Next chapter is here! Hope you all enjoy!

Recap: Dean has arrived, and Amara has appeared, offering to get Sam out of the Cage in exchange for Dean listening to her side of the story. Dean has just agreed.

Sam remembered when he was ten and was trapped in that storm cellar by the shifter. He remembers all the shit it had told him and how it had changed into himself, then sliced into his arms and told him how pretty his blood was. It had told him that it was too bad his blood was tainted. Unclean. Impure. But so pretty. Lucifer wasn't usually hands on, rather using his little creations to have better dramatic impact. This was rather typical, recreating a bad memory with a few exaggerations as torture. Other times, though, he'd get really creative. Those were the worst. However, the mini Sam in front of him, just like all those years ago, the storm cellar all around him instead of bars, was a bit overwhelming. He was shaking.

"-all your fault Mommy died. You know, Azazel could've just burned us and all this wouldn't even have happened. Adam wouldn't exist either, so there wouldn't be two brothers to start the Apocalypse. And Dean wouldn't have had to take care of us ever. Remember in Alabama? Remember what he said? He never wanted to take care of us! It was another job. Take care of the monster. Except this time he didn't get to kill it. He had to drag us around 24/7. For his entire life. Thank God we're back here. He was happiest with Lisa and Ben anyway, y'know, when we were here last time. Anyway, now I can take care of you. It's your fault I turned out like you. You ruined me. I was gonna be a lawyer. I was gonna be happy." The kid Sam had tears running down his face now, but the color seemed weird. It was murky, dirty saltwater, the tears leaving streaks of brown specks on his cheeks. He lifted his arm and used the sleeve to wipe his tears away, mostly. The knife in his hand caught his eye.

"If I'm gonna turn out to be like you, I don't even wanna live anymore." The knife was turned, and plunged into his own stomach. A duplicate wound appeared in the real Sam's abdomen, and his mouth opened in shock. Then the small Sam simply stood there, knife lodged in his stomach, blood slipping down his shirt soaked with it already, hands at his sides, his blank eyes staring into his older self's. Fire erupted then over the both of them, skin bubbling and burning. Screams only came from one of them however, while the other simply stood there, watching with cold eyes amid the heat of the flame. Watching him burn.

"D-DEAN!"

Amara didn't take long. As soon as he gave the word, she smiled sympathetically, almost lovingly, and raised a hand toward the Cage. The bubble burst exposing him to all the sights and sounds in the Cage, and Dean saw fire all over his brother, killing his brother, dammit killing him dammit oh my God the screams- All of a sudden Sam had vanished from inside the Cage, appearing in front of Amara, her hands on each of his shoulders, slightly looking up to see into Sam's eyes. He wasn't hurt, but was still shaking, his hands and shoulders the worst. He took a moment to realize who he was looking at, or rather, to realize who he was looking at wasn't Lucifer or himself, and then back pedaled, trying to break away from Amara, and failing. Her hands remained solid on his shoulders, holding them as they shuddered. The ancient being that had been locked away for so long, somehow seeming the opposite of a monster at that moment, zapped the brothers to the bunker's library then, but only after saying something to Sam that Dean couldn't make out.

The pain was over quickly, the burning, bubbling, melting sensation vanishing like a blown out flame, though it did leave Sam's skin tingling. A woman stood in front of him, and all he could think of was Dean's words describing the Darkness. Amara. Her hands were on his shoulders, and though he tried to back away, it did no good. Her arms didn't tremble, and her face remained the same, the pity in the thing's eyes clear. It's not human. It was locked up for a reason.

"Lucifer was cruel, even when he was God's servant. When he threw me into my prison, he neglected to hear my cries of anguish for the injustices handed to me by God. But now... Now he is worse than any I have seen. I am sorry for what has happened to you, Sam." There was no perceivable emotions in her voice but the aforementioned pity and sympathy. "Dean made a deal with me to release you, but only in exchange for his agreement to listen when I come to tell him the true story behind my imprisonment. For now, though, I can see that neither of you are up to a discussion of that... Magnitude. I will ensure that the Devil does not get the chance to harm you again." When Amara received no answer but a barely there nod, a sigh left her that seemed almost human. With no concluding goodbyes, only the mysterious nature of her small speech, Sam found himself in the bunker, his brother by his side in the seconds it took for him to slide to the ground and place his head in his hands.

"Oh my God, Sam." Dean enveloped him in a hug, the older brother's chest heaving with breaths of panic finally being tamped down. There was nothing for the little brother to say, though that could've been some shock left over from the return trip he'd just left. "Oh my God, Sammy." Dean just kept holding him against his chest, his position on the floor uncomfortable, though he didn't notice for the first thirty minutes. After that came the once over as he finally separated.

"Sammy?" There was no answer, the younger's eyes dull and unfocused. Dean didn't know what to do to help Sam for the first time in his life. The first time he'd come back he hadn't been like this.

"Let- Uh, let's get you to bed real quick, okay? Or you wanna sit down? I can pull a chair-" Sam's head shook clumsily, saying no clearly. "Gotcha, Sam. Come on, you got this. Okay. You're okay, I got you. You're okay, it's okay now." Autopilot took over soon in his baby brother's head, getting him to the bed before shorting out. Through the whole ordeal, his face stayed blank. Emotionless. When he fell asleep, Dean sat and waited for the nightmares to begin. Through the next week, slowly, singular parts of his brain seemed to come back on. He showered the next day, but didn't talk until the fifth, and only ventured beyond yes and no on the eighth day. Occasionally he would panic. He'd sit down, put his head in his hands and breathe hard, deep, and fast for however long it took him to recover.

Dean knew that once he became his Sam again, there would only be so much time until the breakdown where he would get Dean to have a whole girl moment. It would truly be worth it though, if it would fix his baby brother, because this? It wasn't working.