Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean’s brother was weird. 

A skittish twelve year old with a mop of dark curls, always with his freckled nose in a book or listening to voices no one else could hear. Like he was a radio tuned into a frequency all his own. 

He knew about stuff before it happened, he’d warn their dad about certain roads only for them to hear on the radio hours later there’d been a crash; or he’d wake up in a cold sweat warning Dean that a hunt would go wrong, only for the exact thing to play out. 

Yeah, Dean’s brother was pretty weird, but he was also funny, and smart as a whip - he’d smile with those dimples or hide behind his (frankly, ridiculous) hair when he was embarrassed, his laugh was infectious and he loved hard. 

It wasn’t a stretch to say that Sam was Dean’s favourite person. 

Then one day, he was just gone. 

Dean didn’t panic when he was late home from school, or late back to the shitty apartment they were calling home at the time, figured the kid just got distracted or stopped off at the library. It wasn’t until it got dark that Dean started to worry.

‘This isn’t like him Dad, he wouldn’t just leave us hanging us like this.’

John, clearly in the running to be Father of the Year, just suggested the kid was blowing off some steam, maybe he even had a little girlfriend.

Three hours later, he was as worried as Dean. 

They drove all around, some little mining town that a (long and boring) case had brought them to; but it meant Sam was able to see out what little was left of the school year in one place, so he was stoked. He didn’t even complain that the school only had thirty kids, or that the library was closed on Sundays. Although Dean was pretty sure most of the people in town were related.

Hours became days, and still no sign of Sam. 

They went to the Police, which they never do, and suddenly the whole town was out looking, Sam’s face was on TV, on posters, milk cartons - the works.

But the boy himself was nowhere to be found. 

One week later, they found his backpack and a shoe, and people (as they do) got bored of the missing kid, got sick of John and his rants about justice and protecting the innocent, and got sick of Dean’s suspicious looks and pointed questions.

When they left town, it was because they were sure Sam wasn’t there. 

When Sam’s birthday came around, it marked not only the kid getting older, but John and Dean failings. Dean had never seen his dad cry this much, but they never gave up.

It was a full year later before they found a lead, in a bunker in Lebanon that belonged to a society of Hunters - they weren’t the first to find the place, no, it was littered with corpses - Men and women who all looked like they didn’t even had the chance to put up a fight, about twenty of them in all.

On a table that looked like a map sat a box of files, and one of them had printed on the front “SUBJECT 7: Samuel Winchester.”

The files were incomplete, but the videos made bile rise in Dean’s throat.

On one hand, it was proof his brother was alive - or at least, he was when these were taken over a ten month period, but on the other hand, the records and the logs drop off right after that, all it said was that the subject escaped. 

It was something, it was hope, 

Dean would take all the hope he could get, he’d continue to search for it, turn over every Men of Letters compound he could get his hands on just on the hope that he’d see his brother again; even when that hope looked like a fifteen year old boy standing alone in the rain with piercing yellow eyes.

Chapter Text

Sam really liked this town. 

You couldn’t find it on the map, it was too small, but it was called Lemon Ridge, and he knew it was there.

It had three shops, a post office, a bowling alley, a pub and a Chinese takeout. The doctor’s office was closed on Sundays because the doctor was also part of the Church Choir, and the lady at the corner shop greeted him everyday when he stopped to buy a bottle of juice on the way to school.

He’d even started working for her part time, and the incredible predictably normalcy of it made him feel safer than he’d ever felt. 

If Sam could freeze time right there, he would.

Looking back, he wished he could have. 

It was a sunny day, the last time he left the school grounds. 

He waved goodbye to the girl he liked, a redhead named Danielle who bit her thumb nails and smelt strawberry shampoo, he liked everything about her - and she agreed to go to the bowling alley with him on the weekend, they hadn’t used the “D” word, but Sam was pretty sure it was a date. 

Adjusting the strap on his backpack and flicking his long hair out of his eyes, he made his way down the Main Street, walking with his head turned to see in the shop windows - the antique shop had this old tape deck he really wanted to get Dean for Christmas, and the old woman that owned the store had agreed to let him pay it off in bits and pieces, he only had $30 to go and it was his. He beamed at the little round red sticker on the price tag, it told the world that someone had a home for this, that someone cared for it. 

Sam wanted to stay in this town forever. 

His Dad and Dean still hunted, but Dad was working at a mechanics and Dean actually managed to get his license legally - it felt so normal. Even with the dreams Sam got, or the headaches that followed, even with the not-quite-dreams that hit when he was awake, he could be normal, he would be normal. 

When he rounded the corner, he felt the edges of his vision blur, the neat, blue sky torn through in the middle with a bright flash of light - suddenly he was strapped to a table, bright lights blaring down at him, there was something in his mouth and on his head and he hurt - dimly he could hear himself screaming as his jaw locked and his body convulsed, his head hit something hard and cold as he bucked against the table, his leg felt warm.

‘Ah, it pissed itself!’ someone in scrubs and a mask rolled their eyes.

‘Turn it up, we need it to have something to show for all this.’

The pain is worse, the pain is like nothing he’s ever felt, he closes his eyes-

He’s on his knees, on the footpath, hair hanging in his face and breathing heavily.

‘Just a dream’ he breaths, sucking in air and stuttering it out again, ‘just a dream.’

Sam gets to his feet unsteadily, hands shaking as he rakes a hand through his hair, whipping his head around - the streets are empty, in a town like Lemon Ridge, you can list the cars you see on the daily, memorised by owner, so when the black SUV parks right next to him, he knows to run. 

His feet are pounding the pavement, he hears the car start up again and he tears down into the forest surrounding the town - they can’t get him there. 

Brambles slice his cheek open as he slides down into the gulley, clothes and skin ripping on thorns as he tears his way through the thick undergrowth, when his backpack catches he doesn’t slow down to retrieve it - if he can make it to the sewage works he can hide, he can find a way to get back to Dad and Dean. 

His shoe catches and he hears himself scream as he knee pops out of place and suddenly he’s falling face first into the disgusting water below. 

When his head breaks the surface of the water, he chokes on water that isn’t water, the smell burning his nostrils and the taste setting up camp in the back of his throat, but he’s a good swimmer and he makes his way to the side and heaves himself up on the concrete, if he follows this, he can find a place to hide and maybe when it’s dark he can-

‘Subject is surrounded.’ 

Sam’s head whips up, the tips of his hair sticking to his eyes as he breathes heavily, he’s surrounded on all sides by people in suits, weapons aimed at him - they look like tasers. 

‘Surrender now, Samuel Winchester, if you don’t resist we won’t have to hurt you.’

The person talking, a woman with red hair pulled back into a ponytail is looking through him, a thousand possibilities run through his head, his head that’s still pounding from his vision earlier, and he decides to just try to run.

He doesn’t get far. 

The last thing he’s aware of as the pain from the tasers drags him into darkness is his shoe floating away in the sewage runoff. 

When Sam wakes up, he’s alone. 

Everything is bright and his head is pounding, his mouth tastes horrible and he realises that his tongue is bleeding. He must have bitten it when they tased him, when they-

Who were they? And where was he?

The room is small, the fluorescent lights beam down on him and bounce off the stark, white walls, he’s filthy and the floor beneath him is stained brown.

‘Goodmorning Samuel’ a voice croaks from the loudspeaker. It’s too loud. 

‘Where am I?’ He tries to sound like Dean, but he just sounds scared. 

‘You’re in the care of the Men of Letters,’ the voice, it sounds like a woman - the same woman from before maybe? ‘We’re going to use you to save the world from Demons.’

‘What?’ He blinks, ‘How? If you want help hunting, my dad he-’

’No, we don’t need John’s help, or your brother Dean - we need you’ her voice is sweet.

‘Me?’

‘You’re very special Samuel, you have powers and we’d like you to use them for us.’

‘Powers? No - I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t lie,’ the sweetness in her voice drops, ‘you have visions, you see the future, you had one earlier, that’s why your head’s hurting.’

Oh, shit. 

He decides lying it out.

‘I don’t know how to use them, and I don’t want to be here’ he tries his Dean voice again.

‘What you want really doesn’t matter. We don’t need your cooperation, but we’d like to do this the easy way, what do you say Samuel?’

‘Go screw yourself! Let me out!’

The speaker crackles as the woman laughs.

‘That’s what they all say.’

Sam yells for a bit, but his head really hurts and the lights are really bright, when the door opens and what looks like a doctor in scrubs and a face mask comes in, Sam’s stomach drops.

His vision, is it coming true?

‘Strip your clothes off and put them in the corner.’ The doctor speaks, it’s a man and his voice is muffled, ‘any weapons you have will also be taken.’

The fuck they will, Sam scowls as he reaches into his sock, fingers closing around the hunting knife he keeps there, his “little surprise” as Dean called it when he gave it to him.

He springs forward like a cat and managed to hit the doctor, slicing his arm, he pushes past him to run down the hall and three more doctors stop him in his tracks.

He fights, because of course he does, he even bit one of them.

Pretty soon he’s back in the room, stripped naked, weaponless and alone. 

‘You need to be decontaminated’ the woman speaks, ‘you ran around in the sewers for god’s sake.’

Sam didn’t notice the sprinklers on the ceiling until they started raining down hot water on him, it smelt of medication - like the vix rub Dean puts on his chest when he has a head cold, it’s tingly and it makes Sam cough, but it’s nothing compared to the cold water that assaults him when one of the doctors comes back in with a hose. 

Sam lays there alone, shivering and sputtering for what feels like hours before someone comes for him. 

This time, the doctors don’t take any chances and the minute the door opens, there are four of them pinning him down as he feels a needle slide into his neck, and suddenly his arms and legs won’t move.

‘We can’t sedate you yet, we need that brain of yours, but we can’t have you causing anymore trouble, I’m going to give you over now to our wonderful medical team, but I’ll see you after surgery’ the woman’s putting on her sweet voice again.

’Screw…. Yourself.’

Dad had always told Sam that if he gets abducted, he needs to pay attention to his surroundings, memorise how many times the car turned left, or how many paces he walked, try to measure the direction by the sun, or some shit like that.

As Sam gets dragged by the arms down the hallway, everything looks the same. 

It’s all white, and bright, with hallways on hallways on hallways, eventually, they stop at a set of double doors, and Sam is able to look up a little to see it says “OPERATING THEATRE” in big red letters on them.

The four doctors that bought him in are all dressed in green, but the ones in this room are dressed in red, one of them - he sounds like a man around Dad’s age, steps forward.

‘Welcome Samuel, my name is Doctor Hope, and this is my staff - Doctor Sunshine’ he points to a smaller one with a round body under her scrubs, ‘Doctor Happiness’ he gestures to a great big man who doesn’t look happy at all, ‘and Nurse Faith’ a hunched over lady with grey hair sticking out of her scrubs nods.

‘Come on in, get young Samuel here comfortable on the Care Chair.’

Oh, Get the fuck out of here. If Sam could lift his head to roll his eyes, he would.

The Doctors deposit him on the “Care Chair,” a hideous metal contraption that looks like a dentist chair and an operating table had a baby, with thick leather straps, and begins fastening his ankles, wrists, and chest, just as they pick up the head strap, Doctor Sunshine stops them.

‘Not necessary boys, We’ll need access to the Patient’s cranium.’

‘He’s had the paralytic’ one of the green doctors mumbles. 

‘Yes, I figured, you okay there, Samuel? You must be pretty confused right now!’ Doctor Hope chirps, pulling on a pair of gloves and flexing his fingers. 

Is this guy fucking serious?

Sam’s vision from before flits across his brain and he realises that this is the room he saw, and wonders not for the first time if the things he sees only happen because he always tries so desperately to avoid them. 

‘Okay Samuel, we’re just going to take some blood to start, and I understand you had a little swim in some poopy water, so we’re going to give you an antibiotic.’

A few needles later show Sam that even if he can’t move or talk, he can feel.

Nurse Faith appears at his side like the goddamn wraith she is, she looks ancient and her eyes are cold, she runs a gloved hand through Sam’s hair before tutting, 

‘It’s too thick, it’ll jam the blades - scissors.’

Sam finds his voice, but comes out garbled and keening as he feels the bite of the scissors against his scalp, hears the “SSSCHT” of the blades slicing through his hair, feels the Nurse pull clumps tightly to cut as closely as she can. His vision blurs and he realises he’s crying. 

Much too easily, she turns his head this way and that to get at the hair before retracting her hands, ‘razor’ she holds her hand out. 

The buzzing sound is drowned up by the sound of Sam’s heartbeat and the cries that catch in his throat, he feels the blade tingle his ear and the bite of the air conditioned operating theatre stings his scalp. Again he’s manoeuvred in all directions as she finishes her work.

‘Done’ Nurse Faith clips as she turns the razor off. 

‘Excellent, smooth as the day you were born!’ Doctor Hope laughs.

‘Whrryyyou doin thssss’ Sam slurs.

‘Because you’re special, and we’re gonna save the world’ he pats Sam’s bald head before attaching what feels like forty electrodes, as he continues chatting. 

‘Now, I won’t be able to explain things every time you come in here, but I’ll clue you in since it’s your first time and you’ve been such a brave little soldier, plus you haven’t been numbered yet.

‘We’re going to start by taking some brain scans, measuring activity, that kind of stuff - that’s easy - then we’re going to get your numbering sorted and maybe introduce some stressors and see what triggers your visions, if no visions happen that’s when we take some brain fluid.’

As soon the last electrode is attached, the machines around Sam burst to life, paper pumps out of the printer and monitors beep. Sam can’t move his head to see, but Nurse Faith is pouring over the results before passing it to whatever-the-fuck the other two were called. 

‘Hmmm’ the big one, Doctor Happiness? Raises an eyebrow, ‘nothing special here.’

Doctor Hope pats Sam on the chest, which reminds him he’s naked, ‘Well we know that’s not true, Samuel here is super special, right kiddo? How’re we going on the numbering Nurse Faith?’ As he talks he pushes Sam’s head to the side, and fastens the strap.

With his line of vision moved again, all Sam can see is the Doctor’s red scrubs as as something buzzes in his ear, for a moment he wonders if she missed a patch of hair when suddenly his neck is on fire, deep scratches over and over again.

‘Pretty cool right? Getting inked up and you’re only in middle school!’ Doctor Hope squeezed his shoulder again, if Sam could, he’d break his fucking hand. 

‘Number Seven’ Nurse Faith rasps.

After more monitors and electrodes and what Doctor Hope calls “easy peasy tests,” the doctors must decide they haven’t found what they’re looking for, and they put what feels like headband across his forehead and something else in his mouth. Sam feels himself start crying again as he remembers this exact thing from his vision. They turn the machine on and his jaw locks, his body shakes, his head bashes on the table as he bucks and convulses, his leg feels warm.

‘Ah, it pissed itself!’ Doctor Happiness rolls his eyes.

‘Turn it up, we need it to have something to show for all this’ Doctor Hope doesn’t sound so cheerful now, and suddenly the pain is worse, the pain is like nothing he’s ever felt, he closes his eyes. Some small part of him wonders if this is hell.

The next thing Sam knows, he’s somewhere else again. 

The room is white and bright, just like the last time, but he’s on a mattress with a blanket pulled up to his chest, and his head hurts. 

When he reaches up, he feels something soft, not hair but -

‘Don’t touch your bandages’ the voice from before the speaker lady…

‘Yes, the speaker lady’ she laughs, did he say that out loud?

‘My name is Toni, and I’m not your enemy, none of us are.’

Sam scowls, tries to talk but it’s just air, she stands from her spot by his bed and helps him drink cool water from a metal bottle, it feels amazing, but it’s taken away too quickly. 

‘We took some brain fluid, so you’ve got a nasty wound on your head, you’ll be excused from testing for three days to recuperate. Don’t touch or there will be consequences.’

‘Wanna go home’ Sam rasped. 

‘This is home now, for you and the children like you, this is home.’

‘No, my family’s looking for me, they’ll save me.’

‘They’ll never find you’ Toni grabbed his face, drawing closer, she smelt like cigarettes, ‘You’re our property now, Number Seven.’

Chapter Text

One year.

It had been one entire year since Dean saw his little brother. 

The swell of worry was being consumed by grief as, more and more, Dean understood that maybe he wasn’t searching for a young boy with curly brown hair and a smile like the sun anymore, maybe he was looking for a corpse. 

John wouldn’t even entertain the idea that Sam ran off, and the whole thing had melded with his dogged pursuit of the demon that killed his wife, he was convinced that thing had Sam too - but Dean wasn’t so sure. 

Still, they searched high and low - the police in Lemon Ridge even agreed to drain the sewage runoff in the hopes of finding Sam’s body, since that was where his shoe had popped up, but there was nothing there. When Dean and his Dad hit the road again, it was in search of Sam, following news leads along with omens with a desperation that grew every day.

So desperate in fact, that John took matters into his own hands. 

Dean was alone in the motor inn they were spending the night, dejavu creeping up his spin as he waited for John to come home, the 365^th night without Sam felt like something that should be passed together, but his Dad took off as soon as they unpacked the Impala, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts.

In so many ways, hunting was easier without Sam - he wasn’t as worried about keeping him safe or getting hurt (which he realised wasn’t healthy), and they didn’t have to go through the same fights every time John decided it was time to up sticks and go; but in more ways, it was harder.

It was harder to breathe without Sam, the absence was suffocating and the constant wondering what might have happened to the kid was enough to send Dean mad.

That being said, the one time the Police called with a body to identify, it didn’t feel like relief or closure; it felt like walking to the gallows. 

When the coroner pulled back the sheet to reveal a boy with chocolate hair that wasn’t his brother, Dean was so relieved his knees buckled and the room span. 

No, while there was something to wonder about, there was hope.

It was close to midnight before John came back, freezing cold and ghostly white. 

‘Dad! Where were you? Are you okay?’ Dean rushed to the door, John’s hands like ice. 

‘I went to the crossroads’ John breathed.

‘No! No, no, no Dad - why? How could do you that? How long did you get?’

‘We didn’t make a deal, I’m okay - but I have a lead.’

In his freezing cold fist, John held a box with an ornate key.

‘The demons don’t have Sammy, but they know who does.’

Dean didn’t believe for a second that the crossroads demon just handed over a key and all this information, and he didn’t let the matter drop on the whole drive to Lebanon. 

‘Dad, just tell me. Tell me what you did’ he pleaded for the hundredth time.

John sighed, running a hand down his face - he looks so much older than he did when Sam went missing, ‘I didn’t trade my soul, but I did promise that I’d do something for them.’

‘I knew it! What the hell dad?’

‘It’s fine, they just said that when the time comes, there’ll be a something I have to do.’

‘That’s nice and ominous’ Dean rolled his eyes. 

‘It got us a lead, it might get us Sam - the demon did say one other thing too…’

‘What?’

‘She said, “the children of Azazel are in danger,” whatever that means.’

They drove past the bunker four times before they realised where it was. 

When they turned the key, their weapons were raised - both hunters poised and prepared for whatever was on the other side of the door, but there was nothing. 

No ambush, only the silence of the dead.

Corpses littered what looked like a war room with a map table and rows of monitors, some had bled from the eyes - others were missing their heads entirely, files were strewn about the floor and an archive box sat untouched amongst it all. 

‘What the hell?’ John checked the bodies, ‘whatever did this, did this recently.’

The hunters checked the entire bunker, which took longer than expected - this place went on forever, with rooms for archives and rooms for sleeping - at least five bathrooms and an amazing kitchen - they did all the checks, the place was clear.

When they returned to the war room, Dean made his way over to the archive box and started rifling through, feeling his heart stop as he came across one with Sam’s name on it. 

‘SUBJECT 7: SAMUEL WINCHESTER.”

Sam loved movie nights. 

He’d hang out for the opportunity to go with his dad and brother to the cinema, it didn’t happen often - but when it did, the kid didn’t stop smiling for a week to follow. 

They went and saw Star Wars at a drive in for Sam’s twelfth birthday, the kid was practically bouncing all the way - and was told to quiet down no less than four times by John when he’d go to share bits of trivia or behind-the-scenes shit he’d found out about the making of the Death Star, ‘this is the best’ he smiled, ‘maybe we can do it again next year!’

Dean did watch a movie the following year, but not like he expected.

The file was sparse and incomplete, it held a photo of Sam from his school yearbook - smiling with those curls almost covering his eyes; and basic information about him including height and blood type, it also outlined his abilities; psychic visions and telepathy, and a record of how many times he tried to escape - twelve. 

‘That’s mah boy, Sammy’ Dean chuckled. 

The box however was full of rolls of film, all with different names on them, but the ten belonging with Sam’s name on them were the important ones. John found a projector room and before long the men were sat around the table  watching. 

The film was grainy, and seemed to be a mix of CCTV and footage from a camcorder, the dates were in the corner of the screen, and spanned from the day he went missing - to ten months later.

The first scene that projected was an operating room with some horrible looking chair in the centre, and a large man with a friendly face scrubbing up as the camera came towards him. 

“Good evening!” He chirped, “today we’re welcoming an exciting new subject by the name of Samuel Winchester.”

Dean cut a glance at John, who was white as a sheet with his chin on his hands, knee bouncing, and Dean reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. 

The man seemed to be reading from a file, “It looks like young Samuel has visions, and is from a family of hunters - a long line by the looks of things. He’s twelve, and I heard he managed to stab one of the orderlies so they’ve given him a paralytic - oh, look! Here he is!”

The camera swung around in time to see two men in green scrubs and masks bust through the double doors dragging Sam, lifeless and naked, into the room.

‘What the fuck-’ Dean breathed.

“Welcome Samuel, my name is Doctor Hope, and this is my staff - Doctor Sunshine, Doctor Happiness, and Nurse Faith - come on in, get young Samuel here comfortable on the Care Chair.”

Dean and his Dad are silent as they watch this Doctor Hope make out like this is all perfectly normal, with his booming laugh and hair ruffles - even when the hair in question is getting thrown roughly to the floor as Nurse Faith shaves every inch of it off the crying boy. 

“Now,” Doctor Hope is talking to Sam now, “I won’t be able to explain things every time you come in here, but I’ll clue you in since it’s your first time and you’ve been such a brave little soldier, plus you haven’t been numbered yet.”

‘Numbered?’ John asks aloud.

His question is answered when Doctor Hope turns around to the camera and speaks low, blocking Sam from view, “numbering is important because we need to remove the Subject’s sense of self, we’ve found this makes experimenting and harvesting easier for everyone involved,” he nodes sagely with the audacity to sound like he’s being humane when he whips around and pats Sam like a dog, “Pretty cool right? Getting inked up and you’re only in middle school!”

When they don’t get the readings they need and try electric shocks - Sam bucks and screams on the table and Dean throws up.

“Alrighty, we’re here now, let’s get some brain fluid” Doctor Hope sighs, “Nurse, we’ll need to put him under for this, get the anaesthetic sorted.”

Things only get worse from there as Doctor Hope talks whoever’s recording through his process as he harvests brain fluid via a shunt in the side of Sam’s head, the camera coming in close to get a good look at the wound when he tiny bone drill is used.

Dean looks away, but the sound, that’ll stay with him forever.

John on the other hand, hasn’t blinked. 

“Take him to his room, get him comfy - we’ll see him in a few days.”

The footage cuts away, rolling straight into another scene - CCTV footage of Sam, bald and in a hospital gown, covered in blood and running down a hallway before doctor tackles him to the ground. The scene changes again and the date in the corner shows seven days later and this time, the room is different, and Doctor Hope has a black eye.

“It’s been one week since we welcomed Subject Seven, and in that time we had to put it in isolation - when I checked the harvesting wound on its head, Seven used the IV needle in its arm as a weapon and struck me repeatedly in the face. Since then, the Subject has been in the care of Doctor Happiness.”

The footage cuts away again, and it’s the next day.

“Welcome to Subject Seven’s second visit to the Care Chair” Doctor Hope is washing his hands in the corner and the camera pans around to Sam getting strapped in.

‘Oh my god’ John breathes.

The kid’s a mess, blinking hard, covered in bruises and wounds, the jagged stitches on his head framed by dark stubble, and one eye is swollen shut.

“SO to recap, the Subjects usually come to be cared for in the Chair every three to five days” Doctor Hope addresses the camera again, “turnaround just depends on any active experiments or healing time, Subject Seven has been in punishment time so it’s been eight days. But what will happen is the Subject will get washed and decontaminated and any clothing and bandages get incinerated - and we’ll remove any hair growth on the cranium on each visit or as needed, ah, Nurse Faith is onto that already!” The man laughs as Nurse Faith and that fucking razor are hard at work, running straight over the puckered stitches on Sam’s head and making him jump. 

“Subject hasn’t been given a paralytic, we tend to need them less after a punishment, so we’re going to strap it down for shock therapy and hopefully get a vision happening.”

The scenes bleed into one big “what the fuck” as Dean and John watch scene after scene of electric shocks, chair sessions where they harvest skin tissue, blood and spinal fluid, great big gaps in the timestamps as Doctor Hope explains that “Subject Seven” tried to escape again, or had been in punishment for long stretches of time. Scattered in are CCTV recordings of Sam’s escape attempts, after nearly a month worth of scenes, they introduce the serum.

“Subject Seven has had no psychic events since detainment, so we need to introduce the serum” Doctor Hope whispers to the camera as he fills a syringe with thick, red liquid and makes his way over to Sam who has his eyes squeezed shut on the chair, thrashing and fighting against his bonds.

“No!” He screeches, “NO! Don’t touch me, don’t you dare - NO!”

The camera tips and clatters to the floor, breaking the lens and Nurse Faith screams, the lights flicker and the next scene plays with Doctor Hope with a bandaged eye, in what looks like an office talking to the camera. 

“Subject Seven’s psychic event was destructive but bodes well for future tests, we’ve got it in meditation now, which is of course overseen by Doctor Sunshine.”

Doctor Hope sits back in his chair, “this has been hard on the team, the Subject was unwilling to cooperate and we’d seen no real psychic events since the day of collection; this has given us all some hope, I’m looking forward to introducing it to the other Subjects in time, and seeing what other abilities manifest, I’m really excited” the Doctor smiles and shuts off the camera and the film runs out, leaving John and Dean alone with the projector humming.

‘What the fuck?’ Dean scrubs his face and only realises he’s been crying when his hand comes away wet, John’s eyes are the same, but determined. 

‘Get the next tape.’

Chapter Text

By Sam’s count, it had been a month. 

