Day 8

A/N: I'm so sorry it's taken be this long to update. All your support has been wonderful and kept me going. I really struggled with a part of this chapter and basically decided "screw it, time to move on." Between that and life getting in the way… well, you know how it goes.

Warning for graphic torture. Poor Sam. Enjoy.

1/8/2018 update: I was really unhappy with the first part of the chapter so went back and fixed it.

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Urgent tones penetrated Sam's slumber. He swam through his exhaustion towards the voice. "… —than, they're here! Sam! Wake up! SAM! I need backup!" Awareness scratched at his consciousness and he flung the blanket off as he opened his eyes. Frantic scuffling drew his attention to the kitchen, where Dean and another man were fighting. Dean slipped out of his attacker's hold and grabbed a chef knife. He lunged for the man's heart but his parry was avoided, instead only slashing the stranger's arm. Black fluid sprayed from the wound.

Leviathan?! Sam thought with panic. How could they have found us already? A strangled yelp from Dean focused Sam. "Dean, is this real?" he asked quickly.

"Yes, Sam, very real! Very fucking real! Help!" The man swept Dean's knees out from under him and then lifted him in a headlock. The monster was steadily cutting off the air supply and Dean became pale. Sam reached for his gun under his pillow. A gunshot wouldn't kill it, but maybe it would distract it long for Dean to catch a breath.

He lifted the gun, the same gun he had almost killed himself with, and willed himself to steady his shaking hands. Hunting instincts kicked in and muscle memory took over. His finger slid down to the trigger and he lined up the shot. As he pulled the cool metal in, he saw Lucifer appear in the corner of his eye. Within a second, blinding light and a deafening bang overloaded his awareness. He felt his finger contract as his whole body flinched. The pungent smell of sulfur and cordite filled his nose as he struggled to regain his senses. He attempted to train his eyes on his embattled brother but saw only the Leviathan.

Because Dean was on the floor. Blood trickling down his face. Dead.

Dean was dead. Sam had killed him.

"It was the heat of the moment…"

He sat up in bed, his immediate confusion giving way to dawning recognition. The mystery spot. The never-ending Tuesday. He looked over and found Dean exactly where he expected him. Dean — God, he looked so young and carefree! Before he went to Hell, before the demon blood, before the Apocalypse…

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

A thought struck Sam. He sprung out of bed and ran to the bathroom. The face staring back at him was framed with much shorter hair and fewer worry lines. He turned to Dean, who was watching him with curiosity. "Dean, what year is it?"

"2008…" Dean cocked an eyebrow. "You okay, Sam?"

"Yeah, just need a minute." He closed the bathroom door. He rubbed his face, trying to dispel the panic rising in him. What was going on? Was this just Lucifer messing with him? Or had it been Gabriel — wait, no, the Trickster or was it actually Gabriel? — this whole time? Did a trickster really have enough power to manipulate reality like that? Well, he had done six months no problem, what's a few years? Though did Hell count as extra time? Almost two centuries would be a stretch… so maybe it really was Gabriel? Or Lucifer? Or something else entirely?

If it were an angel, he could trap it with holy oil. Shit, no, they didn't have that yet. He could banish it with the sigils. But what if those weren't real? Just a prop from his fake future? This was impossible. He let out a frustrated groan which came out more like a muffled yell.

"What's going on in there? Sam? Are your freaky visions back?"

Whoa… his visions… back when that was the weirdest thing about him, not being the goddam devil's vessel. "Sam?" Dean started banging on the door.

"Dean, I just need some space!" Sam said over the increasing tempo of his brother's fists. Clearly Dean didn't hear him or perhaps he was just being extra annoying. Sam turned and flung the door open in exasperation, causing Dean to stumble backwards. A flurry of limbs and then a loud crack against the sink, and Dean was on the floor in an unresponsive heap. "Dean!" Sam rushed forward and cradled Dean's limp body. A pass of his hand over the back of Dean's head revealed blood. A lot of blood. Too much blood. Dean was dead.

"It was the heat of the moment…"

Sam resisted the impulse to open his eyes and confirm what he already knew. He was stuck in the time loop again.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

Sam set his features to hide the misery he felt. "I'm starving. Let's get breakfast." Sam dressed quickly and practically marched Dean out the door to the diner. The familiar routine of the time loop came back to him surprisingly easily. Steal keys, order, catch hot sauce. He eyed the businessman he previously identified as the Trickster. While Dean was eating, Sam cut his hand with his pocketknife and drew the angel banishing sigil on a napkin. He rose swiftly, ignoring Dean's inquiries, and approached his target. He tossed the sigil on the counter and slammed his bleeding hand down, hoping against hope the diner would have one less occupant.

Nothing happened. "What the hell?! Get away from me, you freak!" The man jumped up and shoved Sam. Never one to see his little brother pushed around, Dean stood and managed to walk right into the fireball from a grease explosion.

"It was the heat of the moment…"

Alright, not an angel. Or the sigil didn't actually work. So Lucifer or Trickster. Or something else.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

He took a deep breath then looked squarely at Dean. "I need to say something. And it's gonna sound crazy."

"What, you had a crush on Britney Spears when you were younger? Yeah, Sam, I know."

"I'm serious, Dean." The acidity in Sam's voice drained the humor away from Dean's face.

"Okay, shoot."

"I'm not even sure how best to explain it, but we're stuck in a time loop—"

"A time loop?"

"Yeah, every day I wake up and it's Tuesday. And you die."

"I don't remember—"

"You never do. It's only me. I'm the only thing that changes in this town. I've watched you die over a hundred times and I can never stop it. I thought I had solved it. I thought it was the Trickster. I trapped him and eventually got time moving again and our lives continued. I was in 2011 when I woke up here again."

Dean was listening attentively, though he was clearly dubious. "Whoa, wait, you were three years in the future? What was it like? What were we doing? We kill all the demons and settle down with some hot hunter chicks? Tell me we finally made it to Cancun?" Sam's face hardened and he looked away. Dean's face fell. "Guess not… Cuba?" Sam's jaw clenched and he laid his eyes anywhere but on Dean. Dean took the hint. He was not actually as oblivious as he led Sam to believe. "What? What happened?"

Sam shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Wasn't real."

"But what if it's some new form of your psychic stuff? A heads-up would be great!"

Sam bit his lip. "Yeah, see, the psychic stuff was sorta the problem…"

"What do you mean?"

He swallowed the shame building in his throat. "Well, I couldn't find a way to stop you from going to Hell. So when you went to Hell, I teamed up with Ruby to try to get revenge on Lilith. Four months later, you were pulled out of Hell by an angel. But—"

"An angel?!" Dean interrupted, incredulous.

"Yeah, they exist. And they're dicks with wings. Your words, not mine."

Dean bobbed his head in agreement. "Sounds like me."

"Anyway, you were down there for forty years of Hell-time, long enough to break the first seal of sixty-six to start the Apocalypse."

"The Apocalypse?! That's Azazel's endgame?"
"It gets better…"

"And by better you mean…"

"While you were in Hell, I, uh, went to extreme lengths to avenge you. Ruby taught me how to exorcise demons with my mind;" shock spread on Dean's face, "and I could kill them without even touching them once I started drinking demon blood," Sam rushed out.

Dean held his hand up. "Did-did you just say drinking demon blood?!" Dean looked disgusted just repeating the words.

Shame burned Sam's cheeks. "Yes. I kind of got hooked on it… I thought it was what I had to do to stop the Apocalypse. But killing Lilith was actually the last seal. You tried to stop me and I almost killed you. I ended up setting Lucifer free."

