Ugh, so I'm a terrible person. When I said I was taking a break for a little bit, I thought like a month or two. But the muse just up and left and I've been struggling ever since. Also got distracted by another plot bunny that won't let me rest but requires I rewatch all of season 4, so, kinda stuck there too. Can't promise how frequently I'll update due to work, health, and life, but I'm not giving up on this story!
If you read the previous chapters prior to January 2018, the beginning section of Day 8 has been updated and completed in a way I feel much more satisfied with. Got fed up with the end of this chapter and just threw in the towel. May come back to it like I did with Day 8.
Shout out to Noxbait, whose story "Face Down in the Desert" inspired to get back to it and finish writing this chapter. Was also diagnosed with fibromyalgia today and Sam may have taken the brunt of the anger later in the chapter. Sorry, Sam.
Warnings for Day 10: Mentions of rape, suicide. Lots of blood and guts, as per usual with Lucifer.
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Day 10
Dean had stumbled outside after his eighth beer and what had to be fifteen shots. His vision spun violently and he had to drag himself against the hands of gravity pulling him down. He felt like he was going to throw up, cry, or scream, and whichever occurred he wanted to be out of earshot as much as possible. Sam seemed to be resting peacefully for once. He let the empty beer bottles he'd brought out to hide from Sam and the full six pack of beer fall as he collapsed on the steps. He didn't want Sam to judge him for his dive into alcoholism. He cracked open a can and took a deep gulp, then set it aside as he held his head in his hands. The images of Lucifer entering Sam in so many ways antagonized him mercilessly. Sam's screams played endlessly in his head, though the more he drank, the quieter they became. He gingerly went through his own memories of Hell. He couldn't recall being violated in that way, that wasn't Alistair's style, but he had a vague memory of possibly perpetrating that ugly crime on some racked souls. He supposed it made sense: Sam had denied Lucifer use of his body for so long. When he finally obtained control only to have Sam overpower him at the last moment, it must have enraged Lucifer beyond comprehension. It was a war for autonomy and Sam had won when it mattered. The next best way to both be in and punish his vessel was to…
Pain flared in his stomach and vomit surged up his throat. He let it all out as the thought of Sam being raped over and over again blared in his head. Dean wanted to die. The more he learned about Sam's time in the cage, the more he realized he had failed Sam on so many levels. What the fuck had he been thinking? Letting Sam jump into Hell?! Into the cage?! Overwhelming guilt consumed him and he wept openly and loudly, allowing the violent spasms of his sobs to wrack his body.
After bawling for longer than he would ever admit, he slumped against the railing, exhausted. He swished his mouth out with the rest of his beer and spit it out over the previously anointed bottles. As acidic saliva dripped from his mouth, he pondered their current state of affairs. They had both been to Hell. But his Hell was barely a scratch compared to Sam's. And Sam seemed to accept this as his fate. He didn't even fight… he just knew to take it, going so far as to beg for it, to save Dean. Sam! His precious little brother, tortured, humiliated, broken at the hands of the worst evil they'd ever known. Sam. His Sammy. Letting out a strangled cry, he punched the railing until his knuckles opened and messy red stared back at him. Blood. God, there was so much blood in Sam's dream… And yet here he was, breathing and alive.
A flicker of hope danced through Dean as he considered the wonder that was his brother. How could Sam have woken up after the wall was smashed? How could Sam wake up every day and actually function? His baby brother was a miracle. But that miracle came at a steep price, he reminded himself. Sam may be alive, but was it a life worth living? His mind went to Sam repeatedly pleading for death and Dean's heart tore in two. Did he really think that was the only release? Sam implied the only peace he got in the cage was the space between death and resurrection.
The desire for death darted through his own mind. It was attractive: it was the only way to silence Sam's screams, his begging, his desperate cries for mercy. Lucifer's voice prowled insidiously in his brain. He failed to suppress a shout, frustration getting the better of him. He wished he could go for a drive and blast music until his eardrums bled. Damn his leg. He could do so much more for Sam if he could walk…
Who was he kidding? What could he actually do to help Sam? Sam's brain was hellbent -literally- on destroying him. What could Dean do to stop that? He blew his breath out through pursed lips and pushed away the melancholy. Sam had asked him to do this because he believed in Dean. He trusted Dean with immense vulnerabilities and needed Dean to support him in whatever way he could. He owed Sam that much. He'd known he was taking a risk putting his soul back, but he'd been so eager to have his brother back that he ignored the warnings. At least Sam wasn't locked inside himself, as Cas has theorized. He was here. He had survived the unsurvivable, beaten all the odds. His soul had been shredded and his mind ripped apart but here he was. It was up to Dean to put him back together, piece by agonizing piece. And everything be damned, he'd do it or die trying.
Sam's eyes fluttered open gently, the first natural awakening he'd had since – well, since he could remember. He blinked against the midmorning sun and smiled. Had he actually slept for more than four hours uninterrupted?! He stretched his arms and swung his legs out of the bed, expecting to see Dean across from him. The cot was empty so he rose and went to the couch, which was also uninhabited. The coffee table, however, was strewn with empty beer bottles and at least two bottles of hard liquor. Anxiety rose within Sam. Clearly this had been really tough on Dean. Maybe Lucifer had been right: maybe this was too much for Dean to handle.
"Don't wanna say 'I told you so,' but, I told you so. But you never listen to me, Sammy. Like always…" Lucifer grumbled, trudging behind Sam. Sam was leaving the bathroom on his search for his brother when he heard the front door open. Dean stumbled in, his gait uncoordinated and his hair disheveled. Lucifer vanished as panic consumed Sam, who searched Dean for any sign of an injury. Uneven eyes focused on Sam and he half-raised a hand to point at Sam.
"Ssshammmy…" he slurred, holding onto the doorknob for support. His crutch lagged in his other hand. Sam's long legs quickly crossed the space and he held Dean up. "You," the scent of alcohol on his breath was suffocating, "you are disssgusting. Don' touch me!" He pushed Sam, causing Dean to fall over. Sam approached him but he waved away Sam's attention. "I don' wan someone grossss like you touchin' me." Sam stepped back but Dean continued. "I mean, wha, you just let anyone in? Ghost, demon, devil? Gettin' kinda used up, Ssammy. Neksht I know you'll be slummin' round wif demon whores ahgain. You'd fit right in cuz yer such a sslut yerself." He waved a hand at Sam. "Go 'way, Sam. Leave me 'lone. I don' wan someone weak hunting wif me. Can't trusht you to have mah back if yer brain's all Luc'fer infes'ed. You're a mess. Useless."
