Part Two

A while later, Sam had calmed down almost completely. His heartbeats were nothing more than dull thuds against his sternum when Dean placed his fingers against it, his breathing practically uniform except for the slightest flutter of instability. He spent a couple more seconds with his face burrowed into Dean's shoulder, before he slowly released him, sitting back. Dean let him go, but kept his palms firmly on his shoulders.

Sam wiped at his cheeks, hair curtaining his ducked face. His back was hunched, and when his hands came away from his cheeks, they lowered down to his lap. The classic, but rare, Sammy-feels-humiliated-as-fuck-and-doesn't-know-what-to-do-about-it posture. The vulnerability of the sight cut through Dean like a knife in his chest.

Well, fuck that. If Dean thought what it most definitely could be that brought this on, then he didn't get to feel ashamed or embarrassed or whatever for reacting the way he did.

"He do something to you?" Dean asked, felt that burning rush of protective fury coursing through his body. Sam's head snapped up, eyes slightly wide and brows raised in surprise. Seriously? He thought Dean didn't even consider what this whole situation might have been doing to his baby brother? Having to see and talk to that winged bastard like everything was fine and dandy? Share a place with him after everything that he had done to him for two fucking centuries? Sam had been damn good at seeming normal, he had to give him that, but if Sam thought he had him fooled, then he had another thing coming.

He figured Sam knew. Dean had been trying to help him out in little ways whenever he could, whether that was subtly brushing his shoulder against his when the kid was so tense next to him (felt pretty satisfied with himself when Sam calmed a little just by that contact) or trying to make sure somebody was between Sam and Lucifer whenever he could. He knew Sam had been trying to hide his inner turmoil, but in all honesty, Dean wasn't sure of how to bring it all up.

Dean didn't know the details on what that son of a bitch did to Sammy. If he was being honest, the only reason he was keeping his necessary cool right now around Lucifer was probably because he didn't know, so it was for the better, in a sense. He wasn't sure he'd be able to contain himself if Sam ever told him everything. Archangel or not, he would start throwing punches, which would not really end well.

"He hurt you in any way?" Dean questioned, kind of felt his heart jump with fear, because even if there weren't any big injuries, if that fucker had put a hand on his brother…

His hand shot out and grabbed the hem of Sam's shirt, lifting it up before he could protest. Fuck fuck fuck—after seeing that panic attack, he swore to God, if Lucifer had touched a hair on Sam's head, he'd—

"Dean! Stop, I'm fine," Sam insisted (which, yeah, sure, he'd believe if there wasn't that faint, controlled quiver still in his voice), batting his hands away. Before Dean let go, he had gotten enough of a view of his front to be satisfied with the answer. "He was just being a dick. He didn't hurt me."

"Well, he did something bad enough to make you come out of there looking like that…"

The fact that he had the goddamn nerve to take Sammy's room out of all the others in this giant-ass bunker… Dean would have liked nothing more than to pummel the son of a bitch into the ground if he could. He sure as shit wouldn't mind trying.

"Dean, just...forget it, alright? It's not that big of a deal." But the way he inhaled shakily, low and quiet, lips quivering, indicated otherwise. "I...he didn't do anything. I-I think I just...maybe I kind of overreacted." He huffed out a nervous, embarrassed laughter, bringing up a trembling hand to rub at the back of his neck.

And Dean couldn't fucking understand why.

Why he wasn't pissed and upset, why he was minimising all of this, making the matter seem a lot smaller than it probably was, considering the kid was this close to passing out when he saw him. He didn't know if it was because of something Lucifer said or if this was his way of dealing with everything that just happened, or if he just didn't want Dean to worry (did the kid even know that that was literally impossible for him?). He didn't know if it was for him or for himself. Even so, for him to be saying that at all… either the moron fell on his head and somehow forgot that he went through two hundred years of endless fucking torture, or he really didn't have enough faith in Dean's intelligence to think that he wouldn't fall for it.

Sam seemed to realize that Dean wasn't having it after a quick glance up at him from under his eyelashes. He inhaled, gaze landing back to his upturned palms in his lap, swallowed down whatever he was feeling, and Dean thought he could see his eyes shining slightly in the light, all sad and doe-eyed beneath his furrowed brows.

And then he trampled right over his heart as he shook his head, quietly, softly said, "It's fine. I'm-I'm fine. I mean, I—I have to be." He half-smiled, but it doesn't reach his eyes at all, in a failed attempt to be reassuring. "There are more important things than my, um…" He waved his hand vaguely, swallowing. "This...you know? We can't… we can't lose sight of the bigger picture here. We need him if we're gonna take down Amara."

