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Sam returns to Dean with quaking limbs and clammy skin. Dean had been calloused and rough during Sam’s absence, coping with grief by turning cold, but one look at Sam’s face burned that all away.
“I’ve gotcha, kiddo,” Dean murmurs, cupping the back of Sam’s head while Sam sobs into his shoulder. “I’m here.”
Sam doesn’t speak, can’t find the words, and Dean doesn’t try to make him. He looks Sam over and then double checks, but he can’t find any wounds. It’s all the more unsettling, knowing that the hurt is somewhere he can’t reach.
“He’s damaged,” Cas tells Dean. He had pulled Dean aside into the kitchen while Sam remained in Bobby’s study. “I healed his external injuries, but… that’s all I could do.”
“You did good finding him, Cas,” Dean reassures. “Hell, I don’t think I can ever thank you enough. Whatever you couldn’t fix, we’ll handle it. He’ll be okay.”
Sam is different now, twenty-seven years old and completely lost. Fractured. Once brimming with righteous rage and determination, Sam has grown timid. It takes a while before Sam can even look anyone in the eye, or speak.
Bobby gets Sam to eat, which is a relief. Sam is gaunt, far too thin for his height. It had been a collective unspoken worry that Sam would refuse food, having gone so long without it. This was at least one less problem.
“I remember…” Sam finally says. They’re all gathered around Sam where he sits on the couch, cradling a cup of tea in his hands. The familiar setting of Bobby’s home seems to help put Sam at ease. “Your face under my fists, and the blood, and I– I couldn’t stop.”
“You did, Sammy,” Dean says. “And I’m okay.”
Sam reaches out and touches Dean’s face like he can’t believe it’s real, like he had expected to find a lie. He looks from Dean over at Bobby, teary-eyed. “I snapped your neck.”
“That wasn’t you, Sam,” Bobby says. “We all know that.”
“What happened at the end doesn’t matter,” Cas says. “We’re all alive.”
“I made you explode,” Sam goes on. “I couldn’t stop him, I couldn’t…”
“But you did,” Dean repeats. “You put him back in the pit. You did it.”
Sam crumbles into tears, and Bobby wraps him up in a blanket while Dean rocks him back and forth. When Sam wears himself out to the point of total exhaustion, Cas lets him put his head in his lap and strokes his hair.
“Get some rest,” Cas says gently. “We’ll be here.“
Sam shakes his head. “He’s there, behind my eyelids,” he whimpers. “He’s always waiting for me.”
Dean bunks up with Sam. They push the two twin beds together so Dean can stay close. Sam tosses and turns, struggling to get comfortable and find peace in sleep.
“My brain won’t turn off,” Sam whispers in the pitch black. Crickets chirp outside, breaking up the ringing silence in their ears.
“You’ve only been topside for two days,” Dean reminds him. “It wasn’t easy for me in the beginning, either. It’ll get easier, I promise.”
“When does it go away?” Sam asks.
Dean studied Sam’s eyes. “I’ll let you know when I find out.”