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Sam hadn't realised he was falling until he was on the cold basement floor. Someone's hands are on him in an instant. They're warm and calloused, just like how Dean's were. But Dean's dead. The hands aren't Dean's. Which meant they were probably some British Men of Letter's hands, ready to deal out more pain. But Sam didn't think he could take much more at the moment.
His whole body was in agony. His foot throbbed, his gunshot wound was burning, his ribs ached, and his breathing was laboured from the broken ribs pressing against his weak, most likely water-filled, lungs. Every slice littered on his skin burned as if they were on fire.
"No, don't touch me- don't- don't touch me." Sam whimpered. Pathetic. Nothing should compare when Lucifer has tortured you, and this didn't, but there was no denying that Sam was in pain. He was panicked and just needed his very much dead big brother.
"Okay. Okay, Sammy, I won't touch you," Dean said, his voice deep and comforting. "but Sammy, you're very injured, and you urgently need help. Cas can heal you, but we need to get you away from here. Mick, what's-his-face broke the angel banning wards but not the ones that allow Cas his abilities, so we need to get you out of here so Cas can help you, okay little brother?"
That was Dean's voice. After all, only Dean called him little brother. Those were Dean's hands and Dean's voice, and Dean's gentle words. And if Dean was there, he was safe, but a startlingly cruel realisation hit him. How did he know this wasn't one of Toni's tricks? They didn't. Because all of this was too good to be true, maybe he could imagine Dean coming back from the dead, as his brother had before. But his mother? Now that was just outrageous. Mary Winchester had been dead for thirty-three years. So this had to be a trick.
"Not real- not real- Dean's dead-" Sam murmured, fight slowly leaving him as his breaths grew shorter, as it became increasingly difficult to breathe.
"I'm here, Sammy, I'm here. I'm okay." Dean said, stroking his calloused hands on Sam's tangled hair. "Sam, we need to get you out of here, so do you think you could let me help you up?"
"Not- not real-" Sam stutters, breaths forcing their way out as short pants.
"Dean, Sam's incredibly dehydrated, exhausted, starving, and likely in shock. He's been tortured ruthlessly for the past three days, and I doubt he's slept more than five hours in those days." Someone says, their voice deep and soothing, something like Cas's. "And worse, I believe, based on how he is breathing, one of Sam's broken ribs has punctured a lung."
Huh, dehydrated would make sense, the last time he had any water was on day one when they drenched him in freezing water from the shower, and even then, Sam barely drank any due to the constant shivering. And exhausted, was Sam ever exhausted. He'd hardly slept for fear of another drugging or the cattle prod. The last time Sam slept, Toni- Toni, she- Sam quickly changed his thought process. Onto starving. Sam decided then and there that the minute he got out - if he got out - of this godforsaken cabin, he was getting the best veggie burger known to humankind. And was he in shock? Probably. Severe burns can cause a person to go into shock. Sam knew that. If the third-degree burn is anything to go by, he's definitely in shock. And that wasn't even taking account of the broken ribs playing havoc on his insides, the numerous lacerations on his grimy skin, and the cattle prod burns.
If one of Sam's lungs were punctured, it wouldn't surprise him. His breathing had grown more and more laboured as he lay on the basement floor.
"We need to get him out of here, now." Not Dean says sternly.
"But how? He's, what, six-three?" A much more feminine voice asks.
"Six-five. I don't know, but there's no way we can get him out on his own, what with that burned foot and gunshot wound. I'm surprised he was even standing to begin with." Not Dean answered, an unnerving shake to his voice.
Huh, not Dean seemed to care about Sam, which was weird, but I guess if Toni tried to get him to believe that this was real, she would have made Dean seem as caring and brotherly as possible. He must have tuned out of the conversation of the hallucinations because the next thing he knew, he was gently pulled up from his lying position on the floor. His arms are swung over the shoulders of Not Dean and Possibly Cas.
"You ready, Sammy?" Not Dean asked.
Sam must have made some noise of agreement because, suddenly, he's moving forward. But, as soon as his burnt foot made contact with the floor, his vision whites out. Pain erupted from his burns. A horrible scream ripped from his throat as he went nearly limp in Not Dean's and Possibly Cas's arms. But, even in all the pain and agony, he couldn't let himself be at the mercy of the sadistic British Men of Letters.
"Sam! Sammy, are you alright!" Not Dean yelled, panic in his voice.