That may be a little spotty, but he was fairly certain that thirty days had passed since he was abducted from his idyllic little life in Lemon Ridge and turned into a lab rat.

Thirty days since he last saw Dean and Dad.

Now, he was strapped down and being shot up by doctors he was pretty sure weren’t doctors. 

The first day was a nightmare, punctuated by Toni threatening him, her words ringing in his ears: “You’re our property now, Number Seven.”

He was more or less left alone in the white hospital room for two days, wrists and ankles strapped to the bed, although the security camera in the corner reminded him he was never really alone. Even when they did turn the horrible fluorescent lights out at night, the tiny red dot on the camera cut through the darkness around him.

The only contact he had was when the Doctors in the green scrubs came in and checked his bandages and fed him, sometimes taking blood samples or attaching IV drips, but never answering any questions, when he did ask (and ask, and ask, and ask), all they’d say was:

“The Subject will keep quiet.”

He tried to escape when they came in to help him use the chamberpot, kicked it out of one of the Doctor’s hands, straight into his masked face - that had earned him a sedative and a punch in the mouth. When he woke up, he was strapped down around the middle too.

On the fourth day since he arrived, Doctor fuckin’ Hope practically skipped in. 

‘Goodmorning, Subject Seven’ he smiled, ‘I heard you got a bit rowdy with the Orderlies.’

Huh, Sam thought, the green doctors are called orderlies. 

‘Today we’re going to get you out of this room, I’ll bet it’s been pretty boring being cooped up in here - let me just check your head wound.’

He was wearing his mask still, but he looked older close up, his grey hair stuck out from under the hat of his scrubs, and he smelt like cheap cologne.

Sam couldn’t do much as Hope unwrapped the bandages on his head, but he’d had plenty of time to come up with a plan, so he let the man talk, watching him with wide eyes.

‘That’s healing up nicely, my - this hair hair grows fast doesn’t it? Those stitches will be good to come out in a few more days. We wouldn’t normally strap you down like this, and I hope you earn some privileges soon’ the man redressed the wound with a smaller bandage.

‘Privileges?’ Sam repeated.

‘Yep, they vary - you might get to visit more of the facility, or get special food or treats, stuff like that. You earn privileges by being helpful, do you think you can do that?’

Sam eyed the man as he undid the straps on his legs and torso, he just needed his hands.

‘Yeah’ Sam nodded, ‘yeah I can do that.’

‘Good, I knew you were clever’ As soon as the doctor unbuckled the straps holding his wrist down, Sam was up.

The boy sprung up and punched Doctor Hope in the face, knocking him back, then he tore the IV out of his arm - an Orderly burst through the door after hearing the commotion and Sam jumped off the bed and pushed the needle deep into his eye.

Blood spurted on his face and hospital gown as he pushed past the staggering man and bolted down the hall, the cold linoleum stinging his feet and his heart pounding.

The hallway twisted and turned, everything looked the same but when the alarms sounded and he heard footsteps behind him, he knew he couldn’t stop.

Then an Orderly bursts through one of the doors in the hallway in front of him, and tackles him to the ground, his head strikes the floor and he sees stars.

Doctor Hope stumbles up to the scene with three more Orderlies, panting and holding his eye, ‘Be careful with him!’ He calls. 

‘Who is “him,” Doctor Hope?’ A deeper voice cuts in as Sam is pulled roughly to his feet by the Orderly that tackled him. Doctor Happiness is standing there, double everyone’s size.

‘Oh - I mean, be careful with it,’ Hope stammers, ‘it’s still wounded.’

‘It will be’ the larger Doctor raises an eyebrow, looking Sam up and down, ‘take him to punishment.’

As if failing to escape wasn’t bad enough, Sam is dragged kicking and screaming down the hall after Doctor Happiness, a huge man with dark hair and eyes, and hands the size of dinner plates. They make their way to an elevator and the Orderly hits the button for the lowest floor.

Sam’s stomach lurches as they make their descent, and drops altogether when he sees where he’s going. 

The room is large and concrete, dimly lit and damp. Cages line the walls and in the centre of the room sits a metal operating table on an enormous devil’s trap carved into the floor.

‘You may go.’ The doctor dismisses the orderly, and he scurries away like he knows what happens down here. Sam suddenly feels very cold, and very frightened, twisting his hands in his hospital gown. 

‘My name is not Doctor Happiness’ the man guides Sam over to the centre of the room, leaning heavily against the table and pulling his mask down, ‘although I’m sure you already know that.’

‘Yuh-yeah, I figured-’ Sam’s cut off by an almighty slap that knocks him on his arse.

‘You didn’t have permission to speak, Subject’ the man says coolly. 

Sam says nothing and the man pulls him up by the shirt, dropping him on the table.

‘This room is called Punishment, and it’s not a place you want to visit too often, although I have a feeling you will’ the man squeezes Sam’s face with one gloved hand, turning it from side to side, looking closely ‘I assure you, I take no pleasure working with abominations like you, but we have a mission. Down here, your powers won’t work and no one can hear you scream.’

No one did. Or if they did, Sam doesn’t think they cared.

After being strapped to the table and hurrying through the “routine checks” Sam missed in the Care Chair, including writing a catalogue of every scar on his body, Doctor Happiness got to work. 

Sam spent a day and a night hanging by his wrists on chains attached to the ceiling, being whipped and beaten; before he was thrown roughly into one of the cages with barely enough room to stand up, and the lights were turned off.

‘Food and water will be delivered through a hatch at the back of the cage, it opens remotely so don’t try to use it to escape, if you make a mess you’re just going to have to sit in it’ the doctor drawled, ‘if you act like an animal, you get treated like one.’

Sam was left in absolute darkness for seven days.

Growing up, Sam never slept in the dark. 

Most motels are pretty bright at night, especially the ones he and his family stayed in - the coloured glow of “no vacancy” signs, or the beams of light from the street provided a nightlight always. Plus he never had his own room, so he was used to hearing another person snore, or fart, or shift in bed. His first night at the facility was his first night sleeping alone, but he didn’t feel alone, not with the camera there - this time though, he felt alone. 

He wondered whether his dad was angry when he didn’t come home, and when he started to be worried - he bet Dean was worried straight away, it never took him long to go full mother hen mode. Every school bully, every monster, everything that scared Sam - Dean dealt with.

Except for this. 

For the first time since he’d been strapped to that chair and had his hair shorn off, Sam wept. His fingers reached up to find only stubble and he shuddered, wrapping his hands around his head and drawing his knees to his chest. 

He missed Dad, his gruff voice and the way he’d play with his hair when they watched TV, he missed Dean - his smell, his voice, everything. He wanted to go, wanted to walk to school and buy juice, he wanted to go to the bowling alley with the redhead that made him blush just by looking him, he wanted to go home,

Sam wasn’t scared, he was terrified.

When Doctor Happiness returned, and the lights were switched on again, Sam jumped, shuffling to the back of the cage through his own mess.

‘Your punishment has ended’ the man spoke as he held out a gloved hand.

He held Sam’s hand as they walked back to the elevator and headed up to the 3^rd floor, not letting go until they reached a door with a plaque that read “Decontamination.”

‘The orderlies will clean you up, I’ll see you in theatre’ he pulled his hand from Sam’s grip and opened the door, pushing the boy into the room.

Two Orderlies were waiting inside the large tiled room, there was a step down into the biggest shower Sam had ever seen, nozzles along the ceiling and open to the rest of the room. Sam was taken by the arm and guided down into it by one of the orderlies, a woman with brown hair tied back in a bun who scrubbed him down with a clinical detachment that said she’d done this before. She stepped away before the medicated water from when he first arrived rained down on him, it stung his eyes and tasted like chemicals.

The hot water burns his wounded body but he can’t find it in him to care, relieved to be out of the cage and clean, it doesn’t take long before his knees buckle and he’s laying on the ground, the floor tilts and before long he’s being carried over to the chair in the corner of the room and dried off, he blinks hard as the brown haired lady cups his face in her hands. 

‘Things will be easier for you if you don’t fight it’ she whispers.

Sam closes his eyes, relaxes into the first bit of kindness he’s had since arriving, the next time he opens his eyes he’s being half carried down the hall, back through the double doors and face to face with the Care Chair.

Sam doesn’t resist as he’s strapped into the chair, half aware that Nurse Faith is running a long nailed hand over the top of his head and listening to Doctor Hope talk to an Orderly with a camera, ‘SO to recap, the Subjects usually come to be cared for in the Chair every three to five days, turnaround just depends on any active experiments or healing time, Subject Seven has been in punishment time so it’s been eight days. But what will happen is the Subject will get washed and decontaminated and any clothing and bandages get incinerated - and we’ll remove any hair growth on the cranium on each visit or as needed, ah, Nurse Faith is onto that already!’ Sam lets his head be pushed forward so the old lady can shave the nape of his neck and doesn’t resist as she fastens the strap on his forehead. 

After the session, which leaves Sam trembling and his teeth chattering and sporting a new wound on the back of his head where he slammed it against the chair during electroshock therapy, breaking the skin on the metal headrest, he’s put in a wheelchair and taken to his room, dressed in a new hospital gown and put to bed.

When he wakes up, Doctor Hope is there, and he jumps.

‘Easy there Tiger, I just came to check on you - you’ve been asleep for two full days!’

Sam pushes himself up, realising his ankles are strapped to the bed.

‘Precautions’ the doctor smiled, pointing to the yellow bruising on his eye, ‘how are you feeling? You can give a verbal answer.’

‘Oh, um - I’m hungry?’

‘Good answer’ the doctor laughed, ‘the orderlies will be by with some food soon, I just came to take the stitches out of your head and check in on you.’

Hope reached forward as he pulled a set of cutters out of his lab coat pocket, ‘think you can stay still or should I strap you down?’ He asked.

‘I can stay still’ Sam answered quickly.

‘Good man, sorry if this stings a little.’

The irony of that statement was not missed on Sam, this is the man who ran volts of electricity through his body a few days ago to try and get him to see the future, and now he’s worried about hurting him? The stitches came apart with a few snips that felt loud in Sam’s ears, and the doctor put the cutters back in his pocket, pulling out some tweezers. 

‘I know this is a lot, Subject Seven’ he began, 

Sam kept an eye on the pocket as it hung near his face, if he could get the cutters, maybe he could pick the door lock, ‘and I know it’s probably hard to believe that we’re doing this for the good of the world, but it’s the truth. And the fact is, you’re better off here where you can’t hurt anybody.’

Sam reached into the lab coat pocket, fingers grazing the cutters as the doctor pulled the last stitch free, pulling back only a moment too soon, catching Sam in the act.

‘It’s this kind of shit that’s going to get you in trouble!’ He scolded.

‘I just want to go home’ Sam implored, ‘my family will be worried!’

The doctor sighed, reaching into his pocket and producing a little jar, ‘this is a salve,’ he explained, ‘it’ll help with scarring, lean forward.’

Deft hands coated the healed wound in salve and pushed him so he was laying down, ‘I’m sorry, but I have to restrain you again - you know, if you had have just cooperated I was going to take let you see more of the facility, but I guess you’re not up to that yet. Your next chair session is tomorrow, there’ll be no dinner tonight, Subject Seven.’

Sam felt hot, angry tears well up as his wrists were strapped to the bed, and he screamed himself hoarse - threatening, swearing and crying until he fell asleep.

It didn’t take long to fall into a routine. 

Sam - or rather, “Subject Seven” would be collected from his room and taken to the chair every three days, being decontaminated on the way. He’d get strapped in and what little hair managed to poke through the skin on his head would be shaved off, they’d take a baseline scan and then introduce stressors - that was the bit that changed, it would range from electric shocks to waterboarding, poisons to beatings. They left him in a room like a freezer once for eight hours, and a few times they flashed lights in his eyes to try and get a psychic response. 

In between, Sam tried to escape two more times in his first month of captivity.

First, he tore away from the Orderlies before he could get strapped into the chair, that netted him four days in isolation and the fingernails on his right hand removed. Then, he sharpened his spoon from dinner into a shiv and actually made it to the elevator, before he realised he needed a keycard to actually make the lift work, he got stuck in isolation for ten days after that one. Doctor Happiness pulled him by the neck out of the cage when it was time to be released and snarled,

‘you’d better work on manifesting a psychic event,’ the man warned, inches from Sam’s face, ‘if we don’t see results, we’ll have to take you apart.’

It was day 27 when Sam was being wheeled back to his room from the Chair by Doctor Hope, he was dizzy from the twilight sedation they gave him so they could harvest spinal fluid

‘We’re going for a little detour today, Subject Seven’ Hope patted Sam’s head.

The 3^rd floor was getting a bit clearer to Sam through his botched escape plans, he knew that his room was one hallway and a left turn from the elevator, and he knew the operating theatre and decontamination rooms were on the opposite end of the floor, there was about twenty rooms on the 3^rd floor he’d never been in, including the one they were headed to now. 

For the stark white layout of the facility, this room was a change, it looked like an office - it had a bookshelf, a telephone, a desk with a spinning chair and a plush, red sofa along the wall. 

The walls were filled with postcards from all different locations, thumb tacked on, making a tapestry of scenery.

‘This is my office’ Doctor Hope supplied, ‘those are from my kid, she’s off backpacking and sends me one every now and then’ he points to the postcards, ‘she’s in Thailand now!’

Sam took in every postcard, eyes hungry for something that wasn’t white and surgical. 

‘This world she’s exploring, it’s the one we’re saving doing what we do.’

Sam let his gaze drop to his fingers, picking the bandaids on his right hand.

‘You can speak here, there aren’t cameras.’

Sam’s eyes shot up.

‘Why bring me here?’ He asked, ‘I don’t get it.’

Hope sighed, opened the door and pulled out a Rubik’s cube, tossing it to Sam, ‘because we need a new approach, you haven’t had a single psychic event yet, and if you don’t have one by the next Care Chair session, I’m going to have to give you the serum.’

‘The serum?’ Sam repeated, lining up two green squares on the cube. 

‘It’s a hallucinogen, but it’s cut with some pretty powerful magic and amplifies psychic abilities. The higher ups have us use it if a Subject hasn’t shown any promise, before-‘

‘Before what?’

‘Before we go to autopsy. If you don’t have a vision, we’re going to have to remove your brain and study it.’

Sam blanched. 

‘We both know you have abilities, it’s just about harnessing them. I think maybe yours are there to protect you.’

‘But they can’t protect me, because the worst has already happened?’ Sam guessed.

‘Trust me, it can get way worse than this. A lot of people don’t survive the serum.’

Sam leant back in his chair, running a hand along his completely smooth head - he still wasn’t used to it, it always made a shiver run down his back. He looked around the room, scanning for signs of life beyond this place, looking at trinkets and throw cushions, bobble heads and -

The mirror hanging on the wall was ornate, surrounded by metal flowers and in the centre of it, was a thin boy with pale skin, tired eyes, a white hospital gown, and no hair.

Sam stood and walked on shaky legs to the mirror, bracing himself on the wall as the fucking ghost staring back at him followed his movements, tracing a hand along his face, turning his head to see the large tattoo of a number seven on his neck.

‘Bit different from last time you saw yourself?’ Doctor Hope interrupted. 

‘I- I don’t look like me anymore’ Sam whined, eyes filling with tears. This was not the boy that was going to the bowling alley on Saturday, this was not Sam Winchester.

Doctor Hope crossed the room, appearing behind the pale boy in the mirror, rubbing his head like it’d give him good luck, ‘I think you look just like yourself, Subject Seven’ he smiled.

Sam felt sick, Subject Seven looked scared. 

On Day 30, Sam still hadn’t had a vision. 

When Nurse Faith shaved the stubble from his head and attached electrodes, she wished him luck in her raspy voice. Doctor Hope came toward him with the syringe, swabbing the crook of his forearm, Sam tried to squirm, he thrashed and bucked against the bonds holding him down ‘No!, NO! Don’t touch me, don’t you dare - NO!’

His stomach flipped and his head felt like it was on fire, the lights flickered and he heard someone scream. The room felt like it was turning upside down.

When his eyes fluttered open, Doctor Hope was on the floor, the serum needle through his eye, Doctor Happiness was trying to check readings through a cracked monitor, and Nurse Faith rasped, ‘we’ve done it!’

Sam was in and out, a flurry of activity around him gave way to being put on a gurney and wheeled through the hallways, lights burning his eyes and his lip feeling wet. 

‘Subject’s nose is bleeding’ someone said, it all happened too quickly, he closed his eyes.

When his eyes opened next, he was in bed, but it wasn’t his room. The room was dim, and when he looked up, the IV was pumping red sludge into his arm. 

‘We’ve got you on a serum regime’ a woman spoke, and it took Sam a moment to recognise her as Doctor Sunshine. 

Sam tried to get up, but he found he once again couldn’t move. He couldn’t even speak.

‘We gave you a paralytic, you’re in Meditation, a stage of research that I oversee’ she busied herself tucking the blanket around his shoulders and running a hand over his head. 

‘We’re going to run this through you for the next three days, and keep you blindfolded, we’ve found this helps manifest psychic visions so they happen more often. 

Sam tried to fight, some childish part of him wanted to tell the doctor he needed a nightlight, but all he did was close his eyes as the blindfold was fastened.

‘We have you all hooked up to electrodes, so we’ll know when you have a vision, and Nurse Faith will be in and out taking care of you.’

Oh, joy.

It didn’t take long for the kaleidoscope Sam’s eyes tracked in the darkness to take shape, he felt sick and tired but agitated all at once, his head hurt the same way it does when he gets a vision, and before long - he’s not in his body anymore. 

Images flash through his mind, a girl with blue eyes and a number three tattooed on her neck, a field, stars, blood. 

Sam sees Subject Seven running along with this girl, hand in hand, staying low as they avoid searchlights, hiding in the long grass - “Sam, promise me we’re gonna get out of here!” The girl yells, he squeezes her hand, “I promise, Ava.”

Chapter Text

‘You ready yet, Sammy?’

Dean, who had been knocking on the door for the last five minutes, was getting impatient. 

‘Christ Sammy, you’re going to the bowling alley not the fuckin’ MET Gala!’

Sam rolled his eyes and took one last look in the mirror, nodding at the boy staring back at him - he’d made a real effort to smooth the mop of curls down to something a bit more civilised, and he was wearing some of Dean’s body spray. When he opened the door, Dean grinned, ‘oooh! Your little redhead won’t know what hit her!’

‘Danielle’ Sam corrected, pushing past.

‘Dude’ Dean sniffed, ‘how much fuckin’ spray did you put on?’

’I don’t know!’ Sam defended, ‘a bit - is it too much?’

‘It’s all the much.’ Dean confirmed, ‘but you ain’t got time to wash it off.’

Sam had reapplied a few times, he felt his ears going hot and red with embarrassment. 

‘Sammy, it’s fine - it’s mostly on your shirt - so just change real quick!’

‘I don’t have another nice shirt Dean!’ He’d spent the afternoon ironing this blue button up.

‘Yeah but you’re going to a bowling alley not Sunday school, just borrow one of mine.’

It didn’t take long for Dean to go through his bag and produce a Metallica T-Shirt and a red button up.

‘Here dude, put this on - yep, now put the red shirt over it and then roll the sleeves up like this’ Dean fussed over the look and fixed the collar, ‘and fix your hair, Peter Parker’ he messed up the carefully slicked curls.

‘Badass’ he grinned.

Sam barely had time to pop his head back into the bathroom and check Dean’s work before he was being driven to the Bowling Alley to meet Danielle.

‘Remember Sammy, tell her she looks pretty and make sure you listen to what she tells you’

‘I know, Dean.’

‘Compliment her when you arrive and then not again until a bit later, don’t be creepy’

‘Okay, Dean.’

‘And if she wants to kiss you, don’t try slipping in the tongue straight up.’

‘Dean!’ Sam scolded.

‘I’m just saying! There’s such a thing as too much tongue.’

‘Dean!’

When they arrive at the Bowling Alley, Sam goes to get out when Dean touches his shoulder, ‘Have fun Sammy, don’t forget who you are.’

‘What?’

Dean’s staring at him, searching his face, hand still on his shoulder.

‘Status check on Subject Seven’ he speaks, but it’s not his voice.

‘Dean?’

‘Subject appears to be in and out of consciousness, responding to the serum well.’

‘Dean!’

Sam blinks and suddenly he’s standing in front of the mirror, smoothing his hair down.

‘You ready yet, Sammy?’

His stomach lurches and his head doesn’t feel right, dejavu, Dean’s knocking on the closed bathroom door in their apartment, he glances back at the mirror and his breath catches in his throat when he sees a pale figure wearing a hospital gown looking back at him, he blinks and it’s gone - his reflection is back, wide eyed and spooked, wearing his ridiculous blue button up with his curls sticking up despite the gel.

‘Christ Sammy, you’re going to the bowling alley not the fuckin’ MET Gala!’

Sam takes a shaky breath and opens the door, Dean grins, ‘oooh! Your little redhead won’t know what hit her!’

‘Danielle’ Sam corrects, the words feeling too familiar.

‘Dude, how much fuckin’ spray did you put on?’

Sam opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out, and suddenly Dean is smelling his shirt, ‘Ugh, it’s mostly on the shirt Sam, here - you need some help.’

Once again, Dean returns with the Metallica shirt and the button up, and once again he fusses over the sleeves, he moves his attention to the collar,

‘Here, if you stick it up, she won’t see the tattoo.’

‘What?’ Sam raises an eyebrow.

‘Your number tattoo, the collar covers it - come on, you’re gonna be late.’

Dean grabs his keys and jacket and strides out the door as Sam steps into the bathroom to have a look, taking a deep breath before approaching the mirror - only to find himself staring back, neck bare.

‘Dean, there’s nothing there! What are you talking about?’ He asks as he gets in the car.

‘Remember Sammy, tell her she looks pretty and make sure you listen to what she tells you’

‘Dean? How come you said I had a tattoo?’

‘Compliment her when you arrive and then not again until a bit later, don’t be creepy’

‘Dean, can you listen for a second? Something’s weird.’

‘And if she wants to kiss you, don’t try slipping in the tongue straight up.’

‘I saw something in the mirror earlier.’

‘I’m just saying! There’s such a thing as too much tongue.’

‘Can you even hear me?!’

The car rolls to a stop outside the bowling alley and Dean leans forward, hand on Sam’s shoulder and eyes imploring, ‘Have fun Sammy, don’t forget who you are.’

The car seems to tilt and his breath catches, exhaustion suddenly weighing him down, he fights to raise his head, then he’s eye to eye with someone he’s never seen before, ‘Hey’ she smiles, her blue eyes searching his face.

‘There you are!’ She grins.

‘Who’re you?’ He slurs as she props him back up, was he in a chair?

‘We’ve been through this, my name is Ava’ she whispers.

Sam’s vision clears a bit, and he realises she’s got a tattoo of a number three on her neck, and her head shaved - short blonde fuzz lining her scalp, she’s wearing what looks like a white set of pyjamas.

‘You’re in “Recreation,” we met five days ago buuuut you’ve been pretty out of it.’

Sam looks around the room, it’s huge - about the size of the gym at one of the bigger schools he went to, too bad he can’t remember what it was called though. 

The walls are white and orderlies in green scrubs are stationed all along them. There are tables scattered throughout the room and people doing things at them, Sam can’t quite see what though, he realises that everyone besides the orderlies here is wearing white and everyone looks around his age, hair buzzed and numbers on their necks.

‘Recreation?’ He repeats, looking at Ava again.

‘It’s where they let us come together, something about “cohabitation breeding psychic events” - but there are games and it sure beats the chair!’

Sam looks down at himself, he’s in a wheelchair and wearing a hospital gown with a blanket over his knees, one hand is fastened to the chair with a strap and the other sits in his lap, in the crook of his elbow is an IV, and as his eyes follow it he finds a bag full of red sludge hanging from a pole fastened to his chair.

‘You’ve had the serum attached to you since you arrived in recreation, which is why you’ve been so out of it,’ Ava explains. 

‘I saw you’ Sam realises, ‘in a vision, I saw you’

Ava grabs his hand tightly, ‘did you tell anyone?’

‘No,’ he shakes his head but it feels heavy, ‘I don’t think so anyway.’

‘What were we doing?’

Sam thinks hard, his brain is like soup and it takes a moment.

‘We were escaping’ he gasps.

Ava smiles, ‘I think we’re gonna be good friends.’

A sharp knock makes Sam jump, he’s busy smoothing his hair down for his date.

‘You ready yet, Sammy?’

He looks down at the comb in his hand, suddenly unsure what he was going to do with it, when he looks up, a face stares back with a shaved head and the number seven tattooed on his neck. Sam leans forward and reaching up, the boy in the mirror follows suit, fingers tracing the tattoo, and creeping up to touch his head -

‘Christ Sammy, you’re going to the bowling alley not the fuckin’ MET Gala!’

Sam jumps and when he looks back, the boy is gone - it’s just him with his hair fighting the gel and his blue shirt.

He opens the door to find Dean smiling at him, ‘oooh! Your little redhead won’t know what hit her!’

‘Dean - something’s wrong, I don’t feel right.’

‘Dude, how much fuckin’ spray did you put on?’

‘Dean’ Sam stresses, ‘something’s wrong and I don’t know what it is’

His brother starts fussing with his outfit again, getting out that same band t-shirt and button up, rolling up the sleeves, he eyes his work before holding up a finger, ‘one sec, gotta complete the look’ he rifles through his bag and returns with a beanie ‘gotta cover that chrome dome.’

Sam blinks, and reaches up, fingers grazing skin as his hand is pushed away, 

‘There you go, now you’re ready for your hot date! Don’t know why you gotta cut your hair that short Sammy’

‘I didn’t -‘ Sam starts, then he realises he can’t remember doing it, ‘I don’t know why-‘

‘Yeah man, I don’t know why either, come on.’

In the car, Dean’s rambling, and Sam’s finding it hard to remember where he was going.

‘Remember Sammy, tell her she looks pretty and make sure you listen to what she tells you’

‘Tell who she’s pretty?’ Sam asks.

‘Compliment her when you arrive and then not again until a bit later, don’t be creepy’

His head feels heavy and his eyelids are starting to droop.

‘And if she wants to kiss you, don’t try slipping in the tongue straight up.’

‘Dean, when did I cut my hair?’

Before long, the car rolls to a stop and Dean shakes his shoulder, 

‘You didn’t’

‘What? Then who did?’

‘Have fun Sammy, don’t forget who you are.’

