Title: How Will We Know What Not to Fear

A/N: Much love to Jen for the beta and for helping me get some direction with my thoughts. Spoilers for Lazarus Rising. Feedback always appreciated.

The first few days after Dean's return were full of chaos. Sam was the type of guy who thrived on structure and logic. He liked it when pieces fell into place and every action lead to a proper reaction. And this thing with Dean just didn't make any sense. A part of him didn't want to think about it too much. He had his brother back and that was all that mattered. The other part of him couldn't help but wonder what was going on. He refused to be unprepared this time. They needed answers, needed to be ready for whatever came at them.

That didn't make it easy. Dean was tight-lipped about everything - his time away, the experience of waking up in the ground, the wreckage of the room after he and Bobby had been drinking - and Sam couldn't exactly call him out on it.

Sam knew it was going to require persistence and patience if he ever wanted things to be right between him and Dean again. Except patience was never Sam's strong point.

"Have you checked in with Bobby?"

Dean flipped through his magazine and replied, "He only left twelve hours ago, Sam."

"I'm just wondering."

"No, you're fishing for information."

"Is there information to share?"

"I already told you what I know, Sam," Dean said. He dropped the magazine on the table and stood up, looking as though he was torn between starting a fight and dropping the whole thing.

Sam said, "I've heard rumblings of some demons in Oregon. We could head out there and see what they know."

"We already tried that, and they don't know anything."

"We don't know that for sure, Dean."

"Fine. Even if they can tell us something, doesn't mean I'm gonna believe it."

"Dean…"

"Forgive me if I'm not willing to take a low-level demon's word on this. I'll get my answers somewhere else."

"We're not summoning it, Dean. Not until we know more."

Dean moved across the room in one fluid motion. For a second, Sam thought Dean was going to hit him, but he strode past him and stood in front of the window. The light from the motel sign flickered across his face and he said, "Let me handle this my way for now, Sam. Okay?"

There was an edge to Dean's voice that made Sam immediately nod his head in acquiescence. Sam asked, "What do you want to do?"

"We should get on the road in the morning. There aren't any more clues here and there's still plenty of evil to fight," Dean said, his eyes never leaving the view outside the window. He rubbed his arms and said, "Fuck, it's cold in here."

"It's like eighty degrees. I think you're trying to suffocate me."

Dean rolled his eyes and said, "Suck it up, Sammy."

Sam sighed and fixed his attention back on the television, pretending to be entranced by some reality show. "Whatever."

"Sam…are we…you…things seem…" Dean groaned.

"Pick a sentence and go with it."

"Are we cool?"

Sam kept his gaze locked on the television. He didn't know how to answer that question. It wasn't that Sam wasn't damn glad to have his brother back. There wasn't anything he wouldn't have done if he had the chance to save Dean. They had always been a team, working better together than apart, and the months without him were horrible in ways that even the Trickster hadn't prepared him for. Because, unlike after the time loop, Sam had begun to realize that nothing would bring Dean back this time around.

There weren't really words to adequately convey how happy he was when Dean had hugged him tightly and Sam knew, for sure, that it was him. But that didn't mean everything wasn't completely messed up.

Things didn't feel right, like they used to. He and Dean were off, but neither of them wanted to admit it out loud, and he knew that a lot of that was his fault. Sam was never good at hiding anything from Dean, who could read him like a book, and there was a lot that Sam wasn't quite ready to share. So he found himself doing the opposite of what he wanted to do, keeping some distance between the two of them, maintaining the walls he had put up to survive.

"Should I take the silence as a 'no,' dude?"

"We're fine, Dean. I'm just happy you're back and a little afraid it won't last."

"I'm not going anywhere, Sam."

"Don't make a promise you can't keep, Dean, okay?"

"Fine."

The silence seemed to go on far too long for Sam's liking. He sighed and said, "I am glad you're back, Dean."

For the next few days, they fell into a companionable silence that was only interrupted by stupid conversations – tell me what happened on General Hospital while I was away, Sam – and discussing leads to follow.

There were even moments where things felt right, like nothing had happened, and Sam could convince himself that everything would be fine. After all, the one certainty of his entire life had always been Dean.

"I'm still not sure where you got your shitty taste in music from," Dean commented as he used his left hand to sift through a box of cassette tapes. He glanced at Sam out of the corner of his eye and said, "It's like you learned nothing from me."

"You listen to mullet rock, Dean."

"I listen to the classics."

"I found the Britney Spears tape in your collection while you were gone."

"That was Cassie's. I just never got rid of it."

"It sure looked like it had been played a lot."

"Shut up, Sam."

On the tenth day after Dean's return, Sam tried a few times to broach the subject again about what Dean remembered. He knew more was coming back, simply from the way his brother froze up at random moments. He also knew something else was going on and he hadn't been able to get Dean to tell him what that was.

"I already told you. I don't remember anything…" Dean paused and met Sam's stare. He pointed at Sam and said, "And stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm injured animal that you have to heal."

"That's not what I'm doing."

"Yeah, ya are. And I'm fine. For the billionth time."

"Last night I found you huddled up in the bathroom, Dean. And you were talking to yourself. That's not fine."

"I wasn't talking to myself…and I don't want to talk about this, Sam."

"Dean…"

"There's stuff I can't explain right now, okay?"

