A/N Believe it or not, I planned on having this up in July but it always takes me longer than I think it's going to, lol. I apologize in advance, this is going to be shorter than some of my stories have been recently (just three measly chapters, and why it was supposed to be up in July...) but I am working on something longer as well so not all this time has been wasted. Also, yes, the title did come from the Imagine Dragons's song by the same title.
As always, I'll update sometime Tuesday, probably Tuesday evening. This is set in Season 7, sometime after Adventures in Babysitting but before Repo Man.
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has stuck with me and is reading. If you feel like it, I would love to hear what you think. :) Thank you again. You all mean the world to me.
Chapter One
Sam hissed sharply as the car bounced over a pothole, and he could feel Dean's eyes dart over to him.
"How's the bleeding?" Dean asked, his grip tightening on the steering wheel that he was already white-knuckling.
"It's fine," Sam insisted, his voice tight. He pressed down harder on the makeshift bandage—it was just his t-shirt wadded up into a ball—that he was holding in place over the circle of deep puncture wounds from a bite that extended from his clavicle and up around his shoulder.
The krosovov, a blood-sucking creature that had a habit of making hikers disappear and then turn up again as nothing more than a pile of clothing and bones, had managed to leave to sink its fang into him before Dean had killed it. The bite hurt like hell and was bleeding like a bitch, but Sam guessed that he could be grateful. The krosovov had been going for his throat—and had come dangerously close to accomplishing its goal if Dean's white, terrified, face had been anything to go off of.
Sam adjusted his grip on the t-shirt, trying to increase the pressure to stop the bleeding. It wasn't working, and he could feel warm blood oozing down his back and his shoulder.
Dean had seen the blood as well. "You sure about that?" he asked as he spared the road a split-second glance.
"Oh, he cares. Isn't that sweet? Just plain adorable." Lucifer popped his head up over the backseat, his lips twisted into a leering grin, but Sam ignored him as he focused on Dean.
"I'm fine," he repeated patiently.
"Sam, that t-shirt—" Dean gestured at it emphatically with one hand, "wasn't red when you put it on this morning, so sue me if I'm a little concerned."
Sam twisted his head to get a better look at the shirt and grimaced. It did look bad, he'd give Dean that, but it really wasn't as bad as he was thinking.
"Dude, as I told you, the Krosovov is known to have a blood thinning agent which it injected into my bloodstream, and why I'm not clotting as quickly as normal. It's not because a major blood vessel was punctured or anything like that."
"And, as I told you, I don't give a damn! Blood is blood is blood, and not clotting is never good." Dean ran a hand back through his hair, and Sam couldn't help but notice that it was trembling slightly.
"I promise you that I'm okay, or at least I will be. This isn't life-threatening, but you crashing the car might be."
Dean muttered something dark under his breath but turned his attention back to the road even as he increased the pressure on the gas pedal.
Shaking his head with only a little exasperation, Sam refolded the shirt in an attempt to find a dryer section. Stilling himself, he reapplied the pressure with a grunt as torn nerve endings protested forcibly.
Bites were the worst, and the krosovov had a lot of damn teeth…
"Do you want me to hold your hand? Will that help?" Lucifer asked as he began to slowly finger-walk along the backseat and then up Sam's shoulder, his fingers mixing with the blood. Sam barely resisted the urge to slap his hand away, taking a deep breath instead.
He had gotten good at ignoring the Devil but that didn't mean that it was easy.
The current car that they were using hadn't been kept in the best condition by its previous owners, and it began to whine as Dean pushed it harder. The whine got progressively louder but Dean didn't seem intent on listening to its complaint as his eyes once again slid over to Sam.
"Next town's only about ten more minutes. There should be a hospital—"
"Motel," Sam broke in bluntly. At Dean's snort, he expounded, "I don't need a hospital. I just need stitches, and you can do that just as good as any doctor I've ever met." Hospitals and Lucifer didn't exactly mix, and they were being hunted by Leviathans. The hospital was a no-go as far as Sam was concerned.
Dean threw him an incredulous look. "Really? Dude, have you seen what you've done to the upholstery? If this was the Impala, I'd have your head."
"I know that I'm not going to start dancing the cha cha, but—Look, okay, I'm…I'm a little dizzy. And nauseated, but that's normal considering the blood loss. I'm not about to pass out and I don't need a transfusion. A hospital will do nothing for me." Sam tried for a smile even as Lucifer squeezed in even closer, his cold breath ghosting across Sam's ear.
"But a hospital would be so much fun. Just imagine all the things we could do…"
"If comforting was what you were going for then you missed the mark," Dean grumbled and Sam sighed, easing the shirt up to check the bleeding again. Fresh blood immediately began to well up and he quickly pressed the shirt back down.
"Just—focus on driving. Is it normal for the car to sound like that?"
"This car is a piece of junk and you know it." Dean rolled his eyes before bringing them back to the topic on hand. "Now, please just be honest. Do you need a hospital?"
"No," Sam said firmly at the same time that Lucifer shook a finger in Dean's direction.
"See? He's with me. Dean knows how to have a good time, unlike you. I honestly thought that we had pulled that stick out of your ass years ago. Maybe going to the hospital will help with that. I mean, it's not like we didn't have fun the last time we were at a hospital, right? What with dear old Bobby and—"
Sam pressed down viciously on the bite and almost managed to bite off a strangled sound of pain, but it did the job. Lucifer flickered out, leaving him and Dean alone in the less-than-adequate car.
Dean's head had snapped to the side, his face pinched in the look that he got whenever he thought Lucifer was present. His lips pursed into a tight frown but then he turned his attention back to the road, but he didn't ask.
