"I know he's living in hell every single day

So I ask, oh God, is there some way for me to take his place?"

- Permanent, David Cook

oOo

There was something warm beneath his cheek. The texture was rough, unusual for a pillow. It wasn't spongy enough to be a pillow either, yet somehow it felt more like home, more safe. Sam opened his eyes, waking with a clear mind for the first time in days. He didn't feel rested, not even close, but the fogginess inside his mind, the oppressive cloud that had tainted his world for what had felt like forever, had dissipated, thinning into nothing.

His mind felt like his own.

Raising a hand to rub one eye blearily, he saw the blue texture of the makeshift pillow, realising that it was made of jeans. Memories of the night before slipped to the forefront of his mind. The stomach churning vomiting had felt like it had gone on for hours until he was left retching with nothing more to expel. Dean had stayed with him, hadn't left him, even though watching couldn't have been a pleasant experience. Sam couldn't even remember falling asleep again but Dean, afraid that he would wake his brother, had stayed sat on the cot, cradling his brother's head in his lap.

Behind him, Sam could hear soft, steady breathing. It was a sound that he'd heard for years in hundreds of motel rooms; in the Impala – nearly everywhere. It was the sound of home. Unwilling to move and risk waking Dean, Sam knew how his brother would look. He could picture it exactly: Dean would be lying at an awkward angle on the cot, no doubt like a pretzel, fast asleep in a position few people could tolerate. Yet Dean would rather suffer to make sure that Sam was alright. It was a tiny truth that Sam knew without a doubt and it eased the ache in his heart ever so slightly.

Closing his eyes, Sam dozed again, feeling safe for the first time that he could remember in what felt like a life time.

oOo

His neck and shoulders were on fire, competing with the cramp that twinged in his side. Dean winced as he straightened himself out, neck cracking and popping painfully. He became aware of the lack of weight on his leg, blinking his tired eyes open quickly. Green met grey as Sam gave him a small smile.

"Hey" Sam greeted softly. The youngest Winchester was sat, cross-legged on the cot, fingers idly playing with the battered cards they had used the night before.

"Mornin'" Dean replied, voice thick with sleep. Clearing his throat, he eased himself up into a sitting position. He scrutinised Sam carefully, looking for signs that he was in pain, unfocused – anything that could imply that his long battle with the demon blood was still raging on. "How you feelin'?"

"More like me, I guess. Hungry" Sam replied, his eyes remaining on the cards in front of him as he sorted them into solitaire piles.

"Why didn't you go get somethin'?"

Sam held up his wrists, the demon warded cuffs dangling from each one.

"Shit. Sorry, man" Dean mumbled, guilt piercing through him as he scrambled off the bed to retrieve the keys. "I should've taken them off last night."

"It doesn't matter" Sam said quietly, his voice still too soft for Dean's liking. He reached out for the cuff on Sam's left wrist, dismay tugging at him as he saw his little brother flinch when his fingers brushed against his skin. Sam tried to conceal it, but Dean wasn't fooled.

Your brother is damaged in ways even I can't heal.

Castiel's words from so long ago popped to the forefront of his mind as Sam near enough snatched his hands away, recoiling from the cuffs as soon as Dean released him. The detox may have been over, but they were nowhere near the end of Sam's journey to recovery. They'd barely even started and the thought sent a shiver of despair through the hunter. He hid it behind his mask, his smile carefully constructed to reassure Sam.

"C'mon. Let's go see if we can find somethin' edible" he said, rising to his feet and walking towards the door. Sam trailed behind, saying nothing, keeping his distance.

He would be okay. He just needed time. Dean had to believe it.

oOo

Kansas City, Kansas

The room was a warm blend of mustards and deep yellows which were balanced against the dark chocolates of the furniture. A super king bed dominated the centre of the suite, standing tall with crisp white sheets and a yellow bed runner, which matched the walls, draped across the foot of the bed. It was pleasantly cool and quiet inside, the air conditioning making a soft whirring sound; a stark contrast to the cloying heat and bustle of the streets below.

Thomas sat, one leg crossed over the other, in one of the plump hazel armchairs beside the window, facing outwards so that he could enjoy the sunshine that poured in, lightening the room. A cup of tea sat steaming gently on the glass coffee table in front of him as he held a pen aloft over the local paper. On the arm of the chair he had balanced a leather-bound notebook, his careful script etched across its yellowing pages.

