A/N: I've backed this chapter up a little so we can have Dean's point of view for the final battle with the thing.

A/N II: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing, your support has made this story wonderful! I would especially like to thank TraSan for lots of wonderful help with this chapter and poking me to find the words for what I really meant to say. Thanks to Abni, Manavie and PADavis for handholding throughout!

In Darkness Let Me Dwell

Chapter Twelve

Forebear, he lives!

Man is not flesh but soul, all life is fame.
That is true fame which living men enjoy;
That is true life which death cannot destroy

Something like awareness slowly returned as he was dragged down the hall. The men carrying him paused and a door opened. He was dropped onto the floor and the door shut. He lay on his side, wishing death would find him there, finally, and let him escape.

"Dean!" a voice said, he thought it was familiar. He heard someone moving, then gentle hands turned him over. "Oh, god," the voice whispered. He was lifted and held against a warm body. "Dean? Dean?" the voice was desperate, he opened his eyes. That one—the one who saved him—Sam—was holding him. "Dean?" that one said again. He turned his face into that one—Sam's—shoulder and wrapped a hand around his arm. "Dean, are you there?" the one who saved him asked with a sob.

He tried to make a sound, a whimper escaped his lips before the pain started.

Sam dropped his head so his cheek was resting against his hair. "Hang on, I'll get us out of here, I promise," that one said softly.

"Mfph," he tried to answer, Sam's words didn't make sense, but there was something in the tone that made him want to answer.

"Oh, god, Dean," Sam said, beginning to rock back and forth as he cried.

"Mfph," he said, whimpering. It was as close as he could get to tears without the searing agony that speech caused. He had lost his home and so had the one who saved him—Sam—and now they would die here in this place. He wished he could comfort the one who saved him, but all he could do was let the gentle rocking motion comfort him. He drifted there in something almost like safety for a long time, listening to that one's voice. That one had started talking as his tears eased, the sound of a human voice comforting in that dark place.

"I have a plan to get us out of here," Sam said quietly. "It's not a great plan, but it's a plan. Just hang on a little longer, Dean, please. We'll get out. I promise."

Suddenly the thing touched him, the soft wisp of itself, letting him know he was needed again. He whimpered, the pain searing through his body, and tried to hide against that one. Sam's arms tightened in response to his soft moan.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked. Heavy footsteps came from the hall, each impact jarring through his body. "Okay, Dean, I'm going to set you down. This is part of the plan, I'll get us out, or I'll keep the other promise. Trust me, Dean. I'm here. Trust me." That one pulled him tight against him for a moment then set him gently on the floor. "Trust me," that one—Sam—said again. The word trust meant something. He trusted the one who saved him.

The door slammed open. "Take the Nameless One," the priest in the red-eyed mask said. Two more men came into the room. They picked him up from where Sam had set him and dragged him up. Pain ran through his body.

"Hang on, Dean," that one called. He heard Sam say something to the one with red eyes, and the harsh answer, the words making no sense at all. "Trust me, Dean!" Sam shouted. It was the last thing he heard before the sound of a slamming door.

He was carried to the altar and placed on it. Flowers were put on his body and his mouth wrenched open. A foul-tasting paste was smeared on his tongue. The drug ran through his system quickly, the last slivers of himself, the person who the thing consumed, was screaming, locked somewhere deep inside. This was the worst horror, the second, third and times after. The pain was so much worse. The removal of the tiny bits of himself that were left so much more exacting. The thing took such pleasure in prolonging the pain, the excising of all he was.

Blood was poured in his mouth and over his body. Men came and held his arms and legs. It was symbolic at this point, they knew he wouldn't fight these final violations that would lead the god to power. It was his destiny.

A flitting wisp of awareness crept through him. A part of himself waking up, the drug let this happen so the thing could revel in the taking again and again, until there was nothing left but a shell and it could celebrate with the final act of his death.

"DEAN!" the shout cut through the chanting.

He lifted his head. That one stood in the door, his face wild, a bloody club in his hand.

That one—the one who saved him—Sam. Sam…Sam… Sammy!

Dean looked at his brother, met his eyes. "Sam?" he said soundlessly. He's alive! He's alive! Dean dropped his head, the men holding him had relaxed their grip, waiting for the thing to appear. He pulled himself free and rolled off the altar. "No," he said as they tried to grab him. "No." It doesn't get me. No. He forced himself onto his feet and pulled away from the hands trying to hold him. He ran through the curtain at the back of the room and through the house. I have to get to the second altar. How he knew that, he wasn't sure, it might be a piece of memory the thing had left in him. He passed the guards in the kitchen, they recognized him as one of the Nameless and let him by.