He loses the fight with his eyelids and feels himself fall forward, stopping only when a pair of hands that definitely aren’t Dean’s push him back, lightly slapping his face.

Ava smiles before disappearing behind him again, she wheels Sam over to one of the tables and pulls out a seat for herself.

‘Let’s play chess!’ She smiles at one of the orderlies as she fusses over Sam, smoothing his blanket and snapping her fingers in front of his face when he nods off. He realises this is the first time someone’s touched him without gloves since before he was taken.

‘That serum fucks with people, the quicker you get through that first dose the better’ she whispers as she sets the board up.

‘What happens then?’ Sam clumsily tries to move a pawn as the game starts.

‘Then they keep experimenting and only use the serum every now and again, but the Chair visits tend to get more spaced out - I can see it’s been a while for you’ she points at his head.

When he runs his hand over his scalp, it’s soft and fuzzy, ‘it’s been five days for me, they’ll probably come get me today’ Ava shrugs and moves a piece on her side of the board.

Sam nods, feeling sick. 

‘How long…’ he starts to ask.

‘It’s been fifteen days since we met.’

Oh.

‘Anyway, you need to be careful - that serum makes you forget things, Ansem over there -’ she points to a boy with light eyes sitting with another boy at a table with paints on it, ‘he forgot everything the very first time he had the serum, lightweight, anyway - we can’t let that happen to you, and so far everyone has had the serum for a full month when they first get to Recreation, so tell me some things about you that I can remind you of if you forgot’ she demands.

‘Um, my name’s Sam, I have a brother named Dean - Um, I’m twelve’

‘We’re all twelve” Ava cuts him off.

‘Oh, really?’ Sam moves another piece but he’s not sure where to, ‘Um, I like reading?’

‘When’s your birthday?’

‘May 2^nd.’

‘Your parent’s names?’

‘My mum’s name was Mary and My dad’s name is John.’

‘Good, this will all be on the test. Tell me about your brother.’

Sam does, he spends the game trying not to nod off and telling Ava about how funny his big brother is, how he always looks out for him, always knows what to say - how worried he probably is now.

All too soon, two Orderlies come over too their table, 

‘Subject Three, to cognition, Subject Seven - Doctor Sunshine will see you in the Care Chair’ they’re guided out of the room, through the big double doors and out into the hallway.

’Seeya later’ Ava smiles before she’s taken in the opposite direction to where Sam’s wheeled.

Sam feels himself nod off as the motion of the wheelchair lulls him to sleep, consciousness coming in waves as he is lifted into the chair and buckled in, someone is talking to him, Doctor Sunshine, he realises.

‘-Subject Seven? Can you hear me? Verbal answer, please.’

‘Mm-hmm’

‘Good, we’re just going to take some blood and do some checks today.’

The familiar buzzing of the razor fills his ears as he lets his head be manoeuvred from side to side, leaning into the hand that grips the side of his face.

‘There you go,’ someone says, sweeping the stubble off his shoulders, ‘that’s better.’

He blinks awake hard and finds himself standing in the mirror, wearing a blue button up and smoothing down dark hair.

It feels weird under his fingers, like for some reason, it’s not meant to be there. 

The bathroom is bathed in yellow light and the tiles are coloured - that doesn’t feel right either. He steps forward and studies the boy in the mirror with chocolate curls. 

‘You ready yet, Sammy?’

He jumps, creeping forward tentatively to open the door, revealing a smiling face and a leather jacket. This person feels safe, but Sam can’t remember what to call him.

‘Sammy, you’re a mess’ he smiles, guiding him over to the closed toilet lid and sitting him down, ‘how’re you gonna impress your hot date like this?’

He lets the older boy take his blue button up and throw it in the corner (‘dude, how much spray did you put on?’), and doesn’t protest when he cuts the curls from his head with scissors and runs the clippers over it, for some reason, Sam feels sad when he sees the dark brown clumps of hair on the floor - but when he looks in the mirror, it feels somehow like that’s what he should see.

‘That’s better…’ Sam breathes.

The nice, safe boy’s looking at him with green eyes that look so very sad, as runs a hand over his head, flicking off the stubble.

‘Come on,’ he sighs, ‘you’re gonna be late.’

The car trip is over quick, the boy’s talking about a redhead, kissing and when to use your tongue, Sam thinks he should respond, but he’s not sure what to say. He runs a hand over his smooth head, suddenly uncomfortable, ‘didn’t you give me a hat before?’ He asks, although he’s not sure when that could have happened, he just met this boy.

When the car stops, he realises he doesn’t want to get out. 

‘I feel like if I leave, I might not be able to come back’ Sam half asks, half tells the boy.

‘Have fun Sammy, don’t forget who you are.’

‘It’s your move’ Ava reminds him, gesturing at the board game on the table.

‘What?’ His voice is hoarse, he licks his lips, the game is snakes and ladders.

‘Do you remember your name?’ Her blue eyes regard him, her stubbly hair is gone.

‘How long has it been?’ 

’Since the last time you asked that? Ten minutes’ she sighs.

‘No..’ His brain is fuzzy, thinking hurts, ‘since, since Chair.’

‘For you? You’ve been twice this week, for me? Yesterday.’

‘How long since…’ he concentrated, ‘last time, when we played chess.’

‘Oh, that was eight days ago.’

He looked around himself, he wasn’t hooked up to an IV this time, but his head hurt.

‘You had a vision yesterday’ Ava reaches across the table and takes hold of his hand, ‘they took you to the chair after that, do you remember what you saw?’

‘A field, grass… you - and um, yellow eyes?’

‘Good, you keep fighting it, can you tell me your name?’

‘Subject Seven?’

‘No,’ she shakes her head, ‘your real name.’

The knocking startles him.

‘You ready yet, Sammy?’

He’s not sure where he is, but when he looks in the mirror on the wall, there’s someone standing there he doesn’t recognise, a boy around his size; his hair is dark and curly, he’s wearing a blue button up shirt and holding a comb.

When he looks down at himself, he realises he’s not wearing anything, just holding the comb in one pale hand. 

The knocking is back,

‘Christ Sammy, you’re going to the bowling alley not the fuckin’ MET Gala!’

He’s not sure who Sammy is, but before long the door opens.

The person standing there isn’t wearing red or green scrubs, and his hair is too long to be one of the other subjects in Recreation; but his eyes are green and he somehow feel safe.

‘Oooh! Your little redhead won’t know what hit her!’

The green eyed older boy smiles, and it’s infectious, Subject Seven finds himself smiling along with him, it must be really funny because the curly haired boy in the mirror smiles too.

The older boy takes him by the hand and leads him out of the room,

‘Here, you can borrow some of my clothes.’

The older boy pulls out a white hospital gown and tosses it over, for some reason, it’s disappointing. But he’s impossibly gentle tying the back up, before squeezing his shoulder and leading him outside.

The world whizzes by the windows and the older boy’s voice blurs into something warm and comforting. He wants it to last forever, but all too soon they slow down and green eyes are staring at him, ‘Have fun Sammy, remember who you are.’

After the Chair, he’s led to Recreation, his legs feel shaky - like it’s been a while since he’s walked somewhere on his own. He runs his hand over his smooth head, carefully avoiding the healing cut they reopened to take brain fluid again. 

‘Before you go to Recreation, we’re going to go to Meditation for a bit’ Doctor Sunshine says, one hand on his shoulder to steer him into one of the rooms lining the hallway.

The room is small, and the walls are blue with little clouds painted on them, a big desk and a little couch; and framed pictures of Doctor Sunshine with kids with white outfits and numbers on their necks. 

‘How’re you liking the uniform?’ She asks as she gestures to the couch, ‘sit here.’

He sits, fiddling with the hem on his white pyjama shirt.

‘Verbal response please, Subject Seven.’

‘It’s warmer than the old one.’

‘Good!’ The lady smiles, pulling down her mask to reveal a warm smile and cold eyes. 

Doctor Sunshine gets busy setting up a camera, putting it on a tripod like they do in the Care Chair sometimes when the Orderlies aren’t there to hold it (or when they need to help pin him down - but that hasn’t happened in a while), and aims it at the couch before taking a seat next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

‘Smile!’ 

He doesn’t think he’s smiling when the flash goes off.

‘I hope it turns out’ she smiles, pulling her mask back up and replacing her gloves, the old pair getting tossed in the trash.

‘I have photos with all our Subjects,’ she gestures to six photos on the wall, no one is smiling in theirs except Ava, who is third in the lineup.

‘Tomorrow marks two months since you first came home to us, my, how time flies’ she sighs like she’s talking about an old friend, ‘thanks to the serum you’ve made such progress, and you’ve given us a lot of insightful test results since your psychic activity has picked up, I understand you’ve been dreaming? Verbal response.’

He picks at the bandage on his wrist, unsure why it’s there as he sifts through the scattered parts of his brain to find an answer that won’t get him in Punishment again, they don’t like when he doesn’t tell them things. 

‘I’m getting ready for a date’ he begins, ‘with a redhead.’

‘Who is getting ready for a date?’ Doctor Sunshine takes out a pad and pen. 

‘A boy with curly hair’

‘That’s not you, is it Subject Seven?’

‘I don’t -‘

‘That can’t be you, can it, Subject Seven? You don’t have curly hair, do you?’

’No Ma’am.’

‘Good, those remnant memories should dissipate with time, your lovely little friend Subject Three doesn’t remember what came before here either, or what she used to be called.’

Yes she does, he thinks bitterly, her name is Ava.

‘Yes Ma’am’ he says instead. 

‘And what is your name?’ Doctor Sunshine asks. 

’Subject Seven.’

Getting out of the office and into Recreation is a relief, and Ava running up to him is a godsend, she takes him by the hand over to the finger-painting table before they talk.

‘Ava’ he whispers, a little too desperately, ‘I’ve forgotten again!’

‘Your name is Sam’ she squeezes his hand, ‘you nearly made it through the month, just one more dose of the Serum and you’re home free.’

‘Tell me something so I can remember?’

‘You’re Sam, your birthday is May 2^nd, and you like to read,’ she’s tracing circles into his hand, ‘your mum’s name was Mary and your dad’s name is John, and you have a brother named Dean. And you’re being a good boy to the Doctors because once you get some privileges, we’re going to find a way out of here.’

Sam, sam. He turns the name over in his head as Ava tells him stories about his brother, how funny he is and how he’s always there to help him. How he’s probably looking for him right now. The words sound familiar, but Sam still hangs on each syllable like the lifeline it is.

That night, after the Orderlies have been by with his serum injection, when the lights go off, as he feels himself drift away, he repeats his name like a mantra. 

Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam Sam, Sam-

‘You ready yet, Sammy?’

The banging on the door takes his focus off the comb in his hand, not sure what to do with it when he looks up and finds the mirror empty. Just the shower recess behind him, but no him.

‘Christ Sammy, you’re going to the bowling alley not the fuckin’ MET Gala!’

Dean, he reminds himself, his brother is called Dean. And he’s been here before. 

He looks down at himself, and he’s wearing his white uniform.

When he opens the door, Dean doesn’t have a face. 

He has all the other parts, the leather jacket, the amulet, but where his face should be is like static on a TV, like the one the Doctors keep getting him to stare into, like the one that sometimes stares back. 

‘Oooh! Your little redhead won’t know what hit her!’

He lets Dean fuss over his outfit, Sam even tries to say he doesn’t know how much body spray he put on, but the words don’t come out right. Not that it matters, no matter what he says  - even the time that he tried to run away from his hold, or break the mirror, or turn on the shower, or make something different happen in this dream, Dean always gets clothes out of his bag and helps Sam change for his date.

Sometimes the dream is different, like when he forgot everything the first time and Dean got out a hospital gown. The second time, he got out a pair of scrubs and led him to the chair, now he just gets out a t-shirt with a band name Sam can’t quite recognise, and a red button up top. 

‘Here dude, put this on - yep, now put the red shirt over it and then roll the sleeves up like this’ Sam lets him fuss over the sleeves, ignoring the angry track marks on his arms, ‘and fix your hair, Peter Par- oh, maybe more like Charles Xavier, right Sammy?’

He said that the last few times too, he started saying it since Sam forgot what colour the hair is meant to be. Actually, the whole dream has started to fall apart since he started forgetting. 

The room outside the bathroom used to have stuff in it, he’s sure of it, but now it’s just white, with a table in it and Dean’s bag. 

His brother is standing and staring at him with that empty face aimed his way, this part of the dream always drags, like the rest is loading in and they have to wait, when Dean does finally move, it’s mechanical and he disappears through the door into the night. 

Sam wanders back into the bathroom, the mirror is still empty.

‘Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam’ he repeats, eyes clenched shut, ‘My name is Sam.’

He looks back at the mirror, and it’s the boy he sees in the reflections of windows in the doors lining the hallways in the facility, the pale one with no hair, the one with the seven on his neck. The only version of himself he can remember. 

Except, he’s still wearing the red button up and the shirt Dean gave him, there’s still some of him holding on despite everything. 

He leans close to the mirror, so he’s nose to nose with Subject Seven,

‘Your name is Sam.’

The car ride with Dean is like it always is. 

He can’t remember what’s meant to come out Dean’s mouth, so the air is full of mostly garbled nonsense like they’re underwater, like how Recreation sounded when he first got there, high on the serum and whatever-the-fuck else they’d given him.

When the car slows to a stop, Dean lifts his hand slowly, but his hand doesn’t touch Sam’s shoulder, instead, suddenly, he feels fingers card through his hair and for a moment - TV static is replaced with green eyes, 

‘Remember who you are.’

Sam gasps, he’s awake and sitting in Recreation with Ava. 

‘You with me this time?’ She squeezes his hand, they’re doing a puzzle at one of the tables.

‘Yeah, yeah I’m here’ he breathes, reaching up and feeling skin.

‘Do you remember your name?’

‘Sam’ he squeezes her hand, ‘it’s Sam.’

Chapter Text

The films seemed to go on forever.

It takes them a day and a night to work through just the first six - it all starts bleeding into one big kick in the teeth after a while, and Dean tries more than once to get his dad to stop and have a break, or sleep, or take a walk - but he doesn’t budge, so neither does Dean.

The second roll of film is the shortest, mostly Doctor Hope talking through the process of the serum, sitting in his office and talking to the camera with a medical patch over his eye in the first few scenes, by the end of the month though, he’s got a glass eye and a gnarly scar on his cheek, ‘serves him fuckin right,’ Dean spits.

“The second month is the most formative,” Doctor Hope explains, “the serum is a mix of hallucinogens, sedative and some pretty advanced spellwork to heighten the Subject’s abilities, but it also works to rid the Subject of any of what we call ‘residual memories,’ this is where the numbering system comes into it’s own, because by the end of the month - the aim is that they’re referring to themselves by number, and ideally, not even remembering their names or life before the facility.”

Dean feels sick, the idea of Sam - his Sam - not remembering him, or only remembering a place like that fucking lab - 

“Of course, this isn’t an exact science, Subject five for example remembers nothing from prior to being collected, while others may remember bits and pieces - but usually at least 70% of residual memories are gone, and we have a much more compliant Subject.

“The reason we wait til the second month for Serum Therapy, or ’ST’ as we call it, is because the Subject has to have a psychic event right before, or when the serum is first administered. Of course it can bring on a psychic event, as we were hoping with Subject Seven, but if someone without latent abilities were to receive it, they’d surely die.”

The scenes that follow are mostly of Subject Seven - of Sam - in the chair, unnervingly compliant and alarmingly slow to react. The last scene on the roll of film is toward the end of the month, Doctor Hope is sat next to Sam’s bed, he’s dead to the world with an oxygen mask attached and an IV with the serum pumping in his bruised arm.

“Subject Seven appears to be tracking along nicely, we did one last procedure today before we introduce it to general population and group time, although Recreation is going well and Subject Three has already taken a liking to Seven.

“Sterilisation is an important step to ensuring public safety should, god forbid, any of the Subjects get out - so we did that today, and while we were there we also removed the appendix and one kidney for study.”

‘What the actual fuck?!’ Dean stood as the film ran out, ‘They sterilised him? What the hell Dad? What-’

‘-Dean’ John interrupted, ‘put on the next roll of film.’

The third and fourth months are pretty similar to each other. 

Sam had been introduced to the other Subjects properly, and interspersed with videos of the chair, or experiments with lights or a TV screen that would bring on Sam dropping to the floor like he was having a vision, were CCTV footage of him in what looked like a gymnasium with six other kids just like him.

He was almost always with a girl, Subject Three, they held hands a lot and she seemed to keep an eye on him.

Sam and the other kids took meals together in a white dining room, had classes that looked weirdly like a normal school, except everyone had electrodes attached to their heads, and even seemed to do P.E. More than once, Sam got into proper punch up fights with a boy with dark skin who stood head and shoulders taller than him, they almost always got stopped by the Orderlies, except for once in the fourth month that this kid bashed Sam’s head against the wall, leaving a red smear behind him.

The scene following captured Doctor Hope, visiting Sam’s room with Subject Three.

“Hello Subject Seven, how are you feeling?”

Sam stayed quiet, the entire side of his head was bruised and mottled, his eyebrow split.

“Verbal response please.”

“I’m okay” Sam rasped, “I don’t know why Ja- why Subject Two attacked me like that.”

“He’s in isolation now, unfortunately we’re going to have to put off your Care Chair visit until your concussion is gone, but Subject Three is here to visit you.”

The girl waved, and skipped over to Sam’s bed, climbing up and wrapping him in a bone crushing hug.

“Okay, come along Subject Three” the doctor laughed, “it’s time for you to go to bed.”

The next scene, was a damn beautiful sight. 

CCTV footage of Sam and the girl, tearing through the hallway, holding what looked like a keycard, calling the elevator and getting in. 

Dean held his breath as his brother narrowly avoided getting caught, the girl held a hand out to a group of Orderlies, freezing them in their tracks before they all dropped to the floor. She wobbled and staggered back, nose bleeding as Sam slung her arm over his shoulder and slid the keycard through the scanner to freedom.

The next scene, Doctor Hope was fuming, 

“Subjects Seven and Three have escaped!” He pulled at his grey hair, “I know Three would never do this, but Seven? I knew it was no good, I just knew it. When I get my hands on them, I’m going to make it so they can never leave again.”

The film ran out, and hope climbed up Dean’s chest, he fumbled putting the fifth roll of film in the projector, heartened to see how short it was, and thrilled to find it was mostly a video diary of Doctor Hope and his quest to find Sam. Sickened at how many times he used words like “it,” and “creature” as he got angrier and angrier. There was a bunch of scenes where Doctor Happiness worked on dissecting the kidney and appendix, but Dean got busy looking through the rest of the files while they were playing. 

‘Here it is, Dad!’ He held up a much thicker file than Sam’s ‘Ava Wilson - Subject Three, that’s the girl Sammy escaped with!’

Ava had been taken a year before Sam, and she was never seen again after escaping with him, ‘they must have gotten away!’ Dean exclaimed as he put the sixth tape on.

That hope was quickly snuffed out as the sixth film started rolling.

It took three Orderlies to keep Sam down, and two more to replace the ones he injured as scalpels and surgical equipment flew through the air and imbedded themselves into their heads, “put me the FUCK down!” He snarled, his hair has grown in during his month of freedom, not as long as it used to be, it sat in short curls on the top of his head, kicking up around his ear. 

“It looks like your abilities have grown since we saw you last” Doctor Hope observed coldly, with none of the sweetness his voice used to hold, “tell us, where did Subject Three go?”

‘Like I’d tell you sick fucks!” Sam swore, fighting even as the Orderlies manage to stick his neck with a needle, he struggles right up until whatever gave them hits his bloodstream and he sags like a rag doll.

“Don’t try and use your telekinesis, they won’t work with what we’ve just given you. It’s a paralytic we mixed up just for you, get him in the chair.”

They make quick work of the denim overalls and brown jumper Sam had on, tossing it in with the medical waste and strapping him in the chair.

“It’s been a while since you had a haircut, Subject Seven,” the doctor spits the words at him, “too bad that little bitch killed Nurse Faith, my hands aren’t as steady as hers.”

It’s hard to watch, but Dean makes his eyes stay on the projector, taking in every moment because if it’s hard to see, it would have been a thousand times worse to live it.

The razor jams a few times, snarling in Sam’s curls and Doctor Hope rips the device up, tearing the offending chunk of hair from his head before pulling it from the buzzing blades and throwing it to the floor. He yanks Sam’s head to and fro by the ear, hacking away at his head until the fluorescent lights bounce off the pale skin and his head is covered in bleeding scratches and wounds from the razor.

Sam doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t cry, just keeps an eye on the camera.

Dean can’t help but feel like he’s looking at him.

“There, now you look like yourself, Subject Seven.”

The doctor throws the book at him. Electric shocks and harvesting done without anaesthetic, after a while, he’s red in the face and Sam is covered in haphazardly stitched up wounds.

“Bring in the tracking chip” he bellows, and Sam’s dazed eyes widen.

Doctor Hope turns and addresses the camera, like how he used to in the early recordings, but with a manic glint in his remaining eye, “The tracker is placed under the skin at the base of the neck, and equipped with a shock function.”

After what feels like forever, Sam is stitched up and sent to decontamination.

“The fucking demon is probably filthy.”

Sam tries to escape eight more times in the span of four months.

The curly haired kid with dimples that cried in Bambi is a far cry from the feral, cold eyed prisoner that tried everything from using his telepathic abilities to force the orderlies to let him out - but only succeeded in having his lips sewn shut, to straight up violence. He even tried to summon something with his own blood, but he was interrupted. Sam even tried to get one of the other kids, the one that nearly caved his skull in earlier, to remove his tracker - they got it out, but one of the other children told an orderly. He didn’t even stop when they broke his legs, if anything, the wheelchair gave him more momentum.

By the ninth month, it seemed like Doctor Hope had enough, 

The familiar formula of Hope talking and Sam struggling against restraints was disgustingly familiar at this point, and Dean leant back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.

“Subject Seven has proven that it won’t cooperate, and therefore, drastic methods are necessary. We’re going to put him under, and use the serum to completely wipe his memories. This is theoretical and has never been tested in the field, but will make for easier harvesting and study.”

“No - no, no, no - please!” Sam thrashed, “I don’t want to forget! I don’t want to - MY NAME IS SAM!” He screeches, even as the serum travels down his IV into his arm, another flowing into the side of his neck, “Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam” he repeated, “Samsamsamsamsamsamsamsamsamsamsamsam…. Sammmm.... Sam.”

His eyes closed, and the doctor wasted no time attached electrodes and wires, smiling smugly at his work even as a tear rolled down Sam’s cheek.

They waited to play the tenth roll of film. 

Neither man talking about what they’d seen, but when John nearly passed out from exhaustion, Dean called it. 

‘We’ll watch the rest tomorrow.’

When tomorrow came, it was too soon. 

John and Dean piled into the room, half expecting the next film to be where they find out Sam was dead; whether because his body finally gave out, or because his mind was erased. 

It felt like it would be the final nail in Dean’s coffin, like the minute he found out he wasn’t a big brother anymore, he’d just disappear. 

They braced themselves, but they weren’t expecting what they saw.

Chapter Text

Stealing the keycard was Ava’s idea.

Getting Jake to beat the shit out of him was Sam’s.

It’d been almost four months since he was taken captive, numbered, and experimented on - referred to as Subject Seven and drugged into forgetting his life before.

He held onto his memories fiercely, some days he could clearly remember that his name was Sam, and that he had a dad and a brother waiting for him, although he struggled to picture their faces; other days he could only remember his number, and the last time he’d visited the Chair. 

It was Ava that kept him sane.

She was always by his side, reminding him what his name was, telling him stories of his life before that he can’t remember telling her; and helping him plot an escape.

In his third month at the facility, he was introduced to the other subjects properly; and integrated into their routine. 

They’d have lessons in a classroom twice a week, except the Sam is pretty sure real schools don’t attach electrodes to the student’s heads. Five days a week, they’d get to go to recreation unless they were part of what the doctors called “active experimentation,” which usually involved the chair, and was almost always painful. They took their meals together in the dining room, and went to “Fitness” twice a week, which was like P.E. but with more cattle prods. 

The other Subjects were a mixed bag.

Ava was his favourite, of course, she was his most staunch defender and seemed to make things less scary just by being around. She had the prettiest eyes Sam had ever seen, not that he can remember very many, and a gap between her teeth, they hold hands a lot.

Subject One doesn’t say much, but Ava warns Sam not to go near him, his hands are always covered in gloves or bandages and tied behind his back.

Then there’s Subject Two, a tall boy with dark skin named Jake - he doesn’t seem to like Sam very much, and it doesn’t take the pair long to spark off each other. Even though Ava has warned Sam not to get in trouble over and over again, the two boys have ended up in Punishment together more than once.

Ava’s number is three, the two boys who always sit together are four and five, Ansem doesn’t remember what happened two minutes ago - it’s his brother Andy that keeps him calm and grounded, that remembers his name for him. But Andy isn’t allowed to speak, he has thick silver rings keeping his lips closed, they look like they hurt, but he’s probably used to them.

He’s never said otherwise.

Number six is a tall girl named Lilly, she spends a lot of time with Jake, and Ava says a lot of her private “experiment time” with the doctors involves stopping the hearts of animals. 

The Subjects that can remember things keep their names and any other scrap of information still left after the customary month of serum therapy close to their chests.

It’s the only thing they can treasure in a place like this.

At first, it takes everything in Sam not to try to escape every chance he gets, not to attack the doctors when they let their guard down, or when Doctor Hope runs his hands over Sam’s freshly shaved head and makes some dickhead comment about him looking better (from the times Sam has seen himself in the mirror, he’s pretty sure he can’t have looked worse than he does now). But, it doesn’t take long to fall into the routine of it all, Ava helps a lot with that.

‘Remember’ she’d chastise him, ‘you need to make them think you’re not going to try to escape, you have to get some privileges.’

“Privileges” would come in a few different forms.

Ava for example is allowed to walk herself to and from Recreation, so she’s got a pretty solid grasp of the facility, she also only visits the Chair twice a month, and is allowed to use the showers whenever she likes instead of being taken to decontamination every other day. 

She still gets taken once a week for “Care,” but it doesn’t seem to be too invasive, she comes back freshly shaven and with a bandaid or two on her arms.

It takes Sam a while, but eventually he gets the shower privileges, and is allowed to be walked by Ava back to his room each night.

