Day 5
A/N: There is a term in this chapter that if you are not familiar with, and are freaked out by creepy crawlies, I do not recommend googling. But if you want to understand Sam's horror, google away.
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This is so messed up, Dean thought to himself, watching Sam's chest rise and fall rhythmically as he lay sprawled over the couch. I'm actually happy he's still passed out. It had been a day since they'd left the hospital and part of him wished to see Sam stir. But Dean was more content to let him sleep. Saves him from whatever torture his brain is cooking up. At least that's what he hoped. The idea of Sam re-experiencing Hell but being unable to escape his own mind was unbearable. He eyed his brother's left hand, a trace amount of blood still darkening the bandage from when Dean needed to stop the seizures. Fuck you, Lucifer, Dean mentally shouted, a wave of rage seizing him. He took a deep breath. The only thing he could do now was help Sam. Despite the tendrils of pain radiating up and down his leg, he hobbled over to the couch. He struggled to shift Sam's over-sized body. He'll be so pissed if I let him get bedsores. He adjusted Sam to the best of his abilities and checked his IV bag. Still plenty of fluid. Grimacing, he checked the catheter. It was fine. Both relief and anxiety surged over him as he thought back to when Cas had first broken his wall. Thank God you woke up, Sammy. I couldn't live watching you like this, not knowing if you'd ever wake up. Dean bit his lip, guilt threatening to close his throat. Not that you came back...you. Don't do that to me again, man. I need you here. All here. Deep down, Dean dreaded Sam waking up. It would be the moment of truth revealing whether Sam was really with him or still trapped in Hell.
It was early evening when Bobby entered the cabin to find Dean slouched against Sam on the couch, half-falling off. He went to rouse Dean but he had his arms wrapped protectively around his little brother, as if Dean's physical proximity alone could save Sam from himself. Bobby sighed. How had their lives come to this? One son broken on the outside, one son broken on the inside. Stop. One problem at a time. He shook his head and put away the groceries. The fresh spinach he had gotten Sam the first day had already wilted. He replaced it with the bunch he just bought. He frowned, annoyed that he had let such optimism overtake him. "Nothing's ever easy," he grumbled to himself, shutting the fridge. He looked back at the brothers, peaceful in their unconsciousness. He reopened the door and snagged a beer. He sank into the arm chair, content to watch his boys in silence. At least they were alive.
Sam attempted to lift the heaviness dragging down his eyelids. A faint pounding echoed in his ears. His pulse? As sensation returned to his body, he felt a weight pressed tight against his body. A cold weight. Instantly his eyes flew open and he struggled against the form in front him. "Get off me! I—, get off!" he exclaimed, frantically pushing his hands against the blonde head resting heavily on his chest. Vaguely he registered a thud on the floor as someone sprung towards him. He couldn't move, pinned under Lucifer's body. Shame flushed through Sam's cheeks. This was humiliating.
Dean groggily opened his eyes. "Mhm... what's happening?" He felt flailing limbs against his head, heard a desperate voice crying for escape. Wait, that was Sam's voice. Sam? SAM! Dean lurched himself upright, turning to look at Sam. Sickening fear burned in his eyes, his hands scrambling, clawing for a grip on anything.
"Don't touch me, you promised you'd leave me alone for a little bit if I was good! Please, leave me alone," Sam plead, his voice raspy with disuse. He was begging with his whole body as he looked into Dean's eyes. Dean quickly stood up, relieving the pressure Sam's body felt. The reprieve obviously shocked him, drawing a stutter out of his gaping mouth. "Th-thank you." Sam dropped his eyes from Dean's face, seeming to regain his composure. "I-I'm sorry I fought you," he apologized meekly, his shoulders sagging in defeat.
