#cram

The car ride to the bunker is strange, though not as strange as one might expect with two humans, a (former) demon, and an angel in the car.

Sam and Dean are in the front, of course. Sam would rather kill than take the back, and he would really prefer not to kill considering how worn out he is from the trials and the blood loss. Cas and Crowley are in the back, which may be awkward considering their history. (It is awkward. Sam can feel it from the passenger seat, the unspoken words poisoning the air around them. He's glad he isn't between them.)

Not that it'd be much better if Sam were sitting with Crowley. There was some connection made, some understanding. He helped Crowley, after all, and Crowley made confessions he's probably never made to anyone else before. That counts for something, Sam thinks. Just—not enough to make up for the endless torment that Crowley would probably spend the entire ride nervously phrasing apologies for with his new emotions.

“Moose,” Crowley starts, evidently not so apologetic for tormenting Sam if he's so willing to start up again, “you look like you're about to fall over. Back has more room, if you're interested.”

Sam can't even argue—not for lack of wanting, but because before he gets the chance, he's suddenly sitting at Crowley's left, and Cas is in the front seat. Dick. Cas needs to learn to talk to people and stop disappearing when he's nervous, even if he is only disappearing to the passenger seat.

Sam relents, settling into the back, leaning against the door. The little army man makes a very inconvenient obstacle for resting his elbow on the door handle, but he wouldn't have it any other way. It's blissful silence for a while. Long enough that Sam starts dozing off.

Unfortunately, Crowley has other ideas.

"I see sugarplums, Sam," Dean said with his eyes blissfully closed. Sam snorted in response.

This was their first Christmas in the bunker. Sam made his way back to Kevin, who was nursing his own cup of eggnog. "Just the one?" Sam asked. He was trying to kind of play big brother to him again, yeah, but someone should. He couldn't really stop Kevin if he wanted to drink, but Kevin didn't like to most of the time.

"Yeah," Kevin said with a little smile. "You know what I was thinking?" Kevin grabbed an empty glass.

"A little variety?" Sam teased, looking slightly worried behind his smile.

"No. I don't wanna drink too much. I think we should drop in on our other guest."

Sam paused for a beat. "Wait, really?!" Kevin grinned. "Why?"

"It's funny," Kevin pointed out.

"True." Sam sighed, unable to beat the logic.

Armed with a bottle of whisky and a cup of eggnog for some options, they made their way to the dungeon together, dressed in comfy clothes.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Crowley called out in the darkness before he could properly see them. They flicked on the lights and drew nearer.

"We're not really afraid of you anymore. So, Merry Christmas, Crowley. You want a drink?" Kevin asked.

Crowley paused, taking in the sight of his visitors. "Sure. Not laced with holy water, is it?"

"No!" Sam said quickly, but not too quickly, just surprised at the idea. He was too kind sometimes. He was too trusting.

"No, this is just funny," Kevin pointed out. Kevin had a couple bendy straws in one hand and a wooden stool in the other.

"First Christmas in the bunker," Sam said pleasantly.

"Oh, is it?" Crowley said, considering. "Yes, I suppose so. It was your grandfather who showed this place to you?"

Sam nodded.

"If I had access to my magic, I'd know the date and time, and wouldn't have to find out at our Christmas party. It's been awkward, not knowing." Crowley did look tired.

"Are you hungry?" Sam asked suddenly.

Crowley looked from Kevin to Sam like there was a joke there. There really wasn't. "What'd you have in mind?"

"Leftover pizza?" Crowley sighed. "What do you like, at Christmas?" Sam arranged the extra chair far enough away from the table Crowley couldn't affect it, and Kevin did the same with his stool.

"When I was living, it'd be a mince pie. If you felt fancy, some Yule bread with little charms in it."

"Fresh out." Sam settled into his chair with a little wiggle. "Did you light a fire?"

"'Course," Crowley said, lighting up a little that Sam knew. "Get me a log, I'll carve her little face so we can light her up." Sam shook his head a little, denying the lighting of a fire in the bunker, but he was smiling softly, and that was some sort of progress.

"Eggnog, or whisky?" Kevin offered, and Sam held up the bottle to show Crowley.

