Archive of Our Own ^beta

It's the morning of the fifth day since Dean died when Sam wakes up to find his brother sitting next to him, cleaning his gun.

Sam stares blankly, watching Dean's quick, familiar movements. The grip of his hand on the slide, the sure swipe of the cloth, the relaxation between his brows that always happens when he's engaging in a familiar task. He's wearing the t-shirt and overshirt he was the last time Sam saw him, when he buried him in the ground. There's not a single scratch on him.

For a moment, Sam closes his eyes and just breathes. He draws in a breath, counts to eight, then lets it out slowly. He repeats this process four more times, then opens his eyes again.

He finds an unchanged picture before him. Dean, his big brother, sitting on the bed beside him cleaning his favorite ivory-handle pistol like he's done a million times before. Like this is any other day. Like he wasn't torn to ribbons five days ago in front of Sam. Like he isn't dead. Like he isn't dead because of Sam.

Sam exhales. He can't...find it within himself to be surprised, really. That his mind conjured this up. He knows it's not a ghost—those don't happen when your soul's been ripped down to Hell—which means it's a hallucination. It's Sam's fucked up brain filling the void left behind by Dean.

And what a massive void it is.

Hallucination Dean looks up and meets Sam's eyes. And he smiles. "Heya, Sammy."

Sam cries for a long time, and Dean sits next to him and sings Hey Jude and strokes fingers through Sam's hair that Sam can only half-feel. And then, when Sam's exhausted himself and Dean is still sitting right there, unchanged, Sam says, "Hi, Dean."

Dean winks at him. "So, what's next on our agenda?"

Sam takes a moment to consider his answer, because honestly the big contenders for today were "drink myself into oblivion" or "actually send myself into oblivion", neither of which does he think Dean would approve. And before this morning, that didn't quite matter, because Dean is dead and Sam is alone and this is all there is. But now Dean's sitting next to him and real or not it's very hard for Sam to look his brother in the eye and say he's aiming to die.

"I don't know," Sam says instead, voice hoarse. No demon will deal with him, no matter what he tries. He doesn't know what else to do.

But Dean only shrugs, looking unbothered. "Okay," he says. "Then find a damn case, Sam. Stop moping around."

With nothing better to do, Sam does as he's told.

It's very weird to hunt alone. Even weirder to hunt with a hallucination of his brother at his side.

Dean can't really do anything, considering he's not fucking real, but he still bickers and banters and shoves Sam's shoulder with his own and he eggs Sam on to look harder, be better. He acts like Dean, just a Dean that can't do any of the hunt's heavy lifting, and Sam doesn't know why that surprises him. This is a figment of his imagination, after all. Why wouldn't he create something as close to the original as he can get? He wants his brother back, not some poor copy.

This version is the best he's going to get, at least for now. At least until he...he figures something out. Until he figures out a way to save Dean. There has to be a way, there just has to be. But he—he just—he doesn't know. Yet. So for now, he listens to Dean's good-natured ribbing and follows his brother's advice about what lead to follow as the case progresses.

For the first time ever on a hunt, Sam doesn't have someone watching his six, covering the places he's not aware of. His hallucination is limited to his own knowledge, so despite the false sense of security he feels at having Dean with him, he's not really with him. There's no one to split the territory with, no one to call out a warning, no one to keep an ear out for and feel comforted by their presence. Just him in enemy territory alone.

Only it—it's not the first time, because Sam's lived this before. He spent six months on his own, after Mystery Spot. When Dean was dead for good and Sam was alone, he was a solo hunter. He's done this whole dance before. Dean dead, Sam empty inside and alone on the road. It was horrifying and soul-destroying and turned him into something completely different, and he really did his best to block that time completely from his memory once he got Dean back.

And now here he is again, about to go down that path.

It aches like an open wound.

He gets the monster in the end—a lone werewolf, honestly not that much trouble—and heads back to his motel room with one less silver bullet and one more gash on his side.

