A/N: Due to some really poor decision making back at the beginning of the month, I decided that this story was a good idea, and that I was going to publish it. It's that bad. But it's going up anyway. Actually, in itself, the idea wouldn't be that terrible, but I just don't think anyone is in character, and it's written badly. I just had this idea in May, and so I wrote it down, and so, read at your own risk.
A/N2: Also, the title is stupid.
Disclaimer: Reason Number 15, I think, you are glad I am not part of the Supernatural writing team.
It's Just Sam.
This isn't like when he came back from Hell. Dean never expected to come back from Hell, for one. This time, Dean fought his way out.
Dean was out of purgatory, which had been the pain-in-their-ass for two years now. He was beat up, and tired, and snarky, but he was okay. He was alive, at least. AS far as he knew, there were no new big bads, who were bigger and badder than the last time. As far as he knew, his car was okay, and Sam was okay.
When Dean came back from Hell, he hadn't known if any of those things were true. Turned out, none of them were.
But Dean was pretty sure Sam knew he'd come back from Purgatory this time, and Dean was really pretty sure Sam knew how to take care of his baby, and he was almost positive nothing had followed him out of Purgatory.
The very first thing Dean wanted when he got back was to sleep. In a room. With a bed. With air-conditioning. And a shower.
The very first thing Dean wanted when he got back from Hell was to find Sam, and then whoever saved him.
It wasn't like Dean didn't want to find Sam now, but he had called Sam's cell, and although it went straight to voicemail, it wasn't disconnected, so Dean thought Sam was sleeping. Dean decided he could call again tomorrow. First, he needed a shower, and a good, longer-than-four-hours sleep.
So Dean stole a car (which must have been fluke) and set out to find the first motel that didn't have bugs that would eat him while he slept for the first time in months.
The car he borrowed must have really been a fluke, because it was just his luck that he popped out of Purgatory in the middle of absolutely nowhere. There was nothing around for miles except an abandoned car and a closed gas station.
Dean tried not to think about how close this was to how he popped out of Hell, except this time it was the middle of the night.
And Sam was all right. Sam was all right.
The longer Dean drove the more he thought about Sam, and because Sam was not with him, the more he thought about Sam the more he worried about him. When they had gone after Dick things were just starting to really get better for Sam. Despite his pleas to the contrary, Dean knew this past year would have been hard enough without everything else with a Cas and with Bobby. Even though Sam claimed, from the time that wall came down until his admittance to the psychiatric ward after getting hit by a car, that he was handling it, Dean thought there might be the possibility that leaving Sam alone –all alone – could be counterproductive.
Oh God, no.
Of course that is a worst case scenario, but Dean would rather have the physical devil come back to Earth than that. At least he could kick the physical devil's ass.
Dean had been driving out in the middle of nowhere for an hour when he reassessed his priorities and turned around to find Sam. A shower would still be nice, but Dean doubted he would be able to sleep in a nice –well, nice-ish, with a mattress –bed without know exactly how Sam was doing, after who knows how many months apart.
He could shower when he found Sam. He could sleep when he's dead.
(Supernatural: It's Just Sam)
It should have been a six hour drive at least. Dean made it in three-and-a-half. It took Dean three-and-a-half hours to find his little brother, four-and-a-half-hours after being the only man to return from Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory relatively unharmed within five years.
Dean knocked on the motel room's door, and took inventory of the place, trying to gauge his brother's ability to make good decisions by its state. It wasn't too bad, to tell you the truth. Not as bad as it could be, but Dean didn't know if that was just luck, or Sam's refusal to stay anywhere that wouldn't pass inspection.
Sam didn't answer, although Dean could hear faint voices inside. He assumed it was the TV, and if Sam wasn't answering than Dean hoped that Sam was asleep. Dean always really liked it when Sam was asleep. And it was four-thirty, so it would be really great if Sam was asleep.
Five hours out of Purgatory, and back to being a big brother full time since Hell.
Dean knocked again. "Sammy!" he called. "Sam, it's me!" Please let him be asleep, he thought as he continued to call for Sam through the door. "I'm coming in, Sammy," said Dean.
He picked the lock instead of breaking down the door, which would be far cooler, but less practical. He closed the door behind him as quietly as possible. For all that yelling, Dean really wanted Sam to keep sleeping.
Dean looked across the room and smiled. Maybe it was habit, or coincidence, or knowing Dean would come back, but Sam got a room with two beds. And, thank God, he was asleep in the far bed. Just like he would have been if Dean was there when he had gone to sleep.
Sam shifted uncomfortably in his sleep, and Dean smiled a little more; obviously not because he was uncomfortable, but just because how normal it all seemed.
When Sam was about fifteen and Dean was about nineteen, John used to leave them alone for a few months at a time, sometimes. And even though John had been leaving them alone since Dean had been eight, Dean was still left in charge of Sam.