Dean didn't ask about Lucifer anymore, and Sam preferred it that way. It made it easier to know that Lucifer wasn't there if Dean didn't acknowledge it. It helped Sam to remember that it was all in his head, that he was, for all intents and purposes, crazy.
"No hospital," he reasoned again more to stop Dean from thinking about Lucifer than anything else. "We don't have that much money, the Leviathans are on our asses, and it's really not bad enough for a hospital. I just need some stitches."
"Stitches and maybe a pint of blood." Dean shook his head, clenching the steering wheel before loosening his grip. He didn't even make it a minute before insisting pointedly, "I don't like this, Sammy. It shouldn't still be bleeding that much, this isn't normal."
"No, but the Krosovov can't exactly be found in the zoo either. You can handle this," Sam insisted patiently. He glanced out the window and caught sight of Lucifer's reflection grinning slyly at him as he picked at what looked to be bloody clumps of hair and flesh from the lining of the seats.
The pain hadn't kept him away long, which was slowly becoming a more frequent issue. The old tricks just weren't working as well as they used to, and that scared Sam to his very core.
Lucifer began to lick his fingers and Sam's stomach turned over alarmingly. Closing his eyes, he swallowed back a gag, and then looked over at Dean instead, his first defense against the Devil. Dean sat there with his jaw clenched as he stared down the dark road like it had personally offended him, but he was there.
Real.
Not in his head.
Sam's own frown deepened as he examined him closer.
Last year, Dean wouldn't have gotten so worked up about something like this. But that was before they had lost Cas and the wall in Sam's head had crumbled apart. Before they had lost Bobby. Before Dean had taken one too many hits and decided that a bottle of Jack and anger were easier than trying to face life head-on.
Now Dean was clinging to the only thing he had left and any threat against Sam struck harder and deeper than before.
Not that Sam was doing much better than Dean. Dean was all that he had, and if he lost him, if he lost the only thing really tying him to reality...
A clump of bloody tissue drifted down to land on Sam's lap before Lucifer's cold fingers skated across the back of his neck.
"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, why the long face? I can put on my therapist hat, I can help. I always did in the cage." The hand moved up, petting his hair, and Sam's breath caught.
It wasn't real.
"Finally!" Dean gestured at the sign for the upcoming town and the car began to decelerate as the speed limit dropped. Sam relaxed with it. Soon enough they would be at a motel and out of the car. It was easier when he had something to focus on, something to do besides sit in the car. These days any vehicle they got seemed all too small and claustrophobic.
Dean followed the signs pointing towards lodging and then they were pulling up to stop in front of the first motel they saw. It was small but seemingly well cared for, which was more than Sam could say for some of the places they had been staying recently.
Dean automatically lifted his hand to pull the gearshift down into park before remembering that the gearshift consul was in between the seats rather than by the wheel.
Sam got it. Despite not having had the Impala for months now, these little things still caught both of them off guard.
Putting the car into park, Dean immediately turned and leaned into Sam's space, one hand coming up to cup the back of his neck to keep him in place.
"Dude, seriously?" Sam protested half-heartedly as Dean grabbed his wrist, taking his pulse before checking his temperature. The invasion of his privacy was worth it to see Dean's shoulders relax a little as he found the results acceptable. "See, I told you. It looks worse than it is."
"Yeah, well, you look like an extra in a horror movie." Dean leaned further into his space as he popped open the glove box and Sam shuffled his legs to the side to make room. Grabbing a manila envelope there, Dean dug through it, pulling out a new credit card with a matching ID.
"You've got blood on your face and your shirt," Sam remarked, staring at the dark spots dotting his brother's cheek. It was all over his shirts and some of it had made it onto his jeans. Dean straightened and scrubbed his sleeve across his face before tugging his flannel shirt off and snatching up his jacket instead and shrugging it on.
"There, happy?"
Sam twisted his head, looking at him more critically and nodding. "You got most of it."
Dean didn't respond as he got out and strode into the office, leaving Sam alone. Not that he was ever really alone anymore.
Sure enough, Lucifer, who had filled the vacated driver's seat, turned conversationally towards Sam.
"You know, if your Dad was still alive, he'd tell you that if you were half the hunter that Dean was, you would have made it out without a scratch." He smirked, but his eyes had that cold fury in them that made Sam's insides go cold. "Maybe you should take up another profession. Not that law went exactly well for you—poor Jessica—but what about…I dunno. A janitor? I don't think that you could screw that up, although to be fair you did a pretty piss-poor job of cleaning up your mess after you let me out. Not that I was complaining. It just endeared you to me more. I accept you for who you are. Warts and all."
Sam gritted his teeth. His right hand was busy applying pressure but he curled his left up into a fist, trying to dig his fingernails into the scar there.
Lucifer smirked as he lounged back, undeterred. "And, I mean, I think that they still kind of hate you for letting me out. Just think of how different it would have been if you had just listened to Dean. The apocalypse wouldn't have happened and then Cas never would have had to play sheriff and if he hadn't had to do that, if he hadn't felt forced to look for purgatory, then guess who would still be alive?"
This was all in his head, he didn't have to believe it.
"Cas. Cas and Bobby, that's who." Lucifer's lips drew into an exaggerated pout. "If we wait long enough, then big brother can probably be added to the list. He's going to get himself killed in that hunt for Dick Roman—and you know it. Then it will be just you and me. Forever." He leered at Sam, running his tongue along his bottom lip.
