Day 9: Part I

A/N: Gah, so sorry I didn't update as promised. Life got in the way. I was unhappy with part of the chapter, yadda yadda. Anyway, I hope you accept this 20,000 word chapter (split into three parts) as my apology.

WARNINGS: Graphic torture and mentions of rape in Day 9: Part I. Very, very graphic torture, rape, and sexual violence in Day 9: Part II. Torture, suicide, and mentions of rape in Part III.

Day 9: Part II is written such that it can be skipped and you won't miss any plot if you don't want to read it.

I will be taking a break from this story for a bit so if you want to be informed of the next update, please follow. And please review Day 9. Let me know if it's too much!

Also, totally go listen to the song mentioned in the story. It's badass.

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Sam waited until Dean's light snores were audible over the sound of the movie. He was grateful Dean had fallen asleep with the TV on because sitting in silence was much too difficult. He slowly pulled his body away from Dean and carefully rose from the couch. His brother grumbled but didn't otherwise acknowledge the change.

He crept into the kitchen and poured some leftover coffee into a mug. It tasted terrible tepid, but it was better than falling asleep. "Why you gotta play so hard-to-get, Sam?" Lucifer called from the bed, his hand patting the empty space next to him. Sam bit his cheek and focused on finding something to eat. He opened the fridge, only to be disappointed by the scant contents of beer, condiments, and some uncooked hamburger. Guess we're going shopping… He settled for some buttered bread and sat in a chair, determined to wait out the night with bad TV and room temperature coffee.

His phone chimed with an email alert and he checked it eagerly, hoping it was the delivery notification. His anticipation was rewarded when he saw the email from FedEx, informing him that his package had arrived at the store location and was ready for pickup. Deciding the sun was high enough in the sky and it was time for Dean to wake up, Sam began to move around more loudly. His other motivating factor was that he'd run out of coffee about three hours ago and desperately needed another caffeine fix. Lucifer kept trying to tempt him to sleep by singing lullabies, though the lyrics were decidedly not child-appropriate. Sam almost had to appreciate the ingenuity. 'Mary had a demon Sam / Demon Sam, demon Sam / Mary had a demon Sam / His blood was dark as sin / And every time that Mary died / Mary died, Mary died / And every time that Mary died / Sam did curse his kin' was a particular favorite of Lucifer's.

As intended, the clatter and the tantalizing scent of a fresh brew roused Dean from his slumber. "Look at you up all bright and early," Dean commented as he stretched his taut limbs. "How'd you sleep?"

Sam turned away and poured a cup of coffee, knowing Dean could easily read his lying face. "Eh, alright, could have been better," he shrugged.

"Any nightmares?"

"Yeah, the usual."

"What made you wake up?"

"Suffocating has that panic-inducing effect that generally spurs your brain into action, you know?" Sam lied, hoping his flippancy would distract Dean.

Dean considered this momentarily and decided he agreed.

Sam walked over with the cup for Dean. "Do you think you'd be up for going into town today? We've gone through almost all the stuff Bobby bought. Not really much left I would deem edible."

Dean took a deep swig of the coffee and smiled as the warmth percolated through his body. He surveyed the kitchen from the couch. However, what caught his attention was that Sam seemed timid and that bothered him. He tucked away the observation for later. "Sure. Would be good to get out of this little box. It's like we're in some backcountry jail!"

A cold hand slapped Sam's shoulder affectionately and Sam fought the instinctive flinch. "Should make you feel right at home, Sammy. Jail, prison, the cage, whatever. Still trapped here with me."

Sam determinedly avoided Lucifer, keeping his body still despite the physical contact. Dean's revolted groan drew his attention elsewhere. "Man, we gotta do laundry, too." He held up some socks and wrinkled his nose in disgust. The once-white greyish socks had brown bottoms from walking around the less-than-sterile cabin.

"You know, you could just wash your clothes in the sink," Sam offered, failing slightly to withhold his amused scorn.

"You try hobbling around on one leg and washing stuff! Easier said than done."

"Excuses, excuses," Sam returned. "But no big deal. We can wash it and hang it out to dry outside."

"Okay, ya hippy." Dean opened the fridge and frowned at the sparse selection. "You weren't kidding about food choices… Lemme finish this coffee then we can go."

Sam made a mental note to thank Bobby for everything he had done for them, both in general and in this particular situation. He had rented a car for them to use while he was away meeting with other hunters, knowing better than to leave the two brothers stranded in an unfamiliar place. Dean placed a hand on the passenger side door handle and Sam glared at him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Sitting up front, why?"

"Dean, where the hell are you gonna put your leg?"

Dean looked through the window at the seat. "I'm sure I'd fit if I pushed the seat back. Or I can put it on your lap!" He grinned boyishly.

Sam scoffed. "No way. Backseat for you."

"I'm not going in the backseat!"

"Then you're not going!" Smiling, Sam got in and locked the doors. He started the car and put it into drive.

"Sammy!" Dean pounded on the glass. "Don't you dare leave without me!" Dean actually sounded a little upset so Sam nixed his original idea of driving a few feet just to mess with Dean.

He unlocked the doors. "Dude, I wasn't actually going to leave."

Dean grumbled a non-response as he slid in the back and struggled to arrange himself. Sam waited patiently, knowing better than to insult Dean's pride by offering to help. Once settled, he turned to Sam and politely clapped his hands. "Driver, take me into town, please," he said in a fake English accent.

