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Chapter Text

"Sam!" Dean exclaimed, nearly tripping over the table in his rush to get to his brother.

But Sam had seen the gun in his hand and the memory of Dean shooting his demonic self flashed before his eyes, phantom pain flaring in his chest. Instinctively, he recoiled from Dean and took a step back to put the doorframe in between them. The motion stopped his brother in his tracks and his face fell.

"Sam? Are-are you alright?" Dean's tone had gone from ecstatic to trying to calm a frightened, injured animal.

Because that's all you are now, a voice whispered in Sam's head.

He swallowed hard in agitation and looked up at Dean, forcing himself to hold Dean's eyes. 'S-sorry. Ju-just got spooked.' His gaze flicked to the gun and then back to Dean's face.

Dean followed the movement and quickly tossed the gun aside. "Sorry, reflex. I didn't know if you were—"

'Lucifer, I know.' Sam's voice sounded so small and timid. 'I'm not, I p-promise. You can t-test me.' He held his arms forward, offering himself up for whatever test Dean wanted.

Dean shook his head. "I don't need to. I know it's you." He took a step towards Sam and was relieved that Sam didn't move away. He took another step forward. He noted how Sam's fingers clench on the doorframe but he didn't otherwise retreat. He got within arms reach and when Sam didn't react, he swept Sam up into the tightest hug he could remember giving. Sam froze under his touch, barely suppressing a flinch, then returned the embrace as best he could.

Dean knew he should probably check on Sam first and see if he needed anything, but his guilt silenced any other thoughts. "Sammy, oh my God, Sammy, I'm so sorry all of this happened to you. This is my fault, I should have picked up the damn phone when you needed me. I'm the worst brother in the world—"

'No, you're not,' Sam interrupted. 'You're the best brother in the world. You s-saved me, more times than I can count. You saved me from—' Sam hesitated but forced himself to keep going. 'From them, and from Lucifer. I couldn't have made it back without you.'

"But none of it would have happened if I hadn't been such a dick and made you stay away. I basically kicked you out and I was so wrong to do that. I hope one day you can forgive me."

Dean pulled out of the embrace to look at Sam, trying to communicate his sincerity and regret. Tears brimmed in both their eyes.

"Dean!" Bobby's voice called excitedly. "I can't explain it, but I can walk again! My legs are worki—" He stopped abruptly when he ran into the room from another entrance and saw Sam, awake. "Sam?!"

Dean spun so they could both see Bobby. Sam smiled as a tear dripped down his face. He struggled to hold Bobby's gaze but he took a step towards him. 'Heya, Bobby.'

"Boy, it is so good to see you awake!" He strode over to Sam and gave him a tight hug before pulling back and holding his shoulders. Sam's head was still tucked down. "How are you feeling? Is there anything you need?"

Sam looked up, completely unsure how to answer that question. He didn't even get the chance to think about his response because Bobby huffed in surprise and stepped back, pulling out a gun and aiming it at Sam. "What are you? Are you really Sam?"

Not anymore, you aren't, that voice mocked.

Sam put his hands up in defense. 'It's me, I promise.'

"Bobby," Dean warned.

"Why is his eye like that? What's going on?"

'Lucifer. It's from Lucifer. He must have done something to me, but it's me, I swear.'

Bobby suddenly looked even more suspicious. "How are you doing that?"

"Doing what?" Dean asked.

Bobby threw a startled glance at Dean. "You can hear me?"

Dean blinked a few times, pondering that. "Yeah, I guess so. Got my hearing back when I saw Sam." Only now did it register that the two events may be connected.

"I'm bettin' that was the same time I got my legs back." Bobby narrowed his eyes. "I'm gonna ask you again. How did you do that, and how did you heal us?"

Sam shrugged, but he was shaking slightly. He looked back and forth nervously between Dean and Bobby. 'I-I don't know. I didn't try to, if that's what you're asking...'

"You see it yet, Dean?"

Dean scrunched his brow in confusion. "Besides a starving, exhausted little brother with a glowing red eye that Lucifer probably left as a parting gift? No, I'm not seeing anything." Dean moved so that he could assess Sam. "What is it?" Dean could feel the panic radiating off of Sam. "Just spill Bobby, you're freaking him out."

"Watch when he talks." The older men gazed at Sam, waiting.

'What about when I talk?' Sam queried.

Realization dawned on Dean's face, but instead of being skeptical, it only confirmed something for Dean. "Man, I told you earlier, Bobby. And I was right!" Dean seemed pleased but Bobby still looked disgruntled.

'Dean, what?' Sam was getting visibly upset.

"You're frickin' telepathic dude! When you talk, your mouth doesn't move. But we hear you. There were a few times while you were still out that I would touch your arm or something and hear your voice. See, I knew it!" Dean was beaming at Bobby but the other two men were clearly still trying to incorporate the information into their new reality.

Bobby put his gun away and his mood softened. "Can you talk?"

Sam's glance shifted anxiously. 'I don't know. I haven't had to in... in a l-long time.' He was afraid to know the answer. What if they had stolen his voice from him?

"But you spoke earlier," Dean offered. "When you were on demon blood—oh..."

Sam hunched in on himself and bowed his head.

"It's not your fault, Sam," Bobby said confidently. "They forced it on you. I've been reading the journals they kept—"

Sam's head snapped up so fast Dean thought he might get whiplash. 'They kept journals?!' What little color Sam had drained from his face as he turned and fled.

"Really, Bobby? He's been awake less than ten minutes and you drop that shit on him?" Bobby gave an apologetic shrug. Dean turned to follow Sam and saw the front door wide open. He sighed and set out to retrieve his brother. So much for a happy reunion.

Sam wanted to run away, as far as he could and never look back, but his strength was failing him. He found an open trunk in the junkyard and threw himself into it. He closed the door as quietly as he could. He cursed his luck when he saw that the locking mechanism was broken. He'd just have to stay completely silent and maybe Dean wouldn't find him.

"Sam?" Dean shouted. He was mercifully far away.

Sam curled into a ball and sunk his fingers into his hair. What was he gonna do? His best hope had been that Dean and Bobby wouldn't know too much and he'd be able to just bury it and move on. Not that he would ever forgive himself, but he could at least pretend for both their sakes. But they knew. He wasn't sure how much, but any of it was bad enough. Why the fuck did they have to keep journals? Why?

He pulled on his hair, panic and anxiety consuming him. All he wanted was to be accepted again and now that was off the table.

"Sammy? C'mon man, it's alright."

What was possibly alright about this situation? He was a demonic weapon that had been used and abused, sold to the highest bidder. Dean had been the only thing to save him from Lucifer, so he couldn't even claim the moral high ground there. He wasn't worth the care of people like Dean and Bobby. Trapped in his mind, he had thought maybe he was worth it, maybe he could be if they didn't know. But no one could look at him the same, as human, as worth loving, knowing what he had done. He wouldn't ask that of Dean.

He realized now that even though he had escaped his mind with the understanding that Dean would take him back no matter what, he saw how unfair that was. It was too big of an ask. He was the anathema of all Dean stood for. He has been unfaithful and betrayed his family because of Ruby, then gained supernatural powers by drinking demon blood, and hurt innocent people due to said powers. How cruel then that Dean wouldn't actually kill him like he had promised. He didn't deserve to live.

"Why are you hiding? I just got you back and you're already trying to run away?"

It's for your own good, Sam thought to himself bitterly.

"What? No! What would be good for me is to have my brother here."

'Y-you weren't meant to hear that...' Guess he needed to control this newfound telepathy a little better. How does one even practice that?

"Sam, whatever is going through your head right now, you can tell me. Hell, you can tell me about any of it. Or none of it. I don't care. I just want you here."

No, Dean, you don't. The Sam you knew is dead. Why don't you tell him that?

"Sam, c'mon," Dean called. "I just got you back and you're already trying to bail? You can trust me. You don't need to be afraid of me."

No, Dean, leave, please, and you'll never have to see me again. I'll stay far, far away and never bother you, bother anyone, just don't send me back.

"Send you back?! Why the fuck would I do that?" His voice was louder and he sounded a little irritated. "I've been hunting you down for months, and you think I'm gonna let you go that easy?"

Hunting me down?! His brain latched onto that phrase and fear infested him.

Hunting you down like the monster you are. He said he was done saving you...

Footsteps approached his hiding spot and he braced himself. Fingers curled under the trunk door and Sam felt his power surge outward, attempting to hold the door in place.

"What the hell, Sam? Let me in. I'm trying to help you."

'No one can help me. Nothing can help me. Please, leave me alone, I'll be g-good, I promise.'

Dean tried to lift the trunk again but it wouldn't budge. He rubbed a hand over his face in exasperation. He was not at all prepared for this. But you should have been. What made you think he was gonna wake up and be fine? Idiot.

"You think I'm here to hurt you?" Dean asked softly. "You think we don't want you around anymore? You're wrong. We've been trying to find you and getting anyone we can to help. Ellen, Rufus, Lindsey—"

'Lindsey?! She's okay?!' Sam's focus broke and Dean was able to lift the door. His little brother scrunched into a tiny ball. Sam's nails were digging into his scalp.

"Yeah, and you can see her when she's done work if you ever decide to leave this trunk." Sam shook his head. "She wants to see you."

'She shouldn't.'

"Don't make me drag you out of this car," he threatened gently. When Sam didn't respond, Dean reached forward to grab Sam's arm. He was about six inches from Sam's withered bicep when he felt himself rebuffed by a wall of tingling energy. Kid's got some crazy new mojo. "Sam. Come on."

Sam shook his head. 'Why won't you just leave?! I'm no good to you anymore.'

Maybe you never were. Maybe your entire life has been one endless burden for him that he's borne with a smile on his face because that's what was expected of him.

"Dude, you know that's not true. And even if it was true, I don't keep you around because of what you can do for me, it's because you're my little brother and I want you around."

'You shouldn't. You know what's happened. You know what I've done.'

"Actually, I don't know that much. Bobby hid the journals from me. But that's not the point. I don't care, Sam, I don't care what you did or didn't do. I don't give a rat's ass about what those bastards forced you to do. Because I know you wouldn't have done it if you had the choice. Because you are one of the most moral, stick-up-the-ass, righteous people I know and you were doing what you had to do to get by. I don't hold that against you and you shouldn't either."

Dean tried reaching forward and was relieved he could touch Sam, though it did elicit a flinch. He took hold of Sam's forearms and pulled his hands down from his face. Sam's eyes were puffy and shining. 'You don't know, Dean, you don't know what I've done. You would hate me. You will hate me.'

Like he doesn't already?

Dean sighed. "I can't hate you. It's not possible. Alright, enough of this, I'm getting you outta here." Without warning, Dean gripped Sam's thigh and shoulder and pulled Sam out of the trunk. Sam flailed in panic and they both tumbled to the ground. Dean landed on his ass and Sam's head wasn't far from his lap. He dragged Sam closer to him and held Sam's head over his chest. Dean's voice dropped into the hoarse whisper he reserved for speaking uncomfortable truths. "I hate myself for pushing you away when you needed me most. I hate myself because I couldn't protect you from all this shit. I hate myself for failing at the only job that's really mattered in my life: keeping you safe—"

'Dean—'

"I don't wanna hear any more excuses from you. You didn't deserve any of this."

Sam let Dean's statement loiter in his mind. At this point, he wasn't sure if he actually did deserve everything or if he had just convinced himself of it as a way of coping. In the end, did it matter? It had still happened and he had to deal with the fallout. Though how was he supposed to deal? No amount of therapy, booze, or anything else would fix this. This. All that 'this' entailed. Memories came flooding into his mind and he was swept away in the current. The onslaught caught him off guard and he felt himself drowning in misery and shame.

Dean felt the air around them become charged with energy, the hair on his arms and back of his neck standing on end like before a lightning strike. His brother started shaking and gasping for air. "Sam? Sammy? What's going on? Talk to me." He spun Sam's body so that his head was laying in his lap. Sam's eyes were closed tightly and fought Dean's attempt to manually open them. The right eye was fine, but the red glow of the left eye had intensified significantly since Dean had last observed it. "Sam, c'mon, I'm right here, listen to me, I won't let anything bad happen, I got you, baby brother, please..."

Sam latched on to the sound of Dean's voice and forcibly reversed the flow. The blazing pressure in his brain relented as it returned to a small orb of hurt, just waiting to explode like the Big Bang at some future time. Sam knew this was temporary, but he didn't care. Dean was here. Dean had found him. Dean still wanted him.

He hadn't noticed the flare of power that had left him but as it came crashing back into him, it burned through his body, causing him to cry out in pain. Dean swept Sam up towards his chest, holding him tight and murmuring nonsense comfort. Sam buried his face into Dean's warmth and let out the tears he had been holding back. He wrapped his arms around Dean's torso and held on to his brother as ugly, violent sobs wracked his body.

Dean plunged a hand into Sam's hair and placatingly stroked Sam's head. His other arm was pressing Sam into his own body, trying to provide comfort any way he could.

"I'm here, Sam. No matter what happened, I'm here. I won't leave you. I promise. I'm here. We'll make this right, I swear..."

Dean wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but the sun had certainly moved quite a bit. Sam eventually wore himself out, his sobs ebbing into sniffles and then silence. He loosened his grip on Sam and let him slip back down into his lap. His brother was asleep and actually looked peaceful despite the tear stains and snot covering his face. Dean carefully cleaned him off with his shirt and just sat staring at him. Tears forced themselves out of his eyes as he reflected on the past months of uncertainty and pain, his current joy at having Sam back but the sorrow of seeing Sam's state, and the challenge of what was to come. Sam clearly had developed psychic abilities beyond anything they had encountered before and he seemed to have very little control over them. Learning to wield them was going to be difficult, especially because it appeared to be linked to his emotional state.

Dean rubbed his hands over his face. This was going to be insane. He looked down at his brother, simultaneously amazed and horrified. What had Sam been through that would trigger these changes? Missouri had been surprised by his power... How much of that was Sam's innate ability, demon blood, Lucifer, effects from his torture, or something else?

One step at a time, he chastised himself. Getting Sam back on his feet was his priority. Figuring out his powers would come later. He was lucky to have Sam back at all, and he would do whatever necessary to get Sam back in fighting shape. Whatever that looked like. He wouldn't push Sam away for whatever powers he did or didn't have. Dean had learned his lesson. They were family. Sam was his brother, first and foremost, and above all else. Nothing would get in the way of that ever again.

Chapter Text

Dean carried his exhausted little brother up to bed and tucked him in. He hoped the long sob session had worn him out enough that he would sleep soundly for a while. Poor kid needed it.

He quietly slipped out of the room and went downstairs to find Bobby. The older hunter was outside clearing sticks and fallen branches from the yard. Dean went out to help him as a pretense for getting his advice.

"It feels so good to walk again. I just had to get out here and do something!" Bobby commented once Dean was close enough. He was smiling but Dean's face was grim. Schooling his expression, he asked "How's Sam?"

Dean sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, unsure where to start.

"That good, huh?" Bobby interjected before Dean could say anything.

"Yeah... I mean, Bobby, he's so messed up, and he has all these powers he can't control."

Bobby paused what he was doing and looked at Dean with intense curiosity. "Like what?"

"Um, well, we already know he's telepathic, but he's not great at keeping his thoughts to himself. He can move things with his mind... Not reliably though. And I tried to grab his arm at one point and he had this like... forcefield around him that I couldn't move past. Who knows what else he can do?"

Bobby nodded thoughtfully then continued gathering sticks. "This doesn't have to be a bad thing, Dean. Before, he could only use his powers with demon blood. Now, he doesn't. So maybe we have to help him and train him to manage them, but I think that will be a lot easier than trying to make him suppress them."

"You want me to encourage his powers?!" Dean was livid.

"It's not a matter of encouraging or not. I think that horse is out of the barn, and it has been for a long time. You just didn't want to accept it."

This conversation was not going the way Dean had anticipated. "How are you so friggin' calm about this? How can you want Sam to keep playing with his powers? It's not right!"

Bobby dropped the pile of wood he was collecting and turned to Dean. "It can't be a coincidence that I got my legs back and you could hear again when he woke up. Sure, this whole thing is crazy and it's gonna take a while to figure out, but I really think this could be helpful in the long run. Imagine a telepathic and telekinetic hunter! And what if he can still pull demons without the blood? You two might be able to pack this Apocalypse up quick!"

Dean's eyes narrowed as he listened. "So that's what this is, you wanna use Sam as a tool?"

Bobby's face contorted in irritation and betrayal. "No, son, of course not. What I'm saying is that I think these changes in Sam are permanent. From what I've read in the journals, it's likely impossible Sam will just be able to put this behind him and forget everything. So I'm telling you to accept Sam for who he is now, powers and trauma included, and stop wishing he'd go back to the way he was before. And you better not try to force him, because that will go about as well as water on a grease fire. Sam's different now, but it doesn't have to be all bad. You're just choosing to see it that way."

Dean absorbed the words and felt them settle on his soul like a thick blanket of suffocating ash. He hadn't even realized it but Bobby's assessment was dead right. Some part of him was hoping they could get their way through this and somehow, he'd get his Sammy back. But he didn't need to read the hunters' journals to know that his hope was a fantasy. He could feel the untampered despair radiating off his little brother like it was a physical phenomenon. Sam was not him; he couldn't unhealthily compartmentalize like Dean had with his memories of Hell. Plus, Dean didn't have psychic abilities to factor into the equation. That probably added a whole layer of complexity he had no way to understand.

"Dean?" Bobby asked, startling the younger hunter out of his reflection.

Dean closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath. "I... I think you're right. I want Sam back the way I remember him but it's not fair to ask that of him. Truth is, I'm scared of what he can do now. We've never seen something like this before. I don't know how to handle it."

"You're not gonna be handling it alone, son. You got me, Missouri, Castiel, Lindsey, Ellen. You have people on your side. We'll figure this out. We always do."

Dean nodded weakly. "I know, I just..."

Bobby slapped Dean's shoulder as he walked away. "Me too, Dean, me too."

Later in the evening, Dean brought up a bowl of thin soup for his slumbering brother. He sat down in the chair he had practically lived in while waiting for Sam to wake from his coma and put the soup on the nightstand. Sam looked so peaceful sleeping that he was loathe to wake him. But the kid needed to eat. He had a long road to recovery ahead of him.

"Sam?" Dean said quietly, careful not to scare him. "Sammy, c'mon, wake up. Got some food for you." Dean frowned and debated whether he should try shaking him away. Considering how much touch freaked Sam out, he decided against it. "Sammy!" Dean said louder but got no response. Dean chewed on his lip, pondering what to do. If Sam could speak with him telepathically, maybe he could too?

'Sam! Wake up. Got some grub for ya.'

Sam's eyes flicked open and glanced around anxiously before settling on Dean. Dean smiled and held the bowl up. 'Bobby made a light chicken soup for you. We gotta start you off slow before moving into real food.'

Sam blinked at him, surprise decorating his face. 'Y-you're lips aren't moving. Are you—'

'Speaking to you with my mind? Hell yeah, I am.' Dean grinned impishly, rather pleased with himself for this discovery.

'How?'

Dean shrugged. 'Guess you and me are just that connected. I didn't even really have to try.'

Sam pushed himself up to sitting as he thought about it. He made a 'not bad' face. 'It doesn't scare you?' Sam asked timidly.

'Scared? Nah! This is pretty damn cool, honestly. I was kinda jealous you had all the cool powers anyway. So not fair.' Sam's body seemed to perk up at the acceptance and the teasing. The soft smile he gave Dean was more than a worthy reward for Dean's recent change of heart. 'Anyway, eat up and then back to bed. You gotta rest. There's someone who wants to see you tomorrow if you're up for it.'

'Lindsey?!'

Dean nodded and felt a pip of excitement in Sam's mind. 'Yeah, she said Ellen gave her the day off so she's hoping to be here around noon.'

'Yeah, I'd like that.'

'Good. Okay, lemme help you with this and then we'll get you settled in.'

Sam reached a thin hand out to Dean's knee. 'Thanks, Dean. For everything.'

'Always, Sammy.'

Sam woke of his own volition feeling surprisingly well rested. He turned towards the nightstand and saw Dean passed out in the chair, head hanging uncomfortably. Sam tapped Dean's knee and his brother jolted awake. "Wha-what's going on?"

'Hey, Dean.'

"Sammy, hey, how are you feeling?" Dean moved to rub his sore neck.

Sam nodded and sat up. 'Pretty good, actually.'

"Ready to see your girlfriend today?" Dean said with a smirk.

'She's not my girlfriend. But yeah, I'm looking forward to seeing her. I, uh, I'd like a shower first...'

"Yeah, no problem. I'll have breakfast ready for you when you're done."

'Thanks, Dean.'

"Don't mention it." He ruffled Sam's hair and stood up, smiling at how right this felt.

Sam flipped the covers back and forced himself out of bed. He saw all the items he'd need for his shower resting on two towels on the dresser. He smiled internally, touched that Dean would be so thoughtful. He gathered up the toiletries in the towels and made his way to the bathroom. His progress was frustratingly slow but knew he had to build his strength back up. Once inside, he relieved himself then put everything down on the closed toilet lid. Glancing in the mirror, Sam noted that he barely had any scruff which meant Dean must have been shaving him. He also noticed that his hair was not oily and unkempt, so Dean must have been washing it. Had he washed the rest of him? Had Dean seen his body? He probably had. Dean had probably seen the fleshy tale of his failure and abuse. Shame prickled his skin and he wanted to peel it all off. But there was nothing to assist him in this act: the bathroom was devoid of razors, scissors, or anything sharp; even his fingernails had been cut extremely short.

Instead he focused on cleaning himself up. He went through the motions detachedly. He couldn't remember the last time he had brushed his teeth or his hair. Back in Oklahoma, he guessed. He allowed himself to linger in these tasks, subconsciously avoiding the next step of the process. He brushed his teeth to the point where his gums were bleeding and brushed his hair such that a large chestnut nest decorated the hairbrush.

He couldn't avoid it anymore. He had to face himself and how his body had been altered. But not quite yet. He closed his eyes as he shakily stripped off the t-shirt. Feeling blindly for the rim of the bathtub, he sat down and pulled off the sweatpants. Cool air kissed his skin and it was more than the cold that had him shivering. He remained there for a while, unable to remove his final layer of protection against the world. He dreaded seeing his skin, a living history of what was done to him, of what he had deserved. He slipped his thumbs under the hem of his boxers and felt many other phantom fingers doing the same thing. He froze momentarily then forced himself to keep going. He was safe. Dean was here. No one would hurt him. He slid his boxers down and flung them into the corner with the other clothes. He wrapped his arms around himself and gathered the courage to open his eyes.

Said courage took its time.

When he finally opened his eyes, the first thing he saw were countless scars crisscrossing his thighs. He honestly couldn't place all of them and he was sort of grateful for that. He kicked out his legs and saw similar patterns on his shins. Angry red circles glared at him from the tops of his feet and he had to push down his nausea as memories of his crucifixion surfaced. He checked his wrists and found matching scars. Moving his arms had allowed him to see that even his genitals were not free from lasting evidence of torture. He pushed those memories down hard and scanned his arms. Rings of scar tissue braceleted his wrists, a hundred different restraints patterning his torn skin. His fingernails were marred and irregular, clear signs of malnutrition present. Thick red depressions indicated where fingers had been chopped off. His elbows and upper arms were pitted with myriad pinpricks, physical memories of needles pushed in too hard, too deep, too fast.

His torso was a warzone. He remembered getting the wards, but it seemed as though they had been recently applied. Did Dean and Bobby do that? To keep Lucifer out? The thought of Lucifer caused an unpleasant tightening in his chest and made the newest scars flare painfully. He brought his hand up to trace the marks gouging down from his shoulder to the bottom of his ribcage. He recalled forcing Lucifer out his body in his head and how Lucifer's true form had clung to him and tore into him like this with glittering, obsidian talons. Sam blinked hard at the thought that those wounds had manifested on his physical body. He didn't even what to think about what that meant. His hand moved to his throat and he felt the remnants of the shock collar burn there and he swallowed painfully. He didn't even need to check if the wards on his back were still there because he could feel them anytime his body shifted, the persistent tug of the taut tissue a constant whispering reminder of his crimes and punishment.

Breathing long, slow, intentional breaths helped him calm his racing heart. Shower. He needed to shower. He turned and twisted the tap on. The water quickly turned warm and he forced himself into the cleansing stream. Who was he kidding though? Maybe a shower could wash off the physical filth, but his soul was a sewer of grimy moral failings. Nothing could remove the indelible stain of his sins, from the traumatic killing of the kid Antichrist Jesse Turner, to his participation in his own abuse, to his murder of demon meatsuits while he drank them dry. At some point in his mental wanderings, he had slid down and was sobbing into his scarred knees. Not that he had a choice in the matter, but he didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be alive.

A soft knock on the door derailed his train of thought. 'Sammy? You okay in there?' Dean sounded very concerned.

'Y-yeah. I'll be out soon.'

'Let me know if you need a hand,' Dean offered.

'I'm good, but, uh, thanks.'

He heard Dean move away from the door and he forced himself through a quick cleaning ritual. Wash hair, scrub body, rinse off. All with eyes closed. He'd open them someday. But that day didn't have to be today.

It didn't take long for Dean to prepare a small bowl of oatmeal with cinnamon for Sam. He figured his brother would take the usual quick shower he used to take and was surprised to hear that the water wasn't even running when he brought the food up. He put his ear to the door and listened as Sam spent an inordinate amount of time brushing his teeth and hair. He heard Sam eventually move to take his clothes off but the shower didn't turn on as he expected. He stood there wondering what Sam could be doing when he heard shallow, hyperventilating breaths from his brother and he suddenly understood. This was probably the first time Sam had seen his body clean in God knows how long. He was likely looking at all his wards and scars. The thought pained Dean and he wished again he could scrub all those marks off Sam's body. Another ten minutes went by before he heard Sam take several deep breaths and then start the shower. It only took about 45 seconds for the sobbing to start and Dean slid down to the floor, letting his head rest against the door. He longed to go in and console Sam but he knew Sam wouldn't react well to being intruded upon in such a vulnerable state. Anger threaded through him at the thought of his fierce brother brought to his literal knees by these fucking hunters. God help them if, no, when, he found them.

He waited the twenty or so minutes it took for the sobbing to quiet down considerably, then stood and knocked once lightly.

'Sammy? You okay in there?' He tried to keep his worry out of his voice.

'Y-yeah. I'll be out soon.' The hesitation and brittleness in Sam's response piqued his concern though.

'Let me know if you need a hand,' he said, knowing that Sam wouldn't take it, but wanting to offer his help nonetheless.

'I'm good, but, uh, thanks.' Sam sounded a little more sure of himself and that was a step in the right direction.

Dean sighed and went downstairs to heat up the food, hoping Sam would join him soon.

The only indication anything had happened in the shower was the lingering red puffiness around Sam's eyes. He had otherwise dressed himself in jeans and a flannel and gotten himself to the kitchen. Sam silently slid into the chair with the most walls behind it. Dean didn't miss it but decided not to say anything. He had the feeling that Sam wouldn't feel safe for a long time, if ever again.

