dean has spent so much time with sam’s corpse that, after he’s brought back, dean will stay up and just watch sam sleep sometimes. he doesn’t ever look as peaceful as he did when he was dead, even when resting, but he looks scarily similar enough that dean will just watch sometimes. watch for bloating he knows isn’t there, because sam isn’t dead. watch for skin slippage he knows isn’t there, because sam isn’t dead. watch for the telltale up-down of sam’s chest as he breathes. sometimes, sam will turn onto his side and the shirt he’s sleeping in will hike itself up over his hip, half-pinned to the spot beneath him on the mattress, and dean will watch. once— twice, actually— he gets up, kneels at the side of the bed, gently pulls up sam’s shirt to expose his back, and touches the scar where the knife went in. it’s raised and thick and angry and he hates that it’s there. but it’s also warm to the touch and sam sort of twitches when he presses it on it. because sam’s not dead. and this is comforting.