Sam laughed and took his foot off the brake, happy to be back in a car with Dean. However, by the time he put his foot down on the gas pedal, it was not to continue his years-long road trip with his big brother, but to escape the unwelcome guest in the passenger seat.

Sam carried Dean's basket of clothes in while Dean followed behind him, complaining about this band or that, a rant that had started minutes ago in the car thanks to some radio DJ. Sam walked to the nearest machine but saw that it was out of order. The next several were in use. He was moving on to another one when Dean asked "What's wrong with these? They look at ya funny or something?"

Sam turned back and looked at Dean quizzically. "What do you mean? That one's broken and those are being used."

"How can you tell it's broken?"

"The sign?" Sam pointed.

"Uh, hate to break it to you, but there's no sign. And these three are free." Sam clenched his teeth as he heard a familiar snicker from behind him. Dean cocked an eyebrow. "Lucifer cares about laundry?"

Sam closed his eyes and nibbled on his cheek. When he opened them, he saw that all the machines were, in fact, functional and available. He sighed. "Guess so. It's more about finding ways to annoy me."

Dean said nothing as Sam transferred the clothes to the machine. Sam flinched as each quarter hit the bottom of the coinbox. "Sam?"

His brother straightened up and pressed the necessary buttons to start the cycle. He turned and shook his head slightly to dissipate the ringing in his ears. "Sounded like gunshots."

Dean frowned but again kept silent. Is that why Sam had been so weird earlier? He thought being out of the cabin would help distract Sam, but maybe it was too much too soon.

Sam pretended not to notice the concerned look on Dean's face. He knew he should be doing better, he should be keeping it together, but disembodied intestines swirling around with the clothes were not exactly the most calming sight. He focused on Dean. "So what were you saying about Journey?" he prompted. Not that he really cared about what Dean thought, but it was better than listening to Lucifer. Anything was better than listening to Lucifer.

Sam waited until Dean had clicked his seatbelt in the back and started driving. As much as Dean had tried to persuade him, Sam was not going to drive with his brother's broken leg across his lap. "Dean, would you mind if I stopped by the library?" Sam asked, trying to sound casual.

"I mean, sure, you can, but what, you got a hot date or something?" Dean was suspicious. Well, he was right to be, but still, it annoyed Sam.

"No, I just wanted to check to see if there was anything Bobby missed."

"Like Bobby would miss anything!"

Sam shrugged. "You never know. And hey, maybe I wanna pick up some light reading for myself. Going a little stir crazy in the cabin."

"For the last time, Sam, the entire Encyclopedia Britannica does not count as 'light reading'!"

Sam smirked. "Whatever. I read it over a summer."

"Yeah, when you were eight!"

Sam dismissed Dean's jab with a twitch of his shoulders. "So should I drop you off at the diner while I'm in there? At least that way you won't be shopping while hungry!" Sam gave Dean a knowing look through the rearview mirror.

"Sure, ya bookworm. Try to scope out some chicks while you're there. And Sam?" The younger Winchester looked at his brother out of habit. "Jane Austen doesn't count," Dean jested.

Sam rolled his eyes and forced out a chortle but turned away to hide his frown. He honestly wasn't sure he could look at dating and intimacy the same way after his stint in Hell. Lucifer had robbed him of so much, stolen the most sacred parts of his spirit, obliterated what remained of his heart after Jess and Madison. He did not want to be touched by anyone and had no desire to touch others.

Cool hands massaged his shoulders, causing him to jump. "Sam, you make me out to be such a villain!" Lucifer cooed from the backseat.

Sam jabbed his thumb into his palm as quickly as possible, unwilling to entertain this one-sided conversation with his abuser. Dean watched Sam, ensuring he maintained control of the wheel.

The rest of the short drive to the diner was uneventful. Sam helped Dean out of the car. Contrary to his protests, he was grateful for the assistance. This full leg cast was driving him insane. "Should I order you anything?"

Sam shook his head. "Not super hungry. I can wait til we go to the store. I should be back in less than 45 minutes." Sam seized his moment for revenge. "And Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Try not to pick up all the waitresses?"

Dean pretended to scowl but couldn't keep a straight face and broke into a smile. "Get out of here, you nerd." Sam gave a mock salute and got back in the car.

He was not, however, alone. "Sam, can I just say, I love this plan? You really think Dean is going to understand and be able to help you heal your boo-boos? This won't work for so many reasons. First, Dean was never very good about all this feeling stuff. You believe that's magically going to change the moment he gets inside your fucked-up melon? Yeah, right. Second, I don't think he's even strong enough to handle it. Sure, he went to Hell and all that jazz, but let's be real, Alastair was always so… limited in his approach. Relied far too heavily on blades and bodily tortures. He didn't appreciate the mind as a plaything nearly as much as he could have. If Dean even agrees, which isn't a given, he has no idea what he's getting himself into. Are you certain Dean can go into your head and come out sane?"

