A/N: Here, at last, is the first of my solo entries for this year's SPN Gen Big Bang, with cover art by twisted_slinky! It is complete and will be posted a chapter a day. (There will be a couple of days' overlap with my other Big Bang, but since they're completely separate AUs, I didn't think there was any reason not to go that route.)

Apples, Peaches, Pumpkin Pie
By San Antonio Rose

Chapter 1
Angel, Don't Be a Hero

Castiel had just restored Bobby to life and helped him up off the parched earth of Stull Cemetery when there was a... disturbance in the abandoned church on the far side of the field, some kind of temporal distortion. Frowning, Castiel looked that direction but could discern nothing more specific.

"Cas?" Dean prompted, his voice still wavering with grief and exhaustion.

Castiel shook himself and looked at Dean again briefly. "You two go on. I'll either catch up with you or meet you in Sioux Falls." And before Dean could object, he flew over to the church.

He had just landed on the steps when the door burst open and Sam stepped partway through.

"Sam!" Castiel gasped. "What—how—"

Sam held up a hand. "It's not what you're thinking, Cas."

Only then did Castiel register the differences—this Sam was several years older, dressed differently, his eyes red with weeping. And then Castiel saw the time travel sigil still blazing on the inside of the door because Sam was still standing half in and half out of the portal he'd established. "What's happened?"

"You don't want to know, trust me. But I'm here because I think you can stop it."

"How?"

"Look, I know what you're planning. And I appreciate it, I do. But you don't have the juice to get me out of the Cage in one piece on your own."

Castiel frowned. "What are you talking about? You're—"

"I'm whole now, but only because Dean made a deal with Death to get my soul out."

Castiel stared.

"That's what you need to do. Go to Death. Get his help."

"Why should Death help me?"

Sam sighed. "I don't know the exact timeline. But Crowley's about to launch a campaign to expand Hell's territory by annexing Purgatory. Death doesn't want that to happen, and for good reason. If the Leviathans escape—" He broke off, swallowed hard, and shook his head. "Doesn't matter. You can change it. Don't... y'know, try to intimidate Death or bind him or anything, just... offer to stop Crowley if he'll get me out for you, body and soul intact."

Castiel nodded. "All right." But he couldn't stop staring at Sam's face, trying to figure out what had caused him to take this step.

"Promise me," Sam pleaded, his voice cracking slightly.

"I promise." And then a horrible possibility occurred to Castiel. "Sam, where is Dean?"

Sam's voice was barely audible when he replied, "He's dead."

"How? When?"

At that, Sam's grief exploded into anger. "Dammit, Cas, it doesn't matter! Just—fix it! Fix this, fix now, and none of it will ever happen."

"All right. I will. I promise."

Sam drew a ragged breath and nodded. "Okay. Thanks." And he withdrew from the portal, which pulled the door shut as it closed down.

Castiel opened the door again and ran his fingers over the sigil, seeking to learn from it as much as he could. That wasn't very much, but what little he could discern troubled him deeply. It also convinced him of the necessity of honoring his promise to Sam. Not that he was fond of the idea of trying to do business with one of the Horsemen, especially that Horseman, but if doing so would stop whatever had killed Dean and driven Sam to despair... well, he couldn't help thinking of Solomon's adage, "Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due when it is within your power to act." Keeping this promise was within Castiel's power, and if any living men were due good, they were Sam and Dean.

The prospect still gave Castiel pause for thought, and he stayed to consider how to proceed so long that night had fallen by the time he finally caught up with Dean. But Dean was alone, since Bobby was driving his own van, and Castiel could tell that Dean was glad to have someone else there to pull him out of the torment of his own thoughts.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said wearily. "You check out whatever it was?"

"I did, yes," Castiel replied and had to decide quickly how much to reveal. "It was not something about which you need to concern yourself."

"You took care of it?"

"Yes."

Dean nodded slowly, then took a deep breath and let it out again. "So, what's next? What are you gonna do now? Head home?"

"Eventually, I suppose. But there's... something I promised Sam I would do for him first."

Dean blinked and frowned. "What?"

"I can't tell you—yet, but I... will as soon as I can. Dean, it's not something you need to worry over."

"Why the hell not?"

Castiel sighed. "Haven't you given enough, my friend?"

The muscles in Dean's face tensed and twitched as he fought to keep from crying.

"Besides, I believe you made your own promise to Sam. Keep yours, and let me see to mine."

Dean was silent a moment longer before he felt he could speak. "Only if you'll promise me something."

