A Huge thank you to TiTivillus for her encouragement with this fic! I cannot express how much that support meant and how much it helped me.

Coda to 10x22 The Prisoner. Because the world needs more fanfic about this one.

Warnings: Rated M for somewhat graphic descriptions of wounds and lots of bleeding. Oh and ANGST and FEELS.

Disclaimer: If I owned the brothers or SP, this story would've happened in the show :P

Author's Note: This episode wrecked me. And I was dismayed to see so little fanfics out there that fixed the pain this one brought. And I NEEDED a resolve to that horrible funeral pyre scene everybody knows, so I made my own. Because clearly Carver is not willing to give Sam some love or apologizes so I will. I hope you enjoy my creation.

"SAM!" Dean's fractured scream resonated for miles through the pitch black woods. Eyes wide with horror at the yawning wound in Sam's side, a huge chunk his flesh just freaking gone. Carved out by the jaws of the fucking monster that had attacked his brother before Dean had pumped its body full of silver.

Not wasting another moment he scrambled toward his brother just as Sam's body sagged, folding like a puppet cut lose from its strings, crimson spreading rapidly into his shirt. Dean's boots slid as he reached his brother just in time to catch Sam's form as it pitched forward into his chest.

"Hey, hey, I got ya." Dean gently turned Sam over on his back, gaze drawn instantly to the jagged wound in Sam's right side. He caught grim glimpses of shredded muscle and exposed ribs through the gushing blood. His fingers trembled over Sam's side, not daring to touch it. Fuck this was bad. His brother was bleeding to death and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"D-Dean…" Sam seemed absorbed in the bloody mess he was becoming with each second, face already being leeched of color.

"Hey, hey, you're gonna be ok. I'm gonna take care of ya." The older brother touched Sam's cheek and pulled himself out of his jacket, then his own shirt went next. Hastily tying both pieces of clothing around Sam's torso like a make-shift tourniquet. Not that it did much good, pretty soon the damn cloth was leaking, dripping blood in rivers. "Shit! Ok, hospital's not that far away. We're going."

It was incredible that even after all these years Sammy was still light in his arms, despite being beyond the 6 ft. mark. He didn't remember getting to the Impala, nestling Sam in the passenger or throwing himself behind the wheel. Next thing Dean knew he was flying down the country roads to the highway, accelerator to the floor. The car's engine raged from the stress but what the hell did the car matter anyway next to Sam?

"Sammy, you still with me?" he barked out, near frantic with worry before reaching over to gruffly shake his brother awake. Sam barely responded, grunting something that sounded suspiciously like Dean's name. His body curled in on itself in the seat, tremors jerking his limbs, all signs of shock setting in. Dean ground his teeth. Oh shit, if he passed out now he probably wouldn't awake up again. "Sam, no checking out on me! You hear? You don't shut your eyes or you won't wake up again!"

This time his brother seemed to listen because he whispered out a jerky, "Y-yeah." And somehow looked 4 years old again even in his 33 year-old features. Despite his battered state, the kid always listened to Dean. Always believed with that child-like worship that his older brother knew best.

The exit came up forcing Dean to briefly focus on the road. Hospital wasn't far now, they'd fix Sam up, all patched up, good as new... Sam had survived the freaking cage, he would survive this. He threw a glance back over at his brother. "Sam? Talk to me, Damn it! " Had to keep Sam talking, first rule of bleeding victims, keep them talking no matter what. So help him Sam wasn't gonna get to check out now, not after everything.

"J-Just like Charlie…" Sam's stuttering gasp startled Dean's racing heart into skip. The burning image of Charlie's lifeless, bloodied body slumped over in that motel bathtub still kept Dean up at night, but he didn't understand what that had to do with what happened tonight.

Dean ruffled through his brother's hair, hoping the childhood gesture would calm him down as it used to. "Shhh, hey don't worry about Charlie now, alright? She's in a better place now, Sammy…"

"Too late..." Sam's gaze was glassy with blood-loss, too drowned in dizziness and anguish to pay attention to Dean. "Too late to save…"

"Shut up! Your mind's out of wack with blood loss. It's not too late to save you!" Dean snapped, fear soaring at Sam's fading attitude. He pushed the straining car engine to go fucking faster. "I'm gonna get you help, you'll be fine."

