They don't talk about it.
Dean understands. He remembers when he got back. Talking made the memories too real. Silence allowed him to tuck the memories in a back pocket, like a secret. Hidden, but never forgotten.
When Sam showed up, Dean swallowed a lump in his throat. "How'd you get out?"
Sam's eyes were blank. "I don't know."
"Damn, it's good to see you." He pulled Sam in for a hug.
"You too."
When Sam held on too tight and too long, Dean asked, "You okay?"
Sam didn't say a word, but Dean knew the answer. He accepted the silence and didn't let go.
They'll talk when Sam's ready.
Sometimes they talk about other things – the weather, installing new brake pads on the Impala, why stop signs are octagons and not hexagons – and Sam starts crying. Tears fall silently down his cheeks and dampen the front of his shirt like rain.
"Sammy," Dean whispers.
Sam doesn't say anything at all.
Sam hasn't had much of an appetite. At diners, he studies every inch of the menu. It's like he thinks that if he looks hard enough, he might find something to make everything okay again.
When the waitress comes back for the second or third or seventh time to see if they're ready to order, Sam looks at Dean, wide-eyed and helpless.
Dean coaxes the menu from his brother's grasp and orders things Sammy used to like – sandwiches, salads, grilled chicken.
Sam never manages more than a few bites before pushing the plate away.
Sam doesn't sleep well. Nightmares wake him continuously, leaving him sweating and shaking and gasping for breath. When he can't take any more, he gets up, makes a pot of coffee, and waits for morning.
They leave the lights on all night long. Even when they drive at night, it's with the dome light glowing and a flashlight in Sam's hands. It's not that he's afraid of the dark. After all they've been through, that fear is low on their lists. It's just that Sam can't seem to get enough light.
During the day, they leave motel curtains wide open. When they have a choice of tables, Sam always goes for one near the window. Sam even seems a little bit better on sunny days than cloudy ones, so Dean finds himself driving according to weather reports.
That's when Dean gets the idea. "Hey. Sammy. What do you say we go to the beach?"
"The beach?"
Dean shrugs. "Yeah. It's a nice day, and we're only a couple of hours away. Sun. Sand. Ocean breeze. Sound good?"
Sam presses himself against the passenger door and turns his face up towards the cloudless sky. "Yeah. Let's go."
There's a note of enthusiasm in Sam's tone, and Dean knows he's making a good decision. He points the car east and wonders about the healing properties of vitamin D.
It's the middle of the week, so the beach is deserted. When they step out of the car, the air is filled with the sound of waves rolling up onto the shore. It's a perfect day. The sun is warm, not hot, and the breeze is cool.
The blue of the ocean stretches on and on forever until it touches the blue of the sky. It almost looks like the world just drops off at one point. But Dean knows it doesn't. Not for most people, anyway.
"Wow," he says. "It's been a long time since I've been to the beach."
"Me too."
When Dean turns back to his brother, Sam has changed into a pair of shorts. They're hanging loose on his hips, and Dean knows he needs to do a better job of getting him to eat. When Dean offers a pair of sunglasses, he refuses. "You sure?" Even with his own pair, he's still squinting in the bright light.
Sam looks down at the ground. His hair blows with the wind. After a pause he says, "It was so dark." If the waves were any louder, Dean wouldn't have heard the broken words. "Light…it reminds me I'm not there."
Tears prick at the back of Dean's eyes. He's going to buy Sam a thousand flashlights and a watch with an illuminated display and a Lite Brite and bulbs and batteries to run all of them for the rest of his life just so he doesn't have to be in the dark ever again. "That's good, Sammy." He swallows a quiver in his voice. He pats Sam's shoulder, Sam who is warm and alive and here. "Really good."
The extra pair of sunglasses is tossed into the car along with their shoes and socks. Sam ditches his shirt, as if he wants to soak the sun into as many pores as he can.
"Ready?" Dean asks. Sam nods, and they take off towards the water. "Did I ever tell you about the first time we took you to the beach?"
Sam glances in Dean's direction. "I don't think so."
"You were only 1 or 2. When Dad put you down in the sand for the first time, you screamed. You wouldn't move your feet. I don't think you liked the texture." Dean steps over a piece of driftwood. "When I got close to you, you crawled up me like you were a monkey and I was a tree. Dad said not to baby you, that you'd get used to it, but I carried you around the rest of the day. And you were happy."