But Sam didn't have the energy to reply to the illusion, so instead, he let himself border on the verge of unconsciousness, his breathing weakening. He vaguely heard someone say they had to move him, but everything was too foggy for him to focus. So he let himself zone out. Pain is the only constant. Only when the bright light of the outside world hits his eyes does Sam finally allow himself to let go. His vision went black, his breathing wheezing as his eyes rolled back. The last thing he heard as he finally collapsed was Not Dean's panicked shout.
Sam had barely made it out of the cabin when he finally collapsed. The fact that he had been standing at all back in the basement was a testament to his little brother's stubbornness. Though Dean was sure, it was also due to adrenaline. Nevertheless, the sound of panic Dean made as his brother's eyes rolled back and he collapsed in Dean and Cas' arms was not one he would consider his best.
"Okay, okay, it's okay. I've got you, bro." Dean whispered, taking Sam from the angel's hands and slowly lowering him to the ground. Though Sam was unconscious, a small whimper escaped his lips as he shifted positions. Upon further inspection, Dean realised that his brother was barely breathing. "Cas, Cas, tell me you have the strength to heal him. Please tell me you have enough power to at least heal his lungs."
"I am not at full strength," Dean made a noise of pure fear that he would later deny, "but I have enough strength to heal his more grave injuries. Move aside." Cas ordered.
Cas crouched beside the barely breathing, younger Winchester. He placed two fingers on Sam's forehead. If it weren't for the sharp intake of breath, Dean would have been sure Cas hadn't done anything. None of the cuts and gashes closed, but much to Dean's relief, Sam's breathing appeared to be a lot better, and the redness around his burn had lessened significantly. Cas removed his hand from Sam's still form.
"It isn't perfect. The lacerations remain, and some of the damage from the burn. But the cattle prod burns are mostly healed. I've removed the traces of the hallucinogenic Sam was injected with," Dean made a noise of worry, "and Sam's ribs and lung fixed nicely." Cas explained. "I've kept him in a deep slumber to keep him from feeling most of the pain."
"Wow," Mary whispered. Dean looked up in surprise. He had been so wrapped up in Sam's critical condition that he'd actually forgotten his mother was there.
"Yeah," Dean laughed, "Cas can do some pretty cool things. We need to get him to the Impala and get him home."
When Sam opened his eyes eight hours later, almost every injury he had, had been healed. Possibly Dean was ecstatic when he realised Sam had woken up. He had deep circles under his eyes, which led Sam to question just how much sleep Dean had gotten while the British Men of Letters were holding Sam. More than him? Less than him? It was hard to say. But, the thing Sam wants to do first is get a hot shower.
He briefly heard his mother - which is so weird to think about - say that she was going to pick up some burgers, to which Dean told her to pick up a few veggie burgers as well. Dean may not like Sam's rabbit food diet, but at least he knew there was a time and place for his teasing.
When Sam came out of the shower - it had taken him an embarrassingly long time to convince himself that the water wasn't going to be frigidly cold, preparing himself for the stinging burn the water would create on the remnants of his burned foot, cuts and the leftover mostly healed cattle prod burns, and he was absolutely covered in blood, grime, and... well, Lady Bevell's spell definitely made Sam believe it was happening - hair damp, Dean was sat at the dinner table, beer in hand. His brother looked up with a grin.
"Hiya, Sammy. Sit." He mock ordered. "Can I get you tea? Coffee? Beer? Whiskey? Something stronger?"
Sam shook his head lightly. However, tea would be lovely later. "So, not dead." Sam smiled.
"Not dead." Dean agreed.
"Do you want to explain that to me?" Sam asked.
"Amara and Chuck, they made up. All Amara wanted was for Chuck to apologise and see the error of his ways." Dean explained. "Chuck did. And they went off to have some sibling bonding time, but not before promising me the thing I longed for most in thanks for giving that to her, which I guess was Mom."
"So, no need for the soul bomb," Sam confirmed.
"Exactly."
"That's- thank god," Sam whispered to himself.
"Thank Amara, actually." Dean joked, which earned an affectionate eye-roll from Sam. "But what about you, man? I arrived back at the bunker, only to find your blood on the ground, and Cas was banished."
Sam pauses, thickly swallowing as if to try and discard the horrid memories. "I'm okay."
"Sammy, you went through some serious shit. No one would blame you if you weren't a-okay."
