Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hearing that Cas had ignored Sam’s call was the first major sign that something was cosmically wrong.

Even as an older brother, Dean tried to convince himself there was no need for his concern to get out of hand. Cas being hard to reach was not a new obstacle, nothing to cower at. With all context considered, it was understandable that Dean’s over protective tendencies would flare a little extra. But, he tried to reason, it’s to be expected that an Angel of God would be occupied with other matters— those more important than a mortal escaping death. After all, it wasn’t a first for the Winchester brothers.

There were minor signs of course, and all piled together they were impossible to ignore. Sam was different, and not in any predictable sense.

Dean tried to be practical in his judgment; he'd also changed significantly after his own time in Hell. His outlook on life became more jaded, cynical, a little hopeless. His commitment to his father started to wane, and he became more and more disillusioned with the identity of a hunter.

Surely Sam would change after Hell, and if the distortions of space time warp even further the deeper you go, then the past two years would be equivalent to multiple lifetimes. Dean was hardened, and Hell rendered him pathetic, meanwhile Sam was such a delicate flower their whole lives. Dean could picture the impact on a guy like Sam. The logical aftermath of his baby brother subjected to the horrors of Hell, it was very different from the reality before him.

Sam was cold, distant, but present all the same. It made for an uncanny paradox, and a mismatch of traits that left Dean uncomfortable. Sam’s mind felt so far out of reach, yet it was sharper than ever.

His eyes were hazy, lacking any of their familiar warmth. The innocence and naivety his eyes used to have, it was replaced by a void that stretched on to nowhere, the darkness of his pupils leading to blank and hollow depths. Dean felt his skin crawl if he met his brother’s hollow gaze. He felt guilty for being so creeped out.

Sam’s logic was always dictated by emotions, which was exactly what made him the blacksheep. He didn’t have Dad’s obsessive tunnel vision, or Dean’s blind loyalty— that’s what made Sam so bright. But the cage had taken that brightness from him.

__

“So what? You like him better, or something?”

From where he sat, Dean could see all of Cas clearly, from head to foot. He hadn’t changed much in the 2 years Sam had been in Hell, though his stiff body language carried an emotive quality that was a new development.

“It is true Dean and I share a more profound bond.”

Dean’s face must have given away his feelings on that statement. He couldn’t help but be an open book when faced with the total social blunder that was Castiel. At the sight of Dean’s expression, Cas continued, “I wasn’t gonna mention it…” 

While painfully awkward still, he seemed to occupy his vessel with an ease that never came to him during the months preceding the apocalypse. Perhaps he was becoming acclimated.

Despite his new, persistent coldness, Sam’s anger was palpable. Dean couldn’t deny the rationale, he had to empathize with his brother. He remembers returning from Hell, he’s been in Sam’s position before; Afraid, wounds raw, his mind confused, and the whole time Cas had been nothing but threatening and misleading. 

“Cas,” Dean started as he rose to his feet, “I think what he’s tryin’ to say is that… He went to Hell. For us. I mean he really took one for the team. You remember that? Then he comes back without a clue, and you can’t take five freakin’ minutes to give him some answers?”

Sam stews behind Cas, rage and betrayal thick in the air. It’s the first emotion Dean has seen from him, actually.

“If I had any answers I would have responded but I don’t know, Sam! We have no idea who brought you back from the cage. Or why.”

Sam rises. This change in his brother’s demeanor has leaked into his general energy and his aura. Between his anger and self entitlement Dean isn’t sure if it’s menacing and childish, whether Sam is scary, or just grandiose.

“So, it wasn’t God?” Sam says more than asks.

“No one has even seen God. Whole thing remains mysterious.”

“The Hell does that mean?” Sam prods.

“What part of; I don’t know, escapes your understanding?”

Dean cuts into the brewing tension to insist Cas come to Sam’s call, regardless of any bond he claims to share with Dean. Cas denies that Dean is his priority but he’s probably bluffing. The Winchester brothers are dealing with the Staff of Moses anyway. If that’s Cas’ priority, then it leads back to Dean.

With more pressing matters at hand, Sam’s resurrection is shelved for another time. Much to Dean’s anxiety.

__

Their return to a nomadic lifestyle should bring Dean comfort. Having his dead brother back should bring Dean comfort, too. Instead Dean feels strangely exposed under Sam’s gaze, and he finds he can’t observe Sam long enough to understand what’s happened to him. He just can’t stand the changes, and he is scared as to what they mean.

Sam’s company feels like an empty shell sometimes, like he’s an animatronic made to look like and imitate Sam, but he's hollow inside.

Dean feels sick with himself. This was all so wrong. He loves Sammy, more than anything. He shouldn’t be feeling like this— like his brother isn’t safe company, like his brother has ulterior motives or impure intentions. Dean still sees his little brother in the face of this creature, in the habits he carries, so maybe he isn’t entirely gone, but something happened in the cage, something that changed him deeply. Something bad. 

He calls Bobby.

“I know what I saw, Bobby,” He confides, voice tense. “I’m telling you it’s not my brother.”

“Well then it’s something we ain’t seen before…”

“Or it’s freakin’ Lucifer.” Dean spat. “It’s not just about the vamp— He has been different from the jump.”

“I’m with you,” Bobby placated, “I’ll hit the books hard just don’t shoot him yet! All right?”

Dean sighed as Bobby lectured him further.

“Just keep an eye on him. If it isn’t Sam we don’t know what it is, or how to put it down.”

“I don’t even wanna ride in the same car as him. Much less work a damn case…” Dean trailed off.

“He is your case— asshat.”

Bobby hung up.

And “Sam” appeared.

“You okay?” He asked, and the worry in his eyebrows was like it always was, but his voice was flat. His eyes were so reminiscent of Sammy’s, that’s what made it so terrifying. It was so close, but something was off. 

“I’m fine. Are you okay?” Dean asked, his heart rate picking up as he hoped for a moment that Sam would answer honestly and say no, I feel weird, I don’t feel like myself, then maybe Dean could relax and accept this was just trauma, and not an imposter.

But Sam only looked caught off guard, like the question was so unnecessary he wouldn’t even expect it.

“Me? Yeah, I’m great.” 

Dean let disappointment wash over him as Sam presented him with a case.

—

“You know what a tell is…? It’s a poker term…”

He watched Sam interrogate the dead girl’s sister. Every word out of his mouth cold, harsh— malice was lingering in the space usually left empty. Before Hell, that space used to hold Sam’s charisma and warmth. When he caught Dean’s concerned, cautious gaze, his face scrunched in confusion, almost defiance.

The lack of balance is what confused Dean the most. Many of the characteristics were consistently Sam, but the things that were wrong, were very , deeply wrong. There was no way his Sam would smirk and smile at a tearful confession like the one they bore witness too. The little glint in his eye, happy he got what he came here for, even in the face of this grieving sister’s misery. This wasn’t the Sam he raised.

Bobby’s voice on the phone only shook him further, his only advice made this even harder to understand;

“Lucifer is only the second worst case scenario. The other is… This is just Sam.”

Dean felt so lost. Maybe there was merit to that claim, it seems so improbable that an imposter could imitate such little things, stuff that only a brother would notice, things that go beyond habitual appearances.

He continued his double sided case, chasing answers to Sam’s current mystery while chasing answers about Sam for himself; When, to his shock, Cas appears.

Unreliable, and untrustworthy as ever, the only thing of value he says; “He’s not Lucifer. I… Don’t know what’s wrong with him but I do wanna help. I’ll make some inquiries.”

He was gone in a blink. 

And then, Dean was cursed.

__

“Dean— I can’t lie here!” Sam whined. “You’re my brother, you really think I’d let that vamp get you on purpose?”

Dean wasn’t entirely convinced, somewhere in his core, denial sat heavy. Sam tried to claim he didn’t feed Dean to the vamp, merely froze.

“Okay, okay.” The curse should be working in Dean’s favor, it seemingly was. He should be relieved, Sam being unable to lie means he wasn’t sadistically feeding his older brother to vampires for profit. Dean couldn’t help the tears that burnt his eyes, his throat felt froggy as he pushed down the doubt clouding this interaction. Sam’s face never used to twitch the way it does so often now, Dean wonders if it’s a tell.

Wherever Dean used to recognize anxiety,

fear, the most that bubbles up to the surface of Sam’s face is agitation.

Sitting bound in Veritas’ lair, a room full of dead bodies, is the least comforting environment to be in, but Sam seems to be taking Dean’s forced confessions in stride;

“How do you really feel about your brother?” Veritas persuaded.

“Better now. As of yesterday I wanted to kill him in his sleep. I thought he was a monster, but he was just acting like me.”

Veritas moved her gaze toward Sam, drawing the supposed truth out of him as Dean did hours ago.

For a few hours, Dean was able to convince himself things were okay. That Sam was okay. That in this fucked up line of work they could still find safety in each other somehow. 

But the illusion was broken in minutes—

“No… No, no— How are you doing that? You’re lying to me!” 