"It…it's fitting." Sam continued in a ragged whisper, as if Dean hadn't spoken at all. His voice raspy and wet. "Dragged her into it… Shoulda…left her alone."

"Hey, hey, calm down. What do you mean fitting?" he blanched, afraid he had already guessed where his brother was going with this.

Sam stared at his saturated clothes and blood-smeared skin, heart-broken eyes suddenly flicking to his brother. "Fitting…I go out like her. Like you wanted."

Charlie's burning pyre and the unbearable emotions that day flooded back full force. You got her killed, you don't get to say sorry. You wanna know what I think? I think it should be you up there, not her. Dean felt everything in him recoil as his own bitter words slammed into the forefront of his consciousness. He hadn't meant any of that…his own mind had been clouded over in the Mark's evil sway. His brutal actions and words driven by his all-consuming anger. Dean was almost physically sick recalling it all. But Sam didn't know that. He'd thought Dean meant every word, wanted him dead. Fuck, Dean had even reiterated blaming Sam for Charlie during the showdown with Death.

Dean reached over to clasp Sam's chin with his own blood soaked fingers, urgently turning Sam's head his direction. "Hey, Sammy look at me!" Falteringly Sam met his gaze, features pasty. Dean almost shrunk back at the bottomless despair shining through Sam's stare.

"You're not checking out, hear me? You don't get to quit. We don't get to quit in this family!" he couldn't miss the way his brother's eyes welled up at the sharpness of his tone. And pulsing through Dean's mind was the faint memory of Sam curing him from being a demon, urging those same words to a corrupted brother who'd sneered in his face. "This isn't what I want, okay? You dying—that will never be something I want, you hear me?"

He almost broke when the first tear rolled down Sam's cheek. "You hang on for me, Sam." He pleaded, voice teetering as he held his brother's gaze. "We're almost there."

Dean didn't even stop to shut Baby's engine off at the ER entrance, just left her there and dragged Sammy profusely bleeding through the sliding doors, screaming for help. The staff rushed into action almost instantly when seeing Sam, Dean reluctantly relinquished his brother to the nurses and waiting gurney. "You've gotta help him." He gave such a threatening glare to the nurses they stared at him with alarm. Not that he gave a damn. "He-he's my little brother." He fought to keep his voice steady, and failed. "You need to help him, please."

"We'll do everything possible, sir." A gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder. A younger nurse met his eyes sympathetically, obviously feeling his pain. "We'll take him from here." she let go and joined the team furiously working on Sam.

He had no choice but to watch them take his brother away, just stood there as Sam's deathly pale form was carted off to the ER. How long he stayed there, staring after them he had no clue. At some point somebody—he wasn't sure who, didn't remember the face—begged him to sit down before he collapsed. So he stumbled over to the first waiting room chair he found, crumbling into it like a rag doll.

And then hours passed. People came and went, other waiting families talked around him, and he didn't even hear it. He jumped up every time an approaching ER doctor came into sight, but each passed by him to other families. Dean then sought out nurses, anyone he could find, begging for any information on Sam. None of them would say or could find anything except he was still in surgery. So Dean returned to his stupid seat, anxious eyes snagging on the wall clock ticking at a snail's pace. And watching it, being here in his maddeningly silent room unleashed all the ugly, cascading emotions he'd forced back. Shit, Sammy could be dying now, slipping away thinking Dean hated him… Wanted him dead instead of Charlie.

And like the selfish bastard he was he never brought it up again, never even apologized. He'd been too ashamed then too busy fighting with the damn Darkness, the Rapids, and now the soulless bastards running around thanks to Amara. He'd just started hoping Sam understood he hadn't meant it.