"Name it."

"Be careful. And don't be a stranger."

Castiel smiled. "I promise. You'll hear from me soon." And he left.

Finding Death was somewhat easier than Castiel had feared it would be, and while he didn't bring up specific terms for the deal, Death did indeed want Crowley stopped. So Castiel decided to consult Bobby late one afternoon... and arrived to find Crowley in the process of exploiting a loophole in Bobby's contract that freed him from the obligation to relinquish his claim on Bobby's soul. Castiel quickly slew the hellhound that was waiting outside and rushed in to pin Crowley from behind and put his sword to Crowley's throat.

"Release him now," Castiel snarled.

Crowley scoffed. "Oh, Cas, really, I—"

Castiel tightened his grip and pressed the blade against Crowley's throat almost hard enough to draw blood. "I said release him."

Crowley sighed and waved his hand, negating the contract.

"You can leave the part about my legs," Bobby noted dryly.

With a grimace, Crowley did so. "There. Happy?" he asked Castiel.

Castiel moved the sword away from Crowley's throat but didn't relax his hold otherwise. "One more thing. Is it true that you plan to initiate a search for Purgatory, to make it part of Hell?"

"Er, well, it is undevel—"

Castiel didn't give him time to try to lie his way out. Before Crowley could even finish the word, Castiel drove his sword into Crowley's heart.

"Didja have to do that in my living room?" Bobby grumbled.

Castiel tilted his head. "It was convenient."

Bobby snorted, amused.

"Very good, Castiel," Death said from the kitchen door, where he stood with a plate of gooey butter cake. "I have but one other request: that you and Bobby find a secure place to store my brothers' rings so that Raphael cannot find and use them."

Castiel frowned. "Raphael?"

"Oh, I suppose you haven't heard. Raphael wants to restart the Apocalypse."

Castiel looked at Bobby, who sighed. "Gotta get out the backhoe anyway to get rid of that piece o' trash," he noted, nodding at Crowley's body. "Guess I'll dig up the rings while I'm at it. Cas, you think you can angel-proof the panic room?"

"Yes, that should be no problem," Castiel agreed. "I'll, um..."

"Just leave the body on the porch."

Castiel did so and flew downstairs to etch Enochian wards into the walls of the panic room while Bobby dug up the rings and buried Crowley. They met at the top of the basement stairs.

"Oh, I should like mine back," Death interrupted before Bobby could take the rings down to the panic room. "After all, can't be too careful—Raphael can't make use of the others unless he has the full set."

Swallowing hard, Bobby separated Death's ring from the key formation, which caused the other rings to separate as well. Death put his plate on the table and came over to take his ring from Bobby. And if Bobby hurried down the stairs to lock away the other rings a little faster than strictly necessary, Castiel wasn't going to hold it against him.

Death bowed his head regally and slid on his own ring. "Now that you have honored your part of the agreement, Castiel, I shall go and honor mine. Wait for me here." And he vanished.

"Agreement?!" Bobby echoed as he came back up the stairs. "What the hell have you done, you idjit?!"

"What I promised Sam I would do," Castiel replied and walked over to wait beside the couch.

Falling into the Cage took much longer now that Lucifer was bound by human flesh. He didn't know how long or far it was, but the Cage was designed to house his true form, not this miniscule piece of mud he was currently wrapped in. For him, it was boring. For Sam, it was terrifying, especially since Lucifer kept him from relaxing by replaying the havoc he'd wreaked on Earth in Sam's form, his killing of Bobby Singer and Castiel, his beating of Dean.

You failed, though, Sam insisted. You didn't kill him. Dean's alive.

"For now, perhaps," Lucifer purred. "But you know he'll never survive up there without you."

After a few more rounds of this conversation, Sam actually started to believe it, and by the time they reached the bottom of the Cage at last, he had begun to despair.

The archangels stretched themselves out of their vessels then, and Michael turned toward Sam. "Let me teach you a lesson in obedience, worm."

"He's mine," Lucifer replied, pushing Michael back. "Play with your own toy."

"I can't." Michael kicked at Adam's lifeless form. "He made me promise that I would send his soul to Heaven at once, and I did so."

"Oh, Michael, Michael, Michael! You can't have any fun with them that way! Here, let me show you how it's done." Lucifer stretched down a hand toward Sam so as to pluck out the soul while leaving the body alive.

Ineffectual as he had to know it was, Sam flung his arms up to shield his face and drew his legs up to shield his chest. "No, nononono, please—"

Something hard came down on Lucifer's wrist with an audible crack that actually hurt. Startled, Lucifer pulled back his hand and looked up.