His brother let out a chuckle. Sam looked at him, confused. "Lucifer?" Dean shook his head in disbelief. "No way, Sam. You, addicted? That's not you. Hell, that's closer to me! This future is stupid. No way you'd do that. You'd never go darkside."

"I'm not finished. It gets worse."

"How could it get worse than the devil?"

"You know how demons can just possess people? Well, angels need a person's consent before they can inhabit the vessel."

"Vessel?"

"Er… more polite term for meat suit? That's what Cas called it."

"Cas?"

"Castiel. The angel who rescued you from Hell."

"So what, we're on a nickname basis? You said angels were dicks."

"I think you started calling him Cas. Well, most of them are, and Cas can be, but he's one of the good ones. Anyway, turns out you're the archangel Michael's vessel and—"

Dean jumped up. "I'm a vessel? How the hell did I get dragged into this?" He looked irritated now.

Sam shrugged. "Something about our bloodlines." He pointed a finger at Dean. "You're God's chosen, Michael's vessel." He pointed that finger inwards. "Because of how I'm the only surviving psychic after Cold Oak, that means I'm Lucifer's vessel."

Dean's mouth dropped open as he collected his thoughts. "So, what, you and I are supposed to chicken fight with angels on our shoulders for the fate of the world?"

"Pretty much."

Dean took a few moments to process that. "But you said angels need consent. We can just not agree, right?"

Sam nodded his head up with a smirk then brought his chin down to his chest. "In theory. But they, uh, have their methods. They knew family is a way to get to us."

"But we don't have anyone left…" Dean interrupted, confused.

"We had a half-brother and they resurrected him."

Dean looked as if he was about to lose his mind. "A half-brother?! Had? What?"

"Yeah, Adam. In Minnesota. Guess dad shacked up with this woman during a hunt."

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Okay. Half-brother Adam. Dammit, dad! Why didn't he ever tell us?"

"Wanted to keep him out of the life. Which failed. Ghouls got 'im."

Dean scrunched up his face in an ugly expression. "Messy…"

Sam stifled a snort. Feeding ghouls were child's play compared to Lucifer's penchant for blood, guts, and absolute obliteration. "Yeah, so angels resurrected Adam to try to lure you into a trap. Didn't work, but Michael took Adam for a vessel instead."

"Sucks. But the end of the world still wouldn't happen. You wouldn't ever say 'yes'," Dean said earnestly.

Sam felt his heart drop but kept his face straight. "What makes you say that?"

"Because I know you. You're stronger than that. You wouldn't say 'yes' to the devil no matter what."

Sam smiled sadly at this Dean's unbroken faith in his freakish, but not-yet-monstrous, little brother. "I did say 'yes'. But not because Lucifer pressured me. Our only play to stop the Apocalypse was to lock Lucifer back in his cage in Hell. I thought maybe I could hold him back for a split second and jump in."

"Jesus, that was really our best plan?" His voice was tight and his face grim.

"Unfortunately, yeah. I failed at first. He overpowered me instantly and went about destroying humanity. Millions died. It wasn't until he almost killed you that I was able to wrestle back control long enough to stop him."

Dean swallowed nervously but nodded at Sam, approval lighting up his face. "See, I knew you could do it. I told you you were strong enough. That when you get zapped back here?"

"Not exactly. Trapping Lucifer meant me jumping into the cage with him inside me." Dean grimaced at the phrasing. "I spent a little over 180 years in Hell trapped with Lucifer and Michael — not worth explaining that. Cas tried to rescue me but he couldn't get my soul out. My body was topside for a year hunting with no soul. I was a machine. I killed so many people, did horrible things…"

"I didn't stop you?" Sam shook his head. "Where was I?"

"Living with Lisa Braeden. I told you to find her if I successfully trapped Lucifer."

Dean made a 'not bad' face. "Lisa, huh?" He smiled. "I could live with that."

"But I came back, so it didn't last. We eventually got my soul back, but it messed me up bad. I've been having hallucinations of Hell and Lucifer. He follows me around everywhere." Dean frowned. "That's where I am… was? I don't know. I can't figure out if this is Lucifer or the Trickster — who turned out to be the archangel Gabriel — or another entity I haven't encountered yet. What do you think?"

Dean eyed him steadily, unsure how to respond. He took a few deep breaths. "First off, I know that future isn't real. You wouldn't do those things, Sam. You wouldn't get all strung out on demon blood, you wouldn't go your own way against everything like that, you wouldn't say 'yes' to Lucifer under any circumstances, and I don't believe your body could even function without your soul. You are way too dewy-eyed for it to survive on its own!" Dean smiled jokingly but was also doing his best to convince Sam.

Morbidly, Sam wished he could hear that stupid song right now and take away this Dean, this Dean who believed in him so completely, who trusted his learned good to overcome his innate evil, who couldn't imagine his little brother making so many disastrous mistakes. Sam wasn't that brother and Dean deserved so much better. He wasn't sure which was worse: being stuck in the time loop and have Dean dying over and over or this future being real. In explaining things to Dean, he had summarized all his failings so concisely it made him regret his very existence.

"Plus Sam, doesn't that all seem a little too crazy to be true? Angels, Lucifer, the Apocalypse? Kinda egotistical, even for us, to think the Apocalypse revolves around us. And don't you think if angels existed, we would've seen one by now?"

Sam considered this, but then again, nothing was too crazy for them. Dean had brought him back to life with a demon deal. "There's tons of lore on angels."

"Lots of lore on your sex life, too." Sam threw Dean a disapproving look but smiled to himself. "But really, the whole thing is just ridiculous. Makes sense that it could be the Trickster… but damn that's one hell of a slow build. What's the payoff? You going insane trying to figure out what's real?"

Worked for Lucifer, Sam thought. "The Trickster said the point of it was to get it through my head that I can't save you from going to Hell."

"Well, you can't, so you should stop trying."

Sam sighed with exasperation. "I just can't let you die, Dean. You wouldn't let me die, how could I do the same to you?"

"Because I'm the big brother and I said so?" He flashed a winning smile.

Sam was unamused. "You act like this is no big deal, like going to Hell will be a cakewalk. It's horrible, Dean. It's the worst thing you can imagine and then some. Suffering is a way of being. Don't tell me you're not scared."

Dean shrugged. "I am, but hey, to save you? Anything's worth it."

"That's not true, Dean. You could've stopped the Apocalypse by not bringing me back."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Ugh, we're back on that are we? That future is stupid, Sam. Let it go." Dean strode towards the door. "You want breakfast or what? I've had enough of the crazy talk." He opened the door and stepped through without hearing Sam's answer.

"Dean, wait!" Sam cried but Dean was already around the corner. Sam grabbed his coat and hurried out the door, in time to see Dean's hand miss the railing because he was looking at Sam. Sam could do nothing to stop Dean as he tumbled down the stairs to his death.

"It was the heat of the moment…"

Sam wanted to claw his eyes out. He couldn't take this much longer. After Dean snapped his neck falling down the stairs, he had died after being attacked by a swarm of Africanized bees, being crushed by shaking a snack machine in the motel lobby, bleeding out from an alligator bite, anaphylactic shock from some unknown pie ingredient, getting decapitated by a faulty industrial fan, being impaled by a rogue corn combine, falling in an open manhole, having his face smashed in by a bucking horse, and most ridiculous of all, having a heart attack from watching a scary movie.

