Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me and SandraEngstom2 and Gredelina1 for all your help and support.

Chapter Fourteen

He hadn't known. God forgive him, he hadn't known. He had just seen a friend in pain and he'd done what he could, thinking he could stop it. He hadn't known what would happen.

Sam forgave him.

A few hours after Dean left, Castiel was in the library of the bunker, a stack of demonology and angel lore books open in front of him. He was steadily working his way through the tomes in hopes that he would find something, anything, to help Sam. He glanced up when he heard footsteps coming from the war room. Sam entered and Castiel's gaze roved over him, even as he said, "Hello, Sam," in a neutral tone, as if he was just greeting him on an ordinary day—as if the seizure and consequent conversation hadn't happened.

The first thing he noticed, much to his relief, was that there were no new bleeds. The second was that Sam looked tired, too tired for someone who had supposedly been sleeping for the past six hours.

"Hey, Cas," Sam said, stifling a yawn.

Castiel wanted to ask how he was feeling, but that wasn't conducive to the atmosphere of normalcy he was trying to achieve for his friend.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, thinking that was the sort of question he would usually ask when greeting Sam after a rest.

Sam shrugged. "Okay, I guess." He glanced at the books on the table and asked, "Anything?"

"Nothing," Castiel said apologetically. It was on the tip of his tongue to say something more, to reassure him they would find something, that Dean would get help from Rowena, but he stayed quiet.

Sam nodded as if he had expected the answer and said, "I'm going to get some coffee. You want anything?"

Castiel smiled. "It's all molecules to me." He thought, or perhaps hoped, that would raise a smile from Sam, too. It had last time, but he merely nodded now and wandered away towards the kitchen.

He sighed and turned his attention back to the book he was reading. He had only turned a few pages when he heard the tinkle of broken glass coming from the domestic area of the bunker. He wasn't immediately concerned, but then he heard the crash and thud of something heavy hitting the ground. He set off running at once, cursing the loss of his wings.

He knew what he would find from the sounds coming from the kitchen, but he still felt a wave of horror as he saw Sam seizing on the floor. His hand found Sam's temple immediately and he sent the smallest pulse of grace into his friend. The convulsions stopped at once, and Sam slumped against the tiled floor.

Castiel straightened and took a breath, just listening to Sam's now steady breaths. This was the second seizure in less than seven hours. Lucifer was really taking advantage of Sam's inability to fight back.

Castiel didn't think it was possible to hate his erstwhile brother any more than he had in the year of the apocalypse or after seeing the damage wreaked on Sam's soul by the cage, but he was wrong. What Lucifer was doing now was horrifying. He was ruining Sam completely. Taking his mind and shredding it.

Something glistened on Sam's face, and Castiel saw a tear creeping from under his closed lid and trickling down to the floor.

The problem was that it didn't end. Castiel took Sam back to his bedroom and made him as comfortable as was possible, but the seizure started again shortly after. Castiel combated it with grace, and he hoped that was perhaps the end, but it wasn't. It came again and again, and each time he cast it out, it was only a matter of time before Sam would be bucking and thrashing over the bed.

Castiel considered calling Dean back, but the most he would be able to do if he returned was watch Sam seize repeatedly and maybe talk to him. Castiel decided not to call. One of his friends was hurting already; there was no need to make things more painful for the other.

Sam didn't wake properly between times. He would toss and turn, mumbling Dean's name and sometimes Castiel's through other indecipherable words. He never sounded peaceful or at rest.

After yet another round of convulsions and grace, Castiel sat back in the chair beside the bed and considered his options. It had now been thirteen hours since Dean had left. Even if Castiel was to call him, it would be another thirteen hours before he arrived. And there would be nothing he could do.

"Dean," Sam mumbled.

"He will be back soon," Castiel said. "I am here."

"Cas?"

"Yes." He brushed back the sweat-slicked hair as he had seen Dean do so many times, hoping Sam would take some small measure of comfort from the familiar gesture.

Sam opened his eyes and they were bloodshot. He licked his lips and rasped, "I don't know how much more of this I can take, Cas."

"You just need to wait for Dean. He's getting help."

Sam closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. "Not sure I can."

Castiel stiffened in reaction to the stress that shot through his body. "You can," he said determinedly. "You have to!"

Sam gave a weak smile and nodded, but when he said, "Okay, Cas," it sounded like he was just humoring the angel.

"Sam!"

Sam's eyes, which had been drifting shut again, opened and fixed on Castiel. "You don't have to stay here. Go for a walk or read or something."

Castiel looked at him incredulously. "You are suffering, Sam. There is no place more important for me to be than here with you."