"I made you oatmeal with some cinnamon for flavoring. I know it's boring, but we'll get you back to eating rabbit food in no time." He set the bowl down in front of Sam with a small spoon. "You want water or milk to drink?"

Sam flicked his gaze up at Dean and his eyes held an unreadable message. Sam looked down by the time he responded. 'Water, please. From the tap is fine.'

Dean did as he was told but wondered why Sam felt the need to specify. Man, there were so many new things he had to learn about his brother. And there were so many things he wanted to say to Sam but he felt if he opened his mouth, it would all come spilling out like an avalanche. If Sam's shower crying was anything to go by, the kid was still extremely fragile.

"So, what would you like to do today? Lindsey should be here around lunch time."

Sam shrugged. 'I don't really want to do anything... Maybe chill and watch TV? I, uh, kinda would like to just enjoy not being there.'

Not being with psychotic hunters who tortured and abused him. Sure, Dean got that loud and clear. "Yeah, that's fine. There are more episodes of that show you liked, uh, Bones, that you probably haven't seen."

'That sounds good. Will you watch it with me?'

Dean had to suppress the urge to squish his giant little brother in a hug. "Yeah, Sammy, of course."

Sam sat in eager anticipation of Lindsey's arrival. The relief he felt upon hearing she was alright was a soothing balm to his heart and he was excited to see her. He was waiting by the door, ready to let her in the moment she came up the porch. Bobby and Dean had made themselves scarce, claiming they had stuff to do. Sam appreciated their unspoken intention of giving him privacy, as he expected his reunion with Lindsey to be emotional and tear-filled.

He heard a vehicle pull up to the house and he stood up. He checked himself briefly in a mirror, trying to decide if his gaunt features and red-streaked eye would frighten her or not. He figured he probably wasn't as scary as the baykok so he should stop worrying. Footsteps sounded on the stairs and he moved towards the door. There was only one knock before he swung the door open, pasting his best imitation of a smile on his face to greet her.

"Heya, Bob— Holy hell! Well if it isn't my lucky day!"

Sam leant back in surprise, a buff, bald man with a beard standing where Lindsey should be. He looked slightly familiar but Sam couldn't place him.

"You're that demonic freak Tim and Reggie had a while back! I didn't know they were doing house calls..."

The memory of the man — Justin — as the first hunter to attack him at a hunter cage match supplied itself. Demons had killed his mother and he held Sam personally responsible. He'd inflicted a number of vicious wounds and was particularly fond of his knife.

Justin stepped forward, a gleam in his eye, and Sam staggered back, his heart rate skyrocketing and his throat closing up. "Lemme guess, Bobby's studying ya, trying to see what makes you tick? I wonder if he'd let me help... What do you think? Maybe we can open ya up and see if there are any clues on the inside?"

Sam shook his head fiercely, his hands held out defensively.

"Not gonna answer me? Or you can't?"

Sam shook his head again and Justin grinned. "Good. No one will hear you scream, then." He pulled out his switchblade and advanced rapidly, causing Sam to stumble and essentially pin himself against Bobby's desk.

"Aww, laying yourself out for me? So thoughtful!" He sprawled Sam across the desk using several swift punches to the head and straddled his legs. Justin pulled Sam up by his collar, his head flopping to the side listlessly. He captured Sam's arms and zip tied them behind his back, the plastic cutting off circulation. He pushed his captive's shoulders down, smiling as Sam's head hit the hardwood desktop with a solid thunk. As he talked, he used his knife to cut through Sam's shirts. "Ever since I saw you that day, I've been just itching to get my hands on you again, make you suffer the way you made my mama suffer. Demons cut her up nice and slow, trying to get information. Thing is, she didn't even know where I was, but they gutted her anyway. Your turn, you fucking traitor."

Justin plunged his blade into the hollow of the demon spawn's throat and drug it down to the edge of his jeans, smiling at the prolific bloom of red that rose to meet him.

Dean was taking a long, hot shower, trying to work that kink out of his neck from falling asleep in the chair. He was also enjoying the thought of Sam smiling again once Lindsey arrived. He knew the woman was sweet on Sam and while he wasn't sure the feeling was mutual, he still thought it would cheer Sam up. It was hard to be perpetually upset with Lindsey around. She was good-hearted and bright-eyed, always willing to help out. They needed more people like that in their lives. He was about to put shampoo in his hair when he felt a sudden feeling of terror inundate his consciousness. His knees buckled with the strength of the sensation and he had to throw his hands out against the wall to support himself.

What the fuck?! he thought to himself before the realization hit him with all the force of a frying pan to the face. Sam!

'Sam!' Dean called out with his mind and his panic spiked when he got no response. 'Sammy, I'm comin'!'

He didn't even take the time to wash the shampoo off his hands, instead turning the water off and barreling out of the shower. He shoved his dripping legs into his jeans and wiped his hands off the best he could while running out of the bathroom. He pulled his knife out of the pocket and flung himself down the stairs. The feeling of fear was growing and forming a physical pressure in his mind. He winced against it and forced himself to keep going. He heard movement in the living room and crept silently there, knowing which boards creaked and which could bear his weight without noise. He turned the corner as a wave of pain struck Dean like a freight train while he watched a stranger carve up his little brother.

Without hesitation, Dean launched himself towards the intruder and tackled him to the side. The man yelped as he went down, trying to swing the knife to defend himself. Dean blocked him and tried to wrench the man's wrist but his hands were too slippery from the damn shampoo to get a good grip. The other man wriggled out from under him and retreated to the other side of the desk.

"Who the fuck are you?" the intruder spat, like Dean was the one who shouldn't be there.

"I'm Dean Winchester and that's my brother Sam. I strongly suggest you get the fuck outta here before I make what you did to Sam look like child's play." The growl in his voice left no room for argument.

"The Winchesters, huh? Yeah, I heard of you. Heard you two were some unstoppable duo, but I gotta say, your brother makes a real nice punching bag."

Dean's jaw clenched in anger as he tried to plan how to reach the man. Of course Sam picked that moment to try to get up. Panting heavily, Sam twisted on his side and tried to use his currently non-existent core strength to lift his torso up. Using the hand holding the knife, Dean motioned for Sam to lay back down. "Stay out of it, Sam," Dean barked. Instead, Sam's eyes focused on the blade in front of him and he scooched backwards on the desk, right into the intruder, who took full advantage of the new situation.

He put Sam in a headlock and put heavy pressure on his neck. "You know he can't die, right? The Devil brings him back. Doesn't mean we can't make his life Hell though." With that, he stabbed the knife into Sam's right ear and twisted.

A piercing cry shattered Dean's consciousness and he fell to his knees, the ability to control his muscles suddenly stolen from him. A split second later, bright light and a violent surge of power swept through the house. Dean felt himself thrown against the wall and pinned there. He could barely hear the sound of breaking glass all around him over the screaming in his head and the shouts from the intruder. His own voice joined the din as his brain became completely unable to deal with the furious stimuli consuming him. The telltale thump of a body shook the floor and the fever pitch of Sam's fear dropped a few notches.

Dean opened his eyes to see that everything had been blown away from Sam, who sat panting and wide-eyed on the now-clean desk with his freed hands folded over his middle. Motion caught his eye and he saw the curtains billowing in the breeze. Scanning the room, he realized all the windows had been blown out. Finding he could move, he stood up slowly and cautiously approached Sam, hands held out to the side.

The back door burst open and Bobby was shouting. "Sam? Dean? Are you alr—" Bobby stopped as soon as he entered the room and saw Dean's hand shooing him away. The living room was the picture of chaos and in the middle sat Sam, bleeding and terrified.

"Sammy? It's me, Dean, your brother. You with me?"

Sam's unsteady eyes blinked a few times then he nodded shakily. 'Wi-with yo-you,' he stuttered, clearly disoriented. Dean figured he had a decent concussion. Just what they fucking needed.

Dean's gaze found the other man and was relieved he seemed to be unconscious. "Who is that?"

'Hu-hunter. Justin. M-my fault demons ki-killed his mother. He l-likes knives.'

At that, Dean remembered the way Justin had cut into Sam. He went to examine Sam and raised his hands but stopped himself. "Can I touch you? I need to look at the wound."

Sam seemed woozy and not completely there as his eyes lazily followed Dean's movements. 'Can t-touch, but please don't h-hurt me, I didn't m-mean to...'

Dean gently rested a hand on Sam's knee. "Sam, I'm not mad at you. He was attacking you and you defended yourself. Nothing wrong with that."

'Wrong...' Sam echoed.

"What is?"

'I am...'

Dean huffed in frustration. He looked down and saw all the blood trickling out between Sam's fingers. "Fuck, Sammy, we don't have time to argue about this. I need to sew this up." Sam shrugged limply. "Bobby, get the first aid kit. Sam, is it okay if Bobby comes over here? He's going to help you."

'Nuffin' can help me...'

"Dammit, Sam," Dean huffed angrily, his emotions flaring at seeing how destroyed Sam was.

Bobby returned and the two cleaned the wound to the best of their abilities.

"I don't think it punctured any organs, so just stitching it up should be good," Bobby proclaimed. Sam flinched at the new voice.

'Jus' take 'm, take 'em all,' Sam murmured and it took Dean a few seconds to realize that he must be referencing when they were harvesting organs from him.

"No, no, no, Sam, no, we're not, oh God, we're not taking anything from you. We're fixin' you up, I promise," Dean soothed while they placed the first sutures.

'Don' lie. Lu'fer says bad t' lie.'

Lucifer says it's bad to lie?! Jesus fucking Christ. Dean felt way out of his depth. "Not lying, Sammy. We're helping. I need you to trust me."

'Jus' get I' o'er wif, please. I'll be g-good. Try not t' scream.'

Dean felt his eyes water as he understood that he was asking an impossible task of Sam. Sam couldn't trust him. Fear had taken up residence where trust should be. That would take so much more than stitches and antiseptic to fix.

Once they had Sam mended and back in his room, they turned their attention to Sam's attacker. The man was still unconscious by Bobby's desk.

"What should we do with him?" Bobby asked.

Dean's jaw ticked in anger. "Not let him go, if that's what you're thinking."

"Dean—"

"Bobby, Sam told me this guy, Justin, held Sam responsible for demons killing his mother and took it out on Sam. Carved him up, just like he was doing now. I can't let that slide."

Bobby gulped uncomfortably. "You can't kill him—"

"I wasn't saying kill him, just teach him a lesson. People need to know that hurting Sam is off limits again."

"Okay, I can see that. But you sure you can restrain yourself?"

Dean growled at the implication but demurred. "Fine, we'll do it together. That way you can stop me before I go too far."

"Deal. You, uh, wanna tell Lindsey what's going on?"

Fuck. Dean had forgotten all about her. "Shit, yeah, I'll call her right now." Dean took his phone out of his pocket and dialed her number. She picked up almost immediately.

"Hey Dean! I'm about 10 minutes away."

"Hey Linds, I'm sorry, but do you think you could come by tomorrow, or even later? A hunter showed up and recognized Sam, and uh, well, it kinda turned into a thing."

"Oh no! Is Sam okay?"

"The guy got Sam pretty good with a knife and we had to put in over two dozen stitches. He also got a mild concussion."

"Dammit! Let me come over and help take care of him."

"No, it's alright. Look, find a place to stay in town and I'll pay for it. Sam does want to see you, I just don't think now is the best time."

"Why are you shutting me out, Dean?"

He hesitated and decided he owed her the truth. "The hunter is still here. We're about to bring him downstairs. I don't really want you here for that."

"Oh. I see. I mean, give him hell Dean, he deserves it. But tomorrow sounds good, too. Let me know, okay? Ellen told me I could come back whenever. And she wants to see you three soon, too."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Lindsey."

"Yup. See you soon."

"You, too. Bye." He hung up and approached Justin. "Panic room?"

"Makes the most sense."

"Alright, I'll carry him if you open the doors."

Dean scooped up the smaller man and Bobby led the way, opening the door to the basement and the panic room.

"Can you pull the chair out so I can set him down there?"

Bobby nodded and entered the panic room to get the chair. Dean dropped Justin and slammed the iron door shut and locked it.

"Dean?! What the hell?!" Bobby pounded on the door. "What do you think you're doing, you goddam idjit?!"

"I'm doing what needs to be done, Bobby. Ain't no point you feeling guilty for it, 'cause I know I won't."

Dean dragged the man to another part of the basement, as far away from the panic room as he could get.

"Dean, don't do this. You know it's not right. Sam wouldn't want you to do this."

"I'm not doin' this for Sam!" Dean shouted back as he opened up the Pandora's box of his rage. "I'm doin' this because someone needs to fucking pay for what they did to my Sammy," he growled to himself. He tied Justin to a chair and waited for him to wake up.

Bobby kept yelling, trying everything he could to convince Dean not to follow through on whatever his plan was. But Dean wasn't listening. He was leant against a workbench staring at Justin's switchblade. Sam's tacky blood still clung to the gleaming edge. More blood that Dean failed to prevent from leaving Sam's battered body.

Justin started to move so Dean stepped forward and lightly patted his cheek, encouraging him to wake up.

"What the..." Justin struggled against his bindings but found he had very little wiggle room.

"Morning, sunshine," Dean hissed, twirling the switchblade.

"Dean, right? Dean, you gotta understand, man, he's the reason my mom is dead. Wouldn't you want a little revenge, too?"

"I get it man, I do," Dean replied casually. "But no one fucks with my little brother and gets away with it. See, he just woke up yesterday after being gone for nine months and you stole that from me." He circled the man and dragged the blade loosely around his neck.

"He— he can't die. He'll be fine."

"Fine? You think you'd be fine if someone beat and murdered you every day for months on end?"

"N-no..."

"Then why would Sammy be fine?!" Dean roared.

"Please, don't hurt me... I didn't know who he was..."

Dean stopped in front of him and used the blade to slowly cut through his shirt, just like he probably did to Sam. "You know, that's the second time I've heard that excuse. 'I didn't know, I didn't know he was your brother...' like somehow that makes it better? You go around torturing all the monsters you hunt?"

"No... But my mama—"

"A demon killed my mom, too. And my dad. And led to my brother's death, which led to mine. So I get the demon-killed-my-whatever sob story. Doesn't give you the right to do what you did."

"Wait, you really did die? I'd heard rumors, but..."

"Yep. Dragged down to Hell, whole nine yards. And you know what happened while I was down there?" Dean put the blade on the hollow of Justin's throat. The man didn't dare move for fear of Dean accidentally cutting him. "I became Hell's top torturer. Gold star student. It used to really tear me up inside, you know? I hated it about myself, that I had given in, I had failed. But maybe every cloud does have a silver lining, because now I know how to do this..."

With lightning fast movements, Dean stabbed the blade into several trigger points on Justin's torso, expertly slicing non-vital nerves and inflicting the most pain for the least amount of damage. He grinned ferally as the man screamed until his voice became ragged.

"I mean, granted, I couldn't actually kill the souls down there, but human anatomy is human anatomy and ten years is a long time to learn."

"Please, no more, I won't ever come near you again, I promise," his captive panted, tiny rivulets of blood from each wound glimmering in the light as his chest rose and fell in quick succession.

Dean paced back and forth in front of him. "Did Sam ever say something like that while you were slicing into him? He ever beg for your mercy?

He didn't reply and Dean slashed his left cheek. "Answer me!"

"I... I don't know! There were a bunch of us! It was hard to hear over all the shouting. I just wanted him to hurt the way he made me hurt!"

"I'm simply returning the favor," Dean snarled and sank the knife into his right eye. The resulting scream must have drowned out the telltale flutter of wings because it came as quite the shock to Dean when a strong hand grabbed his and pulled him away. He turned his head and saw Castiel, face stern and determined. "What the hell, Cas?"

"I could ask the same of you, Dean." Castiel took the knife and cut the ropes binding Justin. The man was whimpering and babbling about his eye. Even with a hand covering it, blood was seeping down his face. "Consider your debts paid, as an eye for an eye will make the whole world blind." Castiel glared at Dean then back to the man. "Leave here and never return. If you pursue either Sam or Dean, I will be honor bound to smite you. Do you understand?"

Justin nodded vigorously.

"Then go, and pray we never see each other again."

The man gave Dean a terrified look then ran up the stairs. They could hear his car start shortly after and speed away.

Dean turned to the angel and let everything loose, getting right up in Castiel's stoic face. "Goddamit Cas! Whose fucking side are you on?! That man tortured Sam, twice! Probably killed him the first time. And you're willing to just let him go with a fucking warning? Some guardian angel you are!" Dean stormed past him and up the stairs, slamming the basement door shut.

"I am not your guardian angel," Castiel called patiently. Getting no response, he walked to the panic room and released Bobby.

"Thanks for coming when I called," Bobby offered. "I didn't know what else to do."

Castiel was immediately confused by Bobby's sudden gain of stature. "You're walking again?"

"Oh, yeah, that. I think it's related to Sam waking up."

"Sam's awake?!"

Bobby smiled sheepishly. "Guess we haven't really kept you in the loop. Come on upstairs and I'll fill you in."

Upon reaching the main floor, Bobby looked around for Dean but he was nowhere to be found. He checked the driveway and saw the Impala was gone. Bobby sighed and grabbed a bottle of whiskey for himself. He understood Dean's motivation, but what was that saying about not becoming a monster in order to defeat a monster?

"You were saying about Sam?" Castiel reminded him gently.

He took a sip of the amber anesthetic and nodded. "So, yesterday..."

Dean gunned it down a backroad, desperately needing to bleed off some his murderous intent. He knew he had been wrong to do what he did, but he didn't care. If it was anyone but Sammy, he may have thought twice. But he watched that bastard cut Sam open with glee on his stupid, smug face. It was unforgivable.

He understood it was bad to let the torturer in him take hold, but he couldn't find it in himself to give a shit. He hadn't been lying when he told Justin maybe there was a silver lining here. Given the choice, he wouldn't repeat his stint in Hell, but he didn't regret all that he had learned. It made him dangerous and unpredictable.

Kinda like Sam, his mind supplied. Actually, a lot like Sam. In fact, if they were able to harness Sam's powers, Bobby was right, they'd be pretty unstoppable. The Apocalypse definitely took precedent, but if they happened to run into those sons of bitches that had captured Sam, well, Dean was ready to embrace both his own torture and Sam's new powers with open arms if it meant repaying even an ounce of the hell they'd rained down on his Sammy.

Dean grinned as he pushed the gas pedal down further, a new hunt spurring him onwards.

Chapter Text

Bobby had squirreled himself away in a back room in the garage with the intent to keep his research as secret as possible. He hadn't told Dean about the diamond of darkness that was embedded in his brother. He didn't want to tell him if he could help it. Now that he understood what it was, he was able to find other references to it. And what he found terrified him. Some Coptic sources claimed that Jesus was able to perform his miracles using the 'Jewel of Heaven' which held 'that which came from Earth but belonged in Heaven.' A soul, no doubt. He found multiple spells which required a 'stone-trapped soul', including spells for resurrection, necromancy, and the summoning and control of minor gods.

Most of his inquiries to other hunters had been returned with no information and a wish of luck, but three had given him leads to research and two had seemed very interested in why Bobby would want to know about such an artifact. It made Bobby's blood run cold to think someone might come after Sam for this thing and cut it out of him. Idly, he wondered if removing the stone would inactivate the ward. Perhaps they could try and see what happens? But how was he going to convince Dean to let his brother out of his sight long enough for heart surgery? And how would they even find a heart surgeon to do this?

Dammit! What a fucking mess... he thought with frustration.

Out of nowhere, a loud cry of pain followed by a physical shockwave rocked through him. He heard the shattering of glass as all the windows exploded. He got up and ran towards the house, seeing an unfamiliar car in the driveway. He opened the door and called for his boys. By the time he arrived, Dean was trying to approach Sam, who sat disoriented in the middle of the destruction. Dean waved away Bobby's words, trying to keep Sam focused and grounded.

Bobby saw a body on the floor and recognized it as a hunter he occasionally helped, Justin Fischer. It didn't take him long to put two and two together. Justin had probably hurt Sam at some point in the past and this was Sam's reaction to either seeing Justin again or Justin attacking him. Regardless of the situation, Sam clearly had a massive amount of power at his fingertips that he had little to no control over. Training Sam was going to be one helluva challenge. Protecting him was going to be even harder.

Dean called for him to fetch the first aid kit and he had to stow his troublesome thoughts. He'd have plenty of time to agonize over this later.

Bobby wasn't pleased about what Dean had done to Justin, but he also understood it. Dean's affection was a more visceral beast than the normal person's: you hurt Sammy, you pay dearly, maybe with your life. Bobby got that. But judging from the number of hunter cage matches and other beatings Sam had suffered through, Dean would single-handedly wipe out half the hunting community if he maimed or killed everyone who had hurt Sam. That's not to say they didn't deserve some payback, but Dean wasn't rational when it came to his little brother. Hell, that's what had gotten them in this mess in the first place: Dean being unable to let his brother go.

His ruminations were interrupted by timid calls from the younger Winchester. 'Dean? ... Bobby? ... Anyone?'

"I'll be right there, Sam!" Bobby answered and hurried upstairs.

Waking up with a concussion was not a pleasant experience, by any stretch of the imagination. The wisps of sunlight that managed to evade the drawn curtain stabbed daggers into his brain. He wanted nothing more than to pull the covers over his head and drift off to peaceful nothingness again. But an even more unpleasant sensation was begging for his attention and he couldn't ignore it any longer.

Water... Oh God, need water... His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth and his lips were painful to separate. The taste of dehydration clung to the inside of his mouth and he hated it. It was a feeling all too familiar to him and he struggled to push away the associated memories that inundated his mind. Pain flared along his chest and he quickly suppressed the memories that came washing in with the physical suffering.

He reached out weakly with his mind, trying to find his family. 'Dean? ... Bobby? ... Anyone?'

A few seconds later, he heard Bobby yell back "I'll be right there, Sam!" and he sagged into the bed with relief. Someone was here for him, someone he could trust.

Bobby came bustling into the room, eyes full of concern. "Hey, Sam, how are you feeling?"

Sam strained to provide him with a weak smile. ' 'm okay. Need water.'

"On it." Bobby snatched the empty glass on the nightstand and dashed to the bathroom to fill it up. Upon his return, he helped Sam sit up and drink the whole glass. "You want another?"

Sam weakly shook his head as he licked his lips. It felt so good to be able to ask for something as simple as water and not have to exchange something for the privilege. He tried to force his vocal cords to work so he could express his gratitude, but was rewarded with some painful squeaky groans. 'Thanks, Bobby,' he said instead.

Bobby smiled at him affectionately. "I'm bettin' you got a hell of a headache. You want anything for it? Or for your chest?"

Sam shrugged, not unused to this level of discomfort. 'Light hurts the most.'

Bobby glanced over at the window, observing how the curtains didn't block out everything. "Alright, I'll be right back."

Bobby returned with a blanket, some nails, a hammer, and duct tape. Within a few minutes, he had the light completely blocked, with only the light from the hallway intruding into the room. The darkness made the glow of Sam's left eye significantly brighter and Bobby found himself unable to look away from it. It increased the apprehension he was already feeling while thinking about Sam's soul situation.

Somehow Sam picked up on it and of course interpreted it the wrong way. He curled into the wall, away from Bobby. 'Are you scared of me?'

Bobby blinked in surprise. "Scared of you? No, son. I'm scared for you. Big difference."

'What's there to be scared of now? I'm safe with you.'

Bobby furrowed his brow in confusion. "How can you say that? Not three hours ago someone was carvin' into ya downstairs!" The surge of anger that accompanied the words caught him off guard and he had to quell his rage. He couldn't let anyone hurt his boy under his roof again. One time was too goddamn many.

'But I'm alright, aren't I?'

Bobby shook his head. "I would hardly call what happened 'alright'. We had to stitch you up on my desk!"

Sam shrugged again, face stoic. Or maybe it was numbness. Bobby decided he didn't want to know which. 'It's all relative. Way better than what used to happen.'

Bobby swallowed painfully. "I know, Sam, I'm so sorry. I feel like it's all my fault. I sent those hunters... I didn't even think something like this could happen...Had I known—"

'You couldn't have. This is in no way your fault. If anything, I deserve this!"

Bobby's expression immediately shifted to one of intense anger and Sam flinched away on reflex. "I don't ever wanna hear that from you again, boy. Sure, you fucked up, more than most, maybe, but that in no way means you deserved to suffer what you went through. You hear me?" Sam nodded resolutely, though it seemed to Bobby it was more out of fear than agreement. "And you better not pull that on your brother, either, 'cause that will give him a damn heart attack."

Sam blinked at him, his expression unreadable. 'Where is Dean? I can't... sense him...'

Bobby huffed in irritation. "He's, uh, he went out for a drive," he answered evasively.

'Did he go after that hunter?'

Bobby considered saying something other than the truth but it felt like Sam's eyes were burrowing into his very being. "He tried to. He was gonna mess 'im up pretty good but your angel friend was able to stop him."

Angel friend – Lucifer?! Sam thought with panic, before realizing he meant Castiel.

The thought of Castiel raised some hazy memories into the front of his mind. 'Bobby... What, uh, happened? How am I here?'

"You don't remember?"

'My memories are kinda jumbled and patchy right now...' Sam admitted.

Bobby sighed and ran his hand through his beard. "Well, Dean was able to track down the hunters that had you. He had almost gotten you when you were kidnapped by some demons. They took you to Detroit where they were supposed to give you to Lucifer. Dean called Castiel and they followed you. By the time Dean found you, you'd already drained a couple of demons and—"

'A couple?!' Sam's already pale face blanched further.

"Yeah, Dean said four or five..."

'You need to get me to the panic room!' Sam threw the covers back, frantic.

Bobby put his hands up. "It's alright, Sam. You've already detoxed. That was weeks ago."

'Weeks?' Sam's face clouded with fear. 'I don't remember any of it...'

"Probably best you don't..."

'I need to know. Please, tell me.'

"Sam, I don't think—"

'Bobby!' The fear morphed into irritation and Bobby felt something pressing against his head.

"Okay, fine. When you were juiced up demon blood, your eyes were black and you gave Dean the option of letting you walk away a semi-demon or killing you to prove he could put you out of your misery if the human side of you surfaced again. It was torture for him, but he did it, he shot you."

Sam nodded slightly, his throat convulsing with anxious swallowing. But he didn't respond at all so Bobby continued.

"And then you woke up again while he was driving back here. You tried to leave, Dean didn't want to let you go, so then you tried to kill him." Sam's eyes got wide and he started wringing his hands. "He ended up having to hit you with the car and... well, that was horrible. He got you back here and we pumped your stomach and put you in the panic room. Demon-you put up a helluva fight but eventually he went under and you came to, but were pretty unresponsive. Dean had the bright idea to go to Missouri Moseley and try to reach you psychically."

'Wait, that really was Dean I heard then?'

"Heard when?"

Sam looked down at the blanket and seemed wholly focused on a loose thread. 'When Lucifer almost... There was so little of me left that he didn't even need my consent... He could just take what he wanted... But then I heard Dean's voice and it gave me whatever I needed to fight back.'