Sam held up a hand to silence Dean before he could express his usual greeting. "What?" Dean complained instead. "I can't be happy to be alive?" Sam suppressed a scream and sat up. "It's a good day, we got some whackadoodle case thanks to you. Saw a decent looking diner on the way into town. Let's go!"

Sam grumbled and stood up, going through the motions until the day reset. Dean was waiting in the driver's seat of the Impala, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel along with the music Sam could already hear from yards away. He trudged down the stairs, instinctively keeping a hand on the rail.

"What's got you so crabby?" Dean asked as Sam slid into the car and slammed the door.

"Leave me alone. Just drive," Sam retorted angrily. He was so not in the mood for this. Dean made a face but backed out. Sam leaned his head against the window, his features the perfect image of sheer dejection.

Dean was quietly singing along with the radio when he suddenly stopped and pumped the brakes. "Sam!" Dean whispered urgently.

Sam snapped to attention and looked at Dean. "What?"

"I recognize that guy." He pointed out the windshield. "Isn't that the Trickster?" Sam saw the figure he too recognized as the man passed the car walking down the street. With alarming speed, Sam drew his gun from the glovebox, opened the door and jumped out, not letting his target out of his sight. "I'll take that as a yes." Dean parked Baby along the curb and got out. He went to the trunk and pulled out a stake. The blood was old and crusty, but hopefully it would still work. He followed Sam down the hill, towards a large overpass. He watched as Sam went into the shadows. Before Dean caught up, a bright light burst from the darkness and he had to shield his eyes. "Sam!" he shouted as he ran towards the structure. He then tripped over Sam's prone body, not seeing him due to the spots in his vision. "Sammy?"

His brother groaned and rolled away from him. "I almost had 'im, Dean!"

"What the hell happened?"

Sam stood and dusted off his clothes, extending a hand to Dean to help him up. The two turned and began walking back towards the car. "I shot him with these special bullets. Carved an obscure trapping sigil on it. Didn't trap him, but he sure as hell didn't like it!"

"That blast of light?"

"Him, trying to escape."

"And naturally you end up on the ground," Dean jabbed.

Sam shrugged. "At least we know how to piss him off. It's a start."

"Also a break in the case. I mean what are the chances that the disappearance and us seeing the Trickster are unrelated?"

"Absolutely zero," Sam supplied. So maybe the Trickster/Gabriel was behind all this.

They arrived at the Impala and Dean popped the trunk to return the stake to the weapons stash. "Woulda been nice if we could have ganked him right here and now, though."

"Oh, I fucking know it, man," Sam huffed angrily. He wanted this to be over. He slammed his body against the car in frustration, only to have horror take its place as the sleek vehicle started to move. "Dean! Look out! Did you forget the parking brake?!"

"Did I what?" Dean closed the trunk only to be pushed backwards as the car rolled down the hill and over him.

"It was the heat of the moment…"

Sam let out a quiet laugh. His precious Baby had killed him. Well, Dean's forgetfulness, Sam's frustration, and Baby's mass.

"Oh, so now you think this is funny, Sam?" a vaguely familiar voice challenged.

He startled awake and looked over towards the sound of the intruder. Hazel eyes stared back at him in place of green ones. "How dare you show your face in here!" Sam shouted, launching himself at the Trickster.

The man laughed and flickered out of the way, a snap of his fingers making it such that Sam landed in a pile of rotting fish. Sam tried to right himself but slid around on the putrefied guts. "How dare I? How dare I, indeed. This is my world, bucko. You just happened to stumble back into it. Pretty dumb move on your part. And I mean, it's been really fun and all, but, I think it's time to make it a little more personal. How about a nice game of hide and seek? You hide, I seek. Or is it I hide, you seek? Either way, we meet, and bam! Dean's dead. Of course, you can try to kill me, but, you know, seeing how astonishingly successful you've been with that so far... Well, may the best man… er… being win."

The Trickster snapped his fingers and disappeared, leaving Sam abandoned in the pool of stinking fluids. Sam held back tears, wishing more than anything he could escape this unique Hell.

"It was the heat of the moment…"

Sam took the time every morning to explain to Dean their predicament, but it never mattered. Whether it was a slit throat, a cannonball to the chest, or a lion loose from the traveling circus, complete with the Trickster as the lion tamer, Sam was powerless to intervene. Once, the Trickster had pretended to be Dean and Sam had shot the wrong one. He hated himself for that death and was immensely grateful Dean wouldn't recall that particular failure. He lost track of how many times he failed to save his brother, ultimately deciding it was better not to know. Something the Trickster prided himself on forcing Sam to remember.

"Sam, what a terrible little brother you are! Can't save Dean from anything. You're worthless, you know that?" Sam drew his gun but with a twitch of the Trickster's lips, the metal grew blazingly hot and melted in his hands. Sam screamed with pain as Dean looked between the two. "See, Dean, you just can't count on Sam for anything. He's always gonna let you down." The Trickster snapped his fingers and Dean vaporized into a cloud of fine red mist. The Trickster exhaled and blew the scarlet fog towards Sam, who tried, and failed, not to inhale the particles as he waited for the day to reset.

"It was the heat of the moment…"

He woke up choking on the disgusting droplets that no longer invaded his lungs. Clearing his head, he found something nagging at his mind. That's not the Trickster's MO… He struggled to identify what was wrong. He went about his morning routine, staring at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. Something about that triggered his memory and he realized his mistake. Lucifer. Disintegration was Lucifer's MO. He recalled all the times Lucifer had similarly vaporized someone, the most memorable victim being Castiel in Stull Cemetery, but a thousand other faces flooded his mind, people and angels he had smited during the Apocalypse. Sam quickly blocked those memories of Lucifer using his body to ruin everything he loved the most. He also thought of how Cas had liquefied Raphael. It took an extraordinary amount of power to do that to a body. Gabriel was certainly capable, but it was not really his style. Could it really be Lucifer? Only one way to find out…

They spent the day prowling around town, looking anywhere and everywhere for the Trickster. While initially seeking them out for the pleasure of killing Dean, he had recently decided it was his turn to hide. Sam had learned quickly it was in their best interest to look for him, lest they wanted Dean to be killed in a particularly slow and painful way, like the time he had his body torn up by a lawnmower or when he was slowly crushed to death in a garbage truck.

By evening, they'd found the Trickster tending roses in a quaint walled-in garden. "Lucifer!" Sam called, announcing both his presence and his realization. Upon seeing them, the Trickster sprayed them with the hose, which turned out to contain acid instead of water.

"It was the heat of the moment…"

Sam groaned with frustration as usual when he woke in that cursed motel room, but this time, acute pain enveloped his senses. The fuck?! Sam looked down to see his arms covered in tiny raw spots. Upon taking off his shirt, he saw the flecks of red were there as well, though less numerous.

"Jeez Sam, I didn't ask for a show," Dean jested. The humor on his face fell away as he noticed what had caught his brother's attention. He frowned. "Either you have the worst case of bedbugs ever or something is going on."

With horror, Sam realized these were acid burns. This was new. "Definitely something else." Sam picked at the marks, lost in thought. He'd never retained any items, marks, or injuries from the day before, only memories. Then it must be Lucifer. Only Lucifer could change the rules like this… As he reopened his mind to the possibility of Lucifer being the architect of his current predicament, panic began to infiltrate. It felt too much like the cage.

"Care to share with the class, Sam?"

Sam bit his lip. "Dean, you're not going to believe me, but we're stuck in a time loop. And I'm being antagonized by a bigger evil than we ever thought possible. But seriously, Dean, forget it. I got it."

Dean scoffed incredulously. "Yeah, we're stuck in a time loop and something huge is after you, but yeah, whatever, forget it. Done."

