Tag to Ep 12.09 First Blood. Spoilers through 12.11 Regarding Dean.

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They had escaped. They were free. Dean was just down the hall, presumably sleeping in his room. Mom was safe, off hunting a rugaru in Minnesota. Cas was wandering the bunker. Billie was dead. They were safe. They were free.

No matter how many times Sam repeated this mantra in his head, he could not help but toss and turn on his bed, sleep eluding him, the sounds of his own movement only emphasizing the smallness of the room and his aloneness in it. He sat up abruptly, his breath quickening as it felt like the air was being sucked from the room. He glanced toward the door, almost surprised to not see metal with a slot for the food tray. We escaped. We got out. He reminded himself. But another moment of stillness and he was up and out the door, down the hallway, and into the main rooms, his breath coming quickly as if he had been running. I'm fine, fine! Just couldn't sleep. He tells himself, as he settles into a chair at the map table, turning to stare at the board Cas had assembled in his hunt for Kelly Kline. I'm fine. When Cas wandered in with an offering of coffee at five am he speared Sam with a look, but made no comment, just settled into a discussion of the elusive search.

Dean, for his part, had his music on in his room constantly. Sound seemed to soothe his mind, take him out from the remembered horror of those four walls and 24/7 isolation. He had despaired, toward the end of the time in the box. The thought of never seeing Sammy again, or Mom, or Cas… He shook his head to derail the track his thoughts had headed down, refocusing on the soothing strains of his favorite Zeppelin album. It was pointless to dwell on the past nearly two months lost. Pointless to revisit the confrontation on the bridge with Billie…he was certain Sam had made the deal with the same intention as he had - each had been convinced they would be the one to die. He didn't tell Sam or Billie, of course, but he never would have let Sam be the one to die - not as long as he had breath left. He had not anticipated Mom's interference - though he really should have he supposed - and shuddered at the realization of how close they had come to losing her a second time. That they were all alive and safe was nothing short of a miracle. He shuddered, remembering Billie's dire prediction of "cosmic" consequences for breaking the deal, but knew no amount of anger or frustration would overwrite his inner feelings of relief that none of them had to sacrifice in the end.

It took the better part of a week for Dean to clue into what was going on with his brother. It was subtle. He initially hadn't noticed how Sam always gravitated to his side wherever he was during the day - probably because he himself craved that closeness following so long of a forced separation (though he would never consciously admit it). Then there was the fact that Sam always seemed to need to do 'just another bit of research' or was 'not tired quite yet' when he headed off to bed himself. He had found Sam asleep in the library more than once. The second time it happened he had shaken him awake and sent him to bed, only to find him already up and working when he himself emerged from sleep a short time later.

Now, as he sat at the table opposite his brother, pretending to read but sneaking glances at Sam, who for his part appeared to be engrossed in his reading material, he could see the dark circles around his eyes, and the droop of his shoulders. Sam clearly wasn't sleeping, or at least not well. They had not really spoken about their experiences in solitary…it honestly seemed self explanatory…but Dean wondered if as a result it was proving harder for Sam to move past. He remembered belatedly what he said to Mom on the bridge,

"Mom… that place… there was only one way we were getting out of there, and that wasn't breathing… We were already dead. Being locked in that cell with nothing… I've been to Hell. This was worse."

Sam had been to hell too, and then had also spent the past six plus weeks trapped in isolation. It would mess with anyone's psyche, but no doubt his sensitive brother was more affected by the experience than he would admit. Dean mentally slapped himself for being so focused on getting past and ignoring his own trauma that he missed being there for his brother. He had been angry at Cas, working through that finally as they helped him with the Lily Sunder case. They had then plunged headlong into the mess with the witches and the horrific experience of slowly losing his mind…Dean sat up abruptly at that thought. He had been so wrapped up in his own angst over that latest experience he had not really spared a great deal of thought to how Sam must have felt watching him slowly lose everything that made him, well, him. Musing it over, he remembered how he had felt when Sam had finally succumbed to Lucifer's voice in his head and the deep grief of losing him even while he was physically still there…no WONDER Sam was clingy and not sleeping. Between that and the prison experience, most would be a blubbering mess. Of course he was struggling. And of course, he was stuffing it down and trying to press ahead. Don't have to look far to find who he learned that from, thought Dean, chagrined. Dean gazed again at his "little" brother, truly the strongest man he knew, and wondered how he could help him through this. He didn't want to talk about it, but wondered if Sam needed to.

