So, I don't usually do tags this close to when the episode airs, but dang it, I wanted more of a reunion between the boys. I know Mary's return kind of altered how it might otherwise have played out, but I still wanted to see it. And if I did it with a nice helping of H/C, well, why not?
Not mine, obviously. (Or else something like this would have been on screen.)
It wasn't until he was helping Sam into the car that Dean saw it. Sam's left hand was clenched into a fist—and why wouldn't it be? The kid was beat to hell. (Something he intended to get Cas over and fix ASAP.) But this was no stoic attempt to control pain. This was Sam, his breathing starting to pick up pace, his eyes flitting uncertainly back and forth between Mary and Dean, and his fingers digging into his palm where a scar used to be.
"Sammy? Hey," Dean said softly. Sam was sitting sideways in the passenger seat, and Dean crouched down between his bare, burned feet. Sam blinked and Dean tapped his knee. "Sam," he said again, and Sam looked down at him.
With the adrenaline wearing off and without the need to keep up a strong face for his torturers, Sam looked exhausted, a little scared, and about five years old. Dean smiled warmly. "You're okay, Sammy," he assured him. He moved his hands to grab Sam's clenched one, holding it tightly. "It's real."
"But—but you're dead," Sam whispered. "And…" His voice trailed off but his eyes trailed back up to Mary, who had noticed them and was starting to drift over.
"Hey," Dean said, putting a hand to the side of Sam's face and guiding his eyes back to him. "It's real, I promise."
Sam shook his head, though not hard enough to dislodge Dean's hand. "But the sun, it—it went back to normal. You had to—She's just messing with me again, or—or—" He cut himself off and looked away, like he was ashamed to be talking to an illusion.
"Sammy," Dean sighed. He still didn't have the full picture of what had gone down in that basement, but he had a pretty good idea of what level of spell work that woman had been capable of, and every passing second was making him wish he'd shot British Barbie instead of knocking her out.
He stroked his thumb across Sam's cheek, stretching it up to brush over the tender flesh of the gash still oozing blood, and Sam flinched. "Remember this different kind of pain?" Dean asked softly. "The kind that means it's real?" Sam's eyes flicked up to meet Dean's and then down again. "This is real. I'm really here, Sammy, I swear." He paused. "I swear to Chuck," he teased gently, and grinned when an unwilling smile tugged on the corner of Sam's mouth. "It's a long story, and I promise I'll tell you all of it later, but Amara let me go. I'm here." He slid his hand back to squeeze the back of Sam's neck. "I'm real. I'm alive. Stone number one, okay?" he asked as Sam's eyes slid back up to meet his.
Sam looked at him for a long moment, then swallowed and nodded. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay," he said again with more conviction. He almost smiled then, shaky and scared, and grabbed Dean and pulled him into a crushing hug. Dean didn't hesitate to return the embrace, even though he knew he was hurting him. His brother needed this more. "You're really here," Sam whispered, clutching Dean's shirt and folding into his big brother's arms with a choked sob.
"I'm really here," Dean assured him, threading one hand up into Sam's hair and pulling him closer. Mary was watching them with a curious look, knowing she was missing something, but Dean didn't care right now. Sam would always come first.
"I thought—" Sam choked. "But, Billie, and I was never—" He was having trouble getting enough air for words and breathing and crying, but Dean got it.
"Yeah. I know." Dean closed his eyes for a second and thought how close he had come to an eternity in the Void and never seeing Sam again. "Not this time. And you know what?" he added with conviction. "Not ever. We do get stuck in the Void, we're stuck together, you hear me?"
Sam sniffed, and after a moment, nodded against Dean's chest. He pulled back and looked at him. "Yeah." He sat all the way up and wiped his nose. "I'm glad you're back, Dean," he said, with a real smile at last.
Dean grinned and stood, patting Sam on the knee. "You ready to let Cas fix you up?"
With a pained groan, Sam slumped back against the seat. "Hell, yes. But, Dean…" He looked over Dean's shoulder to where Mary was standing.
Dean followed Sam's gaze, then turned back to Sam with a smile. "I see her too, kiddo," he told him, and his smiled widened as he watched the last of the tension drain out of Sam's body.
"Part of that long story?" Sam asked, smiling self-consciously as he wiped at his eyes.
"Yeah. Let's get you fixed up, and I'll tell it to you on the way home."
He nodded at Cas, and the angel moved forward and touched two fingers to Sam's forehead. Sam hissed and arched his back slightly, then sank back with a sigh of relief as the flare of light faded. "Whoa," Dean exclaimed, reaching out an arm as Sam listed to the side.
"I'm sorry," Cas said. "I've healed him, but the exhaustion and blood loss are not something I can fix entirely."
Sam waved a weary hand as his eyes drifted shut. "S'okay," he slurred. "I c'n sleep that part off. Thanks, Cas." He offered a tired smile.
"Thanks, man," Dean said, nodding to let him know it really was okay. "Alright, Sasquatch," he added, turning and grabbing Sam's legs. "Let's get you all the way in there."
Sam grunted his displeasure at being manhandled, but made no further argument as Dean swung his legs into the foot well and shut the door.
"You, ah, you mind sitting in the back?" he asked Mary awkwardly.
"Tell you what, you get him to fix me up, and I'll keep the angel company on the way back," Mary offered. Dean could tell she was aching to check on Sam, bursting with questions, but she could also see that her presence might be too overwhelming for him right now. He nodded gratefully, and she hugged him briefly and followed Cas to his truck.
Sam's eyes slitted open as Dean slid into the driver's seat. "Still here, Sammy," he said.
Sam snorted. "I know." He shut his eyes again but shifted in the seat so he was closer to Dean. Dean was silent for a minute, and Sam cracked his eyes again. "You gonna start the car or what?"
Dean shook his head. It wasn't nearly as bad as after that Mystery Spot fiasco, or, hell, Hell, but if Sam needed to check and make sure Dean was still really there, he wasn't going to begrudge him that. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been a little overly touchy-feely himself for a few days after Corbin.
"Come on, you big girl." He let out a mock sigh of longsuffering and grabbed Sam's collar, making him grunt with surprise as he tugged him down to lay on the seat. It was a little cramped, but Sam's feet curled up and propped against the dash, and his head rested up against the side of Dean's leg. Kid wasn't going to get any rest if he kept looking to see if Dean was still there.
Sam sighed and shifted theatrically as he made himself comfortable, but he didn't protest the repositioning. The purr of the engine had him giving in to days' of exhaustion before they hit the interstate, but not before he'd nuzzled his head into Dean's leg and hooked two fingers into the pocket of Dean's jeans in a position reminiscent of their backseat days driving around with Dad. "Thanks f'r comin' back for me, Dee," he mumbled sleepily, not really awake.
"Always will, Sammy," Dean answered softly, and no, his eyes were not misting up. "Always will."