"Good," Sam growled, the fabric chafing his oozing wounds as he walked to the door. He grabbed the handle and pulled forward. Footsteps approached and a large hand pushed the door shut. "Dean, leave it."

Dean grabbed his shoulder and spun Sam around. "No, Sam, I won't 'leave it.'" Sam found the finger quotes rather annoyed him.

"For once, please, trust me, okay? There is nothing you can do to help."

Irritation made itself known in Dean's frown. "Man, you really know how to make a guy feel valuable…"

"It's not about you, Dean. Let it go. It's up to me to figure this out." Sam's agitation was increasing by the minute.

"I'm not useless. Don't you ever count me out." Dean spoke in a low voice, his frustration blossoming into anger. Why is Sam talking like this? Who the hell is he to tell me what I can and can't do?

Sam stamped his foot impatiently. "I never said you were. But this one thing, I gotta do it, and it's better if you stay here." He turned and opened the door again. Dean once again closed it with an outstretched hand. Sam whirled and pushed Dean away, giving him enough time to slip out the door.

Dean recovered instantly and followed him out. "Don't you run away from me, Sam." Dean bounded after him and caught his sleeve. Sam raised a fist to strike but Dean was faster, nailing Sam in the eye as he twisted to hit Dean. Sam dropped his things and punched back, causing Dean to lose his balance and topple over the balcony.

"It was the heat of the moment…"

Sam tried to open his eyes but only one cooperated. Exploratory fingers found warm, puffy tissue and what was sure to be a deep purple bruise. And the acid burns hadn't healed one bit. How was he supposed to hide this from Dean? He waited until Dean was in the bathroom.

"Dean," he called, "I'm gonna go get breakfast. Want anything?"

"What's the rush? You haven't even brushed your teeth, you pig," Dean teased.

"I'm just really hungry is all. I'll do it when I come back."

"Okay fine. You know what'll make me happy."

"Yeah, something greasy and life-threatening…" Sam said to himself. He threw on his jeans and scampered out, hoping Dean would stay behind. Mercifully, the door remained closed so Sam headed to the diner, keeping an eye out for the Trickster or Lucifer. He ordered food and waited at the counter, sipping coffee. The waiter filled his cup and he absent-mindedly took a sip while it was still steaming hot. His hand jolted back as he burned his tongue. He was about to ask for an ice cube when an ambulance went by, sirens wailing, towards their motel. Dean.

Forgoing their food, Sam ran back to the motel in time to see Dean being carried out on a stretcher, a blade sticking out of his chest. He could tell the EMTs were working desperately to save him.

"That's him! He just left the room! He did it!" a voice shouted. Sam turned towards the sound and saw the woman pointing at him.

A police officer approached him. "Put your hands in the air!" He took a step closer.

"I didn't do anything! He's my brother!"

"I said, put your hands in the air!"

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

"But I'm innocent. I haven't done anything!"

"You're right, you didn't seek, Sam." Understanding spread through Sam but it was too late. His reward for disobedience was a taser to the thigh. As he fell to the ground convulsing, he heard the EMTs shout that Dean had flatlined.

"It was the heat of the moment…"

Both his tongue and leg burned painfully as he registered consciousness. He rose and went to the bathroom to examine his newest wound. Peeling his sweatpants down, he saw the raised, angry red snakebite of the taser prongs. At least this one would be easy to hide from Dean. He sighed. He needed to play the game, play his role, or else Dean would suffer more. He grabbed a long-sleeve shirt as to hide his other wounds.

"Dean," Sam called from the bathroom. "I have a hunch that the Trickster is behind this guy's disappearance."

Dean poked his head around the corner. "The Trickster, huh? Alright. I'll get the stakes ready." Dean paused a beat. "Hey, what happened to your eye?"

Fuck, my eye is still messed up, Sam remembered. "Uh, I tripped and hit myself breaking my fall."

Dean looked dubious but ultimately bought it. "Really, Sam? You are such a klutz."

After an unsuccessful day of searching for any sign of the Trickster, the brothers retired to a bar. Frustration had drilled a migraine into Sam's head and he couldn't tolerate the bustling din surrounding him. He excused himself and dashed into the bathroom, relieved to be the only occupant enjoying the near-silence.

Or so he thought.

"Hiya, Sammy," a voice, that voice, called from a stall. Sam moved to run but the door out locked and panic seized him. The door of the bathroom stall slowly, painfully, creaked open and Lucifer stepped out, smiling like a cat who'd cornered its prey. For that's what Sam was, Lucifer's prey, now and forever.

"So it's been you, this whole time?" Sam said shakily.

Lucifer grinned. "I really had you going for a while, though, didn't I?" He laughed, pleased with himself. He approached, backing Sam up against the wall. He reached out and took the stake from Sam's belt. He ran the tips of his fingers up and down the wood. "And what a shame that this," he wiggled the bloody timber, "will do nothing to me, but so much to you..." He dragged the tip down Sam's arms, liberating blood from and capturing splinters in Sam's skin.

Sam closed his eyes and willed this to end. "Wake up, wake up," he begged his brain.

"Uh, uh, uh, Sammy. You can't escape til I say so."

"Then, please, do whatever you want to me, but just leave Dean alone."

Lucifer laughed incredulously. "Leave him alone? Never! But, because you asked so nicely, I'll be generous and kill him quickly."

As if on cue, the door swung open, revealing Dean's concerned face, which Lucifer immediately decorated with a pike through his mouth and into his brain. Sam gasped and Lucifer smiled cordially as he ripped it out and blew Sam a kiss.

"It was the heat of the moment…"

Sam turned and balled himself up in the blanket, fighting the tears filling his eyes. It was one thing for Sam to suffer, but to drag Dean into it was unfair. Not that Lucifer ever gave a shit about fairness.

"That's where you're wrong, Sam." Lucifer's voice was dangerously close. Sam bolted upright and looked over to see Dean in a headlock, scrabbling desperately for freedom. "My desire for fairness is was got me banished. I didn't think it fair or just that God's magnificent angels had to bow down to disgusting, broken, imperfect humans. Fairness is very important to me! But, at the moment, not quite as important as making your entire existence agony."

He lurched forward and grabbed Sam's throat. "Let's see who dies first!" He tightened his hold around Dean. Both humans fought the archangel, successful only in enhancing their own suffering. After a few minutes, Dean's arms slowed and his body relaxed as his brain was starved of oxygen.

Lucifer smiled. "I knew I picked a winner!" He released Sam and snapped his fingers. The loud crunch of Dean's neck removed any doubt as to Dean's prognosis.

"It was the heat of the moment…"

Sam whimpered as waves of consciousness broke on the shoreline of his mind. He was so tired, so mangled. Every injury he had sustained he carried with him into the next day. In addition to his previous marks and an ever-growing patchwork of bruises, he had accumulated six broken fingers, a fractured wrist, a dislocated knee and jaw, whip marks, severe lacerations on his calf, two sprained ankles, a pierced eardrum, a punctured lung, radiation poisoning, and more mental scars than he could count.

But he had to get up and play the game. Or else Lucifer would torture them both.

"Dean?" he cried out weakly.

"Sammy?!" Dean ran over and pulled the blankets back, dropping them in shock as he saw Sam's battered body in a sea of red. "What the fuck?!"

Sam breathed in shallowly, preparing to explain himself for the umpteenth time. He had gone through several iterations before finding a story that Dean would accept. "You're not gonna believe me," he wheezed, "but this is the Trickster. We didn't kill him last time, and he's a little bitter about the whole attempted staking thing. So he has us stuck in a time loop where you die every day and I accumulate injuries."