Sam twisted, looking pointedly out the window and towards the office. What was taking Dean so goddamned long? There couldn't be a line in there, it was almost one in the morning.
Lucifer scooted closer to him, now leaning on the consul but Sam kept his focus on the door. "It will be just like the good old days. Boy, I miss those times. Don't you? Maybe we can do it all again. Tonight, while Dean's sleeping. I've got a knife that would just—"
Sam had enough. Now that Dean wasn't present to witness, he increased the pressure on his shoulder until tears were welling up in his eyes. Grunting, he let the pain flow deeper, letting it ground him.
It left him panting and sweating, but the driver's seat was empty when he glanced over.
It wasn't long after that the small bell attached to the door rang as Dean opened it and Sam breathed deeper. It was easiest when Dean was around even if Lucifer was gone.
"You get a room?" Sam asked as Dean slid in and tried not to let the pain that he was now in enter his voice.
Dean instantly glanced up, giving him that suspicious look again.
"Yeah," he said slowly, scrutinizing Sam. "Got us two nights, that should give you some time to rest up and heal."
"We can see in the morning how I feel and go from there."
Neither of them did very well with forced relaxation at the moment. It gave Dean too much time to think and Lucifer too much time to play.
Dean blew out a tired sigh even as he moved to start the car. "Dude, you're bleeding out all over this piece of junk and have been for the past half-hour. You look like a strong breeze could knock you over, so I think we'll need another day. If you aren't going to the hospital, then give me this."
Sam grimaced but didn't bother arguing at the moment. It would be easier to convince Dean in the morning when Sam wasn't covered in blood and the fear of what could have been was far too close. In the morning, Dean would be forced to confront his own demons and then he might be more willing to side with Sam.
Locating their room, Dean parked and got out, hurrying around to Sam's door and pulling it open before Sam could. He offered him his hand as Sam swung his legs out and he awkwardly accepted Dean's outstretched hand with his left as he used his right to continue to add pressure.
"Alright, here we go." Dean moved in closer, sliding an arm around his back before pulling Sam upright.
Sam groaned softly, tightening his grip on Dean to stay steady as the world turned slowly around him, making him feel like the ground was unsteady underneath his feet.
Dean gave him a moment to get his bearings and then began to move them forward. "Let me remind you that I did offer a hospital."
Sam ignored him, keeping his eyes half-closed to try and combat the lightheadiness. He was starting to feel more than a little faint now that he was standing and his blood pressure had dropped.
Maybe Dean had a point in being concerned, but he wasn't about to admit it now.
Dean fumbled open the door to their room and dragged Sam straight over to the small table in the corner.
Grabbing the chair, Dean pulled it out and Sam sat down hard with a grunt.
Dean crouched next to him, still lightly holding onto him in case he tipped over. "You still with me?"
"I'm good, man. I'll let you know if I'm about to pass out." Sam knew that his words were slurring a little and he tried to steady himself against the table, smiling at Dean.
Dean didn't return the smile, instead looking more worried as he reached up, pushing Sam's damp bangs off of his face for him. "I've got to go grab the first-aid kit. Yell if you need anything."
Sam nodded and Dean shook his head as slowly let go of Sam. Assured that he wasn't about to fall over, he headed back for the door, stopping only to flick on the lights and close the blinds.
It only took a couple of minutes for Dean to gather and bring everything they would need inside, and then compile it on the table. The last item that he added was the flask that had been his constant companion for weeks now.
"You still doing okay?" he asked as he shrugged out of his coat, tossing it aside and onto the back of one of the chairs. Sam nodded again. "Good. I'm going to go wash up, be right back." He disappeared into the bathroom but he left the door open, probably so that he could keep one eye on Sam.
As the sounds of running water reached him, Sam slid his left hand across the table and flipped open the first-aid kit. He left bloody fingerprints behind, but they just joined previous ones that were scattered periodically across the kit. One-handedly, he began to dig out what Dean would need and laid it neatly out across the table.
His hands were shaking worse than before and his shoulder sent deep spikes of pain through him with every movement, but he left the painkillers in the kit. He'd decided long ago that the last thing that he needed while hallucinating Lucifer was to be high, and had been turning down strong medication for months now. As if to reinforce his stance, Lucifer sauntered over, a very large needle in his hands.
"Do you think that this will be big enough?"
Dean returned, his hands and arms still wet, and kicked the second chair over so that he was right next to Sam. Grabbing the flask, he unscrewed the top and took a couple of deep swallows.
Sam tried not to notice how Dean's shoulders relaxed as the slight trembling in his hands eased.
"You want some?" Dean asked casually, giving Sam an easier smile as he raised the flask. Sam shook his head. "Dude, c'mon. It'll help. I know that you're not going to take pain meds, but you need something." Dean shook it at him and Sam hesitated.
He had the same running theory about alcohol as he did drugs, and tried to avoid anything stronger than beer…but the pain was strong and he wasn't going to take more than a shot's worth. He wasn't going to get drunk, just take the edge off the pain.
Reaching out, Sam took the flask and knocked it back, relishing in the burn, before handing it back.
"That's enough," he insisted when Dean tried to hand it back.
Dean shrugged and took another sip for himself before setting it aside and grabbing the hydrogen peroxide that Sam had pulled out. "You sure you don't want anything stronger? This is going to suck ass," he asked as he fumbled the cap off.
"No," Sam said firmly and Dean got that pinched look again.
"Fine. But don't start crying if you change your mind. I gave you plenty of chances."
Grabbing one of the towels from the collection that he had taken from the bathroom, Dean positioned it underneath Sam's arm on the table, allowing him to rest his elbow on it. "Okay. You ready?"
