A/N: Shout out to my beta reader for being amazing, as usual.
That night was uncomfortable. Dean had roughly pulled Bobby aside with blind certainty that the most notorious drug lord in their area hadn't just got caught. Not with Sam's recent leave from rehab and with the way Bobby had been keeping Dean busy at work and been watching the man like a hawk for the past month.
No. Dean knew Bobby was somehow behind this.
Sam was left alone on the dusty couch in front of the next news story while Dean had a word with their godfather. He was left with nothing to do but try to focus on anything but the knowledge that the man he used to meet up with weekly with Ruby was now done.
And Sam knew how fucked they were if Crowley were to be released. Crowley was a strong man.
In the meantime he was counting his breaths, trying to remember what Doctor Castiel told him about breathing in his nose and out his mouth. It wasn't something he should be having a panic attack over, was it? He was safe, wasn't it?
Unless Crowley got out.
But he won't!
But he might.
Sam leaned forward, elbows on his knees, clammy hands holding his face as he tried to hide from the world and get over his anxiety before Bobby and Dean returned to the room. The sounds of the TV in front of him seemed muddled and he didn't hear anything but the frantic beating of his heart and the demons in his brain screaming he would be dead if Crowley was released for any reason, for any period of time.
Because it was no coincidence Crowley gets caught after his run in. Crowley would know, he always knows, and if he's in jail for the rest of time he'd find a way to send someone to Sam—maybe even Ruby.
Images of Ruby slinking through his bedroom door with a bottle of Oxy and a loaded gun popped into his head. The reoccurring fear that she would be there to beat him down (he still doesn't have it in him to hit back, to even defend himself).
It took a few hard shakes before he could raise his head up from his thoughts to see his worried brother was already back in the room, one hand on his shoulder, eyes trained on his baby brother's face.
"Sammy, Sammy, calm down," Dean whispered hoarsely. He had been trying to snap Sam out of his episode before his brother felt the weight of his hand on his arm. Sam nodded shakily and averted his eyes down and to the side, not wanting to look anyone in the eye. He became aware of Bobby's presence in the room, silently observing.
Sam resumed his attempt at steady breathing, motivated further by Dean taking a seat beside him and breaking his macho façade to gently rub Sam's arm and back in gentle motions. Dean didn't like how fast Sam's heart beat against his skin but chose not to comment and worsen whatever Sam was going through.
"He'll kill m-me," Sam stuttered, finally finding the nerve to speak.
Dean was taken aback by the notion and sent a quick glare to Bobby, as if to blame the man for Sam's panicked response to finding out he was safe from his dealer.
"He's never seeing you again," Dean replied, careful not to raise his voice or sound the slightest bit mad. Sam was fragile even after rehab and the withdrawal. "You're safe, Sammy. He wouldn't bother going for you, anyway," he tried to reason. "You were just a customer, right? He can't go after all his customers, he was pretty huge here."
The idea should have soothed Sam but he failed to see the positive side. The irrational paranoia continued to claw at his chest.
It was jarring to see the change in his little brother. Dean was so used to the bitter taste Sam left him with when he was high and hated Dean for locking him away to detox. The way Sam had been, for however short of time it may have been, left such a distinct impact that seeing Sam act like he used to was odd. Sam was back to talking and being the more-emotional brother.
This wasn't Sam from the breakup or Sam from the detox. This was Sam from the hospital bed, crying in regret.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said, sucking it up and leaning forward to encompass Sam in a hug. He was only a little surprised when his brother reciprocated and leaned into the embrace, allowing himself to be comforted.
The next morning brought Dean to near panic when he called for Sam and didn't find him in any of the rooms of Bobby's house. He was ready to jump in the Impala and start a city-wide search when he saw Sam jogging past the kitchen window and slow down through the door. He was covered in sweat, hair sticking to his forehead and noticeably longer than Dean remembered.
"Hey," Sam said, voice labored with catching his breath. He reached a hand down to feel his pulse and Dean watched with a brow raised.
"The hell?"
"Jogging is good for you," Sam said nonchalantly, like the past year never happened. This was college-Sam.
"Why?"
Sam rolled his eyes and swiped sweat from his face. "Dude, you really should have paid attention in high school. I don't have time to explain—"
"No," Dean interrupted, stepping forward. "I mean, why are you out running? You haven't done that since, like, you graduated Stanford."
"I like exercise," Sam started as he walked by Dean, ready to shower and get all the grime off his skin. "It makes me feel… clean."
Dean didn't even have time to awkwardly mumble when Sam said, "Oh, and I have therapy later today. Cas thinks it'd be a good idea for me to ask you to come so we can work things out together."
Dean sputtered. "Since when do you go to therapy?"
"Since I nearly killed myself in a stolen car, high on pills, on my way to assault some kid? Look, Dean, it's okay if you don't want to go, I didn't think you'd want to. I just need to go. It's kind of important for me."
Dean made an offended face and scoffed. "You underestimate me, baby brother. I would love to go to your therapy thing. Maybe we can work out why you get so mad when I call you Sammy."
Sam was ready to retort, his eyes narrowed, but he bit his cheek and forced a smile. "I don't get mad."
"You're mad right now."
"Not as mad as you are when I say you're short."
Dean inhaled sharply. "I'm six-two, you freaking giant!"
Sam grinned and clicked his tongue like a disappointed school teacher. "I bet the doc will even know you're compensating with the Impala."