"None of that," Death said sternly, stooped to pick Sam up off the floor while steadying himself with his cane, and left, heedless of how the walls of Hell shook as Lucifer wailed at the loss of his shiny new plaything.

Bobby had just joined Castiel beside the couch, still staring at him incredulously, when Death returned with an unconscious Sam cradled in his arms. "Here you are," Death stated, setting Sam on the couch with surprising care. "Body and soul intact, as requested."

Castiel bowed slightly in thanks.

"Oh, and Castiel? I shouldn't try to take up where Crowley left off if I were you. Sam and Dean would be most unhappy, and I would be... displeased."

Castiel swallowed hard and nodded. "I understand."

Death smiled slightly and strolled out of the house.

"So that's what you were up to," Bobby breathed, gently brushing Sam's bangs back from his forehead.

"It was," Castiel confirmed. "Please hold him steady for a moment; this will hurt him."

"Hurt? What the hell—"

"I have to double-check that his soul is in place. Please, Bobby."

Bobby sighed and steadied Sam while Castiel reached into Sam's chest. But Castiel pressed in only far enough to sense that Sam's soul was indeed in place and unharmed; then he pulled back and healed as much of the physical damage of the possession as he could. Despite screaming from the pain of the test, Sam remained unconscious.

"He good?" Bobby asked.

Castiel nodded. "Death was correct."

Just then Sam startled awake with a gasp, stared at Bobby and Castiel as he gulped down a couple of breaths, and leapt up to pull first Castiel, then Bobby into a warm but desperate hug. Bobby sniffled and rubbed Sam's back for a moment.

Still breathing hard, Sam broke the embrace and stepped back. "Where's Dean?"

"He ain't here right now," Bobby began, "but—"

Sam's eyes grew panicked. "Dean! Where's Dean?!"

Castiel put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Come with me."

Cicero was far enough east of Sioux Falls that the sun had already set by the time Castiel landed with Sam outside Lisa Braeden's house, accidentally blowing out the streetlight. Sam looked around wildly until he caught sight of Dean through the dining room window.

"Dean," he breathed, and all else was forgotten as he ran stumbling for Lisa's front door.

Dean was trying. He really was. He knew drinking so much wasn't healthy, and was setting a bad example for Ben, and he thought he'd be able to limit himself to only the one tumbler of whisky during supper. After Ben went to bed, all bets were off, but until then—

"You okay?" Lisa asked gently, setting the last serving dish on the table.

Dean took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, I'm good."

But before he could take another drink, someone started pounding on the front door. "Dean! Dean! DEEEEEEEEEEEAN!"

Dean would know that voice anywhere. Wide-eyed, he bolted for the door and almost tore the damn thing off its hinges pulling it open.

And there he was, large as life, panting like he'd run a four-minute mile, hair and eyes wild. "Dean?"

"Sammy," Dean breathed.

Sam lurched across the threshold and the salt line and into Dean's arms. He was warm and solid and real and alive, and Dean buried his nose in the crook of Sam's neck and let loose wave after wave of deep, racking sobs, the kind he'd tried to hold back even when he was too drunk to stand. But it was okay to cry now; they were tears of relief, of joy. He had his brother back.

"He said," Sammy gasped, and okay, maybe he was crying, too. "He said you'd never make it if—"

"He lied," Dean answered, not bothering to hide the way his voice broke. "It's okay, Sammy. I'm here. I got you."

Distantly, Dean heard the phone ring and Lisa answer it. "Hello? ... Who—oh, Bobby. Sorry, Dean's kind of tied up right now... Yes. Yes, he's here. ... Sure, I'll have him call you. Might be tomorrow, but I'll have him call. ... You, too, Bobby. Bye."

It was another long moment before the brothers had regained enough composure to let go of each other. Only then did Dean reach for his holy water flask. "Sammy, I hate to do this, but..."

Sam snatched the silver flask out of Dean's hand, put it to his lips, and guzzled the holy water in huge, audible gulps until the flask was empty. Then he handed it back. "'S the sweetest taste in the worl' right now," he wheezed.

Dean hugged him again. "Good enough, little brother. Good enough." Then he thumped Sam's back and let him go. "C'mon. We're lettin' bugs in."

Sam huffed in amusement and stumbled out of the devil's trap and into the living room, which gave Dean a chance to close the door—and to wave at Cas, who was watching from the sidewalk. Cas smiled at him and vanished. Then Dean turned back to Sam, who was looking around and trying to get his bearings until he spotted Ben and Lisa in the dining room.

