Sam had no idea how long he'd been locked in the cell, but he was beginning to lose it a little. The stark white room combined with his white uniform reminded him of when he'd been put in the psychiatric hospital, slowly going insane from hallucinations of Lucifer.

White.

Everything was white.

His clothes, his shoes. The walls. The carpet. The tile. The plastic table and chair. Even the tiny nook that acted as a pantry was painted an ungodly shade of white.

With each passing second, he was growing to hate it more and more. Each day he lay on his (white) cot, silently despising the color. It wasn't even a color! It was the fucking absence of color!

So one morning when he was tired of his stomach trying to eat itself and the constant growling, he fixed himself some cold oatmeal (no way to heat it up). He sneered at the brown slop in the disposable white plastic bowl, with a white plastic spoon.

Irritated, Sam launched the bowl across the room, where it hit the wall and landed on the ground with barely a sound. It wasn't nearly as satisfying as he'd thought it be. At least he'd stained the pristine white carpet, he mused, looking at the oatmeal splattered all over the wall and carpet.

The newly brown carpet.

Toni Bevell stalked into the command center, high heels clacking on the shining linoleum alerting everyone to look up from their monitors and stand at attention.

"We are moving Cellmate #WS-001 to HQ at 0800 hours. Be prepared. Now get back to work."

"Yes Ma'am," they said in unison and went back to watching said cellmate.

"Okay, is everyone ready? Remember the plan?"

"Yes. You and Mary go in ahead of me and get rid of the angel warding, we 'kill as many of those mofos as possible', and we save Sam."

Dean rolled his eyes at Castiel's quoting and rechecked his ammo supply for the tenth time. There was no margin for error on this one, they were getting Sam out or die trying. He saw Mary do the same, body tense and ready for a fight, every inch the hunter she used to be.

"Let's rock and roll."

Sam sighed and rolled over on the bed, hands instinctively moving to rest on the teeny tiny bump of his stomach. Over the few weeks he'd been here, he'd just barely started to pop. He wondered what Dean would think of it. He'd probably tease him about having a beer gut or something, "Packing on the pounds, eh Sammy?" but he'd want to touch it all the time, and he'd probably kiss it and talk to it when he thought Sam was sleeping…

He swallowed the lump in his throat and rolled over, preferring to live in a world where that could happen, fantasy as it was, than the one he was currently stuck in.

Beep Beep

Sam scrambled off the bed and to his feet as a portion of the wall pulled apart to reveal two burly men dressed in military-like clothing. They rushed Sam, each one grabbing one of his arms and pulling them behind his back. One of the men reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. So they were moving him.

The door was still open.

Sam smirked.

He'd been waiting for this.

While the guy on his right was still fumbling with the handcuffs Sam subtlely turned towards his left and kicked out with both feet, kicking Goon #1 in the face so that he stumbled back and hit his head against the headboard of the bed on the way down.

"Backup! We need Ba-" Goon #2 yelled, until Sam punched him in the face, knocking him out and his breaking his nose in the process.

Beep Beep

The wall, or door within a wall or whatever the fuck it was, was closing. Shit! Sam dashed for the door, trying to pry it open just a little more so that he could slip through. A sweet smell suddenly filled the room, assaulting his nose with its sickingly sweet smell, so sweet it was sharp. Fuck, they were gassing him out. He tried to hold his breath, but his body was so heavy and—

Surprisingly, the building wasn't heavily guarded.

Dean entered from the front entrance and Mary from the back, just a simple four-digit code that they easily got from observing a couple member come and go was all they needed. Upon gaining access to the building Dean grabbed the first sucker he saw, making coffee in what appeared to be a break room or something, and put his very loaded gun against his head.

"Okay, this is how it's going to go. You are going to tell me where my brother is, within the next five seconds, and maybe, just maybe, I don't blow your brains out. Sound good?" Slowly, he removed his hand from over the guys mouth.

"D-D-Dean Win-Winchester? They said you'd come."

"Two seconds," Dean growled.

"South Wing, Cell #145."

"Good answer." Dean slammed the butt of his gun against his head and the goon fell limp to the floor.

The Men of Letters British Chapter was more accommodating than he'd anticipated, with handy signs on the walls showing him exactly where he needed to go. How helpful! Along the way he broke any anti-angel sigils he found, usually on the wall or the floor. If everything went to plan, Mary would be doing the same and Castiel would be able to get inside the building any minute. When they didn't quite know what they were going up against, having an angel on your side could be mighty useful.

"Who the hell are you?" A deep voice yelled from behind him.

"Well, you see, I'm-" He whipped around and shot the goon point-blank in the chest.

They took Sam.

There was no room for mercy.

