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A gunshot straight through the head, blood running thick and dark through short-cropped hair. A knife to the stomach, repeatedly, more and more wounds until there were more torn fabric and gaping holes than intact flesh. A rope, around his neck, getting tighter and tighter and tighter and-
“Oh, Sammmm-y~” Lucifer was currently seated on the booth next to Dean, killing him over and over while Dean continued to eat his food, unaware of the torture the hallucination was subjecting him to. “You know, I honestly thought you’d have a better reaction than this. Poor Sammy’s getting jaded, huh? Even to his precious big brother’s death?” Sam looked to his nearly-untouched plate of food, poking halfheartedly at the spaghetti that suddenly looked far too close to blood and gore for his comfort.
“Sam, dear, aren’t you going to try to save him? All the times you couldn’t save him, and now you have a shot, and you aren’t even going to try? I thought the Pit might have toughened you up a little, but you’re just as much of a pussy as ever. I mean, look at him- you could save him, Sam, save him from dying over-“ slit wrists, dripping onto his plate as Dean ate his burger “-and over-“ Dean coughed, choking, breath rattling and weak, “- and over again.”
Sam dug his thumb roughly into the bandage on his hand, the waves of pain causing Lucifer to dim, at least a little. He didn’t disappear completely, but at least Dean wasn’t dying on repeat anymore.
“I’ll- I’ll be back.” Sam made a vague gesture towards the restroom sign at the back of the restaurant, ignoring the ‘you okay?’ look that Dean gave him as he got to his feet.
Sam had barely closed the door behind him when his worst nightmare reappeared, leaning casually against the wall and watching him with a smirk. “Oh, you think leaving will save him? How has that worked for you in the past, hmmm? How often have you really been able to keep him safe just by making some space? Never? Yeah, I’m thinking the answer’s never. Oh! But you can’t save him when you’re with him, either, can you?”
Sam lost his grip on reality for a moment, an overwhelming flashback sending him back to when the hellhounds came for Dean, back to the exact moment when Sam saw the last of the light in his brother’s eyes fade and could almost feel what remained of Dean’s blood stop flowing through his veins. Except this time, it was Sam, clawing at his brother’s skin until he stopped moving, lips parting to whisper on his last breath, “Sammy…”
And then he was back, back in reality in the men’s restroom of the hole-in-the-wall diner, crouched on the floor with his head in his hands. At any other time he would’ve found it disgusting, but Sam was shaking so badly that he couldn’t find it in him to care.
His stomach flipped as he smelled blood- or thought he did- and what little of his food he had eaten made a half-digested reappearance on the floor. “Couldn’t even make it to the toilet? Really? Look. Look at it. Look what a disgusting mess you made because you’re too weak and pathetic to deal with the stuff that gets thrown at you.” Sam forced his watering eyes open, dutifully following orders like always, and the sight of the partially-digested food combined with the acidic smell and the underlying hint of… well, bathroom, made Sam heave again, choking on gasping on nothing, the bitter taste filling his mouth.
He was on all fours, eyes screwed shut and streaming from the smell and sight and the whole situation. He wanted out, he wanted out and wanted to be far, far away, somewhere where he could just be without Lucifer screwing with his mind.
Even though his body had finally ceased retching, Sam didn’t move, too shaky to chance something like getting up. He felt a hand on his head, running through his hair, and he jerked away from the touch. Lucifer wasn’t supposed to touch him, he couldn’t touch him- at least, not like this. Not in a way that was soothing and reassuring and calming and mockingly similar to something Dean would-
Sam hoped, for a split second, that it would be Dean who he glanced up to see. His hopes were shattered when he instead saw Lucifer, a wide smile on his face- the sort of smile Sam had only ever seen moments before he was subjected to some new and horrible torture. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…” Sam flinched away, adrenaline sending him backwards until he was pressed into the corner, under the sink.
Except… The image flickered, and for a moment it was Dean, hands raised in surrender and an expression somewhere between alarm and terror. He was gone a half-second later, though, back to the vision he knew was nonexistent, yet seemed at times to be more real than the world that actually surrounded him.
“-my!... Sam!” No, it was Dean, definitely Dean, looking confused and scared and unsure of what to do. It was a sobering combination of emotions to see on his brother’s face, the brother who always forced himself to appear composed even when he was anything but composed mentally.
“… Dean?” The haze that had formed in Sam’s mind cleared, reality sinking in with startling clarity. “Dean… Dean, I-“ Sam couldn’t form his thoughts into words, and lapsed into silence as Dean helped him to his feet.
“You okay?” Dean paused, looking Sam up and down. “Wrong question. You ready to go?” Sam nodded, hardly aware of the taste of bile in his mouth or the shakiness of his knees.