Dean ran into the yard towards the altar covered with flowers. When he got to the table, he reached out for the jade bowl, to smash it on the ground. Something dove at him. He looked up, the hummingbird hovered in front of him for a moment, then disappeared.

He felt the thing behind him.

The bowl had to be destroyed. He needed the curved obsidian knife that lay nestled in the flowers. How he would kill the hummingbird, he had no idea, but he knew it had to be done.

The god touched him. Dean willed his body to not respond, but it did. The drugs still in his system compelled his body to obey. He bit back a sob as he turned. It stood before him, the writhing mass of it, death scented, reaching out for him. It ran a hand over his face, slowly touching his eyes, his cheek, his lips. One finger-like appendage touched his ear, Dean felt the stab of pain as it gently probed his mind. He could hear himself sobbing as it slowly explored him.

"Dean!" Sam shouted from the stairs.

"No," Dean said, looking at it. "No." He tried to take a deep breath, it was getting harder and harder to breathe, each gasp a huge wave of pain. Dean could see Sam coming down the stairs when he felt the touch on the wound at the base of his sternum. It was sliding into him again, that slow inching movement, the pain throbbing through his body as it began its violation. "No," he said, trying to fight it. At the edge of his awareness he saw Sam fighting the hummingbird. Dean closed his eyes, so the thing wouldn't sense what was happening before it was too late.

Something that sounded like a human scream filled his ears and the thing was roaring in rage. Pain suddenly exploded through it, slamming into his body. Dean opened his eyes, the hummingbird was gone, Sam racing across the lawn towards the altar.

It wanted Sam—wanted to end the creature that had killed part of itself. Rage pulsed through it, through Dean. "NO!" Dean screamed and reached out for the thing, to what he hoped was its throat. Agony lanced through him, he screamed in pain. "The altar!" he called, hoping Sam would understand.

The pain was increasing, Dean could see a black ring on the edge of his vision. He had no idea how much longer he could hold on. His throat was raw from screaming, he couldn't stop. YOU CANNOT HAVE ME! It was slowly withdrawing. YOU CANNOT HAVE ME! It slid out of him, the pain pulsing up his arms now white-hot and slowly destroying him. He felt the impact as Sam hit the thing. It reached out with the invisible part of itself and drove Sam to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam drop, grabbing his chest. No!

"Dean," Sam gasped out and lifted his hand. He was holding the obsidian knife. Sam tossed it to him.

Dean caught it and drove it into the middle of the things mass. It screamed in rage as the knife plunged through its flesh, stopping in the beating mass of its heart. It lashed out at him. Dean felt the blow open the skin over his heart. Doesn't hurt, that's bad. He took a deep breath and pulled the knife from the thing's body. He dropped it on the ground "Break," was all he could manage, the words ripping through his body like the slashing blow of the thing. Sam brought his club down on the knife, smashing it apart.

The thing roared again, this time in pain. It stumbled back from Dean and something ripped out of its chest. The thing's heart was huge as it hung in the air, blackened blood dripping from it—it pulsed for several beats and exploded before his eyes.

It was dead.

The thing dropped down, its body consumed in a ball of fire, brighter than the sun streaming into the garden. The heat from the fire burned through Dean, racing through his body, increasing the agony to the point of no return. All that had kept him going was suddenly gone. He dropped to the ground, trying to hold on to consciousness, to life, long enough to make sure Sam was okay.

"Dean!" Sam said, Dean was turned over and Sam lifted him up, propping him against a shaking leg. "Dean? Oh god. Dean?" Sam said again, Dean could hear tears in his brother's voice.

Dean's eyes opened, Sam's face was covered in blood. There was a bloody wound in Sam's shoulder. Dean took it all in. I think I'm dying Sammy, but it's okay, the thing is dead, it's gone. We killed it. Are you okay, Sam? He wanted to say all that, what came out was, "you?"

"I'm okay, Dean," Sam said, almost sobbing

Dean knew he needed to let Sam know. "Me, too, Sammy," he said, hoping his brother would understand, wanting him to know what that meant. "I'm okay, too." Try as he might to keep his eyes open, they closed, his body relaxed and his head dropped against Sam. That one, the one who saved him. Sammy. Dean sighed.