Dean snarks at him the whole time, frowning with concern down at his wound like he would if he was really alive. It makes Sam angry for the first time since the hallucination appeared; it's not real concern, it's not really his brother. It's some imitation his brain came up with because he couldn't handle his fucking shit. The concern isn't real. He made it up.

Sam snaps at Dean to leave him the fuck alone, but his heart pounds in his chest with fear at the thought of Dean actually vanishing, of Sam losing this last bit of his brother that he managed to give to himself. He's angry but he's desperate, too, and he doesn't know if he'll survive losing Dean all over again, even in such a tiny capacity—

But Dean doesn't flicker out of existence, doesn't fade from view. He only levels Sam with an unimpressed look and says, "Would you clean yourself up before you bleed all over the room? Cleaning these old carpets is always a bitch and a half."

It startles a laugh out of Sam. It's slightly tinged with hysteria, and his eyes are a little wet, but he sits down on the bed and does as he's told. He keeps waiting for an extra pair of hands, for Dean to grumble at him and snatch up the needle so he could sew up Sam's wound. But all this Dean can do is nudge him towards the bed and complain about his skills while he watches Sam stitch himself up.

It makes Sam feel...extremely lonely. He doesn't think any of them are made to care for their own wounds.

As if to counter that, his hallucination starts talking and then doesn't stop for a very long time. He talks about the hot waitress at the diner earlier, and that weird book Sam was reading, and how annoying it is to always have to trudge through the woods, and, and, and...

By the time Sam's done stitching himself up and cleaning the mess he made, he's crying and laughing all in one and he doesn't know which feels worse.

They go on another hunt, and it still feels terrible to have to basically do it all himself, but with Dean snarking in his ear Sam can...can adjust, at least for now. Until he gets the real thing back. He can allow himself to enjoy having at least a piece of Dean, for the time being.

A piece is better than nothing. At least this way, he can still talk to his big brother.

Dean hovers in the background, disapproving, as Sam interrogates a demon in an attempt to get a different answer than him being SOL. No demon will give him the time of day unless it's to gloat, and frankly Sam's fucking sick of it. Maybe he's being a little extra mean, maybe Dean is giving him that troubled look Sam hates, but Sam can't bring himself to care. He needs answers. He needs solutions.

The demon is useless. She screams and taunts and even throws up at one point, but she has no answers. Dean's soul is held in the depths of Hell by demons so powerful the rank and file would never dare to go near.

Lilith. Lilith has his brother. Lilith, who hunted Sam and killed their friends. Who smiled as the dogs tore Dean apart. Who would've killed Sam, too, if she could've. Lilith, who will never stop being a threat. Lilith, who has Dean.

"Alright then," Sam says, staring coldly down at the demon, and then he stabs his knife through her throat.

Ruby turns up. Dean tells her to get the fuck out, but of course Ruby can't hear him so she only cocks an eyebrow at Sam when Sam fails to say anything.

"Tell her to go the hell away," Dean demands, gesturing widely.

Sam's gaze flicks to him and away again before he says, "Go away, Ruby. I'm not interested."

"You're getting nowhere," Ruby says, blunt as ever. "You will get nowhere. You need my help if you want to kill Lilith and you know it." Kill Lilith. Fuck, Sam really wants to kill Lilith. "You're wasting the biggest weapon you have, Sam."

Sam hesitates. Dean makes an inarticulate, outraged noise. Sam shoots him a look on instinct, and this time Ruby follows his gaze. Her eyebrows furrow with confusion as she looks at the empty space in the motel room, and she squints back at Sam with something like concern. Sam shifts awkwardly.

Sudden understanding dawns on Ruby's face, and she huffs a laugh. "'Codependent' really doesn't even begin to cover the pair of you, does it? How soon after he died did you start seeing him, Sammy?"

"Don't call him that," Dean snaps, simultaneously with Sam saying, "Only he gets to call me that."

Ruby's eyebrows go up. "Sam," she says slowly. "You do know it's not real, right? You...you don't think he's real, do you?"

