YOU KNOW IT ALL, YOU'RE MY BEST FRIEND

He'd know that silhouette anywhere. The proud but easy stature, the all too handsome sweep of broad shoulders that Dean was all too proud of. Sam knew right away it was his brother. But he pauses, he waits, holds himself back. His heart in his throat with fear of Michael, but his insides voluntarily sighing with relief because his soul would recognize Dean anywhere...anyhow.

But still he waits because the lighting is shit and that stupid freaking cheese cutter is hiding his brother's face...most importantly his eyes. If Sam could only see them he'd know, one glance into those lovely, glass green eyes and he'd know.

His heart jumps into his mouth as his brother's figure stumbles...that's not Michael...still he hesitates because if he falls for the archangel's tricks and is killed then who will save Dean? Who will break him out of the hold of the angel, save him from a different sort of hell? The sort of hell Dean had already saved him from.

Then Dean's hand reaches up and takes off that cursed hat, and his eyes find Sam's naturally. And the pain, the worry and confusion...that's all his brother, his beautiful, overly responsible scarred big brother. And that's the last thing it takes, the last thing Sam needs to give in and accept that somehow Dean is come back to him...

"Sammy."

As soon as the words slip from Dean's lips, his breath escaping after it shallowly, as soon as it falls upon Sam's ears his walls break, and as Dean slips to the floor leaning against the beam he rushes to his side. His hands are trembling, his mouth and lips dry, his stomach is fluttering in disbelief at the blessedness of this situation.

How could it be that Dean simply comes back to him? As he pulls Dean into his arms resting his chin on top of his head for a second looking into the space behind them his soul falls back into place, his eyes shut and he sighs. Finally.

The scent he breathes in isn't Dean's though. It's cold and stabbingly clean. He feels guilt like a kick in the gut...Dean was so far from alright and here he is letting himself fall back into perfect placement again. Before he realizes what he doing his hands are pushing the coat off his brother's shoulders and Dean echoes his frantic movements undoing to the buttons of his suit jacket and the vest underneath shucking off the layers until Dean's in nothing but suit pants and the white shirt

The material is soft as clouds and it's so strange. Sam can see the look of disgust as Dean runs his hands down his front as if trying to brush every trace of the archangel off of him. Honestly he doesn't look so good, still shaking and white as a sheet. Michael probably hadn't eaten anything all this time which means Dean needed sustainance fast.

"He's just gone..." Dean says again, arms still wrapped around himself protectively, still shocked and too relieved that he's actually be in control of himself and his body. And Sam's heart echoes a tremble of fear at the confusion in his older brother's tone. It made a terrifying amount of no sense.

"Let's," Sam swallows, "Lets just get you home."

Dean says nothing and Mary steps forward a halfway questioning look on her face to Sam. She's asking for his permission he realizes, not wanting to break this moment, not wanting to hurt either of her sons more by wedging between their two person plane of existence right now. He nods minutely but not budging from his place in front of Dean.

"Dean." She says softly "Hey."

"Mom." He says, voice still wobbly. He wipes a hand over his mouth, "Hey, you good, all you guys good?" He asks, eyes sharpening with worry and jumping back to Sam glancing down his figure.

"We're good." She assures. "Just worried about you."

"Figures." Dean says, lips quirking in a smirk and god, Sam's heart grows two sizes bigger and maybe his hair loses some of the gray he'd gotten over the past three weeks if that's even possible.

"C'mon bro." Sam says, standing and grabbing Dean's arm, pulling him up and his arm around his own neck.

"Sammy," he huffs, "I can walk."

"Yeah no." Sam responds, "Lets not even risk any chances like you falling on your face right now."

Dean gives a dry laugh. "Shit, I'm hungry," he mumbles to Sam as Mary and Bobby lead the way out towards the car.

Sam chuckles and Dean smiles soft at the rumbling sound. "I know we'll get you something, heart attack with a side of diabetes."

"At this point I'd take a salad, Sammy." Dean returns, humor in the tired twinkles of his eyes too.

Dean is tired. Sam can feel it in his muscles just helping support him. He doesn't have a lot of strength. He's fisting his hands to hide the tremble, and the paranoia...he brother's eyes skitzing back and forth, jumping as Mary opens and shuts baby's door. It breaks Sam's heart a little. But it's okay, he thinks. Its okay, we're gonna fix this, we're gonna heal him, help him heal. We still have so much fight left.

Mary and Bobby head off in her truck first. Sam leans Dean against the passenger side of baby and opens the door. Dean slips in after a dark glance at the abandoned church. Sam sits down in the driver's seat. Sighing in relief; Dean's by his side. Dean's breathing in his air, Dean's sharing his space, shifting in the noisy leather seats, unbuttoning the top two buttons on the shirt and rolling up the sleeves. Huffing again in derision as he pulls at the crotch of his slacks.

"Frickin dick wears his pants tighter than one of those boy bands." He grumbles.

And Sam actually laughs out loud. Eyes forming crescents on top of his cheeks with the first sincere smile he's had in weeks. He and Dean share smiles and the younger Winchester revs Baby, Dean sighing in comfort. And Sam smirks having done it on purpose.

Pulling out onto the road Sam catches Dean sneaking glances at himself in the side mirror. The look on his face pained and confused, achingly hungry in a way Sam knows all too well. That hunger to be absolutely sure of yourself. To not doubt even 0.1% that you are in fact, you. The doubt and fear that somehow you are weak and that you asked for it, you deserved it. You couldn't fight it.

All those ugly thoughts that eat you out, that make you crazy and breaks you over and over and over again.

"Dean." He calls. And his brother jumps, haunted eyes coming back to him, but a tired, fond smile already on his lips. "It gets better." Sam clears his throat, "It will be okay, I know it doesn't feel like it but he's gone, you're just you and it wasn't your fault."

Dean laughs drily and Sam likes that sound, of Dean being honest, depreciating himself, but still laying himself bare to his little brother. "You sound like me." The elder Winchester says, harmless skepticism in his voice.

"Of course." Sam responds and smiles comfortingly across the seat to his brother. And he knows Dean gets the message. Sam knows it all. He's been right where Dean is...and he intends on being to Dean what Dean had been to him. The rock he rebuilt himself on, the beams supporting his structure and character. The guts behind his fight, and the warmth and strength behind his conviction and love. The most dedicated, loyal brother and the very best friend imaginable.

...the end.

Just had to write something (with what I'm sure is short relief) that Dean is back where he belongs.