Sam locked his door as always, and laid back down on his bed, breaking off another piece of caramel chocolate and closing his eyes. It was horrible for his teeth to fall asleep every night with sugar still seeping into the pores of his very bones. He knew it, but he had come to accept that this was just how it had to be.

It had to be like this when the caramel caught him and tossed him onto the pillows, pushing him in all the right places, relaxing his muscles. It had to be this way when the chocolate whispered in his ear and stroked a comforting thumb over his hip.

He woke up to the taste of pumpkin pie and the fading feeling of fingers in his hair. Sam stared at the locked door.

He turned over, and went back to sleep.

⁠—

This time when he was awoken, it was to loud knocking on his door, and Dean telling him to 'get your ass up already'. Sam turned his face back into the pillows and regretted missing the chance to savor those last few seconds of a face pressed against his neck.

Sam didn't move an hour or so later, when Dean slammed the door open, after rather loudly picking the lock.

"Sammy? What the hell? Are you okay?"

Sam didn't respond.

"Dammit Sam, answer me! I thought you were abducted or something. You're scaring me."

Sam didn't respond.

"Cas!" Dean called. "Cas. Please, I need you to come here, it's Sam, something's wrong."

Sam heard the faint sound of wings as Cas appeared.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know, but he's not responding, he's not doing anything. He's been acting weird for weeks, is he possessed or something? Can you, I don't know, scan him or something?"

Castiel sighed. "I'll try."

Sam felt a warm press of fingers briefly on his shoulder.

"He's not possessed. I didn't sense any sort of spell, or anything of that nature. He appears to be...fine."

"He's not fine, Cas!"

"Dean, I was merely⁠⁠—"

"I'm fine," Sam said quietly.

"What the hell, Sammy?" Dean laid a hand on his shoulder and leaned over him to look him in the eyes, but Sam kept them shut.

"Why weren't you talking? Why didn't you get up? You're giving me a fucking heart attack."

"I don't want to."

"What do you mean you don't want to? This isn't a game, I don't know what the hell is going on, but⁠⁠—"

"I said I don't want to. I don't want to get up, I don't want to talk to you, and I don't want to work on stupid research." Sam burst out.

"Sammy, you can't just⁠⁠—"

"I said. I. Don't. Want. To. Now please get out and let me sleep." He pulled his covers up more securely around his shoulders.

"This⁠⁠—"

"Dean," Cas interrupted. "Let's just...leave for now. We can talk outside if you wish."

There was a long moment before Dean relented.

"Fine," he said tersely, and followed Cas out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

"I believe Sam is simply...finally feeling the weight of the things he's gone through." Cas spoke, before Dean could say anything.

"What does that even mean?"

"I'm no expert on humans by far, but even I can see his more upsetting experiences seem to be catching up to him."

"Hey, I've been through a lot of shit too, and you don't see me giving up," Dean retorted.

"You and Sam are very different people."

Sam listened to them argue outside. He didn't care why, he just wanted to keep sleeping, keep feeling at least a little bit good if he was cracking up anyway. If his life was falling apart regardless.

He reached an arm under the bed, and flipped open the box he kept there. He felt around for a satisfactory piece. There. He unwrapped the licorice, and curled back into the pillow as he moved it around his mouth with his tongue. Yeah. Things were better this way. Things were easier this way.

⁠—

Sam hadn't left his bed in six days for anything except the bathroom. Dean had taken to leaving sandwiches on his bedside table. Sometimes he ate them. Most of the time he didn't. Dean still tried to get him to talk, and left in a huff of barely restrained anger every time Sam ignored him.

Today, however, Dean was on a whole new level.

"Get the fuck up and take a fucking shower, Sammy. Stop ignoring me and get up. And before you even say it, I don't care that you don't want to." He waited. For anything. Sam didn't move a muscle.

"Come on Sammy, at least take a shower. Please? Maybe actually eat something? I'll make you food, you just have to get up and actually eat it."

Dean waited.

"Sam!" he barked. Still no response. "Bitch," he muttered under his breath.

"Jerk," Sam mumbled against the pillow.

Dean huffed out a relieved sort-of laugh. Well at least there was still that.

"Sam. Please."

Sam was quiet for so long, Dean almost gave up and left, but then, "Tomorrow," he let out quietly.

Dean sighed. "Okay. Tomorrow." He turned back at the door, "I'm holding you to that."

⁠—

The next evening saw Sam, finally showered, slumped down at the bunker's kitchen table. Dean let out a relieved sigh when he saw Sam finally come in.

"You want pasta? I can put lots of veggies in?" Dean asked temptingly.

His shoulders slumped when he failed to get a response.

"You're getting pasta," he said tersely, and set the water to boil.

Sam could smell the starch in the air, yet even though he'd managed to brush his teeth, all he could taste was burgundy ice cream running laps over his tongue. He wondered if anyone else had gone this particular brand of crazy before.

He managed to eat most of the pasta Dean gave him, but it was practically tasteless, devoid of sugar and zest. It contained no teasing 'tsk's, no flashing teeth, no almost-dimples. It didn't interest Sam at all.

Sam wondered if he could quite literally drown himself in candy so that he could just get this over with. He'd still go out in a nice way if he did that. It all seemed faster than the slow insanity route.

⁠—

When he next awoke, Sam's mouth tasted of nothing but sleep, and he felt the alarming sensation of someone staring at him. He snapped his head up, and saw a figure perched on his dresser.

"Hiya kiddo," Gabriel said quietly. "I made it back." One side of his mouth tugged up in a small grin.

Sam started crying. He wasn't sure if the tears were a product of the hyperventilation, or if the hyperventilation was a product of the tears, but it didn't really matter. What did anything matter? He hadn't wanted it to go like this. Not so soon.

Oh god, he couldn't let Dean know. Couldn't let him know he'd gotten this bad.

Gabriel hesitantly sat down on the bed and put an arm around Sam. "Hey, hey, it's okay."

Sam curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his knees and putting his head down. "Oh god," he choked out.

Things had been very wrong for awhile now, but Sam hadn't thought it would get this bad ⁠⁠— at least not so quickly.

Gabriel tightened his arm around Sam, and Sam leaned into him, crying harder. It hurt. It hurt a lot worse like this. He couldn't even tell dreams from reality anymore, and he was so afraid ⁠— so afraid, and so sure ⁠⁠— that this wasn't a dream. That he really was full on, wide awake hallucinating.

And it hurt even worse that this is what he had kind of wanted, and that it kind of felt nice. Of course, only Sam Winchester could be so very, very fucked up and still want it that way. Of course.

He leaned all his weight against Gabriel as he choked on his breath, trying to feel the solid heat as he fought to breathe. His breath was still too fast, coming in short gasps, and he felt like maybe he wasn't really breathing at all. Maybe it was like the trick where you pretend to breathe underwater, but you don't actually take anything into your lungs. Maybe even his uneven breathing was an illusion, at this point. Who knew? He didn't. His vision was going fuzzy and black around the edges. Maybe this was a dream after all.

Dean opened the door. "Sammy?"

Sam didn't want Dean to know, he didn't want to tell him, but he had to ask.

"Dean, am I alone?" he managed in a strangled gasp.

His own voice sounded distorted and far away, as if underwater. His ears filled with a sharp ringing as his vision twisted like a funhouse mirror. He blacked out.