Sam had a lot to think about.
He found he couldn't think about any of it.
When they eventually arrived back at the Roadhouse, all he wanted to do was be with Jess.
Cas had removed all signs of physical injuries, but advised that she remain asleep nonetheless. Apparently, the angel was responsible for her dormant state, and it was a deeper sleep than could be easily disturbed. The children were with her, Deanna clinging to her, pretending to read a book to her and Eric, and Sam sat with them, till long after Deanna had wandered away, till his back protested from stiffness, till his fingers were numb from holding onto his wife's hand. She woke sometimes, briefly, despite whatever angelic spell or magic Castiel had used, seemed to recognise Sam after a few moments. But equally, she was so traumatised that her speech was mostly incoherent, a jumble of rambling sentences that cut-off mid-stream. She mentioned a blonde woman though and Sam couldn't help but press her for more, wanting confirmation that Kyle was alive, wanting to know where they had been kept. But the anguish in her eyes would break Sam's heart each time as she called out for Kyle, and before he could either question her or comfort her, Castiel would place his fingers on her forehead, and she would instantly sleep once more.
"You need to give her time," the angel intoned sternly. "She will be strong enough soon to tell us more, but you should not push her. Her mind needs to recover."
Despite knowing he should trust the angel, Sam felt desperate to know what she could tell him. He knew his impatience was unfair but having Jess back had brought with it a new horror, a terrifying realisation, one that had crept upon him so slowly, he hadn't even suspected it's approach until the knowledge had suddenly engulfed him.
With Jess now by his side, Kyle was completely alone. His son was out there somewhere, in the hands of monsters, utterly defenceless and entirely isolated. At least when Jess had been missing, Sam could have consoled himself that she and Kyle were together. But now that small solace was gone, now Kyle was truly alone, there but for the mercy of demons, who had murdered Billy and beaten Jess to a pulp and had done god only knew what else besides. Were doing god only knew what else besides. And his son was with them. Alone.
Not for the first time, Sam felt sick and sickened and before the panic could rise any further, before he could reach for his wife's shoulders, before he could shake her awake and force her to remember, he removed himself from the room, knowing he wouldn't be able to stop himself from questioning her if he stayed there any longer.
And it would come in waves, that feeling, that panic, that desperate urgency to know. Throughout the next day or so, whenever he sat with her, there would be a tipping point, and he would have to leave the room before he did something reckless.
He would wander the Roadhouse after that, he didn't know for how long, the time passing in a blur. He felt as though he were in a daze, sleepwalking through the physical space like a spectre floating through a world it no longer either occupied or was tethered to. Distantly he was aware that words were said, to him he supposed, or around him, he wasn't sure, the disjointed feeling causing him to react on autopilot. He fed Eric, he played with Deanna, he walked Sunny, but all the while on some level, he seemed oblivious to it all, pacing aimlessly, too tired to think or feel or know and yet incapable of not doing any of those things.
Because despite many things starting to make sense, he still couldn't truly make sense of them, couldn't fully catalogue everything into any kind of meaningful, sequential narrative that made sense. At least not yet. And his brain wouldn't stop trying. His brain wouldn't let up thinking about it. Especially as he realised that with each new discovery, rather than enlightenment, only more secrets, questions and gaps in his knowledge became apparent, obscuring his understanding of whatever was truly going on.
At least Dean's nightmares, if not Sam's own, made more sense to him now. He could only imagine what horror infested his brother's dreams if his brother had been in Hell. He couldn't fully remember his own nightmare, couldn't begin to address what Lilith had told him, because he simply didn't have the energy to recall and process it all.
And he realised that if nobody else at the Roadhouse knew the truth of what had been happening, then Dean had been keeping secrets for a hell of a long time. Taking stock briefly, he believed that Bobby didn't know; the older hunter's pain and concern had been far too genuine to have been a ruse and besides, Sam didn't believe it was in Bobby's nature to lie so adeptly. So nobody knew about John and Dean and a deal to save Sam. And those were only the things Sam had managed to figure out and pry from his brother. Lord only knew what else there was hidden in there. The weight of all that was bound to break anyone eventually. Hell! Sam had only been keeping his cancer a secret from Jess a short while and it had been close to unbearable. Dean had been keeping a multitude of secrets, was probably still keeping a multitude more. And other than an angel, who from the brief encounters Sam had witnessed, seemed less than talkative, Dean was shouldering all of it alone. And while Sam was partly still enraged at Dean, anger and resentment took a level of energy that Sam simply didn't have. His brain, his heart, his everything, was wrung out.