"THERE'S NOTHING TO COMPENSATE FOR, I'M HUNG LIKE A HORSE, YOU LITTLE—"
The younger brother had already laughed himself into the next room, leaving a red-faced and frustrated Dean.
Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat in the waiting room of the building Sam said the therapy was in. It looked more like a dentist office to him, and he didn't appreciate the sniffling kid and his mom tapping her ridiculously pointed heel on the tiled floors.
Sam wasn't bothered at all, casually flipping through some boring healthy-living magazine as he waited for his appointment to begin. Dean didn't like this place, the weird stains on the ceiling, or the proximity of the cars that were parked around his baby in the lot outside.
They sat silently as other people were called through the wooden door beside the secretary's window. Finally, ten minutes past Sam's appointment was scheduled for, a man with dark hair opened the door. His eyes stopped on Sam as he called out, "Samuel Winchester?"
Sam smiled tightly as he stood up and motioned with his good hand for Dean to come with him. They shuffled through the open door and down a narrow hall to an opened doorway. Dean internally mocked all the weird hanging art pieces that were too abstract for his tastes.
Inside the room the brothers sat on a black leather couch and waited for Doctor Castiel to close the door and pick up some papers from his desk across from them. He sat on his rolling chair and glanced at the papers, not truly needing them.
"Hello, Sam. And you're Dean, if I remember correctly? And I always do."
Dean stared at the man and kept himself from making any smartass comments… yet. "Yeah. I'm Sammy's big brother."
"I'm glad you made it," Castiel said with a genuine smile. "I'd like to start this first session with an easy question; how are you feeling today, Sam?"
Sam politely said, "I'm good. A lot better than last month, for sure."
"That's good. How have you been handling the transition back into the world?"
Dean looked expectantly at his brother, wondering if he'd mention the breakdown sooner or later.
"It's been rough, honestly. Dean and Bobby are helping a lot."
Castiel nodded and wrote something down on a clipboard he had ready at the desk. "Your godfather?" He verified.
Sam nodded. "I stayed at Bobby's last night."
"But he's coming back to live with me," Dean interjected. "When he's, uh, ready," he awkwardly added.
Castiel nodded again. "You said things were rough to begin with. What has caused you trouble since you left the rehabilitation center?"
It was clear Sam was hesitant to answer, eyes darted to the side and stalling to answer. So, Dean figured, fuck it. He was here to help.
"We saw the news last night. His old dealer was arrested."
Castiel's face was devoid of emotion. "How did that make you feel, Sam? What do you think of this?"
Sam exhaled and bit his lip. "I… don't know."
"Think, Sam. Try to gather your thoughts."
Sam's eyebrows furrowed and he worried his bottom lip. He wanted to get it out there so Castiel could help him like he always had, but he didn't want to just list how he'd already fucked up. It was hard to admit and he turned to Dean, puppy eyes in full view.
It didn't take Dean but a moment to hear the silent message.
"Sam didn't take it so well," Dean supplied, careful with his wording to spare his brother's feelings. "He freaked out when me and Bobby left the room. He was hyperventilating or somethin' and didn't hear me the first few times I tried to say something to him."
Heat rose to Sam's cheeks. He didn't know he was that far gone.
"And when he could talk again, he said the Crowley guy would kill him."
Castiel's eyes softened and he redirected his attention to Sam. "Why do you think he'll try to hurt you, Sam?"
"Because…" Sam shot a look to Dean, wanting some kind of sign of what to say, as if Dean knew what his worries were the night before. Sam thought Bobby or Dean had something to do with the arrest but never voiced the concern while also never receiving any proof. He didn't want to say he thought his family was behind it, it sounded almost criminal—it could be criminal, he had no idea how they'd get Crowley caught. For all he knew they could have wire-tapped the man's house or broken in.
He chose the vaguest way to explain. "Because Ruby worked with him… and I stayed loyal until I was in the hospital. He might… uh, think that… that I did something to get him caught. He was arrested a month after the accident and the rehab and, and, he might think I ratted him out or something."
All of which was another fear of his, his family involved or not.
It sent a pang of guilt into Dean to hear his brother talk like that, still so scared and paranoid. Ruby was gone but it would be a while before Sam could feel normal or even walk outside alone without the constant fear of Crowley.
The session went on for another forty minutes and it was eye-opening for Dean to hear exactly how Sam felt. He didn't know about the anxiety and panic attacks and the nightmares that were only just going away. He had no idea how much Sam was hurting, especially when he was hard on his brother.
Before they left Castiel handed them both packets of paper filled with information he felt they both could utilize. Dean didn't bother to see what Sam was handed, he assumed it was much like what he received. Back at Bobby's he finally flipped through it and felt the same guilt return when he saw the bolded titles. He had a stack of papers on helping abused loved ones, helping recovering addicts, and general information on what Sam would be going through.
He couldn't wait for the day when he didn't have to look out for things that trigger his brother. Dean felt terrible when he realized he'd already violated two of Sam's triggers when he saw the way Sam paled at Bobby passing Dean a beer, then the way Sam flinched when said beer was dropped on the table from slippery hands.
"Ruby liked to drink," Sam had quietly explained when Dean asked if he was okay. Sam knew it was a does-this-scare-you after-therapy type question. "She liked to break things."
That night Sam slept better, feeling somewhat comforted by Bobby's hospitality and Dean caring enough to accompany him to therapy and even paying attention to what Castiel said.
Dean had nightmares of his baby brother crying out mutely against a monster that smelled of booze.