A/N: Pushed myself to finish this before I left for vacation.

I am a bit worried that the beginning of this chapter may seem out of character for Sam, but I'd like to explain my creative license. If you're not interested, then skip down to story.

Thank you to sammysmissingshoe, rozzy07, venusgirl, Cammie, and lizzybomb for their Day 6 reviews. You spoil me with your praise. I'm so glad other people enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it!

Lots of limp/hurt!Sam this chapter. Enjoy!

I've spent a lot of time thinking about Lucifer and Sam's relationship, as it has a lot of personal meaning for me. I think it's important to note that when Lucifer first approached Sam, he was quite gentle, and very open about the need for consent. Compare this to Zachariah who tried to force Dean into saying 'yes' by any means necessary, mostly violence and trickery. I believe Lucifer is telling the truth (as opposed to just screwing with Sam) when he urges Sam to acknowledge the exhilaration and feelings of oneness in Swan Song after Sam says 'yes'. They were two halves made whole, for what Sam saw as an evil purpose, but still one, regardless. I think Lucifer turned on Sam once he jumped into the cage, but those initial feelings would still resonate with Sam. Hence this chapter, which I see as an unconventional take on Sam's hallucinations, but equally valid as the cruel Hallucifer.

Sorry for rambling. Let me know what you think of this. Always interesting to hear other fans' interpretations. Feel free to PM if you want it to be a conversation! I seriously love discussing Lucifer's varied roles in SPN because it doesn't get enough attention!

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Day 7

Sam woke with a violent start, his mind reeling from reliving so much time in the cage and so many millions of deaths. He cried out for Dean but his throat produced no sound. He gripped the sheets and begged his body not to implode. Instead it shivered and Sam realized the fabric was soaking wet. Patting his body, everything was cold and damp. He sat up and saw Dean's slumped outline asleep in a chair next to his cot. He opened his phone to check the time and nearly dropped it when the light illuminated a trail of blood down Dean's face. Straining his eyes in the dim light, Sam saw the blood was from a single bullet hole in his brother's temple.

"No, no, no," Sam murmured, throwing off the drenched sheet. He saw the gun still tangled in Dean's fingers and Sam realized it was self-inflicted. "No, Dean, don't do this to me!" He turned a lamp on and looked back to Dean, who was now soundly sleeping. Sam swallowed and clamped his eyes shut, willing Dean to still be alive when he reopened them. He took a deep breath and snapped open his eyelids. Lucifer was inches from his face and he flinched so forcibly he fell back onto the cot.

Lucifer moved next to him, his voice calm. "How was that? Bet you had forgotten those first six months, huh?" Sam said nothing, using all his energy to suppress those memories and the concomitant scream desperate to escape his soul. "C'mon, Sam, let's talk. I promise I'll leave Dean alone. And I won't bring all that up again." Sam nodded and rose, quietly sliding past his sleeping sibling. He made his way shakily to the door, his body unable to coordinate its movements after so much remembered destruction. He closed the door silently and collapsed on the porch, at least grateful to be outside where he wouldn't bother Dean or Bobby. It was a small mercy.

Lucifer wasn't always cruel; in fact these were the times Sam hated the most. The devil could be oddly compassionate. He had once cared about his vessel, though whether any of that sympathy remained, Sam doubted with his entire being. A heavy sigh drew his attention back to his companion.

"I waited for you for so long," Lucifer continued quietly, sitting next to him on the steps. Their breaths drew tiny patches of fog in the cold night air. A sad smile spread on his lips. "I wanted so much for you to accept me, like I accepted you. And finally you did, and I thought we would be one together. My perfect form in your perfect body. We would make things right. Restore balance to Creation. We would have protected my Father's beautiful work."

The reverence in his tone as he spoke about Creation reminded Sam of his more peculiar times in Hell. Sometimes, in a seemingly good mood, Lucifer would allow Sam into his own mind. The experience itself was a form of torture, he supposed. Nothing could prepare him for the alien nature of Lucifer's consciousness in its unfiltered grandeur. The first time it happened, he understood why Lucifer was God's favorite. In his uncorrupted glory, he was the personification of pure, celestial magnificence. Golden wings illuminated by his impossibly bright true form cast light over all that existed. Light bringer. Sam had felt crushing guilt, worse than anything he had known while alive. Trapping this beautiful thing in Hell, in a cage that was surely too small to contain such an incredible presence. He, tiny Sam Winchester, had done this. Lucifer was wrong to demand the Apocalypse, but he had believed he was seeking justice. Sam understood his loyalty to God and his eventual disobedience. He himself had run away to Stanford, refusing his father's plan for him. He felt sorry for Lucifer, wished he could make him understand that fighting wasn't everything. Sometimes it was okay to be wrong.

"But you betrayed me." Lucifer would snap him out of his reverie with some new torture to punish him. Sam knew he deserved it. He had robbed the archangel of resolution with his family and instead condemned him to a renewed eternity of wallowing in loss, hate, and self-pity. He was too majestic for such simple, painful emotions and Sam felt the outrage keenly. He had doled out this harsh sentence and regret surged over him. Lucifer had trusted him in the beginning, so entirely. He had betrayed that trust, just like he had Dean's. Sam was the failure in this equation. Not Lucifer, not Dean, just himself. He let down everyone, even the devil. He'd been made for one purpose and he had ruined that too.

A firm grasp on his shoulder recalled him from his thoughts. He heard weeping and slowly became alert. What happened? What was wrong? Too late, he realized the sounds were his as Dean lifted his chin, searching his little brother's face for any hint of recognition.

"What's wrong, Sammy? Come back to me, man. Sam?"

Sam cleared his throat and wiped the tears and snot away from his face. "I'm here," he managed, though the image of Lucifer's wings shining over the garden of Eden gleamed distractingly bright in his mind.

"What did you see?" Dean implored. "You can tell me." The unbridled sympathy in his voice reminded him of Lucifer's occasional bouts of pseudo-comfort and the sobs tore from his throat anew. Dean sat on the step above Sam and gathered him into an embrace, rocking him gently. "It's okay, Sammy, I got you, it's okay," he murmured into Sam's damp, messy hair.