"Are you saying Lucifer actually possessed you, at least for a bit?!" This was way too close for comfort!

Sam shrugged, still looking down. 'I think so? There was a moment where I felt like... I had wings and I was hearing his thoughts and I thought they were my own... Maybe that's why I have this,' Sam looked up slightly and pointed to his eye. 'Maybe I'm marked now, a used vessel...'

"But you still have all your wards, he shouldn't be able to touch you."

'Shouldn't, but who knows what Lucifer is capable of. He's brought me back more times than I can count, even with the warding.'

Bobby took a breath in and out, seeming to hesitate. "I actually wanna talk to you about your warding. Do you think you're up for that?"

Sam paled again and scrunched in closer to the wall. 'What do you want to know?'

"We're trying to figure out how to reverse them, but there aren't any details on that in the journals—"

Sam's head snapped up but he couldn't make himself look Bobby in the eye. 'The journals. What do they say?'

"Mostly just describes your torture and recovery... Seems like they were trying to find a weakness, something Lucifer couldn't fix."

'Anything else?'

Bobby creased his brow. "Uh, some mentions of your powers... Why does it matter?"

Sam swallowed hard and looked away, the phantom of relief swelling through him. Bobby didn't know about the... other things that had happened. They didn't know how dirty he was, how many hands had touched him, how he had been used, how he had been—

His vision started to black out and he realized distantly it was because he was hyperventilating.

"Sam? Sam, come on, calm down!" Bobby urged, moving forward to console Sam with a hand on his shaking shoulder. The moment they came into contact, Sam yelped and recoiled, pushing himself as far away from Bobby as possible. He cut off his own sound of panic and it died down to a whimper.

'Please, no more, I can't, no more, please...' Sam begged and the absolute desperation, along with the way he was trembling, brought tears to Bobby's eyes.

"Son, I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise."

'They always say that, always, it won't hurt, but it does, every time.'

"What wrong, Sam? Hey, talk to me, I want to help. What hurts?" Bobby reached out again and grabbed Sam's wrist.

Violent pain erupted at the point of contact and Sam turned to Bobby, fear painting the young man's features. 'Don't, no, please, I can't...' Bobby let go and Sam drew his hand in towards his chest and cradled it there, rocking slightly.

Bobby scrubbed a hand down his face. He had no idea what had precipitated this or what to do to stop it. "Everything's fine, Sam, you're out. They can't hurt you any more, I promise." The young man seemed locked in his own head and he wondered if maybe he needed to order Sam to stop. "Hey, freak," Bobby growled. "Cut it out, right now! We ain't got time for your snivelin'! Fucking stop it!"

It only made Sam hunch further into himself and Bobby sighed. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. Sam curled his knees up to his chest impossibly tight and his fingers were diving into his calves. Had Dean not trimmed his nails, Bobby was sure he'd be drawing blood. As it were, Sam would probably have some decent bruises. "Sam, hey, you gotta stop that," he softened his voice and reached towards him again. Sam didn't seem to see him but the moment his hands touched Sam's shoulders, Sam let out a visceral scream and the lightbulbs in the room and hallway shattered. "Okay, that's enough. Time to get your brother in here."

Bobby went downstairs to get his cellphone, a flashlight, and replacement lightbulbs. Careful to avoid the broken glass in the hallway, he changed out the bulb, cursing as it blinked on right in his face. He returned to Sam's room and shone the flashlight towards the lamp and moved towards it. He stopped. Something was wrong. He couldn't see Sam in his peripheral vision. He swung the flashlight towards the bed but it was empty. Searching the rest of the room proved equally fruitless. Fuck. Dean was gonna have his head for this.

His cellphone rung for a third time and Dean mashed the answer button. "What?" he grumbled. "I don't need a lecture from you, Bobby, so stop calling!" He pressed his foot down on the gas pedal and was about to hang up when he heard Bobby's labored breathing. "Bobby? What's wrong?"

"It's Sam. He's gone. You need to get back here pronto."

"What?!" Dean made a U-turn in the middle of the road and raced back the way he came.

"I was just talking to him after he woke up and then he got upset about something, blew out the lightbulbs. He'd asked me earlier to darken the room so I couldn't see shit. By the time I got a flashlight and more bulbs, he wasn't in the room anymore. I've looked all over the house and the yard and I can't find him."

"Fuck! I'll be there in ten."

Dean thundered into the house, one look at Bobby informing him Sam was still missing.

"You last saw him in his room?" Dean asked, already bounding up the stairs. Bobby called an affirmative after him. Dean darted into the room, searching the now-lit space for any clues as to where his brother had disappeared to this time. But the room was empty. There was nothing.

Except it wasn't nothing. There was something off about the room, something in there, like a weird buzz of static whispering almost beyond his reach. Dean was hardly an expert when it came to psychic crap but he was an expert when it came to Sam. He closed his eyes and concentrated on Sam, on the thought of him, on their newfound connection. Unable to explain how, he could tell Sam was still in the room with him. He could – God help him – sense his energy. And yet he couldn't see his little brother.

'Sam? I know you're in here.' he called out tentatively.

There was an odd flash of power that caused the lights to flicker and then a timid voice replied 'Here, but I don't wanna be. Here, but I don't wanna be.' Over and over.

Relief swelled through him. Sam was still close. Well, they didn't know how far this telepathy thing worked, but Dean assumed it was feet, not miles. Another thing for them to figure out. But Sam was here. He was safe. Anything else they could deal with.

Dean puzzled over what was happening for a little bit. Sam clearly had all sorts of new abilities that the kid didn't even seem aware of. He considered what Sam was saying and tried to imagine how uncontrolled powers might actualize what he was feeling. He felt the idea coalesce in his brain before the realization hit him with all the grace of a tsunami. Sam likely couldn't teleport to escape, but wouldn't it be just as effective to make someone think you weren't there? Demon Sam had projected thoughts into Dean's mind before. What's to say Sam wasn't projecting a sense of Sam not being there now? Sam was probably just manipulating, albeit unwittingly, the hunters' minds into thinking they couldn't see him.

Testing this hypothesis, Dean held the idea of Sam being in the same room firmly in his mind. He practically willed Sam to be in there with him. When he opened his eyes and scanned the room, he was rewarded by the sight of Sam huddled in a corner behind the bed, head bowed down into his knees. His fingers were fervently trying to burrow into his own flesh.

"Sammy," Dean said softly and moved towards him to crouch in front of him but kept several feet of space between them. "I know you don't wanna be here, but I want you here, and big brother knows best, yeah?"

Sam's hands stopped and Dean held his breath, hoping Sam would surface and recognize him.

Silence hung between them and tension crackled along Dean's nerves. 'If big brother knows best, then why didn't you kill me like you said you would? We coulda avoided all of this if you'd just followed through.'

"What?!" Dean nearly fell over he was so startled by Sam's emotionless response. "Kill you? When did I say I was gonna kill you?!"

Sam's fingers started knotting again. 'You really don't remember? 'Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam—'' He finished reciting the message with Dean's inflection, clearly having memorized it.

"Oh, dammit, Sam, that voicemail… God, we really gotta do this now?"

'Do what now? Kill me? Kinda too late for that… It won't stick…But you're welcome to try.'

"No, Sam. Fuck, no, I'm not going to kill you, not ever. Look, there's something you have to know about that day, but I need to know you're paying attention." Sam's hands stilled but that wasn't enough for Dean. "Look at me."

Sam didn't move. 'I'm listening.'

"Look me in the eye, so you know I mean this."

It took Sam some time to force his muscles to comply, but he shakily rose his head and met Dean's gaze. Dean gave him a faint smile then set his lips as he prepared to right a serious wrong. "I did call you, before you took on Lilith. But I didn't leave all that bullshit, I promise, man. I said I was still mad but that we're still brothers. And that I was sorry for what I said in the hotel room. You didn't deserve that. We're family and nothing's gonna change that."

Sam's face folded in confusion. 'But that's not what I heard—'

"I know. But you have to believe me. I was in Zachariah's green room when I called you and he must have messed with it. He said you would need a push to do what you were supposed to do. I didn't know what he meant until I heard that on your phone. Why would you even save that?"

Sam couldn't bear looking at Dean any longer. He dropped his gaze to the floor, his hair shielding his face. 'T-to remind me how far I'd fallen, how much I'd fucked up. Whenever I wanted to call you or thought maybe you could forgive me one day, I'd listen to it, make sure I knew my place.'

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Jesus, Sam. Have you really been going around for the past however many months thinking that shit was true? That I was gonna kill you?"

'I was kinda waiting for it… And then when I got kidnapped, I figured problem solved… But, uh, yeah… And then either, well, if you knew what happened, you didn't care, or if you didn't know, you probably would think I was a coward and just ran off.'

"I'll be honest with you, the second thing did cross my mind for like a week, but it didn't sit right with me. I've been looking for you since about the time you went missing from Oklahoma. Some weird stuff happened after you called me and told me about being Lucifer's vessel. I got sent—well, it doesn't matter, point is, I realized I'd made a huge mistake in letting you leave. We're better together and I've known it this whole time but haven't been able to tell you until now. Once I found out what you were going through… I just… Fuck, Sam. I don't know how you can ever forgive me. This is all my fault. I was such a shitty brother and because of that, you've been living in Hell on earth. I'd do anything to take it back. I'm so sorry."

Sam's whole body was shaking now but he was able to lift his eyes back to Dean's. 'So it's okay if I stay?'

Goddamn, they broke my boy. Here I am begging for forgiveness and he's asking if he's allowed to stay. Jesus fucking Christ. "Yes!" he almost shouted in response before tempering himself. "Yeah, of course, Sam. I don't want you anywhere but here, where I can watch over you and protect you and try to make this up to you."

Sam shook his head weakly. 'No need to make it up. This wasn't your fault. Just please keep me away from th-them. I can deal with anything but being back there again.'

"Cross my heart and hope to die, next time I see them, they are dead men. And anyone else you can't stand, you tell me, and they're goners. No one hurts you and gets away with it."

An ugly smirk danced on Sam's face for a moment. 'You can't afford that much ammo.'

"I'm not kidding, Sam."

'Neither am I. A lot of people hate me. And they're right to. I started the Apocalypse. I let Lucifer out.'

"One. They don't understand the half of it. Two. Last I checked, I broke the first seal – which, since we seem to be setting things straight, why the fuck did you tell them that you broke the first and last seals?"

'Didn't want them coming after you. They already had me. Made the most sense to keep all the blame on me.' Sam was so matter-of-fact about it, Dean could almost let it slide. Almost.

"Never mind the fact that it was both of us. I don't need you out there putting yourself in more danger to protect me. That's not your job."

Sam looked down and didn't respond.

"You hearin' me?"

Sam nodded. 'I don't care. I couldn't let that happen to you. I'd do it again.' Sam was as resolute as his broken soul could muster. It wasn't defiant, it was earnest. Heart-wrenchingly so.

Dean's eyes watered. Here was his baby brother, who'd been practically destroyed inside and out, saying he'd do it again, to save Dean from a similar fate, even though he thought Dean despised him. Dean felt he didn't deserve this kind of devotion. But he did understand it, considering he gave his own life for Sam's a few years ago. And look how that turned out…

Dean swallowed to force his throat to stop convulsing. "Well, I, uh, I appreciate it, Sam, but no more, okay? From here on out, we deal with everything together."

'I know I'm useless right now, but I can be decently powerful. You can use me however you see fit.' Sam pushed himself up to his knees with his gaze to the floor, head bowed in submission.

"Use you?!" Dean choked out. "No, no, no, Sam. Uh-uh. No one is using anyone. We're gonna train so you can control your powers, but we're a team. Hunters, monsters, Apocalypse, whatever, we'll fight it side by side."

Now Sam's eyes were teary when he looked at Dean. 'You mean it?'

"Yeah, man, 100%. Now can I give you a hug or what?"

'I thought you didn't like chick flick moments?' Sam asked seriously but he was struggling to keep a straight face.

"Will you just shut the fuck up and get over here?" Dean teased and leant in for the hug. Sam was still trembling but he could feel the smile radiating off Sam's soul. He pulled back and squeezed Sam's shoulders. "First things first. We need to bulk you back up. We get a stiff breeze and you'll fly off like a kite. Let's get you some grub and we can work out everything else later, okay?"

'Big brother knows best, right?' The quirk of Sam's lips was rather mischievous and Dean felt hope bloom in his heart. Things were a mess now but they were going to be alright. They were back together and Dean wasn't gonna fuck that up ever again.

Chapter Text

Sam sat in the kitchen working on a bowl of soup, oblivious to the silent conversation going on between Dean and Bobby. Exhaustion was blunting his senses and all he could focus on was the simple task of eating. Bobby wanted Dean to ask Sam what the hell had happened with Justin. Dean wanted to let the kid eat. Bobby crossed his arms and gave Dean a stern look, mouthing 'my house, my rules'. Dean relented and took a seat across from Sam.

"So, uh, Sam, you wanna give us any more details about what happened today?"

Sam froze, the spoon on its way to his mouth now hanging idly while broth dripped into the bowl. 'Details about what? The hunter?'

"No, I don't care about him. Tell me what was going through your head when you blasted him away."

'I, uh, I don't know, Dean. I couldn't deal with it, with him, with any of it. I felt that pain and then I was back there and everything went white…' Sam flicked his eyes up to Bobby. 'I'm sorry about your windows, Bobby. I'll do whatever I have to replace them. I'll—I'll get a job to pay for it. And help install them.'

Bobby had to hold his laugh in. This broken kid who could barely dress himself was going to get a job and pay him back for the windows? Yeah, and he was Dolly Parton. But Sam was earnest and Bobby found he couldn't dash the boy's hopes. "Don't worry about it. The things needed an upgrade anyway. I'm sure Dean won't mind helping me board 'em up before it gets dark?"

Dean nodded silently.

Sam weakly pushed his half-empty bowl away and made to stand up, but his faltering legs fought him. 'I'll help.'

Bobby stepped forward and softly pushed Sam back down into his seat. "You'll be helping if you finish this and then hit the hay."

'But—'

"Sam." Bobby said flatly, a hint of an order in his voice.

The younger Winchester put his head down and picked up his spoon. Dean frowned and looked at Bobby, who returned it with a shrug. Someone has to look out for Sam if he won't, his expression seemed to say. Dean sighed and settled in to wait for Sam to finish. This whole thing sucked.

Sam took the stairs one at a time, gripping the railing as if his life depended on it. He was winded by the time he got to the top. Dean silently guided him towards their bedroom. Sam sat on the bed, wringing his hands. His muscles were taut and apprehension practically radiated off of him.

"Do you want some sleeping pills?"

Sam's eyes got wide and he shook his head vigorously. 'No, no pills. Nothing like that.'

Dean resisted the urge to run his hand down his face in exasperation. "C'mon, it'll help take the edge off. Just for tonight."

Sam turned to stare at Dean and the light in his eye flared. 'I said no.'

Dean took a step back inadvertently. "Why not?"

Sam looked away and knotted his fingers together so hard his knuckles were turning white. 'Because…'

"Yeah?"

Sam gulped hard. 'I don't want to be that vulnerable again. Not in control of all my senses. It's too much like being back there.'

Dean let out an unhappy huff. "I get it, Sammy. I won't bring it up any more." He paused for a moment then decided to go for it. "Did they drug you a lot?" he asked gently.

'Uh, not so much in the beginning. But when they started having some problems controlling me on the blood, they would. Or if they were trying to throw a cage match. Or when—' He stopped, unwilling to share with Dean even a speck of what had happened to him during his time with Creedy and Master Benji. He couldn't think of all those hands on him, each new and excited and so, so hungry. 'Or when they were going out for a while and didn't want me going anywhere. I've had lots of things… Stuff I didn't even know existed…'

"I won't make you take anything then." Dean sighed and rubbed his hands on his pants. "Well, holler if you need me. I'm gonna go help Bobby."

'Tell him I'm sorry.'

"You don't need to apologize. We're just glad to have you back, man. Goodnight, Sam."

'G'night, Dean.'

Sam wanted to believe Dean, he did, desperately. But that voice in his head kept telling him their relief was false, their sympathy was disappointment, their love was obligation. He tried to block them out, but the thoughts slashed at his fragile mind until he was drowning beneath their violent current.

He was falling in the darkness, plummeting endlessly through a quiet vacuum. He reached out for anyone, anything that could help him, but there was nothing. He was nothing. Just melting into the blackness, slipping away to effervescent vapor that would dissipate in the void. No, no, there had to be something he could do, some way he could escape, he had to!

His newfound determination was answered by sudden pain erupting from his back as he collided with something solid and unforgiving. He flung his arms out to push himself up but was instead gripped by several approximations of hands. Some slippery, some like sand paper, some with textures that were constantly morphing. They multiplied, hands grabbing and clawing and wanting. They covered his skin, tearing at him, leeching his life force by their very contact. Fingers explored his face, trying to dive into eye sockets, some into his nostrils, others plied his lips and demanded entry. Eventually he cried out, screaming for help, begging the darkness to either release him or swallow him whole, just not this. Not this continual violation by invisible assailants against which he had no means to fight back. Fingers pushed inside his mouth and cranked his jaw open as more and more battled for access. They dragged his limbs in different directions and he felt his joints start to separate under the strain. He pulled in reverse but it only served to make the dislocations that much more painful when the joints finally gave way.

A pinprick of light shone above him and he called out to it, pleading for rescue. The light grew in intensity, surging towards him with an ominous presence. As spindles of light struck the invading hands, they crumbled to dust and blew away in a non-existent breeze. Soon the full force of the light was upon him and he belatedly realized that he had somehow summoned Lucifer to his aid. He tried to stare defiantly into the blaze but his eyes couldn't handle it and he clenched them shut.

'You have disappointed me, Sam,' the ethereal light chastised. 'We were so close to unity and yet you rejected me.'

"And I would do it again!" he challenged. "I've never wanted to be one with you and I never will!"

An echoing laugh rolled around his brain. 'We'll see about that…'

The voice was so sure that he almost doubted himself. He shook his head to free his mind of the thought. "What can you possibly do to me now that they haven't before?! If I didn't say 'yes' then, there's no chance I will now!"

The light flared angrily for a moment, heat blistering his skin. 'Yes, now you have hope, and you think that will be your redemption. But I think you'll find out hope can be the most poisonous belief of all.'

A hand landed on his arm and he violently tore himself out of its grip and scrambled away. 'Touch me again and it will be the last thing you do!' he screamed, letting energy flow outwards and create a protective shield around him.

"Dammit, Sam! Stop! It's Dean!"

Sam halted abruptly, his power withering away and his eyes cracking open. No blinding light seeped in, no creepy hands attacked. Just Dean lit by the light from the hall, concern written all over his face.

"You were having a nightmare and I tried to wake you up. What the hell was that?"

Sam surreptitiously felt along his body for any new injuries. He was fine. 'L-like you said, nightmare.'

"Nothing more?"

What, like Lucifer trying a new brand of psychological warfare? He shook his head. 'Just a nightmare. What time is it?'

"Breakfast! Came to wake you up for that and you were shaking in your sleep."

Sam bit his lip, unsure how to respond. He'd thought maybe it really had been a nightmare… Lucifer had never appeared to him in that form before. But perhaps things were different now, now that he'd almost been possessed, now that he'd managed to break free of Lucifer's trap… For the moment… Would he come back? What other things could he try? He had the feeling he was going to find out whether he wanted to or not.

"No point obsessing over it if it was just a nightmare. C'mon, get dressed and come downstairs. It's a nice day out," Dean encouraged.

With that Dean left, allowing Sam some privacy to collect his thoughts and go through his morning routine by himself.

Sam slid into the seat and poured himself a bowl of cornflakes. He tried to lift the gallon of milk but found he wasn't strong enough. Without missing a beat, Dean came over and picked it up, pouring out the exact amount Sam liked: enough to get the cereal wet but not drown it so everything got soggy.

Sam smiled feebly up at Dean then began eating. Dean toyed with his toast, preoccupied with what to say to Sam about training. He didn't want to push the kid too hard, but it was getting out of control. Sam didn't miss the apprehension streaming off Dean. 'What's wrong?'

Dean looked at him, hesitating. "I know you just woke up, and you're not even really back on your feet, but I think we need to start figuring out your powers. At the rate we're going, Bobby won't have a house left by the end of the week!"

Sam hunched in and looked down. 'I'm sorry—'

"You don't need to apologize. I'm sorry I have to push you into it like this. I know you're not ready but we gotta get a handle on this."

'I get it. As long as you don't beat me for failing, it'll be fine.'

There was a trace of humor in Sam's voice but it struck Dean's soul like a lead weight. "They'd do that to you?"

Sam shrugged. 'Mostly when I couldn't exorcise as many demons at once as they wanted. Or when they bet on me in a monster fight and I lost.'

"And by lost, you mean…"

'I died.' Dean closed his eyes in pain. 'But hey, I always came back! Thanks Satan, I guess.'

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, thanks Satan… Like I've always wanted to say that and mean it… Well, I figure the easiest thing to test would be the range of your telepathy. You feel up for that?"

'I think so. What did you wanna do?'

"Uh, basically walk apart until we can't hear each other anymore? I mean, it's not rocket science…"

Sam nodded minutely. 'True.'

Dean pushed himself off the counter and strode through the living room towards the front door. He pulled it opened and turned, frowning when Sam wasn't right behind him. "You coming or what?"

'Where, outside?'

"Duh, outside. I doubt the house is big enough for really anything."

There was a pause and then Sam shakily answered 'How about you walk away from the house and I just stay here?'

Dean was about to acquiesce out of distraction when his big brother senses kicked in. "Sam?" He walked back to the kitchen and peered inquisitively at Sam.

Said little brother nervously glanced up at Dean and then back at the table. 'I don't know if I'm ready to go out there.'

"Outside?"

Sam acknowledged him with a stiff jerk of his head.

"It'll just be you and me. There's nothing to be afraid of."

Sam didn't respond and didn't move.

"It's Bobby's junkyard. I know you remember it as well as I do. You'll be alright."

Sam's throat convulsed anxiously. 'Don't wanna.'

"Sam," Dean huffed. "You can do this. I know you can."

'Y-you don't understand. The last time I went outside of my own volition was when the car broke down, when th-they captured me. Ever since then, it hasn't been me in control.'

Discomfort curled along Dean's spine. "And you feel like I'm controlling you?"

This time Sam looked up and held Dean's gaze. 'No, not exactly. I… I don't know, Dean, I'm just so fucking scared,' he whispered.

Dean bit his lip, debating what to do. "I can't claim to know what you're going through, but I'd stake my love of bacon on it that you doing this will make you feel better. It'll give you some power back. You got this."

Sam dropped his eyes away. 'And if I can't?'

"We'll cross that bridge if we get to it. Think you can at least try, for me?" Dean knew it was an underhanded tactic but damn if it didn't have Sam pushing himself up from the table and making his way to the door. Slowly. But Dean never expected Sam's progress to be a sprint.

Sam almost made it to do the door, his hand reaching out tentatively, when Dean started to pick up on the soft panic emanating from Sam's mind. Flashes of Justin, of the hunter's smiling face as he pushed Sam inside and cut into him, sped through Dean's head. Dean darted ahead of Sam, opened the door, and stepped through, making a show of looking around and confirming he was the only person out on the porch.

'C'mon, come towards me, it'll be okay,' Dean gently urged.

Sam took halting steps forward, eyes darting around frantically, seeking out the threat. As he approached the threshold, he centered his gaze on Dean, transplanting Dean's certainty, convincing himself to cross over. He slowly brought both feet out, fists pumping in an uneasy rhythm.

"See, you made it!" Dean said approvingly, feeling the ripple of satisfaction in Sam's mind. "Now, how about you sit on the steps and I'll go further away and we'll see what happens, yeah?"

'O-okay.' Sam pushed himself forward, almost dragging his long limbs and manually directing them where to go. He held on to the banister as he slid down and sat on the top step. Dean shivered slightly in the morning chill but Sam didn't seem to notice.

"You good?" Dean asked, ready to step back. Sam gave him a thumbs up and a poorly managed smile. Dean walked back about 15 feet. 'You hear me?'

'Loud and clear.'

Another 15 feet. 'How about now?'

'Yeah.'

He went out to 50 feet. 'Can you hear me now?'

'We're not using Verizon, so yeah.'

'Ooh, good one, Sammy.'

They kept going until they were about 250 feet away. 'Now?'

'Getting a little harder to hear you.'

'You, too.'

By 350 feet, they were out of range. As Dean walked back to the house, he idly wondered if they could improve on that distance with training. And what if there were buildings or stuff between them? Did that matter? Questions for another time.

"So what else do you know or remember about your powers?" he inquired as he got close.

Sam's gaze dropped to the ground and his fingers started fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "Sam, I'm not upset about this. I mean, I was, but that was before I saw the big picture. I don't think it's a bad thing you have these abilities. In some ways, you've always had them, we just didn't know. Bobby pointed out that it's probably gonna be worse for you to try to suppress them than learn how to use them. So you don't need to be ashamed. I'm not ashamed of you."

Sam looked up at him and the shining hope in Sam's eyes was nearly enough to tear Dean's soul. 'You really mean that?'

"No, Sam, I'm just saying it for my own benefit," he sassed.

Sam smiled slightly. 'You know, if I wanted to, I could read your mind and figure out if you're lying.'

Dean eyed Sam carefully. "For real? Or are you just messing with me?"

Sam seemed to feel the change in Dean from playful to suspicious and he shifted his gaze away. 'I can. I mean, I've only ever done it with demons when I was on the blood, but seeing as I can do other stuff now that I could only do when I was powered up, I don't see why I couldn't read people, too.'

"Have you read me or—"

'No!' Sam flung him a hurt glance. 'I wouldn't invade your privacy like that. Most I've done is felt emotions, usually strong emotions, from you or Bobby. I thought Bobby was scared of me earlier but he said he was scared for me. I guess context is pretty important…'

"Hmm… Well, how about we try it?"

'What, me trying to read your mind?'

"Yeah! It could be like a game. We'll start easy and then I'll try to hide my thoughts and we'll see if you can still read 'em. Whaddya say?"

Sam bit his lip as he mulled it over. 'Okay...'

"Alright, good. So. What am I thinking right now?" Apple pie at Thanksgiving last year.

Sam closed his eyes and concentrated. Dean could feel a subtle pressure in his head. Sam's nose twitched as if smelling the pie. 'You're thinking about that apple pie we picked up from a bakery for Thanksgiving. The one with the woven top and the little flower made of apple slices.'

Dean smiled. "Yeah! You got it!"

Sam nodded, seeming a little pleased. 'Next.'

"I'm gonna think about two things and you'll have to tell me which one I like more." Sleeping in or blasting tunes in my Baby.

Dean again felt that weight around his brain and it lingered longer.

'Waking up late or listening to music in the Impala. You love your beauty sleep but definitely the second one.'

Dean bobbed his head in agreement. "Guilty as charged. It's weird, I can kinda feel it when you do it, like something is pressing against my head. It doesn't hurt or anything, but it is noticeable."

Sam frowned. 'Then it may not be good for anything. Not if people can tell I'm doing it.'