Sam blinked in shock then shook his head. "You – you don't mean that. You're just drunk."
Dean shrugged and pushed himself up from the floor. He spoke slowly, carefully enunciating his words. "Drunk, sober, what's it matter? You're sstill the same fucked up you. Doesn' change a damn thing."
Sam repeated his previous actions, adding more vigor to his denial. "You wouldn't say this stuff normally. You don't mean it."
"That's where you're wrong, Sammy. I norm'ly don't say this shtuff cuz you're such a baby. If I said any of this you'd be a big blubbering mess and you'd whine and cry and sulk and get one of us killed on a hunt. Bad news follows you if you haven't noticed. Been fucking up my life ever since you were a baby."
A tremble in Sam's voice betrayed the doubt in his conviction. "That wasn't my fault."
"But if you hadn't been born…" 'My life would have been great,' though left unsaid, was clearly the intended sentiment.
"I—I'm sorry." His eyes brimmed with moisture.
"Fat lot of good that does me now. Look at this." He gestured to the crutch leaning against the table. "My leg's busted because of you. Mom's dead, Dad's dead. I've died. All because of you. Wish you'd never been born."
Sam bit his lip but a rogue tear broke free. Dean spotted it and rolled his eyes. "See, this is just what I mean. Little two year old sniffling all the time." Dean sank down into the couch, his back turned from Sam.
"But, Dean, then why did you always work so hard to protect me?" Sam moved so he could see Dean's face.
Dean's mouth curled into an ugly shape. "Guess Dad brainwashed me well. Now though? I see what a loser you are. Never could keep your shit together. There's always something with you, man." Dean grabbed one of the bottles from the coffee table and went to take a swig but found it empty. He huffed angrily and rose to get another drink.
Sam reached out and snagged Dean's sleeve. His throat tight, he plied Dean's sympathy one more time. "But, we're brothers… You said–"
Dean ripped his arm out of Sam's grasp and turned, a vicious expression on his face. "No, Sam, we're not. You have demon blood in you. You've had the devil in you. You're not my brother. You're not even human. You're a monster. Dad was right. I—"
"Don't say it, Dean, please," Sam begged, tears streaming down his face.
Dean raised the bottle above his head and brought it down as he spat "I should have killed you when I had the chance."
"Dean!" Sam cried before the cold glass made contact with his temple and he crumpled to the ground. Dean's rage unappeased, he dropped to the floor and splayed himself over Sam. Dean's broken leg awkwardly stretched out to the side, pinning one of Sam's arms. His other arm was under his body. With his brother's weight on his stomach, Sam couldn't defend himself or curl into the fetal position he was trying to achieve. Through his tears he could see Dean raise a closed fist.
"You're the worst thing that's ever happened to me, Sam." He brought his fist down into Sam's nose. A sickening crunch answered the blow. "I hate you!" A shot to the jaw made his ears pop painfully. "You deserve everything," a fist sliced his lip against his own teeth, "Lucifer did to you!" A solid strike from bloody knuckles freed a few teeth. "You," punch, "are," punch, "nothing!" Dean screamed, fury contorting his features into a hideous caricature of himself. A volley of punches followed in quick succession. One struck in exactly the same spot as the Leviathan's crowbar and pain exploded in Sam's entire being as darkness swallowed him up. A soft "Dean" escaped his bleeding lips as he fell into the abyss.
Something scratched at the edges of Dean's consciousness and urged him to wake up. He followed the nagging feeling out of his alcohol assisted slumber and broke through into the midmorning light dancing on his eyelids. "Too bright!" he grumbled and shielded his eyes, groggily gathering his senses. He was surprised to find himself back inside. He pondered that for a moment, then realized what had drawn him from sleep: it was a sound that, for as long as he could remember, was a call to action. Grabbing a crutch, he heaved himself out of the armchair and approached the bed. Sam's tearful whimpering contorted his face and wracked his body even as he slept. Dean's expression scrunched in confusion. Many a time he had heard Sam scream in his sleep. Heard him beg, cry, howl in agony. But never exactly this.
Sighing, he sank into the crappy mattress and put a hand on Sam's trembling shoulder. Regret embraced Dean. Now that he thought about it, he had heard this kind of whimpering before: particularly whenever their dad pushed Sam too hard during their training, like when a ten-year-old Sam had refused to kill a tiny fawn whose mother had been eaten by a wendigo or the time John told Sam that if he wouldn't be a hunter then he couldn't be a Winchester. Even an adult Sam had sniveled like this: for weeks after Jess died, the night he killed Madison, when Sam was detoxing from demon blood. He gulped to suppress the nausea rising within him, though whether it was from his memories or the booze he wasn't sure. How had this become their life? Crisis after crisis, battle after battle. Staring at his tormented brother, he felt hopeless. What could he possibly do to change the situation? They might occasionally win the battle but they were losing the war. Yet it only took one word for him to reject desperation, for him to turn and fight.
The older Winchester watched as Sam's cracked lips formed that word, the first word Sam ever spoke, the word that only felt right in his little brother's voice.
A breathy, barely audible "Dean."
Dean shook Sam gently, increasing in vigor until Sam's eyes popped open, fear painted on his face. He softly squeezed Sam's shoulder, hoping to help ground him. Instead, Sam saw the blood on Dean's knuckles, believed it was his own blood, and recoiled so violently Dean had to catch himself before he fell off the bed. Sam tucked his head in under his arms and brought his knees up, crunching his body into an unbelievably tiny ball. "I'm sorry!" he sobbed. "I'm sorry! I'll leave. Right now. Go and never come back."
"Stop. Stop this," Dean urged, hoping to end the panic before Sam revved himself into a frenzy. Dean reached out to touch Sam, who made himself impossibly smaller. He clenched his hands around Sam's wrists and pulled as hard as he could. "Stop, Sam!"
Sam resisted momentarily then surrendered, becoming limp. "Okay, okay. I won't even fight. Hit me. Get it all out."
"What?!" Dean exclaimed, confused. He dropped Sam's arms.