"I did it, Dean," he blurted out, guilt clawing at his throat.

"What, Sam?"

"I did it. Put Lucifer back in his cage."

"Yes, you did! So proud of you." Sam abruptly pulled away from him and Dean was confused. "Sam?" His brother's face was painted with an emotion Dean could barely recognize, except maybe as soul-splitting horror.

"I—I doomed him. How could I do that?"

"Lucifer?!" Dean said incredulously.

Sam nodded, the tears on his chin flicking off his face. Fresh ones soon replaced them. "I trapped him in the cage."

"That was kind of the whole point, dude." Dean couldn't understand the air of defeat hanging over Sam.

"He's so beautiful, Dean. I—" a painful sob caught in his throat and he gasped for air. "He believed in me and I failed him, like I failed you, so many times. It's all I do. I deserve to be punished. I'm the least of anyone."

Dean slapped him across the cheek, but it had the opposite effect of his intention: instead of snapping Sam out of it, it elicited another round of shaking from Sam. Dean was at a loss for words. This was a new one. He'd woken up in the middle of the night to find Sam gone, only to hear his brother weeping outside. Never in a million years did he think Sam would shed a tear of grief for Lucifer. "Sam, stop this. He hurt you beyond comprehension. He doesn't deserve any of this!"

"No!" Sam wailed, fighting Dean's grip. "Me! I did this. I could have restored him to his glory, his radiance, and I took it from him. I took your lives from both of you, and for what? For you both to go to Hell?"

"So did you!" Dean reminded him.

"I belong there," he said plainly. Quietly he added "I belong with Lucifer."

How had it gotten so bad that Sam felt this way? "No, Sam. You don't. You're here. Where you should be."

"No, no, I need to be with Lucifer. He knows me, loves me."

Fire surged inside Dean. Love? Talk about fucking Stockholm Syndrome! "He doesn't love you, Sam. How could you think that? He tortured you for decades. That's not love, that's hate. Pure, unadulterated hate."

"I earned it. He waited for me for eons and I betrayed him. He has every right to punish me." Dean felt like ripping the hair from his head. Nightmares of torture and Sam's screaming he could just about deal with. Sam mourning the loss of Lucifer, what the hell was he supposed to do with this?! "We were one. Blissful. But, then, I saw it, I saw you, knew you needed to be saved." A bizarre feeling of guilt came over Dean. He was the reason Sam had jumped, had torn himself from this unholy union. He shook his entire body, banishing the revolting sensation from his bones. "I loved you more than him and he couldn't stand it. The one being made to know and understand him let him down." Sam laughed despite his obvious despair. "Guess I'm really good at that!"

Dean understood now. It wasn't so much that he loved Lucifer, but felt he had disappointed him. And Sam thought his whole life was a disappointment. Of course Lucifer would have tapped into this conviction and twisted it to suit his needs. Dean hung his head. He felt powerless against Lucifer, both real and imagined. Sam was at his mercy, despite his words of defiance and the charade of having things under control. The devil was ingrained in his soul. Nothing would wash out that stain, especially when Sam didn't see it that way. "What did you see?" Dean whispered, trying to comprehend what had brought this on.

"Light. Overwhelming, consuming light. His wings... made from the thread of Creation itself. He's the Morning Star, Light Bringer." Sam trembled, overtaken by his memory. He reached out and grabbed Dean's shirt, pulling him tight. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Luci," Dean went rigid at the nickname but forced himself to stay with Sam. Whatever crazy shit Sam had to work out, he wouldn't do it alone. "I'm sorry, Dean." He felt his heart jump at his name. "I'm sorry, Bobby. I'm sorry, dad. I'm sorry, mom. I'm sorry, Ellen. I'm sorry, Jo."

He continued through a litany of everyone he knew, everyone he felt he had failed. Dean held him tighter and waited it out, tears forming in his own eyes. No wonder Sam thought he deserved Hell. The list was seemingly endless. Dean half-expected every losing sports team and flopped movie to make an appearance. Sam's voice devolved into incomprehensible gurgles and Dean continued to hold him. The sun loomed under the horizon, casting faint light upon the world. Dean had never felt so small. He felt like he was keeping the pieces of his brother together. His body ached for release but he was afraid to move, loathe to disturb Sam. The comforting sound of Dean's heartbeat had drawn Sam into an exhausted sleep, but he still gripped Dean's shirt like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. For all Dean knew, that could be the truth of the matter.

Light bringer, Dean mused as the sun rose. Comprehension crept around the edges of his mind. Lucifer, for all his faults, was still an angel. An archangel. Dean had only brushed up against these forces of nature. Sam had become one. Surely such an experience was bound to forever change him. But not break him. Death had said the soul could be bludgeoned and tortured, but never broken. Sam would recover. He had to. Dean couldn't live with anything else.

Bobby woke to find both of the beds empty. He thought perhaps he had just overslept but realized the sun was still low in the sky. The cabin was eerily silent. He quietly rose from the bed and surveyed the room, checking for any signs of the brothers' whereabouts. Seeing none, he went to the door and cracked it open. Relief flooded him as he saw them on the steps. "Sam? Dean?" he called. No response. Bobby frowned. Had they fallen asleep out here? He went over and tapped Dean's shoulder.

"No, no, Sam, I gotcha…" Dean mumbled, his arms tightening around his brother. Bobby suddenly understood what had happened. Dean was practically cradling the larger man, Sam's head nestled against Dean's chest. Dean's head hung at a painful-looking angle. Bobby shook Dean more vigorously and he grumbled awake. He lifted his head and groaned as the overextended muscles rebelled against the movement. He shifted his equally stiff arms to rub his neck and registered Bobby's presence. "Hey, Bobby," he said sleepily, attempting a smile as blood flow returned to all corners of his body.

"Hey yourself. Any particular reason we're sleeping under the stars these days?"

