Epilogue

It didn't take much to hide and disappear; Bobby's yard was full of old cars. Perfect hiding spots that his mind remembered from years ago, and coupling that with his eleven year old body, full of energy and fun, and Dean couldn't help but grin. This life around was perfect.

Well, almost. Sam still didn't remember anything about who they'd been. As far as he was concerned, he was five years old, and five days off from turning six. Dean's grin fell a little at the thought, and he shook himself. He didn't care. Sam was still Sam, and alive, and Dean would take that any day.

Footsteps were heard in the dirt, and Dean stayed quiet and crouched near the cars. The steps stopped, and he could practically feel Sam's pout. God, the kid really hadn't changed; he still ran like the hounds of hell were on his tail, and didn't care about sound at all.

At least this time around, they didn't have to worry about those hounds. This life was a demon free as they could get.

The footsteps hurried away, and Dean dared a peek. Sam was peering around the yard, a goofy grin on his face as he checked above and below cars. With a grin of his own, Dean slid out from behind the car.

When he was close enough, he reached out suddenly and grabbed Sam by the shoulders. Sam shrieked and turned around, even as Dean was running away and laughing. "Tagged the seeker!" he called out, Sam's laughter spurring him on. He hit the porch steps at the perfect speed, skipping over the middle two and launching himself onto the porch. "Safe!" he yelled, turning back to watch Sam come running.

"I don't wanna be the seeker 'gain," Sam insisted, before tripping over a dusty root popping up from the ground, then landing face first in the dirt. Dean chuckled and shook his head, then realized that Sam wasn't getting back up.

Dean was down helping him up in a matter of seconds. "You are the klutziest kid I know," Dean said with a long suffering sigh, but he didn't let go until he was sure Sam was standing straight. He checked his brother head to toe, then back up again, all in a matter of seconds. Kid should've bounced back faster than that from a little fall. "You okay?"

Sam gave a sheepish grin and nodded. "Yeah, m'fine. Sorry Dean."

"How many times have I told you not to apologize for anything with me?" Dean said, crossing his arms. He'd made up several rules to himself and to Sam as the years had gone on. That one had come after Sam had accidentally spilled water on one of Dean's comic books. He'd looked miserable, with tears pooling in his eyes as he'd stammered out an apology. All Dean had seen was Sam after he'd been possessed, and that was it: the rule had been enacted.

"Lotsa times."

"So don't apologize, okay? You don't have anything to apologize for." THAT still took tons of pounding into Sam's head.

"M'kay. Sorry." Sam immediately pinched his lips shut.

Dean merely huffed and reached out to mess up Sam's hair. Sam batted at him, giggling, and the two headed inside.

Bobby was waiting for them with a raised eyebrow. "You boys enjoy the cars?" he asked, and Sam nodded vigorously.

"Dean knows all the hiding spots, though, so it innit always fun. But most 'the time, it is."

Bobby merely shook his head. "You boys want sandwiches for lunch?"

"Sounds great," Dean said, already heading for the kitchen. "Sammy, go wash your hands."

"'Kay. Be right back, Uncle Bobby!"

"I'm sure you will," Bobby muttered as Sam dashed off, and Dean grinned. "Kid's got more energy than I could ever hope for."

Dean gave him a look. "You're almost seventy, Bobby. You had that energy, once. Trust me, I remember."

He received a glare for his efforts. "You just love pointin' out how old I'm getting, don't you, mister I'm-doing-twelve-again?"

Dean waggled his eyebrows, and Bobby finally conceded with a chuckle. "I'll do lunch; sit your ass back down," Dean said with a no argument tone. "You want coffee?"

"I'm still breathing, aren't I?"

"Point," Dean admitted, pouring two cups. Sam had asked for a taste once, but Dean had denied it. Kid wasn't ready yet, and if memory served, wouldn't be ready until he was eleven. Dean's first mug of coffee had been at eight, and he'd fallen head over heels for the drink.

"Dean?" came Sam's voice from down the hall.

"Yeah, Sam?" He handed Bobby his mug as he waited for a response, then paused when he didn't get one. "Sammy?" he tried again.

"Dean?"

The voice was off. He sounded shaky, suddenly, and scared. Dean set his mug on the table and headed for the hallway with a frown.

Then he was running down the hall, to where Sam was collapsed on his knees, looking close to tears. "Sammy, what's the matter?" he asked anxiously. Behind him came the sure footsteps of Bobby, and Dean crouched next to his too pale brother. "Sammy?"

