Part I
The moment that Sam gets his soul back, it's perfectly acceptable, expected even. Sam's slumped against the wall, head bowed, hands fisted into his eyes, and he's sobbing, Jesus Christ, the kid is crying so hard he's actually shaking. Dean's moving before he even knows what he's doing because this isn't a shell anymore, this isn't RoboSam , this is Sam, Sammy, and Dean is so relieved, he lets Sam bury his face into his neck and he cries right along with him…
They're at a diner two days later when the waitress gets Sam's order wrong. Sam had ordered a grilled chicken sandwich on wheat bread. What comes out is breaded chicken on a hamburger bun. Dean watches, slightly sympathetic and slightly amused as his entire face falls and he stares at the plate like it's personally wronged him.
"… You can order another sandwich," Dean offers after a few moments of tense silence, because really, he isn't sure what's gonna set his brother off these days. Sam looks at him, shakes his head mournfully and pushes the plate away.
"Do you want some of my fries?" Dean tries, pushing his own plate alluringly towards Sam. He can tell that Sam appreciates the offer, and really he should, because this is Dean and Dean rarely shares food. His little brother forces a smile, which looks more like a tired grimace than anything and says, "No thank you," in this meek, sort of defeated voice. He then proceeds to stare out the window and trace the pattern of raindrops that are falling against the pane. It's the saddest, most pathetic picture Dean's ever seen.
Later that day, a homeless man stops them in the street and asks them if them for spare change. Dean's about to walk away when Sam pulls out his wallet and gives him the last few bills that he has and feigns another smile as the man tucks it away and goes on to his next conquest.
"Are you okay, man?" Dean asks when he catches a peek at his brother's face, once again pulled into that same kicked expression that he's been wearing since he's gotten his soul back. His eyes are shining, teeth worrying his bottom lip before he looks at Dean. And if he were that kind of guy, Dean would have pulled him into a hug right then and there because that look should only be reserved for orphaned children and tiny, abused animals. Instead, Dean just gives him an inquiring look before Sam lets out a soft sigh.
"He's got nobody, y'know?" Is all Sam offers in explanation and Dean juts a thumb over his shoulder to point at the homeless man who's made his way across the street.
"That guy?" He asks and Sam just nods. Dean smiles and claps his younger brother on the shoulder before grinning broadly. "Who needs friends when you got booze, huh?"
It was supposed to be a joke. Turns out it wasn't as funny as Dean had hoped it would be when Sam's face falls even further and he asks, in a voice that a grown man really shouldn't be able to pull off, "You really think he's an alcoholic? That's so sad…"
Dean thinks maybe it's karmas punishment that he spends the next hour and a half hustling pool for money that Sam gives away. It doesn't put a smile on his face, but at least the tears are gone from his eyes.
They're back at the motel later when the news anchor breaks in about a new development on a recent missing person's case. He watches Sam's eyes well up again when they announce that the body's been identified and Dean's up in a flash, turning the TV off completely because… He just doesn't think he can handle anymore of this tonight.
Sitting at the foot of Sam's bed, Dean is watching him carefully, studying him like he's 9th grade algebra homework that Dean just can't figure out for the life of him.
"Do you have… Y'know, cramps or anything?" Dean's got a few theories in his head on what could possibly be wrong with his brother, but he actually surprises himself when that's the one that chooses to leave his lips, because it was mostly a private joke in his own head. Sam looks at him like he's crazy but Dean's gaze doesn't waver. He's seen this before, bared witness to a few of Lisa's meltdowns. "Or any… Abnormal bleeding… Down there?" For all of Dean's teasing Sam about being a girl, if soul removal is possible, gender swapping is a perfectly logical theory.
Sam seems to catch on after a moment, his eyes widening in appalled shock before he's up off the bed in a second, eyes bright, and this time, Dean doesn't know if he should be relieved or not when it's with anger and not tears. Dean doesn't move when Sam slams himself into the bathroom, punctuating his exit with something that sounds suspiciously like, "Fuck you, Dean, you're not funny."
After a few moments, Dean gets up off the bed, a guilty look on his face and knocks on the door. He chuckles awkwardly and murmurs, "… Just kidding, Sammy."
The kid doesn't come out for the rest of the night.
Dean sort of misses 'crying Sam.' This new attitude that Sam's got going on is… Not intimidating, no, because Dean's the older brother and Sam's his geekboy sidekick. But if there were a time Dean was to view Sam in an intimidating light, it would be now.
Ever since that night, Sam's been on edge. Dean takes too long in the shower, he's too loud, too early in the morning, and just generally in the way, along with the rest of the population. And if Dean were intimidated by this new version of his brother, he would have tactfully avoided him as much as possible. But Dean wasn't intimidated, so he just, you know, gave him his space.
It's Dean's fault in retrospect for taking him to the bar. But Dean had this theory that if he just got a couple drinks into Sam, that he could talk, maybe cry (again), and sleep off whatever this… thing was and get back to normal.