"Lisa?" Sam asked.

Lisa smiled. "Hi, Sam. You're just in time for supper."

Sam looked back at Dean, and Dean could have sworn he heard the wheels of that giant nerd brain groan their way into gear. "Oh, I'm... s-sorry, I interrupted..."

Before Dean could respond, Lisa came over to Sam. "No, no, we were just sitting down. Come on in." And she took his arm and started pulling him gently toward the table.

Sam moved like he was concussed. "Don' wann' impose..."

"You're not imposing. We've got plenty for four, and you look like you could use a good meal. Now, come on."

Sam kept protesting weakly until Dean put a hand on his back and joined Lisa in steering him into the dining room past Ben, who kept staring in shock until Lisa asked him to set another place at the table. And Sam may or may not have noticed when Dean dumped his whisky into the sink and came back with a glass of water. Physically, Sammy looked okay, but Dean would bet anybody that his circuits were still pretty fried from having been possessed.

That was okay. They'd see him through it. And even if the damage was permanent, any Sammy was better than no Sammy.

Dean waited until Sam had eaten enough for his eyes to look less glassy before asking, "So, how long you been back?"

Sam shook his head. "I... I dunno. Few minutes, maybe. I... woke up on Bobby's couch, but you weren't there. So... C-Cas brought me here."

Dean nodded slowly. "So was it Cas who got you out?"

"I don' 'member. Sorry, Dean. I'm not thinkin' so good right now."

"Hey." Dean rubbed Sam's arm. "You just got back. It's okay. You should eat, get some sleep. We'll figure out the rest later."

Sam nodded and smiled. "'Kay. Thanks."

After supper, Dean had Ben go out to the garage and bring Sam's duffle in from the car. Then he got Sam upstairs and into bed in the guest room while Lisa put Ben to bed. That was good timing, because it meant Ben didn't have to overhear any of the really sappy stuff Dean said to Sam (and vice versa) but would refuse to own up to if anyone else but Sam had been listening. Finally, however, Sam dropped off to sleep, but Dean couldn't pull himself away any further than the doorway.

He was still standing there watching Sammy sleep when Lisa came up beside him and gave him a side hug. He returned it. "Thanks," he whispered.

"For what?" she whispered back.

"Lettin' him stay."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm glad he's okay."

"Yeah. Me, too."

"So... what now? Are you planning to leave?"

He blinked, unsure what to make of the question. "N-no. Not to go back to hunting. I'm done, and Sammy's... not in any fit state. I mean, I could try to find someplace here in town for him and me if you want, but..."

"No, Dean, that's not what I..." She looked up at him with a grimace—and kissed him.

He cleared his throat, pulled Sammy's door to, and turned to face her fully. "Say that again?"

Two hours later, she tossed her hair out of her face and poked one finger at the middle of his bare, sweaty chest. "That's what I was trying to say."

"That's what I thought."

"So what's your answer?"

"Ask me tomorrow," he rumbled in her ear, making her giggle.

Having Sammy back made all the difference in the world for Dean. Ben and Lisa were astonished at the overnight change—he cut way back on his drinking, started paying better attention to what they were doing, pitched in more with housework and yardwork, and even started looking for a job. He was still twitchy in some ways, probably always would be, but for the first time, he felt like he might actually be able to make a go of this whole suburban thing.

Part and parcel of that, however, was getting Sam back on his feet. Food and sleep went a long way, but they weren't enough to overcome Sam's heightened anxieties, occasional hallucinations, and somewhat impaired cognition. However, Bobby located a good psychiatrist in Indianapolis who wouldn't ask too many questions of the wrong sort, and she got Sam squared away with meds that would help straighten out the physical imbalances that were plaguing that giant brain of his. And they actually started to help after the first month or so, enough that Sam was okay with Dean going to work during the day and wouldn't have a massive panic attack over the possibility that everything was a Lucifer-generated hoax and that Dean was going to off himself. He, too, started getting more involved in the life of the household, which seemed to make it easier for Lisa to accept letting him stay until he was well enough to get a place of his own.

So of course there was one more major shoe left to drop.

It was August, the weekend before school started again, and Ben had gone off camping with some friends. Dean had been invited to join them, but aside from his general distaste for spending the night in the woods, he knew Sam still wasn't up to letting him out of sight for that long, and Heaven help them all if Sam came along and had an episode while they were still out in the back of beyond. So the brothers had stayed home, looking forward to a quiet weekend with no kids around and maybe some time for Dean and Lisa to get out for a few hours to themselves.