"I-I fell," Sam explained, voice wavering. "I...I felt sick, and I fell down, Dean. I don't feel so good."

"It's okay, you're gonna be okay," Dean immediately soothed, hand reaching out to smooth back hair from Sam's face. "You're gonna be just fine, okay? I promise." Maybe the fall had been worse than Dean had thought. Maybe he'd bruised something, or knocked the wind out of himself, or hit something inside, or-

Sam sniffled and nodded, but he still looked like he wasn't tracking things right. The entire look on his face could only have been defined as spacey. "M'head hurts," Sam whispered, right before he slid down to the left.

Dean caught him from hitting the floor, and then Bobby was there, picking Sam up with ease. "Bedroom," he said, and Dean quickly rose to follow. Head injury was the possibility now fore-front in Dean's mind, and everything about Sam's behavior was pointing to it. Sam was looking more drowsy with each step Bobby took, but he still kept his eyes on Dean all the way to the bed. Bobby laid him down gently, and Dean covered him up. Sam blinked once, twice, then his eyes stayed shut.

Dean stood there, staring at his little brother with growing worry, until Bobby finally pulled him out of the room. "Bobby-"

"I don't know what happened, but he's sleeping right now," Bobby said. "And I know the difference between unconscious and sleeping. Kid'll be all right; probably just got tired from running around."

"But so sudden?" Dean pressed. "Bobby, he took a fall out there, and he didn't get back up right away." At that, Bobby bit his lip.

"Wait here," Bobby said, before heading back into the room. He knelt next to the bed, blocking Dean's view of his brother for a few moments. He came back out, frowning and looking thoroughly baffled. "No bumps, nothing but evened breathing," Bobby told him.

Dean made a face, showing exactly what he thought of the situation.

"Might've been a headache," Bobby finally suggested. "Kids don't know what headaches really are, how to deal with them. Bad ones can be ignored until they're too powerful and bring you to the floor."

"Maybe," Dean agreed reluctantly. He glanced back towards the bedroom, where Sam laid, blissfully asleep. At least, Dean hoped it was blissfully.

With a sigh he let Bobby turn him towards the kitchen once more. "And for someone you just practically declared as old, I can still lift and carry without a single damn twinge," Bobby couldn't help but add, and Dean finally gave a grin.

They completed lunch, and Dean tucked a sandwich away in the fridge for Sam, when he got up. After a moment, he decided to put another one in there; kid was shooting up like a rocket, and Dean knew exactly what that was going to lead to. Not like he could stop it; if anything, he was probably encouraging it more this time around. He still remembered what Sam had looked like in high school, gangly limbs and gaunt face from too fast a growth spurt and too few filling lunches.

Wasn't happening this time around. Not on Dean's watch.

Twenty minutes later, while Dean was coaxing Bobby into playing poker, Sam came out of the bedroom. He walked slowly but calmly, each step sure, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Must've just been a headache, then. "Hey kiddo," he greeted with a smile when Sam looked up. "How're you feeling? I made lunch; it's in the fridge. Want me to get it?"

"I think I can manage, Dean," Sam said, giving a small smile, and Dean stopped everything else save for staring at Sam. Bobby went rigid beside him, and Dean couldn't blame him. The voice, the tone, the look on his face...it was so much like his brother, but his brother about twenty years from now, and it couldn't really be...

Dean finally spoke. "Sammy?" he whispered hopefully.

Sam gazed at him long and hard, before his smile widened. "It's Sam. Thirty plus years, and you still can't get it right."

For a minute, Dean couldn't breathe. Of everything he'd thought wrong with Sam earlier, he couldn't believe he'd forgotten his own feelings when he'd gotten his memories back. At that point, though, he really didn't care.

All he could see was his brother's smile and the image of a face he remembered from twelve years ago, a face he'd see again as time went on. Sam was back. Sam was back. His Sam, the Sam he'd spent twenty-five years hunting and living with, driving and pranking with, protecting and loving.

He moved away from the table, still unable to speak. Then he started to grin, and found that he couldn't stop. "We did it," he breathed, and then he laughed. "Man, Sammy, we did it."

Sam chuckled slowly, then began to full out and out laugh, and then he barreled into Dean before Dean could run for him. Laughter full of joy and relief rang through the house, that after almost twelve years, they were finally back together.

END