‘We need a keycard’ Ava whispered, holding his arm as they walked back to his room one night, Sam did his best to commit to the winding hallways to memory.

‘To get the lift to work, yeah, I got caught out there when I tried on my own.’

‘Leave it with me, don’t do anything until I give the word.’

The shower block a bit smaller than the dining hall, it had six white stalls with no doors, and a huge, full length mirror lining the wall.

Sam tried, he really did, but he can’t quite remember his face before he was Subject Seven, the boy whose ribs poke out, covered in scars and pale. He knows that he had hair, he must have because they have to shave him twice a week, but he can’t remember what colour it is. 

He asked Ava to look at the spikes that grow through, she says it looks dark brown or black, but he can’t imagine how it would look on his head. It would probably cover the nasty scar that runs along the left near the top where they took brain fluid.

Sometimes, when he’s in the shower, he swears he hears someone knocking and telling him not to take all day, “Come On Samderella - you gettin’ ready for the ball in there?” A voice would call out. He told Ava, she warned him to keep quiet about it, if the doctors found out he had any type of memory, they’d probably hook him back up to the serum. 

As it is, the doctors ask him weekly what his name is, he always responds:

‘Subject Seven.’

The plan could have used some finessing, but four months was long enough.

Sam would need to get himself taken to medical and not sedated, which meant a concussion. Then, Ava would pester Doctor Hope to let her visit him - and while she was there, she’d give Sam the keycard she managed to swipe from the doctor. It all felt a bit too easy when Ava hugged him, slipping the keycard down the back of his shirt.

As soon as lights out came around, Sam was up. 

Ava had prepped him, because of course she had, and finding her room was easy as he repeated her instructions like a mantra, ‘left, right, third door on the left.’

Swiping the keycard and freeing his best friend was the easy part, they knew they’d run into trouble eventually, and it didn’t take long before the alarms sounded. 

Hand in hand, they tore up the hallways until they hit the elevator.

‘On your knees, now!’ The swarm of Orderlies descended on the pair as they waited for the elevator doors to open, Sam kept one eye on the screen above the doors, willing the numbers to tick over faster - it was too slow, they’d be caught -

The Orderlies were almost on them.

Sam kept his grip on Ava’s hand, frantically pressing the button, willing the doors to open.

Ava held out a hand, blood trickled from her freckled nose when she yelled ’STOP!’

The orderlies froze, the girl dropped into Sam’s arms, the doors opened.

They were free. 

They ran all night. 

Sam wasn’t sure what direction they were heading in, the cool night air stinging his cheeks and burning his nostrils as he sprinted until his legs were jello and Ava was limp next to him.

‘I think… we lost them’ he heaved, dropping to his knees in the long grass.

‘We’re free’ Ava smiled, ’Sam - we’re free!’ She tackled him and they rolled around, holding each other and giggling. 

The sky was inky and the stars countless, shining just for them.

The problem was, neither of them had put any thought into what comes next.

Ava knew a lot more things than Sam, but she didn’t know how to survive in the wilderness with no shoes, water or food. 

By the looks of things, the facility was sat in the middle of nowhere, and the pair walked for days before they felt safe enough to stop. Drinking from streams and eating whatever looked safe. By the time they found the town, they were filthy.

The houses were old and made of wood, more like shacks really - like something out of that black and white western movie the orderlies put on for them as a reward for collective good behaviour. 

There was no one in the town, it looked like it had been abandoned a long time ago, but it had a river nearby they could clean up in, clothes they could change into, and tins of food. 

They covered up the windows in a house outside of town before they lit the candles, Sam fiddled with he straps on the overalls they found, trying to get them to stop twisting over the warm brown jumper he had underneath. The boots were too big, but he pretended they were his dad’s shoes, and that made him feel a bit safer.

He wondered if he lived in a house like this, with a carpet and wooden walls, flickering amber candles instead of bright white lights.

Ava popped her head out from behind the door to the kitchen where she was changing,

‘Don’t laugh, okay?’

‘Promise’ Sam grinned. 

She stepped out, wearing a blue cotton dress over a pair of navy pants that bunched around the boots that looked enormous on her small frame, over the top of everything she wore a knitted grey cardigan that hung off her like elephant skin.

‘You look beautiful’ Sam breathed.

‘Oh shut up’ she pushed him as she sat down, cheeks red.

Sam passed her an open tin and a spoon, 

‘I think it’s beans’

‘Meal of champions, although it probably beats the food back there, right?’

‘I think a lot of things probably beat that’ Sam smiled. 

They were quiet for a while, watching the candle. 

‘What do we do now?’ Sam asked. 

‘I dunno, I didn’t think we’d get this far.’

‘Me either.’

‘Do you remember where your brother and dad live?’

‘No, I don’t even remember what they look like, what about you?’

‘I don’t remember my family.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yeah,’ Ava sighed, ‘maybe we can be our each other’s family?’ She looked hopeful.

‘Okay’ he agreed.

It took three weeks to start calling the cottage home.

They tried their best to find out where they were, but the forest seemed to go on forever, and they often heard choppers passing overhead, they assumed they came from the facility and were looking for them.

Most days, they stayed inside and slept - and at night they’d go out, catch food or explore, play games or go swimming in the river. 

They didn’t know where they were or the names of the people they were running from, neither of them knew how to use the phone on the wall, but it didn’t make any noise when they held it to their ear, so maybe the phone didn’t know how to ring people either. 

Ava’s short hair looked orange in the sunlight, and reminded Sam of the candles they burnt in their house, he loved it.

‘Your hair is curly!’ Ava giggled one day, curled up in their bed and hiding from outside.

‘It is?’ He ran his hand through the short locks, ‘what colour is it?’

‘It’s brown like your jumper, I think I saw a mirror in one of the bedrooms, I’ll go find it.’

Sam sat cross legged, waiting for her to return.

Ava popped back into the room holding a little round mirror with a handle so he could see, the boy looking back at him had a little hat of brown curls on the top of his head, it was very short but it made something click into place, like that was how it was meant to look.

The boy in the mirror looked happy, he looked like his name could have been Sam.

When he’d dream, it was of searchlights and tall grass, Ava running, sometimes screaming. He dreamt of straps and needles and razors.

The fifth week was when the lady with black eyes appeared.

Sam had been dozing in Ava’s lap, waiting for the sun to go down so they could go out and play, maybe make a fort in the woods, when he heard her scream.

‘Who are you?’ She shook Sam awake.

‘I’m a friend’ the woman held her hands up placatingly from her place at the end of the bed.

‘How did you get in here?’

‘I’ve got my ways, I’ve come to get you, I’m a friend of your father.’

The lady smiled, she had blonde hair that hung down to her waist and she wore a leather jacket, when she blinked her eyes they turned green and Sam thinks maybe it was just a trick of the light that made them look so dark.

Something about her felt familiar.

‘We’re not going back the the facility’ Ava practically growled, the furniture started to rise.

‘Damn straight you aren’t’ she lady laughed, ‘I want to get you out of here, to safety. Back to where you belong.’

‘To our families?’ Sam breathed, he can’t remember their faces but he knows he has people looking for him, ‘I have a dad and a brother.’

‘That you do’ she nodded, ‘I want to take you back to your father.’

Sam pulled Ava’s sleeve, the cupboard in the corner dropped heavily to the ground and she wiped her nose with the back of her hand,

‘I think we should go with her’ he whispered, ‘we can’t stay here, they’ll find us.’

‘I know, but -’

‘-If you stay here, they’ll find you’ the lady cut in, ‘they’ll haul you back, and they’ll make it so you can’t leave again.’

She said what they both knew was the truth, when the facility find them - they won’t get another chance to escape, they’ll probably never even see each other again. Or if they do, they won’t remember enough for it to matter.

‘Those people are from a society called the Men of Letters, and they’re hunters. It was hard enough getting this close to the facility to find you, we need to leave tonight.’

‘Okay’ Sam agreed, Ava nodded.

The lady’s name was Meg, and it didn’t take long for Sam to warm to her.

She was funny, and she looked at them like they were people. She also made them feel safe, and had a bag full of beef jerky, water, and chocolate bars. They sat together in their cottage til the sun went down.

‘Whose father are you friends with?’ Ava asked, ‘me or Sam’s?’

‘You both have the same father’ she smiled.

‘We’re brother and sister?’ Sam asked, shocked. 

‘In a manner of speaking, yeah - you’ve got the same blood.’

That made sense, he supposed. Maybe that’s why he feels so safe with Ava.

‘What’s he like?’ Sam slid closer to Meg, eager to learn.

‘He’s strong, and he’s smart, and he can’t wait to have you home.’

‘I can’t wait to be home’ he leant his head on her shoulder.

Under the cover of night, the trio slunk out into the tall grass.

Sam couldn’t help the feeling of dread rising in his stomach, like he’d seen all this before, but he can’t remember Meg from his visions, so maybe her being here changed things.

He held Ava’s hand tightly as they made their way through the field, and away from the shelter of the trees.

Meg had told them that she needs to get a certain distance from the facility to use her portal, that the magic the hunters use stops her powers, and Sam wonders if she’s like them.

Crouched low, Meg whispers that it’s only a bit further, and everything seems to be going well until they hear the chopper overhead.

Lights beam down on them and before long they’re sprinting, long grass whipping at their faces as they run as fast at their legs will carry them after Meg, she yells at them to hurry up when Ava drops.

She pulls Sam down with her, and it’s only when she pushes herself up on shaky hands that he realises she’s been shot, the grey of her cardigan dark with blood, oozing from her shoulder.

‘Ava!’ He yells, pulling her up into his arms, ‘we have to run, can you run?’

Her eyes are wide, ‘Sam, promise me we’re gonna get out of here!’ She begins to cry, her squeezes her hand, ‘I promise, Ava.’

Sam hoists her up and keeps running with her arm slung over his shoulder, not risking glancing behind him since he can hear their pursuers starting after them on foot, dropping from rope ladders hanging off the choppers.

Meg wastes no time and pulls Ava into her arms, 

‘Come on, Sam! RUN!’ She commands, ‘we’re nearly there!’

They’ve nearly cleared the field when Meg drops to her knees and starts mumbling words they’ve never heard before, still holding Ava, eyes black again, she smears her fingers in the girl’s bloody shirt and presses her palm flat to the ground, and before long she’s surrounded in a red glow.

Sam turns to see people in dark helmets and black outfits running after them, the field is alive with them. They’re almost on top of them.

‘Open the door’ Meg finally says, before starting her string of gibberish words again. 

‘How long is this going to take!?’ Sam demands, eyes on their pursuers.

Just then, the red engulfs Meg and Ava, and the woman is telling Sam to jump into it.

He does, but his ankle is caught and he’s yanked back hard, biting his lip as his jaw hits the earth and the red glow disappears, along with Meg and Ava.

‘They got away!’ He breathes, ‘she got away.’

Relief fills his frame even as his captor pulls his hands behind his back and cuffs him.

Sam doesn’t fight as he’s lifted to his feet, his eyes are still on the patch of burnt grass where Meg had made them disappear, and he doesn’t fight as he’s pulled roughly back across the field. A black four-wheel drive is waiting for them, and out steps Toni.

‘Subject Seven’ she seethes, ‘you’ve become quite the problem for us, I trust you enjoyed your little vacation?’

‘My name is Sam’ he stares her down, only breaking eye contact when she slaps him.

‘You have no name, you’re our property, and your number is Seven.’

‘My name is Sam, and I got out once, I’ll do it again’ he warns. 

‘That’s where you’re wrong’ she spits, ‘scour the area for Subject Three’ she commands the troop, something like hope settles in Sam’s chest as he somehow knows they won’t find her.

The ride back to the facility takes a while, he realises how far they’d actually gotten. The sun is coming up by the time the car makes it to huge metal gates, which open automatically. 

The driveway is long and winding, and the morning light hurts Sam’s eyes, but he looks anyway, remembering how many times he and Ava watched the sunrise from the window of their little house. He wonders if she can see it where she went.

‘Take a good look, lab rat, it’ll be the last sunrise you ever see’ Toni promises.

He doesn’t fight as he’s pulled from the car, or even when they make it to through the metal doors of the enormous concrete building. It’s when concrete gives way to stark, white hallways and fluorescent lighting that he starts to fight tooth and nail. 

Snarling and biting, spitting and swearing.

‘I’m never going to stop fighting you!’ He promises, ‘I’m never going to stop trying to get away from you sick fucks!’

Toni presses the button on the elevator for the third floor and steps back out as four orderlies hold him tightly, as the doors slide closed, Sam can see her laughing,

‘I don’t doubt it.’

As the elevator drops and he’s taken underground, he feels the hope that sat in his chest when Ava escaped turn to lead and drop to his stomach.

Chapter Text

Dean had a lot of theories as to what the tenth tape might contain. 

Some part of him expected to be where he found out his brother had died, maybe that would even be a relief after seeing what the kid went through after being captured again. But the file said he escaped in the tenth month of his captivity, so maybe that meant something.

Maybe the tenth roll of film would reveal that his brother was moved to another facility, or maybe, just maybe, he found a way to escape. 

Dean and his dad didn’t speak much as they forced themselves to eat breakfast, and Dean didn’t ask where the older man disposed of the bodies that were strewn about the entrance to the bunker when they arrived, because they weren’t there anymore. 

When they made their way to the projector room, Dean’s hands were trembling as he fiddled with the film, putting it in the machine with more difficulty than he’d had with the first roll. When the footage started, he felt himself praying. He didn’t know what, or who to, maybe to Mary - but he prayed that his brother would be okay.

The footage began with Doctor Hope wheeling Sam into recreation, what Dean now realised was an orderly was holding the camera, zooming in on the boy as the doctor explained to the other subject that “this is a warning to all of you who think trying to escape is wise.”

Sam was blinking slowly, eyes tracking the room like he’d never seen it before.

“This is the first successful attempt at a complete mind wipe with the serum, as you can see - Subject Seven is much more docile, quiet and, dare I say - agreeable than it was before.”

He patted Sam’s bald head, “If any of you try where Subject Seven failed, you will be next.”

The boy that beat Sam up before he escaped with Ava stepped forward, eyes hard,

“Ava didn’t fail, she’s free somewhere out there” he challenged, standing taller than the doctor, fists clenched. 

“Stand down Subject, or you will receive punishment.”

The scene ended there, picking up in Sam’s room.

An orderly enters, wheeling Sam’s chair into the room and leaving him to stare at nothing.

A few scenes of a strangely compliant and quiet Sam going through the motions of the facility play, he visits the chair less and sleeps a lot. The boy from before sits with him in recreation often, and Dean leans forward to see if Sam talks back, but he hardly ever does, and the CCTV doesn’t have audio. 

About five scenes in, everything changes.

The hallway is covered in blood, orderlies strewn about not unlike the bodies in the bunker - some missing heads and some blown to bits. Doctor Hope walks slowly, flanked by two of the kids who, with a flick of the wrist or a twitch of their head are able to throw about the orderlies and soldiers that try to stop them. The doctor stops, and looks up at the camera - revealing two piercing yellow eyes.

John nearly jumps out of his chair, but doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. 

Scenes of carnage play out as every orderly and doctor besides the one the yellow eyed demons is wearing is massacred. The kids are let loose, on their captors. Their tormentors. 

A familiar face appears, running down the hallway. 

Subject Three, or Ava - that’s what that kid called her, is wearing a black and white dress, and her hair is long enough to curl around her ears, she’s wearing an Alice band.

She grabs Doctor Hope, or the demon possessing him’s hand and tells him something before she drags the man through the halls and to Sam’s room. 

Dean can only watch, mouth agape, as Sam  - wrapped in a blanket and worryingly limp, is carried out of the facility by the Yellow Eyed Demon.

The last scene on the film doesn’t look like it was shot in the facility,  it’s Ava - standing outside, aiming the camera at herself, 

‘If you’re watching this, and you’re Sam’s dad and brother, I just thought you’d want to know he’s alive, and I’m gonna take real good care of him.’

The film ends, and Dean’s overcome.

He cries, really really cries, harder than he has since Sam got taken, harder than he has in a long time - ‘Sam’s alive’ he breathes, thanking his mum or anyone else who might be listening. 

The relief isn’t what’s on his father’s face, he looks shocked and disgusted and afraid all at the same time, 

‘He has him. The Yellow Eyed Demon has Sam.’

Chapter Text

Ava was adjusting.

She was good at that.

She adjusted to life at the facility, sure, she fought hard like Sam did at first - but she realised real quick that resisting only made things worse. She saw other kids lose more than their minds when they tried, they’d disappear for days or weeks at a time only to come back with their eyes all glazed over and struggling to remember a life before they were a number.

Ava wasn’t going to end up like them.

Her chair sessions were usually pretty straightforward, and the doctors didn’t give her much trouble. They seemed to like it if she smiled, so she did that a lot - sometimes complimenting them or drawing a picture for them in recreation meant the difference between getting ice cream after dinner and getting put in the chair. 

A few of the other kids seemed to understand the way of things too, Jake saw what happened to Subject One and kept to himself - he only tried to escape twice that Ava knows of, and that was before she arrived. Ansem and Andy had a really cool ability and got pretty far trying to escape, crawling inside Doctor Happiness’ mind until he practically guided them to the door. They got in so much trouble after that.

Ansem had two whole months of serum, when he came back - he didn’t talk much, and he remembered less. Just repeating his number, and how sorry he is.

Andy wasn’t so lucky, they didn’t erase any of his memories - no, they made him an example; put those thick silver rings through his lips so he couldn’t talk.

Which is a shame, because he told really funny jokes. 

Ava was excited when Lilly came, another girl and all that, but she was moody and quiet and could kill you with a touch, so Ava kept clear of her, especially after she accidentally killed an orderly.

When Sam came, he was different. 

He wasn’t cold and quiet like the other kids, his eyes still had life, and he really thought he could get free. Ava wasn’t willing to let that go.

She talked to him, and made him tell her about his life before he had a chance to forget it, she held his hand - the one that fit so perfectly in hers - all the time.

Once in recreation, she painted hearts all over his head at the finger-painting table, he’d been running his hands over the freshly shaved skin, self-conscious and shy after his chair session. By the time she was done, his head was covered in different coloured hearts.

‘Now do me!’ She grinned, and he smiled back and nodded eagerly.

After a while, and being moved away from the paint table by an orderly, they found themselves, as they often did, cuddled up in the corner.

‘I’m forgetting again.’

Sam said that a lot, Ava didn’t think he realised how often he was “forgetting again,” in truth, he’d probably forgotten a long time ago - he was holding onto whispers of an old life. But Ava never said that, she’d recount what he’d told her verbatim about his dad and his brother, his favourite books and how he always wanted to run away and see the world. 

‘We’ll see the world one day too’ Ava said, ‘you promised me that!’

He didn’t. That was a lie, but Sam believed it, so maybe it wouldn’t always be a lie.

After they escaped, Ava adjusted to that life too.

She didn’t tell Sam she did more than freeze the orderlies that chased them, she didn’t tell him about how she made Nurse Faith drop dead when she tried to escort her to the chair before lights out. She never told him how she hid the body in a cupboard and scurried back to her room to wait for him. 

When they found the cottage, she never told Sam about the times she talked to Meg while Sam was asleep, or how she went into the woods and killed animals with her hands so he’d have something to eat, or that she’d done the same with the hunters that tracked them down from the facility. She never told him that she was waiting to be found, that Meg promised her they’d be rescued.

She let Sam believe that it was just the two of them, living in a town all their own. 

She liked to see him smile, and to watch as his hair grows and his face fills in eating proper food, she loves the way the freckles on his nose darken from the sunlight, and she smiles every time he laughs.

It kills her when she can’t protect him.

When her and Meg arrived at the Yellow-Eyed-Man’s house, she adjusts to that too.

He treats her well, and he doesn’t keep things from her like the doctors do.

‘Ava, welcome home’ he smiles with his arms outstretched, he’s about the same age as Doctor Hope, but thinner and taller, ‘I’m so sorry you had to go through that.’

He takes her by the hand and leads her through the opulent house they appeared at the doorstep of, surrounded by a dark sky with a red moon. 

‘This place exists outside of the realm of humans’ he explains, ‘it’s a pocket dimension that only people with my blood can get to, that’s why Meg had to use your blood - let’s get her wound seen to please Meg?’ The blonde woman nods and the man lets her hand go, 

‘Go get cleaned up, get settled, and we’ll talk over a nice hot meal.’

The house is sprawling and old, the walls are warm wood and the staircase goes in a spiral, with six levels. On the very top is where Ava’s room, and six other empty ones, are arranged neatly in a long, carpeted hallway.

Her room at the facility was pale and boring, she was allowed to put the stickers the doctors gave her on the walls, or pictures she drew, but that was it. This room was the complete opposite, it had a wide open fireplace and comfy chairs on a plus, pink carpet. The bed was enormous, fill of pillows and cushions with curtains you could close around yourself, she thinks Sam would like it. There’s a bookshelf, a wardrobe and a desk, a big window looking out at the dark sky, and a chandelier with tiny pink jewels that glisten in the warm light.

Meg sees to her wound and runs her a bath in the bathroom at the end of the hall, and helps her dress in one of the dresses hanging in her new collection.

When Ava does make it down to the “nice hot meal” she’s dressed in a pink velvet dress the covers her knees, warm tights, and a headband in the hair Meg helped her wash with shampoo that smelt like strawberries. 

‘Don’t you look like a vision’ the man’s yellow eyes glinted in the light of the dining room.

‘Where am I?’ Ava asked, ‘and who are you?’

‘My name’s Azazel and I’m your father, as for where we are - you’re home.’

‘You’re Sam’s father too?’ She questioned as a man in a suit brings out their dinner.

‘This is a beef stew, I thought you might like something a bit hearty’ he smiles. 

‘You didn’t answer the question’ she sips her stew and picks up a bread roll. 

‘I’m the father of all the children taken by the men of letters, it was my blood that gave you your gifts, and it’s with me that you all belong, I can keep you safe.’

‘We need to go back for Sam.’

‘We will, my child.’

It doesn’t seem like too much of a stretch when Azazel tells her he’s a demon, that he chose her and other subjects when they were babies and gave them abilities. It’s not hard to believe that they’re in hell, or that Meg and all the other servants there are demons, and it’s nothing Ava isn’t willing to look past to save Sam. 

It takes too long, far too long. 

Sam is in captivity for another three and a half months before they manage to infiltrate the bass, and in that time - Ava’s been practicing with her abilities. 

She can control demons, talk in people’s heads and make them do things. She can hurt them too, pop their bones and tear their insides, grind them down to nothing. It’s all thanks to father and his blood, she gets to drink it everyday, and everyday she feels more powerful. 

The facility is impenetrable from the outside. 

The hunters are thorough, and the staff are checked on entry for possession or spellwork, the warding is intense so the demons can barely get near the place.

It takes some doing, and some trial and error, but after months of groundwork and counterspells - Ava and Azazel make it inside the building. 

She managed to take over the minds of everyone in the entryway, shutting them down and breaking their necks before they can sound an alarm, and Azazel slips into Doctor Hope on his way to work, possessing him easily.

Once he makes it into the facility, it’s a simple matter of giving his blood to the other children - they do the rest of the heavy lifting, tearing about every doctor and orderly that hurt them, even Ansem seems to perk up after the demon blood is administered, the father breaks the links keeping Andy’s mouth shut with a snap of his fingers.

‘Ava, is that you?’ Jake steps forward, he’s gotten taller since she last saw him.

She smooths the black dress she chose for today down and pushes her hair behind her ear, ‘Where is Sam?’

‘He’s not Sam anymore’ Jake shakes his head, ‘they wiped him.’

‘Father can fix him, just tell me where he is!’

‘In your old room.’

Ava runs over to father and grabs his hand, telling him to hurry up as he bumbles down the hall in Doctor Hope’s fat body.

‘Hurry up!’ She yells.

‘This meatsuit is a bit too heavy on the meat’ Azazel chuckles, ‘I’ll be glad to be rid of him.

Before she left the house, Ava fussed with her outfit and hair, a part of her wanted to look pretty for Sam on the off chance he was with it enough to notice. 

He wasn’t.

She found him laid out in his bed, eyes half mast and staring at the ceiling, his legs were in casts and he was rail thin, eyes and cheeks sunken in and his arms and hands were boney. His head over covered in scars and healing cuts, burns and electrical burns ran down his neck and all over his limbs, he was wearing a hospital gown and blinking slowly.

‘Sam?’ She stepped forward, cupping his face and searching for signs that he was still in there, his eyes slowly tracked over to her.

‘Sam it’s me, it’s Ava’ her eyes stung with tears, ‘I know it took me a while, but I came to save you, I’m getting you out of here - for real this time.’

Sam took in her face, eyes dim.

‘Tell me you recognise me, tell me you’re still in there.’

She pressed her forehead to his, running her hand along the skin on his head, working to project something to him, sifting through her memories of him before making contact with his mind.

Suddenly she was standing in front of a door, she turned the knob, opened it to reveal Sam, standing in the middle of a bathroom with a comb in his hand.

He looked up, eyes haunted and teeth chattering, quickly hiding the comb behind his back.

‘Hey Sam, it’s Ava - do you remember me?’ She stepped forward.

’No-‘ he shook his head, ‘I don’t - I don’t know anything, I -‘

‘It’s okay, don’t cry’ she wrapped her arms around him as he sobbed. 

‘I don’t know who I am!’ He cried into her shoulder.

‘I do’ she whispered.

She focussed on the smiles, the dimples and the laughter. The chocolate hair that looked black in the shade but had flecks of red in the sunlight, how ridiculous he looked in his overalls and how his hand fits into hers perfectly. She runs her hand down the back of his head and wills these images into his brain.

She pulls back and looks him in the eye, suddenly he’s wearing overalls and a brown jumper, and his short curls are sticking up at odd angles.

‘You’re Sam, and you’re my family.’

She blinks and suddenly she’s back in the white room, looking at Sam with his shaved hair and his gaunt form, but this time - he’s looking at her too.

‘Ava’ he breathes, 

‘Let’s take you home.’

Ava works hard so Sam can adjust to his new life.

He sleeps constantly at first, and he’s on a constant regiment of father’s blood and nutrients, Ava doesn’t like the idea of putting another IV in Sam’s bruised arm, but she assures herself it’s for the best. She reads to him tends to the runes and spells that are helping him heal.

Father is in the room a lot too, sitting by the bed so Ava can have a break.