He paused and let that sink in. Sam's expression became grim. "Thirdly, Dean Winchester is a proud man. I can't see him taking well to being related to such a pathetic, simpering piece of trash. How much do you believe in Dean? Are you 100% positive he won't ditch you after he fully comprehends what an incapacitated mess you are? Fourth, and this one really stumps me: Aren't you all 'wah, my autonomy is so important to me. I've been possessed by ghosts and demons and angels. My mind isn't my own anymore. Autonomy this, violation that, I feel so used, wah wah wah!'? Oh, so it's okay for Dean, for your brother to go poking around your brain? That's kind of incestuous, isn't it? One brother inside the other. I wonder what would happen if I made you two—"

Sam gripped the steering wheel with his wounded hand as tightly as he could manage. Lucifer mercifully dissipated before he could finish his perverse thought. Sam sighed. The truth of the matter was that Sam had already considered all of these points and more without Lucifer's council. Despite his apprehensions, he still concluded this was the best option. Dean had to have a firm grasp of the situation if he was going to continue to tolerate Sam, not to mention help him. He knew this was going to be difficult and he regretted the pain it would cause Dean. He comforted himself with the thought that it would be less painful than if Sam ended up dead, at his own hand or a monster's.

One in the same, Lucifer whispered in his mind and Sam had to slam the car door to escape the subtle reverberation of the devil's voice in his head.

He hurried into the FedEx store and picked up his package. He returned to the car and unwrapped it. He screwed open the jar and gently wafted the fragrance towards his face. The odor confirmed the substance's identity. Definitely dream root. His anxiety assuaged, he went to the library to follow through on his cover. He picked up some books on meditation and trances (Lucifer laughed at him for that. "Cute," he had commented, peering through the bookstacks.) as well as some actual light reading. Dean was correct; Bobby hadn't missed anything remotely relevant.

Returning to the diner, Sam alerted Dean with a text. His brother came limping out shortly afterwards, waving a scrunched up napkin in his hand. The grin on his face told Sam exactly what it was. Sam chuckled as Dean loaded himself into the car. "Dude, how do you even do that?"

Dean smiled smugly. "Broken leg or not, when you got the goods, the ladies notice."

Sam shook his head, his chest heaving a little as he suppressed a giggle. Dean was ridiculous. "It's certainly impressive."

Dean eyed the small stack of books on the front seat. "Catching up on your latest romance novels?"

"Why do you need to read romance novels, Sam? You have a devoted companion right here!" Lucifer purred. He blew Sam a kiss and Sam pressed down on the accelerator a little more as his shoulders wilted. Sam didn't answer either jabs and the silence was noticeable. Dean frowned at the changes, unsure how to help his stricken little brother. The dark circles under his eyes told Dean that Sam had not slept as well as he'd claimed.

"Sam!" Dean said as they drove past the grocery store. "I thought you wanted to get food?"

Sam became alert and frowned. "Sorry," he murmured and turned around. "Do you wanna come in or would it be easier if you hung out here?"

Dean pondered it for a moment. Honestly, bumbling around the grocery store on crutches didn't sound like a good time, he was in pain, but he didn't want to abandon Sam, either. "Would you be okay on your own?" Dean asked carefully, not wanting to offend Sam.

He surreptitiously glanced at his undesired partner in the passenger seat then back at Dean. "I think I can handle it. You want anything?"

"Just the usual."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, junk food and beef."

"And pie!"

"Duh."

Dean offered a rude gesture as a response and Sam closed the door and walked away. Concentrating on staying alone, he didn't see Dean pop three painkillers.

Lucifer was instantly by his side, reading off a grocery list. "Tomatoes, salt, infant toes, vinegar, ex-lover's heart, two gallons of fresh cat blood, bamboo skewers, ooh, and we definitely need some fudge pops." Sam ignored him and walked into the store. He reached forward for a shopping cart and instinctively froze when Lucifer cried out. "No! Not that one! I'm sure it's covered in chikungunya virus. And I bet that one there has herpes all over it. Don't want to need Herpexia, do you?" Sam grit his teeth and took the nearest cart. He walked through Lucifer who harrumphed in disapproval.

"Welcome to Safeway!" the greeter said cheerily. "Can I help you find anything? Death? Destruction? Misery?" Sam clamped his hands around the handle and walked determinedly into the produce section. He quickly set about collecting assorted veggies for himself, disregarding the shucked corn with human teeth for kernels, the raspberries with hundreds of little faceted eyes following his every move, or the creepy gnarled fruit that looked like tentacles reaching out to ensnare its prey—oh wait, that was just a Buddha's hand citron. It was supposed to look like that. He struggled to maintain his composure when everything he touched started to mold and putrefy. The air stank of rotting flesh and rancid organic matter. He discretely pressed his fingernails into his palm and was relieved when the little crescents freed him from his tormentor.

He proceeded to the bakery and got an apple and cherry pie for Dean. That should suffice, he thought, and rolled his cart through the meat section. He looked at all the fresh fish delicately nestled into the ice. He tried to remember the last time he had gone fishing. It may have been with their dad, now that he thought about it. Snippets of conversation floated back to him.

"…All I'm saying, John, is that it would be nice to spend some time with your boys. Dean knows what he's doing, but Sam… well, Sam could really use some direction. He needs his dad. I can only do so much."

"Bobby, I appreciate your concern, but I think I'd be a better father if I destroyed the thing that killed their mom. They deserve vengeance."

Bobby sighed heavily. "C'mon, they're twelve and eight. They don't need vengeance. They need some quality time with their dad. A few hours ain't gonna hurt."

Emitting a sigh of his own, the eldest Winchester dropped his bags back on the table, his way of admitting defeat.

"Sammy? Dean?" he called. "We're going fishing! And I expect you both to catch your dinner!" he said with a smile as Sam rounded the corner.

