A/N: The layout of this poem is based on Richard Siken's "Saying Your Names" from his book Crush. I chose to do Dean's POV of Sam because I think a lot of people find Sam difficult to understand (Dean included), and part of that is that Sam is so often not himself. It doesn't help that he also tends to be quiet and doesn't explain himself well.

Saying Sam

I'm standing outside of Sam's room

Wondering which version of my brother I will meet.

Every day he is a different draft of different stories,

Hundreds of different Sams with different smiles.

And I'm trying to rearrange them all into one coherent thing but

There are child Sams and ancient Sams,

Sams encased in fires and Sams frosted over with ice,

Sams dangling on meat-hooks and Sams splayed on floors.

Sam is dying in the muddy street,

Sam is dead in my arms,

Sam is wrapping his arms around me and saying Dean.

Here is Sam on the bathroom floor, his back arched

And his head banging a tempo on the hard tiles,

And here is Sam lunging in front of me, dodging a blow from a fist

Or a hammer.

Here I am in the mental hospital, watching Sam

Who is watching nothing.

Here I am cradling his head in my lap.

I am pressing a wound on the palm of Sam's hand,

I am wiping away blood leaking from his eyes.

I am snapping my fingers in front of his blank hazel eyes so that he will focus on me,

Or on anything real, anything at all.

I'm cleaning Sam's cuts, memorizing the scars and fractures of him so that I will know

If the person standing in front of me is a Sam filled with Meg or Gadreel

Or nothing at all, or is simply a Sam-shaped thing pretending.

This is what Sam looks like carrying Lucifer's soul,

This is what Sam looks like carrying his own soul.

I'm screaming Sam into the night, hoping my call will find his ears,

I'm murmuring Sammy over and over again, brushing my hand through his too-long hair.

I'm hitting Sam, I'm saying This is a dictatorship,

I'm saying I can't do this without you, I'm fumbling with words and explanations

And Sam is saying I know.

Sam knows all the words I can't say, and as the mercury droplets of Sam

Slide through my fingers and poison my skin

I sometimes feel like I don't know Sam

At all.