She actually sounds concerned that he might've finally lost it completely. It makes Sam crack a smile, tired though it may be. "I know he's not. But it's...so? Does it matter? If—if this is all I can have until—or what if I never actually save him? What if I—what if—"

"That's why you need my help," Ruby stresses, taking a step forward. "Do you really think one normal hunter can go up against Lilith? You think you can just rescue a soul from Hell? If you try this as you are right now, that hallucination is going to be the only piece of Dean you ever have again."

"Bitch," Dean says, but it's quieter, less aggressive. Like he's considering it.

"I don't know what you want me to do," Sam says helplessly. He's talking to Ruby or Dean or both of them or neither of them and it just sucks ass. He doesn't know what to do.

"Let me show you the ropes," Ruby says. "I swear to anything you want me to swear on that I know I can help you kill Lilith. It will not be an easy road, but look me in the eye when I tell you at the end of this path, with me, you will kill Lilith."

Sam looks at Dean. Dean looks back at him, troubled but not angry, and gives a helpless shrug. It's permission, in a way. It's given so much easier than the real Dean would've; his brother would still be spewing profanities and telling Sam they don't need Ruby.

But this Dean...this Dean was made by Sam's mind.

For some reason, despite it giving Sam the permission he needs, it makes him feel even fucking worse. Because Dean wouldn't.

Well, when he kills Lilith and gets Dean back, Dean can give him hell for working with Ruby. Sam will take all the shouting his brother wants to dish out, as long as Lilith is dead and Dean is so very, very alive.

"When do we start?"

Dean's calling out snarky remarks, and Ruby's egging him on, and Sam wishes they would both just shut the fuck up and let him concentrate on the very difficult task of pulling a demonic soul out of a human host. Neither of them can fucking do it, so if they could shut their mouths that would be really fucking appreciated.

Sam says as much, and Ruby tosses a grin his way before easing back to let him focus. Dean rolls his eyes and follows suit, muttering under his breath about demons and how disgusting this whole thing is. But despite that disgust, after Sam successfully exorcises the demon with the human still alive afterwards, Dean looks at him with a beaming smile and says, "Damn, Sammy."

Ruby applauds politely, offers Sam a hug, and asks, "How's Dean-o handling it?"

These last few weeks training with Ruby have been weird for numerous reasons, but the biggest might actually be how...chill she is about Sam having his dead brother as a constant companion. She treats it as if it's completely normal, like Dean's actually there and worth being acknowledged. Hell, when Sam tells her Dean's insulting her, she'll flip the bird in the direction Sam was looking. Like the figment of Sam's imagination...matters.

And, well. It does matter, but Sam was pretty sure it only mattered to him, and absolutely everyone else would want him locked up in a psych ward or cured of the hallucination. Ruby is just kind of—vibing with it all. It makes Sam feel a lot less crazy. It makes him really fucking grateful to Ruby.

Dean, in turn, seems to have adjusted to Ruby's presence in their sphere. He still insults her every chance he gets, but it's less antagonistic than it was before, more like...frenemies, than enemies. And he seems genuinely impressed by the shit Sam's accomplishing under Ruby's tutelage, so there's that.

Part of Sam—a large part—knows real Dean wouldn't be acting this way. He wouldn't be casually watching Sam practice his powers, wouldn't be snorting at Ruby's more bitchy moments, wouldn't be so calm about all of this. But it's just...it's nice, for now. Why can't Sam let himself have this? All he wants in the world is to get Dean back, and to get him back he needs these powers. Why shouldn't he be grateful that he's able to have his brother supporting him during the process?

It's fucked up beyond belief, Sam knows it. But it's his reality right now, so it's what he's got.

Sam wakes up in the middle of the night screaming from a nightmare. Dean, torn to pieces in front of him. Dean screaming for help, calling Sam's name, begging to be let out. Dean with his insides on the outside and Sam absolutely useless to help him, useless to do anything but scream back—

And Dean is there, stroking Sam's hair, shushing him like when he was a kid. He hums a song under his breath and tells him he won't let anybody hurt him, and Sam curls into the side of his hallucination and lets himself cry until he's too exhausted to do anything except pass back out.

