Disclaimer: I used to own supernatural, the boys, the Impala and everything else on the show. But then, the men in white gave me my meds and I had to take them.

Summary: He had been so afraid to have his brother taken away from him that he didn't even realize that he'd lost him himself.

A/N: Before even writing this, I know it will be the hardest chapter I've written.


"Have you heard anything? Any news?... No, Tori Spelling. Ofourse I mean Sam…. The Campbells are telling everyone that he disappeared chasing a lead in Montana…. Ofcourse I'm keeping tabs on him. He maybe different but he's still my brother…. No. I chased down all the hunts in Montana. No one had seen a shaggy-haired FBI agent…. Yeah, I know he's good at covering his tracks, but I'm good at uncovering them. It's like he disappeared the face of the earth…. Cas can't find him. He has still got his tattoos over his ribs. Never thought that would come back to bite us in the ass…. Yeah, okay, I'll check that out. Call me if you hear anything alright?"


One. Two. Three. Four. Slash.

One. Two. Three Four. Slash.

That could not be right. According to Sam's estimation more than forty days had passed since his imprisonment. Of course, his estimation was sketchy. All he had to go on to tell whether it was day or night was to judge by the sliver of light coming through the blacked-out widows. And it never seemed enough to be coming from the actual sun, but he had to go on something, right. And then there were the extractions. The Campbells or whoever was taking care of him had never been stupid enough to approach him when he was awake. They would usually put him out first and he would wake up to find a new pin-prick in his arm with a cotton swab over it. His food would usually come through the slot in the wrought iron door, slid on the floor far enough so he could reach it with his restricted movements, what with being chained to the wall and all. Everything else in the room was cleaned, changed or removed when he was having his blood drawn. Well, at least they were doing that much for him. From what he could tell from the yells and screams that sometimes seeped through the doors, the other inmates weren't even afforded that much consideration.

Someone should be looking for him. Someone had to be looking for him. Dean or Bobby or even Cas. It didn't make sense. Dean was never the one to abandon his brother in need. And Bobby was like his father. Even after all he had done, all he had become, they would never leave him rotting in a cell. That is, if they knew he was missing at all. His contact with Bobby had waned over the past few months. And he had talked to Dean exactly once after the disastrous Thanksgiving dinner. No, he couldn't expect them to know. It wasn't like he was a big time hunter, slaying monsters left and right. Okay, to be fair, no one was that good of a hunter that their absence would be noted after just a few weeks. No one knowing where you were at what time was kind of the definition of living off the grid. The only ones he could count on were Dean and Bobby. And he had given up counting on them a long time ago.

If he had to pick, he would pick this as his easiest imprisonment ever. The time in hell was bad, obviously, but, on a day-to-day basis, this was better than the times he had been locked up in Bobby's cellar. There had been no clenching of the chest or sudden absence of a stomach when he had woken up in his new residence. Yeah, the visit to Bobby's cellar had the advantage of being short, but there were no hellish hallucinations plaguing him this time around. He wasn't in the throes of withdrawal this time. And he didn't feel betrayed like the last time. Not really. Even though he had trusted the Campbells, it had always been just as fellow hunters. He had never expected much from them as a family and it didn't hurt to get less. In fact, it was a good thing that they had taken him when they did and not after convincing him to consume demon blood. The way things were going, Sam would have let go of his fear of addiction and once again started on that dark road if they had pushed him even a little bit.

The thought of demon blood should have made him hurl. It should have made him feel revolted and disgusted with himself. But it didn't. Pretty much nothing made him feel much these days. And he could argue with himself that it wasn't his fault that it was hell or the demon blood that made him like this, nut the truth was, he didn't care. He hadn't cared about what he had become. He had started to wonder about himself a long time before he went back to Dean, the first time being when he had no hesitation in ending a possessed boy of eleven years. His final recognition of this change had been brought about when he had let his brother turn into a vampire. He could tell himself that it was all about being a good hunter, but that would be a lie. Truth was, he had felt free. So free. Like he had never felt in years, never before in his life. It was as if a huge burden that he had been carrying around, the weight of the world, the weight of his sins, the weight of all he had lost, it had all been just lifted off his shoulders. Disappeared. If he had not known that it was death behind his resurrection, he would have said that God brought him back like that because he didn't want to see Sam Winchester suffer any more. He had never really looked for the reasons behind this change, never really wanted to. Until now.