"Dean!" He felt Sam shaking him, but awareness was quickly fading, replaced by a gentle darkness, soft like the touch of velvet or a soft summer night. He let himself sink into that void, until even the pain was gone, and there was nothing.

The dark velvet shifted a little, sounds crept into the void. Dean drifted there, trying to get a sense of where he was, what was happening. The awareness of pain was there, but so far removed from him that it was just a tiny point. Worry made its way in. Sam. He tried to struggle up through the dark and heard a small sound, a soft groan that sounded like "Mfph."

"Dean?" Bobby's voice said softly.

"He shouldn't be awake yet, Bobby," that sounded like CJ.

"I'm sure I heard him, I think he moved, too," Bobby answered.

"He shouldn't be awake yet. He needs more time to recover."

Dean heard movement. No, I need to know about Sam. He heard the "Mfph," again.

"Dean? You're safe, at the clinic, the thing is dead, you're safe," Bobby said. Dean felt a hand on his arm. "Sam's okay, Dean. He's asleep, but he's okay."

Dean felt something warm in his arm and relaxed. Sam's okay. He let the drugs carry him back into the void.

"He woke up," a voice drifted down to him.

"He did?" Sam's voice answered. Good Sammy, you're up.

"I think he imprinted on me, he's sleeping now. Do you think he'll come back? Like Dean did?"

"I don't know, Ronny, we'll ask Dean when he wakes up," Sam's voice suddenly sounded rough.

"How's he doing?" Ronny asked softly. There was a long pause. "Sam?"

"I'm not sure. Bobby said he woke up yesterday a little, they sedated him again. He woke up about four hours ago…" Everything was fading again, Dean tried to hang on to hear what Sam was saying.

"Sam?"

"He… He was… The victim again, Ronny," Sam said quietly.

"Oh god, I'm sorry. What will you do?"

"What do you think?" Sam answered, the dark was pulling Dean away again, he wanted to hear what Sam had to say, but he couldn't stay focus long enough to find out.

The next time the dark moved aside, Dean was more aware of pain. It ached with a throbbing pulse in time with his heart, it still wasn't true pain, more the soft beat of something that would become pain. The thing he noticed most was the warmth resting on his hand. He pushed himself up through the cottony softness of the drugs and finally managed to get his left eye to open. The right stayed firmly shut, but the left opened. Dean turned his head a little, Sam was sitting beside the bed, a book open on his lap "Hey," Dean said, or tried to, his throat was so dry it was hard to get anything out. It sounded more like a groan.

"Dean?" Sam's head snapped up.

"Hey," Dean tried again. It came out as a little "Mfph." He swallowed.

"Hang on." Sam picked up a cup off the tray beside the bed, lifted Dean's head a little and poked a straw into his mouth. "Just a sip at first, okay?" Sam said.

Dean nodded and took a sip of the ice water. It soothed his dry throat. He waited a second, then took another careful sip. Sam pulled the straw away. "Thanks," he said.

"Sure," Sam said, putting the cup down. He turned back to Dean. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

Sam let out a slow breath. "Hey, man."

"You okay?" Dean asked, looking at his brother. Sam's shoulder had a heavy bandage on it and he was moving a little slow.

"Yeah, Dean, I'm fine," Sam said with a smile.

"Shoulder?" Dean frowned, it was getting hard to focus.

"The hummingbird attacked me."

"Hummingbird?" Dean couldn't stop the smile. He knew what the thing was, what it was capable of, but at that moment the image of his giant of a brother being taken down by a hummingbird made him smile. It's the drugs, has to be.

"Shut up." Sam grinned. "It was a big hummingbird."

"Sleepy."

"Sleep, it's okay, I'll be here. CJ said you'd be in and out for awhile."

"Okay." Dean closed his eye and reached out for Sam, he felt Sam's hand close over his as he dropped off to sleep.

He woke up sometime later, Sam gave him a little more water and they spoke for a minute before Dean went back to sleep. The next time he surfaced he didn't make it all the way up, he listened to the conversation between Sam and Bobby, then dropped off. The pattern continued for a long time. Sometimes, he would wake up far enough to talk to Sam, sometimes he just listened to what was going on around him. Each span of consciousness was lasting a little longer than the one before, except for one long pause. When he briefly surfaced, he worried about that pause. What's wrong? The thought carried him into sleep.

