These Broken Roads

It's All We Know

Sam blinked blearily as he sat up in the bed. He tried to think past the pounding in his head but it was almost useless. All Sam remembered was a lot of pain and Dean's presence, yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to grasp any specifics. Sam didn't know where he was or what time of day it was.

As Sam was racking his brain for details, the room violently flashed crimson around him. The walls turned to metal bars, glowing red with heat, and nearby, hooks hung from the ceiling. There was a distant sound of clanking chains and truly evil laughter echoed about the room.

Sam was immediately engulfed in a terror he had no control over and he broke out in a cold sweat that chilled his body in an all too familiar way. Sam scooted up closer to the headboard, pulling his knees to his chest. Surely, the smaller he was, the less he would be noticed by the abominable creature that was torturing him. Sam hid his face but it did nothing to expel the haunting laughter from his ears.

After what felt like years, the intense memory faded and Sam lifted his head in confusion. He was in his room in the bunker. He was safe. Sam had just started to unwind his locked up legs when a loud knock on his door sent him scrambling closer to the wall again.
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Dean didn't know what to do. If he knocked out of nowhere he could startle his sure to be shaky brother but if he just went in, said brother might go into defense mode and Dean did not want another black eye for his troubles.

Eventually, Dean decided knocking was the best option for his health and he hesitantly rapped the wood with his knuckles. Dean waited patiently, or as patiently as he could manage, for Sam to answer. Whether or not he had knocked in warning, Dean wasn't going to just barge in when Sammy's head was so screwed up. After a few minutes though, Dean was staring to get worried so he said screw it and let himself in.

The door swung open to reveal a startled Sam sitting scrunched up on the bed with unfocused eyes. Dean's big brother radar was instantly on red alert and he could tell with one glance that Sam was concentrating hard on controlling his erratic breathing. Dean had a horrible suspicion that he had not been so gentle with his knocking.

Dean approached his younger brother slowly. Not daring to scare him any more.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said gently, "You took a pretty long nap there. I didn't think you'd be awake yet." Sam looked at Dean and even though he didn't say anything, the message in his eyes couldn't have been more clear.

Help.

"Okay, Sam. You're okay." Dean said it but even he knew it was a lie. Sam wasn't alright and probably wouldn't be for a while. Dean perched on the edge of the bed. He reached out for Sam's hand that was clenched into a tight fist against his heaving chest. When Sam didn't flinch away from him, Dean took the hand and splayed it over his own beating heart. The action was repetitive of the previous evening but it was one that both brothers would have to get used to again. Dean knew that the simple gesture often did a world of good for his traumatized little brother.

Unlike before, Sam stiffened and pulled his hand from Dean's grasp. He didn't look anywhere close to stable and yet Sam took a shuddering breath before turning his gaze away from Dean's assessing stare.

"I'm fine," He rasped out. Sam still didn't look Dean in eyes as he moved to get up. "I'm going to get a glass of water." Sam stated bluntly, getting up and leaving the room. For some reason, Dean let him go, leaving himself staring after Sam, wondering why in the hell his brother was pushing away from him again. Especially now, when for once, there was no argument between them whatsoever. Nothing to hold the other back.  At least, not that Dean knew of.

Dean swore out loud at a sudden revelation. If he found out they had used his face to torture Sammy again, there was gonna be literal hell to pay!
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Sam shuffled towards the kitchen, sleep and panic still clouding his head and numbing his limbs. Sam felt the shame burning behind his eyes and he clenched his fists in frustration.

Why did he always have to be so weak? There were too many times in Sam's life where Dean had been saddled with the task of taking care of him. His visions, his demon blood addiction, his first time getting through the trauma of hell, the trials, and now he was dependent on his brother again to get him through this round of nightmares. Not to mention the little fact that Dean had given up his whole childhood to take care of Sam and keep him safe.

This time though, maybe he could push through it on his own. Without dragging his big brother down with him. Sam was an independent adult after all, he should be able to handle his own problems. Sam was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't realize who else was in the kitchen when he entered.

"How are you feeling Sam?" The ex-angel asked, genuinely concerned for his friend's wellbeing. Sam, however flinched violently in response, not having time to realize Cas was there.

Sam crashed into a nearby shelf of pots and pans. The metal clanged together causing Sam to launch his bruised body away from them too, his brain turning the domestic din into the deafening voice of Lucifer's anger.

Instead of finding open air though, Sam found himself horribly entrapped in Castiel's arms, who was trying to stop Sam's path of destruction. In Sam's muddled mind, he couldn't recognize a friend's touch. As he spiraled into a blind panic he fought Cas hard so that eventually he managed to break free of the restricting grasp. Sam stumbled with unseeing eyes towards the wall and somehow squeezed his gigantor frame between a cabinet and a shelf.

Sam couldn't think. He couldn't remember. He was falling, fallingfallingfallingfalling. Sam couldn't hear anything but Lucifer yelling, screaming, roaring. He was using his real, angelic voice that tore at Sam's eardrums and drilled its way through Sam's soul.
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"Dean!" Cas's deep voice pierced the veil of Dean's swirling thoughts that were quickly become more and more self-deprecating and vengeful. Dean glanced up from his spot on Sammy's bed. What he saw, caused him to stand up immediately. Cas was leaning on the doorframe with a nasty bruise forming on his cheek and breath coming in short gasps.

"What happened to you?" Dean jested, although the tone of his voice was anything but amused.

"It's Sam." Those two words that Dean had gotten far too used to hearing, threw him for a loop yet again. Fear replaced disappointment. Dean was about to ask what happened when Cas got right to it. "I believe Sam is stuck in another memory of Hell." Dean started towards the kitchen immediately, not stopping to ask questions, he could talk while he walked. Castiel followed closely behind.

"What happened, Cas? How'd you get that bruise?"

"I must have startled him when he walked into the room. He flinched very violently and when I tried to stop him from hurting himself in his panic, he fought against me." Dean had to bite back his snap at Cas's ignorance. The angel hadn't been around much the first time Sam had Hell-PTSD. Dean turned his head in Castiel's direction, not slowing his pace.

"For future reference, don't, in any way, disturb Sam when he's stuck in his thoughts like that."

"What do you suggest I do, then?"

"Just, wait until he looks a little more aware of his surroundings and then make some sort of sound to announce your presence. Okay?" Castiel didn't get a chance to respond though because the next moment they rounded the corner into the kitchen.