What Dean hadn't counted on was the douchebag guy so obviously out of his league, just not taking no for an answer with a pretty, young brunette in the corner. Things are okay until he grabs her arm and of course, of course, Sam would notice and of course it couldn't have happened the other day, when Sam would have wept in anguish at the very sight. No, of course it had to happen tonight. Sam was up off the stool before Dean could stop him and by the time Dean got over there, the guy was on the floor, muttering apologies at either Sam or the brunette, Dean wasn't quite sure.
Dean pulls Sam away and they make their escape before the cops and paramedics arrived.
"Why'd you pull me away, Dean?" Sam's pacing the room as Dean shuts the door, taking deep breaths and peaking out the window to make sure they weren't followed by any cops. "He deserved what was coming to him!"
"What was coming-" Dean sputters an incredulous laugh. "Sam he got what was coming to him, several times thanks to you!"
"He deserved more than that," Sam replies, his voice low with unconcealed anger as he glances towards the door again. Dean has this brief image of Sam barreling his way through both him and the door to go after the poor schmuck again before Sam diverts his eyes to the carpet, pursing his lips.
"Dude, he's down and out, you got him good," Dean's saying, trying to placate. "He looked like one of those freakish Picasso paintings; I swear his eyeball was hanging down by his chin!" Dean's voice rises a bit with how accurate that account really is and he glances at Sam who's slowly looking up at him, the look on his face almost curious, like he's actually wondering why Dean is yelling at him.
"I'm worried about you, Sammy," Dean says after a few tense moments of silence, an explanation to Sam's unspoken question.
It's almost like magic when that anger melts off his face, slowly but surely and the younger brother tilts his head a little bit. "You are?"
Dean nods with a small sigh, risking a step closer now that Sam doesn't look like a rabid dog on the attack anymore. "I wanna help you, you're just… Not making it very easy," He says, his voice softer this time, reserved for situations like this, and only situations involving Sam.
Sam suddenly smiles; it's small, dimples barely making an appearance, but it's genuine, something Dean hasn't seen since before Sammy plunged straight into hell and Dean finds himself smiling too.
"Thanks Dean," Sam says, his voice lighter, genuinely happy and Dean can't do anything but stare.
"For what?" He asks, clearly baffled.
Sam smiles a bit bigger this time and huffs a small laugh, "For worrying about me."
One thing that doesn't change with Sam's moods is the nightmares he has at night. Crying, angry, smiling… It doesn't matter, when Sam closes his eyes, Dean knows he's seeing hell. He stays awake most nights, there to put a calming hand on his shoulder when he gets too restless, murmuring soft words of 'it's okay, Sammy' or 'I got ya, little brother' when Sam's face contorts like he's in pain or afraid.
It's 2:37 in the morning when Dean blinks bleary eyes open, having actually fallen asleep that night, and hears Sam shuffling in the bed next to him. He's sitting up before he's even fully awake, rubbing at his eyes before he hears a noise that stops him cold. Sam's talking in his sleep, his words coming out short and frightened, and Dean almost loses it when the younger man whimpers, actually whimpers out the words, "Please stop."
Dean's climbing out of bed, kneeling next to his sleeping brother's form and placing a hand on his forehead, soothing him the only way he's known how since he was a boy. Sam doesn't calm like he has the other nights, he simply turns over, curls himself into an impossibly smaller ball and murmurs, like he's begging for help, "Dean."
Dean pulls his hand away, climbs back into his own bed, and stares at the ceiling. Dean feels helpless, like he's failed somehow. Because he can't save Sam from hell, Dean knows firsthand that those memories will always be there breathing down his neck. That night, Dean is the one that cries.
Sam is smiling a lot now, laughing at Dean's stupid jokes, and even offering some of his own. Dean knows he should be grateful but he's mostly just confused.
They're two hours out of South Dakota and Sam won't shut up. He's telling Dean about the documentary he watched on animal planet last night after Dean had fallen asleep and God help him he just doesn't care how long the chameleon's tongue is, (as long as its body, Sam had informed him), although he does come up with about seventeen racy jokes to go along with the fact.
He knows it's mean, but right in the middle of Sam's lecture about dung beetles (no friggin thank you), Dean pops in Zeppelin II and sighs in relief when Ramble On blocks out Sam's incessant talking. He blinks in confusion when Plant's voice is joined by another, definitely not his own, off key and entirely too familiar. Dean casts a glance over to his younger brother, who is indeed, singing along, looking out the window and tapping his fingers to the beat against the glass.
Dean actually turns the music down and Sam glances over at him, tilting his head.
"I didn't even think you knew the words," Dean says after a second and Sam laughs.
"It's your favorite song," He replies with a bright grin, like that explains everything.
Dean watches him for a moment before Sam says, "Red light" and points like Dean needs to know which way he should be looking. He runs the light and Sam calls him a felon with another grin.
Dean looks back at him for a second and then lets a small smile quirk at his own features and thinks that Sammy should really smile more often.
And on that note, Dean blinks, wonders when he grew boobs and turns the radio back up to ear splitting. Sam's still singing and after a while, Dean rolls down the window and sings along with him. And if he casts a few glances towards Sam, smiling when his younger brother can't see him, well, Dean's the only one that'll know.