So, I'm hoping that 12x21 helped validate what I've been doing…their conditioning of Mary was obviously much quicker that Thomas' process but similar result. I want it to be clear that the decisions that Sam makes, whilst massively out of his 'normal' character, are 'in' character for what he's become throughout this story (but those of you who have been on this journey with me know that!).

Also, apologies for the wait: I couldn't write over the weekend as I was at Asylum 18.

Last chapter…here we go!

oOo

"I can't escape this hell

So many times I've tried

But I'm still caged inside."

- Animal I Have Become, Three Days Grace

oOo

Dean limped into the bunker, leaning heavily on Jody, one arm wrapped around his broken ribs. He'd sat in the back of the Impala, Sam's head resting in his lap, for the whole journey back. Jody had driven, leaving her truck in Chicago. She would go back with Ketch later to get it and finish investigating the scene. Ketch had picked up the important (and incriminating) items, but the rest had been left and locked away.

The hunter was exhausted and ached all over, unable to fall asleep for fear of his brother waking up and needing him. It'd given him too much time to dwell on what had happened and that was never a good sign for the older Winchester. He watched now as Ketch carried Sam in, hefting the younger man over one shoulder and heading towards his room.

Guilt swarmed through the older Winchester; Sam had suffered enough with his freedom being taken without them having to resort to the underhanded tactics of Thomas and Anna too. Dean just hoped that he'd understand…he swore there and then that he wouldn't use the excuse of doing it "for his own good". Technically, Ketch would argue it was true. Dean knew it but didn't want to believe it.

"I think it's about time you slept," Jody remarked as she staggered beneath his weight, one of his arms looped around her shoulders as she followed Ketch towards the bedrooms.

"No," Dean shook his head vehemently.

"Dean –"

"I said no, Jody," he snapped and instantly regretted it. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to take it out on you. But I need to be there when he wakes up. I need to see that he's okay and I need him to see me."

"I get it," Jody replied mildly, steering him towards the kitchen. She looked up at him sharply when he tried pull her after Ketch. "Dean, I need to redress your leg and that'll be a lot easier in the kitchen. You can go to Sam's room afterwards, okay?"

The hunter bit back a growl of frustration but let her lead him. Ketch disappeared with Sam and Dean felt his anxiety shoot up the moment his little brother was out of sight. After all this, he might never let him leave a room alone again. Knowing his brother, Dean knew that Sam wouldn't want to either; he'd want his older brother around.

Which was why Jody needed to hurry up.

She made him sit on the long metal bench by the table, his leg extended out in front of him as she unwound the field dressing she'd applied back in Chicago. The sheriff inspected it closely.

"I think I'm gonna have to stitch it; it's too open for my likin'," she explained, wandering over to the medical kit they kept in the cupboard. Her second pick up was the bottle of whisky Dean had abandoned after getting out of the farmhouse. Wordlessly, she handed him the bottle and he took a large mouthful as she prepped the needle.

Ketch heard Dean's curses from down the hall as he laid Sam out gently on the bed. He was relieved that Sam hadn't woken during their trip, although he'd have been surprised if he had; the younger man had been given enough tranquiliser to knock out an elephant. It wasn't going to be pretty when he came around. Ketch had been concerned even before he'd seen Sam pull a gun on his brother. It didn't matter what Dean did or didn't want to believe; Ketch knew what he'd seen.

Sam was a risk to them and himself.

If Ketch had his way…

Yet he didn't. Dean had made that quite apparent. However, he was curious. There was something more going on and he doubted that Sam would willingly divulge the information. But, to help him, they needed to know.

He checked Sam's bandaged and stitched shoulder before leaving the room and heading for the library where his briefcase was sat.

Jody helped Dean into Sam's room, his face drawn. He lifted his arm from around her shoulder and hobbled over to Sam's chest of drawers, rifling through the third drawer. He pulled out a strange black contraption fitted with multiple straps. She watched him untangle it, understanding dawning when she saw it unravel.

"Here, let me help," she offered, holding out her hands. He passed it to her and she walked over to Sam's left and gently eased his arm into the black material, sliding it up to his elbow.