“What?! No, I’m not!”

The goddess ignored his defense, “What are you? What is he?!” She turned to face Sam and definitively stated, “You’re not human.” 

Fear plunged into Dean's gut like a cold knife.

“What?”

“Dean, just wait!”

A reflection of a face that looked like his brother glinted off the blade of a knife. Dean held it extended toward the body in front of him, whoever it was, whatever it was.

“You’re not my brother.”

“Please— Dean, just listen to me!”

“What are you?”

“Dean, it is me! It’s me, please just let me explain!”

Stalking closer, ever so carefully, the figure wearing his brother's skin backed up steadily avoiding certain death. This was the first time anything beyond agitation graced those familiar features. Dean could see it brewing, little by little, that was fear on his face.

“Why should I believe a word you say?”

Frantic for the first time since their reunion, Sam confessed. The desperation in his face and his words, it was real, Dean could tell. His gut curdled, feeling torn at the display in front of him. Dean believed the lies out of desperation but they were never skillfully delivered, and along with the lapse in human qualities, his suspicions have only been proven correct. 

At the same time though, while it could be a performance, Sam hadn’t shown this amount of emotion towards anything. 

“There is something wrong with me, really wrong, I’ve known it for a while,”

His eyebrows twisted with familiar emotions, guilt and fear.

“I did lie to you, and I did let you get attacked by that vamp…”

“I coulda died .”

“I know! That’s just it!” He yelled emphatically, “That alone should stop me cold but I… I just don’t feel it!”

“You what…?”

“Nothing scares me anymore! Because I just can’t feel it! I— I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I think I need help.”

Dean narrows his eyes. His entire being feels unwell. There’s something behind those empty eyes, leaving them not so empty anymore. 

It was Sam.

Dean put the knife down. He knew for certain now, this was his brother. He wouldn’t kill him. 

But we would beat him to a pulp.

So he did.

—

Sam lay limp in a wooden chair.

“You really find that necessary?” Cas asked, in regards to the bondage.

“You haven’t seen him day to day.” Dean answered. “Even if he doesn’t deserve it does serve him right…”

Everything, the whole cosmos, all of this was wrong. 

His baby brother lay beaten and bloodied in that chair, his head lulled to the side. He’s seen him in this predicament many times on the job, and the sight stirs the same feelings of overprotection. Anxiety in his gut yelling at him to move, wake him up and check for a concussion, and get him safe .

But Dean is the reason he’s in that chair, and he’s the one who rocked his shit.

He craved the numbness of alcohol.

“You’re right, he does look terrible.” Cas prodded at Sam’s head, urging groans to erupt from his throat. “You left him like this?”

“Cas?” Sam’s voice perked up, “What’s— Hey what’s going on? Let me go!”

Confusion flooded Sam’s face as he came to, processing his surroundings, and resisting Cas’ touch. Cas pestered them both with questions on Sam’s wellbeing. Something else corrupted Sam’s blank features further, making Dean nervous and uncomfortable. He buried it beneath anger.

His brother scanned the room. “Hang on, are you trying to diagnose me right now?”

“You think there’s a special walk-in clinic for people who pop out of Hell all wrong?” Dean snapped. “He asks, you answer and then you shut your mouth. Got it?”

As much as Dean disliked this version of Sam, he didn’t like the obedience he received to that order. Neither did he favor the look on Sam’s face.

Cas shared a look with Dean, before regarding Sam. “How do you sleep?”

After a moment’s hesitation Sam responds, “I don’t.”

“At all?!” Dean gawks.

Sam’s eyes flutter askance. “Not well .”

“Give us a more precise estimation.” Cas demands.

Sam’s breathing picks up. His voice gets defensive. “I avoid it. I don’t like to sleep.”

“Well, you’ve been a stone cold killing machine, so you must be resting up somehow. Now answer the damn question!” Dean yells.

“I don’t know. ” Sam scrunches his eyes shut, breath erratic, “I stay up late and I wake up early! I mean, 3 or 4 hours a night on average, 6 hours if I’m lucky?”

“Ever awake for multiple nights at a time?” Cas asks.

“Sometimes.”

Dean scoffs. “And you never thought that could be an indication of something?”

“Yes I did, Dean, I just never told you.” Something childish takes over Sam’s features. His voice carries like a fussy little brother, and his face is upset.

“Sam, what are you feeling right now?” Cas continues.

The petty sarcasm returns as Sam says, “I feel like my nose is busted.”

“No, that’s a physical sensation. How do you feel ?”

“I, I mean I think,”

“Don’t think, just feel.”

Sam looks bored. “I… Don’t know.”

Dean quirks an eyebrow when Cas begins to remove his belt.

“What, uh…?”

“This will be unpleasant.”

Fear and disturbance flash behind Sam’s eyes, and the younger brother Dean knows is bubbling up at the surface again. The leather belt is placed between Sam’s teeth, and it gets worse, and starts to boil over.

“Bite down in this. If there is someplace you find soothing, you should go there, in your mind.”

Dean’s resolve begins to break when Sammy stares at him, his mouth is curled and his forehead wrinkled in anguish— he’s terrified.

Cas reaches inside of Sam, searching for something.

Sam screams, his head knocks back, and the belt is secure in his bite until he gasps with a throttle. It isn’t easy to watch, and it’s hard to listen to. Memories of the panic room breeze past, but actually having to witness this disturbs Dean more. It’s not as bad as Dean thought it would be, but it’s definitely bad. Cas’ reaction though, that puts a bad taste in Dean’s mouth.

Still embedded in Sam’s abdomen, Cas’ face goes from concerned to panicked. He twists, and braces himself on Sam’s shoulder to plunge deeper, but it erupts more cries from Sam. Low groans pitch up into fearful cries as his breath speeds up.

Unable to watch his brother suffer any longer, Dean shouts over his yelps and cries, “Cas, what’s going on?”

“I, I just didn’t expect to find something.”

“You found something?!”

“Yes, but it’s— it’s wrong.”

That didn’t sound good; “Wrong?! What did you find, what’s going on?!”

Cas retracts his hand from Sam’s, uh, cavity, and the cries trail off as Sam slumps over. He’s awake but limp again, and it makes Dean upset to look at, even more when he sees Cas’ face is distraught and disturbed.

“Cas, something is happening and you better tell me.”

Cas’ hand lingers on Sam’s shoulder, and it clings tighter as his eyes pan upward to meet Dean’s. “There’s nothing extra within him that shouldn’t be there. No additional spirits, or entities. Sam is entirely Sam. He still has his soul.” He says, “This is a good thing…”

“I’m sensing a but in there, Cas…”

Cas shakes his head, eyes wide with helplessness and pity. “It’s damaged.”

A weak, wet voice wobbled out of Sam’s throat, “Fuck you I’m not damaged…”

They ignored him.

“Damaged— Cas, what do you mean, soul, damaged? What am I missing here?”

Cas takes several deep breaths, an astonishingly human development along with drinking alcohol, he pulls away from Sam, though very hesitantly.

“This isn’t good…”

Dean leans in close, speaking hushed but firm, “You need to stop with the vague and ominous bullshit and tell me what the hell is wrong with my brother and how I can fix it.”

“It’s not that easy, there are things you need to understand,” Cas says. He glances down at Sam, his head bobbing weakly, “Lucifer is a sadistic, and misanthropic entity that thrives off of suffering to the most cosmically detrimental degree…” His eyes find Dean’s and pierce through him with his gaze. “Are you following?”

Dean gulps. “Maybe.”

“Sam was locked away for two years.”

Cas continues, “That amount of time on earth is distorted heavily within the cage. Sam has survived lifetimes of inhuman levels of metaphysical and parapsychological torture…” He begins to wring his hands, “Honestly, it’s a miracle he has so much of his soul still intact.”

Dean’s head spins a little at the idea of what kind of horrors happened in the cage. He supposes he is

better off not knowing. But Sam doesn’t have that luxury, so ignoring it doesn’t seem fair.

“What,” He clears the frog in his throat, “Um, what kind of damage are we talking? And what’s the impact? Walk me through this stuff…”

Cas moved towards Sam once more, bringing Dean’s attention to his shivering and trembling figure. Still bound against the chair, Sam’s head swiveled around the room as if confused by the sight. Cas approached him effortlessly, bringing two fingers to his head and clearing the blood and bruises. He grabs Sam by the jaw and peers into his eyes, and Dean can imagine the discomfort of Sam’s position.

Sam’s face twitches as he stares back. Cas hums something to himself but reaches for Sam’s wrists.

“Hey…” Dean warns, but is ignored.

Without a word, Sam is left free. He rubs at his wrists but he stays put. He sits awkwardly but polite, with his shoulders scrunched and his hands resting on his knees. Green eyes occasionally flutter up between the other two men, but Sam’s form is riddled with anxiety and vulnerability Dean hasn’t seen in weeks. The contrast sends Dean spinning, this helpless looking boy in front of him is the same person who fed his brother to a vamp, who bit into his own flesh to draw blood for a devil's trap. It’s bizarre.