Dean looked down at Sam and saw his little brother's fingers were still tightly wrapped in his shirt. He went to unfurl his fingers when he was struck by how cold Sam felt. He hurriedly tried to pry Sam's fingers off but they wouldn't move. "Something's wrong!" He shook Sam as Bobby felt for a pulse. It was faint but there.

"My God, he's freezing. How long you two been out here?"

Dean didn't bother answering as he directed Bobby towards Sam's feet. With Sam still clutching his shirt, he lifted Sam's shoulders and they awkwardly carried him inside, Dean trying his best to use a crutch while not dropping Sam. They deposited their precious cargo on the couch. Dean worked to free himself from Sam's grip as Bobby swaddled Sam in blankets. After some intense and creative maneuvers, Dean was able to slide the fabric out, but Sam's hands remained in their contorted arrangement. Dean filled two bowls with warm water and submerged the cold fingers. Upon closer inspection Sam's skin had a blue tinge. He felt Sam's wrist for a pulse but was unable to detect it under his own galloping heartbeat. He put his ear to Sam's chest and heard a struggling, unsteady beat. We ever gonna catch a break? Dean thought angrily. "Should we put him in the tub?"

"That's probably the best bet…" Bobby hurried to the bathroom and turned on the spigot. "Let's just get him in here now," he called as he reentered the living room.

The two older men stripped Sam down to his boxers on the same couch they had just as awkwardly dressed him less than two days before. Red marks still covered Sam's skin. Dean braced himself for the short journey, forgoing the crutch. They somewhat unceremoniously dropped Sam into the rising water, yet were careful to cushion his head. Dean noticed with dismay that his skin looked even more pallid against the rust-ringed porcelain. He sighed and sat on the closed toilet. They watched the water submerge his body and as his normal color slowly returned, the silence became much less tense.

"He'll be okay, Dean," Bobby commented, reiterating what they both already knew about the current situation and doubted about Sam in general.

"When do we admit defeat?" Dean asked, his eyes still on Sam.

"What do you mean?" Bobby replied, disgruntled.

"I mean, when do we admit that Sam is too broken for us to handle? That we need to get him some help?"

"What exactly would that help look like?"

"I don't know, Bobby!" He stamped his good foot for emphasis. "I'm just saying, that if Sam continues like this, what we're doing isn't gonna cut it."

"Cut him some slack. He's been awake for less than 48 hours. I didn't see you going to the therapist every week when you came back from Hell."

"That was different, Bobby, and you know it," Dean snapped, irritated.

"I don't see how. You've both been to Hell, something no amount of meds or talking or drinking or hunting is gonna fix. So give Sam a chance to get his bearings. If it's not better in a week we'll figure something else out."

Dean gave Bobby an incredulous look. "Another week? I don't think we can survive another week of this!" He gestured aggressively towards Sam's still body.

"Dunno what other choice you've got, son. Five days, give him five more days. A week awake. Deal?"

Dean grumbled but nodded in acquiescence. "Fine. Five days. And then we find something, anything, to fix this."

Both hunters knew there was nothing that could fix Sam, but it was better to fight the impossible than accept the inevitable.

Unearthly cold permeated his flesh. Cold that made his soul shiver. He vaguely wondered if this was what absolute zero felt like, despite knowing logically it wouldn't feel like anything. It didn't matter: the laws of reality did not apply to the cage, as evidenced by the fact that his hands had been frozen solid with what felt like liquid nitrogen but agonizing sensation still flowed to his brain. Opening his eyes, he recognized the native landscape of the cage. When Lucifer wasn't projecting something to change his perception, the space inside the cage was a cold vacuum. There was no defined floor, as if he were suspended in the nothingness. The bars of the cage were made of darkness, absorbing the light shed by the chaotic lightning storm that raged perpetually outside. The first time Sam had experienced the bare cage, he understood why Lucifer was cold. The chill was the only thing he had known for the majority of his life. For him to have become the cold was not only understandable, but likely unavoidable.

Tendrils of frost curled around his toes and crawled up his leg, embedding thorns of agony deep in his flesh as it spread over his body. Lucifer never left him alone for too long, unable to resist inflicting a new torture on Sam's shredded soul. The coils of pain manifested into glass-like vines, from which iridescent buds unfurled into flowers with petals that shimmered like mirrors. Each tiny mirror reflected a memory. "You walk out that door, don't you ever come back…" Jess burning on the ceiling. "It means you're a monster…" Lives he ruthlessly snuffed out while soulless. "Your body temperature was one-fifty. Your heart rate was two hundred. Your eyes were black…" Dean's battered face before Lucifer almost killed him. "Sam, of course, is an abomination…" Mom burning on the ceiling, Azazel's yellow eyes glowing in the darkness. "And you only feel right when you're sucking down more poison and more evil…"

"Evil, Sam, that's what you are," that ever-present voice murmured in his ear, cool breath coinciding with a cool touch on his forehead as his soul began to warp with misery. "But I still want you, Sammy. I'll never let go, don't you worry… You'll never be far from your maker. I'm even more a part of you now and you'll never be rid of me…" The subversive words started to fade away as he felt subtle warmth envelop him, pushing away his tormentor's caress, and pulling him asunder.

Dean sat in the bathroom on watch while Bobby made breakfast. He knew Bobby was right, he had to be patient with Sam. But this whole thing sucked ass. It was so unfair, but then, the universe wasn't fair. A quiet splash caught his attention. Sam's body had finally released the tension and his hands fell to his side, relaxed. His neck tilted forward and his slightly-parted mouth filled with water. Dean surged up and lifted his head out of the water, but Sam was already alert. Wide eyes stared down the length of his body before he scrambled in a frantic attempt to stand.

Warm, sticky liquid covered his form and Sam knew from the metallic tang in the air that it could only be blood. Every inch of his skin was coated and revulsion swept through him. A faint voice and firm hands tried to capture him, but he had to wash this off, he had to be clean. He struggled to reach the knobs but the wrists of his outstretched arms were caught in a vice grip. His vision whirled as his body was yanked to the side. Someone's face—Dean's? —swam into view. The mouth was moving but he could not discern any intelligible words. He shut eyes and took a deep breath, biting his cheek as he exhaled. When he opened them again, the face—definitely Dean's—looked relieved, although still terribly concerned.

