Author's Note: So, I was given the idea by a lovely writer LeighAnnWallace to write a song fic by Evanescence, then got the idea, hey, why not work my way through her albums, oldest to newest, one song at a time. So, we will be starting with the album Fallen, on which the first track is Going Under, so get ready guys, here it comes.

Rating: M, mentions of torture, sex, non-con, dub-con and incest.

Pairing: Sam/Dean, mentions of Lucifer/Sam rape, not your thing, skip to the next one. :D

Going Under

Sam was afraid to be touched after he remembered everything that happened to him in Hell. Dean didn't notice at first, because he was the exception. Once Sam remembered he'd curl up next to Dean after sex and Dean would fall asleep staring at the top of Sam's head, not aware that Sam would not sleep, would go days without it in fact just because of the nightmares.

Nightmares of Lucifer's hands, everywhere, touching him, burning him, ripping away his flesh with a sound so sick and repulsive that nothing else could describe it. Then he'd dig at his fleshless body with knives and fire, and Sam could only cry tears of blood that hurt him even more, as he was without eyelids.

Then, just as he thought he was going to die, his skin would be replaced and the cycle would repeat itself in a far too vicious manor until Lucifer got sick of it and moved on to some different form of torture. The only breaks Sam got where the moments when Lucifer would move on to fight with Michael for a bit, and even Michael was no Angel. He too took several blows at Adam, who was not in a very good position (because he too, was in Hell) but at least, for Adams sake, he was not as horrid as Lucifer, who amused himself with endless forms of torture and the sickest little games. Sam had to say his one of least favorite 'games' involved the Angel, wearing either his or Nick's flesh, touching him.

His fingers were not hot, not like Sam's body that always seemed to be melting, like his raw throat that had screamed until it could make not another noise. Lucifer's body was a painful, stark contrast, like ice on a bad burn, and he knew no boundaries. His mouth was merciless, tearing kisses from his bleeding lips, nails digging marks into his back, and, all too soon, cock up his ass, ruining what was left of him from the inside out until there was no part of Sam left untouched by the frigidness that was Lucifer.

And Sam, Sam couldn't take it, it was too much. It always hurt; there was never relief, no rest. No, Sam was never given a moment of true peace. There were times however, when Sam would close his eyes, open them and see Dean, standing over him, then hugging him, and at first Sam though I'm free, but his skin would burn and ache, like he'd just spent days in the sun, and he'd cry. Dean would kiss away his tears, and then whisper something, something like, "I got you," and Sam would kiss him, need him to chase away the pain.

And always, somewhere along the way, Dean's face would melt into Lucifer's, and then Sam would sob and beg for Lucifer to stop, because that was the last straw. Lucifer could burn him, beat him, stab him, kill him over and over again but he could not take that away, not the image of Dean, his brother, he could not ruin that for him too. It was too much.

Shook his head, chasing away the memories and looked at Dean, sure he was free from Hell. He touch his cheek, traced over his body, allow his fingers to touch each scar, every bump and bruise and remind himself this is real until it was a constant mantra in his head, because he needed to believe it.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean murmured, waking slowly from Sam's gentle touches. He looked at his brother, bags under his eyes, then at the clock. He frowned, turning back to him. "It's 5 in the morning, didn't you sleep?"

"Yes," Sam lied instantly, and Dean gave him a withering stare in response, making Sam back track. "No."

"Oh Sammy," Dean whispered, burying his face in Sam's hair and holding him tightly. Dean didn't do it a lot, it was a great deal of emotion for him to display, and even though he loved Sam, it was hard for him. Sam knew this, which is why he savored every touch.

Because he believed it was real, believed that this was his Dean. He savored these touches because it was his brother, and he loved him, not because he feared he was going to wake up, hooks and chains everywhere and Lucifer's ice-touch scorching his melting flesh.

"If you don't get more sleep Sam, you'll get sloppy and get yourself killed," Dean spoke in an easy tone; he could not hide the underlying concern that had been drilled into his head since he was four though. Sam was his job, Sam needed him, he was responsible for Sam, and right now Sam needed him more than he ever had before, and Dean knew that.

Sam nodded, and Dean studied him, still tired but more worried than anything. Sam; he was so hard to understand to Dean, and he hadn't always been. Dean wondered in silence what Sam was thinking, what he was seeing, remembering, feeling. He always wanted to ask him, but he didn't want Sam to spiral out of control, to lose what little grip he had on his sanity and slip away into nothing, or worse, put a gun to his head and pull the trigger.

Dean's grip tightened around Sam and Sam placed soft kisses on his chest, trying to chase away whatever worry Dean was feeling. This was his problem, he was crazy, and he refused to burden Dean. Maybe that's why he didn't sleep, not because of fear, not because of nightmares, but maybe, some deep subconscious part of him wanted to get sloppy, wanted to slip and die at the hands of some monster or spirit, because maybe, just maybe some small part of him believed that this was all a game, and as soon as he died, he'd wake up, and Lucifer would tear him up again, and that would break everything that was left of Sam.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, kissing the top of his head and tracing over Sam' bare back. He could feel his muscles, coiled and ready under his tan flesh, he knew Sam wasn't relaxed, knew he was scared and needed Dean, that he needed to know this was real. "Sam," he whispered again, and this time, Sam looked up.

"Hm?" He asked, and Dean could see it in his eyes, the wild fear, the desperation, the exhaustion, and the billion other things that haunted Sam. But Dean saw love in those hazel orbs too, and that was what he needed to feed, that small fire that was keeping Sam's sanity alive.

"It's okay to sleep. Nothing is going to happen, okay?" Dean said, tone soft, but firm, and for a moment Sam looked panicked. Dean kissed his forehead, then his eyelids, his cheeks, jaws, every inch of his face until he went lax and then, Dean kissed his lips. "I got you, Sam."

Sam studied him, scared, concerned, fretting and desperate for the truth, because that's what he needed, the truth. He closed his eyes, sighing deeply and allowing his head to fall to Dean's chest. Trust. He needed to trust Dean, because that was all he could do, so with reluctance, he nodded, allowing himself to slowly drift off.

"Goodnight, Sam," Dean whispered into his hair.

And Sam smiled, pretending not to hear when Lucifer purred from his place in the corner of the room, "See you in the morning."