Cas brackets Sam’s shoulders with his hands, causing him to jitter, ever so slightly.

“There’s an interesting philosophical question in here somewhere.” Cas begins, sounding winded, “Most living beings are made up of mind, body, and soul. All three can take damage and all three can recover— but some wounds can never heal completely. Some don’t heal correctly either.”

Dean tried to follow along, but the answer was too vague, leaving him with more questions. “Get to the point, Cas.”

“Sam’s soul…” He held Dean still in his gaze. “It’s been shattered.”

That's definitely not good.

“The hell do you mean shattered .”

“It’s shattered like a mirror. Large chunks are entirely missing, and it’s possible they could self repair but it’s not likely…”

“Details, Cas.” Dean said through clenched teeth.

“Physically he’s perfectly healthy,” He shrugged. “The soul is mapped out a lot like the human brain. Certain parts of the identity are stored across certain landmarks of the soul… If landmarks are missing, so are parts of Sam. With a soul broken like that…” He looked to Sam’s politely seated form, “Even among what remains, His personhood is entirely disconnected. Emotions are hard for him to reach, and he may not interpret them correctly.”

Unease curled nauseatingly in Dean’s stomach. “That includes his memories about Hell…”

Cas nodded, something clouding his face. Dean realized it was pity.

“You need to understand.” Cas’ voice cut through the brief silence. “This is all because he’s been damaged beyond what the average mind or soul is capable of comprehending. He shouldn’t even be upright right now, much less able to hold a conversation. His mental clarity is astonishing, but it may not hold. Once the emotions associated with his memories ease in, he’ll react accordingly.”

This was the outcome Dean did not want. The reveal that all along, this hollow creature really was Sam. The Sam he raised, who turned out soft and kind despite the mess of parenting he received from John and Dean, this husk is what he’s become.

What kind of horror Sam had to endure to become a different person, to lose his sense of self entirely, Dean couldn’t contend with it. Dean could remember his own time in Hell. Stripped of his skin and his dignity and his autonomy, and eventually coerced to torture others the same way— and he liked it. The torture didn’t stop after he got off the rack, the guilt and remorse of his own choices were psychological wounds that tortured him since he returned to earth.

He still winces, cringes at memories from Alastair’s games.

Dean still has nightmares.

Perhaps Sam avoided sleep as much as he could to avoid a single one.

Oh God, what had happened to Sam?

“You’re scaring me, Cas.”

“Good.”

Dean knelt down, trying to catch Sam’s eyes, but his brother didn’t seem keen on sharing eye contact.

“Sammy,”

Sam bristled.

Dean didn’t really have anything to say— nothing on topic nor off topic. But the words fell off his tongue like instinct. “You okay?”

Sam grunted with an apprehensive nod. Dean would take it for now.

“You understand everything Cas has said?”

Sam pauses, nods in agreement again.

“Are you sure?” Dean prods.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

His voice still doesn’t quite match up with the expression on his face, but Dean can empathize. He’d been there too.

With a sigh Dean got up to his feet. “I know Cas likes to disappear into thin air.” He turned to the angel in question. “But if it’s alright with him, I’d like him to knock you out tonight, let you get actual sleep, and we can reopen this can of worms tomorrow…”

Sam and Cas shared their own glance across the room, while Dean dragged his hands across his eyes.

Bobby was right. This was the real worst case scenario.

Chapter Text

For the first time since their reunion, Dean was the first to wake up.

He leaned over Sam’s sleeping form, squinting and inspecting the minor details and bristling at the slightest of changes. He looked almost peaceful, like the sweet little brother Dean remembered. It dawned on him, this was the same boy he’d fed and bathed in their early childhood, and the same child he’d tucked in and read to. Before Ruby came along, Dean could never picture himself hitting his brother, let alone actually hurt him. Ruby wasn’t here anymore, and neither was Lucifer, this was just Sam, and Dean beat him to unconsciousness, out of nothing but rage.

He disgusts himself sometimes.

Once Cas had put Sam to sleep for the night, he had whispered harshly into Dean's ear, “You need to shift your priorities to Sam, and keep an eye on him. There’s no telling when the switch will flip or how fast things will flood in.”

“Are you saying he’s a basket case now?” Dean said, nursing his second beer that night.

“He may be a fearless hunter right now, but as the remains of his soul piece itself back together, he’s eventually going to feel like he’s back in the cage, like he never got out. It won’t be until the soul mends itself further that he’s able to come to terms with the present reality.”

Dean glanced at Sam’s body. Limp, but peaceful, chest rising as he breathed deeply in sleep.

“I know you’re angry with him.” Cas’ voice softened. His gaze averted. “But he didn’t ask for this.”

Dean knows that. Sammy never wanted this life, but it was predetermined long before he was born.

Waiting for Sam to awaken, Dean busied himself with researching soul trauma and soul healing, he found a lot of new age spiritual bullshit but he supposed that would have to do. He didn’t think Reiki or meditation would do Sam any good. Maybe crystals were easy enough, stick a few into Sam’s pockets and hope they actually work. Dean’s heart ached in his chest, he wished the situation was less complicated.

Sam began to stir, sending jolts of anxiety through Dean’s nervous system, and he quickly directed his attention toward his brother. “Mornin’”

Sam sat up, groggy. The way he rubbed his face and blinked was almost childish, making Dean yearn for his brother’s old ways a little more. “Hey…”

“How you feeling?”

Sam sighed, and paused, and Dean realized he was trying to come up with an honest answer. After a minute he shrugged. “No idea. I guess I feel… Relaxed?”

“Good, at least that makes one of us…” He wonders what they should tell Bobby, and how to phrase it. He shelves that for later. “Well Veritas is dead and done… What’s next?”

—

Dean puts on a face of normalcy, and he acclimates to Sam’s new characteristics.

They go on a few recon missions, scoping out potential cases. They peruse local newspapers and forum sites to no avail, until they find a case in Elwood, that of supposed alien abductions. Dean was mildly convinced he’d already found an alien. He tries to bite his tongue as Sam wrecks social havoc among the locals. His newfound shamelessness and emotional dissociation have left him a complete and total dick. He’s become the very definition of an asshole.

If this was Sam without inhibition, they really were alike to some degree. Dean begrudgingly thinks, if he truly finds this Sam so insufferable, maybe it’s because he’s acting so much like Dean.

When he’s subsequently abducted, and returns to his brother in bed with a girl instead of ensuring his safe return, he becomes certain of that.

Dean is eternally grateful for the blanket covering his brother and his current guest, as they seemed carnally acquainted. Sam, void of any embarrassment, looks up and smiles goofily at him. “Dean!”

He really regrets coming to Elwood.

He never would expect Sam to have the same culinary taste as Dean, mostly because he would cringe at Dean’s plate and cast judgment on his choices, at every diner and bar without fail. Watching him casually chomp down a burger, while effortlessly making googly eyes at the waitress was like he resumed life on a different planet.

He watches Sam intensely yammer on about his findings on faeries, and Dean feels that ache return to his chest. Research was interesting and captivating for Sam, and Dean can tell it still is. Somehow, it seems Sam doesn’t notice, he is almost happy again, but something separated him from fully experiencing joy, and his body settled on frantic infodumping.

“You’re still geeky.” Dean voices softly.

A twitch in response. “What?”

“nothing, just observing out loud. That okay?”

Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean was mostly riding along this case as an excuse to observe Sam’s behavior without being so obvious. Once abducted, revenge became more than a little appealing, so he figured he’d see the end of this through. Sam was invested, even though he went back and forth on it at first.

Once Dean is thankfully released from county jail without any drama tied to his previous record, they get out of town quick. They were parked on a dirt road, resting on the hood of the car and Dean realizes it feels peaceful again. Still different, but he isn’t scared of Sam anymore.

“How you feelin?”

Sam is perturbed by the question, inconvenienced even. “Fine.”

“Anything on your mind?”

“Nope.”

“Huh.” Dead tilted his head. “Well since we’re being honest now, I find that hard to believe.”

Sam is visibly frustrated by the direction of things. “Well, I dunno what you want me to say.”

“I’m just trying to figure out how things work in there.” Dean explains, calmly. “You seemed pretty upset after Cas…”

“I don’t wanna talk about that.”

That got Deans attention. Sam was looking over his right shoulder, off into the fields on the horizon.

“No?”

“No!”

“Alright, alright I hear you,” Dean hushes him, “Look this is the first time I’ve heard you express a desire about anything that isn’t violence or sex, so this is an improvement in my eyes!”

He lays a rough hand on Sam’s shoulder in a familiar habit, but his brother jolts. Dean stalls when Sam doesn’t tell him to get off or remove the hand himself. Dean gets to his feet to stand face to face with Sam, who’s still seated on the hood.

“I get you don’t wanna talk about it but it’s important we work out what’s going on with you… You say you can’t feel but, I’m pretty sure those emotions are still there, you’re just feeling them differently now.”