"Yeah." Sam gripped the arm of the chair tightly with his right arm while he curled up his left hand into a fist in preparation for the pain. Lucifer stared at him from the side, watching with a look that set Sam's teeth on edge. Blowing out a short puff of air, he nodded. "Yeah, I'm ready."
"Okay, here we go…" Dean pulled the material completely away and Sam clenched his jaw. "Son of a bitch," Dean muttered under his breath and Sam glanced down. Fresh blood was already welling up from the punctures.
Without hesitating, Dean began to liberally pour the peroxide over the wounds and Sam sucked in a deeper breath, going rigid as the pain flared bright and hot. Blowing it out, he sucked another one in as the now pink and foaming peroxide began to run down his back and sides, staining the towel and his jeans.
Dean continued to pour, his face creased in concentration.
Grunting, Sam tipped his head back as the burn intensified and his hand flexed around the arm of the chair as he fought against the instinct to escape the source of the pain. He was feeling both hot and cold as his body tried to stave off the shock and the nausea was intensifying.
"Easy, easy, that part's done. Keep breathing nice and easy…" Dean coached as he set aside the bottle and snagged a hand towel, patting the skin dry. Sam let out a strangled gasp and then sucked in another breath. This time, he forced himself to let it out slowly as he glanced down.
Fresh blood was already starting to bloom out of some of the deeper wounds.
"Can you…" Dean held out the hand towel.
"Yeah, got it." Sam pried his hand free from the chair and took the towel. He held it in place over the bite, trying to add pressure again.
Dean grabbed the prepared sutures, and Sam looked away as the needle glinted in the light. Taking another measured breath, he readied himself for the next part.
At least the fiery pain had sent Lucifer away, and he was likely to stay gone with what was coming.
When Dean was ready, Sam pulled part of the towel back, allowing Dean space to work in small sections while still keeping pressure as best as he could on the rest of the injury.
"The bastard got you good," Dean commented as he worked.
Sam clenched his jaw as the needle pierced his skin, but replied through gritted teeth. "Yeah, well, next time I won't be so quick to get between you and a monster." Sam's words ended with a hiss and he fluttered his eyes shut for a moment, his jaw clenching as he worked through the pain.
Dean didn't stop, pushing the needle through flesh even as he said absently, "The krosauvy or whatever you called it went after me first because it thought you were just another tree. Freakin' giant."
Sam didn't honor that with a response, his focus now on holding the towel in place and not throwing up.
They worked in silence for several minutes, Sam shakily lifting the towel when Dean prompted him to. The pain was biting sharper each time the needle pierced tender flesh and Sam was feeling increasingly overheated and ill. The needle sank into his skin again and Sam closed his eyes, swallowing back the wave of queasiness that came with it. The hot flash only got worse as the room started to get fuzzy and he tightened his grip on the towel.
He was fine, he just had to hold on for a little bit longer. He could do that. Dean would be done soon.
"You okay?" Dean asked quietly, glancing up from the stitch that he was tying off. Sam nodded tightly, not trusting himself to open his mouth. "You sure? You're looking kinda pale. We can stop for a minute."
Sam shook his head and took a deeper breath. Counting to three, he let it out slowly. That wasn't helping. Closing his eyes wasn't doing much to combat the increased dizziness either and he could feel a cold sweat making its way down his back as another stitch was put into place.
Dean shifted positions, moving around to get to the worst of the puncture wounds along his clavicle. "Sit up a little," he requested and Sam grimaced but forced himself up. The new position didn't do anything for how miserable he was feeling and a moment later his stomach was churning and threatening to push its way up his throat. Barely managing to swallow back a gag, he abruptly bent forward again. Dropping the towel, he braced his head in his hand as he gritted out, "Hold on, hold up, stop—"
Dean instantly backed off, his hands held up and away from him. Sam closed his eyes and focused on not throwing up. Through the rushing of blood in his ears, he heard the sounds of the flask being unscrewed.
Really, Dean? He thought harshly but then the flask was being thrust in front of his nose.
"Drink, it will help," Dean ordered. When Sam didn't respond, he shook it pointedly. "I promise, it will help. C'mon."
Lucifer was gone for the moment, and he wasn't likely to be returning. Not with Dean right by and the amount of pain that Sam was in…he could risk a little more. It wouldn't hurt.
Sam swallowed hard and slowly reached out, taking it. The flask was almost empty, and he had to tip it up to get the mouthful or so that remained. Dean nodded in approval and then moved over to the AC unit, flicking it on.
"You're sweating worse than a stripper in church," he commented as he accepted the flask back.
Sam dropped his head again, still working through the nausea and not caring to comment. Dean sighed but returned to the bathroom. He came back out with a damp, cold, washcloth that he laid on the back of Sam's neck before picking up the bloody towel from the floor. He resumed applying pressure and they fell silent, waiting.
Sam's leg bounced up and down as he tried to combat the symptoms, but the cool air starting to circulate the room, the damp cloth, and the break seemed to be helping. When he felt a little better, Sam slowly straightened.
Taking that as his sign to continue, Dean gestured at the towel that he was holding in place and Sam took over again.
"We're almost done," Dean said sympathetically as he moved in closer, his gaze focused on his stitches.
Sam took it for the cold comfort that it was.
By the time that Dean finished, the nausea was returning with a vengeance and everything had taken on an unreal, hazy, quality. It felt a little like Sam had disconnected from his body.
Dean, who was now quickly and efficiently wrapping gauze around the wounds, seemed to understand.
