Sam was alive.

Sam was alive and healed and holding onto Dean like he never wanted to let go and if Dean wasn't so ready to blow this place and get Sam home he might just let him hold on forever.

Sam was alive.

He was alive, he was cold and shaking and dehydrated and wearing clothes that'd seen days of torture and bloodshed and everything that comes with that, in bare feet on splintered wood and broken metal and Dean needed to get him home three days ago.

Sam was alive.

"All right, Sammy. Let's get you in the car and out of here, okay? Let's get you home."

Sam stood back, nodded, sort of, didn't completely let go of Dean. He was squinting, maybe from the sunlight, maybe from exhaustion, maybe from still not being quite with it.

But he was alive.

"Okay, Sam, one step at a time. Cas? You get the car door? Back door? Mom, open the trunk? I need a blanket."

They moved to do what he asked, Cas with his usual grimly neutral expression, Mom with a pinched look that was a lot like Sam's 'not happy about this situation at all' face.

"All right, Sam. The car door's open, let's get you in there. Okay? C'mon. C'mon, Sammy."

Sam was alive and walking stiff and uncoordinated, but he was alive and walking and Dean got him sitting in the back seat. Sitting and shivering and still with a hand twisted tight in Dean's sleeve.

"You got that blanket, Mom? It's in the trunk. Cas, you know where it is?"

And one of them handed Dean the blanket and he wrapped it around Sam who let go of Dean to pull it tight with both hands around himself.

Sam was alive.

"I'll get the heat on as soon as we're on the road. All right? We'll get you warmed up. Let me see your feet now, okay? Walking through the splinters, I need to check your feet."

"Dean?" Sam asked, like he was going to ask a question or he wasn't sure that was Dean or he was going to hurl.

"How're you doing, Sam? You gonna be sick? Why don't you lie down? There's a lot going on, you don't need to worry about it. All right? You need to just lie down."

But Sam didn't lie down and Dean didn't insist and he stayed where he was, slouched, curled, learning toward Dean. His eyes were on Dean's hands as Dean checked his feet.

"All right, no new damage, that's good. Black as all crap but we'll get you to a shower as soon as we can. All right?"

"Dean?"

Sam was shaking, exhausted, in shock – Dean didn't feel much better – but he was alive and Dean moved to put his hand on Sam's shoulder but it ended up pressed against his face.

"We need to get home," he told Sam and something harsh and burning dragged behind his eyes and into his throat. "I need to get you home."

"M'okay," Sam said. He said it like he was trying to reassure Dean. He blinked, scowled, cleared his throat, sat up straighter. "I'm okay. We should get out of here." His voice was rough and hollow and he cleared his throat again like he knew it wasn't strong enough for Dean. "Right? Get out of here?"

Whatever was dragging, burning, behind Dean's eyes and in his throat flared warmer in his chest ~ that's my boy ~ Sam was alive.

"That's right. We're out of here. Get your feet in, all right? Want another blanket? You want some water? Something to eat?"

Sam pulled his feet into the car, stopped, looked at Dean. Glared. "No water. Had enough water."

Dean wondered what that meant, if Sam was even oriented enough to be making sense, but he went with it.

Sam was alive.

"Okay, whiskey? You want – what else have we got? Cas? What else we got in the cooler?"

While they waited, Sam looked at something over Dean's shoulder and his expression was sad and it was questioning and Dean didn't have to turn his head very far to realize Sam was looking at Mom.

Her expression was a worried smile, her own questioning glance, as she looked from Sam to Dean.

"He's gonna be fine," Dean told her. "Right, Sammy? You get comfy in the car, get some rest, and we'll get you home. You're gonna be fine."

Sam nodded. He looked at Dean, cleared his throat, nodded, looked at Mom again.

"M'fine. I'll be fine."

Then there was orange juice and beef jerky from the trunk and Dean opened the bottle and ripped the plastic wrap and handed them over and Sam looked at them like he wasn't sure what they were.

"You eat that, okay, Sammy? Drink the orange juice. You'll feel better. You get comfy and eat that and we'll get you back home. Right?"

Sam nodded, still looking like he had no clue. He was alive and he nodded and held the juice and jerky close to his chest and rubbed one dirty foot on top of the other.

"Home. Yeah. Good."

He was alive, curled forward, shaking, and Dean wanted to comfort him, reassure him, get him to drink the OJ and eat the jerky, get some rest, but he needed Sam home so they got on the road, Mom shotgun, Cas following, Sam wedged against the back door where Dean could see him over his shoulder and in the mirror.

Sam was alive.

The road off the property was rough and rutted and when they hit the paved public road the relief almost made Dean lightheaded. "Just a few hours, now, Sammy. All right? We'll get you home."

Sam's eyes flicked from juice to jerky to nothing to nothing again back to juice but he met Dean's gaze in the mirror on the first try. "M'fine…" Then, suddenly, like he suddenly remembered he was supposed to, he had a sip and swallow of juice, a bite and chew of jerky, then put his head back like he couldn't hold it up anymore.

For twenty minutes, twenty-five miles, it repeated, a bite, a sip, a silent, aching stare at Mom, then head back and eyes closed.

"How is he?" Mom asked, whispered, worried. She glanced back but didn't turn all the way around to see Sam in the back seat. Sam's eyes had been closed a while. "Can we – what can we do?"

"He's sleeping. We just let him sleep. He'll let me know when he needs anything else."

Sam was alive.

Another two hundred miles, two hours and forty minutes, Sam flinched awake. "Dean?" He was a shadow in the back seat, in the dusk, a silhouette against Cas's headlights. "Can we stop? Is there somewhere we can stop?"

"Y'okay? You need me to pull over?"

"No, not pull over." Sam's voice was stronger. "Just – find a bathroom, get washed up, maybe. More orange juice."

"You got it, Sammy. There's a rest stop coming in a few miles. Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay." His voice faded and his silhouette merged back into the shadows in the backseat. "Thanks."

Sam was alive.

.