Dean shrugged. "Maybe it's just a matter of training. Don't worry about it yet. Let's try something harder, maybe something in my subconscious or unconscious."

'But how will you know you're thinking it if you're not aware you're thinking it?'

"I'll know! I know my own thoughts. Just, shut up and try, will you?"

Sam cowered slightly but recovered quickly. He dropped his head a bit as he concentrated more. Dean closed his eyes and tried to keep his mind as blank as possible, thinking of gentle waves sloshing against an empty beach. He felt the intrusion of Sam's consciousness into his own; he could tell that it wasn't difficult for Sam but that his brother was still being careful.

Warmth spread through him as a thought was pulled to the forefront of his mind. 'Lindsey has the same effect on you as she does on me… Hard to be closed off around her. She's good people.'

'Yeah, she is,' Dean agreed.

The pressure increased marginally and Dean didn't fight it. He let the soft force push inwards, going deeper into his mind. He continued focusing on his seaside distraction. He watched a small shell get pushed and pulled by the waves, enjoying the lazy pace until the water suddenly turned blood red. Then he heard Sam's frantic, panicked denials. He tried to grasp Sam's psyche as it ripped out of him but he was too slow and pain slashed through him. His eyes sprung open and he saw Sam hunched in on himself. He was rocking with his hands over his ears. What the fuck had he seen?

'No, no, no, no, no, not gonna happen, no…'

Dean crouched down. "Sam. Sammy, c'mon. I'm going to pull your hands away and you can tell me what you saw, okay? I'm touching you in 3… 2… 1…"

He grabbed Sam's wrists and pulled away, relieved that Sam didn't flinch or otherwise fight him. He put his hands on Sam's shoulders and slowed the rocking. "Tell me what you saw. It's my own head so nothin's going to surprise me."

Sam took a few deep, hiccupping breaths before steadying himself. 'I saw th-them, and you were carving them up like they were on the rack in Hell, but they weren't tied down. I was holding them in place with my power and torturing them, too… My eyes were black and I was grinning… No, no, I don't ever want to drink that stuff again, not even for revenge… Please, please don't make me…'

Dean gulped with regret and mentally punched himself. He had been thinking about revenge quite a bit and it seemed obvious now that his fantasies would be lurking in his unconscious. More often than not, his plans did include Sam, especially a powered-up Sam, punishing them with the very same abilities they had forced him to discover. Only he hadn't expected Sam to react so negatively to it all, the black eyes especially. Maybe the memory of demon blood and withdrawal were too fresh? It didn't matter right now, anyway. He had a little brother to console.

He sat on the step and wrapped his arms around Sam and pulled him in. "I'm sorry, I didn't think any of this through, I didn't think about how this could mess with you." He repeatedly ran his hand over Sam's hair in a soothing motion. "I do want to make those fuckers pay, but I'm not going to do anything you don't want to do, Sam. Hurting them isn't worth losing you. Nothing's worth that."

'I don't want to be evil, Dean.' His voice was so feeble and afraid.

"You're not, and you won't be. We won't let that happen, I promise."

'It's too late. I'm already ruined. The evil is a part of me. Don't you get it?'

Dean shook his head. "No, Sam, you're wrong. That's just shit they told you to keep you down. You're not—"

'Then why am I Lucifer's meatsuit? How can I be anything but evil if I'm meant to house the greatest evil in the world?'

Dean sighed. How was he going to explain himself out of this one? "Dude, no. Just because you're his vessel, that doesn't mean you're evil. Think about it. Vessel. Just because the cup has poison in it, that doesn't mean the cup is bad, does it? The cup is just a cup. You and I aren't good or bad. We're just cups in this whole shitshow."

'But who'd want to drink out of a cup that had poison in it? No matter how many times it's been washed, you never could be quite sure, could you? Better to just get rid of it and get another one.'

"Okay, maybe that was a shitty example but my point is still the same. And besides, I can't get another brother, and I don't want to get another brother. I like the one I got and he's right here." He gave Sam a little squeeze for emphasis.

'You don't need to lie, Dean. Everything you're doing is more than enough for me.'

Dean's brow furrowed in anger. "I'm not lying! Why would I lie about this?" Sam didn't respond. "Hm?" Dean asked as he gave Sam a light shake.

'Because how could someone like you still care about someone like me?' Dean opened his mouth to interrupt but Sam plowed on and Dean wanted to hear what he had to say. 'They said I was lucky Dad wasn't alive anymore because he woulda put me down the first whiff of something off. And that the only reason you didn't was because Dad had brainwashed you to protect me. After Lilith, you knew the truth, knew how corrupted I was. They said we had to keep moving because if you ever found me, you'd find a way to send me to Hell, where I belonged, even if that meant going back down yourself. That I was so evil, you'd be willing to sacrifice your shot at Heaven just to lock me away and spend the rest of eternity torturing me because that's what I deserved. And I do, I do deserve that, but not you, I don't want you to go back there ever, please, Dean, don't do it…'

Dean sighed as Sam fought to control his sobs. He buried his face in Sam's hair and pulled his brother's trembling body to his. "Sam. Listen to me. Even if you did deserve it, I would never send you to Hell, and I would never torture you. But since you don't deserve any of that bullshit, you need to put all that out of your mind. They were saying whatever they could to fuck you up. And I see it now, that this is gonna take a long time to fix. So whenever you start doubting yourself, or doubting what I think about you, you come talk to me. Chick flick moments be damned, making sure you're okay is more important. Got it?"

Sam nodded shakily and wrapped his arms around Dean's waist. 'I'll try my best to remember that, I promise.'

"Good. Now, tell me what I'm thinking."

Sam sniffed a few times then stilled against Dean as he focused. 'That if I don't finish my soup tonight, you'll put itching powder in my pillowcase?'

"Bingo. So you better eat all that soup!"

'Jerk.'

"Bitch."

Dean helped his brother up to bed, despite Sam's protests. He tried to hide it, but Dean could tell that being awake and poking at his powers had tired Sam out. Dean made a mental note to make sure he paced Sam. Too much and they could step backwards. Dean shut out the lights and was about to close the door when Sam reached out.

'Dean?'

"Yeah?"

'I, uh, remember some other things, if-if you want to hear them…'

"Other powers? Only if you want to tell me, Sam." Please tell me, I need to know!

Dean stepped back into the room and his hand was moving toward the light switch when Sam asked 'Can we keep the lights off?'

"Sure." Dean found his way to the chair and flopped into it.

Sam was silent for a few moments. Dean waited. He didn't have anywhere to be except here for Sam.

'When I had demon blood, I could do all the same stuff as before: hold demons, exorcise them, kill them. But I can also hear their thoughts. And I can almost… sniff them out? It's weird. But I always know exactly where they are if they're somewhat close. If I had the blood of a particular demon, I was sometimes able to control them. Like, they became my puppet. I could see through their eyes and feel what they felt. We both know the telekinesis applies to both objects and people… I'm… I'm so sorry about that, Dean. That you had to shoot me and run me over. That must have been pretty traumatizing.'

Dean had to simultaneously suppress a snort and a sob. "Understatement of the year. I knew you'd come back, but it was still the worst thing I've ever done. But I don't blame you. It wasn't really you."

Sam's glowing eye shifted from looking at the floor to looking at Dean. It was the sole light in the void and Dean somehow felt exposed with Sam's stare focused on him. 'That's not entirely true.'

"Whatever. It wasn't the you that's here now and that's what matters. So, any other new abilities?"

Sam's gaze drifted away. 'There's times where I feel like there might be more, like I'll feel the tug of my power towards something, but nothing else that I can control well.'

"Like what?"

'There was a wendigo we were hunting. They used me as bait. They found me in the den but couldn't get close enough to trap it or set it on fire. It was coming at me and I didn't want to get torn up, again, so I thought about what it felt like to burn and then directed it towards the wendigo. I don't know how, but it worked. It caught fire out of nowhere and went up in flames. I was never able to do it again. A couple of times, when I was really close to death, I would be able to touch something and it would die with me.'

Dean felt his breath catch in his throat. This shit was all over the map. Touching something and killing it tickled something in his brain, some long-buried memory. "That last part… Why do I feel like I've heard of that before?"

'One of the other special children, Lily, could stop people's heart with her touch.'

God, Azazel's special children. Dean hadn't thought about them in forever. "What about visions? Did your original power come back?"

'There were times I wondered if the visions were back, but I just chalked it up to me dreaming or having a nightmare.'

"I thought your visions were pretty distinct from your normal dreams and nightmares?"

'They were, but my life was a nightmare and I didn't believe that my dreams would ever come true.'

"What would you dream about?"

'Well, it was mostly Lucifer trying to convince me to say 'yes'.'

"You counted that as a dream?" Dean asked skeptically.

'It was a break in the suffering. Good enough for me. But when he wasn't there, I usually dreamed about you, and Bobby… About you taking me back… There were times they felt like a vision but I knew they couldn't be the future…'

"Aww, Sammy," Dean whispered and reached a hand out. He found Sam's shoulder and squeezed it tightly.

Sam's mental voice dropped to a whisper. 'I never thought I'd see you again. And if I did, I didn't think you'd want to see me.'

"Every day I regret letting you walk away. I shouldn't have let you leave thinking I'd given up on you. Man, I was pissed, and scared, and mixed up, and I didn't know what to do. But I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Sam lifted his head to look at Dean and the glow of Sam's eye seemed to pulse slightly. Flickering warmth percolated through Dean. 'I get it. I do.' Sam's voice had regained its strength. 'I never meant to disappoint you so fundamentally. I couldn't deal with being around you knowing how much I'd let you down in every way that mattered. But I want you to know that I held on because of you. I didn't say 'yes' because of you. Lucifer warned me that my soul was burning away and that eventually I'd—'

Dean's blood turned to slush. "What?" he gasped.

'What?' Sam sounded confused.

"Your soul burning away. What does that mean?"

Dean felt Sam's shoulder shrug under his hand. 'I'm, uh, not sure. But I knew he was right. There was less of me to fight back the longer everything went on. Anyway, I knew I couldn't give in, because you'd find a way to get Lucifer out just to kick my ass into next week.'

"Damn straight I would!"

Sam let out an amused huff of air but his tone was somber. 'I know I'm so broken and I feel bad that you have to be here to pick up the pieces, like always.'

"And I always will. Because I want to. Nothing's gonna change that."

Sam nodded and was about to respond when he was interrupted by a yawn.

"Alright, catch some sleep and I'll wake you up for lunch. Sound like a deal?"

'Yeah…'

Dean stood and moved toward the door.

'Thanks, Dean,' he murmured sleepily.

"You got it, Sammy." He quietly slipped out the door and rushed down the stairs, the need to relay all this to Bobby making his chest ache.

Dean hurried into the living room to find Bobby measuring the windows for replacements. "Bobby, we need to talk," he said urgently.

Bobby startled and dropped his tape measure. "What's going on?"

"Sam told me that, according to Lucifer, his soul was burning away. What the hell does that mean? Is he okay now?"

Fuck! Bobby's thoughts scrambled for a response, trying to decide whether to tell Dean about the diamond of darkness or not. "I'm not sure… I have given it some thought and—"

"Wait, you knew?!" Dean hurled out the words in disbelief. "Why didn't you tell me? What else do you know?"

Bobby put his hands up. "Not a lot, Dean. Just some stuff Sam said to me yesterday. He told me that at one point he thinks Lucifer may have actually possessed him when he was at the end of his rope—"

"But I thought all angels needed consent."

"They do, but Sam thinks there was so little of his soul left that Lucifer didn't need consent anymore. He said he felt like he had wings and was thinking Lucifer's thoughts. But that hearing your voice, knowing you were there, allowed him to fight back."

Dean simultaneously felt the floor drop out from under him and a surge of relief. His voice fled him for a few seconds. "He told me the same thing, well, that because of me, he was able to fight back…" Dean's expression became thoughtful, albeit tinged with horror. "Were we really that close to losing him?" Dean caught Bobby's eyes and the two men exchanged deep-seated fears.

"It appears so, but I think we're safe now."

"What allowed it to get so bad? How could Lucifer get in without Sam's permission? How do we stop that happening again? Where did his soul even go?" Dean asked in rapid fire.

I'm working on it, son, Bobby wanted to say. But he was afraid of what would happen if Dean knew about the diamond of darkness. Dean had a history of shooting first and asking questions later. This wasn't something they could afford to be hasty with. The damage to Sam could be immense. Even more than he was already experiencing. No, he had to tread carefully with this. He would only tell Dean when it was absolutely necessary.

"I don't know. Maybe Sam will know more but when I tried to talk to him about it, it didn't go very well…" Bobby shook his head. "We'll sort it out. Don't worry about it for now, alright?"

Dean looked flabbergasted. "You're asking me to not worry about Sam? About his soul?" Dean scoffed. "Yeah, good luck with that!"

"Dean, we got a lot of fires to put out here. This is just one of them. One day at a time, alright?"

Dean grumbled in agreement but Bobby could see the worry circling around Dean like a noose. Maybe he could throw the boy a bone.

"I'm looking into it, and so is Missouri. We'll figure this out, Dean, I promise."

Dean sighed but forced a smile on his face. "I know we will. I know I'm not stopping until Sam's back on his feet. Whatever that looks like."

Bobby nodded in affirmation then looked to the shattered window. "Let's finish with these windows and then we'll figure out what to do next. Deal?"

"Deal," Dean answered, even though part of him hated that word. A deal was what had started this. He feared what deal might be necessary to get Sam back in fighting shape. He swallowed down his anxiety and focused on the task at hand.

One day at a time.

Chapter Text

Dean was stirring the beef broth idly, his mind wandering, when his phone buzzed on the counter. He snapped out of his reverie and picked it up, smiling faintly at Lindsey's name illuminating the screen.

Is Sam up for a visit yet? she asked, clearly impatient to see him but not wanting to push him.

Dean bit his lip absentmindedly, wondering if Sam was ready for a visit. His brother still seemed so fragile, and yet, he'd endured so much and was still kicking. Against his will, his brain reminded him unkindly. He drove the thought away, allowing his own horror at being denied control over his very existence to supplant his anger at Sam's situation. Control. He could give Sam some control back. He'd ask his brother if he wanted to see Lindsey instead of deciding for him. It was small, but it was a start.

Tim and Reggie smirked at him, laughing at his ineptitude. "You are supposed to end the world but you can't even exorcise one little demon without some blood? Not even to save your brother? You're more pathetic than I thought!"

The demon inside Dean chuckled too, dragging a blade across his own wrist and holding it out to Sam. "C'mon, Sammy. Just one little taste and you can make this all go away."

Sam watched the blood drip off Dean's glistening skin and onto the dusty floor, power oozing from the escaped droplets. His mouth watered and he had to hold himself back from tackling the demon. He weakly shook his head. "He wouldn't want me to. Not even to save him."

"You're being pretty selfish there, Sam. You think Dean gives a shit if you sully yourself if it means he's okay? Besides, don't you think it's a little late to be all goody-two-shoes? You're basically one of us, now. Your eyes went black when you killed Lilith! That stain ain't ever coming out and it's not like it can get much darker." The demon stepped towards him arm raised. "You know you want it… Just accept your fate…"

"No, I don't want it! Leave me alone! I won't! I won't do it!" He backed away but Dean kept advancing, pinning him against the wall. He smeared his blood over Sam's face and the mesmerizing aroma filled his nose.

"Sam? You don't have to do anything." That was Dean's voice but Dean's lips weren't moving. "Sammy, listen. You're dreaming. I'm here. Follow my voice. C'mon."

Tim and Reggie laughed again and the demon was screeching and he struggled to pick out Dean's voice over the cacophony.

Eventually Dean's soft words coaxed him out of his panic. "Sam. Sam? You're awake now, right? Lindsey wants to know if she can come over for dinner. Are you feeling up to it?"

Sam cracked his eyes open and peered at Dean, waiting to see if his eyes would turn black. 'What?'

"Lindsey wants to see you tonight. Think you can handle it?"

He still felt exhausted from earlier, but Sam could feel something like hope from Dean's mind so he decided to agree to the meeting. 'Yeah, I would like that.'

"Alright. I'll text her and let her know. Anything I can do for you?"

Make all of this go away? 'No, thanks. Well, uh, what time is it?'

"Little after four. I'll tell her to come by around 6:30?"

Sam nodded. That gave him some time to prepare himself.

Sam had just finished buttoning his flannel when he heard the telltale flutter of wings and his body began to hum with a novel dissonant energy.

"Sam." The gruff voice caused Sam to flinch and he was further distracted by the confusing array of emotions condensed into the single word.

He turned, expecting to see the stoic face of the trenchcoated angel and was instead blinded by the effervescent bluish light spilling from Castiel's skin. Large dark shadows in the shape of wings painted the walls behind Cas. He brought a hand up to block the light as he closed his eyes and twisted away.

"Sam?" Castiel queried, confused.

'It hurts to look at you. You're glowing.'

There was a pause and Sam could imagine the perplexed expression adorning the angel's face before he answered. "You must be seeing my grace. I will attempt to, um, suppress it for you." Sam heard the rustle of Cas's coat as he adjusted himself then the buzz abated. "How about now?"

Sam looked back and saw only a slight shine but it was easily tolerated. 'Much better.' He forced an appreciative smile onto his face.

"How are you doing?" Castiel stared at him with unnerving intensity, making his soul feel exposed. Could the angel see his soul? See the pollution and the corruption and the utter devastation? He felt so unworthy of being in the presence of divinity that he wanted to hide under the bed. Instead he merely averted his eyes and shrugged.

'I'm alive. Haven't said 'yes' to Lucifer. What else matters?'

Sam sensed rather than saw Castiel's deep frown. "I think you underestimate how much you matter, to your family, and to this fight."

Sam snorted in derision. 'We all know I'm the weakest link. We're all just waiting for me to slip up and bring the end of the world one step closer.'

"I am not convinced that will happen. You are strong—"

Sam rolled his eyes. 'Yeah, I'm the very picture of strength,' he interjected. 'Can barely walk half a mile without falling over.'

Castiel's grace flared slightly as impatience crept into his tone. "I'm not talking about physical strength, Sam, but rather spiritual strength. You have survived an unprecedented attack on the human soul and while I recognize that you have not emerged unscathed, you are still here. Your perseverance is unmatched in my experience of the human condition."

Sam gawked at Cas, a little dumbfounded. 'I… I don't understand. Why are you telling me this?'

"Because you need to hear it. You need to honor your tenacity."

'To make sure I don't say 'yes'?'

Cas took a step forward but stopped. "Not only that, but also to let yourself live again. I was wrong about you, Sam. You are far more than just the Boy with the Demon Blood. I hope one day you can allow yourself to believe that."

Sam blinked slowly as he swallowed down the frenzy of emotions threatening to choke him. When he opened his eyes, the angel was gone. He sat on the bed and fought back tears, torn between accepting Castiel's absolution and the solace it provided or writing it off as shrewd words calculated to keep Lucifer out longer with a dash of insincere praise meant to persuade Sam. He sat there a long time debating between the two, giving up only when Dean called him downstairs.

Sam preoccupied himself with helping Dean prepare dinner. He sliced the vegetables carefully, aiming for even, thin slices. Anything to keep his mind off everything.

His anxiety grew as he watched the minute hand slink towards the hour hand. What if he scared her? What if she was furious with him? What if—

How can she  not  be scared of you? You're a freak who got her kidnapped and almost killed. You think people forgive that kind of stuff? Your very existence altered the course of hers. You derailed her life. Don't you think that deserves some kind of punishment? Don't you think you owe her that? You should be offering yourself up on a silver platter for whatever she wants to do to you. It's the least you can do.

Sam looked over to Dean, who smiled at him. 'Dean, I don't know if I can do this.'

"What, see Lindsey?" Sam nodded. "Why not?"

'I don't know if I can face her…'

"What do you mean? She's been bugging me to come see you."

'Probably to come chew me out for fucking up her life.'

"Cut it out. She came to see you when you were still locked inside your head and I can tell she cares about you. She's not angry with you. She's worried about you."

Sam stared at the floor. 'I don't deserve that.'

"Whatever, dude. She's got the hots for you and apparently having psychic mojo didn't change that for her." Sam threw a withering look over and Dean grinned. "You gonna start blushing on me?"

Sam's face twitched in irritation but he allowed it to cover up his fear. He didn't want anyone touching him like that ever again.

'Shut up, Dean,' he shot back with a playfulness he didn't feel.

But Dean couldn't tell so he grinned even wider. That was fine. Sam was good at pretending.

The knock on the door had Sam flinching slightly but he quickly recovered himself.

Dean opened the door and smiled at Lindsey. They exchanged a quick hug.

"Thanks for coming, Linds. Sam's in the kitchen. Can't remember if I told you, but he doesn't talk out loud, only telepathically."

"Like, in my mind?" She was a little bewildered.

"Yeah. You get used to it though."

Lindsey shucked her coat and hurried to the kitchen, her chest growing tight as she prepared to turn the corner. She breached the doorway and Sam was standing there, clearly doing his best to look her in the eye and keep a smile plastered on his face. He was thin, but better than when she'd last seen him. Despite the weight gain, he looked smaller, like he trying to take up as little space as possible.

"Sam!" she said excitedly, stepping towards him. She noticed how he leaned away from her slightly and she stopped. "Is it alright if I give you a hug?"

Sam swallowed nervously but nodded in agreement. She embraced him slowly and felt how gaunt he really was. He was trembling minutely as he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. She broke away and looked up into face. "How are you doing?"

His eyes darted away and back to hers. Maintaining eye contact was clearly a struggle. She didn't miss the faint red streaks in his left eye. 'O-okay, I guess. I mean, things could be worse.' He smiled lopsidedly and her heart clenched.

They took a seat at the table while Dean prepared plates. "They were, I know. But I'm so happy you're out of that mess. Heck, I'm happy you're even alive. I was so sure that thing in the woods got you and it was all my fault and—"

Sam frowned at her. 'No, hey, none of this is your fault. It's mine. None of this woulda happened to you if I'd chosen a different town—'

She waved her hand dismissively. "It's fine, really. It's been worth it to get to know you, Dean, Bobby, Castiel, Ellen, and Jo." Sam regarded her with disbelief. "It has! I promise. My life wasn't going anywhere anyway but now I can help out here and there with hunts. I might even try to get into it more."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, you didn't tell me that," Dean interrupted as he set down a plate for Lindsey.

"What, I gotta run everything by you, now?" She was teasing but it was laced with a challenge.

"No, but, this is dangerous stuff. Don't want you getting hurt."

"Thanks, dad," she jibed and Dean flipped her off.

They talked about hunting for a while and what were some of the safer things she could go after to get her feet wet. Sam chimed in frequently, much more comfortable talking about hunting than himself.

"So, Dean told me you have some new abilities," Lindsey brought up casually. Sam startled and nearly dropped his spoon. "I think it's cool!" Lindsey clarified.

'You do?' Sam seemed mystified.

"Yeah, actually. I even like whatever this is." She pointed to her eye as she nodded towards Sam.

Sam flicked his gaze away. 'It doesn't scare you?'

"Not really. Makes me curious more than anything else."

'It's from Lucifer. His eyes glow red instead of the normal angelic blue because his grace is so twisted and warped. I don't know how but he did this to me. I can't make it go away. I hate it.' His voice dropped to a whisper by the end.

Dean was frozen as he listened; this was the most he'd heard Sam talk about his physical changes.

But Lindsey took it in stride. "You know there are non-prescription contacts you could get to cover it up, right? We can probably even order some online to match your regular eye color. You got a computer? We can go look at some right now!"

Sam smiled, a genuine, relaxed smile, and Dean's heart leapt for joy. This would help return a bit of normalcy and control to Sam's life. He was disappointed in himself that he hadn't thought of it but was damn grateful for Lindsey.

The two moved off to the living room to surf the web as Dean did the dishes. He heard the occasional laugh coming from Lindsey and waves of amusement coming from Sam. Maybe, just maybe, he could get his brother back.

Dean watched over the course of two weeks as Sam applied himself assiduously, working to get back in shape, eating more, rebuilding his strength. He was recovering way faster than Dean thought possible. He considered there may be something unnatural about that but he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Couldn't they have something go their way for once?

He continued to try to ply Sam's emotions and get him to open up, but Sam was decidedly sealed shut. It even escalated to the point of Sam shouting at Dean that he didn't 'want to talk' and 'just wanted things to go back to normal!' The small halo of objects that flew away from him in his rage did not reassure either Winchester that normal was possible.

Regardless, he could see that Sam was getting restless. There were only so many books to read, jogs to take, things to eat. So he thought he'd float the idea of a hunt.

"What if we start with something simple? Looks like there might be a haunting a couple hours away. We could probably do it in a day."

'Do you want me use my powers? Because I don't know if I'm ready for that.'

Dean shook his head. "No, just to get you back in the groove. Don't think I haven't seen you scouring the papers."

Sam blushed slightly and smiled meekly. 'Okay, so maybe I was.'

Dean grinned. "I knew it."

The next morning, Sam stood at the top of the steps listening as Dean and Bobby argued.

"Dean, dammit, this isn't a good idea. He's not ready."

"Then when is he going to be ready? Physically, he's miles ahead of where he was. Mentally, he's sitting here stewing in his own juices. That's not healthy either!"

"I don't know but I think it's too soon. He doesn't have a handle on his powers and you wanna go throw him in a dangerous situation?"

"It's just a minor salt and burn. I'm not worried about it."

Bobby huffed angrily. "Your arrogance is going to be the death of you. You know as well as I do that simple hauntings rarely end up being just that."

"So then we deal with it," Dean countered. "What's the worst that happens?"

"I would say one of you two idjits dies but I'm guessing your archangel pals won't allow that."

"Michael hasn't said as much but probably."

"It's one thing for you to go throwing your life around but does Sam appreciate you doing that to him?"

"Pretty sure any monster death will be easier than what he's already been through." A slight pause. "You would know," Dean lobbed the words like nuclear weapons.

"Don't," Bobby growled. "I did that for your own good, boy. And I don't regret it."

"Fine. If I have to trust your judgement, then you gotta trust mine."

Strained silence reigned for a few moments before Bobby sighed in defeat. "It's your funeral."

"Sam, you ready?" Dean called up the stairs. "I'll be in the car!"

Dean waited until they were on the highway, headed towards a foreclosed house with reports of ghost activity.

"I figure you heard all that, huh?" Dean asked apologetically.

Sam nodded stiffly.

"Sorry about that, man. I think we're both just trying to look out for you and can't agree on how best to do it."

'I don't even know what I need,' Sam admitted, sighing heavily. 'If I knew, I'd tell you. But I don't.'

"I know, I know," Dean soothed. "But you think of something, you'll tell me, yeah?"

'Yeah,' Sam answered automatically.

They were quiet for a few minutes before Sam spoke up again.

'What did Bobby mean, saying he was doing something for your own good?'

"Oh, that. Bobby wouldn't let me see the records those bastards kept on you. Said they would be too upsetting for me and that he would tell me anything important. He hasn't told me a lot but I don't know how much he's gone through. Probably isn't easy for him either."