All the Winchesters had succeeded in catching their dinner that night, though Dean whined about Sam snagging the bigger fish. Sam remembered the evening fondly, one of the few times his dad was truly a dad. No arguing, no anxiety, just fun. The smile on his face was rudely interrupted by the sight of Dean's severed head settled in the ice, eyes rolled back and tongue hanging out. "Want a taste, sir?" an apron-clad Lucifer called out from behind the counter, blood dripping from his gloves as he pointed a knife towards Dean's head. Sam closed his eyes, dug deep within himself, and willed Lucifer to be gone when he reopened them.

To his surprise, his surroundings were Satan-free. He hurriedly finished the rest of the shopping before Lucifer could manifest himself once again. Last thing he needed was Lucifer jump-scaring him and making him drop a carton of eggs or something.

Returning to the car, Sam noticed Dean was asleep in the backseat. Knowing the pain meds made him tired, Sam quietly loaded up the groceries and started the engine, hoping to let Dean rest. He turned on the radio and happily hummed along as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Dean's drug-induced sleep was interrupted as the car screeched to a break-neck halt and he snapped painfully against his seatbelt. Instantly alert, he peered through the seats to see what had caused the sudden stop. His little brother was frozen, staring at the radio as if it were alive. Dean concentrated on what was playing. A driving rhythm greeted him before a rich gravelly voice broke the melody.

"Did your siblings tell you / I was wasting up your time / Now you're wasting mine / You brought me back in line / And I'm counting every link / And I guess you think that's fine." Dean didn't understand what was happening. It was just some random song. He didn't even recognize it.

"Did you hear the rain? / Oh, the rain? / You can try and run and hide / Tearing at the chain / Oh, Lucifer's inside."

Crippling understanding washed over him and he looked at Sam. He was trembling despite his white knuckles clamped around the steering wheel. He was transfixed, seemingly unable to move.

"Did I send a shiver down your spine? / Well, I do it all the time / It's a little trick of mine."

Sam grabbed his scar and squeezed harder than Dean had ever seen him do before. Dean slid over to his brother and pulled his hand away, but couldn't find the words to explain to him why.

"Did I make you shake your knees?"

Dean reached to turn the radio off but Sam fought against his movement, clutching his shirt.

"Did I make him spill his wine?"

The terror in his eyes told Dean he couldn't let go. He would rather suffer through the rest of the song than have Dean leave him, even for a second.

"Lord, I'm spreading like disease / No, I'm all up in your mind."

Whatever remaining color Sam had drained from his face.

"Oh, Lucifer's inside / Oh, Lucifer's inside / Did you hear the rain / Oh, the rain? / You can try and run and hide / Tearing at the chain / Means I'm coming home again / Means I'm coming home, my friend / Oh, Lucifer's inside / Oh, Lucifer's inside / Lucifer's inside."

Dean punched the radio off as soon as the song finished and brought his hand back to Sam, who was swallowing compulsively, his Adam's apple practically dancing. "Did-did you hear that, too?" he whispered. Dean nodded slowly. Sam ripped away from him and opened the door. He threw himself out of the car and retched violently. Dean pulled himself across the backseat, opened the door, and tumbled out after Sam. He put a hand on his arching back, hoping to soothe him. After a few more heaves, Sam turned and sat down, absentmindedly brushing away the small stones embedded in his hands. "If... if you heard it…" he panted, looking up at Dean, "I'm... I'm in a dream. Need to wake up. Need to wake up." He closed his eyes and tried to focus.

"No, you're not asleep. You're here, awake. I heard it, too."

Sam's eyes snapped open, even more fear seizing him. "Then…" he gulped. "He found a way to... infect you. 'I'm spreading like disease'," Sam gasped, barely audible.

"No, Sam!" Dean said forcefully. "No, he's not inside me." He took out his phone and searched "did you hear the rain lucifer's inside." A video link popped up in addition to lyric pages. He clicked the first lyric suggestion. His eyes skimmed over the first verse. "Why do you treat me so? / Why do you treat me so? / Well you cause me to weep / And you cause me to moan / You cause me to pack up my bags and leave home / Why do you treat me so? / Did you hear the thunder? / Or the rain? / Means I'm coming home again / Means I'm coming home, my friend / Did you steal my name? / You jack of all trades / You're the master of none / The race has begun / I was born a champion / I was born to jump and run / Did you hear the rain? / Oh, the rain? / You can try and run and hide / Tearing at the chain / Lucifer's inside." The rest of the lyrics matched what he had heard. He was simultaneously glad it was a real song and angry that such a thing existed to antagonize his brother. "It's a real song, Sam. By George Ezra. It's not Lucifer. He's not in my head, too. It's okay."

Sam looked up at Dean, a tiny flicker of hope on his face. "How... how can that even exist?" His eyes were wet. Dean had the irrational urge to find this George Ezra and give him a good thrashing. "That song... it's about me." Sam's face abruptly hardened. "Even if he tries to come home, I'm never letting him in again." Home? Dean thought. You're Lucifer's home? Dammit, Sam. Sam's face contorted in anger as he stood. "No, he's been evicted permanently." His expression softened as he gazed down at Dean. "Never again," he said quietly.

Sam helped Dean back into the car then took his spot in the driver's seat. It took him a few tries to get the key in the ignition. Dean pretended not to notice. Starting the car, Sam turned down the volume even though the radio was off. God, nothing is sacred anymore. Can't even listen to music, Dean thought. The silence was suffocating but words nor melody dared interfere. Far off on the horizon, a storm was brewing. The low thrum of distant thunder penetrated the sound of the engine. Dean's breath faltered as Sam flinched and put his foot down on the gas. Dean felt his resolve wither. This was impossible.