Sam makes a face. “What, are we on an episode of Doctor Phil?”

“Just let me be the big brother about this mess okay?” Dean tosses his empty bottle in the cooler and slams it shut with his foot.

“I already have.”

“I mean it was pretty rocky for a minute but we trust each other now, right?”

“Sure…”

“Look man, I really can’t imagine what you’ve been through, I at least know what Hell’s rack was like.” As he talks, he can tell Sam is getting agitated, but they need to discuss this, and it’s better if they handle it sooner rather than later.

“I know I changed, and you had to be the patient and understanding brother, so let me pick up the slack for you now. I still have baggage from my time in Hell Sam, and it’s been years since I got back. I was only on the rack for four months and it felt like four decades…”

In the midst of Dean’s tirade, Sam’s eyes lost their focus.

“This shit is fresh. Two years in the cage with Lucifer is probably equivalent to at least a few lifetimes, man. I know you can’t talk about it yet but we’re gonna have to run through these things, at least the Cas stuff with Bobby while we’re in state.”

Instead of a reply, Sam only stared silently. Dean waved a hand in his face. “Sammy?” No reaction. Dean stepped forward into Sam’s sight line, his brother’s eyes cloudy and unfocused in a random direction. He didn’t process Dean’s face inches away from his own, or react to the fingers snapping in his ears. “Sam, you in there?”

Not even a twitch.

Uh oh, maybe he shoulda listened and saved the heavy talk for when they were somewhere safe.

“Sammy? Buddy, can you hear me?” He let a hand fall onto Sam’s bicep which tore a gasp from Sam’s throat along with a full body jolt— Sam blinked rapidly, tossing off Dean’s hand with a violent shrug, and with his other hand he gripped the spot he’d been touched. Sam’s breathing picked up, the blinking died down, but his eyes stayed unfocused and untrained. “Woah, woah, woah— Sammy, it’s me, it’s Dean!”

“Dean…?” He mumbled, barely vocalizing.

“Yeah, bud, did I scare you? I’m sorry.”

This was completely out of left field, Sam hadn't been scared of anything, hardly even his own danger or imminent death, and now Dean realizes the only other thing to scare Sam are mentions of Hell or the Devil.

“Uhh,” Sam’s voice carried in a croaky and unsure octave, a little higher than his normal register but uneven and wobbly, “Where are we?”

“We’re in a field, just you and me, there’s no one else here.”

“Why are we in a field?” Sam’s voice came out perplexed and a little confused by the specific location.

“We’re on our way out of a town called Elwood, we finished up a case.”

“Oh… Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah, you remember?” Dean’s hands came up instinctively, reaching toward his brother in an aching need to hold him close where he’d be safe in his arms. He’s always had that instinct, he thinks it has something to do with carrying Sam out of the fire. Dean keeps himself in check, not touching while Sam is unaware like this, but it’s hard.

“No, not really…” 

Oh shit. Dean hadn’t prepared for lost time. Man, the past two, three days? If Sam lost the whole case, maybe he lost the days leading up to it?  A whole week missing at the most. Damn. Well, they had lack of emotional processing and impulsive written down, they could go ahead and add amnesia to the mental list of Sam’s wacky symptoms. Shit.

“Okay, okay, that’s okay,” Dean reassured himself more than Sam. Despite being half conscious and missing a week of memories, Sam was pretty calm. “You wanna get back in the car? We should find Bobby.”

“We have to find him? Where is he?”

“No, no, Bobby’s just at home, we just need to make our way there. Can I help you get in the car? Please?”

“Yeah, okay.”

This politeness was like whiplash after Sam’s usual behavior post-Hell. Sam used to be a polite kid, and a polite young man - he was still young in Dean’s eyes - but it was in moments of clear distress that Sam reverted to the version Dean remembered.

He let Dean guide him to the passenger seat, and buckle his seat belt for him. 

“You wanna listen to anything? Music, radio?”

“Can you play some old tapes?”

“Sure man, then I’ll make our way to Bobby.”

——

The whole drive, Sam sits quietly in the passenger seat. He rests in a comfortable posture, curled up a little small, his eyes hazy and glazed over. He doesn’t make any move to initiate conversation or discussion of any kind, and Dean gives him the patience to come back when he’s ready.

It’s about 30 minutes out from Souix Falls when Sam shudders.

A breath escapes him as his spine jitters, and he blinks rapidly again.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on you okay?” Dean tries not to yell but he can’t help the slight bark in his volume.

“I’m fine.”

The bored cadence to Sam’s voice is back, he sounds tired.

“What happened?”

“Uh…” Dean tries to cover all his bases without sending Sam back into a spiral. “I think talking about Hell is a trigger for you.” His hands grip the steering wheel tight. “I was just trying to figure you out, but it made you space out, really far off on another planet. You forgot the case, forgot where we were.”

“Huh…” There’s no surprise forced into the sound, just acknowledgement.

“I haven’t had a chance to update Bobby on your, uh, condition. Once you were spaced out I figured we’d head there to give him the news, see if he has any words of wisdom. It would give us a safe place to rest up.”

“‘Kay.”

“You remember anything?”

“I remember talking in the field.”

A quick glance revealed Sam’s eyes were closed and his forehead scrunched, he was trying really hard to keep himself together.

“Then I blacked out, but it’s coming back to me.”

“Yeah, you scared me with that.”

“Well, isn’t that the version of me you really wanna be dealing with?”

“Sam—“ Dean bit his tongue. “We’ll talk about all this once we get to Bobby’s we’re only 15 minutes out. Are you okay? Anything noteworthy happen while you were off in outer space?”

“No… And I already told you I’m fine.”

“Alright, tough guy, whatever you say.”

Bobby answered the door with his worn and weary expression, but he raised an eyebrow at Sam’s gaze staring off to the side as opposed to his usual overbearing eye contact.

“Hey Bobby,” Dean greeted. “We have some updates. Mind if we come in?”

Chapter Text

Entering the threshold of Bobby’s house always brought a sense of comfort, stability, even now as the unpleasant conversation was incoming.

It was just nearing evening, the sun creeping toward its way out. Dean hoped Bobby would let them stay the night, if he trusted Sam well enough, that is. He’d been pretty understanding of Sam’s changes, resistant to the idea of possession or an imposter. Maybe now that Dean was softening with further understanding of Sam’s predicament, Bobby could offer some much needed help.

Bobby welcomed them in, leading them to his study, but held clear suspicion from where he sat at his desk.

“Alright let’s hear it then.” He said impatiently.

From where he stood, Dean turned to Sam, who sat a considerable distance away from the other two men, “You wanna tell him or should I?” he offered.

A non-committal shrug was given. “Go ahead.”

With a sigh, Dean told the news. “You were right Bobby. This is just Sam. Cas confirmed it and everything.”

“Had a feelin’.” The old man said, sparing an uneasy glance at his younger surrogate nephew. “You ain’t no monster but you sure as Hell ain’t yourself boy.”

Sam gave him a scowl. “I noticed.” 

“That brings us to the bad news—“ Dean continued, “Sam isn’t himself because his soul was shattered in Hell.”

Sam bristled at Dean’s bluntness.

The look on Bobby’s face shifted from cautious to concerned, “Shattered…?”

“Yep!” Sam chirped from the back of the room. “Damaged goods. Unrecognizable at this point.”

Dean recognized that, the sarcastic irony as a shield, maybe that’s all this persona was. He could understand that well. “Yeah, we weren’t necessarily able to get a look at it ourselves, but from what Cas had to say it isn’t good. Mix this in with the consequences of somebody’s actions, this is beyond not good, like really not good.”

“I think he gets it.” Sam grumbled.

Dean cast a glance back at his brother, who was clearly getting antsy. Sam had gotten up and paced the back of Bobby’s study, snooping through the shelves.

“Well from what I’ve seen myself, Cas was right,” Dean snapped, “I get the emotionless bravado made you feel big and tough for a year but you’re touch-and-go pal. This whole mess is way worse than we thought, so we need to handle it before it gets even messier.”

“Oh come on, how is this worse?” Sam rolled his eyes. “You don’t even know what worse is. You think I’m so awful you’d rather take Lucifer? Well I took him, and trust me you wouldn’t want that.”

Sam didn’t talk about Hell. Especially not unprompted, and this outburst directly after the blackout earlier, it was worrying. Dean is sure he triggered this somehow, he held out a hand, lowering his voice, placating, “Sam, that isn’t what I meant— you’ve got a bounty on your back and you blacked out in the middle of a conversation.”

“I didn’t black out.” Sam fussed.

Bobby sat witness, eyes bouncing from brother to brother as they exchanged yells. Dean had really wanted to walk him through this whole update one piece at a time, but maybe witnessing Sam’s emotional instability was a more hands on approach, letting Bobby get a sight of it himself. One thing was certain; it was just as unpleasant as Dean expected.

“You went unresponsive!” Dean pleads, “You lost days worth of memory, a whole case! You couldn’t even figure out where we were. One word about Hell and you just blank and forget where you're standing? That doesn’t scare you? What if someone tries that in the middle of danger? Or when I’m not around? That seems pretty bad to me.”

