A/N: That epilogue for Ye Who Enter Here I was talking about? Well, it turned into its own sequel/story, lol. The raw story is complete but I'll be releasing the chapters like I did for Ye Who Enter Here because I'm going over the chapters again rewriting/editing/polishing & whatnot.

No betas for this story, but huge huge thank you to A_Diamond. She helped me out - answered all my silly questions - about law enforcement structure & protocol. Anything you spot in this story that flouts it is me rejecting reality for the sake of the story.

And now, without further ado...

It Still Abandons Me Not

"Love, which pardons no beloved from loving, took me so strongly with delight in him

That, as you see, it still abandons me not..."

- Dante Alighieri, Inferno: A New Verse Translation

When Cas vanished, Dean sighed and quietly stepped over to look at his brother. He was sleeping peacefully, his body and soul intact. The jury was still out on his mind, but one problem at a time.

Dean was still wearing the clothes he'd put on earlier. The neon red rain jacket, the green snowflake sweater, the purple hat, and his suit pants tucked into heavy-duty hiking boots. After shucking off the hat and rain jacket, he sat down on the other side of the bed, careful not to wake Sam, and began unlacing his boots. He surveyed the room, kicking one shoe off after the other, assessing whether anything could be of use to them. It's not like there'd be a pair of clean boxers lying around for Sam but what if there was and Dean hadn't looked?

There were basically just towels, really. Dean pulled the green sweater off and started unbuttoning his dress shirt. He folded both up, as they were still relatively clean, and set them on the table. Now it was time to check Sam. Dean hadn't dared to touch him before now, not fully ready to handle his brother if he woke up.

He sat on the edge of the bed and hovered over Sam, brushing his hair off his face. Sam didn't move a muscle. Dean pressed his palm against Sam's face - again, no response. Just closed eyes and slow, deep breaths. It was reassuring actually, and Dean stared at the blanket for a second. Last time he'd laid eyes on it - faded yellow starbursts sewn into the light blue blanket - he'd been grappling with the concept of Sam trapped in hell with Lucifer. Now he had Sam, and the blanket was going to be put to good use.

Dean proceeded to pull it - and the one other blanket and sheet below it - out from under Sam. At first he was gentle, still worried about waking his brother, but as he kept working he realized Sam's sleep was deep enough that he could tug the blankets pretty hard without the slightest stirring. When the blankets were all out from under him, Dean covered him up to the waist and started unbuttoning Cas's trench coat. Sam was still dead to the world as his brother got his arms out of the sleeves and finally pulled the coat off and away from him.

Dean examined the trench for a second before he threw it into the bathroom to start a pile of dirty clothes to wash. There was no way Dean wasn't going to get that coat back to Cas.

Then he did something he hadn't done in years and tucked his little brother in.

"Okay," Dean sighed as he perched on the side of the bed, wiping a hand down his mouth, "you keep sleeping. I think... I need to go check things out around here, maybe find some... thing," Dean blinked, tired. He sighed again. "Don't wake up until I get back, Sammy," he finished, lightly patting his brother on the chest before he stood up. With one last look at Sam to reassure himself, Dean left the room.

###

It was midnight, no one was around that he could see or hear, and Dean found himself in a communal kitchen area. He stood in front of the coffeemaker and stared at it while it gurgled rich, black fuel. When it was done, he took a few sips and felt the warmth stream through him, followed quickly by a blessed caffeine kick signaling systems coming back online in his mind. It occurred to him if there was a communal kitchen, maybe there was a communal laundry room for backpackers... meaning clothes he could, uh, "borrow."

Just as he was about to keep exploring, mug in hand, the sound of a heavy door jamming then opening nearby caught him like a deer in headlights. A hooded figure stomped into the kitchen, delicate hands secreting away a pack of cigarettes into the pockets of a heavy dark green parka. The figure stopped short when it saw Dean.

"Oh nice, you made coffee," the girl said, pulling the hood down and stepping up next to Dean. Early twenties, brown hair braided, and no makeup, she looked tired but friendly enough.

"Yeah," Dean hedged as she moved towards the counter and opened a cabinet to get her own mug. She gave him a double-take as she poured.

"When did you get in?" she asked casually.

"What?"

The girl finished pouring and set the coffee pot back.

"Check in. When did you check in? I haven't seen you before," she said and leaned against the counter, taking a sip of coffee.