Dean watched as Sam trudged out to the car to get the groceries and began rooting through the trunk. Sam's movements were slow and uncoordinated. Dean frowned. Sam had to sleep. It just wasn't an option to not sleep. How long could he keep this up? He let out a long sigh. He was too tired to think about this shit. A few minutes went by before Sam returned. "What, you get lost from the car to the cabin?"

Sam smiled awkwardly. "No, I, uh, was looking for something," he said cryptically. "Dibs on the shower?" he followed quickly, changing the subject.

"Sure, go ahead." What were you looking for? Dean wondered, watching Sam arrange the bags from the trunk on the table. Once he heard the water running, he searched Sam's bag. A vaguely familiar jar filled with what looked like a plant root was nestled in between two neatly folded plaid shirts. Is this… He opened the jar and took a sniff. His face wrinkled in disgust. Oh yeah, that's African dream root. He looked at the closed bathroom door. What are you doing, Sam? He poked around the rest of the bag, searching for any hints. The shower turned off and Dean scrambled to replace Sam's things. He flopped back on the couch just in time. "My turn?" he said cheerily, hoping like hell he didn't look or sound suspicious. He never had been very good at lying to Sam. His brother nodded and walked to his bed, appearing to be deep in thought. Whatever, Einstein, Dean thought and started the shower.

The dream root had surprised him. What was Sam going to use it for? Is that what he planned to use to avoid his endless dreams of the cage and Lucifer? No, that's not how dream root worked. And the jar wasn't that full, so it couldn't be a long-term solution. So then what did he need the dream root for? He resolved to ask Sam once he finished cleaning up.

Dean eyed his brother from the door frame, brushing his teeth. Sam was laying on the bed, intently reading something on his laptop. "Dean," he started, hesitant. Dean held up a finger, spit out his toothpaste and rinsed his mouth. He knew this wasn't going to be brief. Dean shut off the light and shuffled over to sit across from Sam on the cot. Sam glanced up at him warily then away. He inhaled deeply. "You asked what you could do… and you know, about how I can't sleep… I thought, maybe," he paused, his eyes going to his bag then back to Dean. "Maybe it would help if you could see it."

"What do you mean?" Dean queried, though he had an inkling.

"If you could see what he did to me, does to me…" Sam shook his head, "then perhaps you'd understand why I don't want to sleep." He brought his eyes up to meet Dean's. They were more vulnerable than Dean had remembered seeing in a long time.

Dean bit his lip. Hadn't he always wanted Sam to open up to him about Hell? Now the opportunity was here and he wasn't sure he wanted it. "What did you have in mind?" he asked unsteadily.

Sam shifted and grabbed his bag. He pulled out the jar. "I thought the dream root might be a good way. Put you inside my head, you could see it first hand," his voice was shy, almost ashamed. Dean was silent, thinking. "You don't have to though. It was just a suggestion, to help you understand," Sam added quickly. His shadowed eyes ducked Dean's intent stare.

"I've been to Hell, too, remember?" Dean replied.

"Not this Hell though, not my Hell." The emphasis struck Dean and he knew that his Hell was a spa day compared to Sam's. And seeing as he was made to break the first seal, that was really saying something.

"Sam," Dean whispered, his brain struggling for the right words. He was afraid, fearful of the unimaginable sufferings dealt to his baby brother. But if Sam thought this could help, Dean would do it. Anything to help Sam.

After a fairly quiet afternoon and evening of reading, TV, and dinner, Sam plucked a hair from his head and handed it to Dean. The older Winchester looked at it with repulsion. "Dude, I am not drinking your whole hair. I'll probably choke on the damn thing!" Taking out his pocket knife, he cut a small piece and dropped it in the fetid yellow liquid. As the unappealing aroma reached his senses, Dean had the distinct sensation that he would regret this on multiple levels. He paused. "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

"If it gets bad, how do I get you out of it?"

Sam shrugged. "That's another reason why I'm doing this. I was hoping you could come up with something. Nothing I do works."

Dean resisted the urge to throw the mug across the room. No, this was the point: figure out some way to escape the nightmares. This is how he could help Sam. He inhaled and exhaled carefully. "Okay, I'll see what I can do." He gulped down the tea before he could change his mind. "'Night, Sammy," he murmured as he dropped into the pillow.

"Goodnight, Dean. And thanks."

"Don't mention it…" Dean closed his eyes and tried to mentally prepare himself for a rough night. The sound of turning pages was the last thing Dean remembered before slipping into unconsciousness.

Dean woke to absolute darkness. He felt weightless, as though suspended in a void. "Sam?" he called out, his voice echoing back to him. Suddenly it occurred to him that Sam was probably still awake. Could you dream walk someone without being in a dream? As Dean pondered this, he slowly became aware of faint edges of light filling in the emptiness around him. Most were unrecognizable, but a door was materializing not far from Dean. He willed himself to be in front of it, to be opening it, and was instantly through the door. A frigid wind whipped at his face and he pulled his shirt collar up around his neck. A huge structure loomed above him. To Dean, it looked like a pompous university building. Stanford? Dean wondered, but realized it was too old to be Stanford. The obviously once-lush vegetation was withered and decaying. Unkempt vines grew over any available surface. Half the windows were broken and eerie Aeolian tunes were rampant through all the crevices. Dean felt pressure on his legs and looked down. Several vines had started to wrap around his ankles and he shook them away. A flower bud unfurled and revealed angry, fang-filled mouths encircled by clawed fingers in place of petals. Taking that as his cue to keep moving, Dean hurriedly climbed the granite stairs, avoiding the now-hissing plants. He slipped in one of the less-grand doors and closed it tightly behind him. He tried to ignore the thunks of the aggressive vine mouths against the door.

