swimming into his vision.

"Sorry, Sam; looks like you're not getting anything you want today" Toni smirked, bring the wooden staff down brutally. Sam's world vanished.

oOo

He was getting pretty sick of waking up feeling nauseous from enforced unconsciousness. When he opened his eyes, Sam quickly turned his head away, blinded by the spotlight. He tried to sit up and couldn't. Looking down the length of his body, he saw a thick leather strap running over his chest, another buckled across his knees so that he couldn't raise his legs and the demon cuffs back around his wrists and ankles. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs. He'd been in this position recently – he knew it – but he couldn't remember when.

"It seems you're getting fond of escape attempts, Sam" a soft, feminine voice chided. Panic rose up. He looked to the left as Toni appeared beside him, her expression stern and disappointed. "You know I hate being disobeyed. I thought I'd taught you that lesson." She reached out, caressing his cheek before running her hand back through his hair, letting the strands trail between her fingers.

"Get off me!" he snapped, wrenching his head away. The cuffs rattled against the edge of the metal table as he jerked his arms, hands clenching into fists.

"Sammy, there's no need to be rude" Dean reprimanded appearing on Sam's left, black eyes flashing dangerously when he looked down slyly at his brother. Claustrophobia gnawed at Sam as his gaze flicked between the two as they looked down at him hungrily. He squirmed, caught between the two of them. Toni kept her hand in his hair as she smiled across the table at Dean who grinned wickedly back. She reached out her other hand, slipping it around Dean's neck, drawing him in over Sam. Horror filled the Winchester as he watched her place a soft kiss on his brother's mouth. He turned his head away, but her fingers tangled in his hair, yanking so that he was forced to look up. To watch his brother deepen the kiss with his tormentor. A deep moan resonated from Dean and it took everything Sam had not to throw up. They pulled apart, foreheads resting together as they looked down at him, Toni's fingers toying with the soft hair at the nape of Dean's neck.

"Do you wanna play?" Dean whispered seductively. Toni's eyes brightened, her teeth bared.

"I think it's time he learned not to run."

oOo

Dean walked back into the room, bowl balanced between his hands and a towel flung over his shoulder. Water sloshed gently in the bowl as he placed it on the table next to the cot. Pulling up his chair, he sat beside his sleeping brother, watching him convulse with small shudders. His temperature had started to spike not long after Dean had got him onto the bed. Dunking the towel in the bowl, he wrung it out, the soft dribbling sound ringing around the room. He placed the damp material across Sam's forehead, hoping to soothe his feverish brow.

oOo

Sam watched nervously as Toni disappeared. He raised his head to follow her movements, but his brother's warm palm pressed down on his forehead, forcing him to lie completely flat. He looked straight up, staring into the amused upside down face that loomed over him.

"Dean, please. Don't let her do this" he implored, hating how weak his sounded but no longer caring. He had to get through to Dean's rational side; it was the only way he was going to get out of this mess.

"Sorry, Sammy, but I promised her a good time and, well…I hate disappointing a pretty face" Dean replied, reaching down the side of the table and pulling up another strap.

"No!" Sam wriggled, trying to move from under his brother's hand. Dean's grip remained firm until he shifted the strap across Sam's forehead, buckling it to the other side of the table. Try as he might, Sam couldn't move his head in any direction. Horror filled him when he heard footsteps coming back in, the gentle sloshing of water meeting his ears. The sound ripped terror through him without reason. The whole thing felt familiar, including the bite of his fear, but the memory eluded him. He struggled, writhing desperately, knowing that he needed to get out.

Grey eyes slid to the side when he caught a glimpse of Toni placing a white ceramic bowl on a side table next to him. She smiled down at him, satisfied to see the panic dilating his pupils.

"Now, Sam. Let's begin. Are you going to say yes?" she asked, her clipped British accent adding to his apprehension.

"Yes to what? I don't know what you want" he pleaded, wincing when the cuffs bit into his wrists.

"Has he always been this stubborn?" she asked, looking over him to his brother. Dean shrugged.

"It's his one endurin' quality. Drives me nuts."

