Sam watched in helpless fury as the smoke that was Lilith poured from Ruby's body's mouth and vanished into the house's ventilation system. He clenched his fists, head bowed, fighting for control. He could feel the tears starting, but he couldn't make himself turn; when he turned, he'd see Dean—Dean's body. If he could not look, for just another moment, it wouldn't bereal yet...
And behind him, someone gasped and coughed.
Sam whirled. Dean was moving, struggling up onto his elbows and looking down at himself in confusion.
"Dean,"Sam said. "Dean!" He lunged, half-falling at his brother's side. He was almost afraid to touch him, fearful of aggravating the wounds the hellhounds had inflicted...except those wounds were gone; though Dean's shirt and jeans were in bloody tatters, the skin beneath that Sam could see was whole. There were crisscrossing scars, livid against Dean's skin, but they looked healed, months old at least.
"Son of a bitch," Dean said mildly. "I thought I was so dead."
"Oh, God, Dean," Sam said, his voice thick with tears of relief. He pulled his brother into a hug.
After a moment, Dean returned it.
He can't see the ground. He can't see any boundaries. Everything is a void, filled with chains, and some of them pierce him, pain radiating from those points in overlapping waves.
"Help!" he calls, the sound of his voice torn away by the wailing of the wind that howls through the void. "No! Somebody help me!" He knows he sounds pathetic, and he doesn't care; it's more than he can stand already.
"Sam!" Dean screams, but there's no answer.