A/N- so this is a short drabble that I wrote in like an hour. Keep in mind that I wrote this at about 2am so there are probably a crap load of mistakes.

Disclaimer- sadly I don't own the boys, just borrowing them

It was squirming.

Dean called it an 'it' because that thing that occupied the bed beside him was not his little brother. It was a shell, a mere meat suit of what use to be his sweet, caring and expressive brother. They say that eyes mirror the soul, the oldest Winchester always thought that saying was crap but now he understands. Sam's eyes use to be lively and filled with adventure, now they are dark and blank. Like zombie.

Like someone with no soul.

It was tossing and turning in the bed, making soft noises that were almost impossible to hear. Was that a whimper? No, it can't be, people without a soul don't whimper. Dean furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. The tossing and turning has turned into full on flailing.

A nightmare.

What the hell. Sam hadn't had a nightmare like this in years, not since Jess died. Dean shook his head trying to rid himself from that thought, no this isn't Sam, this is just Sam's shell. Suddenly the soft, pitiful whimpers turned into a full fledged, gut wrenching scream that tore through his heart. That was definitely Sam. Dean had flung himself out of the bed and was at 'his brothers' side in a second, shaking and calling to him, telling him to wake up.

"uh, Sam wake up!" Dean vigorously shook and yelled at him but nothing happened. Seeing no other option, Dean pulled his hand back and sharply smacked not-Sam across the face. Not-Sam woke up with a gasp looking around the room as if searching for someone or something before finally making eye contact with Dean. If Dean didn't know better he would have sworn that he saw a flicker of the old Sam in not-Sam's eyes before he put the dark mask back up.

"Go back to bed Dean" he started, "I apologize for waking you" not-Sam said emotionlessly before throwing the scratchy motel blankets off of him and quickly walking to the small bathroom in the corner of the room.

"No, you're going to tell me what the hell that was." Dean stated vehemently before following the tall form of not-Sam into the bathroom.

Not-Sam reached out to turn on the sink faucet and Dean noticed with confusion that his hand was slightly shaking. This night is just getting weirder and weirder, Dean thought to himself.

" Nothing, go to sleep." not-Sam said, his voice rising, then splashed a handful of cool water onto his face.

"oh no, don't 'nothing' me, that wasn't nothing. You were screaming like your freaking arm was being ripped off."

Not-Sam blinked and then pushed a piece of long, wet hair out of his face. "Dean, you know that there are reasons that I don't want my soul back."

"what the hell are you talking about? That has nothing to do with-" Dean started but not-Sam cut him off.

"it has everything to do with it." Not-Sam's voice was quiet and much softer now. He took a deep breath and continued. "I have dreams…. Often of Sam, well the other Sam. At night I can see him. What Lucifer and Michael do to him, I hear his desperate screams as his skin his slowly stripped from his body and hung on meat hooks. You don't understand Dean the pit is a small confined place and Lucifer has nothing better to do with his time then torture the shit out of Sam."

After that was said it was eerily quiet, well until Dean punched the wall and let out a yell of pure anguish.

Oh Sammy

This wasn't how he wanted it to be for Sam, now his brother is spending his afterlife getting tortured by the devil and some sadistic angel for the rest of eternity. His brother, his poor innocent, sweet brother who was always too kind for his own good was in hell while Dean was left on the earth with only a shadow of what his brother use to be.

At that point Dean knew what he had to do. He needed to get the real Sam back.

His Sam.