A soft knock disturbed the silence, emanating from the adjoining door that connected his suite with the one next to him.

"Come in, Anna" Thomas called, glancing up with a polite smile when she opened the door and slipped inside, closing it quietly behind her. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine, thank you. Already making a start, I see" she replied, sitting down in the neighbouring armchair, tea in hand. She took a small sip, watching Thomas over the rim of the mug.

"You know me: never one to be idle when there's a job to be done" he smiled, placing the newspaper in his lap. He picked up his notebook and passed it to her. Anna put her mug down, taking the notebook in both hands, turning it and quickly scanning over what he'd written. "I've narrowed our choices down to about four," Thomas explained. "I'd like to go through them with you later on if that's alright?"

"Of course. What else do we need to do?" she asked, flipping back a few pages.

"Would you be able to see the concierge about vehicle hire? Something sizeable and practical – not extravagant like the huge monstrosities half the population seem to favour over here. We'll need GPS as well" he replied, taking back the notebook. "I'll start making some calls. I'd like us to be gone before noon preferably and get a bit closer to Lebanon."

"I'll go and see what I can do."

Anna rose and left, her slippered feet shuffling noiselessly against the thick carpet. Thomas put the paper down on the coffee table, picking up his tea as he began writing a new list. Some of his supplies he'd managed to bring from England, but there were other more…intricate items that they required which he wouldn't have been able to get through customs. It was no great matter though; James and Toni's American contacts would be more than willing to assist. Of that, Thomas had no doubt. Loyalty meant everything to him – and to them.

It was a lesson the Winchesters were going to learn.

oOo

Lebanon, Kansas

Dean was hovering.

He didn't mean to – not really. He knew he was doing it and kept chastising himself for doing so. He'd made excuses, endless excuses, to check on Sam. To be in the same room, to pass through, to grab something. It was all smoke and mirrors and they both knew it. Yet, the hunter didn't know what else to do. He wanted to help so desperately. To make the right kind of coffee, find the funniest cat video or the best Game of Thrones fanfiction; anything that would make Sam whole again. It didn't work that way and Dean knew it.

Knew it. Hated it.

It had only been a day since Sam's detox had finally finished and the pair of them had done everything they could to avoid talking about anything Sam had been through. Dean wanted to – desperately wanted to – but he choked on the words whenever he thought about it. Deep down he knew he wasn't ready to hear how his failure had made Sam suffer. The idea that the reality was worse than what he imagined made Dean f+eel nauseous.

Instead he'd mothered his brother, flitting around the bunker getting anything he thought Sam might want or need. Had it been any other time, Sam would've told him to stop fussing, to go and do his own thing. Yet, Sam seemed to know that Dean needed to be in protective big brother mode. He accepted the endless mugs of coffee, tea, offers of homemade burgers, books and Netflix options with the almost eternal patience that he'd always had. They'd finally settled on binge watching The Walking Dead until Sam had fallen into an exhausted sleep and Dean had snuck off, reacquainting himself with Johnny Walker and a glass that was deeper than the bottle.

He'd passed out in the library, oblivious to the world until he'd woken with a start, rushing through to Sam's room, expecting the worst and finding…nothing. Nothing but his brother sleeping. When he checked his watch, Dean was surprised to see it was nearly 10am. The very fact that Sam had slept so late was unusual, but maybe it was just going to be a part of the new routine that they were going to have to get used to for a while.

Lurching to the kitchen, Dean poured a huge glass of water, chasing away the rough dryness of his tongue and the pounding headache that throbbed behind his eyes. Raiding the fridge proved less than fruitful; there was barely anything left.

"Crap" Dean groaned, dismay filling him when he shook the coffee pack and heard barely a rustle. He peered into and saw that the dregs left weren't even enough to make a half decent cup.

"Don't tell me we've actually run out of coffee." Dean turned at the wry voice, crumpling the packet in defeat when he met Sam's soft smile with one of his own. Sam eased himself down onto the bench by the table, his hair fluffy from sleeping, the dark shadow of stubble colouring his cheeks.