Saturday morning got off to a pleasant start, and after breakfast, Sam went into the living room to watch TV while Dean and Lisa did the dishes and discussed date options. They had just about decided to go into Indy to a Thai place for lunch when there was a clatter-bang from the stairs and a panicked "DEEEEEEEEAN!" from Sammy.

Barely managing not to break the dish he was holding when he dropped it back in the sink, Dean ran into the living room to find Sam cowering on the floor in front of the couch and a tall, thin, dark-haired man in a light blue suit coming around the staircase. The front door was still locked, and since the windows had still been salted when Dean had done his morning perimeter check, there was a good chance this guy had come in through... the door under the stairs?

There wasn't time to worry about that, though, because the guy was headed straight toward Sammy. "John?" he asked, sounding confused and concerned.

Dean not only headed him off but slammed him back against the nearest wall, pinning him. "Stay the hell away from my brother."

The stranger blinked. "Your... brother?"

Behind him, Dean could hear Lisa tending to Sam. "Shh, shh, Sam, it's okay..."

The stranger shook his head a little. "I-I'm sorry to have disturbed you like this, but if you'll just tell John I'm here—"

"He's not here," Sam started chanting. "He's not here. This is real, this is real, Dad's not here, he's not, he's not..."

"You'll have to excuse him," Dean said, eyes narrowing slightly. "He just got back from Hell."

But the stranger's confusion didn't lessen. "You're... John's sons?"

Dean didn't answer.

"But—why is he so sure John isn't here?"

"He's dead."

The stranger gasped, what little color he'd had draining from his cheeks. "No..."

Now it was Dean's turn to blink. "What's it to you?"

"Everything. He's my son."

Dean wasn't sure why he bought it; maybe it was just that the level of shock and grief in the guy's eyes couldn't be faked. Whatever the reason, though, he let go of the guy's shirt but didn't back away from him. "What's your name?"

"Henry. Henry Winchester."

Dean's chin rose, and he took one step back. That was a name he knew. "'Fraid I need to run a couple of tests, Henry, make sure you are who you say you are."

Henry nodded. "Of course."

Dean offered him the flask of holy water, and Henry drank without hesitation. Then, before Dean could pull his silver knife, Henry shook back his left sleeve to reveal an open cut, against which he pressed the silver flask to show that he didn't react. Dean nodded in satisfaction, and Henry wiped the blood off the flask with his handkerchief and handed it back.

"What happened there?" Dean asked, nodding at the cut.

"I needed my blood for the spell that brought me here," Henry replied, wrapping his handkerchief around it. "But we can go into all that later. Time is of the essence. I need your help to get back to Normal, Illinois."

"Hey, hey, whoa. Slow your roll, man. I'm not going anywhere without Sam, and as you can see, Sam ain't up to going to the mailbox."

Sam laughed, though it had a hysterical edge to it. "Things I never thought I'd hear Dean say."

"What," Lisa replied, "going to the mailbox?"

"Yeah."

Henry shot Sam a worried look before shaking his head and returning his attention to Dean. "I don't think you understand. I have an assignment of the greatest urgency."

Dean pulled a face. "How the hell am I supposed to understand when you haven't told me anything?"

"There isn't time for explanations. Can you at least lend me a car?"

"You don't even know where you are!"

"Dean," Sam interrupted, but while his voice still held a panicked note, the tone was one of warning.

Wide-eyed, Henry looked back toward the closet under the stairs just as its door rattled. "Oh, no," he breathed. "Run!"

"The hell with that," Dean growled, pushing Henry behind him and grabbing a gun out of the nearest end table. "CAS!"

Cas appeared just inside the front door. "Dean? What's—"

And the closet under the stairs burst open again and a tall redhead ducked through the doorway. She was wearing a '50s-style ball gown about the same color as Henry's suit, but it was spattered with blood.

Scowling, Cas manifested his sword and moved in front of Dean. "Abaddon."

The redhead—Abaddon—laughed. "I can't believe it! Castiel! What's a birdbrain like you doing in a place like this?"

Cas didn't reply.

Abaddon sashayed closer. "Out of my way, angel."

"Never."

She chuckled. "You know, I would love to pluck your wings, feather by feather. Maybe I will if you don't let me have Henry."

"You won't get the chance."

"Like you can stop me all on your own!"