Sam had been slightly resentful that John thought he still needed a babysitter, even if that babysitter was his big brother. Dean agreed that Sam was probably old enough to stay home alone, at least for a few days, so he left Sam at the motel for a few hours a few times a week, to renew their funds or pick up a girl.
When he'd come back, it was usually after midnight, but Sam would be mostly awake, watching some cop show, mostly because he knew how much Dean actually hated procedural cop shows.
The night Dean came back from Purgatory, Dean found Sam, half-asleep, with a procedural cop show blaring in the background.
"Hey, Sammy," Dean whispered, as he turned off the TV. Sam sat up, liked he had been shocked or something, and looked around the room wildly. He blinked tiredly, and started at the now black TV.
"Dean?" he moaned, but he wasn't looking at Dean. Sam flopped back down onto his pillows without waiting for Dean to answer.
"Sammy?" inquired Dean. Sam sat back up and looked at him, a little frightened.
Then he smiled. It was the smile of a scared child who had been saved by a superhero, and the superhero just told the kid he was pretty freaking awesome. Or of a sad child finding the one thing they find comfort in after it's been lost. Either way, it was the same smile that Dean had seen almost every day growing up. It was the same smile Sam smiled at him after Jessica died, after the incident with Max Miller, after John died, after the zombie broke his wrist, after the Croatoan virus, after Ava disappeared, after Madison, after Jake, after Tuesday, after Dean came back from Hell, after Samhain, after Alastair, after Ruby, after Ellen and Jo, after Brady, before he jumped into Hell, after being resoulled, after a Hell-attack, after Cas betrayed them, after the wall came down, after Dean put him back together, after Cas, after Bobby, after the Vitala, after Dean came back from 1944, after Lucifer wouldn't let him sleep, after Lucifer was gone, after Bobby came back as a ghost, after Cas woke up, after they sent Bobby on his way. It was the smile that he'd give Dean when he was little. Timid and mostly not a smile, but a "I know you can help me" smile. Dean had seen that smile a lot this past year. It was Sam's "my big brother is here" smile. And for the first time this year, Dean remembered what that smile meant. "I need you, Dean," he smiled. "I'm glad you're here," he grinned. "Help me." Dean smiled right back. "I'll try."
Sam's smile faltered. "If you can't help me, I don't know what to do."
"It's okay, Sammy," soothed Dean. "I'm here."
"You're really here?" he asked. Dean knew it was a question, not a statement of disbelief. Sam looked at him with big, trusting eyes that thought that Dean had all of the answers.
"Yeah, Sammy."
Sam started to cry. He was saying something, but no one except for Dean would have made anything out of it, but Dean knew. Dean always knew what Sam was saying. Dean talked to Sam before Sam could talk, and when Sam was too tired to talk. Dean could always understand Sammy.
But most of what Sam was saying revolved around "Dean," and "I missed you," which was a testament to just how tired Sam was.
All thoughts of hopping in the shower and then sleeping ,for God's sake, left his consciousness, because maybe having doors between Sam and himself wouldn't be great for Sam, who had apparently missed Dean, "so freaking much."
Dean sighed and crossed the room to Sam who flung himself (all two-hundred pounds of him) at Dean and clung on like his life depended on it, and all Dean could do (except cling back, of course) was wonder how many times Sam had wanted to do this since last May.
He should have known. He could smell it from across the room. The smell of a hunter. Sweat, and blood, and cheap liquor. Sammy had never smelled like a hunter before, even when Dean was sure Sam was more of a hunter than he was. Sammy always smelled like Sammy.
Sammy didn't smell like Sammy tonight. Sammy smelled like coffee, and cologne, and his almost girly smelling shampoo. Tonight, Sam smelled like a hunter. Blood, sweat, and whiskey.
When Sam kept mumbling to Dean's shoulder about how Dean could fix everything and kept apologizing about how Dean always needs to fix Sam, Dean figured this wasn't a one night occurrence. This was a "I need Dean, why isn't he here?" night occurrence. It was Sam's reaction to the whole thing being far too close to the time when Dean was in Hell.
Dean ran his hands through Sam's hair, hushing Sam and telling Sam everything was okay, because Dean was here. Dean was here so everything would be okay.
Sam settled eventually, and let go of Dean. "Thanks, Dean," he said over and over and over again. "Thank you. Don't leave again.
"Goodnight, Sam," said Dean. Six hours out of Purgatory, and back to being a fulltime big brother. All of it. All of the broken hearts, and drunken nights, and paralyzing nightmares, and good advice, and bad advice, and a companionable silence, and a good time, and protect Sammy because it's Dean's job, and Sammy is worth it.
It's not a burden. It's not a pain in his ass, it's not something else he's failed.
It's just Sam.