He turned and almost staggered back outside. Hundreds of staircases were moving, forming a truly Escher-esque maze before him. Some hung from the ceiling, others projected out from the walls. Stairs passed through each other, merged, separated, vanished, and appeared seemingly at random. Each staircase was unique. That one was from their house in Lawrence. That one was Bobby's basement. A disturbing proportion appeared to be rickety motel staircases.

So this is your brain, Sam, Dean thought, appreciating the almost elegant dance of the stairways. After watching the mesmerizing motion for a few minutes, Dean noticed some moved only rarely, if at all. He slid along the wall to reach the closest one. It was a sturdy fire escape. Dean scaled it easily but much to his surprise when he thought he had reached the top, more metal stretched above him. Panting, he arrived at the landing and glanced down. He appeared to be hundreds of feet above the rest of the commotion but Dean knew he hadn't climbed that long. Looking back to his level, he saw a large, solid wooden door. Dean turned the gleaming silver handle and thrust the door forward. Bright light flooded his vision and he was forced to close his eyes. An overwhelming sense of himself, of Dean, permeated his mind. The smell of leather and gunpowder, the taste of pie and whiskey, the feel of a tight embrace, the sound of Baby's engine, and an incredible tender affection washed over him, dominating his being. Struggling, he pulled the door shut. He opened his eyes and found himself at the entrance of the great hall of staircases. The one he had just climbed remained in place. Dean smiled to himself. He had always hoped to be the immovable, constant thing in Sammy's life.

The pace of the movement began to slow and Dean understood this to mean Sam was starting to fall asleep. Taking advantage of the change, Dean jumped on a staircase that had previously been moving too fast. It turned abruptly like a tilt-a-whirl and Dean had to grip the railing with all his might. He pulled himself in tight against the centrifugal force, dragging his weight up the wooden stairs. Dean didn't recognize the stairs, but continued climbing. A fierce gust of wind pushed him back but he fought it, hunkering down and crawling. Reaching the landing, he sprawled out and breathed deeply to replenish his tired body. A hint of sulfur filled his nostrils and he was immediately alert. He gathered himself up and lunged towards the door. Throwing it open, he was greeted by the sight of Azazel conducting an orchestra in a massive concert hall. The melodramatic tune was drowned out in a rush of fear as those burning yellow eyes turned to behold him. Black shadows on the floor started to move towards him. Dean slammed the door shut and dashed down the steps, the wind pushing urgently at his back, though it died down as he fled. He ran towards the safety of the entrance. He gathered himself before swiveling to face the whirling menagerie once again.

To his surprise, a lone, grand staircase presented itself. The sweeping marble structure held an air of challenge, daring Dean to scale it. He approached and was almost revolted by its decadence. Gold leaf gilded the intricate designs coiling up the railing. Precious stones gleamed in the oddly bright ambient light. Glancing behind him, the room had taken on a brooding baroque style, impressive and looming. He sighed and reached for the banister. It gleamed radiantly in the light, appearing to be made of liquid opal. It thrummed with faint electricity, energizing Dean as he bounded up. As he neared the top, he could see a figure standing with his back to him, looking at a huge, brilliantly lit, elegant stained glass window. "Hey! Sam!" Dean called out, excited his brother was finally asleep. He reached the top of the flight as Sam turned around. Except it wasn't Sam. Lucifer's lascivious smile stopped him dead in his tracks. The devil's grin blossomed as he snapped his fingers, the floor opening up below Dean and swallowing him whole.

Dean plummeted into darkness, sensation leaving him as he fell. Intense cold flooded his awareness as his sense of time ebbed away from him. All he could think about was Lucifer's smug grin. Finally he hit the bottom and crumpled into an aching heap. Sam, I have to find Sam, Dean thought pressingly. "Dean!" an enthusiastic voice chirped behind him. "So nice of you to drop in! We started without you." He had forgotten the smooth timbre of the vessel's voice and it made him shudder. He stood to face Lucifer. The archangel was obviously pleased with himself, though if it was with his joke, the fact that he had trapped Dean, or just in general Dean couldn't tell.

Lucifer laughed and huge golden wings burst from his back, illuminating the space. Dean was almost dumbfounded with awe. He had the urge to bow before the angel until he spotted a figure behind Lucifer at the same time the tang of burning flesh hit his nostrils. A limp, naked body hung from its wrists in red-hot chains, blood slicking down the wasted musculature. It was unrecognizable but Dean knew it was his brother. Lucifer arched an eyebrow, looking from the body to Dean. "Brings back some memories, huh Dean? What do you say you pick up your old hobby? I hear you were the best of the best." A serrated blade appeared in Dean's hand and he could feel the bloodlust seeping into him.

He dropped the knife and stared defiantly at Lucifer. "I will never do that again, not to anyone."

"Not even if I said, say, you carved up Sammy a little bit and I'd let you both go?" Lucifer stepped aside and tilted his head towards his captive. "What do you think, Sam? That seem fair to you?" Sam dragged his head up and Dean was horrified to see his eyes gone, ripped from their sockets. Blood flowed down his face in tiny rivulets. Sam opened his mouth and Dean could see his tongue was also missing. Sam tried to inhale but just choked on the blood.