"What?" Sam's voice startled Dean, so immersed in his thoughts as to be caught staring.

Whoops. After a beat, "How are you doing?" he questioned.

"I'm fine." Sam responded shortly, "You?"

Dean ignored the tone and deflection. "Really?"

"Sure. Why?" Sam was confused by Dean's questioning. In his mind, he was coping just fine. Sure, he wasn't sleeping much, and he had yet to make it through a night in his room. And maybe this last experience, losing Dean in all the ways that mattered, had made him need to be around his brother a bit more, but that was normal, right?

"Nevermind." Dean really didn't know how to help, if he couldn't even get the conversation started. I'll just have to wait for the right opening, I guess. Rising, he resolved to pay closer attention, and push when needed, but to let Sam have his privacy for now. For now. "Goodnight."

"Oh - ok. Goodnight."

Sam watched his brother head down the hall to his bedroom and resisted the almost overwhelming urge to rush after him and not let him out of his sight. Six weeks apart, with no hope of ever seeing one another again. It had been unbearable. Even now it seemed almost too good to be true, like he would awake and find himself back in captivity.. He's just down the hall, silly. You're fine. We're free. We're here, together. He told himself sternly, getting up with feigned confidence, striding down the hallway, and opening the door to his own bedroom. He stalled once more at the entrance, however. What at one time had been warm and inviting, his own private retreat of sorts, was now overshadowed by the four windowless walls and imposing door. Even as he stood there, the cell of his captivity seemed to shimmer in place of the familiar room, and he abruptly whirled and headed instead for the kitchen and a drink.

Surprisingly, instead of seeking his own bed as he had indicated, Dean was already sitting at the kitchen table nursing a beer. What was more surprising was the second beer open and ready for Sam as he entered. I guess he knows me pretty well. Sighing, he slipped onto the bench, tipped the bottle in salute, and took a long swallow before meeting Dean's eyes. As often happened with them, the looks shared held an entire conversation within them - one that should have been held a week ago.

I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again.

I had given up.

I can't believe we didn't have to say goodbye.

I missed you.

I'm so thankful we're both here, together.

This is real, right?

They sat quietly sipping their beers, reveling in the comforting feeling of just being present with each other. Eventually Dean looked up again, staring at the features he knew as well as his own, noting the weariness in the face and hunched shoulders, almost unconsciously protecting his body, and his own face softened.

"Sam." Dean said softly, easily communicating his care and worry in that one word. "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" Sam tried deflection, it had worked before, and if he hadn't been so completely exhausted already it might have worked again. But Dean just regarded him steadily, willing him to share. Instead, Sam swallowed and looked away. He hated feeling weak and needy.

"You need sleep, man. Real sleep, in a real bed. C'mon." He took Sam's arm, and after a moment's resistance Sam reluctantly allowed him to lead him down the hallway toward the bedrooms. He was startled, however, as they paused in front of Dean's room and he was told to "wait." Only a moment passed before Dean emerged again to continue leading him towards his own room, this time however with his arms full of blankets and pillows. Sam felt a sense of gratitude flood through him as he realized what his brother was doing for him, and did not even hesitate at the threshold of his room, entering confidently and quietly going about getting ready for bed.

Dean made his own bed on the floor next to his brother's, kicking himself for not thinking of doing this sooner. They had grown up sharing the same space for most of their lives, and it was a no-brainer that the familiar sounds of each other in the room would be soothing to the other. He would rather have teeth pulled than admit it to Sam, but he already knew he would sleep better on the floor tonight than he had in his bed since they had arrived back home.

Leaving the door slightly ajar and the lamp on, both boys climbed under their blankets. Sam scooted to the side of the bed closest to Dean and let his arm naturally drape over the edge to brush his shoulder. Both sighed silently and each felt the tension in their bodies ease at the slight physical connection. Listening to each other, their breaths becoming in sync, both slowly sank into restful slumber, the four windowless walls and one door no longer fearful barriers trapping them, but once again walls of protection holding close and shielding their family as they slept.