Day 3

"Dean!" He lifted his head at his name. Sam? Sam! His brother was awake! He peeled himself away from Sam but got tangled in the blanket. He heard Sam snicker and looked up at his brother, smiling. Instead of seeing his brother's enlivened, caring face, he was taken aback by the hatred in Sam's eyes.

"Sammy?" he queried, unsure what was happening.

"Dean, how could you do this to me?"

"Do what, Sam?" Dean was confused. He scrambled to get out of the bed and give Sam some space.

The contempt in Sam's voice was blistering. "Do what, you ask? Like you don't know. Like breaking the first seal wasn't your fault. Like agreeing to let me jump into Hell because you're too weak and afraid to say 'yes' to Michael. Then not getting me out of Hell even though I tried everything – everything! – to get you back when you went downstairs. Oh, and then you stuffed this disgusting toilet rag of a soul back into my rather well-functioning body all because you couldn't bear to be alone. You would rather I live in excruciating pain every minute, being torn apart by Lucifer every second of my life, than be alone. How fucked up are you that you would do this, let alone consider it?!"

Dean sputtered in surprise, unable to respond meaningfully to his brother's unexpected, but unfortunately accurate, outburst. Sam didn't wait for Dean to collect his thoughts.

"You didn't even think about what it would do to me, even though everyone told you not to do it! Cas, Crowley, even Death warned against it. But you in your selfish arrogance, you've cursed me to an eternity of suffering with a shattered soul because you were sad! Poor little Dean. You should have just left me down there, Dean, or better yet, killed me when Dad told you to. We all would have been better off. But what's done is done. All I can do is stop you from ruining what's left of my life any more than you already have." Sam's long fingers slid around Dean's neck. As he aggressively applied pressure, dark spots appeared in Dean's field of vision, obscuring the last glimpses of his brother's angry face before he lost consciousness.

His eyes snapped open and he heard a gasp for air. It was from himself. He reached for his throat, expecting to find Sam's hands but instead felt the blanket wrapped around his neck. He clawed at it, desperate to relieve the burning sensation enveloping his nerves. Finally, he loosened the cloth's grip and drew in several deep breaths, staring at the ceiling tiles with unusual interest. Sam, his mind screamed and he twisted to look at his brother. His vital signs were as calm and steady as his expression, unchanged from the night before. Dean blinked in confusion, then realized he had been dreaming. He bit his lip, unsure if he was thankful Sam hadn't really said those things to him or ashamed because he knew those things to be true regardless. He stared at the still features of Sam's face, wishing more than anything that they would animate once again and he would smile, that his brother could be happy again.

What if Sam did hate him when he woke up? Dean had put his soul back against his body's wishes… but the re-souled Sam had been horrified to know he was walking around without a soul. Isn't this what he would have wanted? Or perhaps it would have been better to kill soulless Sam. Bobby's words replayed in his brain: "Oh, and leave the real Sam to suffer for all of eternity?" Bobby was right; Sam had to be rescued one way or another, but maybe the decision to put Sam's soul back had been wrong. It wasn't really his to make, but no one else could make it, and Dean couldn't go on the way things were.

A hand squeezed his shoulder and he flinched, abruptly drawn from his thoughts into the present. "Dean, you alright?" Bobby's voice was filled with concern. He awkwardly rolled over to face his surrogate father.

"Yeah, I, uh, just didn't sleep too well," he responded vaguely, rubbing absent-mindedly at his neck.

Bobby huffed, annoyed. "Don't lie to me, son." Dean eyed him carefully. "I came in a few times and you were sound asleep. Tried to wake ya. So what's really botherin' you?"

Dean looked down. He opened his mouth but paused, unsure of exactly what to say. "Had a nightmare about Sam…" Bobby looked at Dean expectantly, waiting for him to continue. "That he woke up and he… he hated me for putting his soul back, for all the things I had done to him. He tried to strangle me. I woke up and realized it was just the blanket wrapped around my neck." Dean smiled sheepishly, trying to downplay the guilt he felt.

Bobby squinted his eyes, trying to determine if Dean was telling the whole story. He decided the chagrined look on Dean's face meant he was being honest. He held back an exasperated sigh. "Dean, none of this is your fault. I know you feel responsible for keeping Sam safe. You always have. Ever since Sam was six months old, John expected you to parent him. That wasn't fair of your daddy. But now you're stuck with this burden—"

"Sam isn't a burden," Dean interrupted, reflexive defensiveness hardening his voice.

"No, not Sam, this idea that you have to protect Sam from everything."

"Who else will?" Dean didn't mean it as a challenge, but more as a statement of fact. There wasn't anyone else left to look out for Sam. In fact, there were probably more things out to hurt him than help him, including his own mind. Bobby opened his mouth to reply but was chastened by the steeled expression on Dean's face. Normally, he would fight Dean on this, but he had to admit that Sam was damaged in a way they couldn't hope to understand. Sam would need all the support he could get if—he caught the nagging doubt crawling up from the depths of his psyche—when Sam woke up.