Dean considered Sam's explanation, doubt fading and fear taking its place. "I mean, that does sound like him… Sucks the stake didn't work. So, how do we get out of it?"

"I'm not sure yet. Working on it. But I know we gotta find him, try to get him to break the loop by any means necessary." Sam recited as he had so many mornings before.

"Okay. But can you even walk?"

"Don't have a choice." He swung his legs out from the bed and carefully put his weight on his screaming ankles. He dragged himself along slowly, internally begging Lucifer for this to end. Real or not, the archangel still had immense control over Sam's reality.

Staggering behind Dean, they left for their daily search. Some days they played hide and seek, other they played tag. Sam hoped it was a hide and seek day. He couldn't bear having to flee in his condition. Turning the corner, he saw Lucifer lounging at an outdoor table, a glass with a little umbrella in front of him.

"I found him, Dean."

"Really? Lemme see." Dean carefully poked his head around. "I don't see him."

"He's there. He has a bright pink drink."

"The blonde guy?" Dean asked, dubious.

"Yeah, the blonde guy."

Dean looked back to Sam, frowning. "That's not what he looked like before."

Sam suppressed a growl. "I know, Dean, it's just the face he's using." Sam was tiring of having the same discussions over and over again.

"Okay, okay, fine. Let's go." They turned the corner together, only to have Lucifer standing directly before them, drink in hand.

Sam pushed his brother and urged him to run, but Dean wouldn't budge. "What the hell are you drinking? I know you like sweet stuff but that's kinda girly looking…"

Lucifer smiled and walked forward so that Sam was now standing in front of Dean, who was backed up against the wall. "Oh, it's pink Kinky and Sprite. Very refreshing. Quite like the Kinky. Sam would know," Lucifer added suggestively.

Sam held back the tremble threatening his body as he heard Dean ask "What?"

Lucifer grinned and manifested his angel blade. He stepped closer and put the point under Sam's chin, tilting his head up. "Oh, Sam, this has been so much fun fucking with you. But it's not really very exciting anymore. You've got no fight left." He dragged the blade down Sam's shirt, enjoying the frantic hitching of Sam's breath. "So time to change it up again. Back to your regularly scheduled torture. See ya on the flipside!" Lucifer smiled with glee before driving the angel blade through both Sam's and Dean's hearts in one fluid motion without even spilling a drop of his cocktail.

Sam woke with a shout on his lips and Dean's hands on his face. He blinked forcefully, pushing down all he had just experienced.

"Sammy? You alright?" Dean asked, worry aging his features.

Sam swallowed against the anxiety in his throat as he looked around the room to take in his surroundings. As he realized he was in the cabin, the tension in his body released. He let his head sink deep into the pillow and pushed out a breath between pursed lips. "I am never taking those fucking painkillers again," he stated firmly.

Dean sat back and frowned. "Why not? What happened?"

"Because that seriously sucked ass. Worst trip ever. I was trapped back in the time loop again."

Dean's face contorted in confusion. "Time loop?"

Sam groaned with frustration. "Of course you wouldn't remember it. That time we ran into the Trickster, before we knew it was Gabriel? And you kept dying over and over again?"

"Oh yeah, that town in Florida with the stupid Mystery Spot."

Sam nodded as he tried to prop himself up but found his head spun. He sighed as he lowered himself back down into the cushions. "Well, I had to live through it a bunch more times. You kept dying and there was nothing I could do. And then I started accumulating injuries."

Lucifer was sitting on the arm of the couch, looking down at him, smiling. "Took you forever to catch on, Sammy. You're getting rusty."

Dean grimaced. "Okay, that does sound bad. How many more times?"

"I lost count," Sam bit out. "At least fifty. Only way to get out was for me to die."

Dean grunted noncommittally. "Would some joe clear your head? Brewed a fresh pot not too long ago."

"Sure. And something to read. I need a distraction." From me? Lucifer mouthed, offended, as he gestured to himself. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Yes, your highness," Dean quipped as he lumbered to the counter on a single crutch. "Anything to eat?"

"Some toast would be fine. Not too hungry."

Dean frowned. Sam was going to wither away before his eyes. Hopefully the toast wound remind him how great actual food was. Not that Sam appreciated the best things life had to offer…

He carefully returned to Sam with a cup of coffee, who gratefully accepted the warm mug. He held it against his chest to push away the last of the cold that lingered in his bones. He leaned his head forward to take a sip when he felt a burst of ice on the base of his neck that turned his blood to slush. "Uh-uh, Sam, you can't get rid of me that easily," Lucifer chided. Sam tipped the cup towards his face and gulped down the steaming liquid, relishing the painful scorching sensation consuming his tongue, cheeks, and throat.

"Sam!" Dean exclaimed, concerned Sam would burn himself.

Setting the drained cup on the coffee table, Sam waved away Dean's attention. "I'm fine." Sam looked around and found Lucifer was nowhere to be seen. "I'm extra-fine." Sam smiled wearily. Dean inhaled to rebuke his little brother but Sam was having none of it. "Got something for me to read?" he asked quickly, changing the subject before Dean could lay into him. Dean tossed him a book from the stack and hobbled outside to cool down.

Sam was sprawled out on the couch reading when his tormentor returned. The letters on the page started to come alive, wiggling away from their set place. Sam rubbed his eyes, maybe he was just tired. When he looked again, the shapes knit together to form a demonic face. He pressed his hand and the words realigned themselves in an orderly fashion. He glanced at Dean, who was pretending not to notice. He sighed and went back to reading some nun's revelation about purgatory.

Lucifer was relentless, constantly trying to find new ways to capture Sam's attention. Cutting the power, tickling his feet, even sending a Hellhound after Dean. Each time, his victim ignored him for as long as he could bear before resorting to his banishment tactic. Lucifer was clearly getting frustrated and a small kernel of hope blossomed within Sam. Maybe he really could beat the devil again.

Half an hour had passed without any interruption from Lucifer. Sam knew better than to believe he had given up, but the time alone was a welcome respite. He shifted his weight on the couch, trying to get comfortable as he settled in for another long bout of page turning. Something poked at his back from between the cushions. Reaching down he pulled out an empty soda bottle. "Dude, don't you know how to clean up after yourself?" He threw the plastic bottle at Dean.

"Sorry, man. Having one working leg makes you a little lazy. Careful what else is down there. I'm missing my pocket knife, too." Sam wasn't sure if Dean was joking. Better safe than sorry, Sam gingerly sank his weight down into the cushions. Feeling nothing unusual he settled back into his afternoon routine.

It wasn't long before he again started to feel pressure against his side. Sam wriggled awkwardly, hoping to displace the object. No such luck. "You are disgusting, Dean," he said with exasperation, turning so he could fish out whatever garbage Dean had stuffed there. Propped up on one arm, the other reached between the cushions. Without warning, a searing pain pierced his side. "Found your fucking pocket knife, asshole!" he growled. He looked down to carefully remove the blade and instead saw four fingers digging into his flesh. Lucifer materialized around the hand, a psychotic grin on his face as he crouched over Sam's legs. Before he had time to react, Lucifer shoved his entire hand into Sam's abdominal cavity. He gasped in agony and jammed his thumb into his cut, expecting release. Despite the pain, nothing happened.