"Ready?" Dean asked, placing one hand under Sam's head, supporting it as the other eased his upper body up. Jody slipped the band beneath him and helped Dean feed his opposite arm through the middle of a group of straps. Dean placed his brother's uninjured arm down carefully and grabbed the second strap as Jody fed it under the small of Sam's back. They snapped the buckles together, rearranging and retightening some. "I knew this thing'd come in handy after he busted his shoulder the last time," Dean remarked as he finished making a few final adjustments to the sling. It would help minimise the movement of the gunshot wound, letting it heal quicker. Plus, more importantly, it wouldn't hurt so much.

He pulled up a rounded chair, making sure it was close enough to the bed for him to rest his feet on it.

"Are you gonna be okay if I head out for a while?" Jody asked, her eyes fixed on Sam's peaceful expression. Now that she knew Sam was safe in the bunker with his brother, she needed to get out and clear her head. The events of the last couple of days were catching up – she could feel them – and Dean didn't need to deal with her emotions right now. He had enough to worry about with Sam.

"Yeah, we'll be fine. Thanks, Jody," he gave her a tired smile. She squeezed his shoulder affectionately before heading out of the room, leaving the brothers together. Dean settled in, ignoring the aches in his body and the tiredness that stretched behind his eyes. He rubbed one with his fingers, wishing now that he'd got a coffee to help him stay alert. There was no way he was moving now and Ketch was nowhere to be seen.

Relaxing back into the chair, Dean watched his brother sleep, relief finally spreading its warmth through him.

oOo

Awareness spread heavily through his extremities, leaving a trail of agony and aching blazing through him. His head throbbed, particularly on one side, and his shoulder shot hot spikes through his nerves whenever he moved. Not that his arm seemed to be able to move much at all; something was clamping it to his torso. None of that was the worst though; physical pain he was used to – he could deal with it.

It was the smell.

The scent stretched around him, enveloping him in its warm headiness. It was subtle: a hint of old books, sturdy wooden furniture and gun oil. It was the smell of home.

No.

It was the smell of Dean. Sam could never mistake that scent and his eyes welled even though he hadn't opened them. Despair crippled him, his lungs tightening as he fought it. He wanted to cry, to scream, to bang his fists against the walls until they broke. He was back, in the bunker – no, in the fake bunker – and that could only mean one thing.

They'd failed.

He was trapped forever. The thought stole the small amount of breath he'd sucked in. He lay there, paralysed. The scent of his brother drifted near again.

Oh god. He's here.

Panic flooded his mind and he couldn't think. What was he supposed to do? Get out. And go where? What could he possibly do? He was in a fictional reality and his only saviour was gone. If he was here, Thomas was dead. Sam tried to remember, searching through the fog to try and make sense of it, hoping it would slow the frantic beating of his heart.

He'd been standing behind Lucifer, holding the knife…something had made him stop; he didn't know what. Pain had exploded then: Lucifer had got free and was gunning for Thomas. He'd shouted…gone for the gun on the table. Raised it, taken aim and then…nothing but agony. Something had hit his shoulder and he'd fallen, glimpsing a stranger in the door before he smacked his head.

There was nothing else and now he was back at the bunker. Alone. With the devil.

Get out. Anywhere but here. Run.

Cracking his eyes open slowly, Sam saw the familiar image of his bedroom ceiling. It was one he'd seen countless times; no wonder his mind could construct it in minute detail. His body betrayed him; it found comfort, a sense of relief, in the familiarity. But it was a lie. He needed to remember that. Letting his eyes slide over to his left, his breath caught as his heart banged against his ribs, blood roaring in his ears, the comfort gone.

Lucifer sat, sound asleep in a chair beside him, legs stretched out and propped up on the bed. He was still wearing Dean's face. Why? Hadn't he tormented Sam enough?

He'll never stop; you know that.

Sam couldn't waste time; the longer he lay there, the more likely he was to wake up. If he woke up…

Run.

As quietly as he could, Sam tried to sit up, confused when only one arm cooperated. He looked down, frowning when he saw his old sling protecting his left arm, holding it still. He hated it. He hated that Lucifer would play at being caring, knowing that everything he did would torment Sam further. The bed creaked as he eased himself up using his right arm, wincing both at the noise and the ache. His eyes flickered nervously to the devil. He hadn't stirred. Sam doubted he was asleep; Lucifer enjoyed toying with him. He didn't have a choice but to play his games – not if he wanted to get out.