"It was almost eight hours before he went back to sleep, Sam," Bobby was saying as Dean woke up. He opened his left eye and made an attempt at the right, to his surprise it opened. He blinked several times, then turned his head in the direction of the older hunter's voice. Bobby, Sam and Ronny were standing in the door to the room.

"I know, Bobby," Sam said, defeat written in the way he was standing, despair in his tone.

"Sam," Bobby put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Eight hours, Sam, he's not coming back. You…"

"No, not yet," Sam said desperately.

"Sam?" Ronny said quietly. "He's awake."

"Thanks, I'll talk to you later." Bobby and Ronny left, Sam stayed with his back to Dean for a moment longer, then with a deep breath, turned around with a smile. Tear tracks stained his face. He walked over to the bed and picked up the cup of water. "Here you go, Dean."

"What's wrong?"

Sam stared at him, the cup slipped from his hand, Dean heard the splash of ice as the contents spilled. "Dean?"

"What's wrong?" Dean said, panic rushing through his body.

"Dean?" Sam said again, he suddenly dropped onto the bed, like his legs couldn't hold him up anymore. He put his head in his hands.

"Sam? What?" Dean tapped his brother's knee.

"You were… Gone, the victim again, like you were when I first found you."

"What? No." Oh, god, no. "How long?" Dean whispered, feeling tears well up in his eyes.

"Most of yesterday, I… You…" Sam looked up.

"No, why is it still happening?" Dean said. "I thought once it was dead…"

"It is dead?" Sam asked, tears were running over his face.

"Yeah. Sammy…" Dean reached out for his brother, fisting his hand in Sam's shirt and pulling himself up. Sam's arms went around him with a soft sob. Dean leaned into Sam. "I don't want…" I don't want to lose myself to that thing, please, Sammy. Dean couldn't get the words out, but Sam's arms tightened around him and the tears running over Dean's face turned into sobs.

"I won't let it happen, Dean, I promise," Sam said around his own tears. Dean nodded against Sam's shoulder. "I won't," he said again. A stray memory flitted in, at first it didn't feel like his own. Sam holding him in that dark place, that sense of safety as Sam spoke to him. With the next breath everything rushed back, all the memories, his, the Nameless One he'd become, all of them. He gasped, pain running through his body. "Dean?" Sam pulled away a little.

"No." Dean leaned against him as the memories threatened to drown him, to pull him away forever.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam said softly. "Hang on."

Dean nodded, trying to stay afloat in the sea of images. He suddenly understood why it was happening, why he was still losing himself. He had to face what had happened to him, to acknowledge the memories that were his from the time in that dark place. Pain filled him as the he let the memories out of where they were hiding. "Oh, god, Sam," he said, holding on to Sam's shirt like it was the only thing keeping him there. The tears that had started several days before at their house finally were acknowledged completely. He gave himself over to it and wept, clinging to Sam. He knew his brother was crying as well, heard Sam's soft words of encouragement.

An eternity later, struggling to control the tears, but unable to, he felt Sam's hand on his head. "I called CJ, Dean, she's on her way." A few minutes later, Sam said, "Dean, hold can you hold your left hand out?" Dean obeyed and felt the touch of CJ's hand and warmth flowed up his arm. "Good."

Dean stayed where he was as the drug relaxed him, letting the sobs slowly ease into hiccups, then into just soft breaths. He listened to the sound of Sam's heart, the memory of Sam being sacrificed suddenly before his eyes. Dean swallowed hard and let the memory drift away. Finally, he pushed away from Sam and lay back in the bed, reaching for Sam's hand. Pretending he didn't need the contact seemed silly at this point. "You look like shit," he said thickly, the drug making it a little hard to talk.

"Luckily, you look great," Sam said with a damp smile.

"I always do." Dean's eyes closed. "Might need to sleep."

"Go ahead, I'll be here."

"Thanks, Sammy."

"Yeah." Sam put his free and on Dean's forehead. "Anytime." Dean started to nod, but was asleep before he could finish.

The smell of coffee woke him. Dean opened his eyes and blinked in the sunlit room. "Sam?"

"Right here, Dean," Sam said. Dean turned his head, his brother was lying in the bed on the other side of the room. "How do you feel?"

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, poking the button to raise the bed.

"Yeah, just woke up. It's about six thirty in the morning." Sam swung his legs off the bed, grabbed the coffee pot and walked over to Dean. He poured Dean a cup of coffee and put the pot on the tray before sitting on the edge of the bed. "How do you feel?" he asked again.

