The past two months had felt like torture for Sam. You'd disappeared, vanished, only to return possessed. The whole ordeal had been a traumatic experience, both for the Winchesters and for you. While you had no control of your body, the demon taking the wheel, you could see everything that the demon did with your body. All of the pain they'd caused, all of the destruction. That guilt was a heavy burden to bear, even after Sam and Dean had successfully exorcized the demon. You were a hunter, had been your whole life, but now you felt broken. Harrowing memories plagued your mind, your soul a constant battlefield.

Sam could do nothing but watch as you insisted you were fine, though he knew that was far from the truth. Nothing he tried could get you to open up, to talk about what you were feeling. But he could not let you suffer for much longer. For the past three nights, he'd lay in bed by your side, sleepless. Your nightmares were dreadful, and even though he only saw your pain, it felt like it was ripping him apart. You'd squirm and toss, face twisted up in agony as you mumbled incoherent thoughts. You'd even cried in your sleep once, and he swore a piece of his heart shattered right then and there. He'd learned to sleep lightly, to wake at any tiny disturbance so he could comfort you. Even in sleep, you were unable to find peace.

The sheets ruffled quietly as you began to stir, though what fully woke him was a very clear word falling from your lips: ”stop.” Your desperate, pleading tone quickly roused him from his slumber, and Sam quickly reached to flick on the lamp on his nightstand. He squinted, momentarily blinded by the sudden artificial light, though his eyes quickly adjusted.

“Sweetheart,” Sam soothed, voice gentle yet firm. One of his hands gently clasped your bare arm, fingers rubbing up and down your skin. Your gasps for breath and faint cries were pitiful. “Honey, wake up,” He spoke again, louder as he gave you a gentle shake. “I'm here. You're home, at the bunker, you're safe.”