Sam snickered morosely. 'No, probably not…' He wondered if he'd want to see the records for himself, see what they thought of him. What did it matter though? He already knew, knew what everyone thought of him. Seeing it confirmed on paper wouldn't change anything. Nothing could change what he was. Nothing.

Dean followed Sam closely, letting Sam take the lead without letting on that's what he wanted. Sam was still hyper-reactive and would flinch at the smallest thing, but he kept it together. It turned out the ghost actually wanted to be laid to rest. It led them to where its remains were stashed in a dusty crawlspace and they made quick work of the spirit. Dean considered it a success. Ghost salted and burned, no problems with Sam. He felt vindicated in the face of Bobby's doubt and smiled to himself.

Dean put their tools in the trunk and slipped into the driver's seat. He started the car and turned the music low. "How do you feel about stopping by The Roadhouse on the way back? It's not too far out of the way. Ellen said she wanted to see us."

Sam's shoulders hitched uncomfortably. 'Don't think that's the best idea.'

"Why not?"

Sam's face twitched and he looked over to Dean. 'Me. Hunter bar. Not the greatest combination.'

"What do you think is going to happen?"

Sam shrugged. 'Nothing good.'

"Sam, no one is going to fuck with you with me and Ellen there."

Sam dropped his gaze to his lap. 'Not necessarily worried about that.'

"Okay… Then what are you worried about?"

Sam's Adam's apple bobbed frantically in his throat. 'What if someone recognizes me? Or I recognize them?'

Dean fought and failed to suppress a sigh. He'd been hoping Sam would feel up to it but clearly his brother wasn't ready. Though, really, who was he kidding? If they went in there and Sam froze up because he saw someone who had tortured him, Dean wasn't sure he'd be able to control himself. Maybe it was just as well they didn't go in.

"Fair point. But Ellen still wants to see us so we'll have her just come out to the car. And maybe bring me a keg. That okay?"

Sam looked up but stared straight out the windshield. He nodded then reached over and turned the music up, making it obvious this conversation was over.

There were more than a few times in college that Sam had fantasized about having a photographic memory. How easy would it be to flip through his law books, stare at the pages, and have all the statutes imprinted into his brain? That was the dream right there.

But now he was inordinately grateful that he wasn't blessed with that neurodivergent quirk. To remember the face of every person who had harmed, abused, or tortured him would be overwhelming. He'd be constantly scanning every crowd, terrified some random face would turn into a snarling attack. As it was, he still felt like he had to look over his shoulder, his body always tensed and ready to flee.

He forced himself to take breaths, steering his mind away from all the memories that threatened to suffocate him. He was safe. He was with Dean. Dean wouldn't let anything happen. Dean would protect him. Like he always had.

Dean pulled the Impala around the back and called Ellen's cell.

"Dean! Good to hear from you!"

"Hey Ellen. Are you at The Roadhouse?"

"I am, what's going on?"

"Come out back to say 'hi'."

"Why don't you just come in, have a beer?"

"Sam doesn't want to come in."

"Sam's with you?!" She sounded excited but doubtful.

"Yeah—"

"I'll be out in a sec!"

Dean hung up and smiled at Sam, who tried to muster the courage to return it. Dean got out of the car and leaned against her as he waited for Ellen. Sam took a few more deep breaths and then followed Dean out.

Ellen burst out of the backdoor and grinned widely at them. "Oh it is so damn good to see you boys!" she exclaimed, hurrying over to them. She gave Dean a quick half-hearted embrace before turning to Sam, her eyes maternal and expression caring.

Ellen swooped in for a hug and Sam didn't get a chance to prepare himself for the close contact. Her arms closed around his chest and he got an overpowering dose of what was on her mind: the last she had seen of him, which was the picture on some hunter's phone. Ellen's remembered nausea swept through him as he felt her horror. He saw himself hung from a tree by razor wire, blood pouring down his battered body. 'TRAITOR' was carved into his forehead and 'EVIL' was burned across his cheeks. Tim stood to one side and a man Sam didn't recognize was on the other. They looked so damn pleased with themselves, like they'd just won the lottery, like they'd had the most fun of their entire lives, like killing him was the best thing ever.

He recalled how they set him free from a cage in the woods, gave him a head start, told him to fucking run because he was the prize game animal they were hunting that day. If he wasn't caught, he'd have the night off. If he was, they could do whatever they wanted to him. They left him barefoot but he couldn't care about that, could only run through the pain in the hope of avoiding something so much worse. He should have been more careful, more observant, more something, but it was getting dark, he didn't see it, didn't notice the open bear trap hidden underneath the leaves. He knew he was fucked the moment he heard the metal hinge creak but it was too late. His ragged scream gave away his location. He tried prying the damn thing apart but only succeeded in ripping up his fingers. He decided to keep moving even with the teeth of the trap chewing through his bones but ultimately the handicap was too much to overcome. The hunters caught up with him and tied him up, laughing and taunting him. He felt the barbed wire digging into his wrists and ankles, the knives slipping under his skin, the razor wire slowly decapitating him until he was being dragged behind a car and his head was sliced clean off—

He snapped out of it to find himself alone in the darkness.

'Dean?!'

Hindsight was always 20/20 but Dean kicked himself for not foreseeing this. Ellen bounded out of the bar and practically pounced on Sam, wrapping the kid in a tight hug. Dean hadn't warned her that Sam didn't like to be touched and clearly something set him off. The second after they made contact, a blast of fearful panic radiated out from Sam, physically shoving them away and shattering all the lights in the area in a blinding shower of sparks. Pitch blackness descended upon them and Dean could hear Sam hyper-ventilating.

'Dean?!' Sam cried out, desperately searching for an anchor.

"Sam, I'm right here!" He pulled out his phone and turned the flashlight on. Sam was in the same spot, chest heaving as he fought for breath. Ellen was still on the ground, stunned. "Ellen, you okay?"

She nodded hesitantly. "I, uh, think so. What the hell just happened?" She stood up slowly, wary of making any sudden movements.

"He has a bunch of new powers that aren't always super well controlled, especially when he gets upset. Sam, concentrate on my voice. One, two, breathe in, three, four, breathe out."

Dean repeated that for about a minute before Sam stopped shaking.

"What is there to get upset about? I didn't do anything!"

'Ph-photo,' Sam said weakly so they could both hear.

"What photo?" they asked in unison.

Sam looked at Ellen and she saw his glowing red eye for the first time. 'Of m-me. Hanging. Hunters. Strung me up…'

Ellen visibly paled and her face fell. "Oh sweetie, I am so sorry! I was thinking about that and you read that off me, didn't you?" Sam nodded jerkily. "I didn't know, I—"

'I-it's okay. Not your fault.' Sam provided magnanimously despite the fact he looked ready to shrink into nothingness.

"Ellen! Power's out in the whole bar!" a voice called from inside and Sam dropped his head in shame.

"Don't you go worrying about this, okay, Sam?" Ellen's voice was firm but compassionate. "I'll be right in," Ellen shouted back. "Now you two take care of yourselves and I wanna see you again soon, you hear?"

"Will do," Dean answered and moved towards Sam to shepherd him into the car. Ellen gave Dean an uncertain smile then headed back into the building.

Without touching Sam, he helped him into the Impala.

Dean assessed his brother as he started the engine. "Alright, man, we're heading back to Bobby's, getting a night's rest, then we're heading to Missouri's. We gotta get this under control."

'I'm sorry,' Sam replied quietly, remorse emanating from his hunched body.

"It's fine, Sam. We just gotta figure this out. That's all."

As if it were ever that easy, Dean thought to himself sourly. It's not like they had a lot of choice in the matter though. They couldn't exactly let this go on uncontained and have Sam blowing out the national power grid every time he got flustered. Flustered? his brain critiqued. You were quite a bit more than flustered when you saw that picture of Sam. You wanted to line up all those hunters up and execute them!

Okay, so maybe he was being unfair to Sam. He never handled these revelations well and he was only learning about them. He didn't have to remember them. He bit back a sigh and clenched his hands around the steering wheel, determined to do whatever it took to help Sam.

He was watching cartoons on the couch, sipping on a fruit punch Hi-C juice box with a bowl of grapes in his lap. A blast of cold air whipped behind him and he turned his head to see if a door or window was open. Nope, everything was closed and locked, just like his parents had taught him to do when he comes from school. He went to pull a blanket over himself and found himself unable to pull it towards his body. He yanked harder and the lights flickered as he fought something he couldn't see for control of the blanket. Things started flying off the table and counters. Terrified, he let go of the blanket and got up as fast as he could, grapes bouncing everywhere. He ran to the front door and tried to open it but it wouldn't budge. He curled up in a ball and wrapped his hands over his head.

"Leave me alone!" he cried, begging whatever was after him. "Please, please let me be! I'll be good!"

The doorknob began to turn and the ruckus suddenly died down. The door pushed open and he wasn't sure he'd ever been so happy to see his mom!

Dean glanced over at his slumbering brother, appreciating how the constant lines of tension on his face had eased as he slept. His face was still gaunt but his eyes no longer had that sunken-in appearance that made him look like he was constantly teetering on the edge of death. Every day, Sam looked a little bit better. He felt the ties around his heart ease a little bit. Sam snoozing in the Impala just felt right and Dean was glad Sam could relax enough to even fall asleep.

But of course, their luck never did hold out.

They were on the northern outskirts of Omaha when Sam's face started to contort in pain.

Dean wrenched the car to the side of the highway as Sam reached out frantically both mentally and physically. 'What-what's happening? Dean? Where am I?'

"Sam, I'm right here. You're in the Impala. What's wrong?"

Sam snapped his head over to Dean and looked at him with wide eyes and a quivering lip. 'I… I think I just had a vision…'

"A vision? Like back when Yellow Eyes—"

'Yeah,' Sam interrupted but didn't elaborate. He turned his head to look out the window, a standard pensive Sam maneuver.

Dean waited a few seconds, watching Sam's fingers nervously knot into each other. "So? What was it about?"

Sam was quiet and Dean let him collect his thoughts. 'A little kid in his house… Lights started flickering, cold spots, things started moving… Probably a poltergeist. Seemed hellbent on terrifying him.'

Dean fiddled with his lip as he listened, mulling over the information. "Anything identifying?"

Sam shook his head. 'Kid was white and young, maybe between 7 and 9?'

"That's not a lot to go on."

Sam huffed in annoyance. 'I know, Dean. Sorry I'm just as useless as ever!' Dean couldn't tell if the last bit was directed at Dean or himself.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there. No one said you're useless. Usually the visions give you enough information to do something about it right? So we just gotta wait until the next one."

'But that was before. Who knows how things work now?'

"Then go back to sleep and maybe you'll see more."

Sam shifted in the seat, obvious discomfort slinking around his long limbs. 'I guess I'll try…'

Sam arranged himself to sleep again but a deep frown remained etched on his face.

A few miles of driving did nothing to lull his brother back to sleep. Instead, he tossed and turned.

"What's wrong, Sam?"

Jesse Turner's innocent, brave face stared at him and guilt boiled through him.

'I gotta save him. I just… I gotta save him.'

"We will. We got this. Now go do your psychic thing so we can kick some ghost ass."

Sam nodded weakly and settled in again to sleep.

And here I was thinking we'd get this stuff under control… Idiot… Dean thought to himself, torn whether to be amused, bitter, or just resigned. He decided he'd have a lot of chances to figure it out.

Cozy, warm. A soft, light green blanket splayed out beneath his tiny fingers. His other hand gripped a small golden dragon stuffed animal with drooping wings. Flipping the covers back, he saw the comfy flannel pajamas with cartoon dinosaurs in the flickering hallway light. He slid out of bed and slowly approached his bedroom door. The closer he got, the colder he felt, until he could actually see puffs of breath hanging in the air.

"Mama?" he called out quietly. "Daddy?" Getting no answer, he crept into the hallway and went towards his parents' room. As he approached, the picture frames lining the space started to rattle against the wall. He hurried along the corridor to their door. Something wafted into his nose and he recognized it as smoke. Smoke?! Looking down, tendrils of smoke were creeping out under the door. He knew he wasn't supposed to open their door if it was closed, but that didn't count if it was an emergency, right?

"Mama! Daddy! There's a fire! We gotta go!" He went to grab the door handle but snapped his hand back when he felt how warm it was. He banged on the door and tried shouting some more but nothing happened. Covering his palm with the sleeve of his pajamas, he gripped the doorknob again and twisted it open despite the intense flash of pain. As he swung the door open, flames leapt towards the fresh source of oxygen, enveloping him in fire.

It was less than twenty minutes later when Dean felt a strange static tingle along his fingertips. It crawled up his arms and neck to the back of his ears before it suddenly escalated to a flare of heat as Sam woke in a panic. He was quicker to reorient himself this time, the familiarity of Dean and the Impala soothing his nerves.

Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes with his hands. 'I was that same little kid and there was still something in his house. Poltergeist acting up. I… he tried to go to his parents bedroom but there was smoke coming out and when he opened the door, flames came towards him. That's when I woke up.'

Fire. Great, Dean's mind chided sarcastically and he forced his brain to lock it down. He didn't need Sam picking up on that kind of energy. "Alright, um, any more clues?"

Sam pinched between his eyes and tried to focus. 'No, nothing that — Wait!' Flashes of the picture frames danced ahead of him and he tried to catch the fleeting glimpses. Family portraits, a photo of a house with the family in front of it, a diploma, with a name! Alyshia Steele … awarded the degree of Doctorate of Philosophy in Quantum Chemistry from the University of S– Dean hit a pothole and it snapped Sam out of the memory. But he had enough. 'I got a name. Alyshia Steele. We need to find them, now, Dean.'

"Alright, let's call Bobby and get him working on it."

'No, we need to do this now. What if the fire is tonight? We might be too late.'

"We don't even know where they are, Sam. Call Bobby and we'll get going on this."

'Fine,' Sam huffed in resignation, but dialed the number and put it on speaker.

"Heya boys," Bobby greeted gruffly.

"Hey Bobby. Sam says hi," Dean added as usual. Sam didn't like to be left out due to his muteness.

"Everything alright? You two just left a few hours ago…"

"Yeah, well, wonders never cease." Sam threw him an annoyed look and Dean dropped the attitude. "This is actually serious. Sam had a vision—" Sam thrust two fingers in front of Dean's face. "Visions," he emphasized the s.

"You sure? A vision? Sam hasn't had one of those in—"

"I know, Bobby, but I believe him. It was just like before. Headaches, grumpy, twitchy, whole nine yards." Sam scowled at him and Dean gave him a 'what?' look in response.

'Jerk,' Sam said half-heartedly.

'Bitch,' Dean replied before refocusing on Bobby.

"Any leads then?"

"A little kid being antagonized by a poltergeist. There was a fire in the parents' bedroom. Sam got a name, the mom I'm guessing. Alyshia Steele." He spelled the name out for Bobby as he looked at Sam for any more information.

'She has a Ph.D. in quantum chemistry from a University of S. I couldn't see what the rest of the name was.'

Dean relayed the information for Bobby. "There can't be too many of those so I'll call you back as soon as I have an address."

"Thanks Bobby. We'll talk to you soon."

Sam ended the call and tucked the phone away. He sat quietly for a few moments, feeling something percolating in Dean. He decided to wait for Dean to tell him instead of rudely taking it from his mind.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Okay, here's what I don't get. Weren't all the visions before related to Azazel? Why would you be having visions about some random poltergeist now?"

Sam shrugged. 'It's not like there're any rules this has to follow. All I know is it felt exactly the same and I'm not gonna ignore that.'

Dean nodded in agreement. "I hear ya, I'm just trying to work this out. See if we can't figure out what else you might be hiding up your sleeve." With the small smile on Dean's face, he obviously meant it as an off-the-cuff joke, but it unexpectedly struck Sam with deadly accuracy and threatened to capsize him.

Yeah, Sam, what else are you hiding? Any other tidbits about supernatural kids you might wanna share with Dean, hmm? Maybe how you drank a human child and didn't even feel that bad about it?

No, that's not true! I didn't want to!

I recall you being pretty damn excited to taste that freak's power. You were ready to rip him open with your own teeth if it came to it. You only changed your tune when it turned out his blood did nothing for you.

Sam shook his head in denial. I—I didn't want to drink him! They made me! They were gonna kill his parents and he wanted me to do it to save them!

Is that what you tell yourself? That you did it because  they made you , because  he wanted you to ? Maybe I need to remind you, maybe you don't remember how damn strung out you were… Let's take a quick peek…

Sam felt an intrusive wave crash over him and he was powerless to fight the tide. Then he was back there, in that bedroom, Jesse's mom bleeding out while Jesse's wide green eyes begged Sam to do something. He felt the pain of his own gunshot, felt the blood from his ruptured eardrum, felt the dried demon's blood on his lips. He noticed the fear and revulsion, the desire to be anywhere but there, but he also couldn't deny the thrill that was pulsing behind his eyes as he imagined the surge of infernal power that would come from even a drop of the Antichrist's blood. In the moment, he had been focused on Jesse and what to do. Now, he had the opportunity to observe everything else. He thought he had been shaking and uncertain as he took Jesse's switchblade, but now he could see that he was sure and eager. His mouth became thick with anticipatory saliva, his throat swallowing convulsively as it greedily awaited its greatest prize. He couldn't wait to taste the ambrosia underneath that quivering skin. The beautiful ruby blossom called to him, sang to him, and he answered its call without hesitation.

And then how sharp, how crushing, how maddening the disappointment when nothing happened, when it was just lowly human blood! He had been robbed of ecstasy! His snarl revealed bloodstained teeth as he looked back at his captors to tell them they were wrong, but they didn't care, they didn't trust their demon spawn not to protect another. Only then, as he sucked the worthless kid dry did his humanity come back to him and he regretted his very existence. Only in his failure to achieve his high could he recognize how fucked up the situation truly was. And yet, it didn't matter. Hot blood still flowed over his tongue and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't fucking breathe—

He coughed painfully and blood sprayed from his lips, painting the dashboard and the windshield with fine red confetti. Distantly he heard Dean exclaim "what the fuck?!" before swerving the Impala to the side of the road. All he could focus on was the taste of blood in his mouth, covering his tongue, coating his teeth, trickling down his throat, making him choke and spasm. The car hadn't even come to a standstill by the time he was shoving the door open and throwing himself out, frantically trying to spit it out, spit all out. 'Human, it's human, stop this, please…' he cried. A hand was on his back, a voice urging him to breathe, and all he could do was retch violently as he scrabbled helplessly in the dust. Tiny rocks dug into his hands and he clung to the fine pinpricks of pain they provided, begging them to ground him. A water bottle appeared in front of him and he lunged for it like a lifeline, tearing the cap off and dousing his face and mouth, frantic to wash the blood away. A few rinses reduced the overpowering taste to a few drops and he belatedly realized the source was not a demon or a child, but his tongue. He must have bitten his own stupid tongue during his little spastic flashback and worked himself into a frenzy.

Crisis averted, he deflated like a leaky balloon and slumped against the Impala. Dean was over him in a second, his voice fraught as he asked if Sam was okay, what happened, does he need more water, Sam, you hearing me? Sam? Sam?

It didn't matter. None of it did. He wasn't back there but that didn't matter either. He'd done it and he'd wanted it. He knew his mind, body, and soul were corrupted; now he could add his beloved intentions to that cursed list. Nothing about him was worth saving. Nothing.

"I hear ya, I'm just trying to work this out. See if we can't figure out what else you might be hiding up your sleeve." In some ways it was like a game: what new crazy power will Sam reveal next? Not that Dean wanted Sam's life to be an unending maze of psychic discovery, but he felt sorry for the kid. As if everything going on wasn't hard enough, add in some unpredictable metaphysical abilities to make sure they were both always on their toes! Dean sighed and looked over to Sam. At least with the visions they had quite a bit of experience. Sam was shaking his head at something but otherwise still looking out the window. That was fine. This Sam didn't like to talk things to death. He was much more reserved, more selective with his unspoken words. Compared to his previous arrangement, Dean supposed Sam was probably downright chatty. He understood it though. He didn't expect Sam to bounce back to his regular emotive self overnight. If ever, maybe. He bit back the eternal sigh that yearned to leave his chest, the one that wished it could fill the gaping void in Sam's soul. Nothing, not even God himself, could fix that, though.

Vaguely he wondered what it felt like to be his brother. Was his head always on fire from the psychic crap? Did it come and go? Did he even notice? Back when it was just visions, it only seemed to bother him when he was actually having one or in the immediate aftermath. But now it was hardly 'just visions.'

As though timed perfectly to emphasize his thought, or perhaps mock it, Sam coughed violently and a mist of blood suddenly sprayed from Sam's face. "What the fuck?!" he shouted as he quickly guided his Baby to the shoulder. Sam was out before he'd even stopped moving. He put the car in park and rounded the hood to find Sam on his hands and knees trying to throw up and failing miserably.

'Human, it's human, stop this, please,' he heard Sam plead but he couldn't figure out what that meant. Maybe he was just babbling.

He crouched and soothed small circles on Sam's back. "Breathe, man, you're okay. Breathe." He caught a glimpse of Sam's face and saw blood speckling his lips and chin, but he couldn't discern the source. He stood and grabbed a bottle of water from the car and held it out. Sam threw his whole body at it, ripping it from his hands. Like a man possessed, Sam yanked the cap off and dumped it over his face, washing away the blood and spit. He began obsessively rinsing his mouth, using the whole bottle to swish his mouth out nine or ten times. Only when the water turned and stayed clear did Sam relax. Then it was like a switch had been flipped and he collapsed against the car.

Dean hunched over him and tried getting his attention. "Sam? Are you okay?" He got no response and tried lifting Sam's head up. He was limp and unresponsive. Clumps of hair stuck to his face haphazardly. "What happened? What the hell was that?" The empty water bottle fell from Sam's hand and rattled in the dirt. "Do you need more water? Sam, are you hearing me? Sam? Sam?"

He lightly slapped the sides of his brother's face, trying to keep him conscious. Gathering up all his panic and urgency, he put his fingers over Sam's temples and screamed a heartfelt 'Sammy!' into his brain.

Sam jolted and his eyes flew open, but the pupils were blown and the gaze unfocused. Sam blinked a few times before shaking his head and pinning his eyes on Dean.

"You with me now?" Dean asked softly.

Sam opened his mouth and took a deep breath then closed his eyes as he expelled the air through his nose. His tongue slipped out to lick his lips as he took a few more breaths. He nodded shallowly.

"You wanna tell me what the hell that was about? 'Cause that wasn't no vision."

Sam opened his eyes and an inscrutable expression passed over his face before he shifted his stare away from Dean. Several minutes passed and Sam made no effort to explain anything. Dean sighed and took a seat on the ground next to Sam, letting the sounds of the highway be their entertainment.

Sensing that they weren't going anywhere until Sam explained, after a few minutes he offered a detached 'I bit my tongue.'

Dean had to stifle the slightly hysterical laugh that wanted to burst out of him. "How does you biting your tongue lead to a full blown panic attack?"

Sam thew Dean a hint of a glare but was clearly too out of it to put any real heat into it. 'It freaked me out.'

Dean waited for a further explanation and suppressed the irritation he felt when he realized that was all he was going to get. He may understand this closed-off Sam but goddammit he did not have to like it. Or even put up with it, actually.

"What freaked you out about it?" he asked carefully.

He watched Sam's jaw twitch as his brother formulated his answer. 'I don't like the feel of blood on my tongue.'

Dean's forehead started to crease in confusion before blinding clarity struck him. Oh. OH.

Sam looked over at him nervously and he looked like he was gonna be sick.

"Nope, I, uh, yeah, I get it now."

Sam tried and failed to clear his throat and instead let his head fall down to his chest and worked on breathing in deep breaths.

A million thoughts dashed through Dean's mind but one stopped him dead in his tracks. Sam had said 'human, it's human, stop this, please.' If the blood was human, not demon, why would he be agitated? If he knew the difference, knew it wasn't demon blood, shouldn't that calm him down? What was he missing? Or was it that he was pissed it wasn't demon blood?

"Sam?"

'Y-yeah?'

"I'm gonna ask you this and I want you to be honest with me."

'Dean, don't, please.' That same piteous tone was back and it was almost enough to make Dean reverse course. Almost.

"Why were you upset that it was human blood?"

Sam's sharp inhale told Dean it was the question Sam hadn't wanted him to ask. His hands started looking for any distraction, any loose thread or piece of rubber on his boot, a stick, something.

'You don't want to know. Trust me.'

"Sam, I'm here for you, no matter what. You know that."

Sam shook his head fiercely. 'You say that, but you don't know. You don't know. Leave it. Please.'

"You know I can't."

'Yes you can. Please, Dean.' Sam's head rose to meet Dean's and his eyes were already filled with tears. His mental voice was strangled in a whisper. 'You'll hate me. I hate me.'

Dean tamped down his impatience. "I already told you, dude, I don't hate you and I can't hate you. Not in my being. So lay it on me. We're not going anywhere 'til you spill."

Sam looked away and his hair fell so that it shielded his face. Silence hung between them like a death sentence and neither wanted to breach it first. Dean waited so long he lost sensation in his butt and then his thighs and then the rest of his legs. The cold wind pelted them mercilessly as countless cars zipped past them on the two lane highway, rattling the Impala against their backs. And still Sam said nothing. Dean was cataloging ways to make Sam talk when his phone suddenly rang and they both flinched hard in the gravel.

Dean slipped the phone out of his pocket and answered, switching the phone to his far ear and purposefully not putting it on speaker. He wasn't gonna reward Sam for withholding something important from him! "Bobby! What'd'ya got?"

"I got an address. 17327 South Creek Circle, Omaha 68136. There's—"

"Wait, Omaha?"

"Yeah, why?"

"We're in Omaha now. Well, almost. We're on I-29 heading into Omaha."

"So Sam's visions are local now?"

Dean wiped a hand over his face. "Fucking beats me. Any other dirt?"

"Yeah, mom is a professor at the University of Nebraska Omaha. Dad, Stefan Grander, is the store manager at Hy-Vee Supermarket. They got a nine-year-old son, Marcus."

"Thanks, Bobby."

"Any time."

Dean hung up and looked over at his brother, who hadn't moved an inch. "We got an address, so we got a case, but don't think that means we're done with this."

He stood and brushed his hands off on his jeans, not offering to help Sam up. He wasn't sure if he was being unfair or not. No, he couldn't make Sam talk, but whatever it was, it was major. Sam may have changed some, okay, a lot, but new Sam or old, his brother didn't deal well with keeping things buried inside.

Sam was sliding himself into the seat by the time Dean started the car. Sam still hid his face and it was burning Dean to not know what had him in such a state. What could be worse than drinking demon blood, than letting Lucifer free? Whatever, he'd get it out of his brother one way or another. He punched the address into his phone and started the car, not even asking if Sam was ready or not.

They stopped by the house, which Sam confirmed was the one from his vision, but no one was home. Seeing as it was early afternoon on a weekday, that wasn't much of a surprise. The dead-end street didn't provide them much protection in terms of a stakeout, so they decided to come back later. Sam relayed that his fire vision seemed to happen at night so there was no imminent threat.