Swinging his legs over the edge, Sam bit his lip, suppressing a groan as he stood up, keeping his body half turned towards Lucifer. Taking a shaky breath, he steeled himself and edged slowly, carefully towards the door, keeping his gaze trained on the chair and his footfalls soft. The door was open. He slid through the gap, careful not to touch the wood. It was too easy, but then, Lucifer was never going to attacked him that quickly. There was no fun in that.

His heart ached as he hurried down the corridor. The panic kept him moving but it couldn't squash the longing for the home that wasn't his anymore. Silence reigned as he jogged past Dean's room and the kitchen before entering the library. The ache increased. It was exactly as he'd left it save for a strange black briefcase sitting on the table and Dean's dormant laptop opposite it. If he could get to the garage, he could take one of the cars.

And go where?

Anywhere. It didn't matter. He just needed to get away and regroup. If he could do that, maybe he could work out how the hell he could get himself out of this mess.

You're not strong enough for that and you know it.

He had to be. There was no other choice.

Half running, half walking through the library, Sam had just made it to the archway into the antechamber when a stranger rounded the corner, stepping straight into his path. He skidded to a halt.

"I'm sorry, Sam but I can't let you leave," the man apologised, his accent warm like Thomas'. The familiarity brushed against another longing inside him – god, he needed Thomas right now – but he pushed it down. He had to get out.

Ketch watched Sam, sensing the anxiety rolling off the younger man. His whole body was tensed: a coiled spring with a feral panic lighting his eyes. He took a step forwards; Sam took one back, his eyes darting over Ketch's shoulder.

"It's going to be alright, Sam. I want to help you. But to do that, I need you to calm down. I only want to talk," the man said, his tone level and soothing. Sam wasn't fooled. He had to be Ketch and therefore he was dangerous. Everyone in the bunker was a threat.

Go. Now!

Sam shot forward, feinting left and driving right, manoeuvring around Ketch. He was in no condition to fight; all he wanted was to get out. His gaze was fixated on the stairs leading up and out of the bunker as he shot past Ketch and cleared the first step. He was half way to the stairs when an arm snaked around his throat, wrenching him back. His one good arm reached up to grab it, but he couldn't get a grip and his left was trapped in the sling. Ketch's other hand tilted his head forward, tightening his grip and Sam saw dark blobs swim into his vision. He fought until there was nothing.

Ketch held on until he felt Sam relax entirely beneath him. He'd told Dean. He knew this would happen. He'd have to go and check that the fool was still in one piece, but, judging by the frightened look of the youngest Winchester, getting out had been his first instinct rather than attacking his brother again. The Englishman hefted him up, dragging him across the floor and into one of the chairs at the library table. He wouldn't have long and he needed to make it count; Dean would never approve.

Not that Ketch was going to ask for permission.

Grabbing his briefcase, he pulled out a special vial filled with a translucent amber liquid. With deft fingers, he drew a sample into a needle and found one of the veins in Sam's right arm. Once finished, he grabbed a pair of handcuffs and loosely fastened his right arm to the wooden armrest. It wasn't tight but it would stop the Winchester from clambering off while Ketch jogged off to see if Dean was alive.

He peered through the gap in Sam's bedroom door, satisfied to see the hunter sound asleep in the chair, unaware that his brother had gone. He'd observed Dean throughout their return to Lebanon; he hadn't fallen asleep once. There was no way he was going to be waking up any time soon, giving Ketch probably more time than was adequate for his task. Ketch pulled the door shut quietly before heading back to the library.

Sam was already coming around, but his movements were sluggish, disorientated. He blinked hard, the cuff rattling against the wooden as he tugged absently at it, staring down in confusion.

"I do apologise, Sam, but you're going to feel a little…out of it for a little while," Ketch explained, pulling up another chair and seating directly in front of Sam. He reached into his briefcase again and pulled out a dictaphone, setting it to record.

"What did you do?" Sam asked, his words slurring slightly. He felt…weird. It was like he was in a trance but wasn't; he was definitely awake, definitely knew his name, where he was…yet he couldn't find the panic that had driven him through the bunker just minutes beforehand. In fact, he couldn't feel anything. There was nothing. No fear, no panic, just…a void. Sam knew he should be trying to run but he couldn't find the energy. His body felt too heavy.

"Nothing that you need to be worried about at all, Sam. Don't fight it; you'll feel better if you go with it. I promise you," Ketch soothed, his voice becoming soft and calm, much like a hypnotist's. "Do you know who I am?"

Sam nodded, shifting in the chair. It took more effort than it should have.