"Sam? You alright?"

He nodded weakly. "Yeah. Sorry, Dean." The grasp loosened, allowing Sam to draw his hands in towards his chest and gently rub the assaulted joints. "Waking up is always hard."

"It's okay. Think you're back with us now?" Sam bobbed his head in affirmation. "I can get you some fresh clothes. Bobby's making breakfast. Join us when you're ready."

"Okay, sounds good."

Dean rose and awkwardly limped out of the room to retrieve Sam's clothes. However, Sam didn't notice; he was too concerned with the streaks of red discoloring the water as it swirled down the drain.

Sam quietly came to the table and ate the food Bobby had prepared while Dean and Bobby talked about their experience with the Leviathan. Surely they had been over it; perhaps they were discussing it again for Sam's benefit. He didn't remember the encounter well. Something about looking for their surrogate father, seeing someone in the lot, a gunshot, then a tire iron and blackness. He decided he should pay attention to catch up on what he had missed.

"Hell, dropping a car barely stopped it," someone was saying. Sam vaguely saw the junker hanging over the stranger as Dean wrangled with the controller.

"Maybe you should try dropping a car on yourself. Oooh—how about a tractor trailer? That might work," Lucifer purred in his ear, appearing so suddenly Sam dropped his fork in surprise. Dean eyed him carefully. Moving to sit next to him, Lucifer picked up Sam's butter knife and twirled it in his fingers. "Nah, you never could, you gutless sop. But maybe," and he appeared beside Dean, "you just need a little encouragement in the right direction…" Lucifer caressed Dean's face with the blunt blade, strawberry jam leaving tracks in lieu of blood.

Dean watched as Sam swallowed compulsively in fear, his torturer again drawing him in. Your hand. Press your hand, you idiot! Dean plead silently. He couldn't always be there to remind Sam what to do. Then Sam was looking at him. No, not quite at him. He was watching something happen to him. For a second, their eyes locked and that was enough to break Sam out of the hallucination. He reached for his hand and sighed with relief. Sam flicked a nervous look back at Dean. Dean opened his mouth to speak but Sam stood up urgently and walked to the side door before he could find words. Dean looked to Bobby, who shook his head, dissuading him from following his stricken brother.

Sam marched out of the cabin. Lucifer followed, silent. There's only one way around this, the hunter decided. "Yes, Sam, that's right," Lucifer said convincingly. "You know what to do." He nodded slowly, approving of Sam's train of thought.

Sam whirled angrily and faced Lucifer. He used the extra three inches of height he had on the devil and tried to tower over him. "No. This stops today."

"No?" Lucifer repeated incredulously. His expression became grim. "Sam, I am inside you. A part of me is in you and you left a part of yourself with me. You think you can ignore that? We are two halves made whole and you stole that away from the universe." Anger seeped into Lucifer's voice and Sam cringed. Memories of that tone in the cage flooded his already weak mind. Lucifer's firm hand on his jaw brought him back to present, to those piercing blue eyes staring into the depths of his tattered soul. A slight twitch shook Lucifer's lips. "Worse, you stole that from me. You don't get to walk free having committed such a sin."

Sam couldn't help but let out a pitiful laugh. "Sin? You want to talk about sin!?" He shook his head. "No, Lucifer, you don't get that privilege."

"What privilege?" he interrupted, hate brewing in his eyes.

"To talk. About anything. You had your chance. You lost. Deal with it." Sam turned and walked further around the cabin.

Lucifer sputtered in disbelief as he chased after his vessel. "Samuel Winchester. How dare you talk to me in that tone!" His attempt at fatherly condescension fell flat on Sam's broad shoulders. "I am an archangel—"

"A fallen archangel," Sam interrupted without looking at him.

"Whatever you call me, you should respect me, fear me. I know every molecule of your being, Sam." Lucifer paused, then his voice took on a lighter tone. "Ah, yes, remember that time, when I tore you apart, atom by atom, quark by quark, snapping your strings until all those dimensions crumbled in on themselves? Almost brings a tear to my eye. Don't you remember that, Sammy?" he wheedled.

"I'm not listening," Sam said loudly, still walking.

Dean heard Sam's voice coming from the broken window and went to listen in, despite knowing all too well he wouldn't like what he heard.

"You have to remember that one. I gotta say, it was one of my most elegant tortures," he gloated, pride swelling his chest.

"It was one of millions of ways you killed me. I lost count after a while," Sam said plainly. The nonchalance in his voice crushed Dean. Sam must have suffered far beyond his imagination could comprehend.

"But that one was so perfect. Slow and exact. If I recall correctly, it took months. Let's see if we can figure it out." He put a cool hand on Sam's neck and the human stopped in his tracks, paralyzed by the memory of excruciating pain. His knees buckled and he fell to the muddy ground. He stared at his left hand and watched it slowly disintegrate, the sheer existence of his body fading away.

Dean watched, felt he should do something, but his brother didn't seem in immediate danger so he waited to see what would happen.

"Right, right, it's coming back to me now. Not only did I pull you apart at the quantum level, I also annihilated those particles! You actually ceased to be. Wiped from the universe! Except for your pesky soul. Can't get rid of that toilet rag." Lucifer paused thoughtfully, then shrugged. "Though, your body seemed alright without it for a year." Anger surged within Sam and he glared up at Lucifer. He had done horrible things without his soul. All those people he killed... "What, that wasn't my fault! Blame your old pal Castiel! Hmm, little brothers are such disappointments, aren't they?"