Honestly, he didn't really want to think about it even now. But it was impossible to send days at an end alone without engaging in a little soul-searching. If he had a soul to search that was. If he had to pick the most obvious answer, he'd say that he had always been like this. He had always been confident and self-assured. He had always had a set path he wanted to follow and no one could ever deter him from it. He had always done what he had thought was right. He had always been willing to make hard decisions, go the extra mile, like his brother hadn't. He could tell himself all that but he knew that wouldn't be true. Because even though these things were there before, there was also kindness and compassion. He had cared. He had cared about his brother. He had cared about his life, his well-being in the ways he himself didn't, even if he had clearly not cared enough. He had cared about the people they were supposed to save. They didn't use to be just numbers to him. He had cared about doing the right thing, used to agonize for hours over what the right thing was. So why couldn't he do that anymore? Why couldn't he care? When he had made the decision to be stronger he hadn't expected to give up this. It hadn't been a conscious decision and clearly not caring did not make you a better hunter, Dean had already proven that. He must have thought so, otherwise why would he give up the one thing that still made him feel human?

People in captivity often retreated to safe place, a happy memory or hope for the future to help them cope with the reality of their situation. Sam had tried that. He had tried a variety of memories from Jess lying by his side to driving down the road with Dean. Nothing had worked. Nothing had provided him with an ounce of comfort. All his memories had failed to evoke an emotion. He would unfailingly remember how each ended, and he would rather feel nothing than go through that pain again. As for hope for the future, he had none left. Even before he had been thrown into this jail, he had no visions of glory or happily-ever-afters. Like Dean had once said, it would either end sad or it would end bloody. And after that, if he was lucky, there would be heaven, which would just be an eternity of feeling nothing. And right now, that thought scared him.

That couldn't be all that life and death had in store for him, could it? Everyone cared about something, everyone felt something. Even monsters felt anger and hatred and even love. So why couldn't he? Why was he so damned, so cursed? He might have felt liberated at the absence of his burdens, but he still cared if he felt anything, right? Why else would he have been so desperate to have Dean back with him? He had been hoping against hope that his constant in this life might be able to evoke a spark of familiar emotion within him. But if he had felt nothing for his brother, then he truly felt nothing at all. He could feel nothing at all. He had become an animal and animals belonged in cages. He might never actually get out of there, but he knew that if he did and if he did get a chance to regain his humanity, his emotions, he would take it, regardless of the guilt and remorse they would undoubtedly bring.


"Shhh. Stop squealing like a stuck pig, woudja? And stop squirming, I want to get this right…. Ahh, that's better. It's a work of art you know. Some of my best work. Well, on a human. So this has been fun. Well, more for me than for you I guess, but still all good things and all that… So, we've been doing this for a day and you must be wondering why I'm doing this. You see, Sam is my brother. Has been all my life. And you don't just give up on something like that. So when your brother goes missing, you look for him and when you can't find him, you ask someone who is most likely to know where he is. You ask them politely first, but when they lie to your face, you persuade them to tell you the truth and luckily, I majored in the art of persuasion. So, you think I've persuaded you enough or do I need to show you my thesis?"


In the end, it hadn't been Dean who rescued him; it had just been dumb luck. Sometime, during the last few blood samplings, someone had carelessly thrown the needles on the floor. Sam hadn't even been aware of how long they were lying there. Clearly, whoever it was, did not know of the Winchester's skill with long thin strips of metal. His chains had been easy. The wrought iron door, impossible. So Sam had waited, planned and prepared. He had collected everything in the room that could possibly of use and lied in wait. The guard or guard usually opened the door a fraction to shoot him with a tranquilizer and then came in after he was out. That had been his window. The two guards who had come for the next round, never stood a chance. They were dead before they could even let out a scream. The rest of the security was laughable. Two more hunters, a total of four, to guard warehouse full of monsters. He was almost disappointed to realize that he had been kept in check by this sorry bunch. Grabbing the keys from the pockets of one of the dead men, Sam walked out into the sunlight.