Sam's smile almost reaches his eyes. "I never heard that story."
"It's one of my earliest memories. I felt like I could protect you from the whole world."
They stop at the water's edge. When the next wave washes over their feet, Sam gasps. "Shit, that's cold."
"Not exactly bath water." Dean bends down to roll his jeans. They wade in the waves up to their knees. Dean digs up a shell and tosses it so far he barely sees the splash. He tastes a fine layer of salt on his lips.
"It's peaceful here," Sam says after a while.
Dean nods. When he looks over, there are goose bumps on Sam's arms. "Come on. Let's dry off."
As they walk away from the tide, sand sticks to their feet and legs. Dean finds a good spot and sits down. On second thought, he sprawls out flat, letting the sand heat his back and the sun warm his face. Sam sits next to him, long legs stretched out.
"This is the life, Sammy," Dean says with a yawn.
"I want to live on the beach someday."
It's good to hear Sam talk about the future. "Someday," he echoes and yawns again.
He falls asleep to the sound of sand trickling between Sam's fingers.
When Dean wakes, it takes a few seconds for him to remember that the crashing sound is just waves and the stuff on his cheek is just sand. He relaxes until he realizes that Sam is no longer next to him. He sits straight up and breathes a sigh of relief when he spots his brother sitting a few yards down the beach.
Dean stands, stretches, and brushes himself off. Based on the angle of the sun, he guesses a few hours have passed. He didn't realize how tired he was until he notices how much better he feels now. He starts walking in Sam's direction, not bothering to hope that Sam got some rest, too.
When he's a few feet from his brother, he stops. Something's wrong. Sam's skin looks pink. When he lifts his sunglasses, it's worse than pink. Sam's skin is bright red.
Dean checks his own arm, and it's still on the pale side of tan. Dean with his freckles and the tint of red in his hair is perfectly fine, and Sam who turns golden brown without a single drop of sunscreen is badly burned.
Dean really does not want to think about why that is.
"Sammy," Dean says, closing the rest of the distance between them.
Predictably, Sam jumps, but relaxes into a smile when he turns and sees Dean. An actual smile. It breaks Dean's heart. "Hey. Did you sleep good?" he asks, squinting up at Dean.
The skin across Sam's cheeks and nose and the tips of his ears is also burned. Damn it, why did he let himself fall asleep? "Yeah. But you're…" Dean trails off and motions to Sam's body. "I think you got a sunburn."
Sam looks at his arms as if they belong to someone else. Studies them. "Oh. I guess I did."
"Let's get you inside, okay? Artificial light."
Sam gets up and they walk side by side towards the parking lot. "We're going to get sand in your car."
"It's fine," Dean says, because he's got more important things to worry about.
"Fine? Wow." Sam smiles again. "You're not cranky. I'm going to make you take a nap on the beach every day."
Dean wants to bottle that sense of humor and put it on a shelf for safe keeping. The beach has done some damage, but it also seems to have done some good.
When they get to the car, Dean digs a few ibuprofen out of the first aid kit. He takes a bottle of water from the cooler and hands both to Sam, who is shirtless in the passenger seat.
"Thanks."
"Try to drink all of that water, okay?" Dean asks as he slides into the his seat. Sam's skin is starting look fluorescent and rashy. Dean's thoughts are changing from sunburn to sun poisoning.
"Okay."
Dean starts the car. "Does it hurt a lot?"
Sam hesitates. "The sunburn?"
Dean hates that they need to clarify. "Yes."
"Not really. Feels kind of tight."
That's good, but Dean knows how sun poisoning works. It's sneaky. It gets worse even after going inside. "I'm going to find a store. Get you some aloe. Then we'll find a motel. Taking a cool shower might help."
Sam nods. It's quiet for a while. "Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"Today has been a good day. The best since…since I've been back."
Despite his concern, Dean smiles. "Good. I'm glad."
But then they hit a pothole and Sam winces and leans forward, pulling his skin away from the leather seat.
Sam is going to regret those words.
Dean holds a hand under the meager spray from the shower head. He adjusts the handles one more time before shaking the water from his hand and nodding his approval.