Lucifer crawled on top of him, his face inches from Sam's. "No, no, no, Sammy. You knew yourself it would stop working at some point. Guess it was just a little sooner than you thought. No worries, I'll make this worth your while." He punched his cold hand up towards Sam's ribs, ripping through the diaphragm. Sam thrashed in response, the misery absolutely intolerable. The devil pressed his weight down more to prevent his prey from escaping. He caressed each rib as he passed it, feeling the Enochian warding carved into the bone. "Too bad Cassowary's artwork is just that: pretty little doodles, powerless against me. I'll always find you, Sam." Lucifer was in up to his elbow as he reached his vessel's heart.

Sam was convulsing with violent agony, everything in him wishing for death. Lucifer curled his icy fingers around the beating muscle, grinning at the erratic, frantic pace with which the organ moved. Sam felt him stroke it, like he was petting an animal. "You are mine, Sammy. Heart," and he gave the tissue a quick squeeze, "body, and soul. You will never be rid of me." Sam tried to fight against him but he was struggling to breathe. Lucifer sighed with contentment. "It just feels so good to be inside you, Sam. I missed this. The warm thrum of your body against mine," he shuddered in ecstasy, "I want to stay like this forever." He laid his head on Sam's broad chest.

Sam was vaguely aware of Lucifer's other hand sliding along his side, picking the perfect place to enter his defenseless body. Delirious with pain, Sam sensed his brain shutting down. Lucifer cut him open again and pushed his other arm into Sam's warm, pulsing flesh. Sam's body arched in refusal, almost throwing his torturer off. "Ah, ah, ah, that's no way to play, Sammy!" he scolded. He pulled out his left hand and slowly moved up Sam's torso, walking his blood-soaked fingers up the quivering skin. Profound fear stole Sam's breath; he remembered this from the cage. "Coming back to us now, huh?" The fingers wrapped around the base of his neck and with a brief pop, Sam felt his body go limp. Paralyzed. But still able to feel. Completely at Lucifer's mercy. "Those irksome little motor neurons. Not as hardy as they claim to be, right Sam?"

Lucifer returned his hand to its place inside Sam, crawling its way slowly to his windpipe. Massaging the fragile structure, Lucifer listened happily to the desperate gurgles in Sam's neck. He pulled Sam up in an embrace and savored the moment of oneness with his vessel. "Been a long time since I felt this close to you, Sammy dear. We really need to do this more often." The tenderness in his voice was almost comforting. Then he simultaneously crushed Sam's heart and trachea as he pulled the vital organs from his body. Sam had only seconds to appreciate his still-beating heart before nothingness consumed him.

A groan from the couch told Dean his brother was stirring. "Yo, you awake? You want somethin' to drink?" Dean asked over his shoulder as he plucked a beer from the fridge. No off the cap, he absentmindedly tossed it towards the trashcan. He turned to rouse his brother and was greeted by Sam's body shaking uncontrollably. Throwing the beer into the sink, he dashed to his side. "Hey, hey, c'mon, it's just a dream." He lightly slapped Sam's cheek but he didn't wake. The body beneath his seemed possessed as it started to fight against Dean's presence. Fists, elbows, and knees shot out, flailing missiles aimed at his imagined attacker. Dean grabbed his wrists and pinned his thighs, hoping to minimize the damage. "Sam, stop fighting. I'm here. I've got you, not Lucifer."

Familiar laughter dominated his senses as Sam flicked open bloodshot eyes. Hazy faces were moving silently in front of him. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping clarity would return when he next opened them. Testing his theory, he peeked through his eyelids nervously. Dean was inches from his face, utter panic painting his features with horrid desperation. Warm hands cupped the side of his face.

"You in there, little brother?" The sweet chime of Dean's voice drowned out the cruel laughter. He tilted his head forward in confirmation. "Oh, Sam!" Dean exclaimed, relief flooding his frame. "What the hell is he doing to you? Will this ever stop?"

Sam let his head sink into the sweat-soaked cushion. "I don't think so. 180 years and it didn't stop. Why would it stop now?" He shrugged weakly. "Lucifer is so filled with hate for me and humanity... it's all he is now. He despises my betrayal, says I'm worse than Michael. I was made for him and I rejected him. I... can almost... see his point," Sam said haltingly, not totally comfortable with admitting that.

Dean patiently listened but his expression turned to rage at the end. "You can almost see his point?" Dean punched him hard across the jaw. "Everything he did to you and you empathize with that sick fuck?" Dean raised his fist to strike again, but lowered it, resignation splashing his strong features. "No wonder you said 'yes.' You're too far gone, even for me, Sammy."

"No, Dean, that's not what I meant. I-I just mean I can understand why he's mad. I don't think he's right, not by a long shot!" Sam tried to sound forceful but the underlying pleading was more evident than he intended. "Please, don't give up on me now," he said softly, holding his brother's hardened eyes. "Don't leave me, I need you," he choked out, ending in a strangled whisper.

Dean's expression softened and he grinned unexpectedly. "I'm so glad to hear you say that, Sammy. I need you, too." Sam was confused. Something was wrong. "Don't worry, I won't leave you, ever." With the emphasis on the last word, Sam realized his mistake. Shit, that's not Dean. "You've always been so gullible, Sam!" He had a moment to contemplate his error before Lucifer ripped through him, liberating his heart from his living body once again.

Consciousness snapped at Sam like a wet rag. The sting of sensation made him instantly alert. He remembered to breathe and greedily swallowed air. An achy burning spread through his chest. He reached for his heart, to check it was still in place, but found he could not move. He cried out weakly, more a resigned moan. He thought he heard Dean's voice. He let his body go limp, bracing for the vicious assault. It didn't come and he waited. Lucifer was just toying with him. He should have known better before. God, I'm so stupid. Haven't you learned anything from Hell, you bumbling fuckwit? He did not dare open his eyes. Instead he attempted to recede into the darkest corner of his mind and hide.

"Dude, you gotta hear this," Dean mused from the bed. "This parishioner in Wisconsin swears he was chosen to bear witness to the Second Coming of Christ. Wouldn't that be something? Teaming up with the big JC to take down the Leviathans? Jesus with a semi-automatic? That'd be fucking awesome!" He frowned at the silence. "What, did I offend your delicate ideas about religion, Sam?" Still no answer. Dean bunched his eyebrows. That's weird. "Sam? Don't tell me you're asleep again. You just woke up like three hours ago!"

Taking a crutch, Dean propelled himself upwards. "Hey, you awake?" He looked over the back of the couch and was alarmed by the sight in front of him. Sam was convulsing soundlessly, his eyes rolled back in his head, and blood seeping out of his nose and mouth. "SAM!" Dean shouted, flinging himself over the furniture. "Wake up, wake up," he shook his shoulders but the movement just scattered small flecks of blood over Sam's face. Dean slapped him but there was no response. He put a cloth in Sam's mouth to stop him from biting his tongue, though it looked like he already had judging by the sea of red around him. He tried the old faithfuls: cold water, hot water, a punch to the nuts, a gunshot by the head. Still his brother shook. Scrambling for his cell phone, Dean dialed Bobby. "It-It's Sam. He's shaking and bleeding and I can't wake him up. I've tried everything, Bobby, what do I do?" He bundled Sam up into his arms and tried to stop the shaking.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. He was fine one minute and the next he's like this. I think he dozed off, maybe?"

"Didn't Lucifer used to come to him in his dreams? To convince him to be his vessel?"

"Yeah, but this isn't actually Lucifer," Dean countered, unsure where Bobby was going.

"We don't actually know that for sure," Bobby replied, trying to keep his voice even.