He didn't know what he had expected when he finally got out. Relief? Euphoria? A sense of wonder? A burning desire to run to Dean's side? A new found respect and love for life, promising himself that he would live every moment to its fullest? He felt nothing of that. Just a dull sense of accomplishment at having gotten out. All that time thinking about how he had become an emotionless zombie, how he wanted to change and he could not summon up an iota emotion. There had been no epiphany, no great revelation. Just more of the same. He hadn't changed at all. Maybe he couldn't change after all.

What was he going to do now? He could run back to his brother, begging him to take him back, begging him to fix whatever was broken inside him, like he had begged him to fix his broken toys in the past. And Dean would take him back. This time Sam was sure of it. Dean could never deny his little Sammy anything. He would take him back in with open arms and try to fix him, try to make him feel again. But was that what he wanted? His brother had always risen to the occasion for him, but he had always lost a lot doing that. And now that the Campbells might come after him- no, he wouldn't do that to his brother, not when Dean was finally free from him. He was not going to mess up Dean's life again.

What else then? Go back hunting, hoping that some hunt somewhere would do the trick? That's what he had been doing, but nothing had helped. Life had never given him any breaks and it was unlikely to start now. With a sinking feeling Sam realized he had no other option left. He couldn't run away from it all, not when so much depended on him. He could try to do better from now on, regain some of his lost empathy. But he had no idea how it would even work. How he would make the right choice when his first instinct usually was to do the wrong thing and his second one was to go with his first one? He could try to walk backwards on this path of his and all he could hope was that he would reach where he had begun.

Dean was right about one thing though, Sam realized turning back. No one deserved to be locked down and experimented upon. No one, not even monsters. All of them were still in their cages, back there. And he couldn't just leave them there.


"Has he called, Bobby? I'm freaking out here…. I'm at the warehouse, where else? The whole place is burned to the ground and there a lot of dead bodies here, way too many and Sam might be one of…. He came there? Oh, thank God, Bobby. Thank God. I'll be there as soon as… What do you mean he already left? Why didn't you call me sooner?... Screw what he wants. Who cares? You should have called me s soon as he landed on your doormat. Where is he now? And I swear if you lie to me… What do you mean you don't know? What the hell is wrong with you?... Well you better find out and quick. I'm not taking this crap need-to-know crap anymore."


"Dean?"

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was filled with desperation and relief. "Where the hell have you been?"

"I'm fine Dean." Sam replied. "Everything is fine now. You can stop worrying about me."

"Screw that. I'm coming to get you. Where are you?"

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"What?"

"You left me for a reason." Sam reminded him. "That reason hasn't changed. I'm still me Dean. I'm still the same hunter, the same person. You still can't trust me to watch your back."

"I can watch my back just fine, thank you very much." Dean replied.

"Dean, please try to understand." Sam pleaded. "I'm not trying to be difficult here. I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm saying I finally understand why you left me. I'm not the same Sam you used to know. I won't stop at anything for a successful hunt. There is nothing I wouldn't risk. I would say that I'm staying away because I love you and I care about you, but I'm not even sure of that anymore. I'm not even sure I know what that means."

"You can change Sam." Dena said hopefully. "We can figure it out together."

"I'm not sure I can or maybe I don't want to."

Dean laughed. "This feels like Deja-vu. Remember you leaving after you freed Lucifer."

"Yeah. And maybe if then I'd stayed gone, I might have actually changed myself. Become a better person. But I ran back scared to my big brother and nothing changed between us after all. I think I really need to figure this out on my own. You get that right."

"Yeah, I get it." Came a dejected reply.

"Dean please. Don't take this as me hurting you or abandoning you." Sam said. "If there is one thing I'm sure of, it's that I don't want to hurt you anymore. But I'm afraid that if I come back now, that's what I'll end up doing."

"No, Sam, I get it." Dean replied. "I really get it. And I'm okay with it. Really. I would just like to make sure that you'll be alright."

"Hey, tell you what, I'll call you every Sunday, telling you that I'm alive and fine." Sam offered. "That way, atleast you won't have to go through what you did."

"That's great." Dean accepted. "So what will you do now? Hunt? Alone?"

"Yeah, I guess I can fly solo. You have been doing it." Sam answered. "Somehow I don't think I would be welcomed back in the Campbell fold. By the way, I heard that Christian ended up in a hospital, all bruised and beat-up. You have anything to do with that?"

"Me? No." Dean replied. "I'm sure Christian has a lot of friends who'd love too drop him off at the hospital."