"I need you to answer everything with words, please Sam, there's a good lad," Ketch prompted smoothly. If he'd have been Thomas, it would've sounded patronising (not that he liked to think of Thomas that way), yet Ketch didn't. He was encouraging. An overwhelming desire to talk took Sam over.

"You're Ketch," he blurted out, unable to stop himself.

"That's good, Sam. I am. How do you know that? Did someone tell you?"

"Thomas told me about you," Sam replied before he could even think about lying. He fiddled idly with the edge of the sling. That was good; his serum was doing half its job – forcing him to relax without taking away his full focus.

"Thank you, Sam. I need you to clarify some details that I'm unclear on," Ketch explained, keeping his gaze locked on Sam, studying his every movement.

"Okay."

"When you were in the warehouse and I came in, why were you about to shoot Dean?" he asked, going straight in at the deep end. There was no point in bandying words; he didn't have the time.

"I wasn't," Sam countered, shaking his head. Ketch frowned.

"What did you pick up off the table?"

"A gun." So he wasn't lying – yet. Ketch looked over Sam's shoulder, listening for signs of Dean stirring. There were none.

"Were you going to use it?" he queried, giving Sam his full attention again.

"Yes," Sam nodded, his eyes wandering absently past Ketch. He was beginning to get restless; why was Ketch so interested in the gun? He wanted to ask, but for some reason, he couldn't. His vocal chords refused to try.

"On Dean?" Ketch prompted again.

"No," Sam repeated, grinding his teeth. He'd already said he wasn't; why did he keep asking? Ketch picked up the vial again and administered another around. Sam watched him dispassionately. "What're you doing?"

"Just helping you to relax a little more, not to worry," Ketch murmured, putting the needle back in its box. He knew what he'd seen back in Chicago; maybe he needed to give the serum a little more time to work. "Do you know where we are now, Sam?"

"Yeah, sort of."

"Can you tell me what you mean by 'sort of'?" Ketch blinked away the frown that tried to form.

"We're in the bunker, but it's not the real bunker," Sam explained, his shoulders sagging further as the serum took hold. He felt both weighed down and floaty. His right hand dropped into his lap. Keeping it up was too much effort.

"Why don't you think this is the 'real bunker'?"

"Because none of this is. I'm the only thing that is and even then that's not strictly true," Sam mumbled, heaving a shrug. Ketch frowned; he wasn't making any sense. What on earth had he been told? The extent of Thomas' influence was perhaps more alarming than he'd first thought.

"Why don't you think anything is real?"

"Thomas told me the truth."

"What truth is that?" Now they were getting somewhere.

"That I said yes to Lucifer." Sam murmured, his gaze tracing the floor. Ketch's eyes widened in surprise. It made sense; if Sam thought that his world was fictitious, he'd be less likely to keep the emotional ties to his family, thus allowing Thomas to cement Sam's place in his delusion. Given Sam's fragile mindset before Thomas had taken him, and the extent of his conditioning in the last month, it was hardly surprising that Sam thought it was true. And he did believe it; he couldn't fool a double dose of Ketch's truth serum. This wasn't good for the American at all. Ketch wasn't even sure if they'd be able to reverse much of what Thomas had done; he needed to know how much more to this there was.

"Alright, Sam. Can you tell me what you were doing in Chicago?" Ketch inquired, changing the direction of his questions.

"We were doing a ritual to expel Lucifer. If it worked, Thomas said that it would get Lucifer out of my head and I'd be able to wake up and take control again."

An alarm bell started to ring in Ketch's mind. That explained the symbol on the floor, the markings in blood on Dean. That it was a legitimate ritual, Ketch had no doubts, but it obviously wasn't for expelling Lucifer; that was a front. He had his suspicions of what it could have been for, but he'd need to go back to the warehouse and contact the Ritualistic Team back home to discover its true purpose. Rituals were not his forte.

"And that ritual required you to kill your brother – to kill Dean?"

"No, I keep telling you that," Sam grumbled, growing agitated, his voice rising. He half-heartedly pulled on the handcuff securing him to the chair.

"I'm sorry, Sam, I didn't mean to upset you," Ketch soothed again, keeping his tone pleasant. "What did the ritual need you to do?"

"I had to kill Lucifer."

Bollocks. Thomas, you clever bastard. Dean had no idea what he was in for.