Tension clung to them like swamp air and Dean had had about enough of sitting two feet from Sam yet feeling like his brother was miles away. He checked them into a motel and started unpacking, leaving Sam to mope in the front seat.

He tossed his duffel on the bed then pulled out his phone and dialed, pacing the room as it rang.

"Hey Missouri," he greeted with false enthusiasm.

"Not that I don't wanna see you, but why I do I get the feeling you aren't coming here tonight?"

"Damn you're good. We were on our way when Sam started having visions outside of Omaha and turns out they're about a family in Omaha."

"Did you say visions? Sam's having visions again?"

Dean ran his hand through his hair. "Yeah… Just kinda popped up outta nowhere. So we need to stay and check this out, then we'll be on our way. I hope you understand why—"

"It's alright, Dean. I never told you this, but first time I met you two as grown-ups, I could tell Sam had powerful abilities. Stronger than my own. So he has a vision, you better follow it up."

That stopped Dean in his tracks. "What? You knew? About Sam?" Dean couldn't help but feel a little betrayed.

"He knew the poltergeist was still there when I thought we had cleansed the house. I knew he had the gift, but it was completely untamed. I wanted to tell him, and tell you, but your father didn't—"

"Dad?" Now Dean was at a complete loss.

Missouri sighed. "Yeah, your daddy was there when you two were. He wanted to see you both, he really did, and I wanted to tell you, but he made me promise. He didn't want to see you until he knew the truth—"

Abruptly it all slotted into place. "About Sam. About how I'd have to either save him or kill him. That son of a bitch!" Dean ended in a growl.

"He thought he was doing the right thing."

"That must have been nice for him," he spat bitterly.

"Dean—"

"You don't need to explain for him, Missouri. It doesn't matter anyway. What's done is done. Doubt it woulda changed anything. I could never kill Sammy." Even when you find out what he's hiding from you? his mind countered. However terrible that is? His train of thought derailed and he found himself adrift in the room.

"Dean? Dean, what are you thinking, honey?"

Dean took a deep breath and thought about how to phrase this. "Something happened after one of the visions… Sam had some kind of panic attack but he wouldn't tell me what caused it. I tried just sitting on the side of the road with him until he told me but Sam wouldn't budge and then Bobby called with the address. Whatever it is, it's bad, and he won't say, but I know him, he needs to get it out. How can I make him tell me?"

Missouri let out a soft chuckle and Dean frowned at the perceived disrespect. "You say you know him, but you're letting yourself get in the way. If he needs to, he will tell you. Just give him the space and don't force it. If you need to know, he'll share."

"Dunno if you noticed, but him not sharing some key info is kind of what started this whole damn apocalypse, so excuse me if I don't trust him to be an open book all of a sudden."

"You're angry, Dean, and you have every right to be. But Sam's soul… It's scared, damaged… He was alone for a long time with only a fallen angel for company. It's not going to respond to your anger. Your best bet is compassion, and everything else will come, on his schedule."

Missouri's sympathetic words bulls-eyed his psyche and he remembered, with crippling precision, every time he'd ever answered Sam's questions or decisions or cries for help with frustration, with 'no, because I said so', with 'suck it up' instead of patience and understanding. Shame welled up within him and it threatened to cut off his oxygen.

"Hey, hey, don't go doing that. You said it yourself, what's done is done. But what you can do now is be there for Sam the way he always needed you to be. You haven't forgotten how to do this, you've just forgotten why you do this."

Dean heard the car door close and knew he would have company very soon. "You're right, Missouri. Thank you. Sam's about to come in, so, I, uh, should probably go."

"Keep in touch, dear."

"Yes, ma'am."

Dean hung up the phone as the doorknob turned. He quickly wiped his eyes and put his phone away. He looked up to see Sam silently slip in the room, shut the door, and creep past him.

"Sammy," Dean said, louder than he intended. Sam flinched and Dean winced.

Sam stopped walking, a few feet from 'his' bed. 'You want me to leave?' Sam asked in a small voice, resignation already plain in his tone.

"What? No!" Dean hurried out. "I was gonna say I'm sorry for pushing you earlier. That wasn't fair and I won't do it again."

Sam's head tilted forward for a second before he turned and studied Dean's face for a few moments. Apparently finding what he saw satisfactory, he gave Dean a small smile. 'Thank you,' he offered solemnly. Then the moment was over as he spun and dropped his duffel on the bed.

Dean nodded to himself, hoped that was enough, then decided to move forward. "So, uh, what do you wanna do for dinner? Probably got a few more options here in Omaha than our regular podunk towns. I'll even go to, what was it, Panera, with you."

That got a rueful smile from Sam and they bickered about what healthy-ish food Dean could possibly stomach from Panera. Dean felt their regular cadence return and he surrendered himself to wait for Sam, however long that took.

They decided to go with the "we're detectives looking into some burglaries in the area" disguise since they couldn't find any relevant history on the house or the family.

The mother opened the door. Dean flashed a winning smile and caught her attention before she could engage Sam. "Hello. I'm Detective Mullen and this is my partner, Detective Evans." Sam nodded a greeting as they both showed their badges. Dean made a show of checking his notebook. "Assuming I've got the right house, you must be Dr. Steele, right?" The woman nodded. "We're investigating some recent burglaries in the area and were hoping you'd have a moment to answer a few questions."

"Burglaries? Here? Well, um, I… Yeah sure, I have a minute." She appraised them briefly. "You wouldn't happen to have been near anyone who was sick recently?" The brothers gave her a confused look and shook their heads 'no.' "Sorry, I have to ask. It's just that my son had a liver transplant recently and he is very susceptible to illness."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm glad he got a transplant," Dean offered.

She beckoned them inside and Sam took the opportunity to say something with her back turned so he didn't seem completely mute. 'Has he been recovering well?'

She led them into the kitchen where Stefan was cooking and Marcus was playing with some toys on the table. "Yes, thankfully. The doctors say they've never seen a kid bounce back like Marcus! I'd attribute it to us actually following all the rules but who knows, maybe we were just lucky."

"Luck favors the prepared or something like that, right?" Dean recalled. Alyshia beamed up at him and stroked Marcus's hair.

"Mom!" he protested and tried to wiggle out of her grip. While she was distracted, Dean dialed Sam's phone so it rang and allowed him to step away. They had practiced Sam 'throwing' his mental voice so he would be able to search places while Dean interacted with their victim or suspect. Dean re-introduced themselves then continued a casual line of questioning while Sam did a quick sweep of the house. He didn't even bother with the EMF: he was far more sensitive. He sensed a malevolent energy that seemed to be localized to the kid's room. It didn't totally match with his visions but Sam knew his visions never revealed the whole story.

He rejoined Dean as his brother was wrapping up and they left with the family promising to give them a call if anything unusual happened.

They got into the car before exchanging info. "Definitely poltergeist." 'Definitely poltergeist.' they both said at the same time. Dean deferred to Sam. 'I felt it. Some kind of negative energy, mostly in the kid's room. Definitely malicious.'

Dean nodded. "Checks out. Seems like it started when they came back from the hospital after the transplant. They chalked it up to them being just over-tired or maybe not used to the sounds of the home because they were gone so long, but they have noticed things moved or missing."

'Were you able to question Marcus at all?'

"The kid? Nah, but he stopped playing when we went over that stuff and was real quiet. I'm betting there're things going on he's not telling mom and dad about."

'I agree. Saw grapes under the couch that looked pretty fresh. Guessing my first vision happened either yesterday or today.'

Dean scrunched his eyebrows. "Grapes?"

Sam waved a hand in dismissal and smiled impishly. 'Sorry. In my first vision, kid got scared and spilled a bowl of grapes.'

"You know, Sam, if I didn't know you, I'd say your head was broken." He couldn't keep the playful tone out of his voice.

Sam smiled and shrugged. 'I take what I can get. Beggars can't be choosers.'

"Yeah, yeah. Alright, you wanna stay here or head back to the motel for a little bit?"

'Up to you.'

"No man, I asked you. Your visions, your call."

That made Sam pause and he swallowed nervously in the silence. 'I'd like to stay.'

"Had a feeling you'd say that, so I grabbed some cold ones for us." He reached into the backseat and pulled a sixpack out. Sam took the proffered bottle with an uneasy smile and settled himself in to watch.

It was 11:36 pm and Dean was on the dregs of his fourth beer. They'd been in the car for over five hours while Dean's tapes kept them in companiable near-silence. The AC/DC cassette ended and Dean halfheartedly searched for a tape they hadn't heard yet before giving up and draining his beer. He debated for a few minutes whether he should save the last beer before deciding waiting was for losers. He grabbed the last one and was about to offer it to Sam when he saw his brother's bottle was still over halfway full in the cupholder. Sam's attention was glued to the house, waiting patiently for any sign of trouble. Dean twisted the top off and took a swig. He was grateful he'd fully swallowed the gulp or else he may have choked on it as Sam chose then to drop the bomb.

'I killed a kid.' Sam's voice was flat, emotionless.

Dean was about to ask if he'd heard that right, but, uh, duh, it was being projected directly into his brain. How could he mishear it?

"What?" was all he could manage over his astonishment.

'I killed a child. About Marcus's age.' Myriad emotions leapt up, warring for dominance. Horror, disgust, sympathy, rage, but he had to push it all down and hear Sam out. This was what he'd offered and he needed to follow through.

"How did it happen?" Dean asked evenly, sealing a tight lid over his feelings so he wouldn't scare Sam away.

Sam was motionless, staring at the house. 'Second hunt they — Tim and Reggie —' (Dean thinks that's the first time he's ever heard Sam say their names.) 'forced me on. After the baykok where they burned me to ash.' (Dean had to suppress that photo of his brother's lanky body folded up in a dog cage, the flesh on his bones slowly growing back. He suddenly regreted all those beers.)

'They got wind of some sort of demon spawn in Alliance, Nebraska. They went to go investigate and left me in the kennel.' (God, that fucking kennel!) 'I dunno if it was withdrawal or what, but I started hallucinating something fierce. Jess,' (Sam still said her name with such reverence that Dean's heart skipped a beat.), 'myself in college…' Sam's face folded slightly in confusion. 'I think even Lucifer was there at some point…' He shrugged and his blank expression returned. 'When they came back, they carted me off and said if they couldn't kill this kid, I had to do it. Plan went out the window the moment we got there because there was already a demon there, trying to take the kid. Turns out he's the Antichrist, one of the stars of Lucifer's army.'

Dean's eyes bulged in shock. How come he, Bobby, or Cas didn't hear about this?!

'They'd given me a tiny hit of blood before we went upstairs. Not enough to do anything, but enough to stop the demon's powers from working on me. They wanted me to exorcise it but I didn't have the juice and the damn thing knew it. It reached for the kid and Tim or Reggie shot her. Some of the blood—' Sam stopped, glanced at Dean minutely then back to the house, 'Some of the blood got on me and… I'm sorry, Dean,' his voice shook a little bit, the first hint of emotion he'd shown so far, 'I was so damn weak. But I brought it to my mouth and, it was so good, I just had to have more, I was so thirsty…' He took in a shaky breath and Dean took the opportunity to reassure his brother.

"I know, Sam, it's an addiction. You don't have to apologize to me for it. I get it. I don't love it, but I get it. And you don't need to hide that from me. Is that what you were so worried about?"

Sam's throat let out a choked, bitter laugh that reminded Dean a little too much of demon-Sam and he tensed despite himself. But Sam didn't notice and plowed on. 'I wanted to drain the whole demon but they pulled me off. Told me to kill the demon and then kill the kid.'

Ah, Dean thought. Here we go.

'I thought I was just going to crush the Hell spawn with my power, I had enough now.' Dean noted how Sam absent-mindedly licked his lips. 'But they…' he sighed angrily, 'those fuckers, they planted the idea and once it was there, there was no getting around it.' Sam's hands started to flex and clench in tight fists. 'I fucking knew it was wrong but I couldn't help myself. I still wanted it and it sounded like the closest thing to Heaven I was ever gonna get.' His breathing had picked up and Sam was panting now.

Dean wasn't following. "What was? What idea? What are you talking about?" he whispered, an indescribable anticipatory fear stealing his voice.

Sam's lips curled in an ugly moue and Dean was again reminded of demon-Sam. 'They said,' Sam turned to look at Dean and the red of his left eye glowed brightly in the darkness, ''You think you get a rush from regular demon blood? Imagine the high the Antichrist will give you!''

Dean felt his breath leave his lungs like he'd been punched in the gut. No. No. No, no, no, no, no!

Seemingly satisfied with Dean's reaction of revulsion, Sam looked back to the house. 'Oh, I tried telling myself it was reprehensible. I argued with them. Said, he's just a kid! He's innocent! But part of me, a big part of me, was just begging to get a taste…' Sam stopped, seemingly caught up in the memory. Dean was definitely regretting those beers now. He bit his lip to suppress his nausea. 'In the end, I was too pathetic to even decide for myself.' Sam started speeding up now, agitated. 'They shot the mom when I didn't move and the kid begged me to do it to save his parents, even gave me his own engraved switchblade.' Sam laughed dementedly but Dean was somehow comforted by the fact that Sam hadn't followed through on his own volition.

'So I did it, I fucking did it, I sliced this little kid's throat open, used my teeth to widen the cut, and I fucking drank him, Dean.' Sam snapped his head over to gaze at his brother and Dean prayed to a God he knew was absent that it was just the shadows that made Sam's eyes look black. 'And the best part? Out of everything?' His voice was high now; Sam was straining to keep it together. 'It had no effect! It didn't do anything! The kid believed he was human so he was. I tried to stop, to tell them, but they didn't care. So I had to drink an entire child's-worth of blood, human blood, for absolutely fucking nothing!' Sam's expression was manic now and his chest was heaving with exertion. Dean had to fight the deeply instinctual bodily urge to open the door and run.

The words were slow to register but when they did… "Human blood! That's why you freaked out! Because you thought you were back there, and you didn't want to be. That's good, Sam!"

Sam shook his head violently. 'Don't you get it? I wanted it to be something, I wanted to take his power from him, to be something… something that… Aghhhh I don't even know!' It ended in a scream that had Dean cowering to protect himself as Sam punched the roof of the car hard enough to leave a small dent.

When Dean opened his eyes and peeked between his raised arms, it was as if the entire episode had never happened. Sam was back to staring at the house, chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly, hands idle in his lap. His voice was glass-calm when he spoke again.

'That's why I just let everything happen. Not that I could have escaped easily anyway, but it was what I deserved. I've known I was a monster for a long time, but it always came second, after some other descriptor. But I was fooling myself. I was a monster first, hunter, brother, or Winchester second.' His face curled in disgust. 'Everything that happened to me was unfair if I was anything else first. But I'm not. In that moment, my true colors came out, and they're not rainbows and unicorns. I'm evil, Dean. If you had any damn sense, you'd find a way to lock me away forever.'

"Don't say that," Dean gasped, hurling the words at his stoically drowning brother. He may have meant it as a lifeline but he didn’t have the strength to reel his brother in.

Sam lifted a shoulder listlessly. 'What? It's true. I don't need you to deny it for me, Dean. I've already accepted it. I would have dealt with the problem myself if I were able.' Sam laughed again, that not-quite-sane laugh. 'In fact, that was one of the first things I told Lucifer when he found me. When I realized he needed my consent, I told him 'I will kill myself before letting you in.' How full of righteous suicidal ideation I was for those few seconds! Then he rolled his eyes, saying 'And I'll just bring you back.' I never got the chance to test it for myself like I intended but, uh, I think we both know the devil wasn't lying that time.' Sam's grin was so at odds with what he was saying that Dean's mind threatened to blue-screen-of-death as it tried, and failed, to process everything.

"You… you were going to kill yourself?" Dean breathed.

'And avert the apocalypse that I started?! Hell yeah! I'd still do it if we could find a way to make it stick.'

"You don't mean that," Dean spat desperately.

Sam looked at him like he had three heads. 'You're kidding, right? Swap one failed little brother for continued celestial peace on Earth? It's a no brainer. You feeling alright, Dean?' Sam raised his hand to feel Dean's forehead and the older Winchester involuntarily flinched. And wasn't that just fucking peachy! Sam smiled knowingly and looked back to the house. His voice was still tight but it had lost its deranged furor. 'I know you only keep me around so you can keep an eye on me. Make sure I don't go fucking up any more shit. It's okay. You don't have to keep pretending. I'm cool with it. Fuck, I need it. You're doing me a huge favor.'

"No, Sam, no. Just… Goddamit!" Now it was Dean's turn to leave an angry mark on his Baby but his fist was the only thing that took damage. His brain was bursting at the seams and he couldn't keep track of any one thought. He took a deep breath. "I won't lie to you. I did think that at one point, that I had to watch you, make sure you didn't fall off the wagon again. But, uh, something happened, and it made me change my mind."

Sam threw him a cursory glance that told Dean to continue even if Sam wasn't sure he believed what Dean was saying.

"The night you called me and told me that you were Lucifer's vessel, and I said all that stupid shit to you…" Dean sighed heavily, trying to purge his body of his relentless regret. "When I woke up, I was five years in the future." Sam turned an upraised eyebrow at him. "I shit you not. It was Zachariah. He was trying to teach me a lesson and get me to say 'yes' to Michael. He said I could prevent all of this from happening. In this future, the Croatoan virus had infected most of humanity and there were only isolated refugee camps left. Apparently, you and I hadn't talked since that phone call and you…" Dean took a deep breath. "You said 'yes' to Lucifer." Distress radiated from Sam and his fingers started tangling aggressively. "Hey, that isn't how it's gonna go. This was just Zachariah fucking with me. He wanted me to agree to being an angel condom but that's not what I took away from it."

'N-no?' Sam asked quietly, his voice shaking and meek.

Dean watched Sam's throat convulse. "I realized that, yeah, maybe we are each other's Achilles' heel, and maybe they'll find a way to use us against each other. But we're all we've got. More than that. We keep each other human. I called you the second Cas rescued me and then I was looking for you from there on out."
The convulsions graduated to painful looking spasms as Sam dragged his eyes over to meet Dean's. 'But look at me now. I'm barely human.' His voice was an agonizing mixture of hope and despair.

Dean shrugged casually, trying to ease some of the tension before he suffocated. "Eh, human is just a state of mind. You're human where it counts. I mean, I don't see you signing up to let an angel in."

Sam shook his head defiantly, eyes fervently shining with unshed tears. 'No, I wouldn't, I'm not, I won't ever say 'yes' to Lucifer. You have to believe me, Dean. He's tried so many times but I always said 'no'.'

"I do believe you, Sam," Dean returned ardently, but Sam was still pleading with his entire being. Dean leaned over and put a hand on Sam's thigh to reassure him. Savage electricity radiated from the point of contact and Dean was enveloped in a maelstrom of schizophrenic memories. A thousand fractal scenes of Lucifer gently urging Sam to say 'yes' and save himself; Lucifer only partially healing Sam, knowingly perpetuating his suffering; Lucifer threatening Dean, Bobby, anyone or anything that Sam had ever cared about; Lucifer explaining that oblivion awaited Sam if he didn't concede this very instant. Dean wanted to rip his hand away and halt the deluge but instead, he squeezed firmer and projected comforting thoughts towards Sam with all the mental strength he could muster. The two of them laying out under the stars; driving down the highway on a warm spring day; relaxing at Bobby's after a hunt; enjoying a beer by a glittering lake… On and on until he felt the oppressive vortex of Sam's mind subside.

He wasn't sure when it happened but when Dean returned his attention to the outside world, he realized they were locked in a tight embrace and Sam was crying into his neck. Sam's body was twisted uncomfortably but it didn't seem to matter. He just needed Dean and the unqualified acceptance the older brother was offering. Dean continued to hold Sam and stroked his back, chasing away Sam's doubts with murmured words of faith and confidence.

Eventually the tears ebbed and Sam slowly pulled away. He shyly caught Dean's eyes before staring at the house. 'I don't get why you're so good to me.'

Dean let out a tiny scoff but found himself searching for a sufficient answer. "I know I haven't always been the best brother—" Sam looked at him, ready to debate that claim, but Dean just held his hand up. "I haven't. But it never meant I stopped caring about you, about wanting what was best for you. Man, it killed me when you went to Stanford, but I knew it was right for you and I was so proud of you for doing that for yourself. And right now, you'd have every right to just crash and burn and say 'to Hell with it!', me included, but you're not. You could have given into unimaginable power, but you haven't. You could have gone full darkside and I don't think anyone who understood what you were going through would have really blamed you for it. But you didn't. You fought back against the darkest parts of yourself, continue to fight, continue to win, and here you are, ready to go another round to help some stranger. I don't think I could be prouder of you if I tried."

Dean was a little breathless by the end of his pronouncement and Sam looked wholly unable to comprehend what had just been shared. Tears threatened his vision again and he sniffed, body fighting to hold in the sobs. Sam's mouth opened and closed experimentally before he set his jaw and forced out a faint and raspy, but decidedly spoken, "Th-thank you. R-really."

Dean let out a small gasp and he grinned, eyes going from Sam's lips to his brother's adoring gaze and back. "You just said that out loud! Holy shit, Sam!"

Sam nodded and tried to say something else but it only culminated in a pained sigh. Sam looked disappointed but Dean was still ecstatic. "Hey, baby steps, man. That's really good."

Sam smiled and absorbed Dean's excitement, letting his own frustration blow away like dust. If it was good enough for Dean, if he was good enough for Dean, then it was good enough for him.

Sam felt oddly calm after the intense — that was a fucking understatement if there ever was one — conversation. Or maybe he was just exhausted. He couldn't tell anymore. But Dean hadn't rejected him. In fact, the opposite had happened. It genuinely baffled him but he was too damn grateful to surrender to his typical over-analysis and mental vivisection. Dean wanted him there, was even proud of him! It was a better outcome than Sam could have ever dreamed of. He allowed himself to revel in the approval, embracing Dean's acceptance. It felt like a burst of oxygen to his soul and it somehow reignited the smothered spark of self-worth within him. Maybe he still had a chance at redemption.

An annoying hum buzzed in his ear and Sam shook his head to dispel it but it lingered. He eyed the radio, thinking maybe it was static, but the volume was off. Over the next several minutes, the intensity increased and it started to prickle his nerves. It progressed to a subtle burning and he began to fidget, which of course caught Dean's attention.

"Dude, why the ants in your pants?"

'I… I don't know… Something's wrong… Do you think maybe the poltergeist is acting up?'

They both looked to the house but nothing seemed amiss. Dean checked his watch. "It's almost 4 am. Wouldn't hurt to take a sneaky look around."

Dean grabbed the duffel with their supplies. He expertly unlocked the back door and they slipped in. The smell of smoke was undeniable. Sam was off running for the bedrooms before Dean could stop him. "Sam!" Dean called, not wanting his brother to go in un-armed. "At least wait for the damn sawn-off," he grumbled, pulling both the guns out and loading his pockets with salt rounds. He hurried after Sam, just in time to catch his giant sibling full body tackle Marcus to the ground as flames reached out of the doorway. Sam quickly pushed the kid up and shoved him towards Dean.

'Get him out! I'll get the parents!'

"Sam, don't! The smoke! It's too late!" Dean tossed Sam his gun and beckoned Marcus forward.

A grin splashed across Sam's face and Dean heard a giddy laugh echo in his mind. 'Can't die, remember?'

"Dammit, Sam, 'unlimited resurrection' is not the same as 'can't die'!" Dean shouted as he darted towards Marcus.

'Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe,' Sam answered flippantly and charged into the burning room.

"Sam! They are not the same!" he yelled and scooped the ten-year-old up.

'Trust you to be pedantic in an emergency,' Sam jibed from out of sight.

Dean could only growl in response as he turned away from the fire. He wanted to tear his pain-in-the-ass little brother a new one but it would have to wait. "Okay, kid, let's get you outside." He brought Marcus out to the driveway and set him down. "Stay right here. We'll be right back with your parents."

Dean dashed back inside and returned to the same hallway. Thick smoke now obscured his view of the doorway. He was about to run in regardless when Sam was suddenly in front of him, pushing the husband into Dean's arms. The man was barely conscious and clearly disoriented. "This way, c'mon," Dean urged.

Stefan weakly flailed against his arms. "My wife, and my son!"

"Sam's got 'em. Let's go!" He half-carried the coughing man out of the house and to a relieved Marcus. Dean spun and was about to go back inside when Alyshia came stumbling out. "You got somewhere you can go tonight?" he asked briskly. Though dazed, she nodded. "Go there. Don't come back until morning!" He guided her to her rescued family then set his mind on saving his own. As soon as he turned his head towards the door, it slammed shut.

Fuck!

Sam directed Alyshia to the front door then made a break for the weapons bag. He pulled out the fire extinguisher and salt rounds then raced back to the master bedroom. He wasn't sure if his eyes or lungs burned more but he had to put the fire out before hunting the poltergeist. By then he'd have Dean to back him up. He let the P.A.S.S. acronym from his college RA training guide him: pull the pin, aim at the base of the fire, squeeze the handle, and sweep from side to side. Within a few seconds, he had the fire doused. He threw the windows open to clear the smoke and let himself get a few breaths of fresh air. The buzzing from earlier abruptly returned and he knew he was out of time. He rose and stalked across the bedroom, expecting the thing to be waiting for him in the hallway. Sawn-off poking around the doorframe, he stuck his head out but nothing happened.

Distantly he heard Dean calling his name and pounding on the door. Damn thing must have locked Dean out. Sam padded down the hallway towards the front door. He turned the corner and came face to face with his quarry. He'd never physically seen a poltergeist but there was no doubt that's what was before him now. Poltergeists were usually only detectable by their effects and actions, but Sam could clearly see the malevolent spirit. The vague, distorted outline of a man hung in the air, a permanent snarl etched on its flickering face. Thin tendrils of whitish orange energy, almost like staticky flames, coursed over the thing's body in frenzied patterns. Fingers had deformed into claws and these reached out for Sam's neck in a lunge. He swung himself backwards as he called for his brother.

Sam slid back around the corner and ran down the hall as he prepared to lift his sawn-off. He spun halfway down but he was too slow. No sooner had he begun to sweep his arm up, the spirit screamed at him and he was thrown back into the wall, pinned, head shattering a picture frame. Sam felt warm blood spring from numerous slices on his scalp but he couldn't move to check the damage.

'Dean!' Sam called out again as it approached. His cry for help seemed to anger it further. A wispy hand clamped over his mouth, a clear message to be quiet, the contact sending searing pain through Sam. He tried to struggle against the grip but a second ethereal hand lanced his heart and he couldn't repress the guttural cry of agony that ended up trapped in his throat.

The poltergeist brought its enraged face directly in front of Sam's. Its whirling, bloodshot eyes expressed extraordinary hate and complete disdain. "Filthy," the ghost hissed at him. The confusion that sprung up on Sam's face must have provoked a further explanation. "I used to hunt creatures like you, the freaks of nature that stain this world. Monsters, ghosts, anything unnatural, but my favorite prey were those who pretended to be human, like you."

'You are — were — a hunter?'

A feral grin spread in wicked little flames. "That's right. And you must be hunted. You might fool most everyone else, but I can see your corruption from a mile away. And now you're trying to spread like a metaphysical infection. You must be stopped!"