Dean groaned, feeling the emotional agony morphing into physical pain crushing his body. He'd fucked up. And would he even get the chance to fix it? Then Dean did something he hadn't done in years, not since the night his mother died. He lifted desperate eyes to the ceiling. "Hey, I don't know if You're out there anymore. Hell, I don't think You even listen. But if You even care…please. Please, help him" his voice hitched, feeling ridiculous for even trying to plea with someone he'd felt long since abandoned them. But Sam was worth whatever the hell it took, even calling on God. "I...I screwed up. I gotta make this right…please, don't let him die."

"Are you Sam Walker's brother?"

That question startled Dean's prayer to a pause. He jerked his eyes downward, catching the blood-speckled scrubs of a doctor staring him down. He leapt from the chair before he even choked out. "My brother… Is Sam alright?"

The ER physician didn't smile reassuringly and Dean's heart twisted, he could almost feel it actually stopping, withering up and dying. "You're not telling me that! He can't—"

"He's alive, Mr. Walker." The stupid son of a bitch reached out to catch Dean's shoulder. "He came out of surgery a few minutes ago, he's in ICU. But I will be serious, he's in very bad shape. He lost close to 40% of his blood volume. We managed to get it back up but his wound was tough to repair. What kind of animal bit him?" the medic's eyes, every bit as trained and professional as any others, were nevertheless baffled. "That was the worst animal bite I've ever seen."

"I don't know, man…" and for once that was the God's honest truth. "Just—can I see Sam? I gotta see him."

The medic released Dean's shoulder and turned. "He's still unconscious, probably won't wake up for a while. But yes, follow me."

Sam didn't look much better in that hospital bed, hooked up to blood-bags and machines then he had bleeding to death in the Impala. Still just as sallow, frail. Dean pulled up a chair beside him and sunk into it. "Hey Sammy." Dean's voice was shot, he didn't try to hide it. Not here. He leaned forward and intertwined his fingers with the stiff, too cold fingers of his sleeping brother's. Even if Doctor Sensitivity was right and Sam didn't wake up for another couple hours, Dean would gladly watch the rise and fall of his breathing until then. Because he had another chance with Sam.

He didn't have to wait long before a grimace appeared between Sam's eyebrows. His eyelids then scrunched and Dean squeezed his brother's fingers. "All the way, Sammy. Come on, you can do it." his encouragement seemed to do the trick, Sam slowly opened his eyes, their depths dazed and fatigued but alert. And they settled on Dean instantly, the spark of recognition undeniable.

"Hey, Sammy, can you hear me?" Dean whispered, critically determining his little brother's awareness. Because hashing it all out would fly over Sam's head if he was too doped up to understand. And Dean was not looking to repeat this talk again.

"Y-yeah…" Sam scraped, the consciousness in his stare growing. Sam's mind had always been too quick to be bogged down by drugs for long. "What—happnd?"

"You don't remember? We were tracking down the fugly of the week and it jumped you." Dean clenched his teeth, fighting to calm down. "It—it really messed you up." and you nearly died. "You remember?"

It was when Sam dropped his eyes and Dean recognized that same goddamn guilt, that misery and finally he just had it. "Sam, what the hell were you thinking?" he kept his tone low but his fear-propelled anger trickled through. "Giving up on me like that? You scared the shit outta me!" he paused, hoping Sam would have another answer. Prove his horrible suspicions wrong.

"I…I thought it was what you wanted. You said it." Sam's pinched lips trembled, downcast hazel eyes glistening with tears. "I-I mean you were right…she shouldn't be dead. I should—"

"Stop it." Sam found his head firmly tugged upwards to meet his older brother's distressed, brimming eyes. "Don't—ever say that again. Sammy I…I didn't mean any of that. What I said, I was out of my mind. It was that damn Mark talking, not me. I never want you dead." Tears spilling freely from his eyes now, Dean stroked shaking fingers through Sam's limp bangs. "God, Sammy, I'm so sorry. I never wanted you to give up. Can you ever forgive me?" but how do you forgive a brother who wounded you bad enough to lose the will to live? Who shoved a beloved friend's murder in his grief-stricken little brother's face? Or who left a fucking bloodbath behind in their home? Who coldly murdered a kid begging for his life? And then to top it all off, lured Sam just to kill him as part of Death's deal? Mark or not, everything he had done then was unforgivable.