"It's nothing I haven't dealt with before." Sam quickly said.
"Man, it doesn't matter if you go through one hour of torture or thirty years of it. Torture is torture." Dean sympathised.
"I know- I know that it's just- she- it isn't something I want to retell. You know?"
"I- okay," Dean relented, "just, what did that crazy British bitch want?"
"She had some questions about hunters in America."
"But what sort of questions? What did she want to know so desperately that it was worth kidnapping and torturing you to obtain?" Dean asked.
Sam looked at the floor, anxiety in his veins. "Why do you want to know?"
Dean furrowed his brow. "What do you mean, 'Why do I want to know?'" Dean asked.
"She wanted to know," Sam said quietly as if that cleared it up.
"Yeah, Sammy, I know she wanted to know, but I just want to know what she wanted to know, so I know what she knows, so I know what we're dealing with. Wait. Was that right? I don't think that was right." Dean said with a confused look. "There were so many 'know's in that."
Sam was chewing on their lip with barely concealed anxiety. "It's just- how do I know this is real? How do I know you're not her?"
Dean looked like he could have kicked himself. Dean must know about the hallucinogenic the Brits had given him. Cas must have told him. And given Sam's history of questioning reality, Sam could imagine Dean was beginning to understand their weariness on believing what was happening was real.
"Sammy, I promise you, this is really happening. We got you out of there. Cas has you mostly healed. He's just waiting for his grace to recharge. Those British bastards can't hurt you now. You're safe."
Sam looked up at their brother. "But how can I know for sure?"
Dean paused for a moment, considering this. For a moment, he sat with his beer in hand, trying to figure out a way to prove it to Sam, when finally, an idea flashed across his eyes. He jumped up from his chair and crossed over to Sam, grabbing their hand to press on the long healed over, but still evident, twisted scar, before Sam even had time to process the movement.
Sam ripped his hand from Dean's grasp, flinching back, escaping his chair. "Don't touch me!" Sam exclaimed, fear in his voice and wild panic in his eyes. "Don't touch me," Sam repeated, though not as frantic. If this was a hallucination, he didn't want it to come anywhere near him. Sam closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, trying to calm down, before quickly snapping his eyes open. He wasn't about to let the spell have the advantage.
"Sammy, trust me, it's just me. I'm not going to hurt you. If you don't want to be touched, okay. But please, Sammy, let me help you. How can I prove to you this is real? Take my hand, Sam. How could I hold your hand if I was just a hallucination?" Dean asked, offering his hand to his little brother.
Sam stared at the outstretched hand, mind going a mile a minute. If it was real, he was safe in the bunker with his brother and his now very much alive mother. But on the flip side, if it was just another one of Toni's tricks, she might as well kill Sam and get it over with. Sam's features tightened in pain just thinking about her; eyes clenched shut. Her soft hands snaked up his thighs and back, reminding him way too much of the cage. She touched him like Lucifer had and, on the rare occasion, Michael. She touched him, so she would know that touching proved nothing. "If you were her, you would know that touching meant nothing. You would know." Sam whispered. "So why would you try?"
"Sammy, what did she do to you." Possibly Dean gently asked, taking Sam's hand in his as he crouched in front of him. "Please, Sammy, believe me, you're not with her anymore."
"Dean?" Sam whispered, suddenly hoping beyond hope that this was really his brother.
"Yeah, Sammy, it's me. I promise." Dean said with a sad smile.
"Dean." Sam whimpered, and everything around him came crashing down. He really was out of that awful basement. He really had been rescued. "Oh, god, Dean."
"Okay, okay, I've got you. Come here." Dean says, pulling his brother into a hug.
"Please don't ever make me be in the same room as her again," Sam begged, tears brimming his eyes. "I- she- I can't-"
"Shh, it's okay, Sammy. I've got you, kid. She will never do anything to you ever again. Do you hear me? Never."
"Okay," Sam whispered.
And though it had only been threeish days since Sam had been held like this by his big brother, it felt like a lifetime.
When Mary arrived at the bunker twenty minutes later with five bags of burgers and fries, and they all ate supper together, Dean couldn't help but notice Sam staring at his mother as though she would disappear as hallucinations do. He couldn't help but notice that Sam was subconsciously shielding himself from all touch. That Sam was flinching every time someone made a sudden movement. At that very moment, Dean vowed he would kill Lady Bevell.