Dean bursts through the door, almost petrified that this is some sort of cosmic joke, that his deal with the devil has a Monkey's Paw-esque ending. That Sam's stuck in a dead body that continued to rot, or a zombie. The first thing he sees is Sam.
Then again, when has that not been the case?
Sam is convoluted, examining his back in the mirror. Dean refuses to let the heartbreaking moment replay on a loop in his mind. Every time he slept, before Sam came back, every night, it was the same nightmare. But now that's all over, Sam's back, alive, moving, healed, breathing. He can smell Sam's normal scent, the girly shampoo he uses, not the slightly ripe smell Sam had had when Dean decided it was now or never to sell his soul.
"Sammy," is all he can say, ripped out of his chest unwillingly. He almost tears up when Sam replies.
"Hey."
Sammy can speak. Unable to restrain himself, Dean yanks Sam into a tight embrace. He feels Sam's pulse in neck, throbbing comfortingly against his cheek, Sam's heart thudding against his chest. He can feel Sam's warmth and movement and breathing and life, and shit, he was going to start crying.
"Ow. Um, Dean…" Sam's voice is somewhat strangled and Dean lets go immediately. He would never, could never, hurt his little brother. Dean moves away and apologises. Not even sorry. That hug, alone, is worth any time he spends in damnation.
His eyes darken and he instinctively covers his mouth with his hand, leaning on one leg, trying to be casual. Sam's being inquisitive. Sam can't know. Sam would probably either hate Dean forever or hate himself forever, and Dean knows neither of those can happen. Simple as that. So, it's obvious what they have to do. Stop Azazel and Jake. Kill both those sons of bitches. Avenge Mom and Dad.
If only they knew how.
But in the meantime, there's a reason why Dean pulls off all those credit card scams, how he hustles pool like a goddamn pro. It's because he can fake it like nobody's business. So, feeling that sickening feeling he gets when he lies to Sammy, he adapts the truth. Sam doesn't question it, he knows Dean wouldn't lie to him. Dean feels his treachery, but hides it, pushes Sam back down on the bed where he left him. God, it's good to see Sam sit. Not lie there, stiff and grey.
Sam can move. Sam can speak. Sam can breathe.
Sammy's beautiful.