"Just do it!" Sam cried, bracing himself for the impending blows. None came and Sam relaxed slightly, his eyes slowly moving up to meet Dean's. Silence held them for a few seconds as both tried to make sense of the situation.
"Sam. What's happening?"
Sam blinked in confusion, struggling to decipher reality from hallucination from nightmare. He brought his hands to his face and felt for blood and shattered tissue. Shocked when his hands came away clean, he looked up at Dean, eyes wide. Moisture still made his eyes shine and Dean couldn't help but see a much younger, vulnerable Sam in this man's face.
"Sammy?" Dean queried softly, hoping to gain his rattled brother's trust.
"Dean?"
"I'm here."
Sam smiled ruefully. "I know you are. I, just, I…" Dean waited as Sam attempted to get the words out. "Do… do you hate me?" He flicked a glance at Dean but looked away as Dean's expression warred between anger and incredulity. Dean wondered if this was some buried memory from the dream walking the previous night.
"Hate you? You think I hate you, Sam?"
Sam gestured to the empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table. Dammit, I missed one, Dean thought. "That isn't really the hallmark of someone who's happy."
"Well, yeah, I'm not happy, but that doesn't mean I hate you. Why would you think that?"
"Because you said it — well, I thought you said it…" Sam pressed the heels of his hands to his temples, eyes clenched tight. "You said—"
"He said," Dean interjected.
Sam nodded weakly. "He said that I was disgusting and that I'm," he paused, trying to suppress the waver in his voice, "getting kind of used up."
"You're not disgusting, Sam. Why would you be disgusting? What do you mean, getting used up?"
"Because I've had so many…" His throat was closing now. "… things inside me…" He started to curl in on himself again. "A ghost, a demon, the devil himself. Said I belong with the demon whores because I'm one myself."
"You do know how to make an angel happy…" Lucifer crooned, close enough that Sam could feel his breath on his neck, and Sam couldn't stop himself from jumping. "I'd give you a five-star review on Yelp. Great place to stay except for the early check-out time."
Dean wanted to pull his hair out. He had hoped to never speak of those things again. He wasn't sure he could bear it. The alcohol just about kept those thoughts out of reach. "Sam, no. I don't even know how — just, no. We're hunters. We come across a lot of bad stuff. Some of that is bound to get under our skin — literally."
Sam shrugged away Dean's explanation. "That wasn't the worst though. You — he said that he hated me because I had ruined your life and if I had never been born everything would have been great. That you shoulda killed me when you had the chance… You then proceeded to take your opportunity and beat the shit out of me."
"Actually killed you. Smashed your face in," Lucifer supplied, making himself comfortable on the bed.
Dean shook his head. "Sam, you know the only time I use force is when you're not in your right mind." Sam raised his eyebrows and looked at Dean doubtfully. "You know what I mean. Like when you were strung out or when you didn't have a soul." Sam dropped his head in shame and began to ball into himself again. Fuck. Great going there, Dean. Bring up all his worst moments to make him feel better. "No, hey, I didn't mean it like that." Dean grabbed his chin and pulled his face up, forcing Sam to look at him. Dean's features were firm and his eyes earnest. The alcohol made his tongue loose and his heart open. At least that's what he would claim later. "I'm not disgusted by you. I don't regret you being here. My life would be meaningless without you, man. Of all the things I've done, being your big brother has been my greatest accomplishment."
"Not that that's saying a whole lot…" Lucifer said under his breath as he picked at his fingernails.
Sam curled his bottom lip into his mouth, weighing the validity of Dean's statements. Sam's eyes were enlarging into puppy dog's and Dean knew he needed to keep going to ground the kid.
"Sam, if anything, I'm amazed by you. Amazed by your strength. That you get up every morning despite what you go through. Fuck, the fact that you even survived the wall breaking down is incredible. Death and Cas thought it would kill you, or worse. But here you are, fighting the good fight. What you showed me, Sam, what happened to you, I…" He glanced away briefly, trying to find the right words. When he looked back, he could see that Sam was hanging on to his every word as if his life depended on it. "You've been killed countless times, suffered unimaginable agony, been violated in mind, body, and soul, and still, still! Here you are. You woke up to save me and Bobby from Cas even though all Hell was breaking loose in your head. Every day you're dealing with the worst things possible. But you're walking, talking, researching, doing everything you're supposed to. You beat Lucifer once and you'll do it again. He had the upper hand in Hell, but I'm here, I'm here now, Sammy, and together we can beat him. Okay?"
Sam nodded shakily, absorbing Dean's words. He cast a shy glance at Dean then looked at the ground. "You don't think I'm a coward, that I'm weak for… just letting Lucifer… do what he wants to me?" Lucifer stared at Sam obscenely and Sam couldn't bear his gaze.
Dean shook his head vehemently. "No way. He said you fought for a year. That's way longer than I coulda held out. Sam, you willingly jumped into Hell. It takes a crazy amount of courage to do something like that!"
"He's right about the crazy part…" Lucifer commented.
"I did it because I had to, because of what was at stake. There's nothing like that now," Sam lamented.
"Well, if staying alive for yourself and for me isn't enough, what about the Leviathans? We gotta clean that mess up and we don't even know what the hell they are or how to stop them! It'd be really helpful to have my nerd brother to help research these freaks!"
"Freak," Lucifer echoed as he shone an obnoxiously bright spotlight on Sam. He shied away from both the light and the repeated utterances of one of his most feared words. He'd never really recovered from when Dean had called him a 'blood-sucking freak.' He wasn't sure he ever would.
"Right, Sammy? You and me against the monsters?" Dean plied gently. Because I sure as hell can't do this alone, Sam.
"Monster." The spotlight was on him again and pointed directly into Sam's eyes. He winced. "It's what you are, Sam."
Sam swallowed, blinking away the light, and nodded his head in agreement. "Right. Leviathan. Gotta stop 'em."
"Yes, we do. And what's the first thing we do on a new case?"
"Drink and argue?" Lucifer offered helpfully.
"Research," Sam replied firmly. "Need to know what we're up against."
Dean clapped Sam's shoulder and smiled. "Good. Now, to help you with that, can I get you some grub? How's breakfast for linner sound? I can make you a girly veggie omelet or you can live a little and have some eggs and bacon."