"You want the sling?" he asked, enunciating his words more than normal as he taped the last piece down. Sam glanced over at him, only one eye open to ward off the dizziness and the other hand braced against his head.
"Nah. I'm just going to sleep for the next few hours. No point in it."
"Sleep is probably a good idea." Dean wiped his hands clean off on his already bloodied shirt and then reached down to press two fingers against Sam's pulse point. He frowned a little. "Are you feeling shocky? That was a lot of blood you lost."
"No—not exactly. I just don't feel super great right now," Sam said, straightening again and regretting it almost immediately as his stomach lurched. He slumped back forward, breathing out slowly through his mouth. And maybe he was feeling a little shocky…
Dean snorted at that. Digging a bottle of water out of his duffle, he passed it to Sam. "Hydrate," he instructed. While Sam sipped at the water, Dean soaked one of the spare washcloths and began to scrub the blood off his skin, starting at his shoulder and working down his arm.
Sam let Dean work in silence, not even feeling up to conversation.
"Well, it's not great but it will work for now," Dean said when he at last deemed Sam presentable enough and tossed the now bloodied and stained rag away.
"Thanks." Biting off a groan, Sam pulled his bad arm in closer to his body with a wince and braced his elbow with his right hand. He could feel every single stitch with each movement that he took.
"You sure you don't want the sling?"
"Yeah." Taking another deep breath, he eased himself upright with the help of the table.
The room shifted, looming up in Sam's face and then shrinking again, and he stumbled back a step, trying to right the world. Dean's hand closed around Sam's arm, a rock in the shifting storm.
"Right. You're so fine." Dean rolled his eyes but helped Sam walk the couple of feet to the bed. Once he was sitting, Sam immediately tipped over onto his side with a low groan, still clutching his arm to his chest. Closing his eyes, he was ready to be done with the waking world when Dean tapped him on the thigh.
"Dude, your jeans are filthy. C'mon, then you can sleep."
Sam slit his eyes open to see Dean holding up a pair of sweatpants. That seemed like a lot of work at the moment…but Sam was mostly fine. If he was fine, then he should be able to put on a damn pair of pants by himself.
With a low groan, he pushed himself upright and began to shimmy his jeans off one-handed. Getting the sweats on was a feat that left him breathless and as soon as he had finished, he slumped back over, pushing his face into the pillow even though it smelled faintly like cigarette smoke.
Dean, who had been putting up the various wards and protections while Sam struggled with the clothing, looked over long enough to ensure that Sam was fine before continuing his work. Sam watched him through his eyelashes, noting that all too soon Dean's movements became less calm and more like controlled agitation.
"You want food?" Dean asked after only a couple minutes of restless wandering but didn't wait for Sam's reply. "You need to eat something. I'm going to go see if we have any more of those Oreos left over from when the Vetala snacked on you. Seriously, what is it with everyone wanting to take a chunk out of you recently?"
Sam didn't even try with their usual jesting. "I don't think that there are any Oreos left," he mumbled, trying to shove his face further into the pillow. God, he really didn't feel good.
Dean made a dissatisfied sound. "You need to eat, otherwise you are going to feel even worse in the morning. I'm going to do a supply run."
"It's—" Sam squinted at the clock, but his vision was blurry and he couldn't read the red numbers. "It's late. Or early. Nothing's going to be open."
"There's always somewhere open," Dean insisted and Sam saw his eyes slide over to his flask.
That's right, Sam had finished it off. Sam's stomach turned over and he raised his head, examining Dean more critically. His brother was determinedly not meeting Sam's eyes.
Dean needed a drink.
Sam dropped his head back down even as his heart sank at the realization but he wasn't going to point it out. "You're still covered in blood. People are going to notice."
Dean glanced down at himself, looking almost surprised, and then scoffed a laugh to cover it. "That's what showers are for, Sammy."
Sam closed his eyes, too exhausted to argue. It wasn't like it mattered what he said or did anyway, Dean did what he wanted to do regardless of what Sam thought these days. Sam, apparently, couldn't be trusted as much with Lucifer being a backseat driver.
A couple of minutes later the shower started to run, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut tighter, feeling increasingly desperate to escape reality and let unconsciousness claim him.
It was completely dark when he gasped himself awake sometime later. The flashes of hellfire had his heart beating furiously even as he tried to let the terror go. For several long moments, he just laid there, gasping and hoping that he hadn't cried out and woken his brother. There was no sound from the opposite bed, so maybe he hadn't.
In fact, the room was almost too quiet. Sam's fears turned away from the memory of torture and the cage to Dean being in trouble. Even if Dean had left to go get supplies, he should be back by now, shouldn't he?
Raising his head, Sam winced as his shoulder harshly protested even that movement.
"Go back to sleep, Sammy," Dean said softly from the opposite bed and Sam flinched in surprise, jarring his bad shoulder. Hissing, he waited for the pain to pass and then shoved himself up on one elbow, trying to better make out Dean in the dark. He finally located him sitting with his back against the headboard of his bed and a bottle of what looked to be whiskey in his hand.
"Why you still up?" he asked and Dean shrugged.
"Couldn't sleep. You want anything?"
"No." Sam dropped back down with a low groan as the queasy feeling from earlier returned.
"Then go back to sleep."
Sam shifted, pulling his bad arm in closer. "You should too."
"I will," Dean promised after a beat and Sam wished that he could believe it.
Closing his eyes, he burrowed deeper under the blankets, feeling cold.
He laid awake for a long while, trying not to think about the nightmares that were waiting for him or the feeling that Dean was slipping away from him even though he was right there.