The other kids settle in quickly, products of their right routines, and it isn’t hard for them to slide into the jobs father gives them - sending them on errands and missions once their powers are developed enough. It’s mostly had to go with cutting down the Men of Letters and retrieving the files, father tells Ava to record a message for Sam’s old family and put it in a bunker in Lebanon after she and Jake have killed the hunters inside. 

She wonders why, but she knows better than to question Father.

Ava went on a few missions on her own too, before they saved Sam she had to go collect some debts at crossroads, nothing too hard and she likes the hellhounds a lot. She thinks Sam will like them too, especially the one curled up at the foot of his bed snoring. 

When Sam does wake up, he’s a little slow because his legs are stiff, but the spellwork has healed the breaks, and he doesn’t remember much at all. But he remembers Ava, and that’s what counts. 

He doesn’t talk much, and he has a lot of visions and dreams - probably more so because he spends so much time asleep, but he slowly puts on weight and he smiles when Ava laughs - he’s adjusting, she reminds herself.

It takes six months for Sam to be well enough to leave the house.

His hair has gotten long, it sits just below his eyebrows in soft, chocolate curls and he’s managed to gain some muscle with the training and exercises he and Jake do with father, Sam has managed to master telekinesis and his telepathy is coming along fast, he’s also made fast friends with his very own hellhound - which Andy is extremely jealous of, who he’s named Dean. Sometimes he zones out, and he forgets little things, but he’s getting better and Ava won’t let anything bad happen to him.

‘Sam, how would you feel about a little trip upstairs?’

Father smiled at him across the dinner table one night, which Ava had to point out to him because he was staring at his bowl of soup like it was telling him the future. And maybe it was.

‘Sam!’ Ava pushed his hair behind his ear ‘Dad’s talking to you!’

‘Oh, sorry’ he blinked, looking sheepishly around the table.

‘Where were you this time?’ Father asked.

‘Oh, I was just remembering something’ he mumbled, ducking behind his hair.

That always worried Ava, she didn’t want Sam to remember anything about the facility, he’d definitely suffered worse than the rest of them, except maybe Scott (he must have gotten sick of them calling him Subject One, because he told them his name about a month ago). So far, it didn’t seem like Sam recalled too much besides some brief flashes here and there, he asked Ava about his scars a few times, but she never gave much detail. 

‘When me and Ava were living in this little house’ he smiled at her, ‘and she made soup.’

Ava blushed, Andy made fake throwing up noises and Ansem laughed into his bread roll, ‘Father asked if you wanted to try going to the human realm’ Ava repeated. 

‘Oh - Um, okay? What would I have to do?’ He looked nervous. 

‘Nothing too much, there’re some crossroad deals that need collecting, you could take your hound, and maybe have a little look around - maybe Ava and Jake can go with you.’

‘Oh, yeah - okay that sounds good’ Sam nodded.

‘Don’t worry squirt’ Jake ruffled his hair, ‘we won’t let anything happen to you.’

‘I know’ Sam smiled, pushing his hand away, ‘thanks bro.’

‘Where are we going?’ Ava asked their father.

‘New Orleans’ Father smiled.

Chapter Text

New Orleans was different to Hell.

For one thing, the sky was lots of different colours - and there was so much to see and do. One other thing, which was a bit less cool for Sam, was that everyone was human. 

He hadn’t seen one since - well he can’t remember when, but they make him feel nervous. The lady with the notepad at the place they ate lunch said she liked his curls and suddenly images of razor blades and blood running into his eye replaced the brightly coloured diner. 

When he came back to himself he realised he was pressed into the corner of the booth, breathing heavily and Jake had put himself between him and the rest of the restaurant.

‘You good man?’ He kept a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. 

‘Yuh-yep’ Sam breathed, running a hand through his hair, ‘sorry. I’m good now.’

Sam didn’t remember much from before he arrived at his house.

He knows he was somewhere bad with the rest of his brothers and sisters, and that Ava and Father saved them, he has flashes of a life before that, he thinks. The inside of a car, the smell of leather, green eyes - but not a lot else. 

Sometimes he remembers that place, he sees white walls or smells disinfectant - but it’s just flashes, and Father has taught Ava how to take the memories away when they’re overwhelming. Mostly he just remembers Ava, her smile and her hand in his, that time they escaped together and lived in a house, not a big one like their home in Hell, it was little and it smelt funky, but it was theirs. 

He might not remember his life before, but his body sure does. 

The collection of scars that track every inch of his pale skin; from the big one that sits under his hair, to the tiny light ones that peppers the skin around his lips like freckles. He’s got a big one on his stomach that goes red in the shower, and his wrists and elbows are covered in shiny scars, his back is a mess of puffy scar tissue too. Then there’s the number on his neck…

‘You okay, Sam? Sleepy?’ Ava looks worriedly at him from across the table. 

‘Oh, I’m okay’ he nodded, pulling his hand away from his neck. 

’No one’s looking at you, man’ Jake assured him, ‘plus you’re all covered up anyway.’

It’s true, he had the collar of his jacket pulled up and a scarf around his neck, he was covered from head to toe, and yet he just felt exposed. His face was burning and his stomach churned - he wanted to go home. 

‘I know, I guess I’m just nervous.’

‘We’re here, we’re not gonna let anything happen to you’ Jake promised. 

His family was protective of him. 

Like, really protective of him. 

Ava was Ava, constantly mothering and unapologetic in her fussing, she’s barely left his side since he first woke up in their house with father, save for when she has to go on errands. He remembers her saving him from that place, her smiling down at him with tears in her eyes and giving back his memories of the two of them along with his name. When he woke up after what felt like a long time, she helped him get around the house and learn to do things for himself, she was there when he had to learn to walk on his healing legs, and held him when they ached so much he couldn’t stand. 

Sam eyed the crutches leant up against the table of the diner, he wasn’t sure how scary he’d be tonight at the crossroads if he needed them, but Ava had insisted they bring them when he woke up stiff and sore that morning. 

‘How you holding up, curly?’ Jake passed Sam’s food over after the waitress left, ‘your legs still hurting? We’ve got some of the good shit, don’t we Ava?’

‘Sure do! Do you think you need to take something?’ She was already reaching for her bag.

‘I’m okay,’ Sam shook his head, spreading strawberry jam on his pancakes, ‘really!’

‘Don’t be a hero for us, Sammy’ Jake chided.

Jake was Sam’s overprotective big brother. 

In the first week after Sam woke up, when he was still out of it and foggy - Jake started reading to him. They’d spend hours in the library, Sam covered in the thick fur blankets Father kept in there, with Jake reading story after story, embellishing lines and doing voices. 

He’d carry Sam up the stairs to the floor their bedrooms were on and back down again without anyone asking him to, and it never seemed to bother him how quiet Sam was.

After Sam got a bit more with it, Father started training both of them to use their powers, Jake’s strength was incredible, but Sam’s abilities were strong too, he could control demons the same way Ava could control people, and he could put thoughts in peoples heads, talk to them without having to talk at all. He was also getting better at moving things with his mind, but his aim still sucked - just ask Andy. A small game of telepathic darts ended up with a needle in his brother’s neck and about a thousand apologies. 

Luckily Lilly was there, Father was helping her use her powers to heal instead of hurt.

Andy and Ansem weren’t home much, they did a lot of jobs for father - but Andy always bought home souvenirs for Sam, his favourite so far has been the Tamagotchi, well, until Scott fried it with his electricity when it made too much noise. Scott didn’t seem to like him much.

The others all tended to baby him, which he wasn’t too keen on, but he can’t really blame them - he acted like a zombie for the longest time, and he still needs the most help out of anyone. Sam still spends a lot of time sleeping, Father said it’s because his powers are based around the unseen, he’s stronger in dreams and his dreams have meanings - he’s still not sure what to make of that.

Father is never far away either, neither is Meg.

That’s what families do, Sam supposed. 

Finished with breakfast and with hours to kill before nightfall, Ava had a whole day planned for them in New Orleans. 

The city was amazing, like something out of a book - the streets alive with people, teeming with sights and sounds. Sam stuck close to Jake, who kept a hand on his shoulder as he made his way through the crowd, leaning heavily on his crutches. 

Ava pulled them into every shop that caught her eye (which was a lot), and before long their backpacks were full of purchases, she even bought Sam a hat that said “I survived my trip to New Orleans” from a gift store, and only punched him in the arm when he said it might be a bit premature to give it to him now.

The sun was setting and Sam found himself waiting for his siblings on a bench, watching the pink clouds streak the purple sky - they were going to get dinner and then head to the crossroads, they had to make a collection that was too important to trust the demons with. Something about a deal, honestly he’d only been half listening when Father explained it to them, too preoccupied with his anxiety at being in the human world.

‘I’m telling you Dad, this is too dangerous! You can’t seriously be considering giving Yellow Eyes the safehouse locations!’ 

Sam overheard the conversation, his ears pricking up as he whipped his head around to see the two men arguing as they got out of the shiny black car. 

‘What choice have we got?’ The older man barked. He reminded Sam of his Hellhound.

‘We go to the crossroads and we trap the demon, force it to tell us where he is!’

The younger man seemed upset, he slammed the car door hard as he spoke. 

‘I made the deal, now we have to deliver.’

The men stomped into the bar across the road from Sam’s bench, he let himself follow them with his mind, grazing surface thoughts and feelings -

They were hunters, that’s not good - they’re looking for someone, they’ve been looking for a while -

‘Sam!’ Ava’s shrill voice snapped him back into his own head.

‘Oh, you’re back’ Sam observed as she bent down and wiped his bleeding nose with a tissue, Ava always had the essentials in her pocket. 

‘What were you doing?’ Jake asked, arms full of takeaway food bags.

‘I was reading these two guys’ Sam swatted Ava’s hands, ‘they went into that pub, they’re hunters, I think, they’re going to the crossroads tonight to drop something off - but one of them wants to try and trap the demon and question it.’

Ava bit her lip, looking nervously over her shoulder at the pub. 

‘Well, we’re not demons’ Jake shrugged, ‘and there’s three of us and two of them, so let’s eat these burgers down by the water and then we’ll go kick their asses.’

The crossroads was empty and the moon hung high in the sky. 

Having the ability to open portals, the three of them appeared right in the centre of the dirt road outside of town.

‘What now?’ Sam asked, leaning his crutches against the fence and kicking pebbles with his foot, Dad would probably scold him for scuffing his boots if he were here.

‘We wait’ Ava supplied, ‘how’s the legs?’

‘Fine, I had a really nice day’ Sam smiled.

‘Good!’ Jake boomed, ‘Because there’re a whole lot of other places to see besides New Orleans - we should do New York, or Mexico!’

‘Yeah!’ Sam grinned.

‘Father said you can start going on jobs now’ Ava smiled, ‘he said you’re well enough.’

The trio passed the time talking about nothing. 

‘The game is that you have to pick one thing, or the other’ Ava explained, ‘liiiike, pizza or ice cream?’

‘Pizza’ Jake answered immediately.

‘Ice cream’ Sam supplied, ‘my turn - uum, dogs or cats?’

‘Dogs’ Jake cut in, ‘this is boring, let’s play “would you rather” - I’ll start - would you rather get eaten by sharks or eaten by a crocodile?’

‘Neither?’ Sam laughed

‘That’s not the game, Sammy’ Jake elbowed him in the ribs, ‘shark or croc?’

‘Shark!’ Ava cut in, swinging off a low branch of a tree, ‘crocodiles do that roll-thing and it takes longer to die’

‘Yeah, but I read about a lady that got eaten by sharks and they just ate bits!’ Sam said, ‘like, they took a leg and then an arm and then all the other sharks came too!’

‘Now that sounds like the facility’ Jake hummed, ‘they were always taking bits.’

Ava cut him a look, ‘Jake, don’t-‘

‘I’m fine, Ava’ Sam nodded, ‘we can talk about it, it happened to all of us.’

‘Yeah, but you don’t remember all of it, it’s probably best you don’t’ Ava sat down by his side, ‘Besides, why would we talk about that place when we’re out free and the sky looks so pretty?’

The stars were out in force, Sam laid back against the soft grass at the side of the dirt road and watched the twinkling lights, so bright and so pretty it hurt.

Somehow, he got the feeling he’d done this before - watch the stars with someone special to him, someone that felt like a home.

He closed his eyes, breathing in through his nose, he could almost smell smoke and hear himself laughing as fireworks lit up the sky - all pink and yellow and blue, 

Suddenly he was standing next to a black car in a field, looking up at the sky exploded into a cacophony of colour,

‘Happy Fourth of July, Sammy.’

He whipped his head around to see a boy, older than him but still a boy, wearing a leather jacket with the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. He felt familiar, and Sam’s heart clenched. 

‘Thanks Dean,’ he heard himself say, ‘this is great.’

Sam’s eyes burst open as Ava shook his shoulder,

‘Get up, we’ve got company’ she helped him sit up, they were at the crossroads and the lights of an oncoming car lit up the street. 

His cheeks felt wet and he scrubbed his face, ‘must’ve been some dream’ Jake smiled as he pulled Sam to his feet and passed him his crutches. 

‘You just hang back, little brother’ Jake nodded, ‘we’ve just gotta collect something.’

Through the blaring headlights, Sam couldn’t make out the car from where he was standing, behind the tree Ava had been swinging off earlier. The driver stepped out, face dark as the back of his body was bathed in light. 

‘I hear you have something for us’ Ava drawled coldly, it didn’t sound like her at all.

‘The Men of Letters safe house locations, all of them but the one we’re living in - but you already know where that is’ the man was gruff. 

‘That we do, thanks a lot’ Ava took the note she was handed.

‘Now, I want to see him’ the man demanded. 

‘All in good time’ she smiled, ‘we’ve got something else we need you to do.’

‘That wasn’t the deal.’

‘Go cry to someone who cares’ Ava snapped, ‘Father wants the colt.’

‘That’s impossible. It’s not real.’

‘Yeah? And neither are we’ Ava laughed, ‘and yet here we are.’

She turned on her heels and made to walk away, Sam crouched down behind the tree, better if the man didn’t see him - he’d be an easy target with his crutches.

‘Wait!’ The man called, sounding suddenly desperate, ‘is he okay?’

Ava stopped, but didn’t turn around, ‘he’s alive.’

‘How is he?’ The man pleaded, and Ava tossed her hair back, looking him up and down with a cold smile, 

‘He wouldn’t recognise you if you were ten foot in front of him.’

The red light of the portal opened under where Sam was kneeling, the spell enveloped him just as it did with Jake and Ava and his stomach did a backflip as he was pulled down, he stole a glance at the car as it pulled away - it was shiny and black. 

He’d seen it before. 

In the days that followed, Sam dreamt of the black shiny car. 

Somehow, he knew that the backseat was the most comfortable bed he’d ever slept in, safe and warm and comforting as the road would lull you to sleep on seemingly endless drives. The sound of the engine and the pair in the front talking would be like a lullaby. 

He knew about the army man lodged in the door, and the lego in the air con that rattled when you turned it on.

He remembered carving initials into the back, and the green eyes who carved their initials to match. “S.W” and “D.W” - he knew it stood for Sam and Dean, but he wasn’t sure what the “W” was for. A surname he couldn’t remember. 

The squeak of the door and the roar of the engine, the music that blared and the green eyed boy that made every trip an adventure - something in Sam’s chest ached to be back there, to see it again. He was fairly certain that man was his Dad, his real dad. 

After three days and three nights of dreaming about the black shiny car, Sam went to Father. 

Surely he’d know, surely he’d help.

He didn’t.

Sam would find out that even though the walls aren’t white and he as allowed to come and go, he wasn’t free in his house in Hell. And even though the spells Father cast didn’t leave a mark, they still hurt. 

Sam trudged up the spiral stairs, legs burning and chest heaving. 

Every inch of his body hurt when he finally made it to the top, where Ava was waiting outside his door. Blocking his path.

‘You shouldn’t have done that.’

‘I know’ Sam breathed, ‘I shouldn’t have told him I remembered stuff.’

‘No’ Ava breathed, ‘you shouldn’t have remembered stuff.’

‘What?’ He took a step back, painfully aware that she was faster and stronger than him.

‘Because now I have to take it away again, and you were doing so much better’

She stepped forward, closing the distance. Her glittery silver shoes tapping on the hardwood floor as she fixed her skirt. 

 ‘Ava’ Sam put his hands up, placating, stepping back until he was at the top of the stairs, ‘I don’t remember hardly anything’ he breathed, ‘please, you can’t take it away.’

‘Father needs to be able to trust you to do your jobs properly’

‘He can!’

‘Not if you remember those hunters he can’t.’

‘Ava, they’re my family!’

‘We’re your family’ she raised her hand and grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling him toward her, ‘just let me take care of you. You’ll be better off not remembering them, once Father’s finished with them, we’ll kill them - and you won’t have to worry about a thing.’

‘No! No please don’t -‘

She kissed him full on the lips and he felt the cool edges of her mind take over his, slinking through every recess of his brain like liquid mercury.

Sam screwed his eyes shut, and tried to latch onto Fourth of July, with Dean and the fireworks and the shiny black car, he held tight as he could to the memory until the fireworks disappeared and the stars went out and Dean was gone.

He repeated his name like a mantra, “Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean”

Distantly, he could hear someone knocking at the door.

The bathroom was bathed in yellow light and the bulb flickered. 

He was standing in front of the mirror, holding a comb and looking at a boy with chestnut curls, someone was calling for him, but the words were garbled. 

When the door opened, a boy in a leather jacket with green eyes smiled and stepped forward. 

‘Don’t forget who you are, Sammy.’

Chapter Text

Two years. 

Two entire years since Dean Winchester had seen his brother, Sam.

It felt like a lifetime, and if you’d have asked him the night his curly haired brother disappeared if Dean would survive two full years without him, he would have said no. 

Because he couldn’t imagine a life without Sam, without the constant chatter or the laugh that bubbled up from his chest; without the constant companion and best friend - but now, Dean has a hard time imagining what life with Sam would look like. 

Because he saw the tapes and he knows what happened to him, how he got taken apart and put back together all wrong; how scared he must have been and how broken they made him. Dean knows his brother is with that yellow-eyed fuck, and he’s no closer to bringing him home than he was two years ago. Not really.

Dad was even more dogged about Sam than he’d been about Mary, and that’s saying something. He was so obsessed, he even agreed to work for the Yellow-Eyed Demon, clearing out Men of Letter safe houses and facilities like there was no tomorrow, racking up the body count. He was like a man possessed, using every spell and weapon in his disposal to mow down anyone affiliated with the people who hurt Sam. But then he’d take the spoils of war and deliver it all to the demon who currently held his boy. 

For an entire year, John Winchester has been doing the demon’s bidding, desperate for a shred of information, begging for morsels of what his son’s life is like.

Dean had a slightly different approach. 

At first, he tried his hardest to try and get through to the psychic kids that would meet them at crossroads to give them jobs - he really thought he was getting somewhere with that one kid, Andy, but then he stopped seeing him. Instead, a girl with blonde hair and a smirk that put Hannibal Lecter to shame would show up, wearing a bow in her hair and speaking in riddles. 

Ava was a monster. 

Dean saw what she could do to people, the few times she helped them take down Men of Letters compounds, he saw how she could tear people apart with a flick of her wrist, and comb through their mind like she was picking a song in a jukebox.

He cornered her once, even showed her pictures of her parents who he managed to track down, he told her how much they miss her - she didn’t seem to care much.

It wasn’t a coincidence in Dean’s eyes that Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were dead a week later.

He hunted the damned. 

Like a fucked up storm chaser, once he knew that the psychic kids were out there doing Yellow Eye’s bidding, collecting on deals at crossroads and amassing artefacts and magical items, Dean started to hunt down people who may have sold their souls, everything from overnight success stories to lottery winners; he crossed the country over and over again in the Impala his Dad handed down to him - carving a zigzagged trail through America trying to find his brother. 

Sometimes the crossroads only held demons, other times he was too late and the person who made the deal had already been torn apart and dragged to Hell; but lightening only had to strike once, he only needed to find Sam. 

That time came two years and three days since the last time he saw his brother. 

There was a bar called Lloyds on a crossroads in town named Rosedale.

Mississippi wasn’t the most happening place he’d been to, but there had been an uptick in violent and unexplained deaths of professionals who had visited the pub a decade ago, it was a pretty cut and shut case, their bills came due and they couldn’t outrun paying. 

Dean had gotten pretty clued up with Hellhounds and Crossroads, he actually considered himself a bit of an expert by now, he had a healthy stock of goofer dust, and some pretty heavyweight counter-curses at his disposal, but he still couldn’t save the artist that sold his soul for success, actually, he didn’t want to be saved. 

‘I just want to finish my last painting’ is all he said as he slammed the door to his apartment in Dean’s face. 

It put a sour taste in his mouth, to be honest, the whole drive back to the motel he was staying at - all he could think about was that maybe Sam wouldn’t want to be saved either. 

Maybe he didn’t reach out because he was happy, wherever he was. Ava had suggested as much the last time he crossed paths with her, when he demanded answers. She smirked with her cold dead eyes fixed on him, 

‘What makes you think he even wants to see you?’ She crooned, ‘or that he even remembers your name? I mean, they did a number on him back there - it probably would have been kinder just to put him out of his misery - drooling on himself after they cut his head open to find out what’s inside’ she laughed shrilly. 

Dean grabbed her by the hair, his other hand closing around her throat. 

‘You tell me where he is, right fucking now!’

‘Or what?’ She rasped, still smiling, ‘he wouldn’t go with you even if you found him.’

It was true, and killing Ava wouldn’t do shit to change things. As much as he wanted to.

When he let her go, and she began to disappear in a flash of red light and brimstone, she said; ‘If you want to see him so badly, just make a deal - you’ll be downstairs in no time.’

It was a threat, and there’s no way Dean would do it. 

But he sure as shit considered it.

Evan Hudson was the last guy on the list of people who sold their souls at Lloyds. 

His house was nice, his wife was gorgeous (although Dean only met her in passing as she left for a weekend away with her sister), and Evan was terrified. 

This wasn’t someone who made a deal for fame, or money, or talent - he did it for love. His wife was dying and he didn’t want to life without her. Dean could get that. 

But he didn’t want his wife to have to come home to Even all torn apart by demonic pitbulls. Just like he didn’t want Sam to go looking for him only to find that Dean had bit the big one on a hunt gone wrong, which is why he stopped tagging along on John’s kamikaze attacks on the Men of Letters. Sam needed to have someone waiting for him.

‘I’m going to the crossroads, and I’m going to try and get you out of the deal - but I can’t protect you and do that at the same time.’

He left Even in a ring of goofer dust, and hoped to god he wasn’t coming back to find him torn to shreds. 

He thought about making a deal himself, Evan’s freedom for Dean’s soul - maybe he could find Sam in hell. Or maybe Sam would be the one to come get in in ten years, and he’d get to see his brother again. 

Dean shoed the dirt over the small hole he’d dug in the middle of the crossroads, burying his photo and the ingredients needed to summon one of these monsters, and he waited. 

The stars were out in force tonight, and the air was still. 

It reminded him of Fourth of July, when he and Sam drove out to the middle of bumfuck junction to let off fireworks, he’d never forget the way his brother smiled that night, brighter than any lightshow could ever be and so free. 

If he never saw Sam again, he wanted to remember him that way. 

Not the kid that got strapped to a chair and experimented on, not the dead eyed boy who fought so hard to escape, he didn’t care that his lips got sewn shut and his legs got broken. Not the emaciated, bald prisoner who couldn’t even raise his head when he was spoken to. 

No, Dean would chase those images away with chocolate curls and dimples and fireworks. 

It started to rain before too long, the kind of rain that meant Summer was coming and smelt of dirt. The hair on the back of Dean’s neck stood on end, and goosebumps ran down his arm like a braille warning that he wasn’t alone. 

‘If you’re here for Evan Hudson, I’m afraid I can’t help you.’

That voice -

He whipped his head around, standing in front of him was a scrawny boy around fourteen with a mop of chocolate curls -

And yellow eyes. 

‘Sammy?’ He breathed, stepping forward. 

‘It’s Sam’ he deadpanned, blinking his eyes as they turned green again. 

’Sammy- it’s me’ he implored, ‘it’s Dean.’

Something flickered in his vacant face, the facade was gone for an instant before the shutters went back down, ‘My hound’s name is Dean too.’

‘You always liked dogs’ Dean huffed a laugh. 

‘You wanted out of Evan’s deal, yeah?’ Sam fiddled with the sleeve of his leather jacket. 

‘Oh- um, can you do it?’

‘I can’ Sam shrugged, ‘but I shouldn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘I got a boss, just like everyone else. My hound is already at his place, so you’ve kind of left your run a bit late’ he shrugged, ‘You offerin something in return?’

His voice was flat, but he spoke with a confidence that his brother didn’t have two years ago. Even still, he was a bit awkward.

‘You’re asking for my soul?’ Dean bleated. 

‘You offering it?’ Sam rolled his eyes. 

This wasn’t the little brother he lost, but at the same time - there was someting in his eyes that maybe recognised Dean - he just needed to keep him talking. Keep him from leaving.

‘I was saving it actually, I thought maybe I could ask for something else’ Dean eyed the devil trap he drew on the ground with the holy oil he found in the bunker, all he had to do was light it, the rain wasn’t heavy enough to put out the flames once they got started, and it was too misty to settle into the soil and wash the oil away.

‘And what’s that?’ Sam stepped toward him, right in the middle of the trap. 

‘I’m looking for someone, and I want some help finding him.’

‘A boyfriend?’ Sam snorted.

‘A brother.’

Something twitched in Sam’s face, ‘is he dead?’ He asked.

’No’ Dean smiled, ‘No, he just needs some help to find his way home.’

‘Oh’ Sam nodded absently, looking up at the sky, ‘the rain’s stopping’ he hummed. 

‘This brother of mine, he just needs some help remembering who he is.’

Sam’s gaze snapped back to Dean, suddenly open and vulnerable, ‘what did you say?’

‘Do you remember me, Sammy?’

Sam opened his mouth, but before he could answer, a familiar voice filled Dean’s ears, 

‘I certainly hope not, Sammy’ Ava drawled. 

‘The fuck are you doing here, bitch?’ Dean snarled, whipping his head around to see the bitch in question.

‘Evan Hudson hasn’t been collected yet, apparently the hound that Sam sent to his house is just sitting and staring at him - now why would that be?’ she addressed Sam. 