And well, shit if that didn't break his fucking heart.

Because he was sitting there, telling him that his centuries worth of trauma was not that important and that his sense of safety and security was not that important and that he should be okay with staying in the same space as and seeing and talking to the monster that hurt him for what must have been several lifetimes down there.

And Dean knew that the world was at stake here and the bastard would be a lot of help in their fight against The Darkness, but God. This was not okay in any sense of the word.

There was once a time when Dean wasn't forced to consider the greater good of the world over justice and vengeance for his brother, when it was as simple as anyone that hurts Sam gets hurt twice as bad. He missed those easier times, missed just going out and beating up all the bullies that tormented his little brother or killing any monster that hurt him or bashing the face of any guy that tried to fuck with him. Problem solved. Back then, he didn't have to feel this void and helplessness of wanting to do something but not being able to do any-goddamn-thing at all.

These past years, he'd been feeling it a lot.

Maybe he couldn't remove Sam's abuser from their life completely right now, which fucking sucked, but he sure as hell could make sure that he stayed the hell away from Sam the whole time they were forced to stay with him.

But before that, he needed to knock some sense into the dumbass, and then find out what the hell happened.

So he grabbed his brother by the chin, tugged his head up to raise at level with his. Sam's eyes snapped to his own instinctively by the force of the gesture. "You listen to me. I don't ever want to hear something like that come from your mouth again, you understand me? Because what that monster did to you…"

And then Dean felt slightly strangled by the lump in his throat, because he could only imagine (and that was only because he had an experience or two with Hell, even if his had been a lot more different) what that statement meant to Sam.

Sam, who suddenly sucked a shaky breath in like he was suffocating all over again and was trying to look at anything but him, wide eyes flittering away towards the ground, and Dean thought, with the anguish cutting across his face, the weight of the horrors of his untold past, that it may actually be a really good thing that he didn't know, because he had no idea if he'd be able to take it. He didn't know if he'd be able to live with Lucifer still living (and that was hard enough to do right now as it was).

Dean wrenched his pained gaze back to his own. "No, no, hey, look at me. Look at me. It's okay. It's okay. Sammy… Sammy, I know. I know you're hurtin'. I know it's hard and scary, and you sure as hell don't have to pretend it's anything but."

Sam's eyes were slightly damp, his eyebrows furrowed into a frown, his jaw clenching in restraint, and he looked too weary, too burdened by the weight of the terrible memories that only he knew of. Dean's hand shifted to rest on his cheek instead. "Sammy, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I can't take you far, far away from him. It's all I've wanted to do since he's stepped through our doors. I'm sorry you have to do this. I'm sorry you were forced to save his life. If it were up to me, believe me, I would have had his ass kicked out before you could even look at him again… and I hate that I can't. But what I can promise you is that this won't happen again, you understand me? I'm gonna look out for you, make sure he never does this again. You trust me?"

It took him a few seconds to answer, a flicker of hesitance and the barest hint of guilt in his features. "Dean, you know I do, but…" Sam's lips tightened, and then he exhaled lightly. "Man, you really don't have to worry about me. I can deal with this."

And here the moron was after being driven to the point of having a panic attack, sitting there telling him he could handle it all on his own, worried about not making Dean worry (again, did he not know him or what?).

"I don't doubt that. Trust me," Dean said. Sam was the toughest person he knew. Saying no again to Lucifer while he was trapped there with him and with all the horrendous history in that cage… he knew that without a shred of doubt. "But you shouldn't have to. Not with him."

Sam swallowed, chest raising at an inhale as he glanced down at his hands. Dean wished the damn kid would let himself be taken care of sometimes without thinking twice about it.

Dean sighed, shoving down the frustration rising in his chest. He let go of his face. "You gonna tell me what the hell happened in there?"

Sam's lips pursed. "It doesn't matter. You're not going to do anything about it."

Watch me. Dean's jaw clenched, and he smiled dryly. "Okay...one more time. This time, you're going to answer me, or I go in there and interrogate that bastard instead."

Sam shot him a bitch-face in response, glaring at him for the blatant manipulation.

"Sammy...I need to know how bad it was."

"And I'm telling you, it wasn't as bad as you think."

Something told Dean that he had a very skewed perception of what 'bad' really was.

"Yeah, try again, this time without the bullshit."

"Dean—"

"Sam, I swear to God, if the next thing out of your mouth isn't an answer—"

It was only after a couple of minutes of pushing that he finally broke.

"Damn it! Fine! He told me he could lock the doors, soundproof the room and then we could 'relive all the fun times we had in the cage'. And then he waved it off as a joke and told me not to be overdramatic. Is that what you wanted to know?"