"Thanks," Sam said quietly. He drew a breath as if testing himself and then sat up on the bed, twisting so he was facing Castiel. "You said you couldn't do anything because it would be like a lobotomy," Sam said.

"Yes. It is what I did for Fred Jones to remove his psychic abilities."

Sam looked thoughtful. "But you said he was happy."

Castiel scowled at him. "And he was, but he was also practically a vegetable. You cannot want that, Sam. Think of Dean, think of…" He trailed off as an idea occurred to him. He had never tried using his grace in this way for this long; he didn't know if any angel had. Had Dean been there he never would have even suggested it, but Sam was desperate enough that he was talking about giving up. "Do you trust me, Sam?"

"Yes," Sam said, no trace of doubt in him. "Why? What are you thinking?"

"Do you remember when Gadreel took you over?"

"Yes…" Sam said slowly. "You want to use me as a vessel?"

"No!" Castiel said quickly. "I would never ask that of you. I was thinking of what he did in the times you were unaware. He created a space of peace for you. I could do something similar. It would not be a lobotomy or permanent solution; it would only be until Dean gets back. My hope is that Lucifer would be met with nothingness as your psyche would already be occupied elsewhere. He should not be able to find you within your own mind."

Sam's face became animated. "Yeah! That'd work. It has to. Do it, Cas. Please."

"Are you sure?" Castiel asked. "I will essentially be overpowering you the way Lucifer has. Your body will not be your own."

Sam huffed a laugh. "I'm guessing you'll be a little more gentle about it though."

"Yes," Castiel said. "I will definitely be that."

"Then yes, do it."

Castiel looked into his tired eyes and nodded. He would do this. Sam needed it, and if Dean came back and raged at Castiel for it, Castiel would tell him that.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, and Sam shifted so he was lying down again, his face raised to the ceiling. "Take a breath, Sam." He waited for Sam to obey and then focused on pouring a measure of his grace into Sam, sending him to sleep and opening his mind for Castiel to work.

Dean hadn't called Castiel or Sam because he knew they would have questions, hopes that he had achieved something talking to Crowley and Rowena, and he didn't want to hasten the moment of disappointment. He was still struggling to deal with his own. He just didn't know what to do next. How was he supposed to make Sam fight when he was so exhausted? And Lucifer was getting worse now, torturing him as well as chatting in his ear. How was he supposed to handle that for the rest of his life?

The Impala veered as Dean's eyes burned and someone protested his driving by leaning on their horn. Dean corrected and then slowed the car, wiping at his face. He saw an old, abandoned gas station a little ahead, and he turned on his blinker to pull in.

He climbed out as soon as he had cut the engine and made for the rear of the building, needing privacy to let out a little of his frustration. When he was out of sight of the road, he struck out a fist and slammed it into the old clapboard wall of the station. The pain that burst across his knuckles felt good and he did it again. He pummeled it with both fists, relishing the burn.

He was so absorbed by the pain that he didn't feel her arrival. One moment he was alone, the next a long fingered hand was curling around his wrist and stopping the next blow.

His head snapped around to face whoever had dared to interfere with his outburst, and then he faltered. "Amara. What are you doing here?"

"I felt your pain from the other side of the country. Dean, what is it?"

It was her gentle tone that did it. He could have handled anything but that in the moment. "Sam," he said, his voice cracking. "It's Sam."

"What has happened to him?"

Dean drew a breath and the whole story poured out, from Cold Oak and Azazel to Lilith and the cage, from the soulless resurrection to the deal he made with Death to return it. He told her about hallucinations and Castiel taking them on. He told her everything right up to the moment Sam became trapped with Lucifer for the second time, each word feeling like an outpouring of poison. He wasn't even aware of the tears that had started.

She listened to it all in thoughtful silence, nodding occasionally. When he came to a stop, wiping a hand roughly over his face, she said, "I am sorry, Dean."

Dean didn't realize until then that he'd been holding out hope for a solution from her. Her sympathetic tone didn't encourage that hope though.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" he asked.

She shook her head. "There is something, but I don't think you would want that as a solution."

"What is it?"

"I could kill Lucifer."

Dean laughed. "That's perfect. Believe me, I want that."

"There would be consequences."

"Like?" Dean asked.

"The damage that would surely follow. There is a reason I only fought him in the cage instead of killing him. I have studied the apocalypse, questioned the angels I have been revenging myself upon about the world and the apocalypse my brother allowed. They all said had Michael and Lucifer fought, it would have caused a great shockwave of power that would have destroyed a large portion of this world. If I were to kill Lucifer, I believe there would be a similar result. Because Lucifer is in the cage, it would, I believe, do the most damage to Hell. A possibility is that it would break the barrier of Hell, allowing the demons complete freedom."