"Leave it like that. No hotter, no colder. When you're finished, use this." Dean digs through a bag from the store and pulls out the softest towel he could find. $13 for a single plain blue towel. Crazy. But he knows motel towels. Cheap. Scratchy. Would do more harm than good. "Pat dry. Don't rub. I'm leaving the door open. Yell if you need anything. Okay?"
Sam runs the tips of his fingers over the soft fabric. "Thanks, Dean." The words are so quiet they can't be anything other than sad.
Dean nods. "Go on. Cool down. Then aloe and sleep. You'll feel better." It's not a lie, really. Just a terrible prediction.
He walks away and unpacks the rest of the supplies, keeping his ears trained on the bathroom at all times. When the faucets squeak and the water stops, he waits a few minutes before returning to his brother.
Sam is standing in front of the mirror in a pair of boxers. A few drops of water fall from his hair and roll down his back.
"Here," Dean says, taking the towel. "Let me get that." He carefully squeezes excess water from the long strands. "Did the shower help?"
"Not so hot anymore."
When Sam's hair stops dripping, Dean uses one hand to gently tug few tangles out of existence. "There. Go lie down on your stomach. I'll help you with your back."
Dean cleans up the bathroom and grabs the bottle of aloe, but Sam isn't lying down. He's sitting with his legs bent so that the only things touching the bed are his boxers, the soles of his feet, and the palms of his hands.
"Hurts too much to lie down?" Sam nods miserably and Dean kicks himself for not thinking to buy a soft sheet. "That's okay." He pushes the pillows out of the way and slides in behind Sam. "This will work."
Dean opens the bottle. He hesitates. "Tell me if I'm hurting you, okay?"
"I will."
When the gel makes contact with Sam's skin, he shivers. The burns on his shoulders are the worst, so Dean starts there. He avoids the blisters that are already forming, working the gel carefully into the hot skin that surrounds them.
Using the lightest touch of his fingertips, he rubs the back of Sam's neck. He works his way down vertebrae and out to each scapula. When he gets to the ribs, Sam buries his face in his hands.
"Doing okay?" Dean asks immediately.
Sam gives a slight nod, but doesn't remove his hands.
It's like he's embarrassed. Like he doesn't want Dean to see him in this state, half-naked and in so many different colors of pain. It's like when they used to play peek-a-boo. Baby Sam would hide behind his hands and giggle because he thought if he couldn't see Dean, then Dean couldn't see him.
Only now, instead of giggling, Sam trembles and lets out a sob. Dean's hand freezes. He wants to go back in time to protect Sammy from all of this. He wants to put his fist through a wall. He wants to find the devil and tear him apart limb from limb.
Instead, he swallows hard, takes a deep breath, and rubs more gel into the small of Sam's back.
And he does the only thing he can think to do. He starts talking.
"When I first got back, it hurt more than I thought it would." More aloe goes onto Sam's obliques. When he trembles, it's impossible to tell if it's from cold or emotion. "On some level, I knew hell would leave scars. But I didn't know it would leave scabs that open again and again."
Sam flinches at a particularly red spot near the waistband of his boxers. "Sorry," Dean says quickly. "Sorry." He continues his ministrations, more cautious this time. "But you know one of the things that got me through?"
Sam shivers. Finished with his back, Dean uses gentle hands to guide him against pillows, trusting that the aloe will make the contact tolerable. A gentle half-tug gets Sam's hands away from his face, revealing red cheeks and eyes filled with pain and tears.
"I thought about all of the people who weren't in hell. Pastor Jim. Ash. Mom. A ton of people we couldn't save. None of them were there." Dean rubs gel into Sam's sternum and his pecs and the dip under each clavicle. Sam could do this part himself. But he doesn't have to. More aloe goes onto Sam's stomach. The muscles there tense against Dean's fingers. Sam is skinny. Broken. But still strong.
When Sam closes his eyes, a few tears slip down his face. He whispers, "Jess wasn't there."
Dean nods. He knows. "You cling to that, Sammy. You cling to that fact and you cling to me and you stay in the light and you'll get through this, okay? We'll get through this."
The silence is answer enough.
Dean continues working on Sam's arms. He pays close attention to the back of his hands, making sure to get aloe into the burned spots between his fingers. When he's finished there, he thumbs stray tears away and rubs a fine layer of gel into cheekbones and forehead and chin. He gets to his nose and thinks Sammy might have a few freckles after this.
