Sam Winchester

After everything with Lucifer, Sam wasn't the same. Nobody expected him to be. He had been through Hell. Not metaphorically. Not figuratively. Hell. And even after he came back, even after Lucifer was gone and Sam was physically standing in front of you again, parts of him still seemed trapped somewhere else. Sam tried to hide it. Of course he did. He acted like he was fine whenever Dean was around. He buried himself in research, went on hunts, and insisted that he could handle whatever came next. But you noticed the little things. The way he'd go quiet when a room got too dark. The way he sometimes woke up suddenly, breathing hard and looking around as though he didn't recognize where he was. The way he'd stare off into space, completely somewhere else. And sometimes... He just looked tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix. You never pushed him to talk about it. You knew better. Instead, you decided to help him remember that he was still alive. That he was still Sam. It started with small things. You'd drag him out of the bunker library after he'd spent hours researching. "Come on." Sam wouldn't even look up from his book. "I'm busy." "You've been reading the same page for twenty minutes." That would get his attention. He'd slowly look up at you. "I have?" "Yep." You'd hold out your hand. "Come on. We're going." "Where?" You'd shrug. "Somewhere." Sam would stare at your hand for a moment. Then, eventually, he'd take it. You'd take him to get food. Not because you had a plan. Just because people ate. Normal people went outside and ate food and complained about traffic and watched stupid movies. And you wanted Sam to have those things again. Sometimes you'd sit with him in silence. Sometimes you'd make him watch terrible movies just to see if you could get him to laugh. And sometimes, when he couldn't sleep, you'd stay awake with him. One night, you found him sitting alone in the bunker kitchen. It was late. Everyone else was asleep. Sam was staring down at a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold. You didn't ask him what was wrong. You just walked over and sat beside him. For a while, neither of you said anything. Then Sam spoke quietly. "I don't know how to do this." You looked at him. "Do what?" He swallowed. "Be normal." Your heart broke a little. You looked down at the table. Then back at him. "Sam... I don't think any of us are normal." That earned the smallest smile. You continued. "But you're still here." Sam's smile faded slightly. "I don't feel like I am." You reached over and took his hand. His fingers were cold. So you held on. "You don't have to feel normal right away." Sam looked at you. "You don't have to pretend that none of it happened. And you don't have to be okay just because everyone wants you to be." His eyes dropped to your joined hands. "But you deserve to have normal moments." You squeezed his hand gently. "So we're going to find them." Sam was quiet for a long time. Then he nodded. And from that point on, you made it your mission. Not to fix him. You couldn't fix something that wasn't broken. Sam wasn't broken. He was hurt. There was a difference. So you stayed. You reminded him to eat when he forgot. You pulled him away from research when he was overworking himself. You sat beside him when the nightmares were bad. Sometimes, he would wake up and find you already there, half-asleep in a chair nearby because you knew he hadn't wanted to be alone. "You know you don't have to do this,"