Before I say anything else, I want to say a *huge* apology to anyone who was waiting for the last chapter of this story for so long, if you are still reading. I have been so uninspired for SO long, and everything I wrote I just didn't feel was good enough to post. Plus RL has really been getting in the way lately. But still, enough of my excuses. It's been far too long, so I apologize deeply for that. In compensation, I will try for a short A/N, which is something I barely ever have. :P

This chapter was supposed to be a completely separate story, but it didn't end up being as long as I wanted it to be, and it kind of felt like it should go with this one. It definitely isn't perfect, and I'm not sure about the ending, but I actually like it. Which is more than I can say for everything else I've written in the past couple of months. So I hope all of you do too. Once again, thank you all SO MUCH for all your support during this story - for reading, leaving me wonderful reviews, and for making this one of the best experiences I've ever had.

Now, with no further ado, the final chapter of "Only Brothers Understand".

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Cold. Thirty-below cold. Bone-freezing, fingers-falling-off, toes-just-a-memory cold.
What the hell?

He opens his eyes, sees only blackness, and panic starts to creep in, slowly but surely. Something's very, very wrong with this whole picture. He can't see a thing, it feels like he's in Antarctica, and last thing he remembers, he was in the motel room with his brother. Unless Sam covered up all the windows, turned off the heat and on the air conditioner (a very cold air conditioner at that) and decided to go out for a night walk, he's not there anymore. Umm, no.

Plus his head hurts, which is not good. Probably means he got knocked unconscious at some point, and that's why he can't remember the trip to this dark room. Oh what the hell. "Sammy?" he calls, very quietly.

No answer. Crap.

"Sam?" His voice sounds weird, but he can't quite place what's wrong with it.

Still nothing. Okay. Sam's not there. Panic is setting in more than a little now. This is so not good. He starts to shiver. Why is it so freaking cold?

For the first time, it occurrs to him that he should try and move. He puts out his arm, it hits something after he's only moved it a couple of inches. No. There's something familiar, something… Frantically, he slides his hand up, feels smooth wood. No!

Panting in fear already, he raises his other hand, praying… smooth wood. It's all around. It's only a few inches away from the bottom of his feet, and – two inches above his head.

No no no, please...! Buried alive. Again.

Suddenly he can sense the closeness of everything, knows just how it looks, and this time he doesn't even have a handy box of matches left for him by Sam. Sam!

He reaches down, searches his pockets, knowing even before he does his cellphone won't be there. Whoever put him here meant business. They wouldn't have left him with an easy way out. Which means… there's no one to call. No one to help. No way of getting out.

In a split second, panic overwhelms him and he hits the top of the coffin, slams it with all his strength with his fists, pushes on it, groaning with the effort. Nothing. He turns on his side as best he can, kicks the side of the box over and over. Nothing.

Breathing short and choppy now, he's beginning to feel vaguely light-headed. If you don't stop Dean, you're gonna use up all your air. And then you'll be dead. He slams the top of the box one more time and then lays still, trembling.

What do I do? Did they just leave me down here to die? Who's 'they' anyway? Demons? Does Sam even know I'm gone? Where were we when they got me? Tears prickle at his eyes unexpectedly, and his breath hitches in and out painfully as he tries to control his emotions. Don't panic. Sam knows you're gone. He's gonna come find you.

What if I die first? Who knows how much air is left in this thing.

A sudden flash of red above his head makes him jump. What the hell? There's a strange red light above him – but it's too far up. The coffin's smaller than that. This thing looks like it's at least fifty feet above him.

He racks his brain for what it could possibly be, but nothing really comes to mind, except for maybe an angel.

"Cas?" he whispers, but of course there's no answer. The red light is getting closer. It's shaping into something now.

He squints, trying to make it out. It looks like an eye. The Eye Of Sauron! Does that make me Frodo? He almost chuckles, it's so funny. Me, Frodo? I'm not four feet tall - even though Sam sometimes makes me feel that short with his crazy height - and I don't have hairy feet and...

He snaps out of it, staring at the blackness above him. There's no red light. No Eye Of Sauron. I'm going crazy already.

He takes deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. Sam. Where's Sam? Why hasn't he got here yet? I'm already hallucinating.

There's the soft sound of wings fluttering, and then there's Castiel, sitting beside him. The coffin's suddenly a lot bigger, big enough that Cas is sitting up, a vague light around him. Dean tries to sit up, but there's some sort of invisible barrier. There would be.