Every goon unfortunate enough to get in his way met with the same fate. Thankfully the silencer on his gun did its job, but he bet any second now reinforcement would come knocking on the door. There had to be security cameras all over the place.

"Dean."

Castiel appeared in front of Dean, causing him to fire his gun, Castiel dodging out of the way.

"Dammit Cas! You're making me waste bullets!"

"Where is Sam?"

"If the goon I caught and interrogated is to be believed, South Wing Cell #145."

Dean blinked and suddenly the angel was gone. "Cas what?-"

"Found him," Castiel said, appearing before Dean again and placing a finger on his forehead. Dean's stomach churned and suddenly he was in front of… a wall?

"There's nothing here, Cas? What the hell?"

"Sam is behind this wall. I'll get rid of it." Castiel's eyes glowed a shocking blue and the right side of the wall exploded.

"Nice," Dean grinned.

WEEEEEE WOOOOO WEEEEEEE WOOOOOOO WEEEEEEE WOOOOOO

"What the hell kind of alarm is that?" Dean grumbled as he stepped through the smoke and rumble and into the room where Sam supposedly was. Either way, it meant their time was up. "Sam? Sam?" Dean looked around the dark room and almost didn't see Sam sprawled on the floor against the wall, mere inches away from the blast.

"SAM!" Dean ran to his brother and gently turned him over, checking for injuries. He found none, but the slight swell to Sam's stomach had him blinking back tears. The baby. He'd almost forgotten about the baby. Was the baby going to be okay? Sam appeared to only be sleeping, there was a sickeningly sweet smell in the air that might have something to do with that. But what if they'd done things to Sam he couldn't see? He held Sam in his arms and stroked his hair. "Hey Sammy, I'm here. I got you. It's okay." The tightness in his chest that had been there since the moment he'd stepped foot into the Bunker and seen a puddle of blood and no little brother, released.

He could finally breathe again.

"Dean, I hate to break apart this touching reunion, but we need to go." He tore his gaze away from Sam and looked up, hearing the thumping of many pairs of boots heading in their direction.

"Right. Where's Mom?"

"Right here. How's Sam?" Mary said, walking into the room at a fast pace, but stopping in her tracks at the sight of her youngest son. She sucked in a sharp breath and simply stood there holding it in for several moments before letting it out in a shaky exhale. She moved forward on equally shaky legs, as if she wasn't sure they could support her weight. She dropped to her knees to be level with Dean, gaze never leaving Sam's face.

"This… This is my baby?" Mary murmured. She swallowed heavily and reached out a hand tentatively, only to pull it back, like she was afraid.

"It's okay, Mom." Dean said quietly.

With trembling hands, Mary reached out again and touched her son for the first time in over twenty years. She traced the line of his jaw and stroked his hair, surprisingly soft. "He looks like your father," she said, and Dean saw that she was crying.

"We need to go NOW." Castiel barked.

"Right. Upsy daisy, Sammy boy," Dean shifted Sam in his arms and attempted to pick him up, only to almost collapse under his weight. "Holy shit, what the hell have they been feeding you?" The baby, that's right, the extra weight was because of the baby, even if Sam's face looked a lot thinner than he remembered, he'd still gained a little baby weight. And he didn't want to do a fireman's carry precisely because of the baby…

Grunting and muscles straining, Dean picked Sam up again and made it to his feet this time (even if his legs were shaking).

"Dean, let me-"

"I got him, I got him," Dean growled. He didn't want to lose contact with Sam right now, couldn't bare to. "Just. Take us back to the car. Now."

Castiel laid a hand on both Mary and Dean's shoulders and there they were, mere inches from the Impala.

"Bout damn time," Dean muttered. Castiel saw him struggling to hold on to Sam's weight and hurriedly opened the door, Dean gently laying Sam down on the bench seat as best he could. "Someone's obviously going to have sit back there with him, keep an eye on him. I-"

"I'll do it," Mary volunteered, already climbing into the car and placing Sam's head in her lap with utmost care.

"But…" Dean should be the one comforting him right now. Sam needed him. What if he woke to find his head in his dead mother's lap? That was the kind of mindfuck that could seriously screw him up and bring back memories.

"Dean, we don't have time for this," Mary said firmly, and okay, that was a Mom Voice if he'd ever heard one. But she was right, they needed to get the hell out of dodge. Dean started the car, shifted gear, and put the pedal to the floor.

Thank god (well, Chuck) that the Men of Letters hadn't left the county yet. He couldn't imagine a plane ride while feeling this stressed and panicked, and without Sam there to calm him down.

In the rearview mirror, Dean saw Mary tenderly stroking Sam's hair.

The drive home took nine hours and three bathroom/snack breaks. Sam didn't make a peep through any of it.