Dean swallowed. "And that's the worst case?"

"No. That's possibly the best. The worst case is that the world could be broken, too." She hesitated. "I would do it, if that is what you wanted, Dean. Is it what you want?"

Dean closed his eyes.

Lucifer was leaning against the wall of the library, the picture of ease as he stared at Sam where he lay curled on the floor. He had no energy to sit let alone stand. He barely had the energy to keep his eyes open. It wasn't physical exhaustion that weighed him down. It was all mental. It couldn't be physical, because this wasn't. For every slice of the blade, each time Lucifer gouged out Sam's chest leaving him hollow, Sam lived still in the real world.

That knowledge made it no easier to bear though. He suffered just as much as he had in the cage last time. The only difference was that, back then, there was no Castiel beside the bed, trying to make things better and offering comfort. Castiel wasn't suffering too.

Castiel was making it worse.

At first it had worked. Sam had found himself in the library of the bunker, a beer on the table in front of him and a book open. He had been so relieved, so happy, that he'd almost wept. That had lasted all of a few minutes before a cool voice spoke behind him. "Well, this is new."

Lucifer had found a way in.

"I like it," he'd said. "It's nice." He glared down at Sam. "What's not nice is you trying to hide from me. That's made me a little angry."

That had begun a new round of unending pain, torture, with the only reprieve coming when Lucifer wanted to talk. Sam had suffered it for what felt like hours, until Lucifer had stepped back, traced a hand over Sam's bare chest, smearing the blood, and began to speak in that soft, crooning voice that Sam hated more than almost anything. And Sam had borne it. He had suffered through it until he could take no more and he finally weakened. He tried to cast Lucifer out, no longer caring about the risk of death. He couldn't. He felt it at once. It was like there was a block there, stopping him from taking control of his own mind. There was. Castiel's grace.

"Tell me, Sam," Lucifer said. "Are you afraid to die?"

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line, refusing to answer.

"I mean, you have to know where you'll end up, so it's got me wondering how good a job I'm doing. Is this worse than the other delights the lesser levels of Hell have to offer up? Will Hell be a relief to you? Nothing to say? No? Pity." He sauntered toward Sam again, drawing his blade and piercing it through Sam's chest to just beneath the skin. "You do know you're going to Hell, right? You can't seriously believe you're going to the penthouse after releasing The Darkness."

Sam didn't speak. He moaned as Lucifer drew the tip of the blade through his chest, parting the skin like paper, but he allowed no words to escape him. His answer, had he given it, would have been no. He was not afraid of death. He knew he wasn't bound for Hell or Heaven, and yet he would have chosen death in that moment for some reprieve. He wanted to fight, for Dean, for Castiel, for himself. But he was running out of fight for anything. He was fast becoming done with it all. Even knowing the risk of casting Lucifer out, the chance it could kill him, he had tried, and it hadn't worked.

Lucifer opened his mouth again to speak, and then he laughed suddenly. "Well, well, well. We have an audience, Sam. Say hello to our guest."

Sam turned his head slowly and saw Castiel standing at the top of the steps. The angel looked horrified, sickened, and he spoke in a whisper. "Sam…"

"Cas," Sam croaked. "Help me."

Castiel started forward and Lucifer laughed again. "Him, help you?" Really, Sam, don't you remember how this ended last time?"

"No!" Sam shouted as Lucifer snapped his fingers. Castiel exploded in a red mist of gore. It spattered against the walls and floor, and Sam struggled to right himself, to do he did not know what. He had no defense; he only had fear, fear and anger. The demise of his friend enraged him, empowered him, and as he got swaying to his feet, he stared Lucifer in the eye and shouted and concentrated with all the power he could muster. "Get out!"

Castiel was pushed out of Sam's head with a hard shove. He had all of a few seconds to lament it before he heard Sam's voice shout, "Get out!" with raspy strength.

Sam's back arched from the bed and Castiel saw the blood seep from his ear. He acted immediately, catching his friend on the very edge of life with a hand at his temple and a shot of grace, healing and saving in an instant. Sam's slumped back down and his eyes opened at once. They fell on Castiel, and the lines of devastation and pain transformed into exquisite relief. "Cas?"

"I'm here. I'm okay."

Sam reached for his hand where it rested on the bed and he squeezed it with all his relief driven strength.

"Thank God," Sam breathed. "Thank God."

Castiel laid his hand over Sam's and asked, "Are you okay?"

Sam hesitated for a moment and then a tear crept from his eye as he said, "No, Cas, I'm really not."

Though Dean was returning home defeated, he drove at breakneck speeds so he could get back to his brother faster. It was a dual relief and pain to open the door and descend the stairs into the bunkers

"Sam? Cas?" he called.