Eventually, as he spied the angel again, as he watched the trenchcoated figure move through the space, stand outside Jess' room, disappear, then reappear, Sam's mind seemed to focus on something other than Kyle.
"Hey Cas…tiel?" Sam said, stumbling over the name, not knowing what level of familiarity he was permitted, catching the angel's attention in the hallway before the angel could dematerialise again.
As Castiel turned to face him, a small part of Sam's brain tried to process the fact that he was talking to an actual angel from heaven, a biblical creature of the likes he had never even conceived could be real. The questions started piling up.
Had angels been walking around on Earth the whole time, in plain sight? And if angels were real, then did that mean God was real? Was Heaven real? What was Heaven like? What was God like? And why was the angel wearing a trench coat? Was it to hide his wings? Did all angels wear trench coats? Was that how you spotted an angel on Earth? Wait! Was Dave from accounting an angel?
The small part of Sam's brain where the questions had begun had somehow become overwhelming and he realised Cas was staring at him.
The angel tilted his head to one side ever so slightly. "You have many questions," he surmised in his low, measured voice. "I understand it can be… an adjustment, to learn of our existence."
"An adjustment?" Sam had to laugh. He shook his head. "That's one word for it."
He flicked a sidelong glance to make sure they had privacy, before speaking again.
"Look I just wanted to say thanks. I mean, not just for healing Jess, but for everything."
"Everything?" the angel questioned.
"For Dad." Sam clarified. "And Dean. For pulling them both out from Hell. For saving them."
It was a very subtle look, one Sam might have almost missed had he not been scrutinising Cas' face with such intensity, the novelty of staring at an actual angel still causing his curiosity to outweigh his manners. He was surprised that he was able to read Cas' features at all, he thought angels would be beings that had surpassed human emotions. He could tell in that moment however that the angel was weighing something up. In the back of his mind, Sam began to wonder if angels could lie.
"What?" he pressed, sensing the angel was withholding something.
Cas wavered a second more before responding. "I did not save your father."
"But Dean said… You mean he's still in Hell?!"
"No. He is no longer in Hell."
"Then…what? Where is he?"
"He is where he should be."
Sam shook his head. "I don't understand. He was in Hell, right?"
"Yes."
"And Dean was in Hell?"
"Yes."
"And you got Dean out?"
"Yes."
"But you didn't save our Dad?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"John's soul had already been freed."
"How? By who?"
"You should ask your brother."
"I'm asking you."
The angel stared at him, eyes narrowing a fraction, and under the gaze Sam suddenly felt a twinge of fear. Somewhere in the exchange his own emotions had gotten the better of him and in the confusion he had almost forgotten that he wasn't speaking to just another human. But there was a sudden cold, bright, sharp glint in Castiel's eyes, and it reminded Sam with a start that while the outward form may have been humanoid, the creature within most certainly was not.
Castiel vanished before Sam had even fully processed his fear. Before he could even question him about anything else. With his heart still pounding, Sam didn't know how Dean could be so flippant and glib around the angel. And he felt with a sinking heart, his questions mounting up once again, along with his dread.
Later that evening over dinner, Sam's eyes kept turning back to Dean, studying him as if the scrutiny would reveal whatever secret it was that Dean was hiding. He wished he could simply just ask him and that Dean would simply tell him, but things were never that easy. The relief at knowing that John was truly free from Hell had been short-lived and was now tempered by the knowledge that there was a secret surrounding his release. One which was somehow big enough for an angel to consider it worth withholding. A price Dean had paid that was too much for Sam to be told. And the guilt which should have been alleviated at knowing that their father wasn't rotting in Hell because of him, instead returned at the suspicion that now Dean was paying some unknown price for what John had done to save Sam.
And through all of it, all those thoughts and realisations, all the weary confusion and dismay, all the while he sat there, impatient and impotent and as useless as he'd ever felt in his life, his son was out there somewhere, alone.