Again Dean refused to let anyone else help him carry Sam inside. He placed Sam in his own room, deciding it would be easier (and he didn't think he could stand to be separated from his brother for a second longer). That wasn't that weird, right? Right?

Thankfully everyone agreed that it was best to just let Sam sleep it off and not crowd him, so everyone left them alone. Try as he might, after six hours of keeping watch, Dean couldn't stop himself from falling asleep in the chair by Sam's bedside.

The shifting of bed covers woke him up.

Dean's eyes snapped open, prepared for a threat. Instead he saw Sam shifting around in the bed, making little noises that Dean had always thought made him sound like a cute little puppy. Sam did this whenever he was waking up from a particularly deep sleep. Dean guessed he had about… ten seconds until Sam opened his eyes.

Right on the dot, Sam blinked and opened bleary eyes. Wanting to be the first thing he saw, Dean hovered over him.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said quietly, a small smirk on his face. How happy would Sam be to see him? Chuck knew Dean's own heart was threatening to jump out of his chest at finally, finally seeing his brother's hazel eyes again. He could spend hours just staring into them, mapping out every color, and promised to do that soon as they got the chance. They saved the world again, they deserved a break didn't they?

But Sam didn't smile, or cry, or throw himself into Dean's arms or do any of the things Dean expected.

He didn't say anything.

He ignored Dean.

He looked away, as if he hadn't even seen him.

"Sammy? What's wrong? We're home, we're at the Bunker. It's okay, I got you out." Dean whispered, knowing Sam didn't like loud noises when he wasn't feeling well. He reached out a hand and placed it on Sam's shoulder—

Sam let out a sharp gasp and backed away as far he could from Dean. Still, he refused to look at Dean.

"Okay, okay, no touching. Got it. Sam, it's me. Dean. Talk to me. Are you hurt?" Dean threw up his hands in a nonthreatening gesture and backed away a little himself, not wanting to scare Sam. Something was obviously wrong, and alarm bells were going off in his head.

Sam continued to pretend he didn't exist and peered around the room with a frighteningly blank expression. His eyes looked… dead.

"Sam, you're scaring me. Please say something."

Instead Sam got off the bed and stumbled on shaky legs towards the door. He didn't make it far, legs giving out beneath him halfway there, and still Sam didn't so much as utter a peep or even change his expression. His face was just blank. So blank. Luckily Dean was there to catch him, but when he did, Sam immediately started thrashing around to get away.

"Sam, calm down! It's me! It's Dean, okay, it's me, it's Dean." Dean held on through Sam's weak attempts at escape, murmuring in his ear 'it's okay, big brother's here, big brother's here.' After about a minute he heard Sam mumbling something back. It took another moment for him to realize what it was.

"It's not real, not real, not real, not real."

"Oh Sammy. Baby," Dean kissed Sam's forehead and ignored Sam's renewed thrashing. "This is real, I'm real, it's all real. I'm really here with you. I got you out, okay? I got you out." It wasn't easy, but it wasn't as hard as it should have been to pry open Sam's fist and find the slightly raised crescent-shaped scar on his palm and put pressure on it. As much pressure as he could without breaking the skin enough to bleed.

Sam gasped and practically went limp, breath coming short and fast. But he let Dean do it. And for the first time, he looked at Dean. The zombie-like look in his eyes was gone, with replaced with the dewy puppy eyes of the boy he raised.

"D-De?" Sam whispered.

"Hey, Baby Boy. It's me. It's okay, I'm here, I got you out, I got you out Baby, Shhhhhh," he cooed. Normally he wouldn't do this, but when his little brother threw himself into his arms and sobbed into his neck, arms wrapped around him like a vice, how could he not?

Eventually, when Sam calmed down, Dean carried Sam back to bed and laid down with him, wrapping Sam up in his arms. As usual Sam did his octopus routine, entangling his limbs with Dean's, but this time there was a desperation to Sam's clinging that broke Dean's heart. He could hear his little brother's heart beating, fast and anxious.

Quietly, Dean started to hum a nameless tune.

Almost instantly he could feel the tension leave Sam's body. Sam's breathes evened out where his face was buried in Dean's neck. Just before he drifted off to sleep, he murmured, "Hey Dean?"

"Hmmm?"

"Is someone else here? Besides Cas?"

Dean chuckled. "Psychic Boy makes a comeback, eh?"

Sam merely grunted in response. They both knew it was a lifetime of hunter's training and instincts that had alerted Sam's subconscious that someone else was in the Bunker.

"But yeah, someone else is here."

"Wh's it?" Sam slurred, already half asleep.

"A friend."

"Mkay."

"Goodnight, Bitch."

" 'Night Jerk."