The last thing he remembers is warmth. Warmth and love and forgiveness and acceptance. He remembers someone's pride in him, someone's joy in his success, although what it is he's done to deserve it he's unsure of. He remembers something burning soothingly in the palm of his hand as, fingers of wisdom wrapped his own long fingers around the object in his palm. He remembers that the object means love and a bond stronger than death itself and that it's been lost even though he knows he's clung to it anyway. He remembers the gentle touch of a hand on his face and the tender feeling of soft lips on his forehead. What he remembers clearest of all, more than the face of indescribable beauty and wisdom before him, is the words. The words that were clear and true and spoken with care.
"Sometimes it is those who make the wrong choices for the right reasons who find themselves closest to Me. It is your faith and your strength I admire. You had so many paths laid before you and one forced upon you, but you pressed on and tried to forge your own. You have sinned some for power, but you have sinned more for love. You have triumphed over evil, even when you doubted you had the strength, even when your hope waned. Your faith faltered but did not disappear. Samuel Winchester, your trials have shaped you and your faults have made you beautiful. I am so immensely proud of you, My Son."
Sam remembers feeling His words fill him with immeasurable warmth. Remembers that feeling spreading out behind him and unfurling into large wings of light and warmth and love. Remembers His grace wrapping around his soul and becoming his own. Remembers His smile and the feel of peace He bestowed upon him.
Now though, he stands under the flickering light of a street lamp, watching his brother eat dinner with Lisa and Ben. He can feel his power curled up inside of him. Can feel the weight of all the sorrow and pain of his past bearing down on him in this moment. All of his guilt and self-hatred and regrets. He stands there under the weight of it for a moment before shaking it off with a shrug of his wings. God has forgiven him and he must learn to forgive himself. The street lamp goes out and he takes a step towards the house in front of him.
His brother looks happy from the window. Sam knows he's not. Dean's not happy unless Sam is and Sam isn't happy unless Dean is and Dean thinks Sam's in Hell. Dean thinks he's undergoing the worst torture needs to fix that.
He crosses the street and walks up the steps to the front door. He pauses there for a moment. He's not sure what he's going to say, not sure how he's going to make everything okay. There's something burning with love in the palm of his hand and he smiles up at the sky, before knocking on the door with the hand wrapped around the amulet.
Dean's eating dinner and it hurts. Hurts because Sam is gone. He's gone. But he's not just gone, he's in Hell. In Hell with the devil. So dinner, it hurts. It hurts because he's never really had this before. Sitting around a table with a woman he loves and a boy who he thinks of as a son that's not Sam. He's known nothing but hunting for so long. Maybe, he thinks, Sam knows him better than he knows himself because this is good for him. He's dealing with this soul crushing grief better than he would've alone. He hands Lisa the salt and it's so weird to do something so normal without the salt being a life or death necessity. That's when there's a knock on the door. Lisa looks like she's going to get it, but there's something in his gut telling him to get it himself and so he tells her to sit down and that he'll go see who it is. She smiles at him and he smiles back. It never reaches his eyes. He loves her, but he can't live without Sam, only survive. For some reason he pauses with his hand on the doorknob, his gut twisting with this indescribable feeling like there's something life changing on the other side. He swallows and opens the door and then he forgets how to breathe. Standing there on the doorstep, smiling, is Sam. He doesn't know how or why but he just knows it's Sam and not something else. His little brother smiles and whispers,
"Hey, De." And then he sticks his hand out towards Dean. Dean can see a black leather cord hanging out from the side of his fist and emotion clogs his throat.
He lifts his hand up and Sam drops the amulet into his open palm. It pulses with the heat of love in his hand. "Hey, Sammy."