Sam smiled a bit. "Sure, eggs and bacon sounds great."
"Coming right up!" Dean announced as he rose and hobbled to the kitchen.
Sam watched Dean cook from the bed, unwilling to move and face the world quite yet. Though he had slept for a few hours relatively uninterrupted, he was still tired. Lucifer was relentlessly taunting him about the dream walking. "I knew that was a bad idea. Dean is gonna dump your sorry ass the moment he can. Only reason he's still here is because he can't drive. He's gonna leave you faster than—" Sam focused on the sizzle of the pan and Dean's words from earlier and Lucifer faded out of view. Sam's shoulders relaxed slightly.
A minute later, he was back. "The only reason he was saying all those nice things is so he wouldn't have to clean up your brains in case you decided to off yourself. Though, I still think that's a good plan… I mean, you're such a burden to him, Sammy. I know you saw his hand earlier. Busted up his knuckles cuz he feels trapped here with you. Why don't you make it easier on him and come back to me? You did say you were used to it… Don't know if I should be touched or if I need to up my game." Sam felt the tip of a blade caress behind his ear. "Speaking of which, I have this new idea to slice open your eardrum and—" Sam's breathing hitched and he gave his palm a squeeze to dissolve his torturer.
He grabbed a change of clothes and a towel, which he realized Dean had laid out for him, and headed to the bathroom. Lucifer was sitting on the closed toilet with his feet propped up on the sink, his fingers gently tracing over the edge of a rusty knife. Sam stopped short of his hallucination, forcing himself to remember he was just that: not real. For some reason it bothered Sam to move through the space Lucifer was supposedly occupying. After the Leviathan encounter, Lucifer no longer had a physical presence, but it still felt wrong and he couldn't identify why. He tried, and failed, to will Lucifer away from the tiny room.
Lucifer rose and crossed the small area to stand behind Sam, who was brushing his teeth in the mirror. Lucifer rested his head on the crook of Sam's neck, his eyes meeting Sam's in the reflection. "Don't you miss the cage, Sam? You didn't have to eat, sleep, or relieve yourself. No human inconveniences, just 24/7 torture. No distractions, no disruptions, just pure bliss." He jammed the blade into the exact spot where Jake had severed his spinal cord all those years ago and Sam struggled to suppress a shout. He massaged the broken tissue of his palm fiercely and Lucifer dissipated. He hoped he could use the bathroom in peace. He certainly didn't need Lucifer narrating his every action.
He had just stepped into the shower when Lucifer returned, his head peeking through the shower curtain. "Would you stop doing that? It's pointless, Sam. You have to know that. You'll never get rid of me. Dean, on the other hand, man, he wants to get away from you so bad. He thinks you're revolting. He's disappointed in you. Thinks you're weak. You let the devil… no, you begged the devil to have his way with you — over and over and over. Man, you shoulda seen the look of disdain on his face when your mouth was around my—"
Sam turned the water up as hot as he could take it and relished the flash of pain that drowned out Lucifer. He hadn't been lying to Dean when he said he was pretty much used to it, but he still wanted to avoid thinking about it whenever he could. Those mental wounds were frighteningly fresh and he did his best to suppress them. Not that Lucifer ever let him forget…
"Because you're my bitch, in every sense of the word. How many times do we have to go over this? I mean really, like last night wasn't evidence enough? You were so good at being my little—"
"Sam! Food's ready!" Dean bellowed as he banged on the door, mercifully cutting off Lucifer. Sam practically threw himself out of the shower, dressed in a blur and flung himself at the table. Dean noticed Sam's heaving chest but chose to ignore it, hoping to distract Sam. Dean had taken extra care to prepare everything exactly the way Sam liked it: squishy bacon, cheese in his eggs, and no pepper.
Sam dug into the food immediately, though whether because he was hungry or wanted something to focus on, Dean couldn't tell. A smile spread on Sam's face as he bit into the eggs, appreciating Dean's attention to detail. He practically inhaled the food and rose to get more. Dean waved him down and took his plate. He insisted on waiting on Sam despite the discomfort the broken leg was clearly causing him.
Leaning back in his chair, he let out a belch and sighed in satisfaction. "Thanks, Dean, this was really good."
"Ah, don't mention it. Just glad to see you eating some protein!" he teased, smiling at Sam's bitch face. Relief crept up in him. It had been too long since he'd seen it. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" Dean offered as he collected Sam's plate.
A heavy sigh answered him. "Dean, look, I really appreciate everything you're doing, I do. But I don't need you to baby me. That wasn't my first rodeo. I—"
The relief cannibalized itself and turned to irritation. He slammed the plate down on the counter. "Then what was the point of showing me all of that shit?!" If the whole terrible exercise was for nothing, Dean was gonna tear Sam a new one.
Sam clenched his eyes closed and gripped the seat of the chair. "I needed you to know, Dean. Needed you to see it, to understand that knowing what's real isn't so easy. I can do this, but I can't do it alone. I don't need you to treat me like I'm freaking combustible, just help me out when it gets bad. I don't feel like that's too much to ask."
"Especially because it's all his fault," Lucifer added.
Dean considered that for a moment then nodded. "Okay, I get you. But you gotta be upfront with me when it's bad."
"I usually am," Sam replied defensively.
"That is a damn lie, and you know it."
Sam's teeth toyed with his bottom lip as he decided what to say. He knew it would worry Dean if he admitted it was bad all the time. Well, it actually wasn't, but it was bad enough. Anything else wasn't close to the truth. "He's almost always there, Dean. Sometimes he's sitting on the couch, doing nothing. Sometimes just chatting away. Sometimes doing more… disruptive things." Lucifer merely smiled at Sam's description from across the table.
"Does squeezing your cut stop the worst of it?" Dean asked carefully.
"Most of the time, but I have to remember to do it." Dean's eyes narrowed as he tried to understand what Sam wasn't saying. Sam expelled a tense breath through his lips. "Sometimes I forget I'm not in Hell…"
"Whenever you're in doubt, just ask me. I get it now, Sam, I really do. When I woke up from the dream, I thought it was real. But it was a dream within a dream. I see how tricky it can be. So use me as a resource, okay?"
"Okay, I will, I promise," Sam pledged even as he questioned his commitment to the vow he had made.
Dean either didn't notice or didn't comment. "Good. I'm right here whenever you need me."