Hatred filled Dean and pushed away the bloodlust. He took a step toward Sam but Lucifer locked his knees. "Stop it," Dean commanded, his voice vicious.

"Stop what?" Lucifer questioned innocently, glancing back at Sam, who was instantly restored.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, pulling against his restraints. Dean reached for him but could not move his feet.

Lucifer let out a predatory giggle. He smiled at Dean then moved towards Sam. "Don't you fucking touch him!" Dean snarled.

Lucifer held his hands up in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. I won't touch him." He paused, smirking. "Because I don't need to." He snapped his fingers and thin needles started protruding from under Sam's skin over his entire body. The tissue stretched until it snapped, thousands of tiny silver barbs glinting in the bright light still emanating from Lucifer. Sam cried out but bit his tongue, trying to be strong for Dean. Lucifer let out an "awwww" as he looked between the two Winchesters. "C'mon, Sam, wasn't the whole point of this for Dean to see how pitiful and broken you are? Let it out. You know how much I love to hear you scream."

"No," Sam gasped, holding Dean's gaze. "No," he repeated more forcefully.

Amusement splashed Lucifer's features. He furled his wings and they disappeared. He shrugged. "On with the show, then," he drawled. "So, what next?" he wondered aloud. "Ooh, I know!" The restraints released and Sam collapsed to the floor. "Up, Sammy-boy." Instantly Sam was on his feet, his body in one piece again. "Attack," Lucifer commanded.

Sam fought his body. "No, no," he managed, struggling against an invisible force driving him towards Dean. Lucifer's face contorted in anger.

"You do as I say, bitch." Lucifer lifted his arm and pushed forward, flinging Sam onto Dean.

"Dean, no, Dean, I'm sorry," Sam breathed.

"For what? Sammy, I got you," Dean consoled.

"No, get away. Wake up. I can't fight it, Dean. It's too strong. He's too strong."

"Fight what?" he asked, but he quickly sensed what he was fighting. Sam's quivering lips and sweaty skin gave Dean all the clues he needed. He tried to hold Sam's arms, but Sam quickly overpowered him. Sam pinned him to the ground, unnatural strength surging through his body. "Sam, you can stop this. You don't want this."

"But I do, Dean," he growled. He wasn't Sam anymore, he was barely even human. "I've been waiting for this for a long time." He gripped Dean's face and turned it towards himself. His eyes were pitch black. Dean flinched slightly and Sam laughed. He thrust Dean's head down, exposing his neck. Sharp pain erupted as Sam sunk his teeth into his brother. Then the warm wetness of Sam's tongue against his skin, lapping up his blood. Dean wasn't sure if he was more disgusted or terrified. He felt something hit his skin. He looked closely at Sam and could see tears streaming out of his eyes, even as he greedily drank from his brother. Somewhere in there, the real Sam, his Sam, was fighting for control.

"S'okay. I f'give you, S'my," Dean whispered, his strength quickly draining as Sam sated his thirst.

"Ughhh," they heard Lucifer groan. He swished his fingers and Sam flew to the wall. "No fun in that," Lucifer chastised. He approached Dean, who tried to crawl away from him. He stepped on Dean's coat, halting his slow escape. "Dean," he said, bending down to look the hunter in the eye. "I'm not going to hurt you," he cooed. He reached towards Dean who recoiled, fear chilling his remaining blood. He touched the human's neck, healing the still dripping wound. Lucifer's touch was icy but left a soothing sensation spreading through his body. Dean sat up and pushed himself away, anything to put more distance between him and the devil.

"I want to talk, Dean. Explain to you the depth of the hold I have on your brother." He looked to his vessel, dangling off the floor. Sam was foaming at the mouth and thrashing. His desire for blood had consumed him entirely and he no longer resisted. Lucifer frowned, his expression oddly sincere. "Disgraceful to see him like that, hmm, Dean?" Dean refused to look. The sound of Sam's snarls was enough for him. "Just give me a chance. Hear me out. Then maybe you'll understand why ignoring me, trying to banish me, is pointless. Sam will listen to you," a hint of jealousy coloring his last statement.

"I don't need to hear your bullshit," Dean responded; he had zero interest in Lucifer's bluster. He'd had enough of that when Zachariah had zapped him into the future. "You better kill me now," he said, repeating his words from fake-2014.

"No need for that. Look, I'm trying to be reasonable—"

"I gave up on reasonable when you started the damn Apocalypse," Dean interrupted.

"Old news," Lucifer returned nonchalantly. "But things are different now. Since Sam accepted me—"

"Accepted you? Is that what you're calling it these days? He was forced into a corner with the fate of the world hanging in the balance!"

"Still, he invited me in."

"Consider yourself uninvited."

"It doesn't work like that," he retorted, getting impatient. "Now, be silent and listen to me." He loomed over Dean, seeming larger than life.

Despite himself, fear started to rise in Dean's throat. "No," he spat, as much to Lucifer as to his own emotions. He unconsciously braced himself for the impending blows. None came.

Instead Lucifer rolled his eyes and let out an annoyed huff. "Humans. So stubborn," he muttered. "Let me know when you've changed your mind." With that, he disappeared.

Eerie howls burst from Sam as his prey was left alone before him but out of reach. Dean with a demonic Sam. He gazed at Sam, seemingly rabid in his bloodlust. His own blood stained Sam's mouth and Dean felt ill. To think Sam had been like this with Ruby... Dean shook his head and dispelled the thought. He approached Sam, hoping he could reach him beneath the blood rush. "Sam, c'mon man, you can fight this," he implored.