Dean went momentarily silent at the revelation.

And then he was fucking furious, smoldering anger coursing through his veins like fire through gasoline, burning in his chest. His fists clenched hard, fingers and knuckles whitening, because how fucking dare he—

He shot up from his kneeling position on the floor to his feet. Sam's hand shot out at the same time, wrapping around his wrist.

"Dean…" Sam said, in that placating tone as if he thought he made things worse and was trying to make it better now. "Look, that's pretty much all he did. Just...talked a lot of crap and then let me go."

"You know what I don't get?" Dean snapped, jerking his hand out of Sam's grasp. "Why you keep trying to hold me back from going after him."

"Because it's not worth it."

"If somebody tries to fuck with you, Sam, it's always worth kicking their asse—"

"And I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'll be fine."

"I'm not letting you take that risk."

"I'll be fucking fine, Sam. Now get off me."

"Dean, please."

"Just gonna have a few words, Sam—"

"Damn it, Dean! Don't you get it?" he whispered through grinded teeth, his voice growing desperate, eyes red-rimmed and wide. In that moment, Dean was sure he looked almost as scared as he felt. "He…" He swallowed hard. Dean never wanted to see that look on his face ever again. "I know what he can do." Dean's chest sunk, felt kind of stupid and madder than he already was that he couldn't figure out Sam's thought process before he told him. "And I know that with Chuck here, there's no way he could really do anything, but uh…it's in my head, you know? A-all the things he's done to m—and I keep...I don't know. I just...i-it kinda freaks me out to think of him anywhere near you too."

There was no way Dean could go against those damn eyes and those words now. He breathed heavily as the anger still burned and the sorrow that reflected Sammy's weighed inside of him, but he rubbed a hand down his mouth as he slowly lowered himself back down.

For the next couple of seconds, nothing was said.

"Was that all he did? Didn't put a hand on you or anything?" Dean then asked quietly. Sam's gaze was fixed on his hands again, and it took him a second too long to nod. "The truth, Sam. I won't do anything stupid, promise."

A couple of seconds of silence. And then a mumble, "My back hurts a little."

His eyes fell shut, trying to reign in the anger and sorrow that was getting harder and harder to hold in. "You told me he didn't hurt you," he growled.

"Just a bruise, Dean. I've had worse."

Dean knew that. Of course he did. He once got shot in the stomach, almost got choked to death and went into shock, then woke up (alone) and managed to take down two werewolves, get to the car and drive all the way to a clinic just in time to save his ass. His baby brother was a fucking badass.

But the thought of Lucifer specifically doing anything to Sam after those two hundred years, after the year he himself spent, constantly dreaming and thinking of the possible horrors that could have been happening to his baby brother right then (taking ideas from his own shit experience, except maybe ten times worse), searching for a way to get him out while it all pushed down on him that every second he wasted here was probably hours of torture for Sam down there…

After all of that, even this felt like crossing a limit.

"I, uh...tried to get past him and… he shoved me back against the wall a little too hard," Sam explained.

"Let me see it," Dean ordered. He waved his hand towards himself in a 'come here' motion.

Dean expected Sam to put up another fight, preparing himself mentally to be firm and keep his patience, but instead Sam released a low resigned sigh, sounded a little too tired, and slowly unbuttoned the first four buttons of his shirt, let it hang over his shoulder, and twisted around to allow Dean the view.

He carefully stretched down the collar of his undershirt. Sam had the barest of grimaces on his face when the material peeled back.

Dean took a look to find that it was a bit more than 'just a bruise'. It was a giant-ass bruise, in fact, bigger than the size of Sam's own head, and it was already turning a deep shade of purple and blue. Sure as hell would look even worse tomorrow. He rubbed a hand down on his face, shoved down the flare of fury and the urge that was born once more to go and stab that bastard in the face, mighty archangel powers be damned.

And damn it, this was nothing compared to every injury they've ever had but this fucking felt too much like crossing a limit. After everything, this was one wound too many on his baby brother's body from him.

He couldn't ram his fists into Lucifer's face, so he put it to a wall instead.

He twisted and slammed his knuckles right into the cement hard, the loud smack and the angry, strangled grunt sounding throughout the corridor. Sam flinched next to him in his peripheral vision.

His burning hand fell away shakily, waves of pain radiating up to his fingers, the groan escaping from his lips. His other hand came to cradle his injured one. He glanced down at it with a grimace, the skin on his knuckles deeply reddened into a potential bruise, soon to become stiff and swollen.

