A/N: This story deals with Sam being raped by Toni Bevell, so if such a thing is going to be triggering for you then please don't read this. Now that that's done with, to credit the inspiration for this story: I saw a wonderful comic created by asksamstuff on tumblr about how Sam was attempting to deal with what had happened to him. If I could I would post a link to it because it's certainly worth looking at. One scene in this fic also uses direct quotes from part of the comic, so I'm truly sorry I can't provide a link.

Sam told himself he was okay. He had to be, so of course he was. There was so much going on in his life that what had happened with Toni didn't matter. It shouldn't matter. There was the manhunt for Lucifer, Mary trying to readjust to being alive again, Dean just… well, being Dean. No one asked him about what had happened. It was over. So then why was he still thinking about it?

Day after day Sam did his best to bury himself in hunting, to help his mom out, to help everyone out. He didn't want to bring anyone down with what he'd been through. The past was in the past, so surely he should just move on. Yet he seemed like the only one who couldn't just brush past it, keep forging ahead.

Sometimes Dean would ask him how he was doing, and Sam would always respond with the same answer: "I'm okay." He told himself that no one wanted to hear about what had happened to him. Why should they care? They had their own problems. He didn't need to add his on top of theirs.

But telling everyone he was okay, and thinking that he had to be, didn't make it so. Sam spent many sleepless nights curled up in bed trying to come to terms with what had happened to him. It wasn't like it was something he hadn't been through before.

It's no big deal. I should just get over it.

There were two words that entered his mind for what had happened to him. The torture was one thing. It was straightforward, simply meant to dole out pain, but his other experience with Toni was completely different. The two words seemed burned into his mind, and he tried to wipe them away, to wipe the experience away, but it wouldn't leave. He kept trying to tell himself that maybe he was just being overdramatic. It had to be that. It'd be better than...

It felt good in the moment so surely it means it's not that. Right?

That was a lie. He knew it. It wasn't as if something like this hadn't happened to him before, and really, why should he have thought he was safe from it ever happening to him again? People seemed to enjoy using him and taking advantage of him in such a way. It turned his stomach. This latest experience wasn't anything new, but added onto everything else it made him want to scream. But he didn't. He lay there quietly, trying to build up the guts to search "sexual assault" on his phone. Maybe he could find something to help him deal with it. Maybe he could make sense of what had happened to him. Maybe he could find out why it'd happened to him.

But he was too afraid. Searching those two words would make it all the more real. He didn't even want to think them. Besides, there was too much going on in his life for him to even let this take up space in his brain. His mom needed him, Dean needed him, Cas needed him.

So yet another night passed with Sam lying awake, attempting to make sense of it all. During the day he did his best to stay engaged in what was going on; in the conversations with Dean, in the research into a new case. He really did, but his mind kept going back to what had happened. It was abhorrent.

Maybe I should talk to Dean about it.

Would he even understand?

He's my brother. Of course he'll understand.

They were in the library, silence encompassing them, so Sam started, "Hey, Dean, can I talk to you about something?"

"Shoot."

And that was when it all fell apart. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't do it. Dean wouldn't understand, he couldn't. Sam didn't think he would even try to. Now he was thinking back to the first hunt they'd been on together, the first one after… "Look, man, Cas healed your s'mores foot, all right? I got Baby back to mint. We're road ready." It was as if Dean thought healing the physical injuries erased the mental ones. Besides, the worst part of his captivity hadn't left any physical injuries.

All this ran through Sam's mind, so instead of talking about what he had originally intended he just asked, "What do we do when we find Lucifer?"

Talking about Lucifer wasn't any easier, but he knew Dean wouldn't really want to discuss this particular topic that much. Besides, Dean didn't know the full extent of what had happened to him in the Cage.

"The way I see it there's not much we can do," Dean answered. "Not much that I can think of anyway. We're just gonna have to go in, try to save the world, and hope we don't die in the process."

"Yeah, guess you're right."

Sam was quiet after that, and he tried to research a case, he really tried, but his mind just kept replaying, "Was it good for you?"

A shiver ran through him and he quickly looked to Dean, hoping and praying that he hadn't noticed. His brother's eyes were still glued to his laptop. He hadn't seen anything.

That day, just like the others after what had happened with Toni, passed slowly and painfully. And another night had come. Another night meant more hours lying in bed trying to decide if he should research "sexual assault" just so he could get some help. He nearly did this night. He actually typed in the letters "s" and "e", but he got no further than that. Sam turned his phone off, encompassing himself in darkness once more.

Maybe it hadn't been that. Maybe he was just being overdramatic. Surely that's what was happening.

I enjoyed it.

But I didn't want it.

Once again Sam tried to push the pain down, but nighttime was always more difficult than daytime. During the day there were people to distract him, things to do, but at night he was left utterly alone with the horrors within his own mind.

Sam drifted off to sleep and he dreamt of his torture. He dreamt of… that. Awaking from the nightmares brought no relief. He was shivering in a cold sweat, his sheets twisted around him, and his mind was replaying the events of his captivity over and over again, like some demented TV show on a constant loop. That in itself was agony. All of it was agony.

The next day he, Dean, and Mary went on a hunt. Nothing major, just a typical salt and burn. They didn't even run into any problems. That evening the three of them had gone to a bar to grab a few drinks. Dean and Mary had been there for awhile, but they'd eventually left. Sam had decided to stay. Maybe getting drunk would help him escape from the torment within his mind.

The alcohol didn't seem to be doing its job. Sure he was kind of tipsy, but for some reason that just made his mind even more chaotic. Now the torture and the sexual assault were blending together horribly, reminding him a little too much of his time in the Cage.

"Rough day?" a voice beside him asked.

Sam started. He hadn't even realized someone had sat down next to him. It was a woman, a redhead with short hair and blue eyes. She was pretty, but Sam didn't pay particular attention to that. He wasn't sure he could ever stand to be touched by a woman again. It didn't matter how pretty they were.

She seemed friendly enough, not like someone who would hurt him or force a sexual experience on him, so Sam replied, "I guess you could say that."

He wasn't sure why he was talking to her; it'd probably be best for him to just chalk it up to the alcohol consumption.

"Not in the sharing mood?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Not really."

"Then I'm sorry for prying." She held out her hand. "My name's Natalie."

After some deliberation in which he probably looked awkward for such a long pause, he shook her hand. "Sam."

Those weren't the only words they shared. They continued talking, and rather than spilling his problems out there for everyone to see like most people who were drunk would he still kept it inside, still tried to push it down. He talked about the good things in his life, talked about all the traveling he did.

After telling her about the time he'd been to Los Angeles she said, "Wow, you really do travel a lot."

"Ha… keeps me occupied, mostly."

To his surprise Natalie then leaned in close, and every fiber of his being was screaming at him to move away from her, but he tensed and remained still. She whispered in his ear, dragging out her voice in a way that any other man would find sexy, "How about we occupy my apartment? A little wine, a little music, y'know?

"Was it good for you?"

In an instant Sam was out of his seat, grabbing his jacket.

"Sorry, I got - something. Thanks for the company."

Natalie was startled, and asked, "Was it something I said? Did I come on too strong?"

Sam was already becoming too lost in memories of unwanted pleasure to respond. Before Natalie could say anything else he'd left the bar.

Once outside he leaned against the wall, attempting - and failing - to take deep breaths.

"I'm okay," he muttered to himself. "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay."

"Was it good for you?"

"I have to be okay."

The memories viciously attacked his mind. Memories of sweaty, heated skin, soft moans, warmth, searing pleasure. And all of it, every single touch, every second, had been unwanted.

"Was it good for you?"

I'm okay.