"No. You're joking, right? No, that's just not—" Dean was interrupted by the savage contortion of Sam's body as his back arched and he let out a gargled cry that was cut short before he collapsed into the couch, motionless. "S-Sam?" Dean squeaked, dropping the phone. "Sammy, God! Sammy, don't give up," he begged. "I'm here, I gotcha, I gotcha."

Dean let Sam's head fall back into the couch as he reached for a pulse. It was rapid and fading. "You can't die on me!" Dean shouted. He dropped Sam's body, ripped out the rag, and put his mouth to Sam's, blowing in as much air as his lungs could spare and performing CPR as best he could remember. "You're not dying today, godammit!" A few coordinated actions and Sam was struggling to inhale against the weight of his frantic sibling. "Sam, please tell me you're in there. Sam?" A pause in the tension, then he felt Sam stiffen and try to reach. He continued his hold. It was only as his brother's body went limp beneath him that he noticed the tear tracks.

Dean lifted Sam's deadweight and slid himself under Sam's shoulders. He stroked Sam's head the way their mother used to soothe Dean after a nightmare. His other hand carefully wiped away the drying blood that decorated his brother's face. Dean thought back to his own time in Hell. It tore at him even now, all that had been done to him and what he had done to others. There was no forgetting or forgiving that. Sam had forgiven him; well, Sam would forgive him for torturing anyone, including himself. And in a way he had tortured his little brother. He knew what Hell was. He had been there and back and still, despite the scars on his soul, he went along with Sam's plan. He never regretted anything so much as not stopping his brother from flinging himself into an eternity of suffering. Dean had survived his stay in Hell, just barely. Though he was far better off than Sam.

A flare of vanity streaked across Dean's mind: he considered himself stronger than Sam. His baby brother was so transparent, too feeling. He didn't have the inner constitution of a hunter. Sam was so delicate. Of course he would be crippled after emerging from Hell. How had Dean expected anything else? His soft little brother under Lucifer's knife—suddenly his mind was filled with the image of Lucifer smiling in Detroit, "Fiddle of gold against your soul says I'm better than you-u," his singsong voice ringing out.

Who was he kidding? Lucifer. They were talking about fucking Satan here. Not Meg, not Alastair. They seemed like pre-school ballerinas compared to Lucifer's depravity. Sam was kept like an abused dog by Lucifer for 180 years. Even then, the kid had woken up to save Bobby and his brother from their rogue angel. Angels. Those dicks. He thought he was too proud to let Michael take him, but he realized now it was pure fear. Whether it was fear that he would die or fear that he could no longer protect Sam, he wasn't sure. But he had refused while Sam charged bravely ahead, willing to sacrifice anything for the world, for redemption, for Dean. Shame burned in Dean's cheeks. He punished himself mentally for the revolting pride he had felt moments before. Sam was more of a fighter than Dean had ever been. He had broken after thirty years in Hell. A tiny splinter of the suffering Sam must have experienced. And Dean had let him do it. A year and a half his brother rotted in the cage. A year he lived with Lisa and Ben, trying to keep a promise while his sole purpose for existing drowned in fire and blood. If it weren't for that djinn, he still might be at Lucifer's mercy—or lack thereof.

Dean shuddered to remember Sam in front of him in his garage. Sam, but somehow not Sam. How had he missed that? Sam without his soul? Perhaps he was so relieved to have his brother back, to have that guilt lifted, that he failed to realize it wasn't his brother at all. And all those months, Sam was still with Lucifer. Dean hung his head, unable to support the heavy weight of his failure.

A wheezing cough brought him back to reality. He zipped everything up tight as he scanned Sam's face. Pain tugged at the corner of Sam's lips as his eyelids fluttered open. Sam turned away from the ambient light and buried himself into Dean's stomach, his trembling hands digging into his sides. Sam didn't know who or what he clutched, but it felt warm and safe. He felt a hand stroking his head and he froze for a second, fearful of Lucifer's caress. So often, it was a prelude to the worst torture. But the hand continued, not leaving its spot in search of Sam's vulnerability. "D-d-dean?" Sam breathed, his voice so soft Dean thought he had imagined it.

"What did he do to you, Sammy?" His voice came out louder than he had anticipated and Sam flinched. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmured and pulled Sam in tight. "You're here now, with me. Don't worry."

Sam pushed away from him and sat up. He eyed Dean carefully, suspiciously. Sam quickly sank his thumb into the bandaged wound and smiled when blood seeped up to meet him. "It's really you, Dean," he exclaimed, clearly fatigued, and flung himself at his brother in a bruising embrace.

Dean was momentarily perplexed until it occurred to him that Lucifer probably tortured Sam with Dean's face. Oh, I am gonna get this son of a bitch, Dean vowed to himself, regardless of the fact he had no way to make good on that promise. "You... I couldn't wake you. I tried, man, I really did."

Sam's dull eyes suddenly beamed with empathy and a smirk danced on his chapped lips. "Well, you kind of succeeded," Sam scoffed. Dean obviously wasn't following. Subconsciously Sam ran his hands over his unblemished sides and inhaled deeper than was necessary to explain. "I was sitting here reading and he attacked me. Jammed his hands into me, practically wore me," Sam said casually as if discussing the weather.

Dean's eyes widened. Wore him? What the hell does that mean? How is he so fucking calm?

"Then," he shrugged, "ripped out my heart and my throat, I died, then I felt you waking me up." Dean opened his mouth, whether to ask for more explanation or counter the one he was already giving, Sam wasn't sure. He continued. "When I woke up, you were there, I mean I really thought it was you." He sighed, as if disappointed with himself. "It wasn't. Just Lucifer, taunting me, making me beg for you —for him— not to leave me." Sam rolled his eyes to mask his pain. "To which he responded by pulling my heart out again." He let out a tired laugh. "He really is good at this."

Dean couldn't bear to look his brother in the eye, much less share this perverse appreciation for Lucifer's skills. Dean had failed to save Sam from another death by Lucifer's hands. From the sounds of it, literally. Wore? He doesn't mean, no, he couldn't mean… "When you say wore, you don't mean like, 'to the prom,' right? Not like when you said 'yes'?"

Sam arched an eyebrow, oddly intrigued by the question. "No…" he answered slowly, watching the expressions change on Dean's face. Clearly he wanted more of an explanation. "I mean he-" Sam couldn't feign emotionless strength any longer, and his voice cracked, "he cut me open with his bare hands," he motioned absently to his stomach, "and stuck in each arm like I was a fucking sock puppet. Held my beating heart in his hand 'til he crushed the life out of it." The visage of Lucifer impaling his arm through Baldur came to mind and Dean exiled it as quickly as he could. He focused on Sam. His face was contorted with pain and self-directed anger towards his helplessness. "You," and his tone was almost accusatory, "you have no idea, Dean. What I've lived through, what I've died through." His voice softened. "And I really hope you never do."

Dean swallowed against the swarm of emotions clawing up his throat. He couldn't shake the image of Lucifer's arms covered in Sam's blood, inside him. Dean was afraid to look at him, should his brother's shredded, heartless corpse suddenly take his place. Dean bit his tongue to center himself and gazed at Sam. His brother was alarmingly stoic in the wake of this last round. Maybe he was just too tired to care. Upon further examination, Dean could see that fine lines sprung from his sunken eyes. His skin was dry and pale. He noticed he slight trembling of his lips, his hands, his entire body. "What can I do, Sam? I just want to help you but," and he hated admitting this, "I don't know how."

Sam smiled. The first genuine smile Dean had seen in a while. "I think it's getting better-"

"Bullshit!" Dean interrupted.