This is not the first time, and it won't be the last, and Sam falls asleep clinging to the only shred of his brother he gets to have.

On the four month anniversary of Dean's murder, Sam drinks himself silly and spends the night on the roof of the motel, playing I Spy with Dean and laughing so hard he nearly swan dives off a few times.

And Dean is right there next to him, grinning and alive-looking and amazing, and for just a few hours Sam can convince himself that it's real, that Dean's still here with him, that he's not alone in the world without the one person in the universe he needs.

It makes the morning crash a million times worse, but he can't bring himself to regret those few blissful hours where he could allow himself to forget the sorry state of his world. He could smile at Dean and have Dean smile at him and not think Dean's dead, at least for a little while.

And then, the next morning, he gets back to work. They have an all-powerful demon to find and a soul to save from Hell.

Dean's trying to keep his calm, and he thinks he's doing remarkably well considering the circumstances. Those circumstances being suddenly finding himself back topside after spending four decades in Hell, only to find his little brother missing and with Bobby having had no contact with him for months. So yeah, considering he's panicked to high hell, he thinks everyone should be really impressed with how chill he's acting.

But still, little brother. Missing. Not good.

Luckily, he knows that kid better than he knows himself, so he knows exactly what alias Sam will be using for his phone and exactly what social security number and exactly what to say to track him down. Bobby might not've been able to keep tabs on Sam, but there's no one Dean can track better than his little brother.

There's nothing Dean wants more than to find Sam again, see him with his own two eyes, hug the living crap at him...and then punch him for whatever deal he made to spring Dean from Hell. Whatever he gave, it must have been huge, because they weren't letting Dean out easy and the way that forest looked around Dean when he climbed out...That all took a lot of power.

Trust Sam to one-up him by making an even bigger deal than Dean did. God, he's going to murder that kid. And then help him get out of whatever BS he's wrapped up in. But hey, that's what Dean does. Look out for his pain in the ass little brother.

He asks Bobby to stay behind, to give him a minute to talk to Sam just one-on-one before bringing in the cavalry. Bobby's not thrilled about it, but he listens, staying in the car outside the motel when they arrive while Dean makes his way inside.

It isn't hard to get the correct room number out of the night clerk, and his heart is basically in his throat as he heads to room 207. Just a few feet away is Sam. Sam, who Dean's craved to see again for forty fucking years. Sam, who is in a world of shit and Dean could not be happier to be back to help Sam get out of this mess. Sam, who is right there.

He knocks. There's a pause, a few agonizing seconds of nothing, and then the door swings open, revealing his little brother for the first time in decades.

Sam blinks at him. Dean grins. "Heya, Sammy."

"Why are you knocking?" Sam asks, cocking his head. "Since when do you ever just not...appear? Come right in?"

Dean stares at him, at a complete loss for what to say. Sam moves back, door wide open, granting Dean entry, and Dean does so without a word. He's...not sure how to take this, how to respond to a Sam who is—normal? Sue him, he expected more of a reaction to Dean's sudden return from Hell. Even if Sam really was the cause of Dean coming back, he should have some fucking response to actually having Dean in front of him again, shouldn't he?

"So, anyway," Sam says, not even sparing Dean a glance as he shuts the door and heads back over to a table with a bunch of papers spread across it. "Those omens are ending around here." He points to a spot on the map, not too far from where they are. Not too far from where Dean crawled out, either. "It's weird, right? How fast they booked it up here."

"How fast who booked it?" Dean asks, mystified. It's like Sam's dropping him in the middle of a conversation. Now, it wasn't exactly uncommon for Sam's brain to move faster than his mouth, which sometimes had some things getting lost in translation and Dean would have to poke him for full information. But this is extreme even for him.

Then again, his dead brother just appeared in his motel room, so if he's ever going to act a little weird this would be the time. Especially since he's acting so freakishly normal in every other regard.