"Leave Cas out of this," Sam spat. Dean was surprised to hear Sam defending the angel after what he'd done to Sam, to the world. "This is your fault. You had such a needy, desperate grip on my soul he couldn't get it out. You are pathetic, Lucifer. All your torture and lies just show you for what you are. A worthless, whining child in need of discipline. Couldn't let go of your toys until you broke them. God probably left because He couldn't deal with your temper tantrums." Dean's eyebrows arched in shock. Did he really just hear Sam bitch out Satan?

Sam felt a marble arm move around his neck and Lucifer had him in a headlock. He jerked his body up from the ground. Lucifer's voice was razor sharp, hissing in Sam's ear. "That's not what you said when you were begging for mercy. That's not what you said when you vowed I was your god, your savior, your creator." He tightened his grip and Sam's arms scrabbled frantically as air became scarce. "That's not what you said when you confessed you were my little bitch." Lucifer's other hand stroked Sam's cheek with nauseating affection.

Sam ripped himself free and turned. "That was in the cage. Now, I don't need your mercy. You are not my god, my savior, or my creator. And I am most definitely not your little bitch!" Sam was shouting now. "You're not real. Just some perverted distortion of my memories of the cage. You—" Sam stopped mid-breath, cut off by Lucifer's rebuttal.

"Now, Sam, you know that's not completely true." He smirked knowingly, imploring Sam to be honest with himself. "A little bit of me came back with you. Nestled inside you, knit into your very being."

"Like a parasite?" Sam's voice was tight.

Lucifer's lips turned in his characteristic 'not bad' face and he nodded. "Your soul is infected with me, Sam. A disease you'll never cure. Though I see it more like a superpower but hey, that's just me," he shrugged.

Sam shook his head. "Whatever connection you think you have with me, it's nothing. It is nothing compared to what I have with Dean. To what I have with Bobby. You will never take that from me. You never could, even in the cage." Dean felt his heart clench. The conviction with which Sam spoke was moving. "All those decades and you could never wrench that from me. I'll be damned if I let you do it now."

Lucifer smiled challengingly. "Sam, you never let me do anything. I did what I wanted. You were powerless to stop it. What tiny ant are you compared to a being like me?"

"Well, this tiny ant stopped your plans for the Apocalypse. And I'll stop you now, just like I did then. This is it. It stops today. Try anything you want, but I'm done. You are not real and you will not ruin the rest of my life. You had your way for a hundred and eighty years. However long I have left will not be ruled by you. Go back to Hell, Lucifer," Sam was growling by the end, his body puffed up with defiance.

"But it's so much more fun here with you, Sammy!" he drawled. Sam stiffened at the use of 'Sammy.' He hated it when Dean said it, but Lucifer? It was too much. His captor knew this all too well. "Sammy, do whatever you want, but I will always be here. Your constant companion as much as I ever was, just now you get the added benefit of my direct company. Admit it, you'd miss me. You've spent far more time with me than Deano. I am more your brother than he is."

"Shut up!" Sam shouted contemptuously. "You will never be my brother, my soul mate, my other half—whatever bullshit you think you are, Lucifer, you're not fooling me. You feed me lies, try to break me down but you know what? I survived. I survived all your torture—"

"Yeah, 'cause I let you," Lucifer interjected quietly.

"Whatever. You're not gonna control me now. Say whatever you want, do whatever you want. I'm going to ignore you from here on out. You can haul your sorry ass home whenever it suits you." Sam stared evenly into his torturer's eyes.

Lucifer was silent for a few moments, calculating his next move. "You say that now, Sammy, and I know you believe it. But perhaps you forget how intimately I understand you." He licked his lips. "You won't be able to evade me for long. Hmm, I think this could be fun. Let's see how long it takes to break you. As it is in Hell, so it shall be on Earth."

"You won't win," Sam retorted.

"That's what you said last time, but I distinctly remember those lips saying that sweet little word." He shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. "Guess we'll find out. See ya soon, Sammy." Lucifer winked and snapped out of existence, leaving Sam truly alone.

He stood looking out into the woods, unable to see the forest through the trees. He started to shake slightly but regained his composure. No, I won't let this happen. I beat him before when he was real, I can do it now. It's just the wall. He's not actually here. I got this. He rubbed his cut gently. I can do this. Sam remained motionless, repeating this, forcing himself to believe it. A hand on his shoulder nearly caused him to jump out of his skin. "God, Dean!" he exclaimed. He pressed his wound to make sure it was really Dean. No flickering. He relaxed.

"Sorry, Sammy, didn't mean to sneak up on ya." Dean was torn between making a joke and wrapping his brother in a bear hug. He decided on neither. "You okay? You stormed out back there." His eyes were filled with concern.

Sam looked down. "Yeah, sorry. I just, uh, had to get some air."

Dean hesitated then lowered his voice. Better to be direct while Sam was still lucid. "I heard you talking, Sam. With Lucifer." Sam hung his head in shame, humiliated that his brother had heard his half of the exchange. Dean's voice filled with satisfaction. "Sounds like you gave that bastard a beat down!" He looked up at Dean, surprised by his reaction. Dean could see the pain pulsing in Sam's eyes despite his apparent victory. "What was he saying to you?"

Sam rolled his shoulders listlessly and looked away. "What does he ever say? Same old bullshit."

Dean rolled his lip into his mouth, debating how hard to press his fragile brother. He had told himself he wasn't going to ask this question, and he chided himself as the words sprung from his lips. "What did you mean 'It was one of millions of ways you killed me. I lost count after a while.'? Tell me you were just using a figure of speech."

The haunted look Sam returned made Dean instantly regret his intrusive query. The blood drained away from Sam's face as Lucifer stood behind Dean, counting slowly on his fingers. Without taking his attention away from counting, he calmly said, "I just couldn't stay away. Tell him Sam, tell him how many times you died. Over and over and over and over. Endlessly, repeatedly, every time a new and beautiful approach to death. You were wed with oblivion. Tell him how many times you died and how many times you screamed out his name. Tell him how he was never there for you." He halted, a memory striking him. "Well, when he was, it was hardly out of brotherly affection." Lucifer smiled to himself. "That one time, oh, you really thought he was there to save you!" The glee in his voice made Sam want to vomit.