"Well. Let's see if we can do something about that, shall we?" Toni smiled tightly, nodding once at the demon as she wrung out a towel that she'd left pooling in the bowl. The soft dribbling noise echoed around the room. Dean stepped back into Sam's line of vision. Roughly grabbing his jaw, he caught Sam by surprise, prising his jaw open and stuffing a dry cloth in his mouth. Sam moaned, trying to wrench his head, but couldn't with the strap holding him down. Dean idly stroked both of his cheeks in small circular motions with his thumbs, enjoying the chaos of fear that twisted in his brother's eyes. He leaned back, but kept his hands on Sam's face as the white towel descended, covering his face. Sam jerked, terror clawing up his throat when he struggled to breathe. He couldn't see anything. All he could hear was the sloshing of the water as the bowl was moved.

Ice cold water poured onto him, soaking through the already drenched towel, into the dry cloth in his mouth. He fought and bucked, coughing and choking, trying to suck in air but still the water came down. Pouring endlessly. Memories of Toni in his cell shot forwards in his mind's eye as he drowned.

He was going to die this time.

oOo

Alarm fired through Dean the moment Sam started choking. His mouth was open wide, long broken gasps like he was suffocating ripped through his throat. Dean was up and pulling him onto his side, holding him by the shoulder gently but firmly as he choked and coughed in fits and spurts. He couldn't be choking on anything; he hadn't eaten or had anything to drink for hours. The awful ragged sound tore through Dean as Sam shuddered beneath his touch.

It had to be part of whatever was going on inside his head. Dean didn't know what Sam was doing to himself but it couldn't be good. The possibilities made Dean's blood run cold.

oOo

The cloth disappeared, leaving Sam coughing and spluttering pitifully, unable to turn his head to clear his airways. He sucked in a shaky breath through his nose, blinking away the water that had mixed with his tears on his eyelashes. A guttural moan reached through his agony and his gaze slid to the left. The demon version of his brother had Toni pressed up against the table he was on, his body hard against hers as he kissed her hungrily, the wet towel still in her fist as she grasped the table top, his hands sliding up her back under her shirt. Repulsed, Sam looked away, scrunching his eyes closed. Somewhere, deep inside, a tiny logical voice told him this wasn't real. That it couldn't be. His brother – demon or not – would never be with her. Would never get off on the sight of his suffering. Yet that didn't block out the repugnant sounds of pleasure coming from them.

"Wait, Dean, not yet" she laughed against his mouth, pulling away. Dean growled in frustration. Throwing the towel into the bowl with a wet plopping noise, Toni placed a hand on the demon's chest, rising onto her toes. "Go get it" she whispered in his ear, grazing his jaw with her teeth. He smirked down at Sam before slinking off.

Sam shifted uncomfortably when Toni's hawk-like gaze turned back on him. A savage rawness was bright in her eyes as she lifted herself up onto the table, straddling his stomach, her knees on either side of him. He groaned, trying to buck her off, but the straps held him fast.

"How does it feel, Sam? Having that blood surging through you and knowing you wasted it? I gave you the perfect opportunity to be everything you were meant to be and you squandered it" she murmured as she ran her hands over his chest, smirking when his torso heaved under her touch, his breath hitching in his throat as he panicked. Her very touch made his skin crawl. She leaned up over him, balancing on one hand beside his head and plucking the sodden rag from his mouth. Sam gulped in air, finally able to breathe properly. She traced a finger along his lower lip and he growled, eyes furious and full of loathing.

Footsteps approached again and his brother's hand snaked up Toni's back, making her arch against Sam. She slid her hands along his chest as she sat back up, taking her favourite toy from the demon. Remaining on top of him, she turned the torch on, the brazen snarl of the fire snapping to life. Sam stared, hypnotised by the jet of blue flame that poured forth. Toni twisted her head to the side, capturing Dean's mouth with her own as his hands began to wander. Sam watched, horrified as the torch lowered.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

oOo

Dean jumped when Sam lurched upright with a gasp, his eyes flying open. Grey eyes locked onto the older Winchester who sat on the edge of his cot and Sam scrambled backwards, raising his arms defensively.

"Sammy, it's alright. It's just me; you're safe" Dean soothed, holding his hands up flat, his voice calm even though the sight of his brother's obvious fear made his heart plummet.

Neither of them moved.

Sam waited, expecting his brother to make a move. To let that maniacal grin spread like poison across his solemn features. For the soft emerald eyes to turn black, tainting the concern that pooled in their depths, seemingly genuine. Was it a trick? How could he be sure? Everything had felt so real before…he could still smell the lingering stench of Toni's sickly floral perfume. Yet the fullness of the demon blood that Dean had injected him with was gone. He felt drained; his limbs trembled with the effort to keep him upright.