Sam's eyes tracked his movements like a predator. "Why would I fight it? This is what I've always been, what I was destined to become." His black eyes gleamed in the low light.

"No, you're better than this," Dean countered.

"Just like you were better in Hell? Like when you gave in after thirty pathetic years and dished out all the pain from your miserable little life? I can see it, how good you would be in your newfound position. All those years of rage, fantasizing about Azazel and every monster you ever killed. This is your fault, Dean. You made me. Allowed me to become this. And you're too weak to do anything about it. You always say I'm the sentimental one but we all know you could never live without me. I almost ended the world and yet you did nothing."

"I knew you were in there still, just like I do now. You fought Lucifer before and won, you can do it now."

Sam threw his head back and laughed throatily. "That was before Lucifer was in me, became me. He is etched in my soul now," a note of pride rang in his voice.

Dean shook his head. "No, Sam. No, this isn't you. Lucifer is not a part of you. We got you out."

The smile that grew on Sam's face was sickening. "He's always been a part of me. He's more my family than you ever were. You always thought I was a freak. Cursed baggage you were doomed to drag around for the rest of your life. C'mon, kill me, free yourself," he dared. He tilted his head back, offering his neck. "I'll thank you, Dean. Only good thing you'll have done for me."

"Be quiet," Dean ordered. "This isn't you."

A shiver quaked through Sam. "Oh, you sound like Lucifer when you talk like that. Touches me in all the wrong places."

"Shut up!" Dean shouted. The last thing he wanted to think about was Lucifer and his brother getting cozy.

"Does it make you uncomfortable? To think of Lucifer inside me in so many ways? All those millennia alone have given him quite the appetite. Things you couldn't even imagine, Dean." Dean closed his eyes and tried to block him out. Think about anything but the images searing his mind. It wasn't working. "Angels know just so much about the human body," he was saying. "And after a while, you get to like it. Ask for it, even. You'll see, Dean." Dean's eyes opened and he looked around for Lucifer, preparing for a fight to the death. Sam's dark cackle refocused him. "Who said it would be him? I've learned so much!"

"Sam, stop it, this isn't you," Dean begged. His brother laughed and Dean covered his ears. Still he could hear his brother's raving voice spewing disgusting and vicious taunts. He sang to himself but still Sam continued. After several hours, Dean's voice got hoarse and he stopped. It was then he realized his brother's depraved ramblings had turned to cries for help. Dean recognized the urgency. Detox. He cringed. The two previous times had nearly broken Dean, despite being able to escape Sam's desperate sobs and screams. Now he was trapped with him. The restraint on Sam broke as he flailed and he collapsed to the floor. Dean scrambled over. He tried to gather his brother into his arms but Sam convulsed violently. "Sammy, it's okay. I got you, you're okay." Sam writhed on the floor. A fist connected with Dean's face and the terror in his brother's eyes was the last thing Dean saw as he fell towards him.

A gleaming black throne filled Dean's vision as he opened his eyes. He pushed himself up and felt razors digging into his hands. He glanced around him, flakes of obsidian showering the floor. Lucifer stared down at him, smiling. "Feel like story time yet?"

"Suck it, you dick," Dean retorted.

Lucifer shrugged and relaxed back into his seat. "Hm, I need something else…" he murmured. Snapping his fingers, an exhausted Sam appeared at his feet on all fours. Lucifer sighed with contentment as he put his legs on Sam's shoulder blades. The added weight forced the volcanic rock into Sam's hands and knees and he whimpered with pain. Looking evenly at Dean, Lucifer pressed his legs down and drove the obsidian further into Sam. Dean tried to move but found he was powerless. Picking up a shard, Lucifer looked tenderly at Sam. He cut the shirt off to reveal Sam's pristine back. His lips twisted with delight as he started carving words into Sam. Sam shook violently and Lucifer put a hand on the back of his neck, stilling him. "Stop moving, you'll ruin my pretty picture!" Dean could do nothing but watch helplessly as stroke after stroke brought his little brother's blood out of his body. "Too bad we don't need a blood bank down in Hell. Sam would be a top contributor." He smiled affably. He flung the obsidian away and lazily wiped at the pooled blood. "Get up, Sammy, I want to show Dean my handiwork."

Sam was shaking. "I can't," he whispered hoarsely.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you," Lucifer wheedled.

"I can't. My knees…" Both archangel and human looked to his legs. The stone was embedded so deeply that the joint could no longer flex enough to allow Sam to stand. Lucifer shrugged and brought his foot down on each knee. Sam yelled and the devil grinned, one step closer to satisfaction. Everything in Dean cringed. Lucifer grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up.

He twisted Sam's body and presented his back to Dean like a proud child expecting praise from an adoring parent. 'Sam + Luci 4ever' surrounded by a deeply gouged heart. Above it was a crude depiction of the vessel and his angel, wings spread across Sam's shoulders. 'Sam' was before him, his body bent—Oh God, Dean recoiled against the image of Lucifer violating his brother as it materialized in his mind. A sinister chuckle reached Dean's ears and he felt vomit surge up his throat. For a second, Lucifer sealed his mouth, allowing the acid to scratch at his cheeks, before allowing Dean to empty his stomach contents. "I told Sam he was my little bitch, in every sense of the word," he purred. "Just restaking my claim."