Eventually, though, the mix of pure exhaustion and Dean's steady breathing lolled him back under.
The next time he abruptly jerked awake, it wasn't because of a nightmare but rather his current living hell as cold fingers trailed over his bare skin, closing around his arm.
"Sammy. Sammy, time to wake up. Time to have some fun."
Sam went rigid and found himself unable to move. He couldn't even breathe as the terror froze him in place. Fingers so light that they almost weren't there dragged down his arm to Sam's wrist where they fastened tight enough that he could feel his bones grinding together.
"Sammy…" Lucifer whispered directly in his ear.
Letting his eyes flutter close, Sam clenched his hand into a fist, fighting for control.
It wasn't real. None of it was. Dean was real.
Opening his eyes, Sam blinked through the early morning light that was filtering in through the thin curtains. His shoulder was throbbing in rhythm with his heart as he squinted into the hazy sunlight, seeking his brother.
Dean was sprawled across the other bed, fully clothed but fast asleep. Sam watched him, noting the steady rise and fall of his chest.
"Oh, come on! Don't ignore me! I have so much planned for the day now that you're up!" Lucifer whined, his breath freezing against the bare skin of Sam's neck. Sam swallowed thickly as his stomach rolled. He closed his eyes again, focusing on the feel of the sheets against his skin and the pain.
He wasn't going to freak out. It wasn't real, no matter how real it felt. Today was not going to be a bad day, Sam couldn't have a bad day.
"Do you really think that's going to work? It's not, so might as well just stop. Besides, we don't have time for that kind of nonsense. We already have a full docket for this morning."
It wasn't real.
Sam opened his eyes and tried to look past Lucifer from where he had appeared in between the beds. He had an old and worn baseball bat in his hands that he was tossing causally back and forth, a clear threat of pain to come.
The motion was making Sam feel increasingly nauseated and, swallowing thickly, he ground the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars.
When he opened them, Lucifer was still there. The rest of the room was blurry but Lucifer was oddly clear. Sam's heart skipped a beat and he had to fight the panic off. That didn't mean anything. Lucifer wasn't real. Dean was in the bed across from him, he could hear him snoring. This was just the blood loss.
Dean was real, Lucifer was not. Dean was real, Lucifer was not.
Continuing the mantra in his head, Sam rolled gingerly over, keeping his left arm pressed against his stomach so that his bad shoulder remained still, and went to push himself upright.
His hand landed in something warm and wet.
Sam stiffened as his breathing hitched. He glanced down and saw that he had been lying in a puddle of blood.
Lucifer leaned over, the baseball bat now tucked against his shoulder, before he looked up, his lips curling up into a smirk.
"Looks pretty, doesn't it? Oh, the art that we can create together."
Sam squeezed his eyes shut and looked pointedly away.
It wasn't real.
Sitting up, he swung his legs over the bed. The movement made him lightheaded and he leaned forward, resting his head in one hand. The smell of iron was thicker now, probably from the blood that was coating his hand, but none of this was real, no matter how real it seemed, so it was fine.
He was fine.
Lucifer sat down next to him, the bat still being slung back and forth. Sam couldn't tear his eyes away from the hypnotizing movement and he felt himself swaying back and forth with it. Or maybe that was just the room swaying. Nothing was standing still, nothing felt real...except maybe Lucifer.
He couldn't have a bad day, but Sam was starting to think that he wouldn't have much control over that. Lucifer was the one in control, he wasn't at his best, and he was—
Sam dragged his hands up, curling his fingers into his hair and gripping it at the roots. Today was going to be a good day. It was. The devil wasn't going to control the wheel for long. Dean would be up soon and then Sam would have an easier time focusing.
Of course, then Sam was going to be stuck in a small hotel room all day with a cagey Dean. He was probably going to end up doing more research on Dick Roman, which was just going to make Dean retreat into a bottle and himself even more than he already did, and then—Sam dug the heel of his hand into his eye, providing grounding pressure.
Dean was going to be fine and thus Sam was going to be fine.
They both just had to hold onto the safety rail until Sam figured something out for his brother to help him through the alcoholism and depression that he couldn't seem to escape. He wasn't so sure that he himself was going to make it out of this alive—or at least sane—but Dean…Dean could. Sam just had to figure out something for Dean to live for.
God, their lives were so screwed up right now.
Ben and Lisa weren't an option, not that they probably would have taken Dean back even if he hadn't erased their memories. And now Bobby, Sam's failsafe, wasn't going to be there either.
Part of Sam wanted to be mad at Bobby. Bobby had promised Sam that he would be there if he went completely crazy, that he'd make sure Dean was okay just like he had after Sam had jumped into that pit. Now Bobby had broken that promise. Bobby was dead, and Sam missed him so damn much that—
Sam brought his hand down, covering his mouth as he fought against the well of emotion. Blinking back the tears, Sam took a steadying breath.
Dean continued to snore softly from the other bed and it was so Dean that something inside of Sam loosened.
Lucifer frowned as he scooched closer to Sam so that they were sitting with their hips pressed together. He leaned forward, dinging Sam on the nose. "What do you think Sam? Should we create more art, just like we did back in the cage—" His finger trailed up from Sam's nose to his forehead, "— besides, they do say that art therapy is good for you but we better do it fast. Somehow, I don't see Dean thinking that it's exactly manly. But I won't judge, and look at all the paint we have to work with! We can make something truly beautiful."
Lucifer trailed his hand through the puddle of blood where Sam had been sleeping and then raised it. He pressed it over Sam's bare chest, leaving a sticky handprint behind. "See, this is fun."