"Sam, you don't have to apologi—" Sam's flinch as Dean reached for him stopped him in his tracks. "Sam?" His giant brother looked so small, curled in on himself. "Sammy? It's me." Dean glanced at Bobby; the older man seemed to be holding his breath. "What do I do?" Dean mouthed as Sam sat with his eyes closed, rocking almost imperceptibly. Bobby motioned to his hand, where Sam's cut was. Dean reached for Sam's hand and the slight contact made Sam recoil against the arm of the couch, his eyes wide in anticipatory fear. His chest heaved erratically, as if his lungs had forgotten how to function. "Sam, it's me. It's Dean, your brother." Dean took a deep breath, steadying his voice. This was so much worse than he had expected. "I'm going to grab your hand now. Please let me touch it. May I touch your hand?" Dean said slowly. Sam looked up at him and nodded silently. "Here I go," he murmured and carefully took the injured hand into his own. Gently, he pressed on the wound, willing Sam to snap out of it. "Feel that? That's real. This cut is real. Whatever Lucifer did to you—is doing to you," he corrected, "it's not real. I'm real. Bobby's real. Right here, right now. You understand me?" He pressed a little harder for emphasis.
Sam slowly drew his hand towards his body, massaging the broken tissue with increasing pressure. Silently, he watched the crimson liquid blossom up through the gauze. He blinked several times and looked at Dean earnestly. "I-I'm sorry, Dean," he began, his voice still wavering.
Dean repeated himself. "Sam, you don't have to apologize for anything. It's gonna be okay." Sam slumped against him, exhausted despite having slept for five days straight. Sweat shone on his face. "A little help here!?" Dean said silently to Bobby, who appeared just as worried as Dean felt.
"Alright, let's get you cleaned up. How's a warm shower to clear your head, huh?" Bobby offered, slowly approaching Sam.
Sam nodded and looked to Dean for affirmation. He smiled encouragingly in response. In fact, now that he thought about it, it was more like Sam was asking for permission. And then Dean wasn't sure if his brother was looking directly at him or slightly over his shoulder. The smile died on his lips.
Bobby returned to the living room once he heard the water running. Dean was on the couch, running his hands through his hair. He tried to stand when Bobby approached, but faltered as his leg gave out. Bobby opened his mouth to chastise Dean but his target spoke first. "Bobby, this is bad. I mean really bad. What the hell are we gonna do?" he babbled frantically, anxiety threatening to swallow him whole. "I can't keep explaining reality every damn second."
"Cut him some slack. He just woke up. He was probably dreaming about all that stuff so of course he'll be a bit thrown when he comes to. Just give him some time to acclimate. He'll be okay." He tried to sound calm, but he doubted the words as they came out of his mouth. A weak yell from the shower confirmed that doubt. Dean tried to move towards the bathroom, instead falling over the coffee table with a loud crash. "Goddammit!" Bobby exclaimed, torn between rescuing Sam from his imagined plight and checking to see if Dean was physically hurt. Sam's choked cry for his brother quickly resolved his indecision. He opened the door to find Sam curled in the bathtub, furiously scrubbing at his skin with a washcloth. The rag was clearly inadequate for the purpose; Sam flung it away and began scratching with his nails. Long red streaks swelled up over his arms and legs as he sought out every inch of skin. Bobby moved forward and grabbed his wrists, yanking his body up roughly. The sheer temperature of his skin was alarming but he couldn't turn the water off without letting go of Sam. "Dean!? I could use a hand here!" Dean crawled into the doorway in time to see the myriad fine trails of blood coursing down Sam's body with the shower water.
"Stop, stop!" Sam gasped, fighting against Bobby's firm grasp. "I have to get them out. Just let me get them out. Let go! Please let go!" He writhed against his captor, trying to scratch his calves with his feet. "They'll-they'll get inside me!" Sam explained, frenzied.
Despite himself, Bobby heard himself asking "What? What will get inside you?"
"I-I don't know! They're—" Sam paused momentarily, looking to the side. Instinctually Bobby glanced over and saw nothing.
