When it came it came hard; emotions flooding into his veins, pumping through his system like blood, making his skin burn and his eyes water.

He found himself on a hard motel bed; his brother bending over him with something akin to distrust and worry in his eyes. Dean's face was impassive but the rest of him was so easy to read.

"Well?" Dean sounded angry, aggrieved almost, "well?"

Sam could only nod; the rest of him hurt too much for him to move and he could feel it welling up inside of him like an unstoppable tide. Fear, self-loathing. Pain, guilt, anger and grief.

It was overwhelming, unbearable and he lifted a shaking hand to his face to wipe away the never ending flood of tears. Dean's face caved then and a single tear threaded its way down his cheek, his own hands trembling as he bent forward and put them – firm – on his brother's chest.

"Sammy?" It was a question, another question and Dean's eyes told him that if he answered in the negative now his brother would implode and maybe – just maybe – kill him.

"Yes," he hoped that it was the right answer because he didn't have another one. "Yes Dean."

"What – what are you feeling right now?" Dean's grin is shaky at best but it is the best thing Sam has seen in a long, long time.

"Suffering," he says with a slight quirk of his lips; no dimples – not yet – but there is time and time for all of that and now Sam only wants to reassure, "I'm suffering Dean."

Dean laughs and Sam knows he is forgiven, he is believed and he is back.

"Suffering is good for the soul Sammy," his brother says and it is enough…