“Well it could be a lot worse.”

“Really?” Dean balks, “How?”

Sam growled in anger, a very sudden burst of emotion, and a truly juvenile and immature display at that. He clenched his hands in his hair before stomping in frustration. Honestly, it would otherwise be somewhat in character, but for Shattered Sam, this level of expression was new. “You don’t fucking get it.”

The big brother in Dean aches at the sight. His voice softens, “Sammy, I know.”

“No, you don’t .”

“Sam, just calm down,”

“I am calm!” He wasn’t, but Dean wasn’t going to correct him on that either.

“Good, that’s good! I’m glad. Can you sit down for us? We’re just gonna talk this through, that’s all. Is that okay?”

Sam looked conflicted and confused. His face was crowded with anger and discomfort, anxiety clearly visible in his body language. Dean felt a rush of relief when Sam began to bite his nails, something he always used to do. Funny, he used to always nag at Sam to cut the habit, but he’s happy to see it now. 

“I don’t wanna hear this.” Sam settled.

“Okay, that’s fine. Can you just stay in the house, please?”

A jerky nod was their only goodbye, and Sam rushed out of the room, elsewhere.

Dean pressed his hands into his eyes, groaning in exhaustion, when he opened his eyes, facing Bobby, the older man wore a face of utter perplexity.

“That was unusual.” The words slowly eased out of Bobby’s tightly wound jaw.

“Believe it or not, I think it’s supposed to be a good thing.” Dean replied, mostly trying to convince himself. “It means he’s starting to feel something, even if it’s unpleasant… And inconvenient for us.”

He sank into the nearest seat, feeling the exhaustion of the past two lifetimes wear him down. After a moment of silence passed, he could hear the sound of liquid being poured into a glass, Bobby held a shot of dark liquor out to Dean as an offering. He couldn’t see the bottle from where he sat, he reached over and knocked it back, unsure as it burned his throat.

Head resting in one hand, Bobby seemed lost in thought. “If he’d pulled a move like that just a couple days ago, you woulda popped him between his eyes.”

“Maybe I would’ve.”

“I think if I’d seen something like that a year ago I’d be relieved. It just woulda made more sense.”

“And how do you feel about it now?”

Bobby scratched his beard. “Relieved still,” He said with a nod, “but worried. Hang on, back up just a whole lot. What’s this business about his soul being shattered?”

Dean heaved a sigh, and began to explain.

Sam sits on the floor, upper back against the metal frame of the old cot. He’s surprised it’s still in here, but it looks like it’s been cleaned.

He isn't sure what drew him down to the panic room, he doesn’t particularly like his memories associated with the place but currently, he doesn’t feel any sort of way about them. Nobody forced him in here this time, he just waltzed in, and he can walk back out whenever he wants. Instead of being held hostage by an entity obsessed with his soul, nothing can get to him in this cage. It’s familiar, not so much in a good way, but it’s comforting somehow.

The heavy door creaks open, and he turns to see Dean, just as the panic melts off his expression, and he breathes a deep sigh, “Jesus man. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? I was looking all over for you.”

No, he wasn’t trying to give Dean a heart attack. He wasn’t trying to make anything difficult for others, but he didn’t care so much. He supposes he never really died, technically, he jumped into the cage until someone pulled him out. So if he survived the cage, Dean and Bobby could survive his antics for the time being. Not that he was doing it on purpose, but still.

“Sorry.” Sam said, because it was the right thing to say.

Dean stands by the doorway quietly for a moment before propping the door open and strolling his way towards Sam, and taking a seat on the floor by him.

“Whatcha doin’ down here? Thought you wouldn’t exactly be fond of this place.”

“I’m not.” Sam assures him, “Just, feels familiar, I guess…”

His brother hums beside him. nodding. Sam doubts he fully understands, but at least he’s listening.

“Haven’t seen you upset like that in a while.” Dean continues. “Anything you can share about it?”

The room feels much bigger when Sam isn’t high off demon blood and going through psychotic withdrawals. He remembers crying in pain as the hallucinations tore his skin off, shouting and pleading for help, but the door always stayed shut. In the cage, Lucifer would play the same games, but he’d also be the one to comfort Sam and coddle him afterwards. He’d show visions of Dean dying, replay Bobby’s death, other gruesome pictures that Sam remembered in too much detail. Lucifer would whisper terrible things in Sam’s ear, horrible nasty things, but in the end he’d always assure Sam that he loved him despite it all, because of it all.

“Sammy?”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Dean sounded upset. “We’ll be okay. I promise.”

The room felt airy, and dreamy, and his vision felt cloudy. “I think I’m scared,” Sam confessed, but his voice sounded far away to his own ears, and he couldn’t feel the words escape his mouth. He isn’t sure if Dean heard him.

“I know Sammy, but I’m right here.” Dean’s voice sounded normal right next to him, “What are you scared of?”

“I…” He isn’t sure. “I don’t wanna remember how it felt.”

“You mean Hell?” Dean asked.

“I don’t wanna remember but I do.”

“What do you remember, Sammy?”

“He understood me,” Sam heard his voice reverb in the room. “I think I miss him. Even though I fucking hate him.”

“Oh.” Dean’s voice quivered.

“But I’m glad he’s gone.” His words echoed off the walls. “He can’t reach me here.”

“Sammy, I’m so sorry,” Sadness flooded his brother’s voice, “Mom should have protected you, Dad too. I’m sorry they put us in this mess, it just isn’t fair.”

“It’s not.” Sam agreed.

Dean rose to his feet, and Sam felt his stomach flip a little bit, but it settled once a hand entered his blurred vision.

“Come upstairs with me kiddo, I don’t think it’s good for you to be in here.”

“Okay.”

Sam let Dean lead him to the front porch where they absorbed the setting sun, the light caught in the sea of car windows that filled the junkyard.

His body starts to feel more real, and he can feel where he’s seated on the stoop, with his feet rested on the ground. Dean’s stocky presence registers in his periphery, and when he blinks the world isn’t so cloudy anymore.

“You know I love you, right, Sammy?” Dean asked, sounding a little worried. “I know I hold grudges, I haven’t always been the best parental figure, or older brother… But I shouldn’t blame you for what Mom and Dad did.”

He looks over his shoulder to see Dean had clearly been crying for some time while Sam was spaced out, but he seems to have caught his breath now. At Sam’s silence he continues;

“You can pawn me off to a vampire, trade me in for a demon, or sell me out for a used cigarette. I don’t care. I’ll always love you no matter what happens or what you do. You believe me?”

Sam feels something bloom in his chest. He understands. “I know.”

A smile graces his brother’s forlorn face, and a hand comes to brush hair away from Sam’s forehead. “Good.”

They stay on the porch until dark. The moon shimmers in the reflection of Sam’s eyes. Dean takes it as a sign things will be okay.

Chapter Text

The past few weeks had been increasingly rough.

They’d initially stayed only a single night at Bobby’s, and Sam was eager to get back on the road. They bounced around a couple of motels, and they handled the first handful of hunts okay, Sam continuously taking the lead on them. Until Sam started hearing things.

“What did you just say?”

Dean had looked up from where he was pretending to research, across the table Sam gave him a strange look. Dean gave him one in return, they’d been sitting in complete silence for what felt like hours. “I didn’t say anything?”

He earned a glare in response. “Yes you did, I heard you.”

“Maybe you’re hearing things.” He said, not entirely serious.

Sam seemed to take it very seriously though. “Fuck you.” He snapped.

A few heads turned, including Dean’s, and Sam looked pissed. “Sam.” Dean tried not to laugh. “Usually I’d call you a bitch, but I’m a little caught off guard.”

“Well, you’re pissing me off.” Sam gruffed under his breath, and shifted his gaze back to the pile of text in front of him. “I’m not hearing things, you said something.”

Dean surveyed their surroundings, noting that they’d begun to disrupt the peace a little. He didn’t care much about appearances, but Sam’s lack of a moral compass, and his lack of filter, had started to catch up to them both. A few different groups of hunters had bounty set on Sam, because his little brother’s little trigger finger was a little too happy. Sam had gotten himself on quite a few hit lists, it seems. To Dean’s detriment, they’d had to avoid bars and restaurants.

“Alright, big guy,” Dean huffed as he got to his feet, “Why don’t we get out of here, check out the books you need, or steal ‘em. We can talk in the car.”

It took a little bit of bickering but he did, eventually, get Sam in the car. “So,” Dean began. “What did you hear me say exactly?”

“Like you don’t know.”

Jesus Christ. It was like teenage Sam all over again. Dean wasn’t sure he could do this. God help him. After a few deep breaths, he found his resolve. Sam had survived the cage, Dean could survive a bitchy Sam. Yes he could.

“Sammy, I’m sorry you’re upset, please just tell me.” Dignity be damned, he was nearly begging at this point.