"The demons," Sam says, shooting Dean a brief, exasperated smile, like Dean's the strange one, not keeping up. Like this is obvious. "Almost had them in Tennessee before that hard left they took. Weird as shit. I'm still trying to decipher what these specific omens mean..."

His brows furrow, eyes scanning over the papers, just like countless times before when he has something caught between his teeth, and it—hits, it hits Dean hard. He missed Sam so much that it burns inside of him, and here Sam is, same as he's ever been. His baby brother.

Dean can't resist the urge to stride forward and yank Sam away from the table and into his arms. He hugs him tight, like he's been wanting to do since he crawled out of his grave. Sam hugs him back readily, curving down into his hold to make himself smaller, fitting against Dean like he's still eight years old and Dean's larger than life to him.

When Dean feels like he can breathe again with a giant, overwhelming weight on his chest, he pats Sam hard on the back and then pulls away, clearing his throat and resolutely pretending his eyes aren't stinging. He's fine. It's all fine. They're back together again and they're going to figure this out. Everything's going to be okay now that they're a pair again.

Sam's smiling when they separate, the slight hitch between his eyebrows forming that "confused but happy" expression Dean is all too used to. Damn, he never thought he'd see it again.

"Hey," Sam says, a flash of teeth in his crooked smile. "Hey, you're...Wow, I really felt that. I love you too."

"Of course you felt that," Dean grumbles, shuffling awkwardly as Sam says the words that are usually subtext. "My hugs are awesome. Best in the biz."

"Always," Sam agrees. He turns back to the papers. "So, anyway, these omens—"

"Okay, I have to ask," Dean interrupts, and Sam blinks at him. "You're taking this remarkably well. What gives, Sammy? There something we should talk about?"

Sam looks as confused as Dean feels. "Taking it well?" Sam echoes, and Dean nods sharply. "Well, 'course, it's kind of the gig right? But the job's not over, we still have to find where the demons are holed up. So I'm gonna keep researching, okay? Just...hang out for a bit, yeah? Until it's time to head out?"

Dean says nothing because he can't think of a single thing to say to that. It's kind of the gig? Not really, Sam's resurrection was a one-off, this isn't an every day thing. Dean just came back from Hell. The fuck has Sam been facing the last four months that this feels routine to him?

Sam goes back to his papers, sitting down at the table, showing Dean his back like there's nothing weird happening. Like he isn't desperate to keep his eyes on Dean the same way Dean's desperate to watch him.

Alright, maybe this does require backup.

Moving away to the opposite side of the room from Sam, Dean pulls out his phone and dials Bobby's number. It rings a few times before the call connects, and Dean lowers his voice when he says, "Hey, yeah, you should come up here. Something's...off, with Sam. I don't know what it is but...Yeah, you should come up. Room 207."

Bobby grunts an agreement and Dean hangs up, putting his phone away. He takes a slow loop around the room, examining the space. It's very...normal, just like the rest of Sam's behavior. Organized the way Dad instilled in them and Sam always stuck to. Lore books and research and weapons, all laid out in an orderly fashion that fits a Sam living on his own. Nothing in disarray, nothing that shows any signs of Sam not being okay.

It...hurts, Dean can't lie. It hurts that Sam is so fine without him, that Sam can see him come back to life and react like it's just another Tuesday. Even if Sam was responsible for his return it shouldn't be like this, should it? When Dean brought Sam back he was—beside himself.

A knock on the door, and Sam frowns at it before standing and heading over, currently closer to the door than Dean. He unlocks it and swings it open, then startles, looking more surprised by Bobby's appearance than he did Dean's. What the actual hell?

"Bobby?" Sam says, stunned. "What are you doing here?"

"You gonna let me in, boy?" Bobby asks, giving him an unimpressed look. Sam backs up, unsure, and Bobby watches him intently as he enters and closes the door again. "Been a while. You couldn't pick up a phone?"

"Sorry, I—a lot on my mind," Sam stutters. His gaze flicks over to Dean and then quickly away. "Why...Why are you here? How the hell did you even find me?"

