I wrote this shortly after the episode where Dean starts hunting with soulless Sam, saved it on a flash drive, lost the flash drive, and forgot it existed xD I was wholly perplexed as to how they might possibly get Sam's soul back, and basically wrote this in defiance of the thought that they might not ever get it back. Obviously, my solution was different than their's, but oh well xD I hope you enjoy it despite the fact that it's obviously not canon!

Soulless Sammy. Sam Sans-Soul. Sam the Tinman.

Dean sat with his back against the hotel headboard, one hand resting idly on his gun, freshly polished. Sam was out doing errands. Gas the Impala, buy some groceries, knock in a few heads. The usual. Dean was not with him because he, as was also becoming usual, was avoiding Sam. He was beginning to think of Sam as Not-Sam, came to regard the thing that looked like his brother as animated meat, Frankenstein, The-Thing-That-Should-Not-Be. He wanted his brother back so much it hurt, and even though if he wanted to stay with Lisa he should be hightailing it back home to her, he didn't. His brother needed him. His brother was stuck in Hell and Dean had to get him out.

You're the best brother in the world, Dean. Not if I can't bust you out, kid.

He was dreaming. At least, he was reasonably sure he was dreaming, unless Sam's soul looked like Sam circa-1996. His little brother—still little—was chained, strung up. There was blood on his forehead and his eyes were terrified. My brother will get me out, his voice was saying, but it was the sound of Sam's voice now, and made it all very topsy-turvy. My brother will get me out and then you'll be sorry.

Was this what they were doing to Sam's soul down there? Was this what it was like?

The only way you're getting out, kid, is if your brother does exactly what I tell him to.

Dean will find a way. He always does.

Sam came back to the hotel room to find Dean sitting on the bed, head bowed, fists pressed against his temples like he was trying to keep himself together. His face was very still, an expression Sam was beginning to realize meant that Dean was thinking about him—or rather, the person he used to be. Sam shut the door with a soft click and Dean looked up.

Slowly, very slowly, Dean got to his feet. He came to stand in front of Sam, who watched him curiously, wondering what new behavior this was. Dean's eyes burned into Sam's. "I know you're not in there, Sammy," he said, his voice intense, "but maybe you can hear me somehow. I'm busting you out, kid. I'll get you out of there even if it means going down there myself."

"Probably not the best idea," said Not-Sam. "Crowley controlls hell, remember?"

"Shut up, dude," said Dean. "I wasn't talking to you."

"I can break into Hell," said Castiel, "I just can't break into Sam's cage. Even if Heaven wasn't at war—"

"Shouldn't even have asked," said Dean.

Because he had tried everything else, because he had nowhere else to turn, Dean went to church. He figured God owed Sam. He'd put the devil back in his box, after all. Something like that perhaps warranted a little divine reward. Dean settled himself down on one of the pews, looking up at the alter, and hesitantly laced his hands.

"Look," he said, trying not to sound too gruff. "We're in a bind here. We did it, we stopped the end of the world—well. Sam did. He stuck Lucifer back behind bars. And now he's paying for it. Is this the sort of reward you usually hand out for giving the devil a heck of a sucker punch?"

No answer. Of course there wasn't an answer. When was there ever an answer?

He began to get angry. "We did everything you asked!" he roared at the ceiling. "Is this really the thanks we get?"

"Perhaps," a voice said behind him, "you have not quite yet learned the lesson."

Dean spun around in his seat to look at the priest standing in the middle of aisle. "What did you say?"

"Perhaps you have not quite yet learned the lesson," repeated the priest. "The trials we face are God's way of testing us. If the test continues—well. Perhaps the lesson is not learned."

If the lesson was "hunting is bad for your sanity," well, thanks, but Dean had learned that one plenty. "I'm just guessing here, but I'd have to say I learned my lesson pretty damn well," said Dean.

"You have," said the priest. "Has Sam?"

Dean stared at him. The priest stared back. And then, before Dean could think of anything to say, the priest had turned round and walked quietly away, disappearing into the bowels of the church. Dean had a feeling that if he gave followed, he wouldn't find anything, so he stayed where he was.

And then, because riddles weren't exactly what he'd been asking for, he yelled, "How can he learn anything in Hell, huh?"

The nightmares about Sam in hell kept coming, and every time he awoke from a new one, his determination to get Sam out only grew, until he was burning with it, and furious because he still couldn't think of a way to do it. He could try fooling Crowley, but Crowley had been a tough SOB before he became King of Hell. The angels weren't going to help and there was no one on Earth with enough oomph to spring the cage, and short of letting Lucifer free all over again, there wasn't a whole lot Dean could do. He even tried summoning rituals, for chrissake.

And that was when he had an idea.