"Not alone, no. But I'm not."

And with that, another half-dozen or so black-suited angels appeared, surrounding Abaddon. She shrieked loud enough to make the walls shake, but they converged on her and stabbed her at the same time, and apparently the combined effect of all those angel swords was enough to kill her.

Cas looked at the other angels. "Rachel, Inias?"

A blonde female and a dark-haired male nodded, lifted the corpse between them, and vanished. The other angels followed, but Cas stowed his sword and turned back to Dean.

Dean sighed and put down his gun. "Thanks, dude."

Cas smiled a little. "You're welcome." Then he looked past Dean toward Sam, at Henry, and back at Dean. "I'll... return later, if I may. I'd like to speak with your grandfather."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, sure."

Cas nodded back and left.

Then Dean turned back to check on Sam. "He okay, Lis?"

Sam was still breathing kind of hard but looked calmer, and Lisa glanced up from helping him sit up long enough to nod. "Yeah. He'll be all right."

Only then did Dean turn to Henry, who was staring at him. "You're... you're on a nickname basis with the Angel of Thursday?!"

Dean shrugged. "What can I say? He's a war buddy. You gonna stick around to find out what he wants, or are you too busy with that urgent assignment of yours?"

Henry sighed. "Well, with Abaddon dead, the immediate threat's been removed. And... well..." He glanced at Sam, down at his hands, and back up at Dean. "Somehow it doesn't seem quite so urgent anymore."

Dean tipped his head back a little, assessing his grandfather. Dad had hated the man for disappearing, but if he was already this concerned about Sam's welfare, maybe he wasn't all bad. "So you'll stay?"

Henry nodded. "If I may, at least long enough to get to know you a little better, catch up on what all I've missed... maybe even help out. I mean, I'm sure you and your wife are more than capable of taking care of Sam..."

"Uh, we're not—" Lisa began.

"Really having much trouble," Dean interrupted. "You just caught us on a bad day."

"Even so, it might be easier for me to at least give you some time off. Maybe I could even move the two of us into an apartment—"

"NO!" Sam yelped. "Nonononono, don't take me away from Dean, please!"

Dean rushed to Sam's side. "Hey, hey, Sammy, easy. Nobody's takin' you anywhere."

"No... no... Dean..." Sam's eyes were wild and unfocused, fixed straight ahead and not seeing that Dean was right beside him.

So Dean moved his head directly in front of Sam's eyes. "Hey. I'm right here."

Sam finally focused on Dean and grabbed hold of Dean's shirt with both hands. "Dean... Dean, don' let 'im take me..."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." Henry said, his voice breaking.

Lisa jumped up and went over to him. "Look, why don't we go outside, let Dean deal with Sam, huh?" And before Henry could protest or try to apologize again, she steered him out the back door.

"I'm sorry," Sam was pleading and starting to cry. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll be good, I promise..."

There was only one thing to do with a meltdown of such epic proportions: shut down and reboot. Dean reached up to put a hand on Sam's cheek. "Hey. You're stayin'. You hear me? Nobody's takin' you."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll do anything."

"All right, c'mon." Dean gently helped the Sasquatch to his feet and, ignoring the litany of apologies as best he could with his heart squeezing, steered Sam up the stairs to the bathroom. There he retrieved a sedative from the medicine cabinet. "Can you take this for me?"

Sam nodded, took the pill in one hand while keeping the other firmly wrapped in Dean's shirt, popped the pill in his mouth, and dry-swallowed it.

"Okay, c'mon, Sammy." Dean herded Sam out of the bathroom and across the hall to the room that had become his by default, and since Sam hadn't ever put his boots on that morning, Dean put him straight to bed.

But when Dean tried to pull away from him, Sam panicked again and grabbed hold of Dean's arm. "Don' leave me! Don' leave me, please, Dean..."

"Hey, hey, take it easy—"

Then Dean let out a squawk as Sam pulled him down and pinned him from below with a rib-crushing hug. He could feel Sam's heart hammering beneath his own as Sam kept panting, "Don' leave me... don' leave me..."

"Okay, geez. Just let me breathe, will ya?"

Sam's grip let up only enough to let Dean breathe better, but even as the quick-acting sedative pulled him under, he still kept repeating, "Donleeme... don'... don'..." And then he was out, his face relaxing and his breathing and heart rate steadying, but his arms didn't budge an inch.

Dean sighed, tried to find a comfortable spot on Sam's shoulder to rest his cheek, and resigned himself to an unwanted nap.