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Sam thinks, at first, that this is one of his visions, but he quickly realizes that something is wrong.
He’s cold. He’s so cold his bones ache with it, his skin stinging, muscles cramping, locking, freezing in place. He’s colder than he can ever remember being, not even during that one miserable winter in Michigan, as cold as—
The Cage. He’s back in the Cage, in the Cage, not just observing from the outside, he is inside the Cage—
Brightness flares, unbearably bright silver-blue, and Sam tries to shut his eyes but even his eyelids seem frozen—
You can’t look away, Sam, says Lucifer’s voice. You can’t escape. You will always end up here.
Sam comes awake with a shuddering gasp, limbs flailing, no longer frozen. He’s still shivering, though, despite the sweat dripping from him, as if the chill of Lucifer’s hatred has followed him out of the Cage—out of the nightmare. He gropes clumsily at the foot of his bed, snagging the edge of the comforter and pulling it tightly around himself, but it’s no good. His body heat just doesn’t seem to be enough to warm him.
Abandoning the comforter, Sam levers himself off the bed and stumbles towards the door, yanking it open with trembling fingers. This is a mistake; the bright fluorescent light of the hallway hits him like a physical blow, and he flinches back, his heart pounding, before his brain registers its yellow, artificial cast, quite unlike the icy silver-blue of his dream. And then, once he’s gathered himself enough to step over the threshold, he flinches again at the touch of cold tile on his bare feet. He runs on tiptoe to Dean’s room, his eyes squinched half-shut against the light, and bursts in without knocking.
Dean is sprawled across the bed on his stomach, but at the sound of the door opening he rolls over to face Sam, blinking dazedly.
“Sam?” he mutters. “Wha’s goin’ on?”
“I just, uh—” says Sam. It’s hard to speak; his teeth are chattering. “I’m cold.”
Dean is looking much more alert now, scrutinizing Sam’s hunched posture, and Sam knows he must look pretty pathetic, with his arms wrapped around himself and his toes curling against the cold floor. He drops his eyes, suddenly self-conscious. It was just a nightmare, and not even an unfamiliar one. Running to his big brother’s room for comfort is certainly not helping the pathetic image.
He’s preparing to turn around and face the awful brightness of the hallway again when there’s a rustle of movement from the bed, and he glances up despite himself. Dean is still staring at him, his expression unreadable, but he’s holding one side of his blanket up meaningfully.
“C’mere,” he says, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Sam is across the room in an instant, sliding under the covers and curling up against his brother’s side. Dean slips an arm around his shoulders, leaning them both back against the pillows, and it’s so soothing and safe and—above all—warm, that Sam has to clench his teeth around a moan of relief.
Dean waits until Sam’s shivers have subsided before speaking again.
“The Cage?” he asks quietly.
Sam swallows, a faint chill running through him again, even here, tucked up all snug and secure next to Dean. “That I was back inside,” he confirms after a moment.
Dean’s arm tightens around him, his hand clenching in Sam’s t-shirt. “You know that’s not gonna happen, though, right?” he asks, though his tone is more pleading than reassuring. “It’s just not. No way.”
Sam nods, because he can tell Dean wants him to. But he knows, now, has known for a long time, that not even his big brother can protect him from everything.
Still, he thinks, settling even more firmly against Dean’s side, it’s nice to know that whatever terrors haunt his dreams, he’ll always end up here.