"I'm okay," Dean said, sipping his coffee. Sam frowned at him. "I'm better, Sam. Even the pain is better today."

"Good." Sam smiled.

"Sam?"

"I'm okay, Dean." Sam paused. "I am. CJ says I'm healing, the hummingbird wound isn't infected and the stab wound…" He stopped, a flush running up his face.

"Stab wound? Sammy?"

"It's just a flesh wound, Dean, the guys in the kitchen, one of them had a knife."

"Tell me, Sam," Dean said, wrapping his hands around his coffee cup and peering over the rim at his brother. It was his best "confess, Sammy" look. It always worked.

"I knew I needed to get out to you, Dean, they were in the way." There was a lot in that quiet statement. The memory of Sam's face spattered with blood played in front of Dean's eyes. "That's all," Sam finished with a shrug.

"Sam?"

"Fine." Sam sighed. "After I woke up in the room, I knew I'd need to get us out of there. I got one of the legs off the bed. When they came and took you again, I knew I need to follow you." Sam's eyes were dark, begging Dean to understand.

"And?"

"And I did," Sam said softly and looked away.

"I understand," Dean said, putting his hand on Sam's knee. He did, he knew what he'd do to get to Sam, to save Sam, he had no doubt Sam would do the same. Sometimes it concerned him, knowing what his quiet brother was capable of if Dean's life was on the line. Sometimes… Other times he took comfort in it.

"Thanks." Sam took a deep breath.

"What was it?" Dean asked, afraid of the answer.

"The thing?"

"Yes. I know there were three parts, the knife, the hummingbird and the thing. The thing that took me was the biggest part of the three."

"Yeah, I think so." Sam got up and grabbed his laptop, he powered it up. "When I saw the effigy, I finally started figuring it out, once I saw the ritual when it… When…" Sam swallowed.

"I'm sorry you saw that."

"I was pretty sure then, Ronny's research confirmed it."

"Sam? What was it?"

"A god, Dean. Here, look." Sam turned the laptop around, a clay figure was on the screen. Dean ground his teeth together as he looked at it. It was a human figure with something else inside of it, two sets of lips, fingers trailing below the hand. "Familiar?"

"Yeah."

"For years archaeologists thought it was a priest wearing the skin of a sacrificial victim."

"It wasn't, it was the god wearing a human, like it wore me."

"Yeah. Xipe Totec, the flayed god. They thought the hummingbird and the knife were other gods, but I think they were aspects of this one, or at least connected somehow."

"Connected," Dean said, sorting through memories. "That final joining with me would have linked them more closely so the thing would have more power. So it could move without its initiates, it could take people without the ritual." Dean was quiet, thinking about what had happened.

"Are you sure it's dead?"

"I'm sure, Sam. I felt it die. Once the hummingbird was gone, it was weak. When I stabbed it and you destroyed the knife—it was broken apart and died."

"Good."

"That should help the other victims." Dean frowned. "How's Nick?"

"He woke up a few days ago, imprinted on Ronny." Sam smiled. "He started talking a little late last night."

"I want to see him," Dean said, looking at his brother, Sam was frowning at him. "I'll be okay, Sam."

"I'm not sure, Dean."

"I might be able to help him a little, Sammy."

"If CJ says it's okay. Deal?"

"Deal."

They headed down the hallway towards Nick's room late that afternoon. Dean had fallen asleep after breakfast, when he woke up, Sam helped him into the shower, and by the time CJ gave him the go ahead, it was almost four. Dean walked slowly down the corridor, weeks of starvation and forced drug use had taken a huge toll on his body. He had to stop several times to lean against the wall and catch his breath. Sam was hovering behind him the whole way, the temptation to growl at his brother was getting the upper hand when they reached the door to Nick's room. Dean tapped on the door and pushed it open.

Nick was propped up on the bed, Ronny sitting beside him. "Dean?"

"Hey." Dean walked over to the bed and took Nick's outstretched hand.

"You made it," Nick said quietly.

"You, too."

"Yeah, I wasn't sure I wanted to there for awhile."

"I know," Dean answered, aware of Sam standing behind him. "I wasn't either." Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. "Sam? Can you and Ronny go get us some coffee?"

"Nick?" Ronny asked, standing.

"I'll be okay, Ronny, you need a break anyway," Nick said with a smile.

"Alright, we'll be right back," Ronny said, he and Sam left the room, leaving the door open.