"You…you didn't mean it?" the sheer shock welling up in his little brother's eyes sent a lightning bolt of shame coursing through Dean.

His throat tightened painfully to the point he almost couldn't breathe. "Y-Yeah…I didn't mean it. I can't live without you, man. Don't you know that by now? And I want you to remember that, that I'll always want you with me. Okay?"

Sam swallowed but the feeble nod he gives is only a polite answer, one his wounded eyes doesn't share. Dean's words are not sinking in to Sam's soul, not penetrating or healing the damage he's made. But he dealt his brother a double blow, didn't he? He realized he hadn't even extracted the real poison that's eating Sam's heart away. Until now.

"And about Charlie…" Dean drew a shaking breath, clasping Sam's arm. "She wasn't your fault, man. I know I said that, and I-I was a bastard to say that. It was the fucking Stein's and they paid for it. I never should''ve put it on you."

"No, you were right." Sam crippled gaze tumbled downward, self-hatred carved into every facial muscle, the weak shirk away from Dean's touch. "I shouldn't have asked her to help. I knew all along—deep down— the book was gonna cost us big. But I wanted to save you so bad, I just didn't care. Kept telling myself nothing could be as bad as losing you again." His jaw clenched up, fighting hard to cling to any shred of control as his lips quivered. "I—dragged her into it and killed her."

"No, you didn't." Dean's stern growl bellied his gentle touch of Sam's cheek. "Sam, look at me."

It was slow but Sam shyly refocused his uncertain stare onto Dean's face, looking every inch a petrified 4 year-old about to be beaten. And God, that tore right through Dean's heart and shredded it to pieces. Nobody could ever destroy Sam like he could just with mere words. He can't believe he still underestimated their power especially after their fallouts in Maryland and probably worst of all, the shit with Gadreel. And he's just so sick of this, so sick of hurting each other.

So Dean bore an intense stare that burned into his brother's soul, hellbent on wiping the slate clean again. "You did not kill Charlie, Sam. Charlie wanted to help me cause she loved us. And even if you hadn't asked her, she would've wanted to get involved. Nosy little hacker, remember? She'd always find trouble sooner or later."

Sam opened his lips, already protesting. "But—"

"Sammy." Dean spoke softly this time. "It's not your fault. I want you to take what I said then and throw it out, rip it up, because I'm saying this now: Charlie was family. And family dies for family. You know Bobby, Pastor Jim, Caleb, Jo and Ellen, they all did the same for us. Charlie…all of them chose that, you get it? Cause you do anything for family. Hell, you and I know that more than anyone. So you let this go, alright? Stop thinking it's your fault or that you should be in her place. Or I'll kick your ass."

Sam snorted wetly and his fragile grip on composure broke, tears finally surging down pale cheeks. And hey because Sam nearly died just hours ago, was convinced Dean wanted it, Dean threw all chick-flick rules out the hospital window and leaned over the bed, trapping Sam in his strong arms and held onto him for dear life. A second later Sam went limp against his brother, shoulders trembling against Dean's torso and warm wetness soaking the shoulder of Dean's shirt. And finally, finally…the anguished tension melted out of Sam's body and they could just be happy the other was there. Truly be brothers again.

"The ass kicking will have to wait until I can stand." Dean could hear the weak sass below his ear and smirked, gently pushing back from his brother to let him fall back into the hospital pillows.

And the moniker that had fallen so naturally from Dean's lips throughout their lives clicked into place again, one to heal everything left unsaid. "Bitch."

And even 10 years and countless tragedies later, it still effected Sam. Eyes widening with surprise Sam's lips lifted, happy relief at last replacing the hollow sorrow. "Jerk."

Yeah, they were gonna make it just fine.

The End

I really hoped you guys liked that! I so needed closure for that episode and I hope it helped everybody else who hated it too. And I'm a bit of a sadist and love some Hurt! Sam. It helps to remind Dean he loves Sammy after all.

Please review! :D