"Dean." The angel's calm voice does nothing to soothe him.

"Cas, what's going on? Where's Sam? Is he okay?"

Castiel sighs, looks off into the blackness. "Always your first question, Dean."

Dean ignores this. "So where is he?"

"He's safe."

Dean breathes a little easier. "What am I doing in here?"

"Somebody put you in here. Someone who wants you dead." Castiel's eyes are still fixed somewhere off in the darkness, somewhere near Dean's feet.

"Um okay. Wow. Two things? One, I already got that somebody put me in here, genius. I didn't just climb in myself. Two, 'someone who wants me dead'? Dude, that list is so long I'll be dead before we even get halfway through. How about a name?" Dean raises his head a little, glares at the angel.

"I can't help you Dean. Only one person can."

"And who's that? Me? Myself? News flash, I can't move! Work some magic, Cas! I'm running out of air in here!"

But Castiel's gone.

"Friggin angels!" Dean curses, and shivers. The light is gone, it's pitch black again. Icy cold is seeping in from all sides, and his teeth are chattering now.

Where. Is. Sam?

How long has it been now? It feels like it's been forever.

The air feels thick, the scent of dirt and pine is strong. Ugh. He's starting to feel suffocated. Panic wells up in his throat again and he kicks the box as best as he can, hollers Sam's name. Nothing.

Tears well up again. I cannot believe I'm gonna die in here. Right back where I started. This is SO not happening.

"Dean?"

He jumps so bad he almost hits his head on the top of the coffin. "What? Who's there?"

"It's me, Dean."

Dean squirms around, but he can't see anything, or anyone. "Where?"

"Listen to my voice, Dean."

Dean listens. No way. "Dad?" I must be closer to dying than I thought.

"Hey Dean."

Dean swallows hard. "Am I dead?"

"No."

"How come I can hear you then?"

"Because you want to hear me. Listen to me, Dean. You have to do what I say." Dad's voice is calm, like it used to be when Dean was scared, and he was telling him not to be afraid. "There's a knife in your pocket."

"No there's not," Dean whispers.

"Check."

Dean checks. There's a little swiss army knife. Where the hell did that come from?

"There's only one way out of that box, Dean. And I think you know what it is."

Dean pauses, strokes the blade with his thumb. "What do you mean, Dad?" There's a funny lump in his throat.

"You know."

"You want me to kill myself?" Dean's breath is coming fast. This isn't Dad. Dad would never...

"Don't you want to be together again? If you do this, we can be. And Mom too."

"Dean? Is that you baby?" Mom's voice is so sweet, so musical. "We can all be together again. Just use that knife in your hand."

"Shut up! Shut up!" he cries, almost in tears. "You're not real!"

"What's the matter Dean?" Mom's voice is so close, she might be whispering in his ear. He whips his head around, but there's still nothing.

"Go away." His voice is only a whisper now. Sam. Sammy?

The air is thick. Dad and Mom are gone. SAM. Help. Please.

"Sammy!" His voice is hoarse, his throat hurts. Tears are trickling down his face and he barely feels it. The darkness is pressing in at all angles, it feels like a heavy blanket wrapping around his body. Suffocating.

He coughs, and when he tries to breathe in it's like breathing in smoke. Smoke!

The box is full of it. He glances down, and there are flames around his feet, quickly engulfing the box, burning his skin, burning everything... just like Mom all those years ago.

Sam. Sam. Sammy! SAM!

And suddenly the coffin is yanked open, and before he even registers what's happened, Sam's pulled him out and into the sharp, clean night air.

"Dean? Dean! Talk to me! Are you alright?"

Dean blinks at him for a split second, blinks at the familiar dark eyes and worried face, and then the tears come, hot and fast, and Sam pulls him close in an almost crushing embrace.

"It's okay Dean, it's okay. You're out. I got you out. It's gonna be okay."

Dean sobs into Sam's shoulder, desperately clutching the front of Sam's worn-soft plaid shirt. Feels Sam's hands checking him over for injuries even as he comforts, then finally wrapping him in a hug again, one strong hand on the back of his neck, gentle pressure, and Dean wonders what the hell all this Sam is the anti-christ and Your brother is the devil crap is all about, because Sam, more than anything in this world is, without any doubt, an angel.

And Dean is more sure of that than he is of anything else in this world.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Please let me know what you thought. :)

~Deanandhisimpala