Sam tore his gaze away from the gore—it wasn't real— and used the bed for leverage to push himself upright. He staggered, his knees almost giving out, and threw out a hand to catch himself against the wall.
He really should have eaten something last night but late was better than never. Blinking his vision as clear as he could, Sam shakily made his way over to the small fridge, using the wall for support.
The fridge was low to the ground and Sam stared at it for a moment in frustration. Panting lightly, he finally squatted gingerly, using the nearby chair as a brace. That left him with only the use of his bad arm, which he used to pull open the fridge, wincing as the torn muscle and nerve endings protested the movement. He took in the blurry contents. Orange juice. Lots of orange juice. Had Dean bought out the whole orange juice section?
He completely missed the first time that he went to grab a bottle and he gritted his teeth, concentrating. This time managing to grab one, he triumphantly eased himself back upright.
"Oh! You know what might make this little artistic trip more fun?"
Sam focused on the juice, not on Lucifer, and tried to open the bottle with only one hand. It wasn't working and Sam tucked the juice in the crook of his arm to hold it steady.
Lucifer glanced back at Sam, grinning. His fingers were bloody, and he was using them to paint nonsense across the walls. "What if we cut off a body part and used it as well? Don't you think that will give this the touch that it needs? Real artists do that all the time. What do you say? How about a finger or a toe? Maybe even an ear." Lucifer was grinning with amusement and Sam abruptly set the still unopened juice down again and had to fight the sudden urge to get his shoes and go for a run.
That sometimes helped when things got bad. It forced him to focus, to think about nothing but the pavement under his feet and pushing his body to the limit, but this time it wasn't a viable option—he probably wouldn't even manage a walk around the block.
He needed to drink and eat something, get his sugar levels up.
Fumbling for the orange juice again, Sam tried to untwist the cap, but it was stuck tight.
"Oh, here, let me help." Lucifer reached for the orange juice and it took all the control that Sam had not to jerk away from him. There would be no point in moving away from him because none of this was real. Instead, he let Lucifer wrap his hands around his as he continued to attempt to unscrew the lid.
His touch, however unreal, still left Sam feeling chilled to the bone.
Forgoing the orange juice, Sam set it aside on the table, anything to get Lucifer to let go of him, which he did with a smug little grin. He arched his eyebrows suggestively and Sam turned his back on him.
The abrupt motion made his head spin and Sam caught himself on the chair, swallowing thickly as nausea reared its ugly head with a vengeance. He hunched forward, breathing deeply, but it wasn't helping. If he didn't want to throw up on the floor, then he should probably try and make for the bathroom...
The thought only increased the queasiness. Still using the wall for support, Sam hurriedly shuffled towards the bathroom, swallowing back a gag.
Closing the door and locking it behind him, Sam hunched over the sink, trying to take deeper breaths. Lucifer popped in behind him, his fingers red from finger painting with Sam's blood.
Sam was feeling worse by the second and he bent lower, his heart beating rapidly as he broke out in a cold sweat. Swallowing, he shakily fumbled the tap on and splashed cool water over his face. Running a hand back through his hair, he stayed there until he felt a little less like he wasn't about to toss the contents of his stomach if he so much as moved.
Slowly straightening, he blinked the mirror into focus and wished that he hadn't.
He was pale, making the blood that was staining the left side of his face and neck stand out sickeningly.
And there was a lot of blood.
It was smeared across his forehead and was matted in his hair, it stained his chest and side. The bandage around his shoulder was completely soaked through, the gauze saturated and leaking.
…but none of it was real, right?
Frowning, Sam reached up to touch the blood that was drying across his cheek before he thought better of it and grabbed for the counter again. No. It wasn't real. None of this was real, it was all in his head. Dean had stitched him up last night, it was impossible for him to be bleeding like this, wasn't it?
He was just feeling the effects of the night before.
Sam closed his eyes and focused. He had to button this up and get in control again. He couldn't let Lucifer loose to do whatever the hell he wanted, then the game would all be over.
His shoulder was still aching and he focused in on that. That was real, that was reality. That meant that Dean was real.
Taking another deep breath, he turned on the faucet again, splashing more cool water across his face before raising his head to look in the mirror. There would be no blood, it was all in his head.
Only, he was still covered in blood.
Sam stared at it for a long second, unable to believe what he was seeing.
He supposed that he might have popped some of his stitches over the night. He hadn't had his arm in a sling and he might have stretched it funny.
That might also explain how woozy and sick he was feeling.
Grimacing, Sam twisted and began to peel the medical tape off his shoulder, loosening the bandage. If he had, then he was going to have to wake up Dean, and to say that his brother was going to be pissed was an understatement.
Hissing, Sam folded the bandage back, trying to see what damage had been done.
Immediately, maggots and larvae began to swarm out from underneath his skin and the bandage and Sam started back, his heart leaping into his throat. Stumbling against the wall, he swatted frantically at his shoulder but the bugs just kept coming and coming and he couldn't stop them, they had infected him and—
Lucifer's laughter echoed loud throughout the bathroom and then he was right in Sam's face and grabbing him by the throat. He slammed Sam's head back against the wall and held him there. Sam gasped raggedly, clutching at Lucifer's sleeve to try and alleviate the pressure.
"Stop—" he wheezed out as Lucifer squeezed. Sam leaned his head back, trying to breathe. He plucked desperately at Lucifer's sleeve as his eyes rolled back and consciousness threatened to leave him.
When he managed to open his eyes again, he was no longer in the cramped bathroom of a middle-of-nowhere motel, but rather the cage, with hellfire licking up everywhere he could see.