Sam gave a mock salute then rose from the table, ending the conversation. He collected the plates and brought them to the sink, intent on washing them as a 'thank you' for Dean's effort. He turned the tap on and rancid liquid spurted from the faucet, rotting chunks of meat dribbling down the dishes. He bit his lip and the water ran clear. He sighed and set his concentration, determined to get through a single chore without incident.
Sam collapsed on the couch next to Dean, clearly exhausted by what should have been a simple task. Focusing on keeping Lucifer out somehow made him more susceptible. Between ignoring the sensation that his flesh was being worn away by the sponge, dispelling the terrible smells and textures, shutting out Lucifer's hateful ramblings, and fantasizing about cutting himself with a steak knife, he felt immensely drained.
"You alright, man?" Dean asked gently, trying not to be intrusive.
Sam gulped and shot him a nervous glance. "Yeah. Just, uh, that was harder than I thought it was gonna be."
"That's what she said!" Lucifer shouted out. Sam couldn't help his instinctive glance towards the loud noise. Lucifer grinned boyishly. Sam looked back to his brother, silently pleading for release.
Dean held back a sigh and instead clapped Sam's shoulder. "But you did it. You got through it. Want something else to keep you busy?"
Sam nodded weakly.
Dean leaned forward and picked up a book from the coffee table. "Then this might interest you. 'Intercelestial Realms and Their Inhabitants.' Even has a glossary." Dean wiggled it like an enticing treat.
Sam smiled and reached for it. Dean snatched it back. "Only if you make extra good notes so I don't have to read it, too."
Sam rolled his eyes. "When don't I? I'm your walking Cliff Notes…"
"Exactly." Dean grinned and held it out. Sam grabbed it and settled down in a chair, trying to make himself comfortable despite the nails jabbing out of the musty fabric.
Sam wasn't even past the forward when he began to smell the undeniable stench of sulfur. He sighed. "Either you have really bad gas, a demon snuck in, or Lucifer is messing with me."
Dean's faint smile at the beginning of the sentence turned to a frown by the end. "I'm not smelling anything, so, uh, money's probably on the devil."
Sam's face twitched in irritation. "Okay. Well, in any case, I think I'm gonna go read outside," Sam announced as he snapped the book shut and rose swiftly from the chair.
Dean was about to grunt in reply when he remembered he hadn't cleaned up the bottes. He didn't want Sam to see them, to see his weakness. "Sam, wait up. It's cold out, you should wear a jacket," he called out, struggling to his feet.
Sam scoffed and quirked an eyebrow at Dean, his hand on the doorknob. "Uh, okay, mom. If I'm chilly, I'll come back inside."
"No, here, take a blanket at least," Dean jerked his head towards the bed but got closer to the door.
"Dean, I said I don't need you to baby me."
"I'm not babying you, I just…" he trailed off, unsure what he could say that wouldn't raise Sam's suspicion. But by the way Sam's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched, he could tell Sam knew something was wrong.
Moving faster than Dean could to stop him, he pulled open the door and stepped out onto the porch. The bright afternoon sun reflected off an assortment of bottles strewn around the steps. At least half a dozen beer bottles, several beer cans, and another bottle of whiskey told the story, in no uncertain terms, of Dean's rough night. Guilt surged over Sam and he turned to face Dean, who had stopped in the doorway and leaned against the doorframe, his head down in shame.
"Dean—"
"I didn't want you to see this, Sammy."
"Is this — is this because of being in my head?"
"Told you he couldn't handle it, fucking pansy. I wasn't even that mean to you!" Lucifer whined, crossing his arms as he leaned against the outside wall such that his and Dean's heads were almost touching. Sam couldn't look at one without seeing the other.
Dean was silent a few moments, measuring his words. "I—" he started, but his tongue felt like lead. "Sam, I can't even imagine, and I saw it. Last night, I just… I couldn't handle it. Knowing that all of this was my fault—"
"How the hell was this your fault?" Sam interrupted.
Dean lifted his head a bit but still didn't meet Sam's eyes. "I put your soul back."
"You rescued my soul from the cage."
"Which I let you jump into."
Lucifer was watching the exchange like a ping pong match with a sick smile on his face. He scratched a line into the glass under a column labeled 'Dean.' Sam twitched at the unnerving sound.
"I had to trap Lucifer because I let him out." Lucifer etched a line under 'Sam.'
"Because I broke the first seal."
"Another point to Dean!" Lucifer chirped.
"Yeah, but everyone would break down eventually and you were only there because of a demon deal to bring me back from the dead." Sam didn't understand why they were having this discussion. Again.
"Wait, would that be my point?" Lucifer asked.
"You wouldn't have died if I had been there to protect you."
Sam let his irritation nip at his words, part of him hoping it would chase away Dean's guilt, part of him annoyed that this was what Dean thought. "Dean, this isn't your fault. All of this was set in motion way before we were ever born. The angels told us that. Remember that cupid? Our parents were brought together by divine order. There isn't anything you or I could do to change that." Lucifer pouted his lips and nodded his head, mocking Sam.
"Game, set, match," Lucifer shouted and X'd out both Sam's and Dean's names. Between the derisive comments and the awful sound of nail on glass, Sam's frustration skyrocketed.
Dean, of course, was entirely unaware. His shoulders wilted slightly. "Just feel like I could have done something differently. And then we wouldn't be in this mess."
Sam's nostrils flared. This mess? Is that what Sam's life was? "Well I'm sorry that this mess is your brother," he threw out, contempt raining daggers on both Dean and the devil.
"No, Sam, I— the things he's done to you… You're so broken… I know you're trying to deal but I'm worried it's not gonna get better and I don't know what to do to…"
Dean kept talking but Sam wasn't listening. Anger swept over him and he couldn't stop himself. He stomped up the steps to take advantage of his height so that now he was looking down at Dean. "I'm so broken? What exactly did you expect? That I would come out from 180 years in Hell, in the cage, with Lucifer, all fuzzy and warm? That I'd be cool, calm, and collected? Death told you the wall was a liability! It was coming down even before Cas smashed it. You knew this could happen!" He jabbed an angry finger at the four eyes watching his every move. "I don't regret you putting my soul back, but don't you dare judge me for not dealing with it the way you do, just bottling it up and drowning it in alcohol!" He motioned to the pile of evidence to prove his point.