"Who were you aiming the gun at?" Ketch asked, knowing that he needed Sam to say it for the recording. If Sam didn't say it, Dean would never believe it.

"Lucifer."

"Why is Lucifer disguised as Dean?"

"Because he likes to watch when he plays games. Thomas said that Lucifer did as I asked him to when I made a deal with him back in the barn in England; if he would create a world for me in my head where I didn't know what he was doing, I would say yes. Lucifer being Lucifer though wouldn't have been able to keep out so he took on Dean's vessel. That's why I had to stay in the cellar; that's why I got the brand: so that he couldn't find me," Sam explained, heaving a sigh.

Poor lad. Thomas had well and truly broken him, taking his trust in his brother and destroying it. Now, back in the bunker, it was no wonder Sam was trying to bolt. He couldn't see reality – his reality – was Thomas' fiction. The fact that he'd nearly killed Dean – and Ketch wasn't sure Dean would truly accept how close to death he'd actually been – proved that Sam had no doubts about who he thought the devil was.

Thank god sorting his head out wasn't Ketch's mission. Getting the truth was. He'd collect it and present it. Dean would need to sort it.

"Thank you, Sam. I've just got a few more questions that I need you to answer," he remarked, straightening up in his chair.

oOo

Something wasn't right.

The feeling crept through his subconscious, morphing his dream, taking it down a darker road. He'd been sat on the hood of the Impala, drinking beers, laughing with Sam. They'd been relaxed. Happy. It was soothing after so much uncertainty. But Sam had gone to grab another beer from the trunk and he hadn't come back. Dean had climbed off the hood and walked around the back to find the lid open but no Sam. So he'd started running. And running. And running.

The road refused to end.

Dean blinked awake, disturbed by the unsettled feeling. It wasn't eased when he fixed his eyes on Sam's bed. It intensified.

Sam wasn't there.

"Sam?!" he shouted, bolting upright, heart hammering. "Sammy?!" He ran, or at least, he tried. Pain seared through his injured thigh as he hobbled out of the room. He couldn't lose Sam again, not after he'd just got him back! He shouldn't have fallen asleep; why did he let himself fall asleep? He was such an idiot!

Every step was agony as he stumbled down the corridor, bracing against the wall with one hand. This couldn't be happening. Why would Sam go out of the room without waking him?! Any logical explanation fell to the back of his mind; there was no logic to his panic.

Rounding the corner to the library, Dean stopped dead. His fist clenched against the wall.

"What the hell is goin' on?!" he roared, red tinging around his vision. Sam sat with his back to his brother, Ketch in front of him, but all Dean could see was the silver wrapped around his brother's wrist, holding him to the chair.

Ketch looked up, his face grim.

"Thank you, Sam; that will be all for now," he said simply as he reached for a small black dictaphone and flicked a switch, placing it back on the table. Dean was across the room before he was done, snatching a handful of Ketch's shirt in his fist and dragging the older man up out of his chair, standing between him and Sam. He brought his face up close to the Englishman's.

"I said: what the fuck is goin' on?" he snarled, green eyes livid.

"I've been unpicking what's been going on, Dean – getting the truth that we need," Ketch replied, unfazed by the hunter's aggression. With a vicelike grip, he pulled Dean's hand from his shirt. Dean let go and turned his attention on his brother. Sam looked around lazily, paying no attention to the two men. Dean crouched down in front of him, cupping his face gently with one hand to try to get him to focus. Sam jerked away from the touch, but made no sound.

"What did you do to him? Why is he like this?" Dean asked, frowning at his brother who looked everywhere but at him.

"I simply used a truth serum on him; he's just a tad dazed. It'll wear off."

"You drugged him?" Dean's voice was deceptively softly as he stared up into Sam's face, his heart aching.

"It was necessary, Dean. We need to know what we're dealing with. Sam is a danger to both himself and us," Ketch replied warily.

"Keys. Now." Dean hissed, glaring up at Ketch, his hand held out expectantly. Ketch reached into his inner jacket pocket, holding them out without a word. Dean snatched them from his hand, unlocking the handcuff from Sam's wrist in an instant.

"Dean, you need to –"

"Get out."

It was said quietly, but Ketch paused, watching Dean's back uneasily as the hunter straightened up.

"Dean, you don't know –" The blow stopped him midsentence, sending the Englishman reeling backwards. His hand shot up to his face, blood already welling in a cut on his cheek.