Sam clenched his fist and took a deep breath, attempting to keep from lunging across the front seat of the car and pummeling his brother. He mentally counted to ten and said, "You need to stop with the whole 'protect Sam' thing. Remember where it got us the last time?"

"That's not what this is, so let it go."

"I know you, Dean. Carrying this around is going to kill you."

"Sam."

"It's dropped. And you want to take the next turn off for I-70."

Sam was never very good at letting things go. There were too many secrets between them, too many things they were both leaving unsaid, and nothing felt right. And the nightmares were getting worse, though Dean would never admit it. Mostly, Sam was feeling the huge weight of guilt and secrets bearing down on him. He wanted to tell Dean about Ruby. He needed to. But he wasn't the only one hiding something, and two could play the protect-your-brother-from-the-truth game.

Two weeks after Dean's return, things finally came to a head. Things weren't working and Sam was scared that if something didn't change soon, nothing would be okay again.

Sam bolted up in bed at the sound of his brother's screams, the book he had been reading before he dozed off falling to the floor with a thud. Sam's gaze immediately landed on Dean, who was sitting up in bed, clutching the sheets around him.

Sam didn't even think about what he was doing, his only thought on helping his brother. He hadn't been able to save Dean from Hell, but he would be damned if he didn't do everything he could to get him through his return. Even if it meant tying Dean down in a chair until everything was out in the open.

"Dean," Sam said as he moved around to the other side of Dean's bed and sat down next to Dean.

"I'm fine, Sam. Go back to sleep."

"I'm not tired," Sam replied.

"Jesus, Sammy…"

"Do you want some water or something?"

Dean let go of his hold on the sheets and turned to glare at Sam. He said, "I told you that I was fine."

"Dean."

"Stop babying me."

"That's not what I'm doing, idiot."

"Idiot? Nice bed side manner."

"I'm sorry, Dean, but you're a fucking moron if you think this is going away on its own. You were in Hell, Dean. You had to dig your way out of your own grave and we still have no idea what was behind your return. Of course you'll have a nightmare or two. And you need to get it through your god damn rock hard head that you cam talk to me about it," Sam replied. He reached over cautiously – Dean could still beat the crap out of him if he wasn't careful – and patted his brother on his shoulder. It was as much for him as Dean, checking to make sure he was really there. Sam found he did that a lot anymore.

"Oh man, are we gonna hug again?"

"Do you want to?"

Dean's response was to jump out of the bed and pace the floor in front of it. Once he stood up, Sam could see that not only was Dean's shirt wet, but the sheets beneath him were soaked through. Sam couldn't help but touch the area, unsure how to proceed under these circumstances.

"Dean. Would you please talk to me?"

"I'm just a little freaked out. I think that's allowed."

"Yeah."

"None of this makes sense. I shouldn't be here. I was dead and buried." Sam winced. He had lived with that knowledge for months and yet it never got easier to think about. As though Dean read his mind, he immediately shook his head and said, "I'm sorry."

"For what? For leaving me or for being upset it didn't stick?"

"I'm not…this is why I didn't want to talk about this, Sam." Dean ran a hand over his face before turning to face his brother, his eyes locked on Sam's. He sighed and added, "It's not that I'm not happy to be alive and out of hell, but I'm worried the cost might be too high."

"It's not."

"We don't know that."

"We'll figure it out, Dean. That's what we do. The first step is to get more information on what could have the power to pull you out of hell," Sam said. He saw the look on his brother's face, the one that clearly said he was hiding something, and Sam asked, "What?"

"What, what?"

"What's going on?"

"I could ask you the same question, Mr. Sneaks Out Every Other Night."

Sam shook his head and said, "I get hungry."

Dean arched his eyebrow. "Is that the story you want to stick with?"

"It's true…and stop trying to change the subject. Did you and Bobby find some information out about Castiel that you haven't told me?"

"You need to give me a little bit of an adjustment period here."

"You keep saying that, but…"

"…but nothing. I'm dealing with this as well as I can."

"Maybe I'm not."

"What?"

Sam sighed. "Things feel wrong."

Dean fisted his hand in the bottom of his shirt and he said, "I'm not capable of giving you what you need right now, Sam. I'm sorry. I wish I could say more, but I need you to trust me a bit longer."

"You do know something about Castiel. I can see it in your face. It's the same sort of look you had when you were hiding dad's secret from me."

"Dammit Sam, what part of 'not right now' don't you get?" Dean sat down on the edge of the back and glanced back at Sam over his shoulder. He added, "Besides, it's not like I don't know there's a whole lot you're not telling me."

Sam swallowed down the response that was about to slip out. Maybe Dean was right. This wasn't the time or the place to share everything. Maybe what they needed to focus on was each other and being brothers again.

"You know I wouldn't let anything happen to you, right?"

"Of course, Dean. And you know I feel the same way," Sam replied.

Dean nodded and said, "Just a little more time. That's all I'm asking."

"Fine, but we're going to need to talk," Sam replied.

"I can hardly wait."

Sam rolled his eyes and said, "I'm overwhelmed with love."

"You should be because you're going to tell me what you've been up to or I'll beat it out of you."

Sam rolled his eyes again and shrugged as though the idea of sharing everything with Dean didn't terrify him. He stood up and as he walked back toward his bed, he placed his hand on his brother's shoulder. It wasn't much and nothing was really settled, but it made him feel a little better. "Go clean up. You stink."

"Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam replied with a smile, feeling almost normal for the first time in awhile.

Fin