Sam twitched in the passenger seat, eyes flickering around the car as he fidgeted in his seat.

“What? You’re so certain I said it, then what did I say?”

Sam was quiet for a little while longer, then in a remarkably small voice, “You… Said something really bad.” He sounded like a child describing a cuss word.

“Yeah?” Dean kept patient, but he couldn’t really fix this if he didn’t know details, “Well, go on, repeat whatever I said, it’s okay.”

Sam bit his lip for a second before saying, “You called me worthless…”

Dean’s lucky the roads were empty and that they’d come up to a red light, because he practically slammed on the breaks. Sam lurched forward, whining out an expletive in Dean’s name, but all Dean could do was gawk at him.

“You heard me say that? Me? My voice? Out of my mouth?”

“Yes!” Sam snapped, scowling up at his brother.

“Sam!” Dean held up his hands in surrender, “I swear on Bobby’s life, I did not say that. I would never even think that— Sam I sold my own soul for you, come on!”

“Okay! Fine. I get it.”

“Honestly…”

Sam didn’t look too convinced, but at least he took Dean’s word. He looked small, huddled into the corner of the passenger seat, his shoulder against the door, despite being over six feet tall.

“Maybe you should catch up on your sleep, that can make things fuzzy. Right?” Dean suggested as he eased his focus back to the road.

“Sure.”

He woke up to Sam getting sick that night.

Sam kept up the tough guy act even while keeled over the toilet throwing up. “Go away!”

Dean let him scream and cry his head off as he crouched on the floor beside his unruly brother. “Lemme see,” He spoke softly, coaxing Sam to look up at him.

“Fuck off! Just leave me alone, I don’t need a baby sitter,”

Dean forced himself to picture Sam from 14 years ago, when he made the transition to middle school and became extra moody and defiant. He had a lot of sympathy for that young Sam, he worried about him, but being 17 at the time Dean didn’t know much what to do, and Dad never cared to try. As bitchy and unreasonable this post-Hell Sam always was, maybe Dean could make up for his past mistakes.

“I know,” His voice came out calm, “just look at me.”

Sam’s eyes were bloodshot, his face flushed and his blood vessels burst around his eyes. He was sweaty, and trembling, but he wasn’t feverish, just clammy and cold to the touch.

“No fever, you eat something bad?”

“No.” Sam answered with earnest certainty.

 Dean settled back against the bathroom sink. “Something else then?”

“It’s nothing you have to worry about, it’s fine.”

“So either it’s fine or it’s something you don’t want me to worry about, not both,” Dean weasled, Sam noticed, if the glare was anything to go by. “C’mon, you know it’s my business, you can tell me.”

Sam pulled away from the toilet with a final spit. He flushed and rose shakily to his feet. He rinsed his mouth out in the sink and sank back down to the floor.

“Is it nightmares?”

Sam’s eyes flicked up.

“Yeah, I had those too. Still do.” Dean rubbed at his stubble, wondering his next approach. Old Sammy would always wanna talk about everything, while now he hated being vulnerable more than anything. “You don’t have to talk about it.” Dean settled. “But I’ll listen whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks.” Sam croaked.

Sam started to get a little… Jumpy.

Dean really couldn’t complain, after all he’d been the one whining about Sam’s lack of emotions. Sam was initially so boastful about his lack of fear, and what a blessing it was, which Dean thought back to bitterly. The guy who waltzed right into danger and fed his brother to a vampire without a second thought was now scared of every little thing, it seemed. Sam wouldn’t admit it, but Dean saw it. Sam would jump at anything, bolt into the air, right out of his skin. Doors opening or closing, cars starting, voices talking— real voices not imaginary ones. Dean’s voice in particular. Even if he so much as breathed too hard in Sam’s vicinity his brother would start tweaking. It didn’t help, of course, that they were both aware of the bounty on Sam’s head. They didn’t have too many run ins, but they’d gotten into a scuffle at a gas station in Perryville, and another at a small town bar in Iowa. Any hunter haven they’ve discovered was now a death trap, and they could assume their old allies were now on the prowl for Sam. After Gordon, it wasn’t a first, but if Sam had been paranoid then, he was ultra paranoid now.

Dean blinked awake to the sound of footfalls and breathing, he gasped at the figure by his bed, reached for his gun, only to pause when his vision cleared. “Sam?”

“Yeah.”

“Dude, what the Hell?”

His little brother stood beside his bed, leaning over to peek out the window; blinds were down but the curtains drawn, and Sam peaked through a slot with his fingers. He was holding an old wooden baseball bat, one they kept at the bottom of a duffle as an emergency melee weapon.

“Nothing, just checking.” He said, monotone.

“Checking on what?”

“I thought I saw something.”

“Through the closed curtains and the blinds?”

He didn’t receive an answer, instead, his brother backed away from the window without a word. He bent down to inspect the salt lines, and followed them along the perimeter of the room. Dean ran his hands through his hair, begging the cosmos for patience. “Sam, go to bed.” The words huffed impatiently from the older man’s lips.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Well, then just lay down.”

His brother paced the center of the room, and Dean realized this was another episode to deal with. “Sam,” Dean huffed, “we have salt circles and wards, we’re fine.”

“Salt and wards don’t stop bounty hunters.”

“That’s why we have traps and alarms, bud.”

Which they did. A trip wire was set up to sound off the alarm clock, and there was a chair stuck under the door to keep the room locked to other humans.

“Hm.”

With the majority of his strength, Dean pulled himself out of bed towards his brother. “Sam.” He stood facing him, blocking his view of the door. “Bed.”

“I’m not a child.” Sam snarled.

“No, but you are acting like one, now go to sleep or you’ll only feel even more paranoid tomorrow.”

“Says who?”

“Says lack of brain oxygen, dumbass, now get in bed.”

Sam dropped the bat, letting it fall noisily to the ground, and he threw himself into bed petulantly.

“Good.” Dean didn’t expect that to be quite so easy but he’d take it.

At first Dean worried about Sam’s old telekinesis and psychic powers— premonitions would make navigating this broken soul an even bigger pain in the ass. Maybe the paranoia was really a sixth danger sense, he sure hoped not.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Dean asked, quirking an eyebrow at Sam.

Sam looked uncomfortable, a grimace on his face. “I heard somebody…Say something.”

They were at a sports bar, small enough Dean didn’t think any hunters would frequent this joint. He leaned over to the right, glancing past Sam to see if anybody stood out from the crowd. “To you?”

“I dunno if he wanted me to hear it, but he did say it,”

The place was certainly a hole in the wall, and there wasn’t much of a crowd, maybe 20 people at most. The music inside wasn’t loud either. Dean’s pretty sure nobody has walked by their table in quite a bit, if some guy said something offensive, loud enough for Sam to hear, Dean would be surprised if he was able to miss it. “What did you hear?”

“Ugh,” Sam looked down at the table, with a sickened expression.

Over protective instincts flared. “Sammy, what’s going on?”

“Just… Coulda sworn someone made a weird comment.” Sam said, palming the back of his neck. 

“Weird how?” Dean prodded further.

“Like, perverted, weird.” The words came out strained.

Dean glanced back at the crowd. The only sight was couples and families who ate in quiet conversation, but those tables were more than several feet away. A group of teens surrounded the pool table, but otherwise, no one suspicious jumped out. Sam was looking over his shoulder and around the room, when he recentered his posture he still wore an upset grimace. Dean, serious now, asked, “What did it sound like?”

Sam groaned, embarrassed. “I dunno, a voice? You really didn’t hear anything?”

Could be a spirit, he honestly thought. It would give them something to do, but they were already headed towards another Hunt in northern Colorado, they were only making a pitstop in Nebraska. Dean stalled, and then it clicked. This could be an extension of the paranoid anxiety Sam’s been having. “We’re the only ones sitting back here, man.” He gestured to their little corner, two booths to their back unoccupied and two tables to their right also empty. “If anybody walked by close enough to say something I think I woulda noticed.”

“You didn’t see anything either?” Sam asked desperately.

“I didn’t.” Dean shrugged. “Did you?”

“That’s not right…” Sam pinched at his nose bridge, distressed and unsure.

“Sam?”

“I thought I saw something walk past here…”

“And what did you hear?” Dean asked again.

Sam’s face went pink and he hissed the words out, “Heard this voice real close to my ear,” he swallowed. “say I looked like a nice pet.”

A few years ago Dean might’ve laughed, but seeing how distressed Sam was in context with the voice he heard, it was just disturbing. “That’s awful,” He offered in sympathy, “and real creepy too, but I promise nobody came near us.”

Sam huffed a deep sigh in relief, but he seemed off put by the experience, and who wouldn’t be?

“If anybody did say anything like that, I don’t think you’d even have time to react I’d knock ‘em out,” Dean said, taking a swig from his beer. “And don’t get all defensive on me, but uh, anytime you hear something, anything off like that you tell me right away, okay?”

Unsurprisingly, his brother rolled his eyes in response.

“Yeah whatever. I’m not crazy.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You were thinking it.”