"Which part of 'get out' wasn't clear? You wait until I'm asleep, tie my brother to a chair and then dose him with whatever shit you use. Don't you think he's been through enough?" Dean snapped, blocking Ketch's view of Sam. His hands were balled into fists, arms straight and tensed, anger rolling off him in waves. Ketch put his hands up and stepped backwards.

"Alright. But Dean: listen to the recording. You need to hear it," he insisted, snapping his briefcase closed before turning and walking out, Dean's gaze burning into his back. Sam was supposed to feel safe in his home, not manipulated by yet another stranger intent on controlling him.

The door closing echoed through the bunker as Dean turned back to Sam who just stared listlessly around the room.

"Sammy, are you okay?" he asked, pulling him up out of the seat gently, taking care not to jolt the sling. He half thought Sam was going to resist – he saw a whisper of panic flicker through the deadened grey of his eyes – but he just stood automatically.

"No, I'm not. Nothing is okay anymore," Sam replied quietly, looking anywhere but at him. Dean swallowed, concern seeping into his nerves.

"But we got you out Sammy; you're home. I know we gotta lot to do but it'll be alright in a few days. You'll see," he insisted, guiding Sam back towards the bedrooms. He didn't like how…compliant he was: it was as though he had no control whatever over his own body. Dean's blood simmered. It was a good thing Ketch was smart enough to go.

Sam didn't say a word as he was shepherded back to his room. He knew he should be running, terrified, but his body wouldn't feel it. Inside his head, he could feel the panic banging and screaming, but it was caged, locked away in a fog of numbness that dulled everything. He wanted to rile against the control, to fight and flee, but nothing listened; he knew that he'd be asleep as soon as Lucifer told him to do so.

He couldn't understand what he'd seen, what he'd heard. The conversation between Lucifer and Ketch hadn't made sense. It was just another mind game: make it seem like he was being protected, but all the while he was contained. As he slid in under the duvet, Sam wanted to let go, to scream and cry. But he couldn't.

"I'm glad you're back home, Sammy," Lucifer murmured softly, his honeyed voice full of compassion and sadness.

"I wish I was," he replied, hating that he was trapped in the cruel imitation of his home.

Dean swallowed, fighting back the tears that threatened. How could he not be glad he was home? Yet again, doubt seeped into the hunter; how was he supposed to fix his little brother?

"That's okay, Sammy; just go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up," he said reassuringly, his voice low and rough.

"I don't want you to be," Sam whispered as he turned over. Dean swallowed, unable to breathe, limping from the room. He switched the light off and pulled the door nearly, but not fully, closed, sliding himself down the wall next to his brother's room, not caring about the screaming agony in his leg.

He buried his head in his hands and silently cried.

oOo

Sleep didn't come easily, nor did it last long, but when Sam awoke, he felt as close to what could be considered normal as he got these days. Normal now meant waking with a thrumming heart, rising panic and an insatiable need to run.

Sliding his eyes towards the door in the half-dark, he was relieved to see no signs of Lucifer. That didn't mean he was gone or that Sam was out of danger. In some ways it was worse; he knew he'd never get out without bumping into the devil. Every truth that Ketch had forced out of him was etched into his mind and the words were bitter on his tongue. He hadn't wanted to say any of it; Lucifer now knew exactly what he knew, but he couldn't help it.

You have to fight or you're never gonna get out. You tried the passive way and you got caught. Do what Thomas would want you to. Get away. Regroup. Plan your next move.

The tiny voice was quiet but strong in his head: the whisperings of the hunter long dead inside him. Doubt and fear coursed through him, shivering down his spine. He knew what Lucifer would do if he got caught, if he fought, but what choice did he really have?

He needed out and he needed it now.

oOo

The small black dictaphone sat on the library table, staring up at Dean.

Dean: listen to the recording. You need to hear it.

His anger boiled up again at the thought of Ketch violating Sam's trust. Whatever truths they needed to know, Sam needed to be the one to say them. Ketch had no right to pull them out of him without permission. If Sam was hurting, he had to be able to build up his trust in them again and Ketch's actions didn't help.

And yet…

Dean knew the look in Ketch's eye too well. The Englishman hid his emotions well, but Dean was well practiced at noticing the small tells that people gave away. Ketch looked almost…haunted. And whatever had made him look that way was on the dictaphone.