Last are his legs. Dean takes his time and works through the sensitive spots behind Sam's knees and on the tops of his feet. Even after the shower, there's still a little bit of sand clinging to the hair on his shins, and Dean wonders how that's possible.
Once he's finished, he pulls the sheet up to his brother's shoulders. Sam is shaking with chills. His eyes are trained on the window, where the curtains are wide open. Even with the pain the sun caused, he can't get enough of the light.
Dean puts the bottle of aloe on the nightstand. He digs through the first aid kit. When he gets back to Sam's side, he sits on the edge of the bed and shakes down the mercury in the thermometer. Sam opens his mouth so Dean can slide the metal end under his tongue.
While they wait, he opens a bottle of water and a bottle of Gatorade. He checks the clock. It's been long enough that he can alternate the ibuprofen with Tylenol, but not long enough that the sun poisoning has reached its peak, 6 to 48 hours after the burn. They're in for a long night.
A few minutes later, he takes the thermometer from between Sam's lips. The red line is sitting just over 102. He guides another pillow under Sam's shoulders, creating a slight incline. He offers Tylenol, which Sam accepts with the water.
"How are you feeling?"
"Okay," Sam says between sips. "Headache."
Dean nods. "Think you can get some sleep?"
There's nothing but honesty in his voice when he says, "I don't know."
"Try, okay? I'll be here when you wake up."
After a few more sips, Dean takes the bottle and Sam closes his eyes. Dean grabs one of the soft washcloths from the store. As he soaks it in cool water, he uses the trick he gave Sammy. He thinks about the people who aren't in hell. He thinks about their smiles and laughter and how they're not in pain. He thinks about his brother who is in pain, but here not there so they can make it okay.
When he places the cloth across Sammy's forehead, he's already breathing deep and even and slow.
Sam sleeps for a few hours.
And when he wakes, things get so much worse.
"Stay away from me."
Dean sighs when he hears those four words. Another nightmare. He doesn't want to wake his brother, who desperately needs the sleep. But when he gets to the bed, Sam's eyes are open. "Hey, Sammy. How are you doing?"
"You stay away from me."
"What?"
"Get the fuck away."
Something twists in Dean's gut. "I think we better check your temperature, Sammy."
Dean grabs the thermometer from the nightstand. Shakes it a few times. When he goes to put it between his brother's lips, Sam pulls away hard and fast. The friction of sheets against burned skin causes him to cry out.
"Stop! Get away from me!"
The outburst startles Dean so much he drops the thermometer on the ground. It's not like he needs a number to tell that Sam's delirious, though.
"Okay, Sammy. It's okay." He gets three ibuprofen. "Let's try this instead. Just some pain pills, all right?"
This time when Dean holds out his hand, Sam scampers even further away, into a seated position against the headboard. The cry of pain is loud and instant.
"Don't," Sam yells, glassy eyes on Dean. "Stop it."
Even though Dean's heart is pounding, he keeps his voice calm. "It's okay, Sammy. Your fever just got too high. You need to take these pills."
Sam's arms and legs thrash against the sheets as he tries to get away from Dean. When his back slams into the headboard, his body goes rigid and his eyes slam shut as he screams.
"Don't burn me," he sobs. "Please stop burning me."
The realization hits Dean so hard it knocks the wind out of him. Sam's not just delirious. Burning was the torture method of choice in Sam's hell. And he thinks he's back.
"Sam," Dean yells. Volume won't help anything, but Dean can't be quiet. He can't. "It's Dean! You're not in hell anymore, Sam. Open your eyes and look at me! I'm Dean!"
"You're not my brother."
Dean is so frustrated and scared that the words almost bring him to his knees. Every movement Sam makes is punctuated by a yelp of pain. The sheet is probably making it worse, so he tugs the fabric away.
"You're not there, Sammy. I know it hurts, but you're not there, I promise."
At that moment, Sam's words echo through Dean's mind: iLight…it reminds me I'm not there/i. Dean takes off across the room at a run. He turns on all the lamps and the light in the bathroom. He grabs a flashlight from his duffel bag.
"Look, Sammy. Please look. See how bright it is? You're not in hell."
Hesitantly, Sam opens his eyes. When the beam from the flashlight hits Sam's face, the light shrinks his pupils, but none of the fear or pain.
He whispers, "It's a trick. It's not real."