Sam's lips wiggled with amusement. "You didn't let me finish." He looked expectantly at Dean and he motioned with his hands to continue. "It's getting better when I'm awake. But it's worst when I sleep. Like I'm powerless against him. I tried to press the cut in my dream and it didn't work."

Dean made a noncommittal noise. "Well, there's always the tried and true method," he suggested with mock cheerfulness. Sam cocked an eyebrow, lost. "Like you've never done it!" Dean threw the words at him but still Sam didn't understand. Dean nodded towards the bottles on the coffee table. He reached for an almost-empty bottle but Sam put up a hand.

"Dean…" He had that annoyed, condescending, holier-than-thou tone that usually bugged the shit out of Dean, but today he found it endearing. "I did not escape Hell to die of liver failure by 35." Dean couldn't help but smile. It was refreshing to see Sam's sass.

"My liver's fine," Dean countered, taking a swig of the warm beer.

"Uh-huh, sure," Sam replied, sincerely doubting that.

"Okay, then, what else do we got?" Dean fiddled with his lower lip as he listed off suggestions. "Um, Benadryl, pot, sleeping pills-"

"No, I don't want something like that. I mean, it's not like that's really worked out so far," Sam interrupted sharply.

"Sam, some nice chamomile tea or yoga isn't really gonna cut it. You'll need something a little stronger."

Sam chuckled but there were shadows in his eyes. "I-" he paused, remorse heavy in his voice and clouding his face "-I've already been addicted once in my life. It's what got us here in the first place. I'm not doing anything that can compromise me like that again." Don't do this to yourself, Dean thought. "Plus," his voice took on a happier inflection, "I need to be sharp once you get that cast off and we're back to hunting."

Dean spit out his beer. "Hunting!?" he exclaimed.

"I'm not planning on retiring anytime soon. Did I miss a memo or something?"

"No, Sam, it's just-" you're hardly in the right frame of mind to be hunting. I can't even let you out of my sight! "It's gonna take a while for my leg to heal. Can't exactly fight demons on crutches."

"A few weeks, right? I can't just sit here all that time. Gotta be some local things."

Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Uh-uh. No solo hunts." He tried to sound calm but he shook his head emphatically.

"Why not? I could handle a simple salt and burn."

Dean was becoming irritated. "You can't be serious. When have solo hunts ever been a good idea?" Sam shrugged. Sam's lack of concern for his own safety set Dean off. "Have you fucking lost your mind?" Sam opened his mouth to give a smart-ass response but Dean pre-empted him. "Don't you dare say it. Look, a week ago, you were waving a gun around, shooting at nothing. You can't honestly expect me to let you go out there by yourself. I don't like you hunting alone on a good day. Over my dead body are you hunting with Lucifer in tow. It's too dangerous. You gotta see that."

Defiance shone in Sam's eyes but he acquiesced. "I guess I thought if I could distract myself, keep myself busy, I'd be less...susceptible."

Dean sighed. "I hear you, Sam, but that's just not an option right now. Half the time you don't even know what's real. How is that going to work out on a hunt?" He tried to keep the anger out of his voice. Surely Sam knew better than this.

Sam's shoulders drooped and Dean knew he'd won. This time, at least. "You're right. I can't do this, I just... want to. I suppose patience is a virtue," he drawled, eyeing Dean's encased leg.

"Dude, don't have to tell me twice. Get us a beer?" Obediently, Sam fetched two bottles from the fridge and sunk into the couch beside Dean, who turned on the TV. He handed the remote to Sam to pick something. Sipping absently on his beer, he watched his baby brother. Sam concentrated with all his might on the random commercial dancing across the screen. His eyes occasionally glanced at the empty chair a few feet away from the TV but he refocused his gaze and eventually settled into the couch comfortably.

Once Sam seemed to be contentedly watching TV, he rose to make them dinner. Sam needed food and sleep, in that order. The dark bags under Sam's eyes enhanced his already gaunt features. He had lost weight during his coma and the exhaustion was not helping his appetite. Dean resisted stabbing his knife through the chicken breast he was preparing. This was too frustrating for him to bear. He needed Sam to be okay. Anything else was unacceptable.

He finished slicing the chicken and tossed it on the lettuce. He grabbed the Caesar dressing and a fork. He trudged over to his brother. "Made you a Caesar salad, you rabbit," Dean mocked gently. He frowned when his voice made Sam flinch. The younger Winchester recovered quickly and gratefully took the plate from Dean.

"Thanks. I coulda done that."

Dean shrugged. "I was making myself a real meal. Wasn't too hard to throw some grass in a bowl for ya."

Sam smiled, a genuine smile, and Dean felt his chest loosen a tiny fraction. Maybe Sam could recover from this. "You're just jealous my organs are gonna be working better than yours in twenty years," Sam replied playfully, giving Dean an all-knowing look.

Yeah, if you make it that long, Dean thought heavily, before pushing the thought away. "What do you mean? Mine work just fine." Sam scoffed. "Whatever. Eat your rabbit food," he softly ordered. Sam chuckled as Dean sank back into the couch and the two resumed watching TV, the only foreign sound the rhythmic crunch of lettuce as Sam ate a meal unperturbed. Dean sighed with relief and dug into his own food, his appetite greatly restored.

A movie and a half later, Dean caught Sam trying to stifle his yawns. "You want the couch?" Dean offered, hoping Sam would surrender to sleep without a fight.

Sam shook his head. "Nah. I'm okay. Wanna finish this marathon anyway."

Dean stared at him in consternation. "Dude, that's like another five hours. It's already pretty late. You should sleep."

Sam glanced at Dean but found the heat of his glare to be more than he could handle. "I'm not sleepy," Sam replied sheepishly.

"Sam…" Dean let out an annoyed huff. He felt like he was seven again, trying to get a three-year-old Sam to take a nap. "You need to sleep. You won't get better if you don't."

"I know… but… It's not like sleeping actually does me any good. It's too hard to keep him away."

"There has to be something you can do. You can't keep going like this."

Sam shrugged helplessly. "If there is, I haven't found it yet. I was going to—" Sam stopped abruptly, deciding now was not the time to reveal his dream root plan. He paused awkwardly, trying to find something to replace his words.

"Going to what?" Dean asked, clearly irritated. He grabbed the remote and crushed the power button under his finger.

"Keeping things from your brother Sam? You know that always works out so well," Lucifer capitalized on the fresh silence to murmur in Sam's ear, the devil's cool breath making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Sam clenched his teeth and seemed to be looking at nothing. Lucifer. Dean softened his tone. "Sammy?" He put a hand on Sam's shoulder and Sam jolted slightly before looking up at Dean, his eyes almost pleading. Little toddler Sam. Dean swallowed his resolve and gave in. Now was not the time to push his fragile little brother. "Okay, we can watch another movie after this one. But no drawing on my face if I pass out first," he ended jokingly, pleased at the way Sam's body relaxed.

"No promises," Sam replied, a smile curling his lips. He held his hand out for the remote and Dean gave it back without a fuss. Sam clicked on the television and resettled himself in his spot, content to let the movie keep Lucifer at bay.

Two hours later, Dean noticed when Sam's weight started to press into him but said nothing. The sound of his brother's breathing had slowed to the point where he was clearly asleep. He hoped Sam could stay that way, at least for a few hours. As important as researching the Leviathan was, keeping Sam healthy and healing had to be the priority. He made a mental note to talk to Bobby about how to help Sam sleep. There had to be a spell or something. Because at this rate, exhaustion would take out his brother before any monster could. And that was no way for a Winchester to die.