"Coffee, food, dreams of some hot girl bringing us either one" Dean grumbled, staring forlornly at the offending fridge.

"Why don't you go get some supplies? You've been stuck in here for days" Sam remarked, running a hand through his hair, pushing it from his eyes.

"You feelin' up for a trip out?"

Sam shook his head.

"Sammy…"

"No, Dean. Not yet. Go without me. Honestly I'll be fine" Sam replied quickly when Dean opened his mouth to protest again.

"I could call Cas, get him to bring some stuff in" Dean suggested, clearly uncomfortable with Sam's suggestion. Sam pulled a face.

"The last time you did that we ended up with a month's supply of beef jerky and decaf" Sam reminded him. Dean shuddered at the memory but his doubt was still clear. "Dean. Go. I'll grab a shower, tidy up in here. It's okay." Dean stood still, still warring within himself. Stop it, he chided himself. He'd promised Sam that he would call the shots and smothering him wasn't giving him that.

"Alright. You got your phone on you?" he asked. Sam nodded, pulling it from his pocket. "I'll be a half hour, maximum. You need anything – and I mean anything – you call me, y'hear? I'll come straight back."

Sam nodded, watching his brother disappear out of the door. Breathing out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagged, the lightness falling from his eyes until they were a stony grey. He'd forgotten how exhausting it was putting up the mask, keeping it up, so that Dean didn't see how far gone he was. Denial was easier than admitting it to himself as well.

Whatever he needed to do, right?

He flinched violently when he heard the door banging shut behind Dean. Sam hated it, hated that every small noise frightened him, made his heart thump in his chest; it was as though he was expecting Toni and Thomas to just reappear. He knew Toni wouldn't – Dean had heard of her death from Jonathan Markham – yet that didn't ease anything for him.

Pushing himself up, he padded through the silent bunker, heading for the showers. The lights flickered on overhead, a gentle buzzing filling the air as he stepped inside. The shower room was long, four cubicles standing on either side with a row of four sinks along the back wall. The curtains were pulled back on the separate cubicles, each one empty. Grabbing his towel, he hung it up on the hook outside the closest cubicle to the door. His shower things were exactly where he'd left them months ago, bottles still half empty. Dean hadn't moved any of it. Reaching in, he turned the dial, snapping his hand back quickly to avoid getting his arm wet. Pulling his shirt up over his head, the hunter shivered when the cool air teased across his bare skin, the water splashing onto his bare feet as he removed the rest of his clothes, folding them neatly and putting them on the shelf just beside the cubicle. He left his phone on the top of the pile.

Steam was rolling out from the cubicle as he stepped inside, putting a hand under the water to test its heat. It was nearly scalding: just how he needed it. Stepping under the fall, he let the water trail up his arms first, before he moved completely under the huge showerhead. It ran in rivulets down through his hair, plastering it to his forehead and neck as the water pounded down on him. He closed his eyes as it ran over his face.

Immediately, her face flashed up beneath his eyelids.

She smiled, putting the soaking cloth back over his face, listening with satisfaction to the broken cries that escaped as he choked.

Sam's eyes flew open as he gasped, inadvertently sucking in a mouthful of hot water. He coughed and choked, stumbling backwards out of the water, out of the cubicle, arms spread against the walls, jumping when his exposed back hit the freezing wall behind him. He spun around, eyes wild, chest heaving. Toni's laugh echoed in his mind as he clutched at his head, water running through his fingers from his hair. He lurched forward, grabbing his phone from the top of his clothes. Unlocking it, his thumb hovered over Dean's name. Yet he couldn't do it. Couldn't let his brother see that having a damned shower scared the living hell out of him.

A broken sob escaped his throat as he crouched down, curling into a ball on the shower room floor, squeezing his eyes shut as he cried.

She'd taken everything he had.

oOo

Dean eased the Impala back in through the garage doors, the snarling rumble echoing around the cavernous room. He loved the way she sounded in here. Normally it would only be in tunnels that he could to truly appreciate the way Baby sounded, but in the bunker, he got to experience it every time. It sent chills rippling down his spine. He let her idle a moment longer before cutting the ignition.