"Yeah, I'm sure." Sam laughed. "So, I guess I'll call you next week."

"Sure Sam. Be safe."

The conversation had gone easier than he had expected. Sam was grateful for that. Grateful to Dean for understanding. Truth was, even with his new-found resolve to be a more empathetic person, he was failing miserably at that. Kindness and compassion just didn't cut it in a hunter's job. You had to make harsh decisions extremely quickly and there was no room for second-guessing. And he was hunting alone, so there was no one to point out when and where he'd gone wrong. All in all, Sam's hope of becoming what he used to be was turning out to be a pipe dream. As it turned out, regaining your humanity was much more difficult than losing it.

His heart was still set on one thing though. Making a difference. Being a part of something big. Not big in the sense of Apocalypse, big in the sense of making a difference. Changing things for the better. Change that would live on long after he died. If he could not be happy himself, he would at-least make others as happy as he could before he died. Hopefully he'd get his chance soon.


"No Clay, I'm not gonna join you on this hunt…. Why? Because it's suicidal, that's why…. Damn right I sound like Bobby Singer. You morons are gonna get yourselves killed…. Clay, they've been in hiding for hundreds of years, they're not gonna make it this easy on us. Trust me, they have something up their sleeve…. You can't kill an alpha, Clay.… Fine, do whatever you want. But I'm not coming on this suicide trip."


It was a gathering like none before. More than forty hunters gathered together in a town, all on the same hunt. A response to the gathering taking place the next town over.

"Most you must know why we are here. Those of you who don't, fell free to chicken out after finding out." Russell, a middle-aged hunter who had lost his family to a vampire attack, had taken lead.

Sam looked around hall. One of the wealthier hunters had booked the hall for a supposed business seminar. Sam wondered what the hotel staff thought of the attendees all of whom were tugged men in survival gear. None of those in the room looked like the kind to chicken out. They all had the haunted look of men who had nothing to lose. Men like Sam himself.

"I'm not going to insult y'all's intelligence by telling you what's going on. I'm sure a lot of you have read the signs and figured out that a lot of critters are gathering in the next town over." Russell continued. "They've nearly taken over the town and are basically holdin' the townspeople hostage. Now normally that would be the job for less than half of you. Here's why it is not. Rumor has it there are a lot of alphas amongst them as well."

Clearly, Russell's big reveal did not have the desired effect. Sam had already figured out that part and by the looks of it, so had most of the others. A few clueless ones were looking around asking "What's an Alpha?"

"For you morons not aware," Russell answered to the murmuring voice, "an Alpha is the big daddy of all monsters. There has been a lot of lore about it. Almost every monster we know of, has an Alpha. Shapeshifter. Werewolf, Skinwalker. Vampire. Djinns. Ghouls. You name it and they got it. Here's the thing you might not know. Alphas are the original monsters. Their fathers, these things call them. I don't know why they are making a fuss now, but they have been hidden for centuries. So deep underground that you'd think they didn't exist. And with good reason. If an Alpha dies, he takes the entire line with him. Imagine that, here we have the opportunity to end most of the curses to humanity forever."

That one did have the desired effect. Murmurs of surprise and awe rippled through the group. That couldn't be true, could it? Did they really have the chance kill all of those monsters in one go.

"That can't be right." Sam spoke up. "My brother, Dean, killed the shapeshifter Alpha and they are still around."

Few snickers and looks of doubt were exchanged among the hunters.

"Sorry, Sammy." Russell answered. "Looks to me your brother made that up. There is no way a single hunter would be able to handle an Alpha."

"He wouldn't lie." Sam defended. But he had never confirmed the fact from Dean himself, he realized.

"You are wrong Sam." Another hunter, Clay, spoke up. "I asked him to join us on this hunt. He was too chicken to do it. He said something like there ain't nothing that could kill an Alpha."

"Oh, but there is." Russell replied. "Things like blowing them to smithereens or cutting their heads off still work. They might be tougher than the most, but they are still hurt by what kills your average monster. That's the way we'll be going."

Silence fell over the room as Russell explained their attack plan in detail. It wasn't going to be a war, just a quick battle. Many of them, in fact most of them might die, Russell explained. But they will all be remembered for ever. Maybe not by the world at large, but by the those who mattered, by people like themselves.