'Wait, what? What do you mean?'

The spirit laughed mockingly. "Don't play dumb. It's not a good look for anyone, even Hell spawn like you. You're trying to turn the little boy! I can't allow it!"

Sam's brain worked frantically to understand what the poltergeist meant. But he didn't get much of chance as the thing moved one hand to also cover Sam's nose and the other started to curl around Sam's heart.

'Dean! Dying!' he shouted as loud as he could, suddenly not feeling so cavalier about the repeated death and unlimited resurrection thing. The desperation with which he called for his brother leaked some power from his soul and pushed the poltergeist back slightly, allowing him to heave in a deep breath. It must have disrupted the ghost's hold on the front door as well because Sam heard it swing open and Dean rush in.

'I'm coming, Sammy!' Dean called and Sam could hear his boots thundering towards him.

The poltergeist pounced on him again and was more vigorous in its attack. Dean turned the corner and saw Sam pinned to the wall. "Where is it?" he asked, shotgun up and ready to shoot.

'You can't see it?! It's right in front of me!' Sam cried, frantic for air.

Dean moved so that he wouldn't hit Sam and fired, freeing Sam for the moment. Sam dropped to his knees and sucked in oxygen.

"You alright?" Dean asked as he reloaded.

'Yeah,' he managed, rubbing his chest. 'Thanks.'

"You could see it?" Dean resumed his defensive posture and scanned the space for any threats.

'Yeah. It's like a ghost but a little different. Kinda… mutated by anger, I guess.'

"Seeing a poltergeist. That must be a hunting first!" Dean sounded impressed.

A chill ran down Sam's spine. 'Yeah, um, Dean. The spirit? It's a hunter.'

Dean snapped his head over his shoulder to look at Sam. "What?!"

Sam merely nodded in confirmation.

"But doesn't it know we're hunters? Why is it attacking us?"

Sam gulped uncomfortably. 'Because of me. It can sense my… evil. It said that I'm filthy and that I'm spreading like an infection. It said I'm corrupting the kid somehow.'

"How? You've never even met him!"

Sam's brain had been churning the last minute or so as he recovered and it presented its results with devastating clarity. Sam immediately knew it was the only thing that made sense: 'The liver transplant.'

"What?" Now Dean was extra lost.

'When they harvested my organs… Marcus must have gotten a piece of my liver. And it's contaminated with demon blood. So now this psycho hunter poltergeist thinks Marcus is evil because he was unlucky enough to get my organ!'

Dean's gun wilted in his hands as he processed that. "You're shitting me, right?"

'What else could it be?! How could I be 'corrupting' Marcus if I haven't met him? Unless he has a literal piece of me, Mr. Evil Incarnate, inside of him?' Sam motioned to his abdomen to further drive home his point.

Dean scowled at Sam for that last part then rubbed his hand over his face. "This is too fucked up, even for me." He lifted his sawn-off and looked around himself warily. "So now what?"

'Poltergeist first. Marcus second.'

"Agreed."

'Got the purifying satchels?'

"In the duffel."

Moving as one, they made their way to the backdoor, senses keen for any sign of their enemy. It was quiet though, and that made them more anxious. Sam stood guard as Dean fished out the satchels. "I think we should stick together. One watches, one places 'em." Sam nodded in agreement and they moved to the first cardinal point of the house. Dean kicked in the drywall and threw the satchel in. The temperature dropped precipitously.

They hurried to the next room and repeated the maneuver, earning them a few thrown objects which they ducked with agility. The third satchel had to be placed in the brick wall of the living room. 'There's a hammer in the bag. You gonna be okay on your own for a sec?'

Dean shoved the little bag in his pocket for safekeeping and readied his shotgun. "Go for it."

Sam gave Dean a quick jerk of his head then ran for their supplies.

Dean scanned the room, ready and waiting for the evil bastard to pelt him with books or send him careening into a wall. What he wasn't expecting was the cold breath in his ear. That had him flinching and spinning in a tight circle.

"You call yourself a hunter! And yet you lay your head to rest every night while that thing continues to exist!" The rough voice was simultaneously distant and intimate, quiet but overpowering.

Dean felt his cheek twitch in irritation. "Now I know you're not talking about my brother."

"Brother?" the spirit hissed in his other ear. He felt and heard a deep inhale. "You're clean. You can live. But he must die."

"Not happening," Dean growled.

"You would defend evil?"

"He's not evil," Dean stated firmly.

"You choose to ignore his corruption?"

"He's not evil," Dean repeated through clenched teeth.

"Then I must cleanse him of his wickedness and you of your ignorance!"

"Gimmie your best shot," Dean jeered as Sam hurried into the room.

Sam nearly fell over himself he stopped so sharply. The poltergeist was behind Dean, seemingly whispering into his ear.

Dean snapped his fingers at his frozen brother. "Sam! The wall!"

Sam rushed past Dean and started wailing away at the brick, immensely grateful it was only a single decorative layer. Dean turned and was reaching towards the hole when he was suddenly driven backwards and splayed against the far wall. In his surprise, he had dropped the satchel.

'Dean!' Sam exclaimed and dove for the satchel, but it disintegrated in his hands as the poltergeist crushed it under its flickering foot.

The spirit glared down at Sam, hate frothing from its translucent lips. "You know what's worse than evil?" It pointed to Dean. "What's worse is good allowing itself to be seduced by evil!" The poltergeist gripped Sam's hair and cranked his neck at an unnatural angle as he bent down to whisper into Sam's ear. "He thinks you're not evil. I don't know how but you have ruined him as well. He refuses to destroy you, therefore, I must deal with him before I can destroy you. Those who protect evil are doomed to perish with it! That is your legacy, demon!" Spectral hand still woven deep into Sam's locks, it jerked its arm roughly and slammed Sam's head into the marble coffee table. Sam dropped to the floor, motionless.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted with panic but was powerless to assist his brother. Sam's unresponsive body was dragged over and dropped in a crumpled heap in front of Dean. He couldn't see the damn thing but he could feel the freezing, angry energy rippling around him. Dean saw blood trailing from Sam's hairline but wasn't sure if he was breathing. Whatever, what's one more to add to the tally of Sam's deaths Dean couldn't prevent? "Joke's on you, fuckface! He can't die!"

"Maybe not. But you can!"

A wedge of agonizing cold dove into his chest and he couldn't even scream before the air fled his lungs. "All it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing. You're doing worse than nothing. You're protecting evil!" it screeched and the lights flashed chaotically. Dean tried to gasp for breath but it felt like two tons were pressed against his ribs, slowly forcing the life out of him. His hands scrabbled against the wall, his fingernails tearing and breaking as he fought for leverage. Black spots danced in his vision and he regretted not being able to tell Sammy one more time how much—

'Get your creepy-ass hand out of my brother right fucking now!'

Sam appeared in Dean's wavering sight, blood trickling down his face, body wobbling, chest heaving, right hand outstretched towards Dean. Sam was concentrating on the space immediately in front of Dean and Dean watched as the air gleamed unnaturally. The faint outlines of a figure materialized in front of him. Dean's strength was failing him; his head dropped to his sternum and he saw the phantom hand buried in his ribcage.

'I said. Get. Out!' Sam groaned with effort and the apparition started to recede from Dean, pulled towards Sam by nebulous strands of light emanating from the core of Sam's body. It thrashed against its bonds, releasing a continuous maddening howl. After taking a deep breath, Dean was struck with severe déjà vu as he recalled a similar scene as Sam exorcised Samhain from his vessel that fateful Halloween. Sam's face back then had been riddled with shame and uncertainty; Sam now was determined and pissed.

Once he was sure the poltergeist was free of Dean's body, Sam slowly clenched his fist, wrapping the tendrils of energy around the writhing spirit. Though freed of his metaphysical restraints, Dean looked on in unmoving wonder and horror as the light condensed into a bright ball hovering between them. The glowing sphere illuminated the dark blood flowing vigorously from Sam's nose and down his face. His left eye glowed fiercely in the darkness and it seemed to pulse in time with Sam's elevated heartbeat. Sam growled and bared his teeth as the pressure increased. Dean didn't know whether to be in awe or terrified of his brother.

Both. Definitely both.

The poltergeist's wailing was so loud now that Dean had to clasp his hands over his ears to save them from bursting. Sam's left hand flew to his head as he coaxed the luminous orb tighter and tighter. It shrunk to the size of a golf ball before exploding as Sam let out a throaty yell. A thin wave of light billowed through the room, breaking lightbulbs and glass in its wake before dissipating into nothing.

Plunged into absolute darkness, Dean knew something was wrong only by the heavy sound of Sam's unbraced body hitting the floor.

"Sammy?!" Dean dropped to his knees and felt for his brother. Sam weakly found one of Dean's searching hands and gave it a disturbingly soft squeeze. "Sammy? You with me?"

'Mmm… 'm 'ere,' Sam slurred feebly.

Dean patted Sam's head and realized Sam was bleeding from multiple head wounds. "Fuck, Sam. We need to get you to a hospital."

The little puff of air that passed through Sam's nose was his best approximation of a scoff in his current state. 'Can' die, Dee.'

"You don't stay dead is more accurate." He tried to sound amused but no, goddammit, were they gonna let Sam die again?

'S-same resul'. J-ju' sss-tay wi' me?'

Dean gulped and forced back his tears. "Of course, Sammy. I'm not leaving you. Not ever." He moved so that Sam's head was tucked in his lap and he held Sam's hand.

'K. Th-tha-nk—'

"No, you saved me. Thank you!"

'Cause y-you sav' me. L-leas' I could do.'

Dean's eyes burned and his free hand went over Sam's heart. "Shhh, save your energy, Sam. I'll be right here when you wake up, alright? I'm not going anywhere. I got you, baby brother."

'K, Dee…'

It was a few more minutes before Sam gasped his agonal breath and his heart gave out. Dean pulled Sam's body up and cradled it against his chest. "This doesn't get any easier, you know," Dean said morosely to the empty room. "You'd think it would, especially knowing you're coming back, but I'm always scared this will be the time it doesn't work, that Lucifer doesn't bring you back, and then what? What am I supposed to do then, Sam?" He shook his brother's corpse, hot tears dripping onto cooling skin.

He sat in the dark and waited, absent-mindedly stroking Sam's hair as Sam's blood soaked his jeans. The sun was almost over the horizon when Sam drew in a deep breath. The chains around Dean's chest eased and he let himself relax.

"Welcome back, man."

Sam groaned and brought both hands to his head. 'Too loud… Nothing like a residual concussion to start the day.'

Dean slid out from under Sam. "I'll get ya some painkillers."

'And a change of clothes!' Sam called after Dean.

Already way ahead of you, Dean thought to himself. Sam's congealed blood made his movements stiff and awkward. And would probably traumatize the already terrified family when they returned. Dean rubbed his face. Fuck, they still had to deal with the kid. Dean shook his head and put it out of his mind. That was a problem for future Dean.

They finished placing the purifying satchels just in case and then worked on cleaning the house up the best they could while waiting for the family to return. It was always difficult to determine how much they should tell victims about the supernatural, but here they decided to give them more than just a glimpse behind the curtain. But not the whole saga. They didn't need to know the whole story of how their child may have some demon blood now because of Sam's extended involuntary organ donation. It was still a tough conversation.

"Wait, you're saying Marcus has some kind of paranormal abilities?" Alyshia sounded like she didn't buy it.

"We can't really prove it to you, but bad energies like the poltergeist that tried to kill you last night are often drawn to people with the gift."

"And you know this how?"

"Our mom died in an unnatural fire. And my brother here has some… abilities."

"Like what?" Stefan asked. He and Alyshia looked to Sam, their expressions a mixture of shock and disbelief.

Sam glanced at Dean who nodded imperceptibly.

'Telepathy, for starters. Visions, telekinesis upon occasion, sensing spirits…' Sam didn't really want to bring up his other powers. 'Alyshia, I can tell your brain is whirring to try to explain this with science, as some sort of quantum anomaly.' He shrugged. 'We don't really have an explanation for it. We just accept it and move on. Stefan, I can see that you feel this explains a lot of the weird stuff that's been happening recently, and those things you saw in the mirror that you thought were just remnants of bad dreams.'

Stefan's eyes got wide. "I never told anyone about that!"

"Like I said, he has abilities. And Marcus may have them too, or he may develop them." Dean held out a necklace. "Here is a charm he can wear that will help ward off spirits. And when he's older, we suggest he gets this tattoo to also protect himself." Dean handed over the necklace and the sheet of paper as Sam pulled down his shirt and revealed his anti-possession tattoo. "We'll leave some cards of people you can contact for more information. For now, you should be safe. We cleansed the house, sorry about the holes in the walls, and got rid of the spirit. Take some time to rest and get your head around it. It's a big crazy world out there but you don't need to be scared if you're prepared."

The couple still looked shell-shocked but there wasn't much more the brothers could do for them. They said their goodbyes and retreated to the motel for a well-earned rest.

Dean thought back over the events of the day and of all the revelations. Sam seemed immensely distraught by what had happened with the kid Tim and Reggie had forced him to kill. Understandably so. But Sam obviously still felt intensely guilty and had no way to remedy that. Perhaps they could do something about that. Dean looked over at his brother who had already slipped into bed and closed his eyes. Dean turned out the light, deciding he could bring up his idea with Sam another time. But he must have been broadcasting his thoughts too loudly.

'What is it Dean?'

Dean knew better than to beat around the bush. Sam could tell, even without his mindreading powers. "The, uh, the Antichrist kid. What was his name?"

Dean felt a small flare of energy pass through him but Sam's voice was even when he responded. 'Jesse Turner.'

"I was thinking, maybe, if you wanted, we could go and do something for him. A little service or a ritual or something…"

Dean held his breath, worried about triggering Sam. But he hoped it would provide some closure for his brother.

Dean couldn't decipher the emotion in Sam's voice but it didn't seem negative. 'Yeah, that's a good idea. I'd like that.'

"Cool, we can head there tomorrow if you want, or whenever. Up to you."

'Thanks, Dean. For everything.'

'Always, Sammy."

As Sam's breaths evened out in a contented sleep, Dean sent a prayer of thanks to Missouri, for reminding him of the how and why of being Sam Winchester's big brother. It wasn't an easy job, and it wasn't one he'd always wanted, but Dean knew now he wouldn't trade it for the world. That poltergeist knew nothing about good and evil. Nothing.

Chapter Text

Dean gently transitioned from sleep to waking, appreciating the thick curtains and the near total darkness. He listened for any sounds of Sam’s presence, still needing the reassurance that his brother was here and alive. When no signs of life graced his ears, apprehension filtered into his consciousness and he hastily jumped out of bed. Sam’s bed was empty, neatly made even, and the bathroom door was open, so Sam wasn’t in the room. But all his stuff was still here. There was no note. Dean checked outside the motel but found nothing helpful under the cold, overcast sky. Panic fueled his anxiety. Could he really have been so careless as to let someone snatch Sam from right under his nose? Or had Sam run away? He wasn’t sure which option was worse. It didn’t matter. He needed to find his brother.

Dean hurriedly threw everything into their duffle bags, not bothering to sort whose things went where. As he packed, he took himself through the logic. It didn’t make sense for Sam to leave on his own. They had made a breakthrough last night… Sam had actually managed to speak. Yeah, only a few words, but it was more than anything he’d done before! Dean had been adamant about accepting Sam no matter what. He didn’t care about whatever Sam had been forced to do. Dean understood excruciatingly well that torture could break you and push you to do terrible things. He hadn’t broken after thirty years in Hell for just nothing.

He pushed those memories out of his mind as he swung the straps over his shoulder. He gave the room one last assessing glance as if it could share some secret about Sam, a deep frown of worry etched on his face, then strode purposefully to the Impala. He opened the trunk, not even looking as he threw the bags inside, his brain processing his next steps. A startled gasp met his ears as he was already closing the trunk. He scrambled to get the key into the lock again, fumbling due to adrenaline. Finally he heaved the thing up and stared at the bewildered face that met his gaze.

“Sam?! What the fuck are you doing in here?”

Sam blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light before carefully unwinding his limbs from his tight fetal position. ‘S-sleeping.’ Sam answered feebly as he clumsily shifted the bag that had so rudely interrupted his slumber.

“In the goddam trunk?”

Sam glanced up at him then pretended to need to focus on getting his legs over the gaping maw of the Impala. ‘Yeah…’

“Do I even wanna know why?” Dean snapped. He was struggling to temper his anger. He didn’t know where it was coming from; perhaps it was just his relief at finding Sam unhurt having no way to express itself. And maybe he was more than a little annoyed at Sam for scaring him like this!

Sam pushed himself up to sit awkwardly on the lip of the trunk. ‘It was more comfortable…’

Dean scoffed. “More comfortable than a bed?”

‘Uh, kinda…’

Dean took a deep breath and compelled himself to stay calm. “Can you explain why?”

Sam stole a look at Dean, the red streaks in his eye visible in the morning light without the corrective contact lens. He returned to inspecting the cracked asphalt and sighed heavily. ‘I’m, uh, not used to sleeping in beds… Not strange ones. The room was too dark and open…’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Too much like my nightmares. It felt too vulnerable…’

Dean forced air in and out of his lungs before replying. “And the trunk felt safer?”

'Yeah.’

“Because it’s the Impala or because you’re more used to sleeping in trunks?” he asked, not sure he really wanted to know the answer.

Sam shrugged listlessly. ‘…Yes?’ he said meekly, gaze still held down, seemingly afraid to be so open and honest with someone, even his brother.

Dean had to fight to keep his breath steady, his unbridled rage begging to be let free. He wasn’t angry at Sam, no, rather the hunters that had so gleefully ruined his brother. He wanted to tear them limb from limb, make them suffer in ways that would forever warp their Hell-bound souls. He’d make them regret the moment they ever laid eyes on Sam and thought they could use him and break him without consequence. Well, Hell hath no fury like a Winchester scorned and he’d send them there with a grin on his face.

Unbeknownst to Dean, his murderous intent was billowing from his mind and it ignited a firestorm of hysterical panic in Sam. He threw himself down on the ground, ignoring the rocks and broken glass that bit into his skin as he contorted his long limbs into a groveling pose at Dean’s feet.

‘Please, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I’m sorry, I’ll always stay where you can see me, I promise, please, please don’t hurt me, I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I promise…’ Sam pled, piteously pouring his regret and submission into the appeal.

He couldn’t hear Dean’s response over the frightened chatter of his own mind, relentlessly replaying all the times he had disobeyed their orders, even in the slightest. Looking them in the eye, not moving fast enough, whimpering too loudly, not eating enough, eating too much – all punishable with unwavering violence. He flinched when strong hands gripped his biceps but let his body go limp so he could be dragged up. He weakly braced himself for the blows but they never came.

Instead, minutely trembling arms tightly embraced him almost to the point of pain. The pressure released and some gentle shaking had Sam opening his eyes. The brilliant green of Dean’s red-rimmed eyes was the only thing Sam could focus on in the bleary environment. It was lush with life in an otherwise desolate world. Dean’s mouth was moving but Sam couldn’t hear over the fever-pitch of terror still coursing through his own mind. The anger he’d felt off Dean was too reminiscent of the prelude to some of his worst beatings, just incandescent rage that needed an outlet lest it literally burn a hole in its host. He focused on the soothing sounds of Dean’s voice and allowed himself to be lulled into a tentative sense of comfort. His brain kept supplying vicious memories but each time he brought his attention back to Dean, the safety that was his brother, the one constant in his life, and let that guide him to the nearest facsimile of coping he could hope to achieve.

“I can’t imagine what all this was like for you, what you had to go through…” Dean murmured into his ear.

Sam shook his head and burrowed into Dean, warding off any further mention of his past. Dean settled in to hold his brother as long as necessary.

After a minute, Sam returned a soft hug and wiped some unshed tears from his eyes. Dean slowly lifted his hand towards Sam, telegraphing his movements, giving Sam the option to refuse the contact. Sam leaned forward and Dean closed his palm around the back of Sam’s neck, squeezing gently. Dean thought back to Missouri’s advice and let it guide his words. “We don’t have to go to the Turner house now, okay? It’s not going anywhere. You made me realize this is the first time you’ve slept away from Bobby’s since we got you back and it makes sense this would be tough for you. We’ve been pushing hard and fast for a while now. What would you like to do?”

The freedom was novel to Sam and he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He had the vague impulse to check his watch and then realized he no longer had it. They’d taken it from him to further disorient him, stop him from keeping track of the hours, days, weeks, months that they’d had him. He gulped painfully as his body reflexively tensed, his amygdala screaming “Danger! Danger!” whenever he thought of them. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and looked to Dean who was waiting for his response with the patience of a saint. ‘M-maybe get a new watch first? Then we can go to the house… I think it could be good for me.’

Dean nodded in agreement. “That sounds like a great plan. You wanna get changed first?”

Sam looked down at his sleeping clothes and smiled sheepishly. ‘Probably a good idea.’

Dean figured getting Sam a new watch would be a quick in-and-out venture, with the most time spent on Sam fussing with the different extras available on watches these days. What he didn’t anticipate was the way Sam froze stock still in the entryway of the bustling department store, a stricken look on his face. Dean had continued walking, squeezing past the long line, only realizing after ten seconds or so that Sam was no longer next to him. He turned to see Sam gripping the doorframe, eyes wide yet unseeing. Dean hurried back as he called out mentally. ‘Sam? You alright?’

Sam snapped back into awareness and stared at Dean, looking like a frightened deer ready to bolt into the woods. Dean reached a hand toward Sam’s shoulder and Sam dodged it like it was on fire.

“Sam? What’s going on?”

Sam glanced at Dean then returned his gaze to surveying the store. ‘It’s so loud!’ he lamented.

Huh? Dean turned his attention to others in the store. Sure, it was kinda busy, but it was just a normal weekend afternoon of shopping. He refocused on his bewildered brother. “What do you mean? It doesn’t seem too crazy in here...”

Sam shook his head vigorously. ‘No, not literal noise… It’s their thoughts. It’s—I can’t, it’s too much!’

Dean blinked in shock. “You’re hearing people’s thoughts?” he asked quietly. Sam nodded resolutely. “You’ve never had issues before…”

Sam flashed an anxious look at Dean. ‘When it’s just you and Bobby and Lindsey, I can block it out but it’s just – it’s too many people and I can’t… Can you just pick something out for me?”

“Are you sure?”

Sam was already backpedaling out the door. “Yeah,” he returned adamantly.

“Any special features you want?”

“I, uhm, don’t know, uh, I guess light up and a compass?” By then he had made it through the entryway and was walking back towards the car, doing his best not to make his hasty retreat so obvious.

Dean sighed heavily and turned towards the watch display, pondering this new development. There were tons of situations where such a skill could be eminently useful, but was it really worth it if it basically turned Sam into a hermit? Then again, they were early in Sam’s recovery. Maybe he could learn to block it out or find some spell or something. Whatever. They’d figure it out. One step at a time. Right now: watch. That he could do.

It was almost 400 miles from Omaha to Alliance, Nebraska. Sam seemed lost in his own thoughts and not up for conversation. He’d be pleased enough with Dean’s selection that he even showed teeth in his smile as Dean put it on him. Dean wanted to be happy about that but instead it only made his heart ache for all he’d lost. Sam had said a mental ‘thank you’ and then turned his face away towards the window. That just left Dean to stew with his own questions, uncertainties, and fears. But he was determined not to voice any of them, allowing Sam the space he needed. Sam had been through innumerable traumas and Dean knew even one of them would be enough to break a lesser man.

Yet around hour four, the morbid curiosity was becoming too much for Dean to bear. For some reason, his mind was obsessing over Sam’s reaction to touching Ellen and seeing the memory of the hunters’ photo. Sam had been relatively calm discussing Jesse’s death compared to how his powers went haywire with Ellen. What was so much worse there? Just because it had been unexpected? Or because something even worse happened? He had to know. His brain was spinning all these terrible stories in the absence of hard facts and it was driving Dean crazy.

“Sam?”

‘Hmmm?’ he answered quietly, not really paying attention, passively looking out the window.

 “Can I, uh, ask you about something? That might be upsetting?”

Sam’s focus grew a hundred-fold and he turned to inspect Dean. ‘Ask about what?’

Dean sighed uncomfortably, squirming under Sam’s gaze, but he’d already set the stage so he should follow through. “Back with Ellen, when you saw the picture through her eyes, what set you off so bad? What was worse than what happened with Jesse?”

Sam’s body went rigid and he looked away. ‘Would you believe me if I said you’d be better off not knowing?’

“You know I can’t do that. If you had to live through it, I have to know it.”

A flare of irritated energy blew by Dean. ‘Why? Why does it matter so much? It’s in the past. We can’t change it.’

“Because I need to know if I’m only maiming those fuckers or outright killing them.”

‘Dean—’

“No, Sam. Think about it this way, if they treated you like that, a hunter, one of their own, how bad are they treating everything else? Maybe things that don’t deserve it. Everything deserves respect and the right to a quick death, especially if it’s just their natural instinct. Creatures can’t help what they are. I don’t want these assholes going around torturing everything they hunt.”

Sam looked at Dean, his amazed wonder winning out over his personal horror. ‘Since when have you felt this way?’

“I don’t know… Since, maybe, when I found out what these sickos were doing to you. Changed my perspective on how hunters interact with the things they hunt.”

‘The things they hunt.’ Like you. You’re like a wounded gazelle on the Serengeti, the scent of your weakness attracting every predator for miles around. You do make an excellent prey animal. Skittish, anxious, vulnerable. Deep down, you even like it when they rip you apart because you know you deserve it. This is your due penance for the failure that is Sam Winchester.

The foreign thoughts came with an onslaught of fiery, ripping pain. Sam’s ribs felt like they were collapsing and robbing him of breath. His eyes snapped shut as he tried to block out external stimuli and concentrate on expanding his lungs. He fought against the mental onslaught of abusive memories that lashed his soul and desperately struggled for any wisp of air he could capture. He was adrift in a formless, violent sea that threatened to swallow him whole and drown him in anonymous shame.

He felt a hand on his arm and he recoiled violently, hissing at the contact. White noise blurred the outside world and he was too afraid to open his eyes and reveal where he may be. Was he actually with Dean or had that just been a dream or even a hallucination, something his brain made up to distract him? Maybe he was back with them, in the middle of another torture session. The fear of discovering the truth of his reality was just too much to handle and he let himself freefall into unconscious darkness.

One second, Dean was explaining why this mattered to him, the next Sam was frozen, locked inside his body, fighting to breathe, and then he fucking passed out. Dean rubbed his hands over his face as they sat on the side of the road. He couldn’t even start to guess what had happened. Maybe he’d been premature in thinking Sam was ready for a prolonged road trip. At least Sam’s breathing had evened out now. Small victories. He waited almost fifteen minutes for Sam to wake up but not even a finger twitched. He gave up and began driving again, hoping the familiar rumble of the engine would ground his brother and draw him back. Another twenty minutes saw Sam slowly stir, though Dean could tell by the jolt of his body the exact moment when Sam remembered what had plunged him into an unwilling sleep in the first place.