"You okay?" Sam asked, concern softening his hazel eyes, grabbing Dean's hand. He pulled it close to look at it.

Dean didn't answer, couldn't speak through the emotions burning in his throat.

Instead, he moved his hand out of his grip and laid it on the nape of his neck tremulously, grasped his uninjured one onto Sam's collar and tugged him into his arms, murmuring, "C'mere. Swear to god, if he ever comes anywhere near you again…"

...

Dean outstretched his hand down at him. Sam gripped it, allowing him to pull him to his feet.

"Get some rest, Sammy," Dean said, sliding his hand out of the grasp to give a pat to his shoulder. "You look beat."

"Yeah…I feel it too." Sam huffed, and then shrugged. "But well… I mean, all the other rooms are probably gonna be full of cobwebs and dust bunnies right now..."

If he let himself think about how much he hated Lucifer again, he wasn't sure how he'd be able to stop himself.

"Don't worry about that. Just pick a room or whatever. I'll clean it out for you."

"Yeah…" Sam muttered, glanced down at his shoes. Dean wasn't sure if he really sounded down about it or if he was just tired.

"Something wrong?" Dean asked, head tilted slightly in order to catch his expression as he stepped closer to him.

Sam's head snapped up, eyebrows raised. "What? No. No, it's...it's fine. That sounds great. Thanks."

Dean stared at him, examining his expression and body language. His gut feeling, combined with the internal Sam-dar that was tuned into his brother's emotions, was telling him that something was not really fine.

"It's just, uh..." Sam began, mouth tightening as if he wasn't sure if he should really speak or keep quiet about it. He sighed. "I don't know if I'd… if I'd really like any of the other rooms right now...you know?"

I don't want to be alone right now. Dean got it right away, heard it clear as day in the underlying vulnerability in his voice. It made his chest ache again, and he wished the kid would stop saying and doing things that do that to him.

It took him a few seconds too long to answer.

"But, uh…" Sam tried to backtrack, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. He looked around, eyes roving over the multiple doors, chuckling nervously. "I mean, I guess I'll just have to pic—"

"What about mine?" Dean asked, shrugging casually like he didn't hear the vulnerability in his words at all.

Sam paused, looking at him. There was relief loosening something behind his eyes, one breath exhaling out of his lips easily.

And then he shifted his weight on his feet. He looked down to the floor, lips flickering into a small huff of a smile. It morphed into a playful one as he glanced up to him once more. "Always wanted to try that memory foam of yours, I guess."

"Getting a little ahead of yourself there, Sammy. I never said anything about you taking the bed." Dean raised his eyebrows, wearing the same kind of slight smile as his brother's at the pointless, childish banter that lightened the atmosphere up a little after all the crap of the day.

"Well, I mean… you're not gonna make me take the floor with this back, are you?"

"It's my bed, bitch."

"Jerk."

He already knew he'd be taking the floor anyway, even before the little shit turned on those damn puppy eyes of his again, nose scrunching up slightly, and went, "Just once?"

…

"'ey' De'n?"

Dean raised his head, as he was setting the sleeping bag on the floor, to glance at his brother. Sam was lying on his stomach on the memory mattress, an ice-pack settled over the wound on his bare back. His voice was droopy and slightly slurred from fatigue, his eyes closed.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Your mem'ry foam's awes'me."

He snorted. "You only get to use it 'cause I felt bad for your back. And 'cause you made that stupid face again, you spoiled brat."

"Thank y'u. Rea'ly."

Dean rolled his eyes. When would the kid understand that he never had to say that to him just for him doing his job? "Shut up."

"I me'n it." There was too much sincerity and meaning behind his words for it to just be for the bed and the room.

Dean sighed, patted his patched-up hand on his calf. He felt a swell of adoration in his heart, and it came through in his soft voice, in the little flicker of a smile at his lips. "Yeah, alright. Good night, Sammy."

Author's Note: I know. The ending is so rushed. This has been sitting in my documents for weeks. I revisited it almost every day hoping to add to it, and yet, for some reason, I just couldn't do anything better.

So I'm posting it right now. I hope that you enjoy it nonetheless! I hope it made you feel somewhat better like it did me after writing it. Thank you so much for reading! If you have a moment, I would love to hear your thoughts.

Thank you to:

mandancie

supernaturalsammy67

TruCalling11

Maiya B.W

Kas3y

Guest

need2no (I fixed it up a bit! I've always had a bit of trouble with that. Thank you so much for letting me know!)

reannablue

kandilyn

Imtheonewhofeelinglost

shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod

Kirsten

ncsupnatfan

Katlover98

SammysGirl42

hollyhobbit101

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