"Eggnog. Give it here," Crowley demanded. Kevin rolled his eyes, but he handed Crowley the cup and put the straw in it with a flourish. Crowley didn't grab for Kevin; he just looked grateful. He sipped at his cup happily.

When Crowley pulled away from the straw, he said, "You didn't have to do all this."

"It's funny," Kevin gestured to the dungeon. Crowley looked around.

"'Suppose."

"Dean's been distant," Sam said, taking a sip of the whisky.

"Yeah. I'm not sure why that is," Crowley said thoughtfully.

"Merry Christmas, you dick," Kevin said with a small, warm smile. "Sam? I'm gonna go to bed." Kevin got up, buzzed, but probably okay to make it back to his room. Sam smiled at Kevin as he left.

"That all you came to say, too, Moose?" Crowley asked. He did not seem like he wanted that to be all Sam came to say. Sam shook his head.

"I agree with you, about Dean," Sam said, a little confused. "I'm feeling okay, again, physically. I wish he'd just take that as a win. I wish he'd just relax."

"Dean doesn't do that, relax. You do, at times. He's always defending something, always attacking something. You both seem to like the change of address, though. Can't say I agree. 'S boring."

"It's nice to have a huge library," Sam admitted. "I miss Bobby's books."

"You miss him a lot. Speaking of the man, humor me. Did you ever ... how can I put this?"

"Why? Does it matter?" Sam asked. He narrowed his eyes.

Crowley sighed deeply. He watched Sam with slight expectation for a moment, and Sam realized he might have been waiting for him to leave. He wasn't ready to leave.

"Dean doesn't know about us," Sam said.

"Oh!"

"I miss those books," Sam said, voice cracking. Tears were fighting him, and he seemed to be winning.

"That house was fantastic. Smelled like home," Crowley said with a half quirked lip.

"Yeah?" asked Sam.

"Reminded me of how things were, back in my century. Not sure exactly why. God, I was gone for him. And I wasn't even human-y like I am now."

"He was a good kisser," Sam said, eyeing the whisky in his glass.

"Bet he was good with that mouth other places." Sam glanced up to meet Crowley's oddly hungry gaze, which Sam shied away from again.

"He was," admitted Sam. "Always made sure it was good. He remembered my favorite foods, my favorite cases to hear about. He liked to get me something at Christmas."

"Treated you like a prince, didn't he?" Sam glanced up again, holding the gaze.

Those tears threatened to come back. Sam sniffed. "He did. We'd always call for a while on Christmas. My only real tradition."

"You were both lucky, to have found that. I'm sorry he's gone, Moose. I miss him." Crowley sighed deeply.

"I think he liked you back," Sam teased. "Called you pretty, remember?"

Crowley looked like he was actually blushing. Maybe he was, if he was more human now. "Yeah," he admitted. "Think he meant it?"

Sam chuckled. "Yeah. Probably jerked off to you. At least a wet dream, don't you think?"

"How much of that've you had?" Crowley positively giggled at Sam.

Sam laughed in return, joy reaching his eyes. "Enough to be here, I guess. Merry Christmas."

"Nollaig Chridheil dhuibh, Moose. You're not jealous he maybe had a little crush?"

"Maybe for a second. You kissed. And you fixed his legs. But, that doesn't really matter, does it? We used to do it all the time at his place," Sam smirked, "and we had phone sex like you wouldn't believe. He's up in Heaven now. Out of your realm. Thanks to me."

"Yeah, you took him," Crowley said in not so much a pout as a little expression of grief, brow furrowed.

"You needed to let that go, Crowley. He's gone, and he wasn't yours to take."

Crowley nodded quietly. He took another sip with his straw. "Did Dean mix this? It's strong."

Sam chuckled shyly. "No. Me. Too strong?"

Crowley shrugged. "Not really complaining. I just think I'm more susceptible now."

Sam sipped at his whisky again. "I've enjoyed having a drink with you," he had to admit. Well, he didn't have to admit it, but it was the truth. "I hadn't been sure I'd make it to Christmas, but I feel really good."

Crowley smiled softly at that. "I'm not sure why," he agreed. "You weren't doing well at all. Dean and you both said you were going to die, when we were at the church."

"And Cas said it wasn't something he could heal. I guess it ... went away on its own?"

"That doesn't sound right."

"No, it doesn't."

"Do you think Dean did something? Without you knowing?"