Dean was silent, too surprised by his outburst to reply quickly. "S-Sam, I never judged you for—"
"Really?" Sam doubted. "Because I remember when I first told you about seeing Lucifer and you were pretty pissed at me. Made me feel like an idiot for not knowing what was real."
"Cuz I didn't understand it, man. And I was — I was scared," he admitted quietly. "I didn't know what was happening to you. I still barely do."
"Guess he drank away everything that happened last night." Lucifer postulated. "Guess we'll just have to do it again! Maybe this time I can try the sea urchin ball gag!" he suggested hopefully. "Or do you want the blindfold made from Jess's oh-so-soft skin, instead? Seems a shame not to use it more. Was tough to find bits of her that weren't burnt to a crisp."
Dean watched Sam's glance flick away from him and his hands start to shake a bit as he paled. "Sam, I'm right here," he called out as if Sam were a thousand feet away. "Whatever's happening, it's not real." He reached out for Sam but his brother was backing away, not even seeing him.
"Maybe not," Lucifer shrugged, and pushed himself off the wall and began circling Sam slowly. "But it was real, so what's the difference if it's happening then or now? I know you remember it, I know you still see it, I know you still feel it." Lucifer's voice was impossible to drown out. "Added bonus, Dean knows, too! You really should be careful who you share with Sammy… You might just break big brother. If you really cared about him, you'd free him from the burden that is your existence." His fury draining away as he looked back to Dean and saw the fear on his face. Fear Sam had caused. "Sammy," Lucifer whispered. Sam felt he had to get away. Anger, terror, pain, love, hate, it was all too mixed up for him right now. He turned and ran off the porch.
"Where are you going?" Dean called, his anxiety spiking.
"I need some air. Gonna go for a walk," Sam shouted back, even as he broke into a full sprint.
"But I can't come with you," Dean complained, worried.
"I know." Sam replied in such a way that Dean understood that's exactly why Sam was doing this. He watched as Sam shrunk away from him, his apprehension rising with every step he took. Dean stood and stared until his little brother was out of sight.
Dean angrily threw his crutches down as he turned and dropped himself into the armchair where he'd started the morning. He knew his anger was actually masking his concern, but it was better to feel angry than feel helpless. "Why you gotta be such a brat, Sam," Dean huffed angrily. "I didn't even say anything… No reason for you to march off like a four year old."
That's not quite true, his conscience chastised him. You called him a mess. Said he was broken.
Dean's anger dissolved and he hung his head in shame. With everything Sam was going through, that probably wasn't what he wanted, or needed, to hear. Regardless of whether it was true, the last thing Sam needed to feel was hopeless. Then he might do something stupid. Panic trickled into him. He wouldn't, would he? Dean pondered it a moment then decided with a shake of his head that he wouldn't. And then wasn't so sure. Sam could very well hurt himself in his current condition. He wrestled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Sam. He didn't expect an answer and was not surprised to hear it ring out. He debated calling Bobby, even had his finger on the speed dial button, until he realized he'd have to explain to Bobby all that had happened to prompt his borderline-crazy brother to run away into the woods. He swallowed his shame and buried his face in his hands. All he had ever wanted was for Sam to be okay. Where had he gone wrong?
Sam sped away from the house, pushing his body until his lungs burned. Lucifer jogged lazily beside him, silent, as his mere presence was enough to upset Sam in his precarious state. He ran off the driveway, off the little path, just ran until he was sure the cabin was well out of view. His phone rang and he ignore it, knowing he wouldn't be able to speak through the deluge of thoughts tearing at his mind. His brokenness. Dean. The cage. Castiel. The apocalypse. But he pushed them all away, focusing solely on bringing enough oxygen into his body. Even Lucifer had disappeared for a bit. Right up until Sam tripped over a root and landed face down in a pile of slippery organs. His palm burned as mushy coldness seeped through his bandage. He gagged as he spit some slimy bits out of his mouth and wiped the fluids from his face before he opened his eyes. And instantly regretted doing so. What had once been trees — they had been trees, right? Right? God, he couldn't remember! — were bodies and strips of flesh and red dripping and Agh! He sunk his palms into his eyes and willed the forest to return. Distant thunder rolled through him and he snapped his eyes open.
The light hitting his retinas had a red tinge and the air had that certain sickly chemical smell. Sam knew he was back in the cage. No, he was out! Right? Lucifer laughed and Sam couldn't be sure. He looked up from his spot on his hands and knees and Lucifer loomed over him. The dread made him forgot how to check if this was real.
"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, let's play a game. Hide and seek, yes? You were enjoying running earlier. I thought you'd want to run some more! Hey, if you win, you're not in Hell. I win, well, you know what happens when I win…" He grinned toothily and it was enough to drive Sam to his feet. Lucifer crossed his arms and his lips twisted with amusement. "I'll even be nice and give you a head start. Run along now, Sammy," Lucifer purred, his hand scooting Sam away.
Sam turned and ran, ran faster than he had from Dean, ran faster than from anything in his life. Memories of Lucifer's games vied for attention in his fractured mind. So many goddam games. All of them ended with Sam begging for mercy. Lucifer won every time.
Dropping the book he had been pretending to read, Dean checked his watch. Sam had been gone for half an hour. He wondered how long Sam would need. Dean wanted to be angry at Sam for him stomping off the way he did, but he couldn't find it in himself to be mad. The kid really was dealing the best he could. The dreamwalking had shown Dean in vivid, technicolor detail that Sam's life was 50% pain, 35% terror, 10% confusion, and 5% actually being alive. He couldn't blame Sam for having trouble sorting through the 95% of death and destruction to find the 5% that made sense. Hell, for Sam, death and destruction probably made more sense than anything else. Dean sighed. He'd have to apologize to Sam when he got back. He was careful to suppress the nagging voice that whispered 'if.'
"Saaaaammmmmyyyyyy," a familiar voice called mockingly, and for once, it wasn't Lucifer's. Worse, it was Dean's. "Aren't you tired of running? Been runnin' all your life, from what a freak you are, from what a failure you are, from what a loser you are… Just come to me and I'll make it allllllllll better."