Pure. Absolute purity. It was the only concept Sam could maintain as his captor braided his flayed nerves. He was already bound with the nerve fibers from his legs; those from his spine were artfully splayed out on his back like wispy feathers. The sheer unadulterated burn of compromised nervous tissue was almost a relief. At least it was a respite from the psychological or emotional cruelty Lucifer inflicted with equal delight. He heard the devil's pleased intake of breath and tried to immerse himself in the pain to silence Lucifer's voice. "But Sam, you do hear what I'm saying, right? I'm not just talking to myself here? Because you have to know there's no way you could have escaped from the cage." Sam squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and tensed what was left of his body as he attempted to recede into the emptiest corners of his mind. Instead Lucifer's voice took on the feel of roaring ocean waves, leaving him struggling for a fragment of sanity to save him from slipping under. "Logic should be your strong suit, Mr. Lawyer. You know you're still in the cage, you know you're still with me," he drawled, relishing Sam's pointless attempt to drown out the voice that permeated every inch of his being. Lucifer wrapped the exposed median and ulnar nerves around his finger like a wedding band. "See, Sammy? Our vow is forever." His crystal blue eyes flared with red. "You are mine, forever." With that, he balled his fingers into a fist and yanked his hand away, ripping the raw nerves from their sheath. Despite himself, despite knowing how futile it was, Sam screamed as though his body had forgotten the decades of exquisite suffering, as though this was the worst depravity enacted on his mutilated soul, as though nothing worse could be imagined. Sam bit back another cry because he knew he was wrong. He had been wrong every time so far.

Movement caught Dean's attention and broke him out of his absent-minded reverie. A subtle tremble was coursing through Sam's tall frame. Dean grabbed his hand as he had done before and waited for the tremor to subside. However, the shaking intensified and Dean noticed with alarm the drop of blood trickling out of Sam's nose. Fear blossomed within Dean. "No, no, no, Sam. You're supposed to be getting better!" Memories of Sam's previous supernatural-induced nosebleeds intruded into Dean's mind. Deep red appeared whenever Sam tried to exorcise a demon on the edge of his ability. Samhain, when Sam had promised he was done with his psychic stuff. But he did it anyway... Again with Famine, though Dean was more sympathetic towards that instance. Sam had been manipulated by Famine, but still managed to resist the temptation of a demon buffet. Regardless, he had taxed himself dangerously. And then when his wall was crumbling under Cas's hand, and yet again Sam pushed himself to help Dean. A pang of shame flashed through Dean as he considered all the times he felt Sam had deserted him. Sam wasn't perfect, but he sacrificed so much more than he took. When Dean really needed him, he was there. He wished with all his heart he could do the same for Sam, but he had no idea where to start.

The wail of Sam's heart monitor brought Dean back to the present. Another drop was chasing its twin. Anxiety began to build in him. If the doctors saw Sam wasn't getting better, they wouldn't let him leave. And they had to get out of here, just in case the Leviathan were looking for them. Plus, Dean didn't want to be here when Sam woke up in case Lucifer was still around, because that was sure to land Sam in the looney bin. That just wasn't an option. Overcoming the surge of guilt harassing his conscience, he took Sam's hand and pressed the wound hard enough such that blood soon discolored the pristine gauze. He massaged the broken tissue until Sam's shaking ceased.

Looking around to ensure a nurse wouldn't catch him, he raided the cabinets to find new gauze. He had to replace the bandage before anyone noticed. He quickly rewrapped Sam's hand and resumed his bedside post. The moment he sat down he realized he hadn't cleaned up the nosebleed. Hearing footsteps down the hall, he sprung up to hide the evidence. As soon as he had wiped it away, Bobby turned the corner.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Bobby?" He scrunched the paper towel up in his hand as he faced Bobby.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't it be?" Dean lied. Bobby arched an eyebrow. "What? Oh," and he gestured to himself standing up, "Sam had some gnarly boogers."

"Uh-huh…" Bobby murmured. "Right little mother hen you are…" He held Dean's eyes for a moment but the younger man looked away. Bobby knew Dean wasn't being honest with him, but he didn't have the heart to undo the relief that spread on Dean's face when Bobby asked if he was hungry.

"Oh, God, yes!" He grabbed his crutches and followed Bobby to the hospital cafeteria.

"You're moving pretty well on those things now," Bobby observed.

Dean grunted in agreement. "You get used to it…"

"Well I didn't," Bobby said quietly.

Dean stopped. "What? Oh… when you were in a wheelchair you mean?" His companion nodded. "Sorry, Bobby, I uh, didn't mean—"

Bobby smiled softly. "Dean, it's fine. Just good to see that the Winchester boys are so resilient."

