I knew it was Sam because…
I knew it was Sam because he'd given up the fight and decided to let Cas put his soul back where it belonged. That'd been a few tense days, when Cas was out - down - excavating Sam's soul through the bars of the cage, and Sam was saying he didn't want his soul back.
But then - he said yes. I think it was a harder decision for him to make than the decision to bungee jump into hell. But when Cas appeared, holding a small, less-glowy-than-angel-glow glowing in the palm of his hand, Sam looked at me and then said yes.
I squatted us at a dingy abandoned house on a dirt dead-end for the experience: Sam was about to have a soulful of hell uploaded into him and I wanted him somewhere private. Bobby's was too far away to risk Sam changing his mind again and motels have this funny policy against people screaming their heads off inside their rooms where other people can hear it.
So Sam sat in the one unbroken kitchen chair with a blank look on his face but his hands gripping the edges of the seat. I stood at his left shoulder, close enough to grab onto if I had to, even though Cas said I shouldn't touch him until his soul was back in place. Cas stood in front of him and when Sam was ready, he carefully pushed that handful of glow back into Sam's chest.
I knew it was Sam because…
He didn't scream.
The process of returning his soul didn't take as long as the process to discover he had no soul had taken. Hand in - soul in place - hand out. Sam's body arched and sweat broke out on his face and he actually snapped wood off the chair, but he didn't scream.
I knew it was Sam because I could see how all the misery and memories and pain traveled outward from the center of his chest and filled up every nerve and cranny and ounce of being that Sam had. Along his arms and down his legs and into his eyes that all at once filled with tears. And my hand that had been hovering over his shoulder finally got to grab hold of him.
I knew it was Sam because…
I knew it was Sam because as soon as the misery had filled him up to the very top and bottom and edges of his endurance, he looked up at Cas, the one who - physically at least - had made him endure this, and with his hands still gripping broken wood and sweat running down his face, pale and shaking, he tried to smile and he said,
"Thank you."
Because only Sam would thank someone for hurting him, if hurting him was the only way to help him.
I knew it was Sam because…
When Cas had accepted the 'thanks for the torture' with a nod of his head, Sam looked up at me, where I was still standing at his side.
"Is this okay?" He asked me and I wanted to throw up.
I knew it was Sam because only Sam would want my permission to hurt as bad as he was hurting right then. As bad as he was going to hurt from now on. My hand moved off his shoulder and fluffled through his hair. We'd deal with the layers and complexities of okay later on and I nodded now because any other answer would worry Sam.
I knew it was Sam because…
I knew it was Sam because he nodded to my nod and then looked down to the pieces of wood splintered in his hands and held them up to me.
"I'm sorry."
Because only Sam would apologize for breaking a broken chair.
"It's okay." I told him and took the wood out of his hands and dropped it on the floor. "You just got a headstart on breaking it up for firewood."
And even though puzzlement bunched up across his face, Sam nodded and accepted what I told him and shook the remaining little bits of wood out of his hands.
I knew it was Sam because…
Sam stood up from the chair and moved away from me and from Cas, and moved over to the old bureau that held my duffel. I could tell from the glances he was shooting towards me that he wanted Cas gone, but he wouldn't say it. He didn't want to be rude.
I knew it was Sam because only Sam put other people's feelings so much in front of his own.
"Thanks, Cas." I said. "We'll call you when we need you. Okay?"
Cas looked at me, he looked at Sam, he looked like even though he had a trillion things to take care of Upstairs, he wasn't quite ready to leave us to ourselves yet.
"Okay?" I pushed, and Cas finally got it.
"Yes." He said, and he nodded toward Sam's back like Sam was going to know he was doing it. "Yes."
Then he was gone and for the first time in nearly two years - I was alone with my brother.
I knew it was Sam because…
I knew it was Sam because he stood, back to the room, with both hands holding onto clumps of my duffel, shoulders bowed like they hadn't been bowed all the while the weight of the world wasn't dancing on them. And when he spoke -
"Could I - do we - is there - anything to drink?"
- his voice was soft and questioning and resigned to whatever answer he was going to get.
I'd come fully prepared though. That duffel Sam was clinging to had water, whiskey, soda pop, soup, food, sedatives, sleeping pills, fresh clothes, and - just in case - padding and handcuffs. Because if Sam needed it, I was going to have it.
