Chapter 6: The Language of the Winchesters

The days dragged on as Sam and Dean poured through every book they had in the bunker, searching for anything they could use to defeat Lucifer. Sam slowly got his strength back, over Dean's watchful eye, and the scars on his body started to fade. But the nightmares didn't.

The nightmares were intense; anyone could've seen that. The first time Sam had a nightmare was the third day after his return. Dean had heard Sam screaming and had burst into Sam's room, ready to shoot a cartridge of bullets into anything that dare threaten his brother. Instead Dean had found his little brother tossing and turning in a cold sweat, begging for Lucifer to stop. Sam had woken to his brother stroking his hair and whispering comforts into Sam's ear until he fell into a dreamless sleep. It was something that wasn't mentioned the next morning but was wordlessly appreciated.

Dean kept wondering what had happened when Sam was missing. He had been tortured, that much was obvious, but Dean needed to know exactly what happened. It was the only way he could help Sam get through this. Plus, he needed to know just how much pain he had to inflict on Lucifer. Judging by Sam's nightmares, Lucifer would be begging for mercy by the time Dean got to him.

Every time Dean asked him about it, Sam would clam up fast. His eyes would study the floor and he would do everything he could to avoid the topic. He'd change the subject to anything but Lucifer, or tell Dean that he didn't want to talk about it. Once, on a particularly bad day, Sam just got up and left the room. A mysterious fist-sized hole appeared in the hallway outside of Sam's room, but Sam never said anything about it so Dean didn't ask. And that's the way it went, day after day.

Until one early morning about a month after Sam had come home.

It was another long night for the Winchester brothers. They were chugging down coffee by the gallon, just trying to stay awake. Judging by the dark rings under his little brother's eyes, Dean guessed it was time to turn in for the night.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean said, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder and gently shaking him. "It's time to hit the hay."

Sam stared up at his brother through exhausted eyes. Instead of the agreement Dean was expecting, Sam shook his head and said, "You go ahead. I'm going to stay up a little longer."

If anyone else had heard that, they would've simply shrugged their shoulders and gone to bed, certain that Sam would be asleep shortly after they left. But Dean knew the willpower of his stubborn little brother, and he also knew that Sam never did anything without a reason. Sam's geeky brain should be screaming at him to get some sleep, so either he's ignoring the logic of the situation (which would be a first), or there was no part of Sam that wanted to go to bed. And the last time Sam refused to sleep was when Lucifer was playing mind games.

"Sam? You okay?" Dean felt like screaming for his brother to tell him what the hell was happening, but yelling always led to more yelling and someone walking out the door. There was no way in hell that Dean was letting Sam walk out, not after him being gone for so long. So Dean kept his voice quiet and surprisingly gentle.

"I'm fine," Sam said, his voice shaking. Don't pull that line with me, Sammy, Dean thought to himself. Don't forget that I'm the one who taught you that line.

"Come on, Sam. We both know that's not true. You can't keep avoiding this!"

Sam looked like he was going to shut up again like he usually did. Dean immediately regretted the harshness in his voice. He waited for the inevitable angry outburst from his brother, but it never came, which worried Dean even more.

He looked at Sam, who had gotten very quiet, as he had before. But there was no rage in his eyes, only remorse. He looked… broken, and despite his height, incredibly small. It still both amazed and scared Dean how vulnerable Sam could look. Those goddamn puppy dog eyes.

It took a few seconds of silence until Sam spoke up. "It was like hell."

Dean stared at his brother with wide and shocked eyes. Torture was bad enough. But if it was really like hell, Sam's hell, that meant mind games. Mind games that haunted Sam and almost pushed him to the brink of insanity. Dean had to ask the question his brain was screaming at him. "If it was like hell, like your time in hell, does that mean… I mean, are you seeing…?"

"Am I seeing Lucifer right now?" Sam finished his brother's question. "No."

"So when you say it was like hell, you mean…?"

"The same things as my time in hell, minus the Lucifer visions." Sam took a shaky deep breath. "They break you and break you and put you back together so they can break you again."