After his own silent outburst, Dean had come into the library and sat staring down at the small black box for over an hour. He couldn't bring himself to listen to it, but he couldn't destroy it either. What if the information he really needed to help his brother was there on the recording? He shouldn't have to listen to it. Sam trusted him; he would tell him anything he needed to know to help. That's the way they'd always operated. Yet…he hadn't felt the doubts he did now for a long time. He'd fixed his brother before, but Sam had never been broken like this: by people.

Dean didn't know where he was going to start, but he needed to figure it out and soon.

Absorbed as he was in his thoughts, the hunter didn't notice a thing until something hard smashed into the side of his head, sending him sprawling halfway over the table. He gasped as his broken ribs slammed into the edge of the table. Feet smacked against the floor as Sam raced past him.

"Sammy, wait!" he shouted, hauling himself up and giving chase, ignoring the pain that shot through his leg, his chest. His brother didn't listen; he just ploughed forward, running towards the stairs up to the entrance to the bunker.

Sam is a danger to both himself and us.

He couldn't let him go; it wasn't safe.

"Sam, stop!" he tried again, but Sam didn't listen. He caught up and reached out, grabbing Sam's good arm, dragging him to a halt. He wasn't prepared for the sudden jab of Sam's elbow knocking him backwards and loosening his grip. Sam whirled, panic clear in his wide grey eyes as he struck out with his fist. Dean ducked out of the way, but wouldn't – couldn't – retaliate. He hesitated as he blocked another punch, taken aback by the ferocity, the desperation, that slid off his brother in waves. He was at the disadvantage – despite Sam being down one arm – there was no way he was going to hurt his little brother.

Sam threw another uppercut followed by a huge kick with his foot, knocking Lucifer back just enough to let him turn and race up the stairs, the sound of the door screeching open ahead of him barely registering in his ears.

"Jody, block him!" he heard Lucifer roar as he scrambled up the stairs. A perfect replica of Jody stood, wide-eyed, at the top, blocking his way. It was another trap: another way to contain him. It wasn't the real Jody. He barrelled forwards, feeling his tormentor catching up behind him. The fake Jody stood with her arms wide, palms out in a supposedly defensive manner. He knew the devil's tricks.

"Sam, honey, you need to calm down and stop. We're not gonna hurt you," she insisted urgently, her voice a perfect imitation. He couldn't take it.

Dean watched, horrified, as Sam reached Jody, knocking her to one side before doing a quick turn on the spot and grabbing her with his good arm, his huge hand wrapping around her throat.

Dean stopped three steps from the top of the stairs.

"If you come any closer, I'll snap her neck," Sam snarled, his grip already tightening, but all Dean saw was the fear in his eyes and the confusion followed by panic that flooded in Jody's. Her fingers grappled with his hand, trying to loosen his grip. Dean put his hands up.

"Sammy, you need to stop, okay? I know you're scared and what Ketch did wasn't okay, but I promise you you're safe here. You don't need to hurt Jody; we only want to help," Dean pleaded, keeping his voice calm despite the terror coursing through him. "Let her go, man, c'mon. This isn't you. You don't wanna hurt her."

If it had been the real Jody, Sam would never have even thought about using her as a shield. But she wasn't and he needed something between him and his greatest fear. The display Lucifer was putting on was so convincing, so acutely like Dean: no wonder it had taken Thomas to show him the truth. He never would've found it out himself.

"It's alright, Jody, he won't hurt you, will you Sammy?" He felt her go still under his hand, relaxing. They were going to do something.

He couldn't let them. He needed out.

Now or never.

Sam let go of Jody instantly, stepping back in the same motion and booting her in the back with one foot. She toppled forward off the top step, falling straight into Lucifer, his arms opening to catch her unconsciously as they both tumbled together down the stairs.

It wouldn't stop them for long.

Sam turned and ran, charging out of the bunker and towards his freedom.

oOo

I want to say a massive thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed and favourited, particularly the guests: I'm so glad to have shared this (rather epically long) journey with you all. It's the biggest story I've ever done!

An even bigger thank you to MJ Elsworth: without her, this story would never have happened as it was her suggestion in the first place. You've been a wonderful muse, brainstorming partner and friend throughout this whole saga.

As you can tell though, it's not the end. Let's face it, I've damaged the boys way too much to clear it up in a few chapters at the end of this one.

Please review and I'll see you real soon with Part 3!