"Dean…" Sam's voice was so small. "You don't want to know."

"Sam," he implored, wishing his brother could share some of this burden.

"What good will it do you? Why would you want to know?"

"Because deep down, he likes to see you suffer, Sammy. He hated you from the moment you were born, and he was right to. You took his perfect family away from him. Seems you have a habit of doing that," Lucifer accused, his arms folding across his chest. Sam bit his tongue to keep himself from responding.

"You know I'm not about sharing and caring but maybe... maybe if I could understand what happened to you…" Dean insisted gently.

"You could what, fix me?" The bitterness in his voice was acidic.

"Dude, don't be a dick."

"Yeah, Sam, don't be a dick. Don't be a—what was it? Assbutt?" Sam forced his attention away from the devil and focused on Dean. His green eyes were round and tender. Sam's anger melted away and he sighed in preparation.

"I... um…" he swallowed and looked down, deliberating whether telling Dean the truth was prudent. He glanced at Dean. The sincerity in his eyes made lying impossible. "I, uh, lost count after three million or so." He scrunched his face in thought. "Though I think that was just the first couple of months? I don't know. Like I said, I lost count."

"Three million?" Dean was sure he misheard. He hoped he'd misheard.

"The last number that comes to mind is 3,207,136." Lucifer motioned to increase the number considerably.

Letting his crutches fall to the ground, Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder, his other bearing a finger that waved urgently in Sam's face. "Are—Are you telling me that Lucifer killed you three million, two hundred thousand and some times?" The bile was burning up his throat, threatening an explosion.

"At least," Sam replied curtly, ignoring Lucifer's recitation of the much, much larger exact number. "For a while it was a point of pride to keep track. Then things got a little fuzzy and it was hard to tell if it was actually me dying or a fake me or…" He shook his head to dispel the memories flashing before him. "At some point I gave up counting. It was pointless anyway. I thought I was down there for eternity. I was going to run out of numbers eventually." The matter-of-factness of his voice disturbed Dean immensely.

"How long did it feel like to you?" Dean choked out. He knew the answer but wanted to see if Sam would be honest.

"How long did it feel? It felt like forever. Dying felt like it took years in itself. Like he made time slow down as the life drained out of me. But he reminded me constantly. We were up to 180-some years by the end, I think. He kept pointing out that Cas had come to save you after 40 but that no one was coming to save me. And then laughing, he would find some new, creative way to kill me." Sam's voice was cold and detached, as if he were talking about someone else.

"Sam," Dean croaked, tears spilling out of his eyes. "I'm so sorry." He wrapped his giant little brother in the tightest hug he had ever given, threatening to squeeze the air out of his lungs. He felt Sam resist slightly before giving in entirely, embracing him with equal strength. "I'll never let that happen to you again." He stroked Sam's head as his brother collapsed into his shoulder, heavy sobs convulsing his body.

Bobby watched from the window, his emotions torn. He had a new appreciation for Sam's tenacity, but he feared the young man would not hold together much longer. This was the first time he had seen Sam cry in earnest since the wall broke down. Clearly it was cathartic, but the desperation evidenced by the way he clung to Dean cut a little too close to the bone for Bobby's comfort. They weren't out of the woods yet.

The brothers returned to the house in silence, clearly exhausted. Bobby said nothing as Sam helped Dean to the couch then flopped himself onto the cot. He barely had time to pull a blanket over himself before he passed out. Once he heard soft snores escape Sam's mouth, Dean groaned loudly. His heart felt tired. Sam was so broken. Dean had been wrong to put his soul back. But it was too late now. Plus, had he left it with Lucifer, his brother, the real essence of his brother, would still be endlessly dying. At least three million deaths? Dean was unsure he could comprehend what that really meant. Were there even that many ways to kill someone? He sighed. If anyone could do it, it was Lucifer. He'd been in the cage since time began, left to stew in his anger and desire for revenge. Which was taken out on Sam. Oh, Sam! Dean wanted to tear the world apart for inflicting such cruelty on his baby brother. The more he turned it over in his head, the deeper into despair he fell.

He felt himself violently shaking and it took him a few moments to realize it was Bobby, not his bottomless grief, wracking his body. "Dean, you in there? C'mon, son, it'll be alright." Dean filled his lungs with air and opened his eyes. Bobby sat back, relieved. He handed Dean a beer. "Can't have the two of you breaking down left and right."

Dean took a deep swig. He twisted and checked on Sam. Still soundly sleeping. He turned back to Bobby, his face contorted with anguish. "How is he even functioning? Did you hear what he said? That bastard killed him at least three million times. I've half a mind to open that damn cage again and rip Lucifer apart myself."

Bobby put a hand on Dean's shoulder as if to stop him. "And how would that help Sam?" Bobby asked sadly.

Dean sighed in agreement and dragged his hands across his face. "We all knew Lucifer is fucked up, but, God, had I fully realized what Sam was going into, I never would have let him say 'yes'. This is on us, Bobby. We failed him."

"Are you nuts? We tried talking him out of it. We tried everything we could to stop the devil. This was the only way that wouldn't torch half the planet in the process. You know how he felt. He let Lucifer out, he had to put him back."

"But I broke the first seal. I gave in after only thirty years. My weakness lead to Sam's suffering."

Bobby was tired of having this conversation. They'd had it countless times in the year Sam was gone. But he went through it for Dean's benefit. "Dean, if you didn't break that seal, someone else would have. You shouldn't have been there in the first place. You were only there to save Sam, and that was all Azazel. And that tracks back to Lucifer. So this is still all Lucifer's fault."

"Or it's God's for casting him down in the first place."

That was a first. It caught Bobby off guard. "You're... you're blaming God?"

"Well, He made Lucifer didn't He? And isn't He all-knowing? Shouldn't He have seen what Lucifer would do, all the suffering he would cause? And He didn't lift a finger to stop it. Dammit, I wish Cas was here. He'd know what to say." Dean looked up at the ceiling, rage mixing with misery as he prayed with no hope of an answer. Bobby had wondered how the loss of his friend had affected Dean, but the subject had been taboo since Cas broke Sam's wall. Apparently, Dean was willing to forgive the angel his trespasses in his own moment of profound need.