Sam considered it. "It would explain the distance, wouldn't it? He was all over me when I was sick."

"Yeah. I'm not sure why else he'd back away, if not some sort of guilt. It was your idea to do the trials?"

"His idea to start them, but my idea to continue once I'd started."

Crowley nodded.

"What do you think could help with the cosmic flu?" Sam asked. "If you had to really guess?"

Crowley pondered, taking it very seriously. "Our 'upstairs neighbors' could heal that damage, I believe. It would be slow going. Cas isn't capable of anything like that, right?"

"Yeah. He's human now."

Crowley sighed. "'Course he is. Have you made any new friends among the neighbors who are out there walking around?"

"No."

Sam took a deep breath and sighed it out. Crowley did the same.

"Do you think ... no ... do you think ...?" Crowley said, running a cautious gaze over Sam's body that had him slightly uncomfortable.

"Think what. I brought you a drink, you have to say what."

Crowley tutted, squirmed a little in his chair. "Well," he said, meeting Sam's gaze, "'neighbors' have been known to heal someone from the inside."

"Interesting. Kinky," Sam teased with another sip, in good spirits. "We don't know anyone."

"You didn't say yes to anyone?"

"No. I haven't talked to any angels, and I definitely haven't said yes."

"They don't have to look like a neighbor when you do." Sam raised a brow. "They can look like anything. It's insidious."

Sam paused. "How would they do that? Is it like the way you showed fake Sams and Deans to Bobby and Kevin?"

"It's not like that, no. It's a feature of 'consent' for them. Consent said loosely. They're allowed to appear in and affect dreams. They can look like anyone when they're doing that."

Sam jumped. His face looked haunted. "My roommate tried to look like Jess."

"I'm sorry," Crowley said reflexively. "Painful?"

Sam nodded, closed his eyes. Sat for a minute.

"Did anyone looking like anyone get to you to say yes to their help? Robert? Dean?"

Sam paused. He slowly opened his eyes. He drained his glass slowly, very controlled.

"You know something, Sam," Crowley said. "You remember."

Sam stared out into the dark of the room. "I know what it feels like to be inside my own head, better than most, and I knew, I knew that's where I was."

"You said yes in there?"

Sam shook his head slightly, meaning for Crowley to let him tell it. "First, it was me and Bobby. He kept telling me I'd done good, and that I could die. I could rest. That it was okay. He wasn't asking anything of me."

"And who was?" asked Crowley gently.

"Dean." Sam laughed a dark laugh. "Dean was there, too. When is he not? He kept saying no, Sam, you have to fight. You can't be allowed to move on, you can't leave me alone. He stabbed Bobby for sticking up for me. And then," there were tears in Sam's eyes. There were tears in his voice.

Crowley was quiet for a moment. "He asked you to say yes?"

"Yeah," Sam said slowly. "Dean said I had to let him in." Sam stood up, stumbling slightly. Not from the sickness he got from the trials, a completely different kind of nausea. "I am so pathetic," Sam spat, talking to the darkness at the edges of the light. "It's always 'yes' when it comes to Dean. Dean said I had to say yes. And I did."

"That was it," said Crowley.

"I woke up in the Impala. I couldn't account for a good chunk of time after seeing the meteors fall."

"It frightened me." Sam glanced at Crowley. "When you collapsed. I was so much scareder than I'd been since becoming a demon. I was so glad to see you were in one piece."

"I know," Sam whispered, holding Crowley's gaze. "I know. It's so wonderful. It's so great. I'm supposed to just be fine with it. I'm supposed to want to 'fight the good fight.' I told him I didn't want it, not like this. But it doesn't matter." Sam's voice got higher. His words came out more quickly. "My body doesn't matter. My mind doesn't matter."

"Your soul didn't matter," Crowley added, his expression sad and caring.

Sam collapsed back into the chair and sobbed out loud, turning his face away from Crowley, covering it.

"I can find out if we're dealing with a neighbor. When you let me. I doubt Dean will choose to be forthcoming."

Sam cried a little sort of whimpering cry.

"Merry Christmas, I guess," Crowley said, sounding angry. Sam winced, pulled in on himself. Crowley didn't mean he'd ruined any mood, though. "Santa Dean is oh-so generous. Does he have a tree topper for every one of us he wants to just invite in?"

Sam sniffled, staring into the darkness, arms crossing, all scrunched up.

"We can all be his living Christmas trees. We can get chopped up, moved around, burned down when it's all done, as long as we can play nice for his stupid neighbors."

Sam turned just his head to glance at Crowley.

"The Righteous Man. Their favorite dingbat. I'm going to teach him a lesson." Sam raised his brows. Alright, Crowley wasn't upset with Sam. Crowley wasn't proud of Dean.

"Lesson?" Sam asked numbly.

"What it's like to be possessed against your will, by a nuclear warhead."

Sam sniffled again. He turned a bit more toward Crowley with his body. He untensed just a little. Crowley wasn't going to do something like that, even if he could. It was empty. Sam could tell he was ranting, he was angry.

He was just angry for Sam. Indignant for Sam. Totally fired up.

"I'll carve him into a little Yule hag and light him on fire," Crowley said with promise, though, of course, he wouldn't. He was just trying to say he understood.

"It's not okay," Sam said quietly, as if testing the water.

"No! No, it's not okay."

Sam smiled slightly, somehow still looking angry, and sad, and numb, all at once. "Yeah," he said softly.

"It might not be a neighbor. But, I think it is. This might take a little time, for us to do this on our own. Together. But we can find out."

"What would I owe you?" teased Sam, actually oddly at ease now that someone else was angry about it too, and said he was allowed to be.

"On the house, mate. The look on his face when he's found out will be payment enough."

Sam blinked. "You're like an attack dog."

Crowley paused. "What?"

Sam smiled gently. "You're like an attack dog."

"Am not!"

"I love dogs." The novels Crowley must have read had made that clear enough.

"Hellhound, I'll accept."

Sam laughed. "Okay. You're like a Hellhound."

"Thank you. Sam?"

Sam tried to look open to whatever he had to say next. "Yeah?"

"We're not safe. You know who would opt to heal from the inside?"

"I don't know. Who?"

"A rogue neighbor." Sam blinked at that. "Someone who thought it'd be advantageous to hide in your body, with no one knowing. Rather than be out there, walking aorund, with everyone else."

Sam felt a shiver run down the back of his neck. "If they are one, they're hiding."

"I don't want this angel anywhere near Kevin."

Sam frowned. "You don't?"

"No. No rogue neighbor needs to be near him or the tablets."

"Then where should he go?"

"With mum." Sam blinked again. "I've got her. I'm gonna let her go. She'll take care of Kevin. We'll tell her how."

Sam tilted his head. "How strong did I make that eggnog?"

"We have to fix this. Do you have my phone?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. If it's a neighbor, you'll let both of them go?"

"You're not closing shit, right, Sam?" Sam shook his head. "Then he's not in danger from me. We'll protect them from the neighborhood. We've got to figure this out. Can I help you figure this out?"

Sam got up to get the key. When he returned, he took the cuffs off of Crowley. Crowley stared at him like he'd lost his mind.

Sam had a bittersweet smile on his face. "Figure if you try anything funny, you'll activate the neighborhood watch." Crowley blinked, his eyes wide. "What do I have to worry about from you?"

"Where are we going?"

"Hotel. I packed. You need anything?"

Crowley looked down at himself. He reached for his wrists, rubbed at them. He looked back at Sam and carefully stood up on his feet. He held the edge of the table and eyed Sam, making no sudden movements.

"Blithe Yule, Crowley." Crowley looked just a bit more awed at that.

"We have to keep this quiet now," Crowley decided. "In case."

"In case we alert the stowaway."

Crowley nodded.

Said dog was temporarily possessed by Wystan once again.

"No, no, no. Dog, dog, dog! Oh...." Sam ran in after him. "...no, dog... don't bother the..." Wystan expertly jumped up onto the couch and laid himself across Crowley's lap. "...angry lady."

The door was wide open, but Sam knocked on it, trying to be respectful, bless him. None of what Team Sam had been doing was very respectful. Glub, glub, glub, went Sam, around his little bowl. "Uh, hey, sorry."

"'Dog'?" Crowley chided. "That's what you're calling him?"

"Uh...," was all Sam had to say for himself.

"Well, it's accurate." Sam stood awkwardly in the doorway with a leash in his hands. "Is Dog taking his antibiotics?"

"Uh, yes, he is," offered Sam. "He's doing much better. Thank you. You know, um...," Sam entered the room with caution, "I have to say—um...I've seen a lot of stitches in my time, and you've got really good hands."

Crowley was actually very touched. He had tried, tried to do right by the poor mutt. "Thank you," he told Sam, imagining, not for the first time, that he knew it was him. That he was thanking him. That they could talk, like talking for them was normal.

"So, you think I'm creepy?"

Back on script, thought Crowley. "I think it's creepy you buy all your clothing at army surplus. White supremacists do that," Crowley pointed out. He had his suspicions about Dean. He knew the type. At times, Crowley had been the type; the racial scene of his lifetime had included much prejudice. But, he'd actually gained a lot of enlightenment since then.

"Yeah, but I'm not." Sam definitely wasn't, no. He understood the ability of all races and even, daresay, humanish species, to be capable of the same things. He was so caring, sometimes, that it seemed at odds with the way he kept trying to kill his old ally Crowley.

"Drifting serial killers do that," Crowley pressed, knowing Sam wouldn't be able to argue against that one.

"Fair enough."

"You come from nowhere," said Crowley, "you appear to be going nowhere, and you've, quote, 'seen a lot of stitches.' It's all pretty solid creepy."

Sam sat down across from Crowley, causing him to feel oddly noticed, oddly seen. "You have no idea where you're going, either, do you?"

Crowley paused. "No. Not really," he admitted. He had this plan, of course, and he had some vague plans to see what he could get out of demons and angels, but he didn't know, ultimately, where that would really lead him as king.

"And that's because you have no one. I mean, at all, right? I mean, that's why you're...here, in this place."

Crowley stared. Was Sam offering to...oh, right, right. Amelia had a husband who had gone missing. He was a test for Sam, to see when he was ready to leave again. They didn't have him ready yet. They would get him interested in whatever sappy feelings he could have for Amelia first. It had nothing to do with Crowley. The suit was not his own. It wasn't Sam's fault he didn't know; they were deceiving him.

It had felt like Sam was empathizing with him. It got lonely at the top. He'd said as much to Team Free Will for years.

This was not real. Sam's offer of comfort was not for Crowley.

He'd take it anyway. He was a demon, after all.

"I used to – have someone, I mean," Crowley offered, trying not to remember how things had been with Cas during their wild year together, "But that's over now. It's gone. You know what that's like, don't you?"

Sam looked blankly at "Amelia", then sort of glared. Not at her, exactly, but about, Crowley knew, Dean being gone.

So, really, he was glaring at Crowley.

"I'm not ready to talk about it," Sam said plainly.

"Neither am I," Crowley said quickly, though, really, he was. It wasn't real, for Crowley, not like it was for Sam. Crowley was pretending. Best play hard to get with "Amelia's" secrets, though. Keep Sam going, just like with the hotel repairs.

Sam reached over to pet Dog. "I don't even know if I have room in my life for this...Dog. I feel empty inside. He's," Sam swallowed. "He's a good listener, though."

"They're the best listeners," Crowley had to admit. His Hounds couldn't tell anyone anything, no matter how sappy he got with them. Seemed it was the same for Sam. He couldn't trust anyone, when it came down to it, due to his role as king. Sam couldn't trust anyone because Cas was always for either Cas or Dean, and Dean was never really for Sam.

Oh, and Crowley had gotten both of them lost to the cosmos. No telling where they'd gone, and Sam had looked. Crowley had looked at Sam looking. "You don't want to keep him?"

"I'm struggling," said Sam. He was very quiet.

"Struggling with what, specifically?" "Amelia" asked softly.

Sam visibly swallowed, head bowed as he pet the dog. "Few months ago, I didn't know what was real. This," he nodded to the room, "or... my past."

"Past?"

Sam's eyes darted up to those he was looking into, the ones Crowley was borrowing. "Have you ever been hardcore manipulated?"

Crowley paused, tilting his head. Sam had been manipulated by a lot of beings, enemies and friends alike.

Case in point, Crowley was one or the other and was currently playing on Sam's gullibility to keep him from fading away.

"Like, by a boyfriend? By family?" Crowley tried.

"No. Stranger. Dangerous guy."

Crowley was at a loss. He decided to play the defensive act again. "You're creeping me out again," he said as Amelia.

What stranger was messing with Sam, besides Amelia? Was Sam referring to a monster? A djinn? What was going on?

He didn't mean Crowley, did he?

"Do you want a drink?" offered "Amelia", extricating herself from near the dog in order to grab Sam some of what she'd been sipping on with all the limes.

Sam nodded at her gratefully, taking the drink from Crowley and taking a sip. "It's not okay to talk about it," Sam said suddenly, and sipped some more in the silence.

"Yes, it is," Crowley insisted, not wanting to let the thread go. He might not see Sam bring it up again, especially if he let the project turn to other hands, playing less of a central role. It wasn't the Amelia show, really. She was a vet. The dog just needed surgery. It was the catalyst for Sam shaping up, was all.

"Well...it isn't going to make any sense, but if it doesn't make any sense, can you just let that go?" Sam eyed Crowley, assured in himself yet also wary of what Crowley might do or say in judgment.

"I'm not good at not judging people," he said as Amelia. "But I'll stay quiet. You seem like you need to tell somebody." At least Crowley could fill in the blanks in a way a human veterinarian who didn't hunt wouldn't have been able to. Maybe Sam wasn't ready to have those blanks filled.

Sam sank back into the chair, closing his eyes. He kept them closed, sitting still for so long that Crowley almost spoke up.

Sam said, "This stranger found me. Targeted me. I was stalked by him for a long time, for about a year." Crowley frowned, trying to understand who the man was referring to.

"I've never been stalked," Crowley admitted as his Amelia persona. The veterinarian had never been stalked, no. Crowley, sometimes, due to his status, due to pissing off others. Robert had stalked him a little, even his bones.

"I tried everything in my power," Sam said, slowly opening his eyes and letting them find Amelia's. "Everything. I found out about his...interest in me, and I really didn't want to be found. He said I wanted him to find me. I didn't want him to," Sam enthused.

Crowley nodded. "Manipulator, right?"

"Yeah." There was a real relief in Sam and, slight as it appeared across his frame, it was large behind his eyes.

"He told me he was my family." Crowley frowned again. Who was it? Some version of Dean? Grandpa? What was going on? "My real family. Family means some fucked up things for me," Sam rushed out, "but not this fucked up. I...I."

"Do you want to talk about something else?" Crowley asked Sam after more long silence. Sam jumped as if snapped out of something.

"Is it okay if I tell you? I know you're just Dog's vet. But." His face got all scrunched up and pleading.

"I promise it's okay. It's okay, Sam." He really wanted to be a sounding board. He wouldn't judge Sam, and, blessedly, Sam wouldn't judge him. In the fake hotel room where Sam had a fake job and an often fake dog, Crowley wasn't trying to put him in danger or hurt his feelings.

Sam took a deep breath. "So, you've never been abducted?"

"Abducted?!" he couldn't help but raise his voice at that.

"Guess not." Sam cleared his throat. "Good to hear. Glad to hear that." Sam cupped the tumbler in his hands gingerly.

"You were abducted?" pressed Crowley.

"I guess not." Crowley raised a brow at Sam as Amelia. Sam was staring at the contents of the tumbler. "I mean, it's complicated. I guess I met up with him. I made a choice." He scrunched up his face. "I guess it's not important how it started."

"And after it started?"

Sam considered. "He messed with my head. He messed with...my body too."

"How?" Crowley asked Sam carefully.

Sam turned the tumbler some more. "Like...gave me some scars." That was Sam's avoidant face. Crowley knew it was. "I've had a lot of scars." He glanced at Amelia. "I've had a lot of stitches." Sam offered his left hand, showing the palm to "Amelia".

That palm didn't mean anything to Crowley.

"What he did," Sam put the feelings into his gaze, into his words. "It was worse than the messed up family stuff. Imagine a guy who knows you can't get away. A guy who won't have to answer for anything he does, and he wants to do everything he can to, uh, keep you...his. He wanted me to never forget." He paused.

"I'm sorry," Crowley said easily. Knowing Sam couldn't get away? Wanting to keep Sam his? There could only be one being Sam meant, right? The Big Man himself.

"This was only a little while ago?" Crowley frowned. That timeline certainly didn't match up.

"Mm, no," Sam shook his head. "Longer. But something like that kinda stays with you, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," allowed Crowley. Sam had been a little jumpy from the Cage, and Dean had made fun of him for it. Few months ago, Crowley had gotten reports of Sam being found in a psych hospital, though no one had been able to offer more detail than that. Those who had gotten close had been killed. "Bad memories?"

Sam tilted the glass again, eyeing the liquid. Crowley rushed to top him up, and Sam gave a little, grateful smile. "It's okay for me to talk to you about...trauma?"

"Yeah. Don't have much myself," Crowley said. Oh, he'd been through a lot of family stuff and through the typical demon torture, but he didn't have anything like being in a Cage with Lucifer and Michael, and he wasn't sure what that could do to someone. It hadn't really happened before to any human, not like that.

"I saw him." Sam paused. "A, uh, vision of the stranger. He was always talking to me. When I was trying to eat, when I was trying to...shower. I know he wasn't there, but...I didn't know he wasn't there."

"He had been manipulating you," Crowley offered. Sounded like Sam was having flashbacks fairly often.

"Yeah." Sam looked relieved at the word again. "He was. He would make all these jokes about me, calling me...names that scared me. Kept referencing what he did, and the fact it wasn't easy to know what was real. I once drove somewhere, but thought he was driving. He could look like anyone, so he did. Or he'd attack and kill them right in front of me. It looked real."

"Have you ever seen someone die?" "Amelia" asked.

"So many times," Sam rushed out. "Especially my...the people I love the most. On some level, I'm always waiting for the shoe to drop. I mean, it just dropped again, technically." Sam took a big swig.

"You alright?"

Sam nodded warily, continued. Amelia could really judge Sam for the creepiness of what he was saying, but Crowley was more concerned with letting the man process. "My stranger, the one in my head, I started talking to him, which was a mistake."

"Like...asking him to visit you?" Had he prayed to Lucifer? Was Lucifer in his head, his dreams?

"No. I mostly asked him for advice at work. And with...my family. But this, uh, hallucination," he chanced an anxious glance at "Amelia", "kept saying I wanted him around. And, then, he got...impossible to ignore." Hallucinations. Proper mental scars that must have seemed more present than past at times.

"What does that mean?"

"He kept me up for days," Sam admitted. "Drugs didn't do anything. Sedatives didn't do anything. I almost died."

"From...hallucinations?" Crowley hadn't known he'd had hallucinations. He thought he'd had traumatic memories, but hadn't realized the extent of what the damage to Sam's soul and the wall being broken had done.

"Yes. My brain couldn't shut off. Stranger was throwing fireworks at me, yelling at me with a megaphone. I didn't have any peace."

"What helped it?" Crowley suddenly asked.

Sam paused. "It isn't going to make sense. But, a friend kind of...helped me with it. Took him away from me? He was gone, then. I haven't seen the stranger since."

"Must have been some friend," "Amelia" commented.

Sam's expression shuttered, and he glanced up at Crowley. "He's gone now too. Died in front of me. I got better. He got worse. And now he's not here anymore. No one's here anymore."

Was that what had happened to Cas? Had he somehow...shifted what was happening to Sam? Was that why he was collecting honey and couldn't connect with what was happening the same way anymore? Sam's hallucinated version of Lucifer?

Sam stood up, handing the tumbler to Amelia. "Thank you," he said. "I haven't...told anyone besides my friend about this."

Crowley took the glass from Sam. "And he's gone." Must have been a hell of a year for Sam, after the wall came tumbling down.

Crowley watched Sam walk away, Wystan-as-Dog following happily behind.

When Crowley made it back to the director's room, he waited for his old mentor to return and asked for the cameras in 118 to be turned off.

"Are you sure, sir?" he was asked by one of the confused faces.

"Sam deserves better. Sam deserves us protecting his secrets. Scrub the tape."

"On it," Roberto said.

This was why Crowley wanted the project kept to Team Sam.

"What was that all about?" asked Wystan as he led Crowley off to Crowley's office.

"Lucifer," Crowley said faintly as Amelia. He had a meeting with Yvette to swap suits again soon. "Sam was hallucinating Lucifer. Then, maybe Cas was?"

"I wouldn't wish that on anybody."