A/N: You guys know me too well: for all those who said, "It's not over!"...you were right. Hope you guys enjoy the real ending!

The bodies were burned in a field behind Bobby's place, away from prying eyes. Dean let Ruby and Bobby handle it. He had Sam to handle, with kid gloves on top of it, and that was all he wanted to do. All he needed to do.

"Just walk slow, dude. We're not doin' a race here."

"We'd be behind the turtle at the starting line," Sam panted, leaning heavily against Dean. The demons had wrenched his wrist up again, to the point where Dean had been afraid they'd need surgery to correct it. Ruby had taken one look at it, left, and returned an hour later with healing herbs. The swelling was coming down, and it actually looked like a wrist again.

Now it was just the low grade fever, the coughing that sounded like there were nails ripping tissue in Sam's lungs, and his ankle, which one of the demons had twisted. Sam refused to stay in bed when Dean left the room, though, and had tried to get up to follow the first time Dean had left for a minute. The resulting fall had had Dean hurrying back to help, but it had been the whimper of pain that had made his chest tighten.

That was always going to happen. It was Sam, and Sam in pain was always going to break him.

And the thought of Sam in pain for months while he was somewhere made his eyes burn and his heart ache.

Another hop into the room, and Sam flinched. Tiny, minute, and Dean knew Sam wouldn't say anything. "That's it Sparky, time to sit," he declared, turning them towards the kitchen. With his foot he was able to reach out and tug a chair close, then sat Sam down as gently as he dared.

Sam hissed as he went down, but it was a hiss of relief more than it was of pain. "I'll get an ice pack, we'll prop up the ankle," Dean promised, and turned for the refrigerator.

"No, wait, Dean," Sam called, sounding almost desperate. Three days since Sam had sobbed and choked in his arms, and he still sounded so unsure, so afraid. Like Dean was going to disappear any minute.

Dean turned back and took hold of Sam's outreached hand. "Not gonna disappear, promise. Let me get the ice?"

Sam closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, then hesitantly pulled his hand away. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I don't mean to be a clingy chick-flick moment that won't stop."

Dean waited a moment more, then turned for the fridge. Bobby had good ice packs, the types the medical centers used, and he pulled one out and began bending it to mold it. "The one thing you could do is stop apologizing for it, Sam. Trust me, I get it," he added, stepping back over to Sam. Sam's eyes were open again, locked on Dean as he crouched next to Sam. A nearby chair was pulled over, and Dean carefully lifted Sam's ankle onto the seat. The ice pack was wrapped around the swollen appendage, and he surveyed his handiwork for a moment before standing again. "Too cold?"

"No, it feels good," Sam said softly. "And I know it doesn't bug you, for some reason, but-"

"Three months, Sam," Dean said, and Sam grimaced. "Give yourself some time here."

Three months without Dean, then on top of that, three weeks of demonic torture. Sam still wouldn't say what had happened, but Dean was getting the highlights from the nightmares every night. Part of him wanted to hear it laid out, so he could help Sam over the experience and move on.

A bigger part of him was guiltily happy he didn't know, because if the nightmares were any indication, it was bad, even by their standards. Bad enough that Dean had already woken up from a nightmare of his own just from the tiny snippets he'd been privy to.

No sign of Lilith had come through yet. No other demons had stepped forward to try and take Sam, though Bobby and Dean were more than ready for them. Ruby was keeping her ear to the demonic ground, though, and said it'd be awhile before they hit again. When they did, it'd be bad, and Lilith would probably lead the way.

Dean snagged the last chair from around the table and pulled it over next to Sam. Sam glanced at him in almost guilty relief as he sat down, but didn't turn away when Dean met his gaze. "Seriously, Sammy: you went through Hell, which was not how this was supposed to go," Dean said quietly. "It was supposed to be me enduring Hell, not you."

"If what happened to me meant you not having to endure Hell, then it was worth it," Sam said, and Dean gritted his teeth at the response he knew would come. "I mean it, Dean."

"It wasn't worth it to me," Dean replied vehemently. "God Sam, seeing you like that, hearing you...that was my Hell, right there. My worst nightmare realized." His little brother, bound and broken, wasn't an image that was going to fade away anytime soon.

"But you found me," Sam said, and there was a small smile on his face. "You got me out."

"Damn straight I did," Dean replied firmly, and Sam's smile broadened. There was a small bruise on his cheek, a discolored green and blue, and it seemed to fade with the sign of happiness.

Sam glanced down at his ankle and shifted in his seat, wincing slightly as he did so. "Ruby hear anything about Lilith?"

Dean sighed and shook his head. "No; nothing yet. She's just vanished off the grid." And for the moment, that was the best thing in the entire world, apart from Sam getting better.

Because Dean knew that the events from nearly a week ago hadn't been a coincidence. He'd suddenly reappeared in the world, alive and well, and then three days later, Lilith had suddenly decided that Sam had to die, after three weeks of torturing him? Dean didn't believe in coincidences on a good day, and that one was just too purposeful to ignore. She'd known that the person best equipped to find and save Sam had suddenly escaped from Hell and would track his brother down.

Sam had said it was a miracle, that something powerful had to have been behind it. Something powerful and good. Dean hadn't tried to dissuade his brother's thoughts, but come on, it wasn't possible. That an angel had swept into Hell and plucked him out?

...Okay, so considering Lilith's plan and the timing of everything, it wasn't that off a thought. Dean just wasn't ready to buy into it, if at all. Maybe later, when he had some proof, like a new birthmark or a feather tucked in his things. Or, you know, when he saw one for himself.

Sam exhaled deeply, then coughed loud and harsh. Dean instantly began to rise to make a cup of tea, but Sam caught his shirt and tugged him back down to his seat. "I'm fine," he promised, his voice raspy. "Just tired."

"Then why'd you want to come out here?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrow. "Bed's a hell of a lot comfier than these rickety chairs."

"Because you were going stir-crazy in there, and I tend to go stir-crazy without you around," Sam murmured. His eyes closed for longer periods, before he blinked several times in a quick succession.

Dean rolled his eyes but scooted his chair right up against Sam's. It was easy to tug gently at Sam's sleeve and pull him down against Dean's shoulder. Sam mumbled something and shifted, letting his head rest near the crook of Dean's neck.

After a moment of silence, Dean let his own eyes close. Sam wasn't the only one who hadn't gotten a lot of rest in the past few days, and Dean had refused to let his own close until Sam closed his. It wasn't logical, but nothing about the past few days, months, year was logical. It was just what his heart knew, what he felt as the older brother.

"I'm glad you're here. Back. With me."

Sam's barely spoken whisper held more emotions than Dean could've ever hoped to figure out. He leaned his head lightly against Sam's, felt the sting of tears for no real reason. There was an army of demons out to collect their heads, with a leader who had a personal grudge against Sam. They had a mystery concerning Dean's sudden reappearance and any complications that could arise from that. Sam was hurt, Ruby probably still had plans concerning Sam's powers, and Dean was worried about both issues.

But they were here, they were both alive, they were together. They were brothers reunited, and god but it felt good.

"So am I, Sammy."

END