Bobby sighed. What a mess. "Dean…" His eyes focused on the older hunter, expectant. "The fact that Sam is even alive and walking around right now is a testament to his strength. The kid's a fighter. He'll get through it, but he needs you. And not this you mopey you, waxing philosophical. That'll freak him out even more!" Dean's weak smile returned Bobby's. "Just... just be patient with him. He's gone through an unimaginable trauma. He's gonna be shaky for a while. The best we can do is make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

Dean nodded in agreement, a grin breaking his somber expression. "Oh, you should have heard him, Bobby. He called Lucifer a whiny child throwing a temper tantrum. Told him he was the reason God left. Wish I could have seen that douche's face. Maybe it will get better from here on out. Sam said he would try ignoring him." Bobby held his gaze evenly, staying quiet. "What?" Dean didn't like the lack of vocal support.

"Don't you think Lucifer—Sam's mind—whatever, will just try harder?"

Dean processed that for a few moments. "Probably." He shrugged. "Just means we'll have to be even better." Resolution set his features. "I will not let Sam die one more damn time at Lucifer's hands, real or imagined. I couldn't be there for him before but I will sure as hell be there for him now!" His vehemence was more natural than his depression and Bobby felt reassured. He couldn't worry this much about both of them. Dean shifted his leg off the couch and grabbed his crutches. He sat next to Sam, his back turned on the world. Right now, his whole world was his little brother.

Sam stirred later in the afternoon. His body felt rigid as if he had been tensing it the entire time he was asleep. Everything hurt to move. Forcing open his eyelids, he was greeted by two sets of worried eyes. He chose to ignore one and acknowledge the other.

"How ya feeling, Sammy?"

"Sammy," Lucifer echoed in an obnoxious tone.

"Better," he stated, though not sure if he actually believed it. He looked around for Bobby.

"Bobby? He went out to meet up with some hunters to figure out how to track the Leviathan. They went into the waterways so God knows where they are now."

Sam nodded. He knew he should be helping out, researching the monsters. "Does he have anything here I can read? Start going through?"

"You sure you're up for that?" Dean wasn't patronizing, just genuine in his concern.

"Yeah, Sam, you sure you're up for that?" Lucifer whined, mocking Dean's attention. "Would me playing darts with your face distract you at all?" Metal glinted in the light as Lucifer picked at his nails with the point.

"Bobby found some old lore books at the local library. Don't know if they'll be at all useful, but worth a shot." Dean nodded his head in the direction of the small stack on the floor.

Sam stood up and ambled over, picking up the first tome. He sat down at the kitchen table and opened the disintegrating cover. Something whizzed behind him and implanted itself in the wall. "Damn, I missed!" Lucifer complained. Disappointed, he threw another but it went wide and passed a foot in front of Sam's eyes. He continued as Sam flipped the pages, each time getting a little bit closer. Eventually they got so close that Sam's body felt the need to dodge the tiny missiles. Sam sighed in frustration.

"What's wrong, Sam?"

He closed the book and looked up at the ceiling. "He's throwing darts at my head. Makes concentrating a little difficult."

What the fuck? Slowly it was dawning on Dean that there were, in fact, at least three million ways to kill someone. "Did you try the hand thing?"

"No…" Sam rubbed at the bandage until his shadow flickered out of existence.

"You need to do that ASAP. Don't let it get to the point where he's messing with your head."

"But... It, uh, won't heal if I keep opening it." He tried to sound convincing but Dean could sense it was an excuse.

"And what else?" Dean's voice was firm.

Sam looked up at Dean, dismay seizing his expression. "I'm worried that it will stop working if I do it too much. That he'll find some way around it."

"Well, if that happens, we'll figure something else out. But until then, you do that until your damn hand falls off."

"Okay, okay I hear ya."

Occasionally Sam wondered where Lucifer went when he wasn't antagonizing him. He had to forcefully remind himself that Lucifer wasn't actually there. He was a hallucination. A damn good one, but still imaginary. At least Sam had a good reason for his hallucinations: he had saved the world. Others were just blessed with a cruel quirk of biology. He considered whether he could really live the rest of his life plagued by the devil. Maybe it would get better over time.

"Oh, yeah, Sam, because Hell totally got easier the longer you were there," Lucifer interrupted his thoughts, sarcasm dripping from every word. Sam looked around the room for his bully but did not see him. "Just hanging out in your head. It's cozy in here. A nice me-shaped hole riiiiiiiiight in the middle." Lucifer wiggled into his consciousness like a toddler snuggling between his parents. "This is great. I shoulda made a vessel eons ago. You're so perfect for me." Sam hated the possessiveness in his velvety voice. It revolted Sam that he was specially designed to hold the devil and allow him to maximize his power. He despised the very fiber of his being, but knew the best revenge was to continue fighting. "Aw, Sam, don't hate yourself," Lucifer murmured quietly, trying to quell his vessel. "In fact, don't hate me either. I didn't want this to happen. It's just how it is. If you gotta blame anyone, blame Michael. Blame God. They cast me down and forced me into this position."

This discussion had frequented their exchanges in Hell, during those rare times Lucifer's torture physically allowed Sam to speak. Sam had been through every iteration of the argument; still Lucifer maintained it was not his fault, that he was the victim. Sam could not resist smiling at the irony as Lucifer would find yet another unique, inventive way to drain the life from his body. Some victim you are, he remembered thinking. Lucifer would always counter with the pedantic explanation that victims sometimes became abusers to act out their issues. "You know I'm right, Sammy. I'm always right," he crooned both then and now. Sam frowned as he felt his resolve to fight slipping away but he was just too tired to chase it.

"Earth to Sam. You with us here?" Dean waved his hand in front of Sam's unresponsive face. He snapped his fingers and Sam jolted, blinking repeatedly as his eyes adjusted to stimuli.