‘Dean?’

“Yeah, Sam, I’m here. You’re safe. You’re in the Impala. Those fuckers won’t get you again. I swear on my life.” Dean poured all his conviction into it.

Sam let out a scoff. ‘Don’t do that, Dean.’

“What?”

‘Swear on your life.’

“Why not?”

Sam sighed, mild annoyance prickling his features as if explaining something to a five year old for the twelfth time. ‘A. I’m not worth it. B. We can’t know what the future holds.’

Dean rolled his eyes. “I don’t agree, but okay, fine, whatever. But still. Can you tell me what caused that so we can make sure it doesn’t happen again?”

Sam hunched in on himself a bit. ‘I really don’t think you want to know…’

Dean clenched his teeth and forced himself to be calm. Being aggressive with Sam would get him nowhere. “If you’re strong enough to experience it, I have to be strong enough to hear about it. We can share this burden. Please, let me.”

The earnest offer in Dean’s voice broke the last of Sam’s already-weakened resistance.

‘You’re not gonna like it.’

“It’s not about me.”

Sam sighed again and threw a weak smile towards his brother before beginning. ‘That photo…’ He gulped painfully. ‘You know about the hunter cage fights and the monster cage fights and using me as bait for things they were hunting?’

Dean’s hands tightened painfully around the steering wheel. “Yeah, sorta…” he growled.

Sam’s teeth caught his lip and he chewed at it. ‘I wasn’t just bait for monsters.’

“…What do you mean?”

Now Sam’s tongue licked his dry lips, hesitation hanging heavy around him. ‘Sometimes I was what they were hunting. For sport.’

Dean slammed on the brakes so hard Sam almost hit his head on the dashboard. “WHAT?!”

Sam eyed the rearview mirror and saw they were literally the only vehicle on this random county road. He purposefully cast his gaze away from Dean, unable to bear witness to his brother’s emotions when he could barely contain his own. ‘If they wanted to impress someone or they wanted some quick cash or something to hunt if they were just bored… We’d drive out to the middle of nowhere, typically a dense forest, and they’d give me a 5 to 10 minute head start, usually without shoes. They’d drink a bit beforehand to ease their morals and supposedly give me more advantage. It only served to make them crueler. We all know most hunters are halfway in the bag half the time anyway. If anything, no booze makes their hands shake due to the withdrawal.’ Sam huffed an ugly laugh. ‘That was the fucking worst, when I was in withdrawal and being hunted… Could never decide whether I should just lay down and die or literally run for my life…’

A few moments passed and Sam almost missed Dean’s question due to the sheer horror constricting his voice. “What happened if you got away?”

‘If I made it til sunrise, I got the whole day off. No hunting, no being hunted, no torture, no nothing. Let me sleep however long I wanted. They’d even give me decent food. Was a nice break.’

“And if they caught you?” Sam could have sworn Dean’s voice cracked.

‘Whatever they wanted. Quick death, long death, multiple deaths. Whatever. No holds barred. I mean, you saw the picture.’

“That was after…?”

‘Yeah… That hunt wasn’t particularly long once I became intimately acquainted with a bear trap.’

Dean shuddered, remembering his own encounter during Gabriel’s little game. “Oof… been there, done that…” Dean sympathized. His imagination was working overtime, picturing a terrified Sam dashing through the woods like a frightened animal, a bunch of rabid hunters hot on his heels. A quick death was far too merciful for all these assholes. He couldn’t understand the level of depravity necessary to want to hunt a person. Memories of the Benders inundated his mind and he briefly relived the firsthand horror of choosing his brother to be hunted, at least giving him a chance, only to have that psycho dad tell his psycho kid to shoot him in the cage. The way his heart stopped when he heard that first gunshot… Thinking he’d caused Sam’s death… Fuck, he felt the same way now as he did back then: Demons I get… People are crazy.

Something scratched at his consciousness and he realized Sam was trying to talk to him. ‘Dean? You hearing me?’

“Y-yeah,” Dean stuttered, emotion clogging his throat. “What were you saying?”

Sam narrowed his eyes slightly as he assessed Dean but continued ‘When did you have a run-in with a bear trap? While we were apart?’

Apart, Dean considered. He hadn’t heard Sam refer to it so directly and yet it was still so avoidant. Sam!, his heart cried. “I had a few crazy things happen to me… Almost got killed by Paris Hilton, got abducted by—”

‘Whoa, wait, slow down. Paris Hilton?’

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, there was some minor god that got its rocks off by being admired by its fans. Sorta like a shapeshifter, would morph into what a person worshipped. Its current groupies were a bunch of expensive purse tweens. Took her head off with an iron axe.”

Sam nodded in appreciation though he was frowning slightly. ‘No back up?’

“Nah I didn’t…” the word ‘need’ died in his throat as it occurred to him how much damage that one little word could cause. “I didn’t have any back up, but really coulda used it. I couldn’t see straight for a week the concussion was so bad.”

Whether Sam had caught his almost slip-up or not, he didn’t let on. The frown left Sam’s face and he even smiled in approval. ‘That’s pretty badass you took down a god by yourself!’

“Well, minor god,” Dean corrected. He suppressed the desire to say “Bet you’ve done more than that,” or ask “What’s the biggest you took down while were we apart?” It was too casual for the traumatic depths Sam would have to plumb to respond honestly. Dean didn’t want to cause him more pain.

‘Still. What else?’

“I was kidnapped by the Trickster.”

‘What?! Did he hurt you like last time?!’

Righteous fury was pouring off Sam and Dean hurried to avert it. “No, no, nothing like that. He told me I had a lesson to learn and that I was gonna have to learn it through lived experience.”

He scoffed. ‘Him and his fucking lessons…” Sam pondered something for a few seconds and then the fight left him. ‘He was right in the end though, I couldn’t save you.’

"Turns out it wasn’t up to either of us, remember?” Dean looked at Sam until he nodded in acquiescence. “This ‘lesson’ was a real doozy, too. I had to ‘play my role’.”

Sam squinted in confusion. ‘What does that even mean?’

“Oh, you’ll love this…” he teased sarcastically. “He put me in different situations and I had to play along with what he wanted. Got stranded on a mountain for three weeks and had to play Survivor Man. That’s where I landed in the stupid bear trap.” He shuddered for Sam’s benefit. “Was on The Bachelor… American Idol… I did get to be in a car chase, that one was pretty cool. I Tokyo Drifted Baby, got him with a stake, and said ‘You’ve been impalaed.’ Get it? Impale, but Impala?”

Sam lifted an eyebrow and smiled slightly. ‘No, you didn’t. But it’s a good one.’

Dean sighed wistfully. “You’re right. Came up with that later. But you know the worst part?” He looked over to Sam and his brother was hanging on his every word. “They put me in a fucking Smart Car commercial! You shoulda seen it, Sam, I barely fit in the fucking thing!”

At that, Sam grinned fully and Dean couldn’t help but return it. It quickly fell from his face as the rest of the story sobered his mood.

"But, uh, it turned out the Trickster is actually a celestial celebrity.” Dean paused for dramatic effect. “The Archangel Gabriel.”

Sam’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. ‘What?!’ he gasped.

"Yeah. Hey, Cas as my witness, we trapped him in holy oil and got him to spill the beans. Apparently the angels want the Apocalypse to happen because God is MIA and they think this will bring Him back. And that the only way for that to happen is for me and you to ‘play our roles’ and be vessels for Michael and Lucifer. That one of us would have to kill the other.”

Dean glanced over at Sam, worried about the impact this revelation would have on him. But he seemed totally unfazed. ‘That’s crazy that you met Gabriel. Well, I guess we both have, just under much different circumstances…’ Sam shivered at the memories and looked at Dean for a distraction. ‘What else happened?’

"Wait, you’re not freaked out by the ‘one of us will have to kill the other’ detail there?!”

Sam shrugged. “I mean, it’s not news to me, and plus, since I’m never gonna say ‘yes’ to Lucifer, it doesn’t matter, does it?’

Dean zipped up the flare of doubt that rushed through his mind before Sam could get a whiff of it. It wasn’t that he questioned Sam’s resolve – no, the kid had that in spades. But Dean understood how fluid and unpredictable all of this was. Yet there was no point in flustering Sam in this particular moment.

"No, I guess not. Hey, help me with this… Why can you sometimes talk about things, like the other night, and be all calm and collected, and why do you sometimes have a panic attack? I’m not trying to be shitty, I’m trying to understand so I can help. See if there are any signs ahead of time.”

Yeah, why are you such an open book sometimes and others, your heart can barely pump due to how locked down you are… Got any explanation for that? Anything you’d like to share with big brother? Like how you can feel me slithering around your veins, right below the surface… Waiting… Ever so patiently…

Sam froze before forcing a quick recovery. He shrugged a bit, trying to convey nonchalance. ‘Uh, I don’t know. Just happens, I guess.’ One look at his brother told Sam that Dean wasn’t buying it, but was going to let it slide. For now.

Sam was grateful for the reprieve.

To spare Sam any unnecessary torment, Dean had done the research and figured out where the Turner house was. He found out that it had remained empty after the disappearance of the family last May. There were even rumors that it was haunted. He wouldn’t be surprised if it actually was; violent deaths tended to linger in structures.

Sam was silent as they approached the property, his head turned so Dean couldn’t see his face. Sam started to tremble slightly as the house came into view. Dean moved his foot to the brake but Sam quietly instructed him to ‘Keep going.’

"Are you sure? You don’t have to do this right now.”

'I am. I don’t wanna run away again.’

"How did you run away last time? You were a prisoner.”

Sam let out a tight breath and glanced at Dean before hurriedly turning his gaze away. ‘After I…’ Sam fought a gag, ‘After I drained Jesse, they also killed the parents and the demon’s vessel. Said they didn’t want any witnesses. They made me clean everything up, move the bodies, scrub the walls and the floor… Afterwards I just… I couldn’t cope with it all, so I asked them to kill me… Fill me with lead… anything to get a break.’

Dean thought he’d mostly become numb to Sam’s terrible revelations but his brother always managed to surprise him. He supposed he understood though – there were countless times in Hell as both the tortured and the torturer that he had wished for the escape of death.

"Was dying really that much better? I thought Lucifer would be there waiting?”

Sam huffed in a mockery of a laugh. ‘He was. But I’d only died like…’ He looked down at his shaking hand and counted to five on his slender fingers, ‘five or six times by that point, so he was still pretty gentle.’

Dean wasn’t sure he really wanted to know what Lucifer’s definition of ‘gentle’ was. “And when he wasn’t playing nice?”

Maybe it was because he knew Sam so well, or perhaps it was some of Sam’s trauma bleeding through psychically, but Dean was positive he’d never seen a more haunted look cross Sam’s face as when he answered Dean with a begging ‘Not now.’ The desperate sensation of fear permeated the small cabin of the car and Dean needed out.

"Alright, I’ll go ‘round the back and get the door open, okay? Take your time.” Dean was out before Sam could answer. He grabbed his bag of supplies from the trunk. It never hurt to be prepared. He turned on the EMF meter and shoved it in his back pocket. He was already setting the bag on the kitchen counter when Sam crept in behind him. The fear emanating from Sam had paled to a steady thrum of grief. Not pleasant, but not suffocating like moments ago.

"What do you wanna do?”

'G-go up to where it happened.’

Dean nodded and picked up the bag. “After you.”

Sam swallowed hard and began moving. The home had that eerie aura that grows in places too long untouched. He ascended the stairs slowly, stopping every few steps and seeming to listen.

"Sam? What’s up?”

'I… I think there’s something here… Could their spirits have gotten trapped here? Did I doom them?’

"Hey, remember, none of this is your fault. If they’re still here, we’ll fix it.”

'But it is my fault, in so many ways…’

"Sam—”

'Shhh…’ Sam shushed him forcefully as he reached the top of the stairs. He looked over to Jesse’s room for a second, a pang of anguish washing over him before heading towards the master bedroom. The room was bare with no furnishings save the floor-length curtains. But that didn’t stop his mind from supplying frequent freeze-frames of his previous visit. He couldn’t tell if his memory was that strong or if there was some residual demonic stain in the house, but he swore he could still smell the demon’s blood. His heart rate jumped as he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye. As he spun to follow it, tendrils of cold air developed around him. It seemed to be heading straight towards where Dean was entering the room.

'Dean, step back!’ he cried urgently, sensing the rising tide of energy.

"Why? Everything’s fine, it’s just an empty room.”

‘It’s not empty. I can feel something. You should go.’

“And leave you here by yourself? No way. Look, there’s not even anything showing up on the EMF.” Dean reached for it and the second his skin made contact, the device started wailing.

As if that was the necessary dramatic cue, a flare of power erupted in the room and threw the hunters to opposite walls. Both their heads made solid impacts and their bodies slid listlessly to floor.

Sam figured he was the first to wake up since Dean wasn’t hovering over him, fretting like usual. But he was quickly disabused of that notion as he turned to see Dean sitting cross-legged against the wall, a gun in one hand and a knife in the other, staring straight ahead, unseeing.

‘Dean? Are you okay?’ he asked while checking himself for injuries.

Dean’s eyes snapped to his as soon as Sam spoke. Something seemed off about them, but maybe it was just a concussion. His own head pounded uncomfortably as a timely reminder.

“Yeah, Sammy, I’m great. At least way better than how you treated the Turners. I just saw it all. But hey, at least I don’t have to worry about you abandoning me since you’re so broken and pathetic these days, so at least I got that going for me.”

‘What?’ Sam gasped, confused.

“Yep. Those poor parents showed me the whole thing, how my supposed flesh and blood fled the scene like a coward. The way I see it, you could have saved all of them if you hadn’t been so fixated on getting your next hit. You could have taken both those bastards and done something, anything, to fight them, but no, all you could think about was sucking that demon dry like the disgusting parasite that you are, drowning yourself in all the evil without a second thought for the consequences! Your weakness got them all killed!”

Sam was initially flabbergasted but as Dean’s words trickled through his bewilderment, it made sense. Up to now, Dean had only seen demon-Sam do bad things. But now that he’d seen how Sam hadn’t stopped, hadn’t learned, hadn’t grown, was still too hooked on demon blood to do the right thing, well, Sam couldn’t blame him for his change of heart. For some foolish reason, a small part of him felt the need to defend himself. ‘Wh-what was I supposed to do? They shot me and shocked me when I didn’t obey at first.’

“Oh, they hurt you? Poor little baby,” Dean mocked cruelly. “Uh, who the fuck cares if you get shot and die? You don’t stay dead, much to everyone’s frustration. It’s so unfair that you’re the one with immortality. What a fucking joke. Had I known what an endless fuck-up you’d become, I never woulda made that demon deal.”

Sam’s eyes burned with the start of tears but he forced them back. Sure, Dean had been loving and forgiving recently. But Sam knew he was a hopeless idiot for thinking it would stay that way. Once Dean got past his sense of familial obligation whitewashing everything, he’d come to realize just how corrupted and evil Sam really was.

‘I know,’ Sam replied in a whisper, ‘I wish you hadn’t either. I was never worth your life or your suffering, especially now with what I’ve become.’

Dean chuckled darkly. “Still so generous with yourself. What you’ve become? How about what you always were? You’ve been on the wrong side this whole time, you just didn’t know it. Such a goddam shame I didn’t listen to Dad and kill you when it actually woulda stuck. Now what am I supposed to do with you?”

Sam moved to stand but Dean’s gun flicked up and his aim settled on Sam’s head. Sam froze, his arms held out in a nonthreatening gesture.

“I don’t know what to do for the long term, but I’m thinking a little penance might be appropriate, don’t you?” Dean asked with faux solicitousness.

There was an urge to ask for clarification, maybe a jolt to Dean’s conscience to slow him down and make him question what he was doing, but Sam also knew he wasn’t worthy of that. ‘Whatever you s-say,’ Sam replied submissively.

Dean pushed himself up to standing. “I’m thinking an eye for an eye, an exsanguination for an exsanguination… You know, balancing the scales a little bit.” Dean stalked towards him, knife flashing in the light, and he found himself unable to move, rooted in place by shock, terror, betrayal, whatever. Dean lifted the blade and rested the cool metal against Sam’s neck. “Are you gonna fight me or do you agree that you deserve this?”

Sam tried to look up and meet Dean’s eyes but a familiar voice in his head begged him to keep looking down. Shakily, Sam nodded.

“Say it.”

‘I deserve this.’

The blade pressed in and broke skin. “Why?”

‘Because I’m an evil monster.’

“And?” It sank a little deeper into his flesh, his trembling making the splitting seams of the wound dance along the knife’s edge.

‘And, I, uh, let everyone down, most of all you.’

“And?”

Sam flicked his eyes up briefly and regretted seeing the hate and derision painted on Dean’s face. ‘I deserve to be tortured until the end of time because I doomed the world with my arrogance, my dishonesty, and my failures.’

“Such an obedient demon spawn. Guess Tim and Reggie trained you well. Now stand still.” Dean shifted his arm then pulled across his carotid, much like he himself had done to Jesse, except Dean used quite a bit more force and a much larger blade. Instantly blood sprayed from the large gash and Sam fought his impulse to cover the wound with his hand.

“Look at me.”

Sam struggled to lift his head, wanting instead to melt into nothingness.

“Look. At. Me.”

Sam bit his lip and dragged his head up. Dean’s face was locked in a stern scowl of disdain but there were… were those really tears in his eyes? Perplexed, Sam tilted his head slightly which changed the angle just enough for him to see what he had been missing: a slimy black goo leaking out of Dean’s right ear.

Oh fuck! Ghost possession! It must have gotten into Dean when we passed out.

Sam tried to raise his hand to evict the spirit but the blood loss was catching up with him. His vision was blurring and staying upright was a losing battle. He sunk down to his knees and Dean laughed.

“Not so fun feeling your life force ebb out of you, huh? Now imagine some freak sucking it all down in a futile attempt to sate his bottomless hunger! Don’t you see what a curse you are?!”

Consumed with rage, Dean swung the blade so it slashed across Sam’s vulnerable throat. Out of sheer reflex, his hand flew up to the wound but it didn’t matter. Blood was pouring out uncontrollably now and the sticky red coated his fingers and arms. He fell to the side and Dean’s feet filled his view. His last thoughts alternated between It’s not Dean. and I should polish Master’s boots.

Dean watched the whole scene unfold as if viewing it from a first-person camera. A demon charged into the bedroom and tried to attack them, but a little kid ran in and put himself between his parents and the blonde vessel. Tim and Reggie literally dragged Sam into the room and pushed him forward, yelling at him to kill the demon. Sam looked beyond distraught, clearly in the throes of withdrawal. His eyes were bloodshot, skin sweaty and sallow, tremors seizing his body. He tried pulling the demon but it was obvious he didn’t have enough power. The demon started monologuing about its plans for the boy. Tim got impatient and shot her in the shoulder, earning the two hunters a short flight into the wall. But Sam remained unaffected, focused on licking the blood spatter off his hands. Revulsion crept over Dean but he forced himself to remember what addiction felt like. He wouldn’t go so far to say he was hooked on booze, but there’d been nights he’d held the bottle up for five minutes waiting for the last drops to slide into his mouth. He at least understood it.

But that sympathy in no way prepared him for the way Sam launched himself at the demon, less like a human attack and more like a starving animal. He pinned the woman to the ground and hungrily sucked at the bullet wound. It reminded him of when he first found out about Sam drinking blood, back with Jimmy Novak’s family. His stomach clenched at the memory but he returned his focus to what was happening in front of him. Reggie was the first to recover and began trying to pull Sam off by his shoulders. Sam quickly shoved him away and turned on him with what Dean could only describe as a snarl on his face, blood painted around his mouth and on his bared teeth, frightening enough to make Dean flinch back. Without hesitation, Tim fired a shot at his brother then pulled out the cattle prod, delivering a strong shock that had Sam howling in pain as blood seeped from his side. Tim pulled Sam up by the hair and he extracted and killed the demon under Tim’s orders.

“Now that you’re all juiced up, take out the goddam monster over there! You think you get a rush from regular demon blood? Imagine the high the Antichrist will give you!” Tim challenged and he watched as Sam’s body froze, wracked with indecision. Dean unwittingly held his breath until Sam uttered a strained “No, he hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s just a kid.”

Tim yanked Sam’s head back and held it at an uncomfortable angle. “He’s the fucking Antichrist! We need to take him out now!”

“He hasn’t done anything wrong though! He can fight it! He still has the chance to do the right thing.”

Without warning, Tim slammed Sam’s head down into his knee and Sam cried out as his nose broke. Dean grimaced in pain and wished he could help Sam. “Sorry, Sammy, but seeing as you didn’t do the right thing, I can’t take that risk with anyone else. Now, I see a freak, I kill it. Just like your brother shoulda killed you the moment he found out what you were. I’m not gonna make the same humanitarian mistake. So, go drain that goddam demon spawn before you find out how generous I can be with these bullets!” Tim smashed the gun into his face and pushed him towards Jesse.  

Sam sat there staring at the kid, clearly torn on what to do. Jesse, wise beyond his years, offered himself up. Impatient, Tim shot the mother in a ploy to force Sam’s hand. Dean had a new appreciation for just how depraved this so-called hunter was. One could almost make a case that going after Sam was sorta justified, but this random innocent civilian? Tim was way out of bounds. It took some further persuasion, which reassured Dean that Sam wasn’t entirely lost to his addiction, but Sam eventually complied and put his mouth to the boy’s exposed neck. Dean witnessed when Sam realized it was just human blood but was forced to keep drinking anyway. He fought to suppress his desire to vomit. Not that he could imagine drinking blood in the first place, but to be forced to drink a human kid’s blood? No wonder Sam wanted to die afterwards.

He watched as Tim cruelly killed the adults and made Sam clean everything up. Sam was sobbing, bleeding out, and practically deaf in one ear. Dean felt fresh hot rage bubble up when the hunters kicked him when he fell while scrubbing the floor. The things Dean would do to them…

His anger must have been interpreted as being towards Sam because a new feminine voice suddenly chimed in. Just wait! The best part is coming up.

Dean didn’t have time to process what was happening before Sam was kneeling on a child’s comforter and offering himself up for execution. Dean couldn’t even count the number of shots as bullets tore apart his little brother, a scream ripping from his throat until one round found its way into his brain. His body slumped back without fanfare and Dean wished he could block out the whoops of delight from these psychos. The scene faded out and Dean was left in darkness.

That voice spoke up again. Don’t you see? He is poison to everyone around him. He ruins everything he touches.

Who are you? Where am I? Dean asked, confused.

We’re his parents. Two slightly distorted voices, a man and woman’s, answered. Where are we? They laughed. The father continued: We’re in you. Gonna use you to get some well-deserved revenge on your hideous excuse of a brother. You know he’s not human, right? That he’s some kind of demonic monster? Dean felt a painful stab of something digging into his brain. Oh, you do know. And I see you could have killed him years ago! Wow, you’re just as messed up. No matter. We have you now and we’ll fix what you couldn’t.

Dean fucking hated being awake during possessions. It was so fucking cruel to watch Sam’s reaction to the vitriol the ghosts made him spew. Dean thought it a particularly low blow to bring up the demon deal but he was in no way expecting Sam’s response.

‘I kn-ow,’ Sam replied in a whisper, ‘I wish you hadn’t either. I was never worth your life, your suffering, especially now with what I’ve become.’

Goddamit, Sam, no, just no! Dean hoped this was just Sam’s internal negativity talking and not that he actually believed what Dean was saying. Because none of it was true! Dean’s mouth continued to attack Sam without his brain’s permission. Dean remembered times, some rather recent, where Sam would fight and argue and defend himself, refusing to accept he was damned just because his circumstances colluded against him. But now, Sam’s shoulders wilted like a cut flower in the desert sun, that ferocity beaten out of him. He didn’t even resist as Dean laid the blade against his skin.

His lips moved and his heart pounded in agony with each word.

“Are you gonna fight me or do you agree that you deserve this?”

Sam couldn’t even make himself look up.

“Say it,” the ghosts made him bark out.

‘I deserve this.’

“Why?”

‘Because I’m an evil monster.’

“And?” Damn, were they really gonna make Sam spell it out?

‘And, I, uh, let everyone down, most of all you.’

“And?”

Sam glanced up and Dean could have sworn Sam was already mortally wounded if his reaction to Dean’s expression was any indication. ‘I deserve to be tortured until the end of time because I doomed the world with my arrogance, my dishonesty, and my failures.’

No, Sam! Tears welled up as he considered how thoroughly destroyed Sam’s ego was. It had been smashed to pieces and ground down to dust. Was there even a hope of repairing it? Would he ever get a semblance of his Sam back?

“Such an obedient demon spawn. Guess Tim and Reggie trained you well. Now stand still.”

Dean tried to stop his body as it pulled the blade across Sam’s throat but the two spirits overpowered him. But maybe he could still get through to Sam, get him to see something was wrong. He concentrated on his voice, the feel of his mouth saying the words, and managed to wrestle back a sliver of control.

“Look at me.”

Sam weakly moved his head up but it stayed angled towards the floor. They’d both have to try harder.

“Look. At. Me.” Dean let his emotions bolster his mental assault and he felt his eyes water with the force. He’d gone through too damn much just to lose Sam now.

Sam’s pale face lifted up and his timid gaze found Dean’s. The older man’s attention was irrevocably drawn to the bright red of Sam’s seeping life force. It was enough of a cut that Sam would bleed out within 15 minutes without urgent medical intervention. The tears seemed to confuse Sam and he tipped his head to the side, like a dog hearing a strange sound. Evidently it gave Sam some new insight because Dean could tell the instant Sam realized he was possessed. Sam took a step back as he made to lift his hand but by then, he was too far gone. Sam’s eyes became unfocused as he fell to his knees. Dean felt the ghosts push a laugh out of his throat, felt his voice saying words his brain refused to understand. Not expecting any further action from the ghosts, Dean was caught completely off guard when his arm suddenly swung up and the blade ripped across Sam’s exposed neck. Dean winced internally as he watched Sam’s body react on instinct and try to stem the bleeding with his hands. Red painted his brother’s fingers, hands, and then arms as his movements became more frantic, that reptilian part of the brain fighting for basic survival. After a few tortuous seconds, Sam slumped to the side and fell at his feet. Dean watched, immobile, as the growing pool of Sam’s blood spread across the floorboards. It didn’t take long for his breathing to stop and his body to shake as brain death occurred. At least Sam seemed unconscious so he likely wasn’t feeling anything.

The ghosts were mercifully silent in their victory, though Dean suspected they were just saving their strength for when Sam woke up. They forced his body down into a cross-legged sitting position, waiting. They made Dean stare at Sam’s corpse, controlling even his blinking, their rage still pulsing through him. Yet Dean was cruelly reminded of Sam’s limp form in the mud at Cold Oak, the overwhelming grief still blindingly fresh. It didn’t matter how many times Dean had been through this, been through Sam dying, it still hurt just as bad every time. That existential threat of losing his brother, losing his anchoring tether on reality, it was too much for his own sense of being to comprehend. They had to be together. They just had to. Sam had saved him from the last vengeful spirit. Now Dean could return the favor. He had to.