During the night Dean slips into a coma, and the doctors inform Sam, as the next of kin, that he will not wake up again.

Sam begs, but doesn't know the ritual to call a Reaper, doesn't know everything Dean does about hunting, and Bobby resolutely says that the deal doesn't work both ways, shuts his mouth, and drives off. Amelia calls and says sadly that if he doesn't come back in three days, she's moving on. He says something back but doesn't know what he says.

Then he prays to a God he doesn't believe exists.

One day passes. Then two. And it's December 31st.

He is on his knees sobbing when a hand descends on his shoulder, and Sam looks up, blurrily seeing blue eyes in a kind face. "I am Castiel," the man says. "An angel of the Lord."

/

CHAPTER 2 (optional read)

Who'd have thunk I'd write a second part?

Problem: I haven't actually watched the series; I'm just going off tons of fanvids and fanfic. So if details or whole arcs are messed up, I'm, uh, sorry?

Sam stares at him, so stupefied by days of sleeplessness and hopelessness that at first he does not register the meaning of the monitors beeping in alarm as Dean flatlines. He manages to shake himself out of his stupor and gets to his feet in frantic fear, leaning over his brother. Turning to Castiel, he implores, "Do something, please! Please!"

The angel nods and gently places two fingers on Dean's forehead, smoothed and peaceful by impending death. A bright white light suffuses the room, and Dean arches up in a violent breath, eyes opening wide before his body falls back to the bed and he returns to exhausted unconsciousness. Sam grabs Dean by the shoulders and weeps against his neck in a paroxysm of relief, simply feeling his brother's heartbeat as the angel looks on with a remote yet compassionate expression.

Castiel vanishes just as a parade of doctors and nurses rush in, drawn by the noise of the monitors ... which resume their normal signs. The doctors are as shocked by Dean's miraculous recovery as they were by his deterioration. After several checks, they leave, muttering in unabashed awe among themselves.

A friendly nurse lingers behind, flicking a look at Dean's sleeping form, and smiles at Sam. "He's probably the healthiest patient we have in the hospital," she assures him. "We'll keep him for a a bit to observe his condition, so I'm afraid he'll miss New Year's at home, but I'm sure you'll have your brother back in no time."

Sam will have his brother back. Dean will be alive to come back with him to the crappy motels, play obnoxious music on the road, hustle pool and engage in credit card scams. Sam can hardly believe the words and sags into the chair.

/

"You been sitting there all night?" Dean is looking at him fondly, a worried frown on his face. "Don't blame me when you get a hell of a backache."

Sam blinks blearily awake, his eyes scratchy and, he's sure, fiery red. "Dean! How're you feeling?"

"I feel like someone whammied me a big one," Dean complains, struggling to sit up.

"You could say that," Sam agrees happily as he assists his brother. At the moment he is inclined to go along with whatever Dean says. "Other than that, you're okay?" He grins like a maniac, though still worried because he can see that Dean is trying to hide his exhaustion by affecting a grumpy attitude.

Dean nods, frowning some more. "What's the date?"

"New Year, 2009." Sam really can't stop smiling and finding excuses to pat Dean all over.

Dean goes still and looks at him with an unreadable expression. "You sure about that?"

"Absolutely," Sam beams.

Casting his gaze around in bewilderment, Dean says dubiously, "This isn't heaven, is it?"

Sam quickly sobers, but tries to joke, "I'd think this is more your personal hell, what with no hot nurses and enforced bed rest."

"Can't be hell," Dean says resolutely, fingers tapping against his knee in contemplation.

"Really?" Sam snorts, knowing his brother's extreme dislike of hospitals. "Why not?"

"You're not in any version of my hell," Dean replies simply.

And goddammit, Sam starts to choke up again. "You're a real piece of work," he stammers. "You can't-you can't just say things like that and then ... and then ..."

"You weren't supposed to know," Dean says quietly, turning his face down toward the blankets covering his lower body and tracing abstract patterns on its whiteness.

"Well, I do! How could you do something so stupid? I was such an asshole," Sam whispers, bowing his head. "I couldn't have lived with myself if you'd died."

Dean shrugs, but doesn't quite manage the carefree motion. "First, it doesn't matter; you're my brother. Second, I agree. Third, don't be an idiot AND an asshole by canceling out the deal I made."

"You shouldn't have made it in the first place!"

Dean waves that away. "How am I still here arguing with you, then?"

Sam glares at him, frustrated with the blatant change in topics, but grudgingly acquiesces for the moment. "An angel came and did something. He said his name was Castiel."

Dean blinks. "I had no idea I had such high connections." He grins. "Come on, seriously, a goddamn angel?"

Sam frowns at his brother's blasphemy. "I'm serious. An angel really healed you."

Dean stares at him, mouth twisting in disbelief. "Why would the guy upstairs give a crap about me? Why would an angel rescue me from death? "

A rustle of feathers warns them of another presence in the room. Both brothers look up to see the angel called Castiel standing beside them. "Because," he replies calmly, "God commanded it."