Until they're not, Dean thought. But he pushed the doubt away as the glorious smell of food caught his interest. He hobbled over to the hot food area and grabbed a tray. Bobby wondered how long it would take Dean to ask for help. Dean piled a big plate of lasagna next to a bowl of roasted potatoes. Bobby waited to see how cocky he would be. In true Dean fashion, he filled a cup to the brim and placed it on his tray. Bobby stifled a laugh and approached Dean, preparing to avert certain disaster. A group of attractive doctors clad in scrubs walked by, laughing with each other, and that's what did Dean in. Distracted, the tray started to tilt precariously, almost freeing its contents until Bobby righted it. Dean blushed slightly and Bobby chuckled. He took the tray from Dean and nodded for him to go to a table.

Dean collapsed into the chair and rubbed at his cast. "I freaking hate this thing," he complained.

"Too bad. You're stuck with it for another four weeks. You really want permanent damage from this? Gonna be tough to outrun monsters with a limp."

Dean harrumphed with frustration. "You're right…" he mumbled. He distracted himself with food and dug into the lasagna with gusto.

"I trust you to not wreck anything else while I'm gone?" Bobby chided jokingly, earning him a middle finger from Dean since his mouth was full.

Once alone, Dean's natural hunter instincts kicked in as he scanned the room for threats. Instead, his eyes were caught by the various clumps of people sharing the cafeteria with him. Doctors, solitary or in groups, reviewed stacks of papers or talked in hushed tones. The nurses and technicians seemed a little more jovial, appearing to talk about things other than work. Administrative personnel mostly stuck to themselves, though some would catch a passing doctor or tech to deliver a message. Patients and their families were a mixed bag. Some were smiling and happy, undoubtedly due to a positive prognosis. Others were morose and somber, picking at their food in silence. Dean felt most aligned to the latter group. He was trying his best to suppress the anxiety that was so eager to consume him. Sam had to wake up. He couldn't live the rest of his life with Sam as a vegetable. And what about Sam? What a waste of his life…

Sam's life… Dean put down his fork as sadness stole his appetite. What would Sam's life have been without all of this? Without the supernatural, would Sam have lived that mythic apple-pie life, been a lawyer, gotten married, had kids? He tried to imagine Sam as a father. At first, he couldn't shake the idea that Sam was still just a kid himself, that there was no way he could be a dad. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized Sam would have been a great father. He would be committed beyond anything to his children. He would teach them everything he knew, instill in them a sense of wonder about the universe, despite all of the evil that he knew existed within it. He had a genuine optimism that Dean didn't share; hell, Dean didn't even understand it. It was Sam who'd had the faith in Cas to call out to him to stop, not Dean. Not Dean, with whom Castiel felt he shared a 'special bond.' No, it was Sam, because Sam believed in the good in people triumphing over the bad. Dean envied that quality in his brother, but knew it also made Sam vulnerable.

The scrape of the chair opposite him made Dean jump. "Dean?" Bobby asked, concern tinting his voice.

"Yeah, I'm here… just…" He sighed and looked up at Bobby. "Do you think Sam could have been this? Could have had a life like this?" He gestured to the doctors busily shoving food in their mouths. "He was going to be a professional…"

Bobby seated himself across from Dean and took in the scene around him. "Yeah, I suppose so, but that's not how it worked out. The moment Azazel chose him, everything changed. There's no avoiding that."

"I know, I know…" He sighed again, defeated.

"It's okay, son. He'll get through this. You both will," Bobby supplied. Dean nodded but said nothing in return. What else was there to say?

They returned to Sam in silence, each wrapped up in their own solemn thoughts. A nurse was bathing Sam with a sponge. He finished quickly and left with a wordless nod to the two men. It sent knives through Dean to see his brother so helpless. He laid a hand on Sam's and willed him to wake up. He knew it didn't work like that, but that wouldn't stop Dean from trying!

"Dean," a soft voice called and he was instantly alert. Dr. Boreseren smiled at him. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to interrupt you, but I wanted to take Sam for another scan." Dean nodded and pushed himself back from Sam's bed. Several nurses unhooked all the connections and they wheeled him away. Dean sat in the chair and waited.

Bobby could see this was beginning to take a toll on Dean. But he didn't know what to do about it. They couldn't make Sam wake up from a coma. The possible consequences were too dangerous. And was being awake even the best thing for Sam? Perhaps a break from Lucifer was a blessing. At least he hoped Sam was getting a break. The thought of Lucifer tormenting Sam in unconsciousness was enough to drive Bobby mad. He refocused his attention on the restless Winchester. Worry was eating away at him, but, Bobby supposed, worry is better than grief. They'd been there before.

Dr. Boreseren returned with Sam, a hopeful smile on her face. "Sam is healing well. I feel comfortable releasing him tomorrow afternoon. I'll have my nurses instruct you tomorrow on how to take care of him until he wakes up. I am hoping it will be soon. He will likely struggle and still be in pain when he comes to. Be patient with him."

Dean nodded, relief embracing his anxious heart. "I got it, doc. He'll be well looked after." Dean smiled as he turned back to Sam and grabbed his hand. "We're getting you outta here soon, man. You'll be back with us in no time. I know it."

.

A/N: I promise Sam will wake up soon, though he's really going to wish he hadn't.

Thank you so much for all the views, follows, favorites, and the reviews! Got one more boring chapter to write.