Sam hid behind a large tree, the disconcerting sensation of wet moss making his hands frantic. He needed to get out of here, get somewhere safe. Safe, who was he kidding? There were no safe places in Hell. Because he was in Hell, right?
"Sam. We both know this will be better if you just come out. I won't even make you sit in time out and clean all our guns like Dad did. I'd much rather use you for target practice anyway…" The voice was getting closer but he couldn't tell exactly where it was coming from.
Sam darted out then felt a searing pain in his ribcage the same moment the gunshot reached his ears. "Bullseye!" Dean shouted joyously. Sam stumbled then felt something sharp pierce his skin and swipe his legs out from under him. Hot air stinking of sulfur and rancid meat stung his senses.
Dean was soon standing over him, a smug grin on his face. "Broken, Sam, you are so broken. You're not even worth the hunt. Almost nicer to put you down like a diseased animal," Dean said, his mouth curving in that way the actual Dean's mouth never did, but Lucifer's Dean did all the time. "And Jess here," he patted the air next to him, "is gonna rip you apart so you can never be put back together again. Go get 'im, girl."
Sam saw the steam rise as the hellhound opened her mouth and lunged forward. He heard his shin bone crunch in her jaw and she pulled away, stripping the muscle from his right leg. The bone gleamed white and bloody. He screamed and Dean just laughed. "I want a review of my new hellhound training routine, Sammy. Got some ideas from when I was dragged down to Hell for your sorry ass. You better keep notes!" Burning claws sunk into his abdomen and mercilessly tore him open like a little kid too eager with his Christmas present. He tried to cry out but his throat collapsed in on itself. Fetid moisture covered his face as she licked him. Acid chewed into his skin and oozed into his blood. Then she picked him up, her canines jamming their way through his ribs and piercing his lungs, and shook him like a rag doll. He tried to grab for her face, poke her in the eyes, something, anything to free him from this torment, but his exertion earned him nothing, save for more vigorous shaking. After several minutes. she tired of this approach and flung Sam into a tree.
Dean, no, it wasn't really Dean! Right? Dean grabbed his wrists and the hound bit around his left knee. Looking down at Sam, he just smiled as he happily announced "tug o' war!" The dog growled as she pulled, her voice reminiscent of a train's brakes failing to screech to a halt as it crunched over a body. Sam felt himself stretching, muscle fibers giving in to the tension one by one, then in bunches. He heard a sickening pop and he realized his spine had been severed. The lower half of his body soon followed, tearing apart around where the hellhound had already ripped into him. Sam could only watch in misery as the hound, Jess, as Dean so kindly reminded him, chewed on his liver. Slowly, so much slower than Sam thought reasonable, consciousness ebbed from him and he fell into emptiness.
In the darkness of his mind, clarity reclaimed him and he was able to think back over his and Dean's argument. Fury tried to imprint itself but he knew it was only covering his denial. Dean wasn't wrong. Sam was broken. His imaginary fight with a hellhound was evidence enough of that. His grip on reality was tenuous at best and prone to frequent interruptions. His resentment towards Dean dwindled down to nothing and he felt guilty for snapping at his brother. This was stressful for Dean, too. But he disagreed with Dean on whether it would ever get better. He thought it would. He had to. He wouldn't survive this for too much longer.
A crack of thunder roused Sam from his unintentional slumber. A light rain had started and Sam knew he should get back. He had to apologize to Dean. Sliding around in the mud, it took him almost a minute to get to his feet. Once he did, he regretted it, as sharp pain made itself known in his calf. Looking down, he saw his right leg was tangled in a fierce looking thorn thicket. It had stabbed through his jeans and little halos of blood surrounded each puncture site. He carefully freed himself from vicious vine, earning himself some additional holes in his fingers. Hissing at the burn, he wiped the blood off on his jeans and took in his surroundings. Discomfort slithered around his guts as he realized he had no idea which way he had come. He looked up for the sun but couldn't see it due to the angry looking sky.
Lucifer appeared next to him, holding a compass. "Is this what you need? Hm, what do you think Sam, does this seem right to you?" He shoved it in Sam's face and the arrow pointed to 'Hell.' Sam looked away from him, trying to recognize anything familiar. "Better figure it out quickly. How long do you think it will take Dean-o to come looking for his stupid, lost little brother?" Concern flashed through Sam as he thought about Dean trying to navigate this swampy mess on crutches. He couldn't let that happen. He pulled his phone out, but it wouldn't turn out. Probably waterlogged, he thought with a heavy sigh. Despite the pain and fatigue pulling at him, he urged himself onward. He picked a direction and prayed he'd hit a road eventually.
Periodically he stopped to rest, especially after he spent fifteen minutes freeing his boot from a particularly deep mud pit. At one point, he had the sensation he was sinking and was being swallowed up by the ground. Lucifer had darkly reminded him of when the earth had closed up above them in Stull Cemetery. The wind and the screams dragged him down. He frantically scrabbled at the slippery mud, desperate for a grip on something. Anything not to go back to the cage. He'd managed to grab a branch and pull himself out. He leaned against a tree as he gasped for air, then felt stupid as he realized that only his boot had been stuck. Lucifer teased him about it for the next ten minutes.
Faint lights glinted in the trees and Sam hoped against hope that it was from a passing car. He staggered towards the spot, ignoring the way his feet sunk into piles of human flesh ground like hamburger, vomit-decorated mud, or any other delightful concoction Lucifer devised to slow his travel. The rain escalated to a heavy downpour and he struggled even more to maintain his footing. At random, tentacles of earth would reach up and grab his limbs, dragging him down into the mire. He was slower to get up every time. He reached the road and he fell to his knees. For a second he fought the urge then gave in and kissed the road. He'd never been happier to see pavement. He just wanted to be back at the cabin. He'd stopped being able to tell if the cold was from the rain or Lucifer's caresses about twenty minutes ago. Thanking whatever lucky stars he had left, he recognized where he was. He hauled himself up the road towards his refuge, his nails sunken into his palm to keep the devil at bay.
Bobby was unloading groceries as Sam approached. He saw Sam and waited on the porch, bags in his arms. Sam picked up his pace despite his exhaustion.
"The hell you been?" he asked gruffly once Sam was about ten feet away. Judging by the frown on his face, Sam figured he'd already been inside and heard about their spat.
"I—I needed some space," Sam replied weakly.
