Notes and disclaimers in part 1.

A/N: So it's done. Thanks to everyone who came along for the ride. Please feel free to leave feedback. We love it. Until next time...peace.

Chapter 10

The drugs they had given Sam to keep him under had been strong, but the will of a Winchester was stronger. He woke hours before he should have. And this time, it took almost no time for him to recall what had happened to himself and Dean at the rest stop. More importantly, he remembered the fact that Dean was missing.

His eyes were hardly focused and his breath came in harsh and painful pants as he tried to lift himself off the hospital bed. But to his amazement, strong hands held him down. Gently, but firmly.

"Sam, no."

He lifted his gaze and met the concerned stare of his brother. Dean. He must have said the name aloud, but he couldn't hear himself over the blood rushing in his ears.

"Easy, just lie back." Dean propped some pillows up behind him, easing Sam against them.

Am I awake or dreaming? Sam wasn't sure anymore. Maybe he hadn't woken up at all. Or maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, and he was only seeing what he wanted so desperately to see.

Dean continued talking, almost rambling. "I talked to your doctor. I can't believe you pulled that stunt earlier. You could have done some serious damage, Sammy. What were you thinking?"

It was then that Sam found his voice, even though it was still weak. "I thought you were dead." Mirage or not -- dead or not -- he was beginning to get seriously pissed off at his brother.

Dean shifted his gaze to the bed sheets, pulling them higher. Not meeting Sam's eyes again when he spoke. "Well, I'm not."

Sam was beginning to believe he was actually awake. The growing pain in his chest, and the annoying tone of his brother were starting to convince him. Surely if this was a Dream-Dean, he wouldn't be so exasperating. And of course he knew something else now. Gauging by Dean's behavior, he knew that Dean had been back to the rest stop.

"The spirits?" Sam asked. His strength was starting to return to him, but he still couldn't seem to manage more than a few words at a time.

"Ash." Dean replied shortly.

Yep, this was Dean. And although immense relief coursed through Sam, anger came with it. Dean had left him. He had gone back alone and faced two pissed off ghosts by himself. He could have been killed. And it would have been Sam's fault. Because he'd gotten himself hurt again, so he hadn't been there to watch Dean's back.

"How'd you do it?"

Dean met his eyes again. There was no mistaking the anger there, too, although Sam wasn't quite sure about the reason for it. "You want me to draw you a picture or what?"

It was Sam's turn to look away. This wasn't exactly the kind of reunion he'd hoped for. After all that they'd been through, arguing with Dean now wasn't on his list of things to do.

A hand on Sam's arm regained his attention. "Sam . . ." There was an apology in his brother's eyes, that didn't quite make it out of his mouth. Dean didn't have the knack for saying he was sorry. Sam had understood that about him a long time ago. He also knew Dean to be overly impulsive and daring to a fault. Sam shouldn't have been surprised that his brother had taken on two spirits by himself. But it still pissed him off. Dean wasn't invincible; he only thought he was.

"It's okay," Sam replied. "I get it."

"You get what?" The anger had faded from Dean's voice replaced by curiosity.

"You," was all Sam said, managing a half-smile. Dean wasn't ever going to change. That much Sam knew. And he knew he had to accept it too, even if he didn't always like Dean's methods.

"Right." He removed his hand from Sam's arm and brushed it through his own short hair.

"I get you had to go back there," Sam explained. "But you shouldn't have gone alone."

"I wasn't alone."

Sam quirked an eyebrow. "What?"

"The kid, Joshua, he showed me where his sister's body was buried," Dean said. He gripped the bedrail. "When I got back to the rest stop, he was sitting on the swing set. He looked like a normal kid. I had to use the EMF to make sure he was just a spook."

"But he wasn't just a spook. He helped you."

Dean nodded. "And you. If it wasn't for him, his sister wouldn't have let me get you to the car."

"The flash of light," Sam remembered. Everything was starting to make sense. Sam vocalized his theory. "The reason he'd stuck around after we'd salted and burned his bones was to help his sister find rest. It took a strong attachment for him to have stayed on this plane." Sam knew that almost all sprits whose bodies were salted and burned immediately faded from the place they were haunting. But some were anchored to a location by more than just their own bodies. "What was she attached to?" Sam wondered aloud.

"Her guilt," Dean said confidently. "She couldn't protect her brother when it mattered." Dean's tone was enough to convince Sam that he was talking about himself as much as he was Kaytlon. "They were both killed violently. She couldn't save him. He died and she couldn't stop it."

"Dean."

His brother looked away again. "I didn't protect you out there, Sammy. This whole fuckin' gig was a joke to me. I didn't get it until it was too late. By the time I got you here to the hospital, you were--you died."

Sam blinked. That part of the story he hadn't known. He was quick to reassure his brother though. "Dean, I'm fine."

"Sure you are." His brother sounded unconvinced, motioning to all the tubes and equipment circling Sam's bed.

"So how did it all end?" Sam said, trying to draw his brother's thoughts away from what had almost happened.

"What?"

"Kaytlon and Joshua."

"Yeah." Dean cleared his throat, Sam guessed, to get the emotion out of his voice. "It was still dark when I dug her up and burned her bones."

"She didn't try to stop you?"

"Well, she tried," Dean started, than sighed. "The wind picked up, stuff started flying around. I nearly got clocked by my own shovel."

"How did--?"

"The kid," Dean interrupted, "he kept anything from hitting me. Gave me enough time to salt and burn her remains. She appeared, took his hand, and then . . ." Dean made a motion with his hands indicating that they had disappeared.

On to a better place, Sam hoped. "So it's over."

Dean shrugged. "I picked up all the stuff we'd left and got the hell out of there just as the sun was coming up."

It was a new day, but somehow, all their mistakes seemed to linger in the air around them. The dark of the previous night not quite chased away by the light filtering through the white curtains of the hospital window. Sam knew that Dean bore the guilt of his injury, just as he held on to his own for not being there for Dean, helping him to dispatch two lost souls, for not watching his brother's back. Guilt seemed a common thread to the entire hunt. Hell, in the entire history of their family. And although there was no way to dispel the memory of the previous night, Sam couldn't help but try and give the moment a spark of normality. Their version of normality, at least.

Sam used his brother's familiar tactic, almost without thought. "So I guess the toilets are safe in Iowa again."

Dean's smile was weak, but it was still an attempt. "Guess so, little brother. I guess so."

THE END.