Dean didn’t bother replying. Sam probably wouldn’t appreciate what Dean had to say about Sam’s sanity.

Both brothers kept their heads on a swivel at every gas station stop, neither wanted another brawl like the one in Perryville. They did okay keeping their heads down, and their noses in the hunt. Their reputation served them well enough that no one went after Bobby, but it certainly did them misfortune. Nobody approached them unless they were intending to kill, and knew they could theoretically do it too. They set up makeshift alarms in every motel room, and came up with creative ways to provide extra reinforcement to the doors. Rope on the door handle was a reliable strategy, but they settled with a simple barricade if the establishment had door knobs instead. They preferred rooms with no windows, but if they were stuck with windows they used them to their advantage as best they could.

Sam scoped out bars during the day time to get a vibe of the place, see if it was a hunters commune, something like that. If the place felt normal they’d stick around to hustle pool or darts for cash, like tonight. They made okay, enough to last them the next few weeks if they used it alongside some credit card fraud. They didn’t like to linger in parking lots or dark streets any longer than necessary, but trouble has a way of finding them, even when they take precaution.

Sam’s radar for hunter activity must be off. Dean resorted to lecturing him later. Two rugged men approached them head on. The brothers slowed to a stroll. Sam barely turned his head, he knew they were being flanked from behind, Dean probably didn't have to look to know. A brittle sigh pulled its way through Dean’s teeth, and he asked, jovial, “How can we help you fellas?”

The men in front were big, there was a round one and a square one, and the round one spoke first, addressing Dean. “Hows about you give us the big one and we’ll let you go?”

They’ve done this dance before, and they had the script down pretty good. An old knife sat heavy in Sam’s boot, an almost comforting weight. Dean gave his theatrical laugh, “Yeah, right, like that’s gonna happen–”

“Dean.” Sam pretended to cut him off. “It’s fine I’ll go.”

Before anything else could happen, the other big fella pulled out a sawed off shotgun. Dean put up a fight, and they pretend to bicker, but ultimately Sam stalked toward the two brawns with his hands up. An older, scrawnier man stalks out of the shadows and holds the barrel of a pistol to the back of Dean’s skull. In a manic voice, shaking with laughter, he warned him not to try anything funny. In response, Dean's hands went up too. Both brother’s held each other’s eyes steady, the connection maintained even when Sam is kicked in the back of the knee, lowering him to a kneel. He grunted at the impact, causing anxiety to flash across Dean’s face. The shotgun was aimed at Sam’s head, but they stay calm, they both knew what to do next.

“You don’t have to do this,” Dean yelled. Neither of them expected a response, certainly not a sympathetic one. If their captors think they’re helpless and ill prepared, they usually let their guard down. 

“Let him be put down easy,” Dean’s captor whispered with a giddy laugh, Sam could see his brother cringe at the guy’s proximity. 

“Come one now, we don't have to get violent, maybe we can settle this, is it money?”

Sam couldn't see their faces from where he knelt in submission, but one of the bulky men behind him speaks up, bargaining in his voice. “You’re lucky this isn’t personal… How much are we talking?”

Dean kept talking slowly, and with their captors effectively distracted Sam took the opportunity to get his knife out, fast enough to immobilize the guy to his left, armed with the shotgun. With a shank right to his outer knee, he was downed. Blood spurt as the knife retracted and Sam bashed his elbow back into the joint to further to damage, and maybe, just to make the guy scream. Unfortunately Sam had two guys minding him. After the first goon was crippled, his buddy surged forward. Big arms caged Sam in, looped around his own arms, gluing them to his torso. Dean tossed an elbow into his own captors neck, and managed to usurp the pistol. Sam tossed his own head back and heard his captors nose crunch from the impact— he felt it too, in the back of his skull. That was gonna hurt later.

By some miracle, no one is dead yet. Not even the guy writhing on the damp asphalt. Sam thrashes, wild and feral as the bulky guy with huge arms holds him relentlessly. He isn’t able to land any blows or escape, but he manages to kick the shotgun out of the way, so it’s out of reach and can’t be used against him.

Sam hardly notices Dean knock the skinny guy down on his ass, almost effortlessly. “Your friends are still alive.” Dean suddenly says, stolen gun trained on the man holding Sam hostage. “I could take you out, or I could finish off your pals.”

“I know what you both are,” The voice snarls in Sam’s ear, hot and breathy. Sam shivers in disgust. “I know what you do, and I know what you have done.”

The big arms shift to hold Sam in a headlock and he tries to tell himself he isn’t scared. Damp, hot breath tickles his ear again, as a gravely and throaty voice asks, “You know what this bastard does? He’s sick, killing innocents just to get the job done, it’s disgraceful.”

Sam struggles for air but he’s still getting breaths in, his eyes feel like they’re bulging out of his skull, and he hears a familiar laugh along with his own screams. He scrunches his eyes shut— that’s not real, that’s not happening right now. That happened in the cage.

“I’m warning you.” Dean’s voice is thick with intention. He never liked to off people, Sam knows, but he'd do it to save Sam’s life. Had in the past.

“It may not be personal for us, not for me, but you’ll run into someone who has a real vengeance to cash in some day.”

The gun in Dean’s grasp moves mechanically from Sam’s captor to older, wirey man who held him at gun point moments prior. Without blinking, Dean pulls the trigger, earning a fearful, pained cry from the target.

“No!” Bellows from behind Sam’s head. The arms crushing Sam’s windpipe let go, and Sam is left crumpled to the ground pathetically. He wheezes, gasping for air like a fish, and his body coughs and gags against his will. He can see the blurry shape of his brother, now on the opposite side of the lot, racing towards Sam. Where Dean preciously stood is his assailant racing towards his accomplice.

“C’mon, I gotcha,” Dean immediately assures him, and Sam lets himself be hauled up like a rag doll, and he sags in his brother's arms as they move.

From behind them, the words cut through the crisp night air; “Demon scum!”

Sam’s feet catch on the pavement, and he straightens.

“Sam?” Dean’s tugging on him, eager to leave.

The night sky was dewey and humid, combined with the strangulation, Sam’s nose was runny and his throat hurt. With a sniffle, he stood as straight as he could on his wobbly legs. 

“Sam we gotta go—“

Sam turned back to face his assailant, look him in the eye as best he could in the dark of night. “What did you say?” The words that tore out of his mouth didn’t feel like his own.

“I said we know… We know what you are and we know what you’ve done.”

Dean’s hands grab at him, and he mumbles frantically at Sam, “Come on man, leave them, they aren’t worth all this, we need to get outta here and somewhere safe. Sam, please.”

“Someone’ll come for you.” The man said, matter of fact. “They’ll hunt you like the monster you are.”

“Sam—“ 

Sam’s hands located his knife, somehow automatically, and he stalked towards the fucker who had him at his mercy moments ago. He sat beside his wrinkly and ragged counterpart, the gunshot wound Dean gave him was slowly leaking out. The bulky guy who sat upright didn’t flinch when Sam held the knife up to his throat.

“Go on then. Ice me. It’ll only get your name added to another hit list. Even if you kill my boys, more will just come after you.”

Sam wasn’t going to kill him.

He swung, the blunt edge of the knife’s handle bruising deep into the man’s soft temple. The knife dropped and his fingers curled into a fist, and Sam swung again, again, again, the man collapsed.

“Sammy!”

Knuckles pounded into the stranger’s face. His fingers hurt from the impact, but he didn’t stop. Another pair of hands, stocky and blunt, grasped at Sam’s shoulders, shaking him. A tortured sound pierced his ears but it wasn’t coming from the mangled face beneath him, no, something between a screech and a growl tore through his battered throat.

“Sammy, stop it! Stop!”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Sam only realized then, as he fought off familiar hands, that he was crying.

“Sammy, look at me! Stop!”

He gasped for air, as those familiar hands bracketed his face. His vision was forcibly centered on the face of his brother, instead of the bloodied mess of a bounty hunter. “Leave him, Sammy, just leave him,” A hand caressed his hairline. Sam looked down at the hunter he’d beaten near death, his two lackeys they downed. One shot and the other stabbed. His eyes swam back up to look at Dean. He didn’t feel real.

“Sammy, you with me?”

He nods.

A hand clasps his own, and Dean leads him back to the car. Sam lets him, and he follows.

Chapter Text

Dean hated witches. Though he must admit, this didn’t look anything like the witchcraft he’s seen before.

He remembers this local bookstore, from the weekend sleepovers that would stretch into week long stays at Bobby’s. Dean and Sam would run around the kids section while Bobby would take his own dusty books and smoke a cig on the sidewalk out front. This store had an occult section, but the store owner didn’t call it that. It was instead labeled with a sign that read self transformation which made Dean scoff. Dean wonders if they’ve always had it here, maybe that’s why Bobby dragged them along as kids, to keep an eye on them while he did his own research. The books were filled with all sorts of self empowerment mumbo jumbo. Dean wondered if witches like this really existed, and why they couldn’t be friends with any of them. Maybe Missouri counts.