‘This guy - he wanted to make a deal to get Evan’s contract’ Sam stammered, he was scared of Ava. The thought set Dean’s teeth on edge. 

‘Well, no deal’ Ava clapped her hands in front of her, smoothing out the obnoxious pink dress she was wearing, ‘Father put me in charge of the crossroads and I say no returns, exchanges, or refunds. Set your hound on him Sam and go home.’

Sam’s eyes were wide, and he stepped back a bit, out of the array made of holy oil. 

‘I don’t think he wants to’ Dean cut in, stepping forward to face Ava. 

‘I didn’t ask you, hunter’ she spat at him, eyes yellow in the dark. 

’Sam - you know you’ll burn for this’ Ava warned, and with a flick of her wrist, Dean was sailing through the air and away from the pair, landing heavily on the grass. 

‘Who is he?’ Sam demanded, voice wavering as he stepped back, Ava closing the distance between them, ‘that’s my brother, isn’t it?’

‘He’s no one!’ Ava snapped, ‘I’ll erase those dumb fucking dreams from your mind as many times as it takes for you to get that!’

‘Well, it hasn’t worked so far!’ Sam yelled back, glancing at Dean as he scrambled to his feet and ran back over to the pair, the brothers locked eyes - Sam was stalling, he-

Sam was trying to tell him something. 

‘How many times has it been, huh?’ Sam demanded, ‘Five? Six? Twelve? How many times have to reached into my head and scrubbed it clean?’ He spat, ‘and how many times have I woken up with no fucking idea who I am?!’

‘It’s for your own good!’ Ava stepped into the array.

‘Now, Dean!’ Sam yelled, ‘Light it!’

Dean wasted no time, flicking his lighter on and throwing it down into the array, instantly it lit up, carving a pentacle into the ground and catching Ava’s skirt on fire. 

She girls screeches filled the air and her eyes glowed yellow even as her skin bubbled and her hair lit up, she reached a blackened hand out as the holy flames licked her the skin from her bones, but her powers didn’t cross the lines of the devils trap. 

That didn’t stop Sam from flinching as she pointed a clawed hand at him, cursing his name and screeching about how “Father” will punish him. 

Sam jumped when Dean closed the distance between them, pulling him away and guiding him to the Impala, 

‘We should go, Sammy.’

Having Sam sit next to him in the Impala once felt at natural as breathing. 

When his brother disappeared, the empty seat was cloying, the absence all consuming. The lego that rattled in the AC accusatory and the “SW” carved into the back of the seat was a constant reminder of what wasn’t there.

Now, the Sam sitting next to him was not his Sam, and there was nothing natural about it.

‘You okay?’ Dean asked, once the fire was out of view, his brother said nothing. 

‘How did you know about the devil trap? Did you see the light hit the oil array or something?’

Sam shook his head, ‘I read your mind’ he whispered.

‘You can do that?’ 

‘Yeah’ he nodded, ‘I can’t control it very well, but I read your mind when I arrived - just surface stuff, but I knew about the array, and I knew you weren’t lying when you said you were looking for someone.’

‘But you still stood in the trap?’

Sam shrugged, ‘I didn’t think you’d use it, I wasn’t going to give you a reason to.’

The world rushed by, and Sam leant his head against the window of the impala, like he’d done so many times before. At that angle, Dean could just see the top of a number seven tattoo poking out from under the scarf his brother had wrapped around his neck. 

‘Evan Hudson is free’ the boy breathed, ‘but he should probably move, I could give you some warding spells for him, ‘cause Father won’t be happy I let him go.’

‘First - that son of a bitch isn’t your father, and second, we’ll swing by Evan’s and you can work your mojo on him, if you’re up to it?’

Sam nodded, pulling his knees up to his chest. 

Dean reached out a hand, carefully telegraphing each movement, and placed it on Sam’s knee, ‘I’m gonna look after you, okay Sammy? I’m not gonna let them get you again.’

‘I don’t even know who you are’ Sam rasped out, eyes desperate, ‘Only that you’re my brother.’

‘That’s all you need to know right now, just make that stone number one - we’ll build on that’ Dean kept his hand in place, willing himself to be calm when he felt like crying and screaming and holding the kid tight. 

Sam’s scrawny, gloved hand rested on top of Dean’s, and he smiled - it was thin and frail and scared, but his brother smiled at him. 

And right now, that was enough. 

At Evan’s place, Dean led Sam through the halls - getting a good look at his brother in the light. He was taller than he was when he disappeared, but not by much - the kid was a whippet, scrawny and lanky.

His hair was long, it hung down past his ears in thick dark curls, framing his pale face and dark rimmed eyes, he had a long, thin scar that ran the length of his cheek and over the bridge of his nose that Dean doesn’t remember from the reports and videos, so it must have happened with Yellow Eyes. His freckles were softer than usual, probably because he doesn’t see the sun much where he lives, Dean shuddered at the thought, and if you looked real close, Sam’s lips were peppered with little white shiny scars. 

Evan was waiting in the circle of dust, eyes wide and locked on something Dean couldn’t see, but Sam obviously could - he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. 

‘Down boy, leave him.’

A skittering of paws on wood was all Dean could hear as the unseen howled barrelled into his brother, knocking him down - he drew his gun but when Sam started giggling and patting the invisible dog, he clicked the safety back on.

‘He - he stopped it?’ Evan gasped. 

‘Yep’ Dean sighed, ‘Sam’s gonna give you some mojo to keep you safe, and then you need to skip town, take your wife - move far away and pretend this never happened.’

Sam stepped forward, stopping at the circle of goofer dust, 

‘What’s this?’ He poked it with his finger.

‘Goofer dust’ Dean answered, ‘keeps hellhounds out.’

‘Cool’ then he looked down at the hound at his feet, ‘I mean, not cool - sorry boy.’

‘That thing is yours?’ Evan demanded.

‘He’s a good boy’ Sam said defensively, ‘he was just doing what I asked him to.’

Evan scrambled away from the boy, almost vaulting over the desk, ‘you’re a demon?!’ He demanded, ‘you bought one of those things to my home?!’

‘He’s not a demon!’ Dean snapped, ‘and without him, you’re fucked, so calm down and let him do his thing.’

The man let Sam take his hand in his, as the boy muttered something under his breath that sounded a bit like latin and a bit like TV static. He closed his eyes and before long, the lights were flickering and Evan fell to his knees, clutching his shoulder. 

The man scrambled to undo the buttons on his shirt, revealing a bright red and bleeding pentacle on his shoulder, bleeding sluggishly.

‘What - what the fuck is this?’ He warbled.

‘It’s a protective sigil, the demons won’t be able to find you while you have it, if I did the spell right - your wife should have one on her now too. So maybe, um, call her?’

Sam stepped away sheepishly, rubbing his bleeding nose with his fingerless glove.

‘You’re out of the deal’ Dean said as he put his hand around his brother’s shoulder, guiding him out of the room ‘don’t do anything stupid and fuck it up.’

Dean was going to try and take his own advice. 

Sam stayed quiet as Dean picked up his belongings from the hotel and they skipped town, sitting in the front seat like he wasn’t sure if he belonged there, nervously picking at the thread in the torn open knee of his jeans. Actually, all his clothes were pretty threadbare, not like Ava who had a new frock every time Dean saw her. 

‘Need to get you some new clothes, Sammy’ Dean tried to fill the silence. 

Sam’s hand stilled, but he didn’t look up.

‘You hungry? It’s about a fourteen hour drive to Lebanon, give or take, and once we get some distance we’ll stop for some food and gas, okay?’

Sam mumbled something, but Dean couldn’t make it out. 

‘Come again?’

‘You’re not safe with me, I should go.’

Dean put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, the kid jumped, but made no effort to move Dean.

‘I’m not paying that one Sammy, we’re in this together - and we’ll deal with it together.’

His brother’s eyes filled with tears, and he nodded sharply, scrubbing his eyes with his gloved hand.

‘You can cry if you need to, kiddo. You’re safe now.’

Sam cried hard, and fell asleep with his head on Dean’s lap - like he’d done so many times before - his body remembering what his mind forgot as he curled up in the impala, with his brother, tucked away from the rest of the world. 

When he was sure, like really, really sure, that Sam was asleep, Dean let himself cry too.

Chapter Text

Sam was here.

After two long years of searching and worrying and turning the country upside down trying to find him, Dean’s brother was sitting next to him in the impala as they pulled into a no-name motel in the middle of bumfuck junction.

They had driven through the night, and Dean wanted to get some food into his brother - and maybe give himself a goddamn minute to decompress a bit. 

It had all happened so fast, and neither of them were exactly thriving. 

Sam did the same warding on Dean that he’d done on Evan Hudson, the carved sigil on his shoulder stung when his shirt rubbed on it; add to that the tension in his shoulders and the growing headache sitting in the base of his skull? Yeah, he needed a break.

The motel room was pretty standard, two double beds and a little bathroom, an old telly on the wall that Dean wasn’t convinced was even in colour, and a phone. 

The phone was the issue, when he sent Sam into the bathroom to get cleaned up - he had fully intended to call his dad, to tell him that he’d found Sammy, that he could stop working with demons and getting more blood on his hands, that they could be a family again. 

Except, he wasn’t ready to call Dad. 

They hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms, Dean fundamentally disagreed with how John was going about his search for Sam - and the argument had been ugly. 

Dean had accused him of losing sight of what really mattered - and John let loose a lot of pent up shit about betrayal and family. 

No, he’d get Sam back to the bunker, and then they’d call dad. 

Maybe after he calls Bobby. 

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, waiting for Sam to get out of the bathroom.

He offered the kid first shower so he could put down the salt lines and check the locks about eight times. Jumping at shadows in case they steal his baby brother away.

The water had stopped a while ago, and the clothes he left by the door for his brother to wear were gone; god only knew what Sam was doing in there. 

‘Sammy?’ Dean knocked, ‘You okay in there?’

When he got no response, he tried the door only to find it unlocked, and his brother standing in front of the mirror staring at his own reflection. 

The boy didn’t tear his eyes away from the glass of the mirror, and Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away from Sam. The T-shirt and tracksuit pants he’d lent him revealed arms covered in scars - everything from slices to burns, his neck was tattooed with a number seven that started just beneath his jaw and almost touched his collarbone. 

His hair was soaking wet, dripping onto the grey material of his shirt, and his feet were bare. He just looked so lost. 

‘You okay?’ Dean’s voice was soft, and Sam whipped his head around, eyes wide. 

‘I’ve dreamt about this’ he breathed. 

‘About this motel?’ Dean was on edge, ‘is something gonna happen?’

‘No, like - I’ve dreamt about you and me getting ready to go somewhere, you helped me.’

Oh, ‘Didja need help now?’ Dean was eyeing the razor blade in Sam’s hand and wondered where he got it, ‘whatcha up to?’

‘I need to put a ward on myself, so they can’t find me.’

‘Like you did for Evan?’

‘Kind of’ Sam nodded, ‘except I can’t do the spell on myself, so I need to just carve it in.’

Dean hated the idea of putting another scar on that body, but he hated the idea of Sam - alone and frightened, doing it to himself even more. 

‘I’ll help you.’

Sam sat on the closed toilet seat and pulled his shirt off, and Dean felt his stomach drop. 

If he thought the arms were bad, his brother’s back was a tapestry of raised and mismatched scars, his stomach was covered in surgical incisions, including a puckered and long one on his side, and he was covered in bruises. 

‘Sammy’ Dean breathed, ‘I’m so sorry this happened to you.’

Sam shook his head, water flicking from his wet hair, ‘I don’t remember most of it.’

Dean sighed, and dried Sam’s wet hair with the towel, surprised that the kid let him, leaning back into the touch and closing his eyes. 

‘Okay, what do you need me to carve?’ Dean hated himself for agreeing to this.

‘The same thing on your shoulder’ Sam’s fingers went white as he clutched the toilet seat, ‘It’ll keep me hidden from them too.’

The sigil was simple, a five pointed star inside a triangle; but as Dean carved it into his brother’s shoulder, he vowed that it would be the last scar Sam would get.

Dean had insisted on cleaning the wound, and Sam didn’t seem to have it in him to argue, he kept quiet - hadn’t even made a noise as the sigil was cut into his shoulder, and Dean didn’t want to linger on how his brother got such a high pain threshold. 

After what felt like hours but was really only twenty minutes, Sam was tucked up in bed watching the TV with wide eyes.

‘You remember what a TV is, yeah?’ Dean asked. 

‘Of course I know what it is’ Sam rolled his eyes, ‘I just - I don’t remember having watched one’ he added quietly, arms around his knees. 

‘You hungry?’ Dean changed the subject, ‘I saw a Burger King a bit down the road, I can do a run?’ He asked, drying his own hair after the shower he took at breakneck speeds, scared he’d come back into the room to find Sam gone again.

‘I’ll come with you’ Sam made to get up.

‘That’s okay Sammy, you rest!’

‘I want to’ his tone left no room for argument, ‘I don’t wanna be on my own.’

‘Okay’ Dean acquiesced, ‘whatever you want, Sam.’

In so many ways, being with Sam felt natural.

The mop of chocolate curls in the corner of his eye as he drove, the eye rolls and the way he’d tuck his feet up underneath him when he sat in the impala.

But in other ways, it was like a stranger was wearing his brother’s face. 

First, he didn’t know what to order - leaving it up to Dean when it was painfully obvious that not only did he not know what Burger King was, he didn’t even remember how a burger tasted. Dean ordered the grilled chicken burger his brother used to like, and it seemed to do the trick for this brother too. 

‘You aways liked those girly burgers’ Dean joked, albeit awkwardly.

‘What do you like?’ Sam asked.

‘The super meaty ones that clog your arteries,’

They ate in relative silence, punctuated by Dean trying to fill it with questions or comments, when they got back to the motel, and tucked up in their respective beds, it was Sam who started talking.

‘Have you been looking for me all this time?’ His knees were under his chin. 

‘Yep, since the day you went missing’ Dean cleared his throat, ‘Sam? How much do you remember?’

‘Not a whole lot’ Sam shrugged, ‘I know Ava had a lot to do with that, but Jake said that when we were in that place, the facility, that they did something to make me forget everything.’

Dean knew about that, he’d seen the videos, poured over the files. Obsessed over every little detail of what they did to his brother. 

‘Jake, Jake Talley?’ He’d read that file too.

‘I don’t know his surname.’

‘Do you know yours?’

Sam bit his lip, suddenly looking younger and smaller than ever, ‘sorry, ‘ he whispered.

‘That’s okay man, your name is Sam Winchester, Samuel if you want to get all formal about it. I call you Sammy.’

‘Winchester’ Sam smiled, ‘I like it.’

‘Sam, how come you came with me? If you don’t remember anything - you’re trusting me an awful lot.’

His brother leant back, absently running a finger of the scars on his arm, looking at the muted TV as it played its static laced images. 

‘I’ve woken up more times than I can count, not remembering who I am’ Sam sighed, ‘I have these dreams - sometimes they happen when I’m awake - and they’re always about you, and your black shiny car-‘

‘Impala’ Dean cut in, ‘it’s called a 1976 Chevrolet Impala, and it’s your car too.’

Sam nodded, smiling softly. 

‘So, I have these dreams about you, and I know I’ve gone looking for you before when Father has sent me on jobs, but Ava would always catch me and haul me back to the house, throw me at Father’s feet and tell him all the ways I didn’t follow the rules.’

‘Did he do that to you?’ Dean asked, nodding toward the scars.

‘No, he uses magic and hellfire, they don’t leave a mark but they hurt. And then when he’s done with me, Ava goes into my head, and takes out the bits of information I managed to get together. She just leaves the parts where I get caught and punished.’

Sam trails off, jaw set. 

‘Sometimes,’ he begins, ‘I wake up and I don’t even know what my name is. She won’t let anyone say it either, it’s like a game - I actually carved it into my leg once,’ Sam pulls the baggy pants up to reveal “SAM” carved into his calf, scarred and jagged. 

‘Fuck, Sammy’ Dean breathes. 

‘Except, even when I didn’t know anything, I’d have these dreams - where you were helping me get ready for a date at the bowling alley, and we’d be talking - and you’d always say “remember who you are” - and when I woke up, I’d remember that my name was Sam and I have a brother’ he was smiling now, ’So I’ve been looking for you too.’

Dean didn’t realise he was crying until Sam started to look worried, the boy quickly crossing the room and sitting on the bed next to him, a little awkward and a lot hesitant, but he wrapped his arms around his big brother and held him tight. 

‘It’s okay Dean’ Sam whispered, ‘we found each other.’

That night, Sam didn’t return to his bed.

The Winchester brothers laid facing each other, talking all night.

Dean told stories about John and Mary, talked about hunting and about the weeks they spent at Bobby’s house, learning to play catch instead of shooting guns. 

He told Sam what a nerd he always was, and how he always excelled at whatever school he ended up in that month. Embellished stories of hunts and laboured over how brave and smart his brother was, is. 

Sam hung off every word, and told Dean about his life - the bits and pieces he knows for sure happened, and the parts that don’t make sense. 

He told him about the other kids, how after he started trying to escape - they all turned on him, he filled Dean in on his powers - he gets visions and dreams, he’s telepathic but not very good at controlling it, ‘I might’ve been at one point, but when Ava started wiping my memories I think I lost any real knowledge on how to use it. Father mainly just uses me for my visions and dreams - not that I’ve ever told him when I dream of you. I’m sure Ava told him though.’

‘You used to get visions and stuff before… well, before.’ Dean told him.

‘That’s why I got taken?’

‘Yeah.’

Sam asked a lot questions about John and Mary, and Dean answered each one - from their mother’s blonde hair to her tragic demise.

‘And Father did it?’ Sam bleated.

‘That son of a bitch isn’t your father, Sammy.’

When the sun started to fill the room and night had passed them by, Sam whispered;

‘I don’t want to go back there.’

‘I won’t let that happen’ Dean promised, and he hoped he could make good on it.

The bunker was carefully hidden and easily missed, so it made the perfect hiding spot. 

In the time since he and Dad found the place, Dean had combed through about five hundred years worth of wardings and spells and lore, so there was no way anything was getting inside the safe house.

Just him, and his little brother. 

Apparently, not all of his brother. 

As soon as they made it though the garage door to park the impala, Sam wobbled on his feet, grabbing at Dean’s arm. 

‘Woah, you okay?’

‘Dizzy’ was the mumbled reply, then he blinked, ‘I can’t hear your thoughts.’

‘Like, at all?’ Dean guided his brother up the steps and through the door leading to the rest of the bunker, ‘you wanna sit down?’

‘No - I’m good, I - I can’t feel my powers at all’ Sam grinned. 

Yep, the perfect hiding spot.

The bunker tour didn’t take too long, although the list of rooms Sam should probably avoid was almost as long as the list of rooms he could do into on his own. Not that that seemed likely, the brothers had been practically joined at the hip since they’d found each other, Dean didn’t even show Sam the room he’d set aside for him when they moved into the bunker - too worried that the kid would feel obligated to sleep alone in it.

‘You can bunk with me, if you want?’ Dean offered, opening the door to his room. 

‘Thanks Dean’ Sam smiled softly.

Watching Sam look around the room was surreal, he picked up trinkets and weapons to have a closer look, handling the gun like he’d never held one before and inspecting cassettes like they were written in latin. He stopped when he got to the photo of Mary Dean kept next to his bed, 

‘Is this mum?’ He asked, looking lost again. 

‘Sure is, you look like her’ Dean answered as he got some clothes out for Sam, ‘even more than the last time I saw you.’

‘Is dad going to be here soon?’ Sam asked.

‘I actually um, I have to call him. He’s not here at the moment and I haven’t told him about you yet - I didn’t want to overload you.’

‘He should probably know, Dean’ his brother chastised, and damn if he didn’t sound just like the Sam he remembered when he did that. 

‘Okay.’

The phone was in the parlour.

That was a phrase Dean never got tired of trotting out, his father didn’t think it was funny anymore - but Sam did when he put on his best posh accent and crossed his legs on the leather couch as he punched in the number. 

John picked up on the third ring, and Dean’s heart was hammering.

‘Dean?’ Dad answered gruffly. 

‘Hey, Dad - you okay?’ He asked, Sam’s eyebrows shot up.

’Another lead on the colt went south, turned out to be nothing.’

’Right, Um - Dad I need to tell you something, you might want to come home soon.’

‘Why’s that?’

Dean took a deep breath, ‘Sam’s here.’

For a second, Dean thought the phone disconnected. 

‘Dad? Are you there?’

‘He’s with you?’ His voice sounded choked, like he was crying, ‘and he’s okay?’

‘Yeah, he’s good - we’re both good. He doesn’t remember much, but he’s doing good.’

Sam smiled, looking nervous and nodding. 

‘Can I - Can I talk to him?’ John asked.

‘Hang on Dad - Sammy,’ Dean held his hand over the phone, ‘he wants to talk to you, are you up to it?’

‘Of course’ he held out his hand, ‘give me the phone!’

‘Hello?’ Sam breathed, Dean could just make out the voice on the other end as he moved to sit next to his brother, privacy be damned. 

‘Sammy?’ John choked out.

‘Yeah, it’s me. Um, hi Dad’ Sam smiled.

‘Oh my god, I never thought I’d hear your voice again, are you okay? Are you hurt?’

‘I’m okay, Dean’s looking after me. I like your bunker.’

‘It’s your bunker now too, son, did Dean show you the room he made for you?’

‘No? I’m sleeping in his room’ Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother. 

‘The one right next door, he’s been putting stuff in there for you since we found that place, he got it all ready for you’ John laughed, a little hysterical and a lot relieved. 

‘Um, are you coming back here too?’

‘Yeah, Yeah I’ll be there. I just have to finish things here.’

‘Okay, I’ll put Dean back on?’

‘Sure, I love you son.’

‘Yeah, um, I’ll see you soon. Be careful.’

Dean did his best to not let his disappointment show on his face when Dad told him he had to finish a job for Yellow Eyes. Thankful for the wards keeping Sam from reading his mind as he ran the gauntlet from hurt to disappointed to very not surprised with John Winchester.

Dean had to keep looking at Sam, checking to make sure he wasn’t going to disappear. 

His brother was sat on the breakfast bar in the kitchen while Dean cooked, he’d gotten pretty good at spaghetti and had always imagined cooking it for Sammy, now his brother was kicking his legs absently and munching on carrot sticks, wearing Dean’s favourite AC/DC hoodie, wet hair almost touching his shoulders, but steadily curling up again as it dried. 

‘Why’s your dad not here?’ Sam asked.

‘Our dad, Sammy. He was looking for you, but we split up.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he’s an idiot’ Dean breathed, separating the cooking noodles with the spoon, ‘He made a deal, and now he’s working for Yellow Eyes, it was all to get you back.’

Sam’s legs stopped kicking.

‘What was he doing for him?’

‘Hunting down the men of letters, they’re the ones that took you, and hunting down artefacts and stuff. He’s looking for a gun that’s said to be able to kill demons right now, it’s called the colt.’

‘And he’s going to just give it to Fath- to Azazel?’

‘I know, it’s stupid. But he hasn’t found the gun and he won’t find it.’

‘Why’s that?’ Sam bleated, ‘because if it can kill a demon, we should use it on Azazel, not give it to him!’

‘He won’t find it because Bobby has it.’

‘What?’ Sam paused, ‘the man that we stayed with a lot?’

‘More than that, Sammy’ Dean sighed, ‘he’s been like a father to us, probably more so than Dad. I told him what Dad was up to, and we tracked the gun down using info from the bunker, now it’s safe and sound, and well out of reach. Now help me serve up this pasta.’

Sam smashed two bowls of pasta, eating like someone was going to take it off him. 

It wasn’t lost on Dean how thin the kid was, and he wondered when the last time he got a hot meal was. Ava had always looked well fed and healthy, the other kids were a similar story when they popped up at crossroads. 

Sam was obviously not treated as well as them. 

The kid was laid out on the couch, rubbing his knees.

‘You good?’ Dean asked, throwing a blanket over him.

‘Yeah, my knees get sore sometimes. Jake said they got broken at the facility, I’m okay.’

‘Nothing about that sentence is okay, little brother.’

Needing a subject change, Dean let Sam pick from the VHS collection he’d been amassing, ‘You know, there’s a silver lining here Sammy - you get to watch all your favourite movies again for the first time! Experience the magic all over again, so take your pick.’

It was a shit silver lining and Dean knew it, but Sam played along and it wasn’t long before they were tucked up on the couch watching Star Wars. 

With his brother pressed against him, it almost felt like everything could be okay.

Chapter Text

When they were little, and Sam would come home from school with green snot and flushed cheeks, it was always up to Dean to look after him. 

Dad was barely around, even when Dean was nine and Sam was five, John Winchester had his head in the hunt - too busy to be there, or god forbid, to parent Sam. 

No, that was Dean’s job. 

He got it down to an art, a sick Sam was grizzly and quiet, marinating in his own germs until his fever got so high that he’d be throwing up or crying. Sometimes both. 

Dean would work through a checklist in his head - keeping Sammy hydrated, fed, bringing the fever down, and keeping him distracted and resting. 

Once, when Sam was eight, he got pneumonia pretty bad, knocked the poor kid on his arse and saw him curled up in bed at the shithole motel Dad had dropped them at after he’d taken them to the hospital (at least he’d taken them to the hospital).

Dean didn’t know what to do.

At night, the fever would spike, and his brother would be making no sense - babbling about this, that, and the other thing. Looking back, Dean wonder if Sam’s powers hadn’t been acting up - making him see things that weren’t there. 

Or maybe they were, who knows. 

He had the fill the bathtub with cold water and ice from the machine down the hall to bring the temperature down, dunking his unresponsive brother in and catching him as he shot out of the water with his teeth chattering. 

‘I’ve got you Sammy, I’m here - I’m right here.’

It took days, and no shortage of antibiotics, orange juice, and frantic phone calls to Bobby - but Sam’s fever broke and all he was left with was a crackling chest and a lingering exhaustion. Dean had them sat up in bed watching some daytime TV soap opera when his dad barrelled through the door, face split open and needing stitches. 

Not even asking after his youngest as he called Dean over to tend to his wounds, not seeming to care that his eldest had to slip from one caregiving role to the next - already talking about the next hunt. 

It was just another time in a long line of Dean not being able to catch his breath, and doing his best to make sure Sam could catch his. 

His brother slept all the way from Colorado to Arkansas, wheezing softly, held tightly in Dean’s arms. 