"Giant isopods," Lucifer said calmly, smiling as he leaned against the wall. His Father had made some truly terrifying creations that he would have been proud to call his own. Sam repeated the name; it held no meaning for Bobby or Dean. Lucifer held out his palm to show Sam an every-growing wriggling mass. "They'll start out real small but once they get inside, they get this big." He gestured to the size of his head. "They'll crawl all around your body. You'll feel them slide under your skin and through your organs." Lucifer struggled against a grin as Sam's renewed attempt to escape succeeded. "Why bother, Sam? You can't even reach everywhere on your body. I find that to be a very inefficient design. But, at the moment, rather useful," he commented optimistically. Sam flung himself against the wall, desperately trying to rub his back to prevent the little crawlies from embedding themselves. Ripping the towel rack out of the wall, he pulled the ragged plaster and rusty metal fixture across his skin. Bobby reached for the towel rack as Dean appeared behind him and landed a solid punch to Sam's uninjured temple.
Sam's body crumpled and Bobby tried to break his fall. The scalding water drenched him, seeping into his clothes. "The water, Dean!" Bobby hollered, pain washing over his skin in his attempt to carefully lower Sam into the bathtub.
Dean slammed his hand down on the handle, ceasing the painful deluge. He positioned himself on the lip of the tub and felt for Sam's pulse, instead struck by the heat radiating off his glistening skin. "He's on fire. We gotta cool him down!" Dean turned the shower knob to as cold as it could go and blasted Sam with the icy water.
"Not so cold, you'll make him hypothermic!" Bobby pushed Dean out of the way and changed the temperature to lukewarm. Silently he watched the beaded blood on Sam's limbs swirl slowly down the drain. He shook his head. Sam's body wouldn't tolerate much more of this. He glanced at Dean. Dean couldn't take much more of this either. But he had a bad feeling this was only the beginning.
They dragged Sam to the couch and dressed him the best they could, cleaning and wrapping any deep scratches as they went. Dean's hand lingered on the anti-possession tattoo. "Why couldn't we have something like this against angels? None of this would have happened…" he said to no one in particular. Sadness swelled within Bobby. Sam had done some despicable things, but he had made the greatest sacrifice one could make. Now it looked like he would never stop paying for it. It would be the death of him, and that in itself would be the death of Dean. Losing one child, whether it was Dean after his demon deal or Sam after Lucifer, had not been easy. It was a tragedy he did not want to repeat, regardless of how experienced he was with death when it came to these boys. He wasn't sure he could handle one more goddamn time. The older brother's groan of disgust broke Bobby out of his reverie. "Is this what Sam was saying!?" He held up Sam's laptop, showing Bobby what looked like a giant, armored pillbug with far too many appendages to not be nightmare fuel.
Bobby blinked in surprise. "And we don't hunt those things!?" he murmured, partially out of disbelief. The miniature versions were bad enough, scuttling around in the basement. These were the size of a cat.
Dean gulped hard. "No wonder he was so upset. Fucking Lucifer made him think those things were going to eat him from the inside out!" Thoughts Dean had tried to suppress rose to the surface. "Bobby," Dean's voice was low and serious. "What else do you think... Lucifer did to him?"
Bobby turned away, hiding his face. "He was down there a long time, I'm sure the devil got creative." He too tried to bury those thoughts. Swiveling back, Dean looked as though he was about to break down. "Hey, Sam got through it before, he'll get through it now. He's a tough kid," Bobby offered. Can you really out-tough the devil, though? he pondered, unsure. He shook the thoughts out of his head. "Dean, go get some rest. Sam'll need you in the morning and you're no good to him like this."
Dean grumbled in agreement and dragged himself to the cot in the corner. Collapsing, he was asleep within minutes, though if his constant twitching was any indication, it was hardly a restful sleep. Bobby followed long after, once the alcohol in his system prevented him from thinking any more about the events of the day. Sleep would be a sweet release.