Sam shook his head, dissolving Lucifer from his awareness. "Yeah, man, sorry," he said quietly. He swallowed and took a deep breath. Dean tried to catch his eyes but Sam couldn't bear the concern on Dean's face. "What... what if it never gets better? What if Lucifer is permanently burned into my mind like some sort of twisted branding from the cage?"

"No, that's not it. We'll figure this out. We got you out and I will not let you be trapped there for the rest of your life. No, not gonna happen, Sammy."

"Sammy," Lucifer echoed from somewhere in his head, his voice simultaneously soothing and devious. Sam's face crumpled. He wanted to scream and make Lucifer go away but it was pointless. "I'm in you, Sammy. Bound to you, forever." He laughed and Sam's nerves rattled.

Dean's firm grip enveloped his shoulders and he focused on Dean. "I know, I know. I just, he's in my head, even when I can't see him." Sam's expression turned sour. "He was inside me, Dean. I had the devil inside me." This isn't news Sam. What's with the sudden realization? Dean thought. "Who wakes up and thinks 'Yeah, today I'll say yes to Satan using my body so he can start the damn Apocalypse.'"

"You did, you crazy bastard," Lucifer offered helpfully.

"Dean," he looked up urgently at his brother. "Promise me, if it gets too bad, you'll take care of me."

"Of course, Sam. You were in a coma for five days. Didn't leave your side."

"No, I mean, take care of me." Put me out of my misery, Sam left unsaid. Shock spread on Dean's face as he understood his meaning. "Please. No one was supposed to live through being an archangel's vessel. Especially not goddam Lucifer's. He's the worst son of a bitch we've ever encountered and he's in me, Dean. I can't do this forever."

"Careful what you wish for, Sammy." Lucifer appeared next to him, his cool body making several points of contact against Sam's, who scooted over to escape. "You might just end up moving back in with me." Lucifer winked and smiled, amusement animating his face. "Got lots of new things I've been dying to try. Well, I won't be the one dying." An annoyingly smug grin spread on his face. He chuckled lightly and slapped his hand on Sam's knee. Sam cringed. He gave in and pressed the cut. Lucifer flickered out of view and Sam sighed with relief. He looked up. Dean was just watching him, unable to decide how to respond to this completely unreasonable request.

"You don't think, if I die, I'll go back to Hell, do you?"

Dean resisted the urge to bitch slap his brother. "Dude, why would you go back? The only reason you were there in the first place is because you jumped in."

"I don't know... if Lucifer is bound to me, then maybe he can pull me back."

"Wait, bound to you? Is that what he's telling you?" Sam glanced up nervously at Dean's angry shape. "You know he's full of shit, right? It's just your brain trying to fuck with you."

Sam looked down and nodded. "I know, Dean. It just feels so real."

"So, not getting any better since you told him to fuck off?" Dean tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He'd hoped if Sam consciously decided to ignore the hallucinations, his brain would be better able to manage them.

Sam shook his head slightly. "No… I'm sure if I got more sleep it would be easier… but it's at its worst when I sleep."

"Did the Benadryl help at all?"

Sam frowned. "Not really. I, uh, didn't pass out until he wanted me to."

Dean bit back his frustration. "And then what?"

Sam swallowed hard, his Adam's apple dancing nervously. "I relived the first six months in the cage. With Lucifer killing me every couple of seconds." He avoided Dean's eyes like the plague.

Pushing down a yell, Dean threw the near-empty beer bottle in his hand across the room but instantly felt terrible as the smashing glass made Sam visibly flinch. "I'm sorry," he said as he stood up and walked away from Sam. He turned and looked back at Sam, who's eyes were anxiously darting to different spots on the floor. He looked pathetically dispirited. "You know I'm not mad at you, right?"

Sam's eyes met his, and though his words acknowledged Dean's own, his expression did not communicate belief. "I do. Situation just sucks."

"That's putting it mildly!" Dean forced a small smile onto his face. "What would make it better?" Sam tried and failed to fight a yawn. "Sleep?"

Sam nodded. "I feel like all I do is sleep these days, but it never seems like enough."

"The Benadryl at least made you sleepy, right?"

"Yeah, but I still couldn't fall asleep…"

"What if we tried it with something else? My pain meds make me really groggy. Maybe it would put you out of it enough that Hell wouldn't seep through."

"Dean, I really don't want to—"

"Just try it," Dean interrupted. Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean preempted him. "For me? Just try it, and if it doesn't work, we'll do it your way," he implored.

Sam's shoulders sagged in submission. "Okay, fine."

Dean smiled supportively. "Good, good." He collected the medication and brought them to Sam. "This should work."

"Because you're a pharmacist now?" Sam joked, trying to mask the concern he felt. Mixing meds after a head injury probably wasn't their best idea, but Dean was right: it was worth a shot.

"Oh yeah. Just call me Dr. Sexy." Sam rolled his eyes. He had forgotten about all that ridiculousness. Focusing, he looked down at the pills Dean dropped into his hand. Five garishly pink capsules nestled around four white oblong tablets. Sam frowned, questioning the dose. Dean knew what he was thinking. "What, are you worried about overdosing? Sam, that's like barely more than the regular dose for your sasquatch body. You'll be fine. Plus, some opioid-fueled dreams may do ya some good!"

That's not actually a bad idea, Sam thought. He placed the medications in his mouth and swallowed both the chemicals and his anxiety with a gulp of water. Dean was right. He probably wouldn't overdose from this. He doubted Lucifer would let him get off that easy.

Sam spent the next hour and a half reading, resisting both Lucifer's taunts and the slow pull of the drugs. He fell asleep without realizing it. Dean arranged him comfortably on the couch and tucked him in, satisfied he had successfully accomplished his role as big brother once again. It had been his first job, and ultimately, the only one that mattered.

.

A/N: It may be a while before I update again because I'm adding a new part to Day 8 I had not previously envisioned. Being the perfectionist that I am, it might take me some time to execute my devious plan to my satisfaction.