The Pay-Off For Having Faith

19

Good job, Sammy! You're doing so good!"

Dean was kneeling on the floor of the old house, arms stretched wide as his ten-month-old baby brother wobbled toward him. Sam grinned at the praise, his little teeth gleaming white – he had been cutting them for several months now – and took several more steps, toppling into Dean's arms.

"De!" the toddler crooned, little fingers tangling in five-year-old Dean's shirt. Dean laughed and hugged his brother close and he praised,
"You did it, Sammy! Eight whole steps! Good boy!" He raised excited green eyes to the woman standing nearby, "Mom, did you see him? Did you see him walking?"
"I saw him, sweetie!" He couldn't see his mother's face but her voice was cheerful, soft, "Oh, honey, you love Sam so much. You're going to be so hurt when I have to take him away."

Dean's smile left his face and he blinked at the woman. "Take him away?" His eyes flicked to his brother, whom was clutching to his arm and patting Dean's face with a chubby little hand, "Why would you take him away?"

"Because you don't deserve him."

Dean woke with a start, breathing rapid and eyes shifting quickly around the room as he sat up in bed. He looked up at the wall above the bed, checking to make certain his wards and sigils were in place, before scooting to sit back against the wall. He took several deep breaths, trying to steady his racing heart; his hand was shaking as he raised it to rub his face.

His eyes shifted to the corner as he heard,
Bad dream? Have those a lot, don'tcha.
Lucifer was leaning against the closet door, staring at him.
"Stop watching me sleep," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his mouth.
Dream mom is right, you know. You don't deserve him.
Dean's brows furrowed, gaze dropping to the bed covers. He toyed with the blanket still covering his legs as the man (apparition, hallucination, whatever he was) in the corner continued,
Doesn't matter, though, since he's not even really here.
"Is so," Dean countered, "You're the one who's not really here."
Yet you're still talking to me.
Dean frowned again, rubbing his hands over his arms, as the blond continued,
You're going to snap out of your break from reality sooner or later. When you do, you'll understand what I've been telling you this entire time. You're still in the hospital and Sam isn't here.
"Why do you keep saying that?" Dean dug his nails into his arms as he rubbed them, agitated: he paid little attention to the slight stinging sensation that followed as he ran his nails over his skin, "Why won't you just leave me alone?"

Lucifer shrugged a shoulder and said with a sympathetic smile, Just trying to help, Dean.

"No you're not!"
The angry response was a shout; Dean realised that only after he had fallen silent again. He frowned and turned away from the blond near the closet, nails digging into his arms. He glanced down at them as he felt warmth beneath his fingertips, and found that his arms were covered in red scratches, several of which were welling with droplets of blood.

The young man looked to his bedroom door as it opened.
"Dean?" Sam stepped into the room, eyes falling immediately on him. His brother appeared to be half-asleep still, but his eyes widened as they found him.

"Dean," Sam breathed, crossing the room to the bed. Dean watched as his brother crawled up on the bed and took hold of his hands, pulling them away from his arms. "What'd you do?" A frown creased the other's features as the younger teen inspected the scratches.

"'m sorry," Dean bit his bottom lip, watching as Sam traced a thumb over a small, moon-shaped cut, caused by his nail, which was dripping blood. He swallowed hard and repeated, voice low and nervous, "'m sorry, Sammy. Didn't meant to – Please don't be mad."