Dean had no shortage of experience with colds and illnesses; or bumps and bruises - he’d even stitched the kid up more than once - he could deal with bullies and vampires with the same fierce protectiveness, which stood in contrast to the gentle touches and hushed words he’d save for Sam. 

In one of the school they went to, when Sam was twelve - just two months before they rolled into Lemon Ridge, there was a kid that made everyday a hassle for the kid. He made fun of his long hair that he’d been growing into a pretty healthy ponytail, dubbed him “Samantha” and kicked off a grade-wide joke that haunted Sam the entire time he was there. Which of course, Sam said nothing about to his big brother, who was just trying to pass his GED exams. 

No, Dean found out when Sam came limping home with his head punched in, his wrist sprained, and no ponytail. 

‘Don’t, Dean.’ Sam rasped, walking straight past his brother and shutting himself in the bathroom, the door slamming in Dean’s face. 

‘Sammy!’ He pounded on the door, ‘what did this to you?’

‘Who’ Sam corrected through the door. 

‘Okay, who did this to you?’ Dean conceded, working on picking the lock when he didn’t get an answer. 

It didn’t take long before the door popped open, revealing his brother sitting on the side of the bathtub and crying, choking out the story of months of hardcore bullying that culminated in this kid and his friends beating the shit out of Sam, pinning him down, and hacking off his ponytail. 

All Dean wanted to do was break this kid’s legs off and stick them up his arse. And he would, but first, he had a brother to take care of. 

He started with the wounds on his face, and something heavier than ibuprofen; he helped Sam wash the blood away and splinted his wrist, then he worked to even up the hacked at strands at the back of Sam’s head - easily hidden in his mop of curls, but so not the point.

Once the kid was knocked out, doctored up and tucked in bed - Dean grabbed his jacket and the impala keys, and found the little turds that hurt his brother. 

The main kid, a loudmouthed redhead that had obviously repeated a grade or two, was actually wearing Sam’s ponytail on his belt like some kind of trophy. 

When Dean was done with him, he needed to have his jaw wired shut while it healed. 

There was definitely a stage in Dean’s life where he thought he could protect Sam from anything - supernatural or otherwise, school bullies or illnesses, or their dad; big brother could handle it all. No one hurt his brother and got away with it, no way.

But then, someone did, and there was nothing Dean could do about it.

Two years later, and he was completely out of his depths. 

For all the planning and imagining and hoping he’d done when he was looking for his brother, Dean hadn’t actually thought too much about what would come after. 

The kid was clingy and quiet - there was no point asking him anything either, because he didn’t remember much besides what he’d already shared. 

That didn’t leave much for Sam to say, sometimes he’d just check out - staring at nothing - it reminded Dean of when he used to have visions before he was taken, except when he’d snap back to reality, he’d say he was remembering something and not expand on that at all. 

The kid mostly got around in Dean’s old clothes, since his were threadbare and the ones he used to own were all too small - he looked lost, like he didn’t quite fit in with his surroundings, a guest in his own home.

They passed the first few days in the bunker, watching movies and talking, Dean cooked a lot - but before long, a hunt landed in their laps, and they didn’t have much of a choice. 

Bobby needed help, a string of stroke victims in Toledo, Ohio involving mirrors had him stumped - when he discovered he was dealing with THE Bloody Mary, he did what anyone would do, he summoned it. That had ended about as well as you’d expect, he got away but there was no way he could survive another run in with the monster after the wound it left on his legs and back.

Lucky to survive, and with no other hunter available, he called Dean. 

‘Bobby, there’s no way I can get away right now - Sammy can’t hunt! He needs, I don’t know - therapy or something’ Dean whisper yelled into the phone, mindful of waking his sleeping brother on the couch. 

‘I know that, Dean - but I’ve got a girl holed up in a hotel room, afraid of looking at anything with a reflection! Yer Daddy’s not answering either, I need help here - and maybe Sam could do with a change of scenery too?’ Bobby pleaded. 

‘I don’t know, I’m scared to take him outside’ Dean confessed.

‘You can’t keep him locked up Dean, I reckon he’s had enough of that.’

Dean cast his eye at his brother, he was deathly pale - like he hadn’t seen the sun in too long.

‘Okay, but we’re gonna take it slow. Be there in a couple of days.’

Running the roadtrip by Sam was the easy part, the kid was adamant that he’d go wherever Dean went - trying to convince him to stay with Bobby while Dean offed Bloody Mary was another thing entirely. 

‘I’m coming with you!’ Sam shouted, the loudest sound he’d made in days, it reverberated around the cabin of the impala as they drove past a sign welcoming them to Ohio.

‘It’s gonna be dangerous, Sammy, you’re still recovering!’

‘From what? I’m fine, Dean - god, if I was back with Fath- with Azazel right now, I’d have been put to work days ago.’

‘Put to work?’

‘Crossroads deals, jobs, cleaning… training.’

‘Training what, Sammy? Your ESP stuff?’

‘Not mine’ Sam sighed, ‘as punishment for trying to escape, the other kids are allowed to practice on me down in the dungeon.’

‘The dungeon’ Dean repeated.

‘Yeah, that’s where I sleep most of the time’ Sam shrugged, looking out the window ‘it was better than being in a room right next to Ava. If I woke up from a nightmare or had a vision, she’d straight away go into my head to see it, and if she didn’t want me to see it - she’d take it away.’

‘Shit, Sam.’ Dean breathed.

‘She’d leave just enough in my head for me to know she took something away, she wanted me to know she was in charge and that I couldn’t go anywhere without her say so’ Sam shot a look at Dean, ‘don’t do that to me. Let me make my own decisions, I’m not going to break.’

How can you? Dean thought, you’ve already been broken.

Bobby opened the door of the motel room he was staying in, ambling out awkwardly on his crutches, and just about burst into tears when he saw Sam, bringing him into a bone breaking hug. The kid was stiff at first, skittish and ready to resist, but then a look flittered across his face that Dean’s come to recognise as him reading someone’s thoughts, and he returned the hug. 

‘It’s good to see you, boy’ Bobby sniffled into Sam’s thick hair. 

‘Good to see you too, Bobby.’

The older hunter explained the case to the boys over some Chinese takeout, barely tearing his eyes away from Sam - who seemed quite content to listen and polish off his teriyaki noodles, sitting cross legged on the floor, since the table was full of records, reports, and research. 

‘The only way to kill this thing, is to summon it to the original mirror and break it - which has just been sold to an antique shop in town.’

‘And this Mary Worthington’ Dean holds up the newspaper clipping, talking around a mouthful of chicken, ‘she had something to do with this mirror, and now you think she’s targeting people with guilt?’

‘Secrets’ Bobby corrected, ‘people involved with a death, who kept a secret.’

The three hunters sat in silence, each waiting for the others to break the silence, it was Bobby who spoke first. 

‘I was able to summon her, because my wife - I um, I killed her while she was possessed.’

‘That’s not your fault’ Sam spoke up, ‘you didn’t know.’

‘How did-’ Bobby began.

‘Sorry’ Sam ducked his head, ‘I can’t control it very well, I shouldn’t have been looking.’

The look on Bobby’s face said “no, you shouldn’t” but to his credit, what came out of his mouth was more supportive; ‘not your fault, Sam - I don’t mind if you read my mind, not that there’s much to see’ he joked, a little awkward, but warm and supportive. 

‘Dean won’t be able to summon her’ Sam changed the subject, ‘but I will.’

‘What makes you say that?’ Dean ruffled, feeling exposed. 

‘I’m the only thing you feel guilty about, which, no - not your fault at all - but if anyone is going to summon her it should be me.’

‘And why’s that, Sammy?’ Dean snipped, feeling guilty when the kid flinched. 

‘If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret.’

That conversation only turned out to be marginally easier than letting Sam summon Bloody Mary, listening to his reflection spit vitriolic words like acid back at him.

‘You knew that circle would kill Ava, didn’t you?’

The kid’s knees buckled and his eyes bled. 

‘You looked into Dean’s head and knew the holy fire was there - Ava was human, how can that not kill her? The demon blood would have been the perfect accelerant! You knew it would extinguish her soul so there was no way she could come back as a demon, how do you think father will like that? And what about you? You let her look after you - you clung to her for dear life back at the facility, and now you’re going to do the same to Dean?’

Sam grunted, one hand on his head and the other swinging the crowbar, missing the mirror and scratching the frame as he dropped into a heap on the floor.

Dean, who had been frozen listening to the whole affair - leaps into action, picking up the crowbar that skittles across the floor and running to shatter the mirror, freezing only when he sees the Sam inside of it. 

Head shaved, in a hospital gown with a number seven tattooed on his neck, eyes dull and face skeletal. 

‘It’s not just Ava, is it?’ The boy drawls, ‘you’ve killed lots of people, just because you don’t remember doesn’t mean they don’t pop into your head every now and then - images of their blood on your hands.’

‘Father muh-made me!’ Sam ground out, hands over his bleeding eyes and writhing on the floor, ‘he’d have tortured me and had one of the other kids do it anyway! At least I made it quick!’

‘Oh, someone get this guy a medal’ the sam in the mirror clapped slowly, ‘as if that makes up for the fucking monster you are. Why do you think those scientists took you in the first place?’

Dean swung the crowbar and brought it down hard, shattering the glass into thousands of tiny pieces. From the frame crawled a woman with dark hair and pale skin - she wasted no time advancing on them even as Dean dragged his brother up into his arms, hiding behind a freestanding mirror. When Mary stopped dead in her tracks was the moment she saw reflection, she shattered just like the mirror had, exploding into a glass so fine it was like glittering powder. 

Dean huffed a sigh of relief before checking on the boy in his arms, limp and breathing heavily, eyes closed and cheeks covered in blood filled tears. 

‘Sammy’ he pushed his hair out of his face, slapping his cheek, ‘Sammy wake up!’

‘It’s Sam’ the boy breathed, and something in Dean’s heart fluttered. 

‘Let’s get out of here.’

Bobby let them stay at his motel room, and only crowded the boys a lot as Dean checked on Sam’s eyes, cleaning blood off his face and otherwise mother henning the shit out of the kid - the older hunter (finally) popped out to go check on Charlie, the girl that he’d left in another room of the motel to avoid mirrors.

‘Sammy’ Dean began, as he pretended to make himself busy, organising the medkit, ‘What Bloody Mary said back there, you know nothing that happened to you is your fault, right?’

‘You don’t know that’ Sam responded flatly. 

‘I do, because I know you were taken on your way home from school - all excited about going to the bowling alley with some little redhead from your class and instead you got taken apart by some sick fucks that only wanted to use you - only to be taken from there by the demon that tore our family apart in the first place!’

Sam didn’t say anything, but Dean was off at the races. 

‘I know what they did to you, I know all of it - I know they stripped you down and hacked your hair off, that they tattooed a number on your skin and tried to make you forget your name, that they harvested from you, experimented and picked at you until there was nothing left! I know that you got away only to be dragged back kicking and screaming!’ Dean was shouting now, and Sam didn’t tear his wide eyes away from him. 

‘They broke your legs and sewed your mouth shut, sterilised you and treated you like a fucking lab rat! And then Yellow Eyes swooped in and took you at your most vulnerable - everything that happened Sammy, all of it, wasn’t your fault! It was done to you!’

Sam opened his mouth, voice coming out like a squeak, 

‘Dean, I-’

That was when his eyes rolled back into his head and he went rigid, it wasn’t until his nose started dripping blood that the seizure started. 

Chapter Text

The boy was a mess.

He had been beaten, but that wasn’t new. It felt like every day his dad got more creative with the punishments, never where anyone could see of course, god forbid the neighbours see - but he was pretty sure his ribs were broken.

He was hiding in the wardrobe, it’s not like his dad couldn’t get to him there - but the voices weren’t quite so loud in the dark of the small space, well, except for one. 

The Yellow Eyed Man had come to him again last night in a dream, telling him how special and powerful he was, telling him he could be free if he only tried. 

The plan was in motion, his father’s car was locked with him inside of it, the engine running and the garage door down - the boy put all of his energy into keeping it like that, even when his dad was kicking the windows, even when he saw him standing there. 

When he was sure he was dead, he went back to his bedroom and got in bed - he’d wait for him bitch of a step mum to find the bastard, she’d probably call the police. Something she never did for the boy, not even when his dad and uncle broke his arm in two places last Thanksgiving. 

The boy curled up under the duvet, warming his cold feet underneath him and thinking about how proud the Yellow Eyed Man will be, he closed his eyes to listen for his voice - but all he could hear were sirens. 

In the days that followed, lots of people came by the house - always with apologies and sometimes home cooked food, the boy was having a hard time fitting all the casseroles in the fridge, and his step mum was no help - just walking around crying and not making eye contact with him. It was at the wake that a man calling himself a priest came by and wanted to talk. After charming his mother, he ended up cornering Max just by the front door, out of sight of the mourners, and the nosey neighbours pretending to mourn.

‘Your mother said your name was Max?’ The man asked, he had dark hair and a scraggly beard, ‘how old are you?’

‘Fourteen’ he replied shortly, ‘and she’s my step mother.’

‘Right, no love lost there?’ The man chuckled.

‘I don’t know, she’s alright.’

‘For now anyway, what did you have planned for her?’

‘What?’

The man grabbed him by the shirtfront and before he could do anything, make anything move with his mind the way the Yellow Eyed Man taught him - something sharp was being stuck in his neck. He thought he heard the man apologise before he fell into blackness. 

When Max woke up, he was in a completely white room, and he couldn’t move. 

‘You’re awake!’ A lady with a British accent drawled, ‘don’t bother moving, we’ve given you a paralytic.’

The lights were blinding and the straps holding him to the metal chair were tight, the woman stepped into his line of sight and Max gasped, she would have been pretty if not for the enormous burn scar on the side of her head that made her eye the colour of milk and her ear a funny shape, ‘You’re in the care of the Men of Letters, we’re going to run a few tests and carry out some procedures to will make you less dangerous, then you’ll be numbered and given the serum. Now, think of something relaxing because this is going to hurt.’

The lady and a man with dark skin wearing scrubs and a facemask operated for what felt like hours, and when they were finished, Max wasn’t Max anymore. 

‘We’ll get you hooked up to some serum now, Subject Twelve’ The lady said as she wheeled his bed down the hallway and into a room with white walls.

His throat hurt from where they took out his voice, his head hurt from the thing they put in his brain, and the needle hurt as she stuck it in his arm roughly.

‘This serum will keep you under for a while, it’s a new compound we’re testing - maybe you’ll be a success, the first psychic we’ve managed to de-power’ she spoke mostly to herself, Max hadn’t been a very good listener since they cut his hair. 

‘You may not care about this, but we’re saving the world here.’

Max felt the bits of himself fall away like the autumn leaves in the street he grew up on, all the bits that made him Max were being taken apart chemically and his eyes slipped shut.

He was falling.

Sam was falling.

Everything was dark and when he did open his eyes - the lights were too bright. 

‘Sammy!’ Dean called out gruffly, slapping his cheek lightly.

‘Whahappen’ Sam slurred, head feeling like an icepick was being pushed through it.

‘You passed on me, man!’ 

When his brother pulled him upright, the whole room spun and whatever he’d last eaten came rushing up his throat, landing directly in his lap. 

‘Let it out man’ Dean rubbed his back, ‘You done?’

Sam nodded miserably, he hated having visions.

‘I saw a boy… his name was Max and he got taken by the Men of Letters’ Sam whispered, head resting on Dean’s shoulder since there was no way he could lift it on his own.

‘You had a vision?’ His brother bleated, Sam just nodded into his collar.

‘Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?’

Sam wasn’t entirely sure how much time passed, he was in too much pain to focus on that - but Dean gave him some pills and some water and suddenly he was having trouble staying awake. He was only vaguely awake of his brother helping him take his clothes off and getting him in the bath, he let the familiar hands wash his hair and the crusted blood from his ears, and did his best not to fall asleep.

‘Dude’ Dean said as he lathered the shampoo in his hair, ‘are all your visions like this?’

‘Like what?’ Sam said after he remembered he needed to reply to questions. 

‘So violent! Your ears and eyes were bleeding, and your ears  - it was crazy, it looked like a seizure!’ Dean sounded scared. 

‘They weren’t like that… ‘fore?’ Sam slurred, tilting his head back as Dean rinsed it.

‘Nah, you’d get a bad headache afterwards, but not like this, it never looked this painful.’

‘Oh’ Sam felt too out of it to explore the implications of his powers, ‘that’s fucked.’

‘Yeah’ Dean snorted, ‘pretty fucked.’

When Sam woke up, he was warm.

He found himself curled up next to Dean, who seemed to have a psychic ability of his own for sensing when Sam was awake, because it didn’t take long for his eyes to pop open.

‘How’re you doin, Sammy?’ 

‘Mm’okay. Tired, my head hurts.’

‘Need more drugs?’

‘Nah, I’m okay - what time is it?’

The room was dark, save for the light from the vacancy sign flooding the room.

‘Uuuh -’ Dean checked his watch, ‘a little after three in the morning, so you can keep sleeping if you want, Bobby let us have the room - Charlie left so he’s in that room.’

‘You look tired’ Sam pointed out. 

‘Pot calling the kettle black there, bitch’ Dean said wryly.

‘Why’re you calling me a bitch?’ Sam laughed, then Dean’s face fell.

‘Oh - it’s um, it’s just a thing we used to say. Don’t worry about it, Sammy.’

‘No - tell me’ Sam pushed, this felt important.

‘It’s dumb, don’t worry.’

‘Well now I’m worried, so just tell me you jerk!’

Dean broke into the biggest grin he’d seen in days, ‘attaboy, Sammy!’

When morning came, and Sam was able to think straight - he told Dean and Bobby about the vision - the older hunter leaping straight into action looking for car related suicides online, and Dean looking worried. 

‘If the Men of Letters are kidnapping psychic kids, we need to stop them’ Sam argued. 

‘Yeah, but Sammy - that’s kind of putting you right in their hands, isn’t it?’

‘I can handle myself Dean, and it’s better to know what we’re up against, isn’t it?’

‘You’re saying a guy abducted Max? Dressed like a priest?’ Bobby cut in.

‘Yeah! He had dark hair, and - hang on’ Sam tore off the bed and started rifling through Dean’s bag until he found his prize, ’no, no, no, no, it can’t be.’

‘Sam! Calm down, what is it?’

Sam’s hands trembled as he held the photo of his parents, his breath caught in his chest as he turned to look at Dean, ‘It was Dad, Dad took Max.’

Chapter Text

John Winchester was a lot of things. 

Most of them, he wasn’t proud of.

He could reconcile with the parts of him that hunted and killed things, he could say that he does what he has to do, that he keeps people safe.

But lately, he’s not so sure.

After Sam got taken, he’d started seeing himself as the victim in all this - his wife died and now his son was gone, and if he was just someone this all happened to - none of it was his fault. He didn’t know Mary was going to burn alive pinned to the ceiling, and he didn’t know his son would just not come home one day.

It wasn’t about how little supervision or adult support Sam had, nor was it that fact that John largely ignored the boy’s growing abilities, even when they left him gasping and bleeding from the nose on the floor - he’d throw the kid some ibuprofen and pack him up, driving as far away from whatever he dreamt in his waking mind would happen. 

He was doing all he could, he reasoned. 

He didn’t listen to Dean who wanted to turn the town apart looking for his brother, or when he begged to go to the police early on, and he didn’t let the boy sway him from his decision that it was the Yellow-Eyed demon who took Sam. 

He didn’t even apologise when he was proven wrong by the tapes in the bunker. 

No, he doubled down.

The impala was a gift to Dean, and an apology without having to say sorry.

He gave the kid the car so he could go search on his own, maybe even find a life with less pain and death and actual monsters, he always hoped that he’d get a phonecall from Dean saying he met a girl, and the wanted to stay in one spot. At least then he’d be safe, not in some facility being picked at and taken apart.

Not making deals with devils. 

The first thing John did after watching the tapes was summon Azazel.

The deal was simple, and if he did everything that was asked of him - he’d get Sam back. As a show of good will, Azazel even let John visit the house in Hell where all the psychic children were living. 

Familiar faces from case files and videos ran by, some were wary of John and others were fascinated, almost all of them were growing out the facility haircuts, and each had a tattoo on their neck of a number. A little girl with long hair who John recognised as the one Sam escaped with asked about a thousand questions about Sam and his life before, only stopping when Azazel told her to.

Sam was in bed, rail thin and injured, short brown hair growing in and dark circles under his eyes, he had trouble staying awake and he was hooked up to an IV pumping what John would later find out was demon blood into him - but in the moment, he was the most wonderful thing the hunter had ever seen, and Azazel let him sit by his side for hours before he cut the visit short.

‘If you want to see him again, you know what you have to do’

John started working for the Yellow-Eyed Demon in earnest after that, at first it was a way to get closer to his boy, maybe even save him - and he did meet him a couple of times at crossroads, always with Azazel at his side, and Sam never recognised him. He was vacant and quiet, and did whatever the demon asked him to do - and he’d never remember doing it the next time John saw him.

It was when John found Sam setting his Hellhound to work tearing apart someone who’s contract had come due without batting an eye that John knew in his heart that his little boy was gone. 

‘Sam, it’s me’ he tried again, grabbing the boy by the shoulder, shaking hard.

‘Me?’ He echoed softly, dull eyes trained on the carnage in front of him.

‘It’s your dad!’ He pleaded, ‘you have to remember something! Sammy!’

‘Who’s Sammy?’ He asked, looking at John, or looking through him.

‘That’s enough, Johnny Boy’ a voice cut in from behind him. 

He never thought he could hate a child as much as he hated Ava Wilson. She was horrible, a devil in human form - and even though he didn’t remember his own name, Sam was obviously terrified of her. John felt him start to tremble and step back, eyes wide. 

‘And “Sammy” is in big trouble’ she drawled, making quotes with her hands. 

‘Who- Uh, Sammy,  Ava-‘ Sam stammered, nothing like the cold killer from before.

‘Ugh, I think I empty your noodle a bit too much - you can’t even string a sentence together, can you? Well, whatever. You’re still fun to mess with like this.’

‘Leave him alone’ John barked. 

‘Did you forget the deal? You try and take him before you give us the colt and the heads of every single member of the Men of Letters, and we’ll make him burn.’

As if to emphasise the point, Ava snapped her fingers and Sam doubled over in pain - fire racing over every inch of his body, screeching like a wounded animal and clawing at his skin. It wasn’t until he was curled into a ball and burnt to a crisp, it wasn’t until John had screamed himself hoarse, pointing his gun at the girl that Ava snapped her fingers again and the flames were gone. Same was unharmed, like it had never happened - curled up in a little naked ball and breathing heavily.

’Imagine what real hell would be like?’ She laughed, pulling Sam up by his hair to his feet and disappearing them both in a puff of smoke, ‘You know what you have to do.’

He had to kill the Yellow-Eyed Demon.

That’s what he “had” to do.

John started asking at the roadhouse, working with a few hunters and telling them the bare minimum to get their help to track omens. That was how he met Gordon Walker.

He was a damn good hunter, a regular force of nature - a few years older than Dean and almost as angry as John was.

They had a team, him and Gordon - then Daniel Elkins and Martin Creaser - and they hunted for omens, took out crossroads demons - and took out the Men of Letters bunkers, combing them for information and learning more than they ever could before.

Ava killed Daniel in a well planned by horribly executed attempt to kidnap her, and that was when things changed.

‘It’s not enough to take out the demon, we need to take out the ones working for him!’ Gordon declared, taking a swig of whiskey, ‘those psychic kids.’

‘Now Gordon,’ John began ’they’ve been through hell, they don’t know what they’re-‘

‘Ava knew! The ones sending hellhounds on good people - you think they don’t know?’

‘Some of them don’t - Ava, she’s wiping their minds!’

‘Then maybe that’s what we need to do!’ Martin cut in, putting his beer down.

‘Wipe their minds?’ John bleated.

‘Work out how the facility were honing their abilities, and reverse it!’ Martin beamed.

‘That’s not a bad idea, but we’d have to get one of those facilities working again - find us a scientist or two, and some of the kids Azazel visited.’

‘Slow down’ John stammered, ‘you’re not talking about experimenting on children!’

‘They aren’t children, they’re mutants infected with demon blood,’ Gordon spat, ‘and who knows? We find out how to de-power them? We could do it to your boy when we find him.’

John hated it, he hated every part of the plan - but a shot at taking Sam’s powers away? At saving him? At erasing all the trauma he’d been through?

That was something.

It wasn’t hard to find Toni Beville and break her out of the jail she ended up in for “crimes against humanity,” and it wasn’t hard to find their first psychic kid.

They abducted him in broad daylight, he had dark hair like Sam’s and it was John who shore it off him the same way those doctors had done to his boy. The numbered him “8” and started experimenting the same way the Men of Letters once did, all under Toni’s instructions.

John would throw up after a session in their Care Chair, he’d have nightmares about experimenting on Sam, of giving him a number. 

They lost more than one kid, Toni assured them that these things happen - that you have to break eggs to make an omelette, they’d adjust the dosage, wipe the chair clean, and start again.

Somewhere along the line, it got easier.

“Sam’s here.” Dean’s voice was tinny through the phone, John had to go outside the facility to take the call, and what he heard nearly stopped his heart.

Then he got to hear his voice, and it wasn’t like when he was with Azazel, or when he was vacant and cold - he sounded young and human and awkward. He sounded frightened and he sounded like Sam. He asked when John would be home, just like he used to when the hunter would take off for weeks at a time. Missing Christmases and Birthdays, what he wouldn’t give for just one of those days back.

‘Yeah, Yeah I’ll be there. I just have to finish things here’ he lied. 

“Finishing things here” was the problem. 

Max Miller was one of the more active psychics, he’d killed his father and that was enough for Gordon to be especially rough bringing the kid in. He seemed to enjoy processing them, taking away their names and identities, and was all too keen to dole out punishment.

John stopped by Max’s room on the way back from the showers, the kid was in shock - they really didn’t have to restrain him, but there he was with his hands strapped to the sides of the bed. It was Martin’s idea to try surgical interventions to demon powers.

Max was their fourth subject, and number twelve overall - one of three living kids they had at the facility. With him, Toni and Gordon had done something that seemed an awful lot like brain surgery, but with an inhibitor chip attached to the base of his neck, John wasn’t too clear on the details, but the kid certainly looked like he’d had a lobotomy.

