"You good?"
It was shorthand for 'if there is even one thing wrong, you tell me and you tell me now'. It was code for 'how long were you with that bastard? What'd he say? What'd he do? What do you need? How are you handling it?' It was the verbal alternative to Dean physically determining for himself that there were no broken bones, severed arteries, or out of place ribs.
"I'm alive, so yeah," because that was the best Sam could come up with. Because everything else felt broken and severed and out of place and being alive was the best he could let himself feel. He was alive and he could be with Dean and Mom and Jack again. At least he had that.
"Then you got nothing to be sorry for," Dean told him. More than told him. Ordered him. And instead of letting his brain whirl on the thought 'so, if I wasn't good, I should be sorry?' Sam stepped in when Dean reached to hug him and they both just held on for what was definitely not long enough.
"You good?" Dean asked again.
Sam closed his eyes and held on, even though he was bloody and filthy and Dean wasn't, Sam held on hard, relieved and grateful and safe again.
"Yeah, I am."
.
The End