Dad wasn't in Heaven. Dad was, however, dead. Therefore—

He told Sam that he needed a few hours to himself, painted all over the hotel carpet, and lit the some candles. This was his second summoning ritual in as many days, but this time, instead of Sam's name, he spoke his father's. This time, unlike before, something happening. The center of the runes began to glow, and a thick mist grew up from the carpet, slowly forming a figure that looked, if he squinted, like his father.

Dean, his father's voice said. What—

"It's Sam, dad," Dean broke in. "His soul is stuck in Hell. Not his body—just his soul. Crowley's keeping him hostage. I've tried everything, I can't get him out."

And you think I can?

"I think you're my last chance," said Dean. "I think you can try."

There was a pause, and then—I'll see what I can do. And the shade of his father vanished.

He was dreaming again. He knew he was dreaming because Sam was there, nineties-Sam, wearing a pair of oversized jeans and a jacket whose color had turned a kind of muddled brown after years and years of wear. Sam's hair was tousled, his cheeks were pink, and his eyes all but glowed as he tilted his head up to look at his brother. I saw dad!

"No way, kid," said Dean. "How'd you manage that? You walk into the kitchen all by yourself?"

Sam's eyebrows puckered for a moment, then he said, I saw dad in Hell, Dean.

Ice cubes slipslided down Dean's spine. Sam's clothing rippled, just a little, in a searing hot breeze. And then, because he couldn't stop himself, Dean looked away from Sam's gaze—and found himself in a place he recognized all too well.

Dean, said Sam. Don't look, Dean.

"I'm dreaming," said Dean, something like panic rising in his throat, though it could have been bile.

Not if you keep looking at it.

Dean looked back up at his brother. Sam stepped forward, took his brother's hand. You're the best brother in the world, Dean, he said, and Dean sat bolt upright in bed, covered in sweat and panting as if he'd run a marathon. He sat up just in time to see Not-Sam scream, a gut-wrenching, high-pitched scream that sent Not-Sam crumpling straight to the ground. Dean was on his feet before he remembered that he didn't care. Not-Sam, Not-Sam, Not-Sam. But this didn't work for long, when Not-Sam was wearing Sam's face, and he kneeled next to his brother's writhing body.

"Sam?" Dean whispered, and eventually Not-Sam stopped bucking and twisting and making horrible noises. Dean had tortured some folk in his time. Done a lot worse downstairs, too. He knew what pain looked like and Not-Sam had just endured a hell of a lot of it.

"Dean," said Not-Sam, but his voice sounded funny, and when Dean looked into his eyes, he saw something that hadn't been there before.

"My God," he said, which was about as much praying as he was likely to do. "That you in there, Sam?"

Slowly, Sam nodded, and Dean heard an echo in his head—you're the best brother in the world, Dean. He reached down and pulled Sam upright, so that he could give his kid brother a proper hug, and was totally unprepared for the relief that flooded him when Sam hugged him back. It was awhile before he trusted himself to lean back, and even then he had to do some hasty work with the edge of his sleeve.

"God, Sam," he said, in a voice too ragged. "It's good to have you back."

Sam watched his brother struggling to keep it together and said, "Thank you."

Dean looked up. Sam looked back. "Don't mention it," said Dean.

Beers, Impala, sunset. This being the closest the brothers ever came to throwing a party, they had done it right and turned up the stereo inside the Impala too. While Sam fished another beer out of the cooler, Dean tapped out the rhythm to "Back in Black" with his boot and thought lazily that they ought to see if there was a job in Florida. Florida sounded nice.

"Here," said Sam. Dean took the beer from him and twisted the top neatly off, sending it zinging into the bushes.

"Thanks," he said.

Sam shrugged. He flicked his beercap into the cooler, took a swig. They listened to the chorus of "Back in Black" for a moment before Sam said, "You said you talked to a priest."

"Yup," said Dean. He didn't elaborate. The quicker they put it all behind them, the better.

"What'd he say?"

"Back in Black" ended, replaced with "Dude Looks Like a Lady." Dean took another swig of beer and considered his options before saying, "It's all one big cosmic lesson and maybe you hadn't learned yours yet."

Sam's eyebrows jumped. "Huh."

"Yup."

"Well," said Sam, and drained his beer. "He was right, wasn't he?"

Dean stared at his brother as if he were crazy, which would be totally understandable, after a stint in Hell. "He was what?"

"I trust you with my life, Dean," said Sam, "but not because you're family. Because you're you. It took me a while, I guess. Maybe it was when dad showed up."

"You remember that?"

Sam shrugged. "Bits and pieces. Dad and I went through a lot of shit, you know, always butting heads, and I guess I felt like now that he's in Hell, he's not exactly obligated to care anymore. I asked him why he'd come to get me."

"And?"

" 'Family'," said Sam. "He said 'family'."