There were footsteps from the living quarters and Castiel appeared. Dean's first thought was that he looked wrecked and his reaction was panic. "Where's Sam?" he demanded.

"In his bedroom," Castiel replied tiredly. "He's resting."

That wasn't half the story though, Dean could tell. "What happened?"

Castiel looked almost mournful. "I happened."

Dean's hands fisted. "What did you do?"

"I tried to help." Castiel walked across the room and took a seat at the table. Dean stayed standing. "Lucifer was hurting Sam almost continuously. He had so many seizures he couldn't bear it anymore. I thought I could help. We both thought it would work…"

Dean swallowed hard and asked again, "What happened?"

"I tried to create a place of peace for Sam within his own mind, much as Gadreel did when he was possessing him. I put him to rest within an imagined bunker. Dean, Lucifer got in. He found Sam in the place I created and hurt him there, and held him there. Sam couldn't force him out. He told me he tried everything, at the risk of his own life, but my grace overpowered his will." He looked down at the tabletop. "He ended up being trapped with Lucifer for days."

Dean stood, silent and immobile for a moment as he absorbed the horror of the situation, and then anger rose up in him like bile. Needing nothing more than to get away from the angel and to see his brother, he walked away. He had barely gotten a few steps before Castiel caught his arm. He yanked out of his hold and rounded on him, his lips curled back in a snarl. Castiel took a step back but when he spoke he was calm. "Dean, you need to prepare yourself before you see him. Sam has suffered a lot in the time you were away."

"And whose fault is that?" Dean asked harshly.

"Mine," Castiel replied without hesitation. "I know just how at fault I am, and that guilt will last as long as my life does, but I am trying to help you now."

It was the mention of help that made his ire rise above what he could control. "Help me? Like you helped Sam, you mean? Dammit, Castiel, you stuck him in his own head with Lucifer! Why didn't you see? Why didn't you check?"

"I did. That is how Sam was able to free himself. Eventually."

"Yeah, eventually, after you left him in there with Lucifer for days! I could…" He trailed off as the sound of shuffling footsteps reached him coming along the corridor. He disregarded Castiel at once and moved toward the sound and then staggered to a stop as he caught sight of his brother. He looked terrible. His color was nonexistent, leaving his skin a dull pallor. His eyes were bloodshot and ringed with shadows. Dean felt a wave of horror at the sight of him and the damage that had been wrought in his absence. He hurried forward to help Sam, but Castiel was already there, bracing him with an arm around his back.

Angry that Castiel thought it was still okay to be touching Sam after what he'd done, Dean pushed him aside with a sneer. "We're okay on our own, thanks."

"Dean," Sam said in an annoyed tone, "don't be a dick."

Dean bit down on his tongue to hold back the flow of angry words and helped Sam over to a chair. Sam sagged into it.

Dean glared at Castiel who had taken up residence on the chair beside Sam. "Look what you've done to him!"

Sam straightened with effort and said, "It's not his fault. I did this to myself."

"Sam, he stuck you in your own head with Satan!"

"I let him. Hell, I practically begged him to do it. We didn't know what would happen. Cas isn't the villain here, Lucifer is." He drew a deep, labored breath. "It doesn't matter now anyway. It's over."

But for how long? How long until Lucifer came back knocking, ready and able to torture Sam? Dean swallowed hard and his hands shook where they rested at his sides.

Sam's eyes found his and his face sagged as he saw something there Dean was trying to hide. "Rowena won't help, will she?"

Castiel stared at Dean and his expression seemed to challenge him, to goad him in his worthlessness and inability to deliver what Sam needed.

"She said she couldn't," Dean said. "I believe her."

Sam nodded slowly, his eyes downcast. "Okay."

Dean hesitated for a moment. When he had left Amara, it had been with her offer that she would kill Lucifer for him. He hadn't given her an answer. Knowing it was Sam's life at stake had made him want to tell her to do it without thought, but he had learned his lesson. Saving Sam would come at a huge cost, and though it was worth it to him, it surely wouldn't be worth it to Sam. Sam wouldn't count his life over anyone's. Dean would. He didn't know how to frame her offer in a way that would make Sam agree. Before he could think of a way, Sam spoke again.

"I need you to help me with something."

"Anything," Dean said automatically.

"Help me find a demon."

Castiel frowned. "Why do you want a demon?"

Sam smiled an exhausted smile. "I'm going to cure it."

So… I feel I should apologize for injury to feels. I'd love to say the rest of the story is all fluffy bunnies and unicorns, but I don't like to lie. Buckle in and maybe stock up on Kleenex.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx