Title: The Rebellious One

Summary: "The second you stepped into this prison, you lost your name, your identity, and your goddamn dignity, you get that?" Spoilers for 12x08 "Lotus". Hurt/Comfort. Hurt!Sam. Protective!Dean.

Warning: Rated T for graphic violence, mentions of physical and sexual abuse and bad language. Spoilers up to 12x08 "Lotus".

Disclaimer: I don't own the show or the characters.

Surrounded by four concrete walls, there was nothing else to do but stare at them.

To look at the white paint that had started to chip off over the years, or gouged by other prisoners - anything to pass time.

Sam was slowly going mad, his mind terrorized by the wall's bleak stare.

Once a day they slid a platter of food through the slit in the door and then left again, without a word or as much as a glance in his direction.

Once a week, they came in- three of them; each one taller and bulkier than Sam had ever been- even in his better years- cuffed his hands behind his back and escorted him to the shower stalls.

They didn't even give them a towel.

Just a chunk of curd soap and ice cold water.

You didn't have to have a psychology major to know that what they were doing wasn't constitutional, no matter what crime he and Dean were falsely accused of.

Sensory deprivation was a torture method and so was a dripping faucet in an enclosed space.

But it wasn't even so much the fact that Sam was going stir crazy that got to him, as much as it was the thought that Dean was suffering through the same hell.

That no matter how hard this was on him, it would be ten times worse on his brother.

Because Dean hated to be alone with his thoughts.

Dean hated to be alone, period.

And keeping Sam out of Dean's reach and sight for weeks on end was bound to drive Dean up the walls with worry.

"Hey," Sam's voice was raspy from lack of use. He tried to make eye-contact but the warden merely cast him a glance in silent warning. "When can I see my broth—"

He was shut up when the guy slammed the butt of his gun down hard on the side of Sam's head. The force of the blow had actual black spots dancing across his vision and it took Sam a few seconds to be able to breathe again.

The guy grabbed a fistful of Sam's hair and painfully twisted his head back. "You no longer have a brother. In here, you don't even have a fucking name, you get that, you worthless piece of shit?"

The words were nothing but a hot whisper against his ear, but strangely enough, it was exactly in that moment- with his ears ringing and his heart racing and the sound of another human's voice registering in his brain for the first time in weeks, that Sam felt the sting of tears in his eyes.

That he started to realize the extent of their predicament.

You no longer have a brother.

The prison cell was a hollow cube of concrete, one way in, no windows.

In here it was impossible to tell how much time had passed or even if it was night or day.

It was disorienting by design and humiliating by default.

Dean had lived in some shady places throughout the years, but he had never taken a shit, brushed his teeth and slept, all in the same place before.

He had gone without food before but never lived on just bread for weeks on end.

The isolation was total and the stimulation was non-existent.

No sound, no light, no furniture except for a concrete table and a concrete bed, which was about as fucking comfortable as it sounded.

They came by once a day to feed him, sliding a gray metal platter with two slices of old bread and a plastic cup filled with water through the slot in the door.

"Where's my brother?" Dean demanded as soon as he heard the tell-tale screech of the rusty lock.

It had become his mantra ever since they'd been forcefully separated.

Where did you bring him? Is he in a different cell block? Is he alright? When can I see him?

Please... just tell me if he's alright.

Dean scrambled off the bed and to the door, trying to get a peek of the warden- to make eye-contact, to do anything at all to get that bastard's attention for even just a second. "Hey! I'm fucking talking to you!"

The guard just slammed the latch back in place and Dean let out a violent string of curses, before kicking the platter with food across the room and spilling his only cup of water for the day.

He felt tears in his eyes as he dug his shaking fingers through his hair and fisted the sweaty strands so hard it hurt.

"SAAAM!" he beckoned as loud as his voice would allow. "SAMMY!"

He yelled for maybe half an hour (it was hard to tell) until his throat ached and his voice grew hoarse when the door to his cell was suddenly opened and a guard stepped inside.

Dean's anger was coming off of him in waves; his breathing ragged as he built himself up to his full frame, swaying lightly from sleep deprivation and malnutrition.

"Where's my brother you son of a bitch?"

The guy swung Dean around and slammed him up against the nearby wall with so much force that it caused him whiplash.

"Listen up, you fucking maggot. I got the authority to keep you in a windowless, soundproof cell until the end of fucking days. The second you stepped into this prison, you lost your name, your identity, and your goddamn dignity, you get that? In here, nobody gives a shit about your miserable excuse of a life. So the only thing standing between your brother and a nice little chat with my little friend here—" the guard patted his shiny baton almost lovingly, lips curling into a sadistic smile. "Is you."

He was close enough for Dean to smell the sweat on his skin and the rancid odor mixed in with his breath.

Dean's heart was racing in his chest, his nostrils were flaring.

"Come to think of it, you brother's got a pretty face… It would be a pity to bash it in when there's so much fun to be had with those lips. I'm not into that sort of thing, but I got a few colleagues who'd have no trouble showing him a good time."

"I will fucking kill you!" Dean roared, face burning red with rage, every piece of his confidence and sarcasm fading at the direct threat towards his little brother. "I WILL END YOU! You keep your goddamn fucking hands off of him, you son of a bitch, or I'll—"

Kotter grabbed a handful of Dean's dirty blonde hair and Dean couldn't quite bite back the pained grunt that tumbled past his lips when his head was knocked back against the wall for emphasis.

"Here's how it's gonna go. You complain about your food and I'll cut your brother's ration. You mouth off to one of us and we'll find new and creative ways to use your brother's mouth. You start screaming again and I'll serve you his tongue on a platter for lunch tomorrow."

Dean clenched his teeth in dismay, heart beating wildly in his chest.

The breath punched in and out of his chest at inhuman speed and there were tears in his eyes as he held Kotter's gaze with more fury than he thought he'd ever possessed.

"Are we fucking clear about all of this?" Kotter spat into Dean's face. "Or do you want to test me?"

It took every ounce of self-control Dean possessed to grit out the words through his clenched teeth. "Crystal."

He had never wanted to kill someone more in his life- had never wanted to wrap his fingers around another human being's throat and squeeze until the spark left their dead eyes, but for Kotter, Dean was going to make an exception.

Whether Cas saved them, or Crowley or their mom, it didn't matter, but they were going to get out of this godforsaken hellhole and once they did, Dean was going to take his time with this fucker.

"Yes, sir," Kotter insisted, lips curling up into a sardonic smirk.

Dean clenched his jaw tight enough to snap, eyes glowing near black with fury.

"Yes, sir," he spat the words into the guy's face.

"Good boy," Kotter gave the side of Dean's face a degrading little pat and walked out the door, locking it behind him.

It fell closed with another rusty screech and Dean stared at him through a veil of angry tears for a whole minute before he let out a snarl and viciously pounded his fist against the wall until blood was coating his palm and dripping from his fingers.

By the time, Cas and Mary showed up, Sam wasn't sure if he was even still alive.

They talked to him but after months of literal silence, he just flinched and blinked at them, uncomprehending.

It wasn't until Dean showed up in the doorway of the cell with his hair grown out and a scruffy beard covering half of his face, that Sam let out a choked sob and pulled himself up on shaky legs.

Dean's hands were bloodied; his knuckles busted and when he yanked Sam against his chest, but Sam could feel the frantic beat of his heart through the flimsy prison gear and that was all that mattered.

"You good?" Dean croaked out and Sam didn't think he would have been able to use his own voice, even if he tried.

He nodded, his chin digging into the jut between Dean's neck and shoulder blade.

Sam hadn't been sure, lately. If he was back in the cage or in Hell or in Purgatory… he hadn't been sure if he had died or simply lost his mind or if he was ever going to get out of this place again.

But he had known one thing with absolute certainty.

There was no condition, no parallel universe, no realm of reality where the phrase 'You no longer have a brother' held true.

His brother would always come through for him.

No matter what.

The End.

UGH. Give me those boys in a supermax prison ANYTIME. Can we please have some protective big!bro!Dean while we're at it? ;)