"Boy, did you really just ditch your brother, your crippled brother, in this cabin while you went and threw a tantrum?" Bobby's tone was severe and Sam didn't dare meet his gaze. "What if something had happened while you were out moping? It's not like he can drive himself to the hospital. He coulda died all because you're too busy feeling sorry yourself!"
Sam ducked his head in shame. "He could have called me if anything went wrong…" he replied quietly but defensively, not willing to accept total blame but not wanting to incur Bobby's wrath.
"He can't call you if your phone's dead, ya idjit." Oh, right… Sam remembered.
"Sorry, Bobby," Sam said, meaning it.
"I'm not the one you need to say sorry to! The brother you abandoned would sure like to hear it! The brother you shouted at when he was just trying to help you would like to hear it. You're not the only one suffering here, Sam. Stop being so damn selfish for once."
Sam shrunk into himself and wished he could disappear. But Bobby was right. He was being selfish. Dean had broken his leg. Bobby had lost his house.
"You stay out here and think about what you've done. Come back in when you're ready to apologize to your brother and grovel for his forgiveness." Bobby stepped inside and slammed the door shut and locked the door, leaving Sam outside on the porch, shivering and miserable. He slid down against the wall and didn't fight the tears that sprung from his tired eyes.
Dean checked his watch again. Sam had been gone for almost four hours. It was beginning to get dark out, and not just from the storm clouds. He understood the kid needed some time to think, but he could do that inside, out of the now pouring rain, and where Dean could keep an eye on him. He dialed Sam's number, ignoring the tension that arose in his jaw when it went straight to voicemail. Either he was yakking to Bobby or his phone was dead. He knew which one was more likely. He sighed and grabbed his crutches, preparing himself for an ill-advised search and rescue mission. He threw a few essentials into a back pack, shrugged on his heaviest coat and boots, then headed towards the door, knowing with every ounce of his being he was going to regret this. He swung the door open and stepped out, looking down to place his crutches securely. He had to do a double take when he heard whimpering.
His brother was huddled against the house, covered in mud and soaked to the bone. Small twigs and leaves were tangled in his hair. Dean almost would have found the wild child appearance comical if it weren't also breaking his heart. He was relieved Sam was back but also very concerned. Sam had his head to his knees and he was sobbing.
"Sam?" Dean asked quietly. When he didn't respond, Dean reached out tentatively and tapped Sam's elbow.
Sam recoiled and looked up. "Dean!" he gasped, surprised. He rose and looked into Dean's eyes earnestly. "I'm — I'm sorry I left like I did, I shouldn't have done that, I'm so sorry."
Dean took a step back, caught of guard by Sam's emotional outburst. He had expected him to be moody or sullen. "Dude, it's alright, I understand. Why the hell are you out here? You're soaked!"
"Bobby said I couldn't come in until I'd thought about what I'd done and how selfish I was."
"Bobby?" Dean arched an eyebrow. "He call you?"
Sam looked confused. "No… He's here… He's inside, right?" Right?
Dean shook his head and Sam let his eyes fall to the floor as he heard Lucifer laugh behind him. "Gotcha again, Sammy-boy!"
Sam clenched his eyes shut and wavered where he stood. Dean steadied him with an outstretched hand. He was disturbed by how cold Sam felt.
"Sam, we need to get you inside."
"Not until I apologize. I shouldn't have said those things and I shouldn't have left. I know this is hard on you, too. I need to be here for you."
Dean bit his lip. "I hear you, I do, and I appreciate it. I'm sorry, too. But that's not important. Inside, now."
"Okay," Sam acquiesced, and Dean felt like Sam was a little kid again, coming in from playing outside. He was definitely as dirty…
"Why are you covered in mud?" Dean queried as they moved inside. Deep red shone on his thighs. "Is that blood? Are you bleeding?" Oh God, did he actually do something stupid?
Sam waved away his attention. "Got stuck in a thorn bush."
Dean wasn't convinced. "How'd that happen?"
Sam looked at him shyly, pretending to focus on shucking off his filthy clothes. "Was running…" he answered quietly.
"From something?" Dean guessed.
Sam turned away and mumbled a response.
"Come again?"
"Hellhound," Sam said. He paused then continued, "wasn't real obviously, but, uh, took me a bit to realize that… I ran and then I got lost." He heard Dean's sigh and he felt ashamed. "I'm sorry, Dean."
"Sam, you've got nothing to be sorry for. You've gone a couple million rounds with the devil and you're still fighting. It's more than I could have asked for, especially now that I understand how bad it is." Sam turned back around and looked up at Dean. He opened his mouth but Dean cut him off. "We'll finish this later. You look terrible. Go take a shower," he gently ordered and Sam silently complied.
Looking in the mirror, Sam carefully pulled the sticks from his hair, ignoring Lucifer's narration of Sam's struggle. Sam brought his leg up to the sink to assess the thorn-induced damage. One still remained lodged in his skin. He pressed in and was rewarded with a Lucifer-free shower for his minor suffering. He flicked the thorn into the trash after his shower. No sooner had the offending object hit the bottom, Lucifer appeared, tut-tutting Sam.
Sam quickly pulled on his clothes and escaped the confined space. Lucifer followed him out of the bathroom, blowing cool air on his bare neck in between various taunts. "I'm still eager to use the Jess skin blindfold tonight, Sam." "Maybe you'd like some lye tattoos instead? I am quite the artiste…" "No, I got it. Let's watch mommy burning in slow-mo!"
"Sam, do you want anything to eat?" Dean asked.
"No," Sam said tightly and strode to the bed purposefully. He tucked himself in into bed, desperate to sleep even though he knew rest would elude him. Despite the warm shower and warm blankets, Sam was still shivering. He knew it had nothing to do with the temperature.
"C'mon, Sam, I know you can hear me. Now whether you want to or not, we're gonna play a little game. It's called 'Sammy has to play nice if he wants to wake up.' Well, I probably should work on the name. Either way, rules are the same. You have to do what I say if you wanna wake up and see big brother again." He sidled up to Sam, who clenched his eyes shut as he felt Lucifer's hands clasp around his neck.
"Ready?" He carefully pressed each finger against Sam's throat.
"Set." He clenched down hard and Sam gasped for air. Lucifer's laugh was the only thing Sam could hold on to as he spiraled down into oblivion.
"Go!"