"What about the town people?" Sam asked. "Aren't they being kept captive? They might get caught in the crossfire."

"We ain't got no time to be worrying about them Sammy." Russell replied. "This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. We can save thousands, millions of lives with this. Look, the survivors can get them out of there. But this is war. And there will be casualties."

The plan itself was pretty simple. Some of the men had already sneaked into the town and lay hidden. Tonight they were going to help sneak-in the others with explosives and ammunition. The monsters were most active during night, so the attack would take place during the day. According to their info, all the alphas gathered in the city hall during the daytime for some sort f meeting. 'Battle planning like this one' was Russell's opinion. That was the point their attack would be centered. Plainly put, the plan was to blow the damn thing to hell, and then rush in and waste anything that was remaining. Sam and Clay had been teamed up for the second part of the attack.

"Glad to see atleast one Winchester's got his priorities straight." He said as he and Sam went over the plans.

"Dean has got a family now, he can't take risks like this," Sam replied. "And this is pretty much a Kamikaze attack. Our chances of survival are pretty slim."

"Dude, were you not listening? We kill the Alpha and the rest of them just drop dead."

"Russell thinks that based on some obscure lore and vision his psychic had. "The line of the creature begins and ends with its Alpha's life". " Sam mimicked. "That's pretty thin to go on."

"Now you are doubting psychics?" Clay asked. "Dude if you are backing out-"

"I'm not backing out." Sam said. "Look, just killing the Alphas would be worth this shindig. I just don't want to get our hopes up."

"Fair enough." Clay conceded as he got up. "I'm gonna go get some food. You want something?"

Seeing Sam shake his head, Clay grabbed his jacket and stepped out of their motel room. Sam continued going over the plan. It was a good one. Simple and effective. They had the element of surprise on their side and they had to work it to its maximum. Sam jumped a little as a phone rang. Clay had forgotten his in the room. Without thinking about it, Sam answered it.

"Clay, listen, I wanna join up." A familiar voice spoke on the other end. "I'm about a day away from you guys. Just don't start without me."

"Dean?"

Sammy? Oh, thank God." Dean sounded relieved. "Get the hell out of their Sam. It's a suicide run."

"Then why do you want to join up?" Sam asked.

"Why the hell do you think?" Dean replied. "Because you are there. Its suicide Sam. You can't go on it. Just walk away."

"I can't Dean. It's an opportunity of a lifetime. We'll never get a chance to kill so many Alphas at once."

"Sam, listen. You can't kill an Alpha."

"Really? Because I thought you did." Sam replied. "Did you actually kill one Dean?"

"Not exactly." Dean answered. "Let me explain-"

"You don't have to. Dean I'm doing this despite whatever you say. And you have a family now. So we definitely won't be waiting around for you."

With that Sam ended the phone call before Dean could say anything else.

It had been a good plan. It had been a really good plan.

Then why the hell had it gone so wrong.

Thinking about it now, it had all gone way too smoothly. The infiltration, the setup, all of it had gone without a hitch. They should have expected it. They should have expected the trap. Obviously if the hunters had infiltrated the monster-town, there was no reason why the monsters couldn't do the same to them. And they had. There was no other way that these things could have known about everything.

The city-hall, that was supposed to be their target, had been empty when they blew it up. And then, like fools, they had all rushed into the wreckage, looking for things to kill. And there they had been cornered like rats. Their they had made their last stand. They had fought desperately, wildly against their enemies, but they were simply no match in either numbers or strength. One by one Sam had seen them all fall until darkness overtook his vision.

When he came to, dizzy and disoriented, the first thing he saw was his own body lying across from him. A trickle of blood flowing down from the bullet hole in the forehead, dead blank eyes staring back. Then an unseen force began to pull him away from the ground.


"Bobby- Bobby, he's dead. Sammy's dead. I was too late…. I know, I just…. He was shot Bobby, oh God, he was shot…. I don't know what to do now. I don't know what to do."


"Hands off the tape-deck, bitch."

Sam came to with a start. He didn't even remember reaching for the tape deck.

This was strange. The whole thing was strange. They were driving down the road that never seemed to end and his brother, who was doing the driving, was twelve years old.

"Dean. What's going on?" He asked.

"Don't give me that Sam." Dean answered, not bothered by his now older brother. "You wanted to go on this joyride. And that's what I'm telling Dad if he finds out."