The drive had given him the clarity he'd needed. Sam was right; he'd spent too long cooped up in the bunker. Doing something normal, even if it was just a supply run, had made him realise that things would be normal again. Maybe not soon, but they would be. He would make sure of it. Of course, he'd checked his phone way too many times, but its silence was reassuring. Sam hadn't needed him and that was a good sign.

Getting out of the car, the door squeaked and groaned before slamming shut. Dean slipped the keys and his phone into his jacket pocket before grabbing the bags from the backseat. He took the steps down into the bunker two at a time, a light bounce in his gait.

"It's just me!" he called as he entered the bunker, the plastic bags rustling in his hands. Silence greeted him. Maybe Sam hadn't heard him. It was fine. He jogged down the steps, walking through the library, heading for the kitchen. "Sam?" he called again, louder this time. Still nothing. It didn't mean anything. If something had happened, Sam would've called.

Entering the kitchen, the Winchester dropped the bags on the kitchen counter, noting the mess that still littered the surfaces. Just because Sam hadn't tidied up when he said he would didn't mean something was wrong. It wasn't. He was being paranoid.

"Sammy?" Dean shouted again as he walked out into the corridor, heading for Sam's bedroom. He started to run. He couldn't help it. He looked in the open door and saw it was empty. Shouting again, he raced to the showers. Found them empty.

Something was wrong. He shouldn't have left.

With his heart thumping against his ribs, Dean fumbled for his phone, yanking it from his pocket. He swiped, unlocking, almost giddy with relief when he saw an unread text message.

I'm outside. - S

Dean ran.

He sprinted through the bunker, up the stairs and burst out through the doors that lead out to the front.

"Sam?!" he yelled, jumping up the stairs onto the road.

"I'm here, Dean." He spun, sagging with relief when he looked up and saw Sam sitting on the small rocky hill in a patch of sunlight, his back against the wall of the bunker's upper levels. Dean walked around the entrance to the bunker, climbing up the slope, letting his heartbeat slow. He slid down beside his brother, noting the wet ends of his hair that the sunlight hadn't dried yet.

"You okay?" Dean gazed out over the landscape below. Lebanon sprawled out in front of them, small as it was. It had been a long time since they'd come out here just to sit and watch.

"I just…realised I haven't been outside – properly – in a long time" Sam replied quietly. "The bunker got a bit…claustrophobic."

So something had happened. Dean kicked himself. He shouldn't have gone.

"What can I do?" he asked, trying – and failing – to keep the desperation from his voice.

Sam sat quietly, his gaze pensive. Dean waited, casting a look out of the corner of his eyes at his brother.

"Honestly? I don't know, Dean. I don't even know what to do," Sam replied, his voice quiet and cracking. "I want to be normal – to be me – but I don't even know what that means anymore. I don't want to be the victim. I don't want to be scared of my own shadow. But everything reminds me of her. Of what she did to me. I was so weak, Dean. I tried so hard for so long. But I just couldn't do it anymore." His voice broke as the tears begun to fall.

"You are NOT weak, Sammy" Dean growled, clenching his teeth as his throat worked. He had to be the strong one.

"I am, Dean. I can't even tell you if this is real or not."

"The detox is over…"

"No, I don't mean that," Sam explained, shooting Dean a look filled with shame before turning away again. "When…when Lucifer came to that barn, I said that I'd say yes – I'd let him in – if he took it all away. If he made it so that I thought nothing had changed. I want to say that this is all real, but, honestly, I don't know. Maybe I did say yes. Maybe the world is burning because of me."

Dean sat in stunned silence. He knew it'd been bad. Knew that Sam must have agreed to say yes, even if he hadn't gone through with it, for Lucifer to appear. Yet the reality of that hadn't really hit him before. Sam hadn't known he was about to be rescued. He's thought everything was over. Dean had come so close to losing his brother forever. The thought formed a ball of ice in his gut that solidified his fears and spread its cold fingers through his body.

"It's not, Sammy. I can't prove it to you – I don't know how, but it isn't. We're gonna fight this a day at a time. Just like we have before. It ain't gonna be quick and it sure as hell ain't gonna be easy, but we will. I need you to see that. But I need you to be honest with me. You talk when you're ready but when things get bad, I need to know."

Sam gave him a small, sad smile.

"One day at a time."

oOo

I think this is turning out to be a lot harder to write than the torture stuff!

Please review!