"No, Sam, it's real, just…shit."
Dean drops the flashlight on the bed and runs into the bathroom. He soaks two washcloths in cool water. As he hurries back, water runs down his arms and drips off his elbows. When he approaches from the other side of the bed, Sam tries to get away, but Dean doesn't let him. He presses one cloth to Sam's chest and the other to his arm. Sam screams.
"You feel that?" Dean yells over the screams. "Cold. Wet. That's water, Sammy. Did you have water in hell?"
When Sam goes to take another breath for another scream, he stops. Dean feels the breath leave Sam's lungs slowly. Quietly.
"That's right. Good, Sam. It's water. It's cold. It's not burning. I'm not burning you. You're not in hell anymore."
It takes another minute before Sam opens his eyes again. They're still glassy with fever and pain, but not as frantic. "Dean?" His throat sounds as raw as his skin looks.
"Yeah, Sammy. It's me. You're okay."
"I'm not…" He trails off with a shiver.
"You've been back a couple of weeks. You got sun poisoning today at the beach. You're running a fever." Dean moves the washcloth from one arm to the other. Sam doesn't pull away from the touch.
"I remember now."
Dean nods through a wave of relief. "Good. How are you feeling?"
Sam's response is instant. "I'm here."
Tears fill Dean's eyes as he nods. "Yeah. You are."
Wordlessly, carefully, he helps Sam lie back down. The mercury hits just below 104. Sam swallows pills with a few sips of Gatorade, but he's feeling sick to his stomach, so Dean doesn't push it. Just cools the cloths and ghosts them over Sam's skin, drawing the heat out.
"Feels good," Sam says.
Dean spreads one of the cloths across Sam's stomach for a few seconds before balling it up and rolling it up his chest. "Good."
Sam tips his head back slightly so Dean can cool the skin at the base of his throat. "They burned me. In hell."
"Yeah. I figured."
"They burned me until I blistered, then they burned me until there were blisters on top of the blisters."
With feather light touch, Dean soothes the blisters on Sam's left shoulder. "Sounds miserable."
"The flames weren't anything like the flames here. They weren't light. They were dark, and white hot. Years of darkness. Years of burning."
Dean swallows hard. "That's all over. You're safe now."
"I know," Sam whispers. His eyelids start to droop.
Dean folds one cloth over Sam's forehead, the other over his heart. He goes to pick up the flashlight he dropped earlier, but Sam stops him.
"Can I have it?"
Doesn't matter if "it" is the flashlight or the whole world. "Sure, Sammy." He presses a gentle kiss to the top of Sam's head. "Sleep well."
Sam falls asleep with the flashlight in his hands, the beam of light covering him like a security blanket.
It takes two days for the fever to break. For Sam to be able to move around without terrible pain. For the headache and nausea to fade.
Dean thinks it's going to take longer than that to see Sam's smile again, but he'll keep trying. It's worth the wait.
"You want to go out for a little while?" Dean asks when he returns from a supply run on the third day. It's beautiful outside and Sam is still improving, so he's in a good mood.
"Go where?"
Dean drops bags on the bed next to Sam. "The beach."
Sam looks down at his skin, which is starting to peel. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."
Dean pulls out a pair of lightweight pajama pants. A white long sleeve T-shirt. A baseball cap. A bottle of SPF 110 sunscreen. Sun block Chap Stick.
"What's all that?" Sam asks.
"Everything you need to be able to go to the beach." He nods over his shoulder. "Beach umbrella is in the car."
"Seriously?"
"The beach makes you happy, right?" Sam nods. "Then let's go. I won't let you get hurt again."
It's a promise.
An hour later, Sam is completely covered in sunscreen and clothes and the shade of a giant umbrella. Some kid must have left a bucket behind, and Dean uses it to make a circle of sandcastles around the spot where Sam is seated. When he's finished, he steps into the circle and flops down next to his brother.
"Did you put salt in those sandcastles?"
Dean smiles. "I should have." He gently tugs the brim of Sam's hat low over his eyes. "You doing okay?"
"I'm good."
He sounds good. Dean sees many beach trips in their future. A lot of sunscreen and a lot of sand.
A wave rolls all the way up to their circle, but the sandcastles keep the water out.
"See?" Dean says. "You're safe."
Sam smiles. "Yeah. I am."