A/N 1: what I'd like to see happen between 5.04 and 5.05.

A/N 2: my apologies to everyone who has sent a review for any of my stories who I haven't thanked personally yet. I'm deeply grateful to each and every one of you!

A/N 3: thank you to Angel's Rest for the idea for this story.

SPN*SPN*SPN

Dean was getting pretty damn tired of time travel. First Castiel sends him thirty five years or more into the past for no good reason other than to explain what Dean already knew. Now Zachariah zaps him five years into the future to goad him into signing on to further Heavenly exploitation and misuse. Seeing the carnage and devastation that five years of unremitting Apocalypse would have on the earth – would have on Sam – was supposed to make Dean – what? See the error of his ways and beg to be allowed to stop it in its tracks?

No way pal. No f'ing way.

The Impala hurtled through the night, heading for a small town and a smaller motel and everything Dean needed right now to know that all wasn't lost.

He was heading for Sam.

Zachariah had shown him Evil Sam, totally lost to pride and arrogance and the feeling of power. That's what Zachariah had shown him. But what Dean had seen was a man totally lost, period. What Dean had seen was the way to finally, finally save Sam.

By being there while he figured out how to save himself.

First though there was that awkward business of reuniting with Sam. No problem, Dean knew he could do it. Just play it cool.

"Hey, Sam." "Hey, Dean." "You ready to ride?" "Yeah." "Let's get to it then."

And that would be that.

Finding Sam had been ridiculously easy this time. Easier even than after the panic room escape.

He just called Bobby, who knew right where Sam was.

Little brothers, hunh?

Now Dean was nearing the town and the motel as dawn stretched gray along the main drag and the businesses just coming to life. He did a drive-thru run for coffee and donuts and tried to ignore how his heart was pounding as Sam's motel came into sight.

He had to play this casual, he had to play it cool to compensate for the totally emotional reaction he was so going to get from Sam when he saw Dean standing on his doorstep.

One of them had to be mature here after all.

Little brothers, hunh?

He parked away from the room so Sam wouldn't hear the motor, and walked to his door carrying the box of donuts in one hand and the coffee-carry-all in the other. He kicked the door as a way of knocking and waited impatiently for Sam to open it.

Sam would be dumbfounded that Dean was here. He'd be speechless and talkative and grateful and apologetic and happy and melancholy all rolled into one. And Dean would be the awesome big brother that he was and take it all in stride. Calm Sam's anxiety, coax him into talking, listen to his monologue, accept his apology, reassure Sam that they were square and everything would be okay from now on. Sam would probably even hug him.

Little brothers, hunh?

Just as Dean was about to kick again, the door opened. There stood Sam, all ten feet of him, dressed and looking tired, with damp hair and holding his toothbrush in his hand.

"Dean? Everything okay?"

Instead dumbfounded amazement, Dean got mild surprise. Instead of stammering joy, he got calm puzzlement. Instead of being on the receiving end of a bone crushing hug –

There behind Sam, Dean could see the rumpled bed, the laptop already open & ready on the small table, the trash can filled with soda pop bottles and take out trash, and suddenly Dean realized what he hadn't been able to put his finger on back at that picnic bench in Colorado - that the Impala might be the only permanent place he ever lived, but this – this in front of him – was the only home he'd known since he was four. And he'd let walk right away from him, and then pushed it away again just for good measure.

Coffee and donuts dropped to the ground and Dean reached out to grab Sam and hold him as tight as he could.

"Uh – Dean? You okay?" Sam asked. He didn't return the embrace.

"Yeah."

"Um – am I okay?"

"What?" Dean asked without letting go.

"I didn't die again, did I? I mean – I won't be sobbing my lungs out for a day and a half again a year from now because you made another deal, will I?"

"No." Dean said. He almost laughed.

"Good. Um -." Clearly Sam had no clue what was going on and was searching. " – Groundhog Day?"

That made Dean laugh against Sam's shoulder.

"No."

"Okay. Good. Um – then what?"

"This." It was all Dean could think of and he tightened his hold. "Just this."

"Okay..." Sam said, then the puzzlement seemed to clear and he put his arms around Dean. "It's OK Dean." He said, with calm, quiet, authority. The calm, quiet authority Dean had intending to be offering Sam. He even stroked his hand across Dean's back reassuringly. "Everything's going to be okay."

Little brothers, hunh?

The End.