They received more than a few odd glances as they made their way through the restaurant, but neither of them really noticed. All of the other customers were wearing Lucifer’s face at the moment, so Sam wasn’t particularly keen to look at them for any longer than he had to.
Once they were in the Impala, it was better; Lucifer was sitting sprawled across the back seat, but he wasn’t saying anything for the moment, so he was relatively easy to ignore.
“Here.” Dean handed him a bottle of water (normal bottled water, not the stale Holy stuff they kept in the trunk). Sam took a couple of sips, enough to wash away the foul aftertaste, then screwed the lid back on- even that small amount was making him queasy. “So, you… wanna talk about that?” Dean asked. Sam didn’t, not really- his hallucination seemed so insignificant now that he wasn’t alone, now that Dean was there to keep him grounded. He knew Dean probably wouldn’t stop bugging him about it, though, so he took a deep breath before saying,
“He was… Killing you. While we were eating. Over and over again. And I just- the things he was saying, I know they’re not true but-“ Sam, for all his always wanting to talk about feelings, was absolutely terrible about opening up with his own. “- I killed you. Or… I saw, I was the hellhound, I was tearing you apart and killing you, and you were dying, and-“ The confusion was evident on Dean’s face.
“Sammy, the hellhounds, that was years ago. Three- four -however many. Point is, you didn’t- you didn’t kill me, Sam. Hell, you tried harder than I did to save me- so what did he show you, that could possibly make you think it was your fault?” Sam glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye, and his expression betrayed more emotion than it had in a long time.
“I was- Dean, I was the hellhound. I… I was tearing you apart, I could taste your blood.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, the anxiety from thinking back on the vision making him restless.
Lucifer chose that moment to lean forward from the back seat, poking his head between Sam and Dean, wide smile on his face. “Ooooh, don’t forget to tell him about the part where you enjoyed the feeling of his skin and blood and bones in your mouth, under your fingernails-“
“SHUT UP-!” Sam yelled, turning around to face Lucifer.
“Is he-?” Sam didn’t wait for Dean to finish the question before nodding. Dean paused for a moment before turning to face the backseat, yelling suddenly, “Hey asshat, I don’t know what you’re saying and I don’t really care, but buzz off.”
Lucifer didn’t flicker in the slightest, instead leaning back against the car door to kick his feet up on the seat, head behind Sam’s seat.
“Aww, he thinks he can tell me what to do. How cute. Big brother thinks he can help you, you know- wants to treat me like a case. Wants some quick, easy solution- but rock salt aint going to help this time. And you know why?” Through gritted teeth, and refusing to turn around, Sam seethed,
“Oh, I dunno, maybe cus you’re not real?”
“Sam-?” Dean waved a hand in front of his brother’s face, trying to get his attention.
“Wrong answer! I’m completely real. He can’t get rid of me, because he’s the one that’s not real. I’ve told you, Sam- you’re in the Cage. He can’t help you here. Hasn’t even tried, really. Gave up on you. Only reason you think he gives a rat’s ass now is because it’ll hurt that much more when I tear him away from you again.”
“Liar.” Blood was soaking through the bandage on the palm of Sam’s hand from him digging his thumb into it, but he paid it no heed. “You’re lying. He’s real. He’s real, and you’re- you can’t get to me. I’m out. I’m out, and you’re still trapped in Hell.”
Sam whirled around to face the backseat again, breathing a sigh of relief when nothing greeted him but the beat-up duffel bag that had been thrown there earlier. “He’s gone.” Sam mumbled, finally turning his focus back to Dean. “Sorry ‘bout that, he was-“
“Dude, you don’t have to be sorry for Lucifer popping in. And while we’re on the subject of him- you haven’t been handling him as well as you’ve been saying, have you?” Dean hadn’t put the key in the ignition, meaning he actually planned on starting one of the Serious Talks. “You think I don’t notice? Cus I do. You’re not sleeping, you’re barely eating, you’re… y’know, that-“ Dean gestured in the direction of the diner, where some unfortunate customer had most likely stumbled upon the mess he’d left behind. “- And you pretend to be fine, and maybe that’s just how you try to convince yourself that you are, but you… you can talk to me, Sammy. You get that, right? I know my time in Hell was practically a picnic compared to yours, it doesn’t even compare, but when Lucifer’s making you barf up your guts or think you killed me or anything like that, you can tell me.”
“Dean, I-“ Sam ran a hand through his hair again, “Thanks. And I know I can talk to you- I mean, who the hell else do I have for this stuff?” After a short pause, he added, “So, where was that werewolf at? It was headed south, right?” Dean slid the key into the ignition, AC/DC suddenly blaring through the speakers.
“Yeah- you ready to head over there? Not gonna upchuck in my Baby, are you?” Sam shook his head, and Dean pulled back onto the road.
Saving each other, hunting things (sometimes). The Sam and Dean family business.