To his surprise, a lot of these guides to healing through magick actually held up. Baneful magick, Dean learns, is very different from healing magick. Dead bugs and rotten meat, mold and saliva, all evil black magick, comes with a karmic price too. Makes sense.

The heavy focus on spiritual guidance took him back to the better days, when hunting was a far more simple job than the mess they’d found themselves in. They had dabbled in a lot of this stuff themselves, Dean realizes; Salt circles and wards, exorcisms, ouija boards and rituals, other ghostly stuff. He raises a brow at the lengths written about crystals, herbs, and meditation. These books went on for pages, about all kinds of new age spiritual garbage. Well okay, maybe it isn’t garbage if it could help Sam, they’d have to find that out first.

The drive back to the house is uneventful, and Dean fills the silence with AC/DC and Metallica.

He hears Bobby on the phone, and as he shuts the front door behind him, another phone starts ringing. He turns the corner of the doorway and watches as Bobby makes an exasperated face at him, finishing one call only to grumpily answer the next. He waits for Bobby to finish yelling into the receiver, until the phone slammed back down with a clunk.

“The Hell are you lurking over there for?” His uncle snapped, “You want somethin’?”

Dean can’t help the easy grin on his face, he knows Bobby isn’t actually upset. Despite the crabby exterior, Bobby had always been a softy. He shows his devotion and care in other ways, Dean and Sam still have a place to sleep after all.

“Naw, just checkin’ in. He cause any trouble?” Dean cocked his head towards the door to indicate who he was asking about, but Bobby doesn’t need the clarification anyway.

The trucker hat on Bobby’s head was lazily tossed onto the nearest desk, and wrinkled hands ran through what’s left of Bobby’s hair. “No…” He says, worn ragged, “He’s just reorganized my kitchen two or three times, I think he’s moved onto some other room in the house, soon I won’t know up from down.”

A laugh escaped Dean’s chest, warmth blooming in his heart and his cheeks, “Well, at least you have a live-in maid service, hopefully it covers a chunk of our unpaid rent.”

The hat previously left on the desk was thrown, with fervor this time, directly at Dean’s head. He sputters at the unexpected attack.

“Don’t say that word around here, knucklehead. I used to babysit your ass, I don’t want your damn cash.”

Dean shook his head, smile still warming his face.

Given their set of circumstances, and with Dean’s usually way of handling these things, Dean should be angry and volatile. Maybe it was wrong to feel so certain things would turn out okay, at least eventually. It was only a month ago he’d been long settled into the apple pie life, gotten himself a nice big house, in the suburbs, with a girl and a step-son. He’d gotten acclimated too. Now, he was back at his childhood hideaway, spending more time with his rough and tumble, but beloved uncle. Sure that was all pretty nice, and better above all else, his little brother was back.

“He say anything?” Dean asked hopefully.

Bobby’s expression stayed neutral, “Nah.” he said with a shake of the head. “Been real quiet. Polite, but hardly a word outta his mouth.”

Dean kissed his teeth at that. “Yeah.”

Sam had been quiet since his freak out a few states over. The violence of Sam’s outburst wasn’t the scary part, rather it was the mental instability. Dean had gotten used to Sam’s new apathetic baseline, but Sam’s usual violence was cold and unbothered, not volatile and explosive. This shattered soul his brother harbored, it was like a kaleidoscope, with different versions of Sam constantly shifting at the slightest movement. Sam would be distant and apathetic one moment, then he’d be irritable the next. Mood swings didn’t even begin to describe it. If something really upset him, Sam would simply shut off and recede into the depths of his mind, once he regained awareness, he’d revert to a vulnerable and meek Sam from years ago, something Dean recognized from before Lucifer, before Ruby even.

Absently, he wonders how Sam was able to operate for a year all on his own, until he reminds himself, Sam didn’t exactly survive very successfully. They were already being hunted, and staying at Bobby’s felt safe and risky at the same time. Knots twisted in his gut when he recalled his own anger. Dean was so certain Sam was possessed, or that it was some malicious imitation. All along, it was the ruins of a tortured soul.

“Cas told me things would flood in pretty badly, but I didn’t expect it to be so sudden.” Dean pondered aloud, “Seems like we’d only just figured out the problem and it’s already shaking things up, meanwhile he’d been robotic for a year.”

“Human souls are fickle things,” Bobby mused, “if brains are complicated, souls are a whole ‘nother mess we don’t understand.”

Dean grimaced. “I might be starting to make some sense of it.” He set his paper bag on Bobby’s desk, and let it topple, spilling the books he’d purchased out for display.

At the sight, Bobby’s eyebrows went up while his eyelids dropped down, “New age witchcraft, huh.”

“Yeah…” Dean let the word hang in his mouth. He had to adjust to the idea himself. “To be honest I may not make much headway with this all on my own, which means I’ll have to call in reinforcement.” He grins, unhappily.

“You think your angel friend will answer the call?”

“He’s not really my friend, I don’t think, but I guess we’ll have to find out,” Dean answered with a cringe.

He didn’t want to think about Cas, right now he wanted to check on Sam.

Dean piled his ticking time bomb of a brother into the passenger seat, and floored it until they were back at the motel. There was no telling if the bar had security cams or if someone caught sight of the brawl and tipped the police.

Unable to stop or slow down, Dean shoved all their belongings haphazardly into the car, while Sam sat up front, listless and completely still. His mouth hung just barely open and his eyes glazed over. Dean brought his hands to his brother’s broad shoulders, and shook, causing Sam’s head to lull side to side for a second, but it gained no other response.

Overwhelmed and at a loss, Dean let muscle memory carry him back to Bobby’s.

Sure enough, the living room was spotless. 

It still had touches of cozy familiarity, a lived in and well used energy, but a certain someone had cleaned the floors and cleared the mess. Sam was on the floor by an old bookcase, reorganizing, whatever the new system was, Dean hoped Bobby could adapt. The floor was cold against Dean’s palms as he lowered himself next to his brother. Sam didn’t say anything, but he did spare him a glance, no real emotions present on his face for the time being.

“You’ve been busy.” Dean gestured to the room.

“I gotta do something to stay occupied. I’m bored outta my mind.” A bruised hand came up to drag across Sam’s eyes, but the discoloration was starting to heal, taking on a yellow hue. “Feels like I’m grounded.”

“Well.” Dean wanted to say, you aren’t being held captive, but Sam couldn’t exactly go anywhere. Sure, if he really wanted to he could leave, but only with a trusted adult knowing his location of course. Dean cringed internally. “Yeah, sorry bud.”

His brother scoffed, a bitter smile marked his face. “It is what it is.”

When the premonitions first began, Sam was clearly afraid, but he hadn’t started seeing himself as a monster just yet. Dean was spooked too, more than he’d ever admit. As far as he’d been taught, if it was any sort of freaky, then it was a freak; and freaks weren’t human. Sam had always been more curious to the neutral forces of the supernatural, things that simply existed alongside earthlings and humanity, but his sympathy for cryptic creatures was never entertained, and certainly never encouraged.

The deeper they went, the harder Sam clung to hope. He tried to help, Maddison, Lenore, even Jack who eventually became a Rugaru. Dean could see it chip away at his sense of self, his sense of humanity, every time.

Dean missed his doe eyed baby brother, when he was barely an adult and still had hope in his smile. He glanced at the paper bag of books he had beside him, and Dean cursed himself for being so intolerant of Sam’s nature. If he’d only accepted things sooner, there’s no telling how many tragedies they could have avoided. Missouri, and Pam, they were good, wholesome people, Dean even accepted their help numerous times. Why he rejected Sam’s abilities while taking advantage of others, he isn’t sure, aside from the internal prejudice of not wanting a freak for a brother, and look how well it turned out. Those women, their determination and passion mirrored Sam’s, and when Dean thought back, he could see that Sam would have fit right in with their company, they could have helped him.

Unfortunately he couldn’t fix the past, as they’ve learned many times over, but maybe he could give them a better future. The idea of magic being the solution that fixes Sam, it might be a goofy long shot. Sam may not hold the same hopeful mysticism about the supernatural, or about himself, but Dean did.

When Sam shelved the final book into the shoddy wooden case, Dean found his resolve. He cleared his throat. “I found some stuff I think might help us. Help you.” He stumbled nervously.

Sam gave him a suspicious look. “Okay?”

Unceremoniously, Dean offered Sam the paper bag from the bookstore. Sam peeked inside hesitantly before inspecting the cover of each book further.

“Witchcraft? Dean, you hate witches.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Maybe not all witchcraft is bad, not if it can help you.”

Sam’s eyes shot up, and Dean met his gaze. While still intense, something major had changed just now, something good.

“Yeah.” Sam’s voice came out a little wobbly. “Yeah, maybe.”

Dean thinks he made the right call. Though, he isn't exactly looking forward to the next call on his todo list. He figures he can hold off on contacting Cas, at least for a little while.

The angel told him to prioritize Sam, after all.