Lucifer's lips quirked up into a smirk as his eyes gleamed red. He squeezed tighter, just to show Sam that he could, and then released him. Sam couldn't keep his feet underneath him and he crumpled to the ground. As soon as he hit the floor, he was scrambling back and pressing himself back into the bars of the cage and trying to make himself small.
Lucifer didn't need to laugh to hold it over him. Sam could see the triumph in his eyes, could see the wicked mirth as he stood over him, looming larger than life as the flames licked around him.
The image of Nick's body crumbled away, revealing Lucifer's true form underneath.
It was something more terrible than Sam would ever be able to put into words. It was seared into his mind, always there, always a reminder—
Sam couldn't tear his eyes away even if he wanted to. Lucifer wouldn't let him, he wanted him to see him how he really was. He wanted to force Sam to remember every single moment of this. He wanted him to know that he was in complete control.
Sam's eyes began to burn, but he couldn't look away.
Lucifer crouched down to be at his level and Sam knew that the real torture was about to begin, this was just to set the scene. He cowered back into the corner, clenching his scarred left hand desperately—
The scar.
Dean had stitched it up, had been there when he'd cut it.
That meant something.
Something important.
It was like a light had been turned back on and Sam's eyes flashed open, revealing the motel bathroom rather than the cage.
He was slouched in the corner next to the tub and his hands were clasped together, his fingers digging into the scar on his palm.
For a long moment, he just sat there, unable to breathe or move.
When his chest started to ache, he managed to wheeze out a gasp. Blood flooded his mouth and, he flinched back, waiting for Lucifer to pull his hands out of his lungs or something just as horrible, before he realized that he had only bitten his lower lip badly, That was where the blood was coming from.
At least it meant that he hadn't cried out. He didn't think he would have even been able to. His muscles and body had gone rigid like he had seized up.
Gasping raggedly and shaking, he slowly bent forward, trying to get his head in between his knees. He tried to force himself to take deeper breaths but it wasn't working and he tightened his grip on his scarred hand. He wasn't in the cage, he didn't think, but he hadn't had a bad flashback like that for a long time now. One so visual and almost real that he could still smell the stench of hell. His eyes pricked with tears. He didn't—he couldn't—the cage and Lucifer, there were no words. Nothing. He couldn't—
Tilting to the side, he had just enough sense of mind to throw up into the bathtub rather than all over himself and then slumped against the side, his head resting against the cool plastic. He couldn't shake the terror that was coursing through him and he couldn't quite seem to be able to catch his breath.
He needed…he didn't know what he needed, but he needed to get out of here.
His hands were slick with sweat and they slipped off the rim of the tub when Sam tried to push himself upright. Not that it would have mattered, he didn't think that his legs would have held him up anyway.
Giving up, he collapsed back against the tub and pressed the back of his hand against his mouth to stifle the sob that he couldn't stop.
They had gotten him out. He was out. Dean was with him. Dean was here, and Sam was fine. He was out. Dean was here. Lucifer was still in the cage. He was out. Dean was here. Lucifer was still in the cage. Dean was here. He was out. Lucifer was still in the cage.
The mantra wasn't helping, not when Lucifer still haunted his every waking moment.
Blinking away the tears, Sam brought his hands together and dug his fingernails back into the old scar until his hand was throbbing. He shifted a little and the bandage flapped uncomfortably against his shoulder.
It was secured only by a couple of pieces of tape and Sam turned his attention towards the bite, hesitant.
There were no maggots or larvae. Just torn flesh, and a lot of blood. Too much blood.
Lucifer was suddenly sitting on the toilet in front of him, looking at him with disgust. "Oh, wow. You humans really are just so…pathetic. One small thing, and—" He made an obscene noise and drew his finger across his throat.
Sam blinked back the sweat and tears as he fumbled the bandage back up, trying to press the tape back down in case he was still bleeding. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't. He didn't know.
He was so tired of not knowing exactly, of having to guess what was real and what wasn't. He was so tired of not being able to trust himself.
He was just damn tired.
Maybe Lucifer was here, maybe he wasn't. Maybe Dean was here and alive and they had gotten him out of the cage, and maybe they hadn't.
Lucifer raised an eyebrow, smirking a little as he rose. " I don't know about you, but I don't see Dean here right now. This really could all just be in your head, Sammy-boy." He looked absolutely gleeful at the prospect.
Sam couldn't think straight. Lucifer was right, he was here but Dean wasn't. Maybe they hadn't gotten him out. Maybe Dean was happy, with Ben and Lisa. Maybe Bobby was alive again.
For a split second, Sam couldn't help but think that that would be better for everyone, but the complete terror that coursed through him a moment later overrode that. He couldn't still be in the cage. That was—he wouldn't—
Sam needed his brother.
Gathering his legs underneath him, he tried to stand but his head swam and his legs refused to support his weight.
Collapsing back against the wall, he tried to blink away the spots that were dancing in front of his eyes. He shouldn't have tried to stand, that had been a mistake.
"Dean!" His voice came out in a croak and Sam fought against another sob before swallowing to gather saliva. "Dean!" he tried again but it wasn't much better. There was no sound from the other side of the door and Sam's stomach curled.
Blinking rapidly, he again grabbed a hold of the edge of the tub to push himself up. He didn't get very far before black spots rapidly encroached on the edges of his vision.
He tried to lower himself back down to sit but it was too late.
The last thing that he heard before he passed out was Lucifer's dark chuckle followed by an exuberant, "We always end up here, don't we, Sammy? I told you that you could never escape me."