"This is a memory." Sam realized aloud. "This is a happy memory and that means I'm in heaven."

"Why can't this be real Sam?" Dean asked sadly.

"Well, for one, in real life you hate me and fro second, you are nine years old." Sam explained. "Dude you haven't been nine years old since, well, you were nine."

"Still, Sammy, this is fun, isn't it?"

Fun. Yeah it was. At-least it used to be. The thing that he was afraid of had happened. He was stuck for eternity feeling nothing.

"What's the matter?" Young-Dean asked.

"Nothing." Sam answered. "I'm stuck as an emotionless zombie for the whole of afterlife. But other than that, I'm fine."

"Bull-crap. You don't feel nothing Sam. You care about whether you feel or not. That means you feel something. You are just scared because you don't know what that is."

It felt strange getting big-brotherly advice from a twelve-year old, so Sam replied, "Really Dean? Because it sure feels like I'm empty."

"Of course, you are empty." Dean replied. "You have been angry for so long. Angry at the world, at yourself, but when you fixed all that, when you saved the world from Lucifer, you lost your anger Sam. It was such a big part of who you were that you are not what to fill it with anymore."

"And you think I should fill it with love?" Sam asked in a mocking tone.

"Screw you Sam." Dean retorted. "I bring you out here for a good time and this is how you repay me?"

"Don't you get it Dean?" Sam shouted. "I don't have good times anymore. All this means nothing to me."

"Don't you say that." Dean shouted back, slamming the brakes and fisting Sam's collar. "Don't you say that, you son-of-a-bitch. Don't say that our life together meant nothing to you."

"You see that?" Dean pointed at the Army-man jammed in the ashtray, "Dad was so mad at you for doing that that you cried for hours until I told you that I loved you."

"And you see this?" Dean pointed at the amulet hanging from his neck, "you gave it to me for Christmas in exchange for crappy girl-gifts, just because you loved me for trying to make it a holiday."

"And you see that?" Dean was fifteen years old now and sported a black eye under an icepack, "I got this while beating up a bully for you and you felt so guilty that you kept us awake all night to make sure I didn't have concussion."

"And see this?" Dean was sixteen and holding up a Metallica cassette, "You gave me this as a thank-you for teaching you how to drive and fro not telling Dad that you scratched the Impala your first time out."

"And remember this?" Dean was eighteen and pulled down his collar to show a badly stitched wound, "This was the first thing you stitched up on me and Dad so mad that you did a poor job, but I said it was great and chicks dig scars."

"And what about this?" Dean was twenty-two and holding up a credit card, "My only honest credit-card that I gave to you the night you left for Stanford."

"And this?" Dean was twenty-six and holding a ring. "This is the ring you bought for Jessica, but you sold it, to pay my hospital bill when I was electrocuted."

"And this?" Dean was twenty-seven and holding an ancient handgun "This colt helped us kill the thing that took our mom, that took Jess."

"And this?" Dean was twenty-nine and holding up a bone-handled knife. "We killed that bitch with this, the one that came between us."

"And know what this is?" Dean was thirty-one and holding up an empty syringe."This is what you used to save my life an year after you came back. All this is our life Sam. Don't you dare say that it means nothing to you."

Sam's heart was beating frantically in his chest. He was close. He was so close to feeling something. So close to either breaking down or shutting down forever again. Why couldn't he just let go? Why was he still holding himself back?

"I don't wanna lose you Dean." Sam said, his fears finally finding words. "I don't wanna lose you again."

"I'm not going anywhere Sam." Dean replied "I'm here for you. I'm always here for you."

And just like that, Sam broke. All the pain and guilt and remorse mixed with love and relief that he had kept bottled up, released from within him in a rising wave of emotion. The same wave that had helped him overcome Lucifer, now drove him into his brother's arms. Dean was here for him. Dean would make everything okay. He didn't have to worry anymore. He hugged his brother fiercely, afraid to let go even for a moment, as Dean rubbed soothing circles on his back.


A/N: I guess this might be the best cliffhanger I've ever written. I could realistically end the story here and have the sequel be Sam's version of heaven. Or I could continue with some unimaginable twist. What do you say I should do? One thing I'm sure of though, I'm not going to resurrect Sam. That would be too cliché. The show has done it three or four times already.