"What do you mean how did he find you?" Dean asks incredulously. Two gazes swing over to him. "I told him, duh. You think it's a coincidence we both turned up in the same ten minutes? We came together, Sam, Jesus."

Sam stares at him, looking at him like...Dean doesn't even know how to describe the look on Sam's face. He doesn't have long to try to interpret it though, because Sam's gaze swings back to Bobby and he says, "How did you find me, Bobby?" His voice is much heavier than it was before.

"Dean just said, boy," Bobby says, face scrunching up with confusion. "We came together. Are your ears broken or what?"

Now, Sam's looking at Bobby with that strange expression. It's almost like...like their words are blowing the kid back on his ass. Like he can barely comprehend what they're saying, like he's afraid to. Which makes no damn sense. What the hell else did he expect? All Dean did is track a freaking phone, something they've done a million times before.

But then Sam whispers, "You can see him, too?"

Both Bobby and Dean freeze. They look at each other. They look at Sam, who suddenly looks so unsteady on his feet.

"Of course I can," Bobby says, voice gentler than before. "It's Dean, Sam. It's Dean. Why wouldn't I see him? He's back."

Sam looks at Dean, eyes wide and fractured, every inhale starting to hitch. Then he breathes, "Oh," and strides across the room, yanking Dean into a tight hug like the one Dean demanded only a few minutes earlier.

It gives Dean an armful of crying, trembling brother, and a lot of pieces about this whole interaction start clicking together in an image Dean really doesn't like. He meets Bobby's eyes over Sam's shoulder and they share a matching, helpless look.

Okay, Sam didn't think he was real. Not an out-there thought to have. But the way Sam responded...No surprise, no nothing. And that could only mean this isn't the first time Sam's seen a not-real Dean. Not the first time by a longshot.

"How long have you been seeing me, Sammy?" Dean asks, throat thick.

Sam only ducks down further into his hold. His voice is muffled against Dean's shoulder when he says, "Started a few days after you died."

Dean closes his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. His chest aches. His little brother. Of course Sam wouldn't be fine, would never be fine. Dean made a deal to bring Sam back, and if Sam couldn't do that in return for Dean...His brain gave him something. Fuck. Fuck.

"You're really real?" Sam asks. He pulls back, hands clasped on Dean's shoulders, and his eyes search Dean's face desperately. "You're not a shapeshifter or revenant or—or demon? You're—dammit, Bobby is it him?"

"I did all the tests," Bobby says, but Sam doesn't look away from Dean for a single moment. "It's him, Sam. It's really him."

"Dean?" Sam says, trembling and hopeful and afraid, looking like he's ready for the rug to be ripped out from under him.

"I know," Dean says, trying for a grin and sure he's falling flat. "I look fantastic, huh?"

Sam chokes out a laugh. "It's really you, holy shit. It's...For so long I've..." He shakes his head. "You're real this time. You're actually real."

"Yeah, I think we should talk about that," Dean says, glancing at Bobby. Bobby shrugs a little, equally as lost about how to deal with 'hallucinating for months' as a problem. That's not just some shit they can fix, it's not a monster hunt. That's four months of Sam's life that he spent with a pretend version of Dean that his mind cooked up. That's...that's going to take some time to recover from.

"But we can just...sit, first," Dean says, squeezing Sam's arm. "Yeah, we can just sit. Together. Because I'm back, Sammy. I'm really back. And I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah," Sam breathes. "Yeah, okay. That sounds pretty good."

Dean grins. He can be steady for Sam, despite how off he himself is feeling. He can be the strong big brother all day long if Sam needs him to be. It's in his fucking bones. "Damn straight. Alright, let's get a pizza. And some beers. You know how long it's been since I had a freaking beer? Too long."

Sam laughs, bright and happy, the smile on his face matching it. And Dean feels something right lock back into place, something that's been missing for too long. He closes his eyes, lets himself breathe it in for a moment, and then gets to work helping his little brother get back to 100%.