"How are you?" Dean asked, once his brother and Ronny had gone.

"Surviving," Nick said quietly. "You?"

"Surviving," Dean sighed. "Maybe a little more than that. Killing it helped."

"I bet. At least you got to kill it."

"I killed it for all of us, Nick."

"I know. Ronny is Randy's brother."

"Yep."

"What are you going to do, Dean? We still have a long road ahead of us."

"I know. Sam and I were talking, we're going to stay in town and hunt around here for awhile, until I'm a little stronger."

"Hunting? Ronny and I were talking about that, too, maybe when I'm stronger work with CJ or Bobby a little until we get our feet under us."

"Killing evil things helps."

"Does Sam know?"

"Know?"

"What happened? How long it still might take?" Nick asked.

"He was there for a ritual. I think he knows, I blanked out a couple of times, returned to the Nameless One."

"I'm terrified of that happening, Dean."

"I am too, Nick, but if it does, and we can't get you back, I'll keep the promise I made."

"Yeah, me, too."

"Thank you." Dean opened his mouth to say something else, but Sam and Ronny came back in the room. "They don't trust us alone for long," he said with a half-hearted wink.

"Probably afraid we'll ditch them and get pizza."

"No pizza for you, Sammy," Dean said with a smirk. Sam stood beside Dean and the four of the talked until Dean's eyes started to droop. Dean gave Nick's hand a final squeeze and let Sam help him back to the room.

"What were you talking about?" Sam asked, from the way he said it, Dean suspected his brother had heard everything.

"What happened."

"Dean, I didn't go through that, I know, but…" Sam frowned. "You know you can talk to me about it? I'll understand."

"I know, Sam," Dean said, lying back on the bed. He reached out for Sam's hand and felt his brother's close over his. He closed his eyes and sighed. "I know."

Epilogue

Dean smiled as Sam pulled the Impala into the driveway at their house. He got out of the car and waited while his brother opened the door, then walked in, enjoying the sense of safety, of home the small house brought him. A joyful bark sounded from the backyard. Dean walked quickly through the house and out the back door. Harry wriggled through the fence and bounded over to Dean, his whole body wagging happily.

"Dean! Welcome home!" Jason said from the other side of the fence. "Harry, behave, don't bowl him over."

"It's okay, Jason," Dean said as he patted the dog. He walked over to the fence, Harry followed him, then leaned against him. Dean leaned back. "Thank you." Dean stopped at a loss for words, the dog had been such an important part of his recovery, he was unsure how to say thank you.

"He's a special dog," Jason said with a wink. "Always has been."

"Thank you," Sam said, coming up beside Dean. Harry lapped at Sam's hand then looked up at Dean for approval when Sam made a face.

"Good job," Dean patted the dog's head.

"I have more tomatoes for you. The Brandywines are ripe." Jason handed Sam a bag. "Harry really likes them so be careful. I suppose you want to have a sleepover tonight?" Jason said to the dog. Harry wagged his tail. "Just behave yourself."

"Thank you," Dean said again. He swayed a little on his feet. "I better sit down." He walked slowly over to the chairs and sat down, watching his brother and Jason talking quietly over the fence. Harry sat beside Dean, his head over Dean's legs. "Thank you, too, Harry," Dean said softly. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, enjoying the sweet scents of the garden. The buzz of a bumble bee caused his heart to speed up a little. He listened to it, trying not to panic.

"You want a beer?" Sam asked. Dean opened his eyes. "Or something else?"

"A beer sounds good, Sammy."

Sam walked into the house and came back out with two beers, he opened them and handed one to Dean, then dragged one of the chairs over beside Dean and sat down. Dean leaned against Sam, still needing the contact. That Sam knew and didn't mention it meant a lot. "We'll go see Nick in the morning."

"Thanks. Ronny said he'd take him home in a few days."

"Yeah, he was talking to me about that." Sam took a drink. "How are you?"

"A little tired, but I'm okay," Dean said, looking at his brother, Sam met his eyes and nodded. Dean sighed and looked out at the flowers blooming along the fence, aware of the warmth of Sam's shoulder against his and Harry's heavy head on his leg. He'd just lied to Sam, he was pretty sure his brother knew it, too.

He wasn't okay.

Dean let a little more weight settle against Sam. He sighed. He wasn't okay, but with a little time he would be. Dean smiled, it was the first really heart-felt smile in a long time. Yeah, with a little time I will be.

The End