Slowly – so slowly – Dean moved, keeping his hands up, wincing inwardly when Sam flinched visibly even though he kept his movements fluid, gentle. He kept his gaze fixed on Sam as he leaned down, fingers grasping at the water bottle on the floor. Rising just as slowly, he gave Sam a small, reassuring smile. His little brother's eyes never left him. Uncapping the bottle, Dean offered it. Sam's eyes flickered down to it, mistrust written on his face.

"It's okay, Sam. It's just water," Dean murmured, raising it to his own mouth and taking a long drink. "See?" He offered it again.

Relieved to see no instant reaction – no smoke, no pain, like he had felt when Dean had last given him water – Sam reached out a hand, his movements halting when he saw the chain and cuff dangling from his wrist. "I'm sorry. I had to" Dean whispered, voice breaking. Sam said nothing but reached out for the water bottle. Raising it to his lips hesitantly, he took a tiny sip. Nothing. It tasted normal and nothing burned. Suddenly he couldn't stop. He took long gulps of the cooling liquid, quenching his thirst like a man in a desert, pushing the nauseating vision of his hallucination away when it fought to pull him back under.

Relief filled Dean, letting him relaxed just slightly. He lowered his hands and watched as Sam finished the whole bottle. Holding out his hand, Dean took the empty container.

"How-" Sam cleared his throat, surprised by the gruffness of his own voice, "how long was I out?"

"About twelve hours, I guess. What do you remember?" Dean replied. Terror shot straight back into Sam's eyes, his whole body tensing. "Hey, don't worry; it's not important" Dean said quickly, injecting as much calm into his tone as he could. "How do you feel?"

Sam looked past him, the tension easing from his shoulders as his fingers idly traced the metal on his wrists.

"I don't really know. Not okay. Not awful. Somewhere in between?" he answered, exhausted.

"How about tryin' to eat somethin'? You haven't really eaten anythin' substantial for a couple of days" Dean suggested. Sam nodded wearily. Dean stood up, still slow, still smooth in his movements, afraid that the slightest wrong move would bring that look of fear back into Sam's face. If he was the cause of that fear…he couldn't bear it.

Leaving quickly, he rushed to the kitchen, not wanting to be gone long.

oOo

The rest of the evening passed in a similar vein; as soon as Dean began to think Sam was beginning to relax he'd hear something, sometimes real, sometimes in his head, and the skittish look would come straight back. Dean didn't ask him what he'd seen and Sam didn't volunteer. It was as though he couldn't trust if what was happening was actually real or not. He'd managed a few mouthfuls of the sandwich Dean had brought him, trying again whenever Dean encouraged him.

He'd refused to try and sleep again, afraid of the things he'd see in the dark. Dean couldn't blame him. They sat on the cot together, a deck of cards between them; the only thing Dean seemed to be able to distract Sam with without causing him to panic. The hunter had lost four games in a row that he could have easily won, but Sam needed control over something – even if it was something as simple as a game.

They had barely spoken but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. When Sam wanted to talk, he did; Dean didn't push. They were on their second game of 66, Dean sat in the chair while Sam lay on his side, head resting on his pillows, when Dean saw the colour bleed out of Sam's face, his skin taking on a greyish hue. He sprang up in an instant, grabbing the bucket he'd brought in earlier and sticking it in front of his brother just in time. Sam retched, his whole body heaving as he threw up, leaning over the side of the cot.

Finally.

This was the stage Dean had been waiting for. Sam heaved again, his body convulsing painfully. The pitifully small amount he'd been able to eat came back up, mixed in with a vile blend of water and blood. Their past experiences of Sam's detox had always drawn to a close with this stage. It was awful, painful and, for Sam, downright revolting but they knew what it meant.

"C'mon, it's alright, Sammy. Get it out" Dean said soothingly, rising from his seat. Sam shifted to accommodate him, lifting his head as Dean threw the pillows to one side. He sat at the top of the bed, Sam's head resting in his lap as Dean held the bucket up for him. Retching again, Sam coughed pitifully, a soft moan rising from his throat. Dean brushed his brother's hair back from his face, stroking the smooth strands gently, providing what comfort he could. It may have been the last stage, but that didn't make it easier.

It was going to be a long night.

oOo

I figured that the worst thing Sam could see was a version of his brother having anything to do with Toni. I really hope it didn't come across that he was anything other than disgusted by the whole thing.

Please review!