‘I’m sorry’ John breathed, ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

Max blinked up at him, but he didn’t say much. 

Subject Eleven was a girl from South Dakota, she’d spent the last month hooked up to their version of the serum - instead of pumping in demon blood and spellwork, they were giving human blood mixed with drugs that you might give cancer patients to wipe out disease, trying to purge the body of the infection of Azazel.

Subject Ten was a boy from Michigan, with him they were trying exorcisms and spells, except some kind of infection had developed from being in punishment too long with open wounds, and they had to amputate his legs last week.

This was not going well, and Gordon seemed more invested in hurting the psychics than finding an actual way to depower them. 

And now Sam was with Dean, which should be a good thing - but it meant he wasn’t being protected with Azazel anymore, and if Toni or Martin, or god forbid, Gordon were to find out he was out in the world?

He could be the next subject to go under the knife. 

It was the day after they abducted Max that Dean called John. 

‘What’s going on, is your brother okay?’ He spoke in a hushed tone into the phone, power walking away from the facility.

“He’s gone.” Dean breathed, “he had a vision about you abducting some kid and now he doesn’t trust me. I think he’s gone back to Yellow Eyes!”

‘A vision?’ John repeated, both terrified that Sam could know what he’s doing and relieved at the idea of him being protected, however terrible the protector was.

“Yeah, apparently you dressed up like a priest and abducted a kid with abilities called Max - he must have his wires crossed but he freaked out - totally convinced you could do that!”

Oh, Dean.

‘Well, he has been through a lot - it’s natural that he’s not himself’ John placated. 

“No, that’s the thing - he is himself, he’s scared and he doesn’t remember everything but he is himself Dad, he never forgot me and he never stopped trying to get home! They kept scrubbing his mind so he’d forget but it didn’t work” Dean sounded scared and proud. 

‘Just stay put Dean, we’ll work thi-‘

“Fuck that, I’m headed to Michigan now, gonna find this Max kid.”

‘Dean-‘

“Dad, I need you - I don’t know where you are but I need help here, I’m freaking out.”

‘Dean, I can’t come back yet. I’m sorry’ John sighed.

“Then don’t. Just let your son get dragged back to hell, and just let me deal with all this on my own - that’s your style, after all.’

‘Dean!’

“You know something? I didn’t believe Sam - I told him he was crazy, that the vision was sent by yellow eyes to fuck with him - I said there was no way you could do something like this, but now I’m thinking he saw exactly what happened. I think you’re obsessed and you’re completely capable of tearing some kid out of their lives and doing the exact same thing those fuckers did to Sammy.”

‘Dean, what I’m doing, I’m doing for Sammy.’

“The fuck you are. You’re doing this for you, goodbye John.”

The line went dead, and something fell off the shelf inside John. 

The cold lights of the facility were oppressive, and the scrubs they had to wear were itchy. He always struggled to get the gloves on, sometimes tearing them in his haste - but this time he took his time, pulled up his mask and looked down at the subject, held out his hand and addressed Gordon;

‘Scalpel.’

Chapter Text

Hell never changed, not really.

The portal he summoned spat Sam out right in front of the house Father lived in, the house he was told to call home. Until recently, “home” was this tall, wooden house with the round window at the top, now it was a boy with green eyes, freckles on his nose, and a black shiny car. Home was his brother. 

He had to protect Dean.

Dean didn’t believe John could do something like this, that he could rip kids from their lives and experiment on them - but he trusted Sam, even though they hadn’t seen each other in two years, Sam could feel the unending faith his brother had in him. He knew in that moment that Dean would choose him over John every single time. 

When the vision about Max hit, and Dean took care of him with impossibly gentle hands and more love than he’d felt in, well, as long as he can remember - Sam felt safe. 

He hadn’t felt that before, and he certainly didn’t feel it now. 

Sam clenched his fist and took a deep breath, taking the front steps two at a time and reaching out for the doorknob, which was pointless as usual, it opened on its own. 

The foyer was grand, and dark - and led to a giant spiral staircase with rooms on the side, the kitchen where Meg made him cups of hot, sweet tea when Ava erased his memories so thoroughly he didn’t remember what he looked like, and got a fright when he couldn’t recognise his reflection in the mirror. There was also the dining room where Father would hold court, doling out jobs to the kids and thinly veiled jabs at the ones who didn’t deliver.

The parlour was where he knew Father would be, where Sam was headed right now.

He felt sick.

Watching Dean’s internal conflict at hearing about Sam’s vision was one thing, but feeling the emotions roll off him - seeing the odd flash of memories or thoughts stream into his head, even though he tried so hard not to read Dean’s mind - that was hard. 

Because Dean trusted John, and now he didn’t.

They went for a drive, just the two of them - while Bobby tried to track down John, calling in contacts and Hunters, even pretending to be police or something called an FBI while he was on the phone. Dean parked up and led his brother by the hand to sit on the bonnet of the car.

‘We’ll watch the sun set’ he smiled, and Sam’s never seen someone look so sad. 

Sam got situated, the field was empty save for them and the trees seemed to whistle in the breeze - the ember sun felt warm on Sam’s face, and he wished he could stay right here forever.

‘Here you go, it’s not your first beer, but it’s the first you remember so… happy second first beer’ Dean laughed awkwardly, handing Sam the bottle while opening his own.

‘Thanks, um - when did I have my first?’

‘Snuck a drink of Dad’s when you were eight or nine, it made your ears go pink.’

‘Ava said my ears go pink when I’m embarrassed’ Sam sniffed the drink.

It was tangy and fizzy and made his throat burn, Sam could feel the booze track down his throat and settle in his chest.

‘It’s good’ he lied.

‘It gets better the more problems you have’ Dean grinned, ‘but I think we probably have enough of them, huh?’

‘Probably.’

‘I’m sorry, Sammy.’ Dean said after a while of sitting in silence.

‘For what?’ He stopped drinking his beer midway through, and was working on tearing the label off, making a little pile of soaked sticker strips on his knee. 

‘For this, for Dad - for what happened to you?’ Dean looked desperate, ‘fuck, Sammy.’

‘You know, I think I’m the only person who doesn’t know what happened to me’ Sam laughed, ‘you and Bobby seem to, I’ve been trying not to read your mind - but I keep getting flashes of like - a projector? Did you watch tapes?’

‘Yeah, there were - we found tapes. I think Yellow Eyes left them there for us, so we’d know you were with him.’

‘I wanna see.’

‘Sammy, no - no you don’t’

‘Dean, I want to see’ Sam glared, ‘I want to know what happened, I’m sick of not knowing anything, I’m sick of being helpless.’

’Sam, I don’t think that’s a good idea, what they did to you? You don’t wanna know that.’

‘Maybe not, but I need to.’

It took some coaxing, and Dean drank the rest of Sam’s beer in one gulp once he finally agreed to it, but Sam put his fingers on his brother’s temples and entered his mind. 

The first thing Sam saw, was himself. 

He felt waves of emotions, his brothers’, all centred around him; protectiveness, love, and then the most profound grief he could imagine. He saw Dean, younger than he was now - spending all night looking for his brother, calling his name and fighting with his dad about getting the police involved. 

They were hunters, they couldn’t just go to the police willy-nilly, but if there was ever a time, this seemed it.

Dean cried every night for three months, he’d wake up in the morning red eyed and puffy, always missing the cheeky little misfit he called “Sammy.”

Dean didn’t have a mum, Yellow Eyes had seen to that, he felt anger rise in his chest - and Dad was not what you’d call a hands on parent, a drill sergeant maybe, but not at all like the dads Dean would see at the school gate when he picked up Sam. There was no bike riding or ball games for the Winchester boys. 

Except, there was. Dean made sure Sam had a childhood, that he had clothes that fit him and coins under his pillow when he lost a tooth. Dean didn’t have a mum, but Sam did.

Images of the two of them growing up flitted through Sam’s mind, from scraped knees to one time Dean had to stitch up his arm after a hunt went wrong with a black dog.

‘Don’t worry Sammy, chicks dig scars.’

Then there was the time Sam won the county Spelling Bee, and Dean made his father attend, even though they both had bruises and John had the concussion to end all concussions - there he was, propped up with sunglasses on while Dean clapped and cheered and hollered like he was at a football game.

Their life was lived on the road, in scenery that blurred by in a shiny car. They carved their initials into the backseat, they laughed and cried, they were each other’s homes. 

Dean watched the tapes of Sam more than once. 

He knew what Doctor Hope said verbatim, and he poured over the medical reports - not that they were what you’d call thorough, more of checklist of fucked things they did to his baby brother. 

He would dream about Sam, skinny and bald headed, standing at the foot of the bed and crying - or that he’d gone to save him, that he managed to bust him out of that god awful place, only to have the kid stop running and pull his hand from Dean’s grip. He’d just look sad, and say “I’m sorry.” 

The tapes rolled through Sam’s mind, start to finish. 

A boy with chocolate curls getting strapped to a chair and shorn to the scalp, the same boy trying again and again to escape. He saw Ava doting on him and felt bile rise in the back of his throat, they escaped only for him to get caught again, he probably gave himself up for her, stupid, he kicked himself. The parts of the boy who won the spelling bee got torn away, leaving Subject Seven in his place.

Suddenly, Dean’s mind seemed to fall away - distantly Sam could hear his brother call his name, but it was drowned out by the sound of a razor and someone crying. 

Sam looked around himself, he was standing in a bathroom, in front of him stood Subject Seven staring into the mirror and holding a comb. 

‘Hey there’ Sam said, trying to sound safe, trying to sound like Dean. 

Subject Seven whipped around, eyes wide, ‘I don’t know what I’m meant to do with this’ he held up the comb, ‘I don’t know anything.’

‘I know the feeling’ Sam stepped forward and took the comb from his boney hand. 

‘You’re not Dean’ Seven said softly.

‘No, no I’m not.’

‘And I’m not Sam’ his eyes filled with tears and he looked at the mirror again, fingers darting over his scalp.

Subject Seven was smaller than Sam was now, all skin and bones and wearing nothing but a hospital gown, he was wounded and frail and so, so lost.

‘You are’ Sam led him away from the mirror, shimmied out of his jacket and put it on the boy in front of him, ‘you are Sam, and so am I.’

He held the boy as he cried, running a hand over his smooth scalp, being mindful of the healing wound at the top that matched the scar under Sam’s own hair.

The two sat on the bathroom floor until sobs became hiccups, side by side with his past.

After a while, Subject Seven popped his head up and seemed to take Sam in, really studying him, and then he stood and grabbed the comb, 

‘I think I know what to do with this now.’

He combed through Sam’s unruly curls, probably just making them fluffy he thought, but he didn’t care. He let the boy do what he had to do, sitting in silence until he spoke.

‘You know you can’t stay with Dean, don’t you?’

‘Why’s that?’ He jumped as the comb his a snag.

‘Your hair is really knotty’ Subject Seven observed, ‘you can’t stay with him because he’ll be in danger, what do you think your dad will do when he sees you? He’s experimenting on psychics, what makes you think you’re any different?’

‘Because I’m his son?’

‘So is Dean, and he left him all alone. If he’s obsessed with killing Azazel, you’re the closest lead he has now.’

‘Dean won’t let him hurt me’ Sam defended.

‘But what if that hurts Dean? What if he tries to protect you, and gets on the Men of Letters’ bad side? You saw Toni in your vision - what if she does to Dean just a fraction of what she did to you? You can’t drag him into this.’

He was right, Sam knew that. The best thing he could do is leave while he could - he could go ask Father for help - make sure Dean is protected. He could do that. 

‘I don’t want to leave him’ Sam said quietly.

‘I know, but you don’t want him to die, do you?’

‘No.’ Never. Never ever. 

When they were ready, Sam stood up.

‘We need to leave this bathroom’ Sam sighed. 

‘We’ve been here before’ the boy held his hand, ‘are you leaving me here?’

He wanted to, when he first walked in he really wanted to, but he couldn’t, not really.

‘You’re me’ Sam breathed, ‘where I go, you go.’

‘Do you remember who you are?’ The boy asked, holding tight to his hand.

‘My name’s Sam. Sam Winchester.’

Hand in hand with himself, Sam walked out of the bathroom.

‘-ammy!’ 

‘Sam!’

‘Wake up! Sammy!’

He peeled his eyes open and his head felt like it weight a tonne, he dragged his tongue over his lips and his voice sounded like sandpaper. 

‘It’s dark now’ he rasped. 

‘You’ve been out for a while’ Dean reported.

‘Missed the sunset’ his head was pounding as his brother pulled him into a sitting position and the world tilted, he leant his head against Dean’s shoulder. 

‘You okay?’ Sam asked, blinking up at the stars. 

‘Me? I’m more worried about you! You started bleeding out of all your face holes man, like all of them! I thought you were having a fit!’

Dean sounded worried. 

‘I’m okay, thank you for showing me’ he shut his eyes against the pounding in his head, suddenly disappointed he’d missed the sun set.

‘Did you remember anything?’

‘I remember you looking after me.’

‘Well, that’ll never change, Sammy.’

They stayed there, looking up at the stars until Sam fell asleep, wrapped in his brother’s arms and the knowledge that he can’t stay there.

He wished he got to see that sunset.

Sam woke up in bed at the hotel, inches from Dean asleep on the double bed. 

The sun wasn’t up yet, he had to do this now. 

Leaving had to be done quickly, if he lingered, he’d wake his brother - and there was the distinct possibility he’d change his mind. But he didn’t want to just leave, his brother had to live through him disappearing once, he couldn’t do that again. 

But if he woke Dean up, he’d try to stop him, and he might just succeed. 

‘Sammy?’ A sleepy voice snapped him out of his reverie.

‘I just need to pee’ he lied. 

He lingered in the bathroom, popping his knuckles and twiddling his hair between his fingers - this was going to hurt, but what if something happened to Dean because of him? He knew his brother couldn’t protect him from Father, and not from Dad either. 

And Sam couldn’t protect him from this.

He opened the portal, the power tearing from his fingertips and making the hair on the back of his neck stand up - and then he popped his head back out of the bathroom just in time to see his brother sit up, eyes wide -

‘Sammy?’ He barked, ‘what are you doing?’

‘If nothing else, just know I love you’ Sam did his best to smile, ‘and I’m sorry.’

He heard his brother call his name as he ran back into the portal and let it fold him into it.

Father was in the parlour, he was always in the parlour. 

The body he was possessing was young, older then Dean but younger than what he used to wear, the yellow eyes never changed though. 

‘Sammy’ he smiled, voice deep and smooth, ‘you’re home.’

‘Yes, Father’ the word sounded wrong in his mouth in a way it never did before. 

‘Can I assume you’re staying? Or just passing by?’

Sam took a deep breath, clenched his fists and willed himself to make eye contact,

‘I came to make a deal.’

Father’s laughs carried, they bounced across the room and settled in the pit of Sam’s stomach, ‘you set your sister on fire with holy oil and now you want to make a deal? Sit, Sam.’

He did, settling in the armchair across from Azazel, letting him stroke his face and run his fingers through Sam’s hair, ‘it’s getting long, you like it this way don’t you?’

‘Yes, father.’

‘And if I cut it, would you like it then?’

‘I’d like it if you liked it, father’ he spoke flatly, lost in the yellow eyes.

‘If I cut your tongue from your head so you couldn’t tell any more lies, would you like that?’

‘If you liked it, then I would too, Father.’

‘And if I went upstairs and tore your brother limb from limb, what would you do?’

‘I’d kill everyone in this house, then you, then myself - and whatever you were planning would go up in smoke, father’ he ground the last bit out.

Azazel’s grin deepened. 

‘So, tell me about this deal.’

Sam wouldn’t be the first of the children Father made a deal with, he’d made one with Andy to keep Ansem safe, in exchange for Andy’s continued allegiance - Sam knew he wouldn’t get off so lightly with his own deal. His price would be high. 

‘I want my brother safe, you can’t touch him and neither can anyone else - protect him and keep him alive. That’s it, that’s the deal.’

‘And dear old Daddy?’

‘Don’t make me kill him, don’t let Dean do it either.’

‘And in exchange?’ Father prompted, caressing Sam’s cheek. 

‘Me, you get me. Forever.’

‘And after you shuffle off this mortal skin suit?’

‘My soul.’

‘Done.’

The deed was done, Sam could feel the deal being sewn into his very being.

He belonged to Azazel, but Dean was safe.

Chapter Text

The first time Sam went missing, it was unbearable. 

To Dean, it was like missing a limb - something as natural as breathing was suddenly gone, and yet, life went on. 

Half read books sat on the table, right where Sam had left them, still with their places marked with a gas receipt or pieces of scrap paper sticking out of the pages. It was the half empty peanut butter jar that was instrumental to the kid’s favourite sandwich, the toothbrush that stayed stubbornly dry night after night, the stray hairs on the bathroom floor that were too long and coiley to be anyone but Sam’s. For Dean, it was these things that set his teeth on edge. 

Sam’s butt-groove in the seat of the Impala that, over time, disappeared felt like a major loss, like one more shred of evidence the boy had existed was gone. Dean would dream of the kid, of his laugh and the way he took the long way around to tell a story - and he’d worry that one day he wouldn’t remember Sam’s voice. He became acutely aware that he never took enough photos, and the one that circulated when the police got involved was one Sam had hated - class photos a year ago when he had strep and his jaw was swollen, “Dean” he could imagine his brother saying, “I look like a cabbage patch kid that grew up!”

The only footage he had of his brother was Fourth of July weekend when they left off the fireworks, and Dean listened to the kid’s voice so many times he wore the tape out.

Dean would never admit it, but a big part of him believed his brother was dead.

The second time he went missing was different. 

Hot on the heels of having gotten Sam back, of tasting water for the first time after so long in the desert, only to have the kid leave. With that sad smile on his scarred up face.

It wasn’t something Dean was coping well with. 

In the three years that followed, Dean didn’t see his brother or his father. His 21st birthday was spent with Bobby, not working a case but at a ball game - having a much needed night off from hunting not ghosts or werewolves, but Winchesters. 

John had dropped off the grid, not that he was ever easy to get ahold of - but his cryptic messages got further and further apart until he may as well have gone missing as well. And Sam? Well, that was like catching smoke, Dean knew where he went - knew who he was with, but suddenly no demons would cross his path. Omens dried up, and crossroad calls went unanswered. He even tried to summon the Yellow Eyed Demon, but all that appeared in the smoke was a sympathy card - the demonic fucker was toying with him. 

Dean met Lisa by chance, and fell in love by accident. 

All of a sudden, hunting wasn’t a pursuit, but the revolver he kept under his bed, it was the salt lines he checked before he went to sleep, it was protecting the life he managed to scrape together. He never stopped looking for Sam, but maybe - just maybe - he did it with a little less suicidal gusto. 

Sam never stopped keeping track of Dean. Never stopped worrying.

Yellow Eyes was a lot of things, but a deal was binding - as far as he was concerned - as long as Sam doesn’t stray from the straight and narrow, as it were, his big brother would be safe. 

Once Azazel had him in his net, he made sure Sam knew that resistance was futile. Everything from torture to torturing was on the menu, what Sam wore - what he ate, who he spent time with, the first year as an exercise in control. 

’Sammy’ Yellow Eyes drawled from his place by the fire that first day, idly patting his hellhound, ‘how are you feeling?’

‘Very well, Father’ Sam gasped as Meg carved the sigil into his back. 

‘And the sigil?’ 

‘I’m glad to have it’ his voice cracked, he didn’t resist as he felt his head being pushed forward as another demon cut away another patch of hair.

‘This will give you power, my dear boy, and make you more useful to me, how does that make you feel?’

‘Ha-happy’ Sam flinched, fuck, this symbol must be huge. It seemed to cover the whole area from his tailbone to the top of his head in minute detail. Absently, he rolled a handful of his hair that sat on the floor around him between his fingers.

Sam was painfully aware of his nakedness as he sat in the middle of what looked like a devil’s trap and felt like quicksand, his entire body was weighed down by it - making it far too easy for Meg to carve into him, not that he’d have resisted. This was all part of the deal, and he had a nasty feeling he knew what this sigil was for, trying not to imagine what he must look like with who-knows-what being carved into the side of his head.

‘Done’ Meg reported, a hand on Sam’s shoulder. 

‘Good, prepare him for the purification by fire.’

Oh, fuck. 

‘Lord Azazel - are you sure?’ Meg sounded panicked. 

‘He’s ready, begin the ritual.’

It was all surreal and reminiscent of torture from a lifetime ago, from hacking what was left of his hair off with an ornate blade; to drinking from Azazel’s wrist - hating how much he craved it the blood. Meg and a few demons he didn’t recognise cleaned him with sponges, not minding how it stung against his cut up flesh, and poured what looked like tar and stunk like sulphur all over him. 

The words that spilled from Yellow Eyes’ mouth stopped sounding like anything besides buzzing as Sam walked forward into the fire pit, and let himself drop. 

The fire licked away at his mind and whipped away his skin, melted his bones and seemed to strip away anything that led him to this moment. 

From the bowling alley to the facility, to the black car to the visions that seemed to lead him here, like a puppet on strings only he could see. 

It was weeks, months, years, forever. It was forever before he came out of the fire, knees wobbling and chest heaving. He dropped to the floor, the only sound he could focus on was the clicking of his own teeth chattering together.

‘Very good, Sammy’ Yellow Eyes scooped him up, ‘now you’re really one of us.’

The first year was spent by Azazel’s side, like an attack dog, or a prized lap pooch. 

Sam really wasn’t sure which. 

The fire did something to him, for one thing, his scars were gone, including the number on his neck, replaced by a tapestry of tattooed sigils that covered his back, crawled up his neck, all the way up over his head in intricate detail.

The design was more than protection or charms or even a way to get power, the tattoo seemed to have a mind of it’s own, it shifted and expanded and moved of it’s own accord - by the end of the first year it snaked down his arms and covered his fingers and knuckles in sigils and latin. It made Sam quite the intimidating force as he strode around Hell by Azazel’s side, especially when he hit his growth spurt. The young man that stood in the mirror, tall with hair buzzed to the scalp and covered in tattoos was a far cry from the Sam Winchester he had given up to save his brother. Especially the way his eyes seemed to flicker black in the light. 

Time in Hell ran in stops and slow tides, like molasses. Sam spent so much time torturing souls on the rack, that when Azazel called him home - to the house with the fireplace - to celebrate one full year together, it felt like it had been a decade. 

‘We need to celebrate, Sammy’ Azazel smiled, taking hold of his hand, the sigils reacting and reaching out. They always hurt less around Yellow Eyes. 

‘Thank you, Father.’

Dinner was a lavish affair, Sam however, was still hungry. 

The thing about being addicted to demon blood was that you never really get enough, and you never feel full. When Azazel let him feed, he drank a demon dry. The last few drops dancing down his throat and his black eyes fluttered, breathing heavily. 

‘Good boy, Sammy’ Azazel cupped his face, dragging his gaze up to meet his. 

‘Thank you, Father’ Sam hated that he meant it.

‘Are you ready to move on from torturing souls, Sammy?’

‘If you require something else of me, Father.’

‘I do’ he smiled, ‘I’d like to have you help me somewhere else.’

Azazel lead him over to the couch by the fire, wiping his face with a handkerchief, regarding every detail of Sam’s face, ‘I think we should let your hair grow in, you suit long hair, don’t you think?’

‘I’m happy if you are’ Sam replied, hating that he meant that too. If it meant he got more blood, he’d dye his hair pink and blue. 

The second year of service, Azazel and Sam spent a lot of time in the human world - looking everywhere for the psychics that John Winchester had made a solid effort to lock up and throw away the key. By the end of it, they found a few - and the colt. That was when Sam found out that the sigils meant he couldn’t lie to Azazel, he tried, he really did. But when he was asked if he knew where the colt was, Sam heard his voice say “Bobby Singer has it.”

Luckily, no one got hurt. And he got to see Dean, even fleetingly as he stole the colt from Bobby’s house, he was asleep on the couch.

The third year of service saw Sam hit the seven foot mark in his ever growing height, his hair sat in curls down past his eyebrow and grazed his shoulders, Ruby liked to braid it. 

She was like a patch of sun in the literal hell he lived in, he liked the way she talked and the way she smelt, and the way she let him drink her blood. 

Father gave her to him as a companion, and a walking blood bank. 

They went on jobs together, and she taught him how to turn the sigils around, she changed some herself, she used magic and spells and they made his head feel clear for the first time since he left Dean. 

Suddenly, he was able to lie to Father, which was just as well, because he realised Father was lying to him. 

It had been three years and nine months to the day when Sam Winchester found out Azazel had plans to kill not just John, but Dean. John Winchester hadn’t been seen in three weeks.

That was what led him attacking Father. Tearing a portal into the human world and into Dean’s living room.

Dean woke the sound of someone in his home. 

Years of hunting made him a light sleeper, even with Lisa’s light snores next to him, his hand found the pistol under his pillow and his fingers found the trigger as he slunk out into the living room, breathing softly through his nose and clinging to the wall as he advanced on the hulking shadow of a man in his living room. 

He attacked first, fist connecting to cheekbone and decking the intruder, natural moves coming to the surface as he rolled on the floor with the intruder into a beam of moonlight from the window, meeting soft brown eyes and coiled hair.

‘Sammy?!’ Dean gasped, ‘how - what are you doing here?’

‘I was looking for a beer’ Sam grinned.

Dean pulled Sam to his feet and crushed him in a lung flattening hug that made Sam swear he could hear his back popping out of place. 

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Dean demanded, ‘are you okay?’

They were cut off by the living room light being clicked on and Lisa’s worried brown eyes, ‘Is everything okay?’ She kept an eye on Sam, looking wary.

‘This is Sammy!’ Dean beamed, ‘my little brother!’

Lisa didn’t look convinced, and when Dean whipped his head around to look at his little brother, he realised he was looking up at a seven foot tall giant with neck tattoos and long hair, and a leather jacket, ‘Hey’ Sam waved awkwardly at Lisa, ‘nice to meet you - I just need to talk to my brother real quick.’

‘Sammy’ Dean frowned, ‘whatever you want to say, you can say in front of her.’

‘Okay’ Sam breathed, ‘no one has seen Dad in a while.’

‘That’s not new, Sam. I haven’t seen him in years.’

‘No’ Sam rolled his eyes, ‘Dad’s on a hunting trip, and no one’s seen him in a few weeks.’

Dean felt something in his stomach drop, ‘Lisa, excuse us.’