Dean shivered. He remembered his time in hell and what the demons could to you. They treated torture like an art form, like the knife was a paintbrush and a soul was the bloody canvas. The cuts were precise and meant to be as painful as possible. And Sam had just endured six months of that. Six months plus the year and a half he spent in hell equaled way too much time that his brother had spent at the hands of demons. If Dean were anyone else, he would assume that was why Sam looked like he was falling apart.

But Dean was Sam's big brother. And he knew from the look in Sam's eyes that he wasn't telling him everything.

"What else, Sam?" Dean watched as Sam tried to make his I don't know what you're talking about face and then give up half way through when he saw Dean wasn't buying it.

"There were visions too, Dean."

"And what did you see?"

"What does anyone see when demons are messing with their head? I saw death. Especially death of the people I care about. Over and over and over again." Sam looked up at his brother with pleading eyes. "And do you know what, Dean? It felt normal. It feels like all I ever do is watch my friends, my family, die. And it's always because of me."

"Sam that's not true."

"Oh really?" Sam was shouting now. "Everyone who has ever gotten close to me has died. I killed Kevin. I killed Charlie. I killed Mom, Dad, Jess, Ash, Ellen, Jo, Pamela and anyone else who has ever gotten close to me. You said it yourself that I should've died instead of Charlie, and you're right. I shouldn't be here, Dean. I'm the one that should've died. Not them."

"Stop it! Sam, stop!" Dean yelled, and something in his voice made Sam pause. "I said some things that I shouldn't have, because I was angry. And for that I'm sorry. But don't you ever, ever think that you'd be better off dead. I can't do this without you, Sam. I never have, and I never will. You're my brother, the only family I've got left, and the last thing I would ever want is to lose you."

Sam looked at his shoes. "But all the things I've done? Who says I deserve to be forgiven?"

"I say you do." Sam slowly raised his head and looked at Dean with his puppy dog eyes. Dean continued, determined to make a point. "So you've made mistakes. Join the club. Every time you made a mistake you fixed it, usually risking your life do it. You have given everything to do the right thing, and you have saved so many people. If anyone ever reserved redemption it's you, Sam!"

Sam was trembling now, like he was about to fall about any second. Dean put a hand on his brother's shoulder, and Sam stilled, leaning into his brother's touch.

There was so much more that Dean wanted to say. He wanted to spend all night putting his brother together piece by piece until he was whole again. He wanted to emphasize just how much Sam meant to him, if the blockhead hadn't figured it out already. But Winchesters didn't do that. He had to cover any sign of emotion with a smart-assed remark or a stupid joke.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean said softly. "Something tells me that you should get some sleep. You're not looking so good."

Emotional outburst followed by a witty remark. Business as usual.

Sam's legs shook as he stood up. With one hand wrapped around his brother's shoulders, Dean guided Sam to his room and his bed. Sam didn't even bother to change, instead opting to collapse on the bed, physically and emotionally exhausted. With his job done, Dean was halfway out the door, but stopped when he heard his brother call to him.

"Dean?" Dean turned around, ready to give whatever was necessary to put his brother back together.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Thanks for… everything." Sam wanted to list out every single time his big brother had been awesome, but that was too many things to count. Instead, he thanked his brother the only way he knew how. And, as always, Dean got the message loud and clear.

"No problem, little brother. Just doing my job." A small smile tugged at the corner of Dean's mouth. "But no chick flick moments, got it?"

"Whatever you say. G'night, jerk."

"Same goes to you, bitch."

It wasn't the healing Dean had been hoping for, but it was a start. Sam was going to get better and they were going to stop the devil and save the world. It was a tall order for anybody, but they were Winchesters for the love of God. It didn't matter what the hell the world threw at them because they would take it head-on, side by side, just like the way they always did. They were brothers, they were family, and nothing in heaven or hell could change that.

You'd better watch your back, Lucifer, Dean thought, because the Winchesters are hot on your trail. And this time you're gonna wish you were back in your Cage.

TBC