Right now he needed something to drink.
"Wet or wild?" I asked him. Water or whiskey? He didn't look at me.
"Wild. Please."
So I stood next to him and unzipped my duffel without having to make him let go of if, and I brought out a silver flask full of the best whiskey to be had. I offered it to Sam and his hands were shaking as he took it.
I knew it was Sam because…
After his first swallow, Sam offered the flask back to me, but I shook my head that he should keep it. He needed it. He needed all of it and then some. He thought so too because he took a really long swallow out of it then.
I knew it was Sam because after that swallow, he capped the flask and looked around and rolled his shoulders like he was trying to get all the pain and misery settled down inside of himself. Catalogued and categorized and all in their separate and specific locations. Sorrow here, regret there, pain in the middle, and over it all, guilt. Lots and lots of guilt.
"Are we staying here?" He asked. Like whatever I answered was going to be the answer.
"Whatever you want." I told him. "Whatever you need."
He nodded, harder than he needed to, and opened the flask for another long swallow.
I knew it was Sam because…
I knew it was Sam because with a hundred years of hell wringing his soul and twenty eight years of life reigniting in his brain, he looked at me and only said,
"It hurts."
That said everything and it said nothing and I knew that Sam would think he was overstating it anyway.
"Yeah, it does." I told him, agreeing with his assessment of himself, and telling him how I was feeling about it too. "But we've got you back now and we can get through this. We will get through this."
He nodded again. He nodded, squinted against his eyes filling with tears, drank some more, and looked around at our gracious accomodations.
"Are we staying here?" He asked again. Asking it twice meant he didn't want to stay here but that he'd do whatever I said he should do.
"No, as soon as you're ready, we'll head out to get a room. A good room, with nice beds because guess what? You're going to sleep as soon as we get there."
I knew it was Sam because…
The promise of sleep - Sam's first sleep in over a year - finally got me the smile I'd been been looking for since I knew Sam wasn't Sam. Since before I couldn't even remember.
I knew it was Sam because he shook his head and said, "If I last that long," and offered me the flask, shaking it to mean there was only one swallow left and I was having it. So I took it and drank it, then capped it up and put it back in my duffel.
All we needed was Sam's say-so to get on the road and get to that nice motel with the good beds, but I waited for him to give it, I didn't tell him it was time.
He picked at his shirt like he didn't remember it. He walked around the crumbling room, looking at things like he did remember them. He held his hands out and looked at them, turned them over, then shoved them into his jeans pockets.
"We should go, hunh?" He asked me.
"Whenever you're ready."
"Yeah. Yeah." He gave one last look around the room. "Yeah - I'm ready."
I knew it was Sam because before we left, he asked, "You want me to carry your duffel?"
I knew it was Sam because he followed me outside, just a few steps behind my right shoulder.
I knew it was Sam because when we did get outside, while I set the duffel on the backseat, he stopped and stared at the car like it had been years since he'd seen it.
I knew it was Sam because when I shut the car door, Sam looked at me and smiled, but then looked at me again - "Dean?" - like it'd been years since he'd seen me and his breath seemed to stick in his throat.
I knew it was Sam because when I walked closer to let him know that yes, I am real, his hands twitched. It was a small movement; if it wasn't something I used to be used to seeing, it would've been nothing. But I knew it, so I saw it, and it meant the same thing it had always meant - my little brother needed me.
I knew it was Sam because he reached for me as soon as I took a step closer to him and I knew it was Sam because I could feel his chin press into my shoulder when I hugged him and I knew it was Sam because I could feel how hard and fast his heart was beating.
We stood there awhile on that dirt dead-end.
"It hurts." Sam whispered.
"It does. I know." I whispered back.
"And it's only going to get worse." He didn't ask that, he said it, a flat out statement.
"Yes, it is."
He nodded.
I knew it was Sam because…
There was a sniff, a loud sniff, and a clap, a heavy clap, on my shoulder blade, and Sam stepped back from me. But not far away. He stayed close enough to keep a hand on my shirt sleeve.
"We should go - find that bed, hunh?" he asked.
"If you last that long." I reminded him.
I knew it was Sam because he was asleep before we got to the paved road.
I knew it was Sam because I know my brother.
The End.