"A... few hours ago," Dean answered, still unsure. She nodded congenially and licked her lips after another sip, eyeing him a little more closely now.

"You... a backpacker?" she asked, doubtful, as she took in his suit pants and black socks.

"No... well, sort of," he back-tracked. He honestly didn't know what to say. "My brother... he got... sick," Dean offered.

"Oh no," she murmured sincerely, "I'm sorry. What room are you in? I can bring some stuff up if you need it."

"Are... do you work here?"

"Yeah. Oh I'm sorry. I'm Connie," she said, extending her hand. Dean took it, noting her clammy palms from having just been outside.

"Dean."

"Nice to meet you. I take the nightshift. My mom owns the Lakehouse Inn."

"Ah," Dean said, his mind whirring. "So... Connie, this is going to sound a little strange but... does the Inn have any spare clothes?"

Connie gave an oddly sympathetic smirk.

"Say no more. C'mon," she said, and lead Dean through the main hallway. "Listen, um... I don't wanna be a buzzkill, but if your brother's any less than a hundred percent, you really shouldn't be hiking the trail," she said as they reached a door with a wooden plaque that read "Employees Only."

"Oh no we've definitely called it off," Dean assured her and her concerned expression switched to relieved approval.

"Good. Okay, so here," she said as she opened the door and they walked in. It was a lounge area with a couch, a desk, a minifridge and coffeemaker along the walls. The door to the closet had been removed and it held a metal filing cabinet on the right side and a mishmash of equipment and first aid supplies along the rest of the shelves. Dean spotted hot and cold packs, slings, splints, knee and ankle braces, rolls of medical tape, bottles of Betadine, emergency blankets, loads of cotton wool, and the list went on. He realized lodgings meant specifically for backpackers of the most treacherous hike of the Appalachian trail kind of had to have their own hunters-grade first aid supplies. On the very top shelf of the closet there were brown shipping boxes and Connie pointed to them.

"Backup merchandise," she said.

"Ah, awesome," Dean sighed with relief. Connie smiled, set her coffee down on the desk, and picked up a small stool as she walked to the closet. "We sell sweat pants, sweaters, and shirts."

"All three would be great."

Connie turned where she stood on her stool, shooting Dean the most genuinely solicitous expression he'd seen in awhile.

"Aw, poor guy," she murmured.

"You have no idea," Dean whispered back dully as she turned back around.

"What size?"

"Extra large, I think," Dean murmured, coming up behind her to help get the boxes down. He pulled a pair of sweatpants and flipped them out. They were navy, with a small stitched logo of the Inn on the left thigh, and when Dean placed them against himself and noticed they were a few inches past his feet, he grinned. "These are perfect."

"Excellent. Take 'em," she said as Dean leaned over the other two boxes, finding an extra large white t-shirt and light gray sweatshirt. "I'll charge it to your room, yeah?"

"That'd be great," Dean said as he took a second pair of pants for himself. He gestured them to her and she nodded, taking note he was to be charged for two pairs and not one. He folded them over his arm and picked his coffee back up, ready to go.

"Oh hey - what about meds?" Connie asked, surveying the first aid supplies. "We got pepto-bismal and some generic antidiarrheals..." she trailed off. Dean chuckled quietly, realizing she'd been assuming Sam had crapped his pants.

"Nah we've got meds with our stuff."

Connie stood up to look at him.

"Okay. Well still. Anything you need, I'll be here all night," she offered.

"Great. Thanks Connie," Dean said honestly, then headed back upstairs.

Sam was still practically comatose. Dean set his coffee down, ripped the tags off the sweatpants, and got into his before manhandling Sam around to get him clothed too. He considered putting the t-shirt on Sam but he figured it could wait. It was warm in the room and tomorrow he'd go out in the morning to pick up some more clothes for them; a rental car too.

Dean settled himself on the bed, crossed legs and folded arms, and closed his eyes. The image of Sam pinned and spread on that blue spongy pad burned into him and immediately Dean had to open them again. He took another sip of his coffee, his eyes fixed determinedly on his sleeping brother, willing himself to replace the image behind his eyelids with this one.

Still, there was no way he'd be able to sleep tonight. Dean turned the TV on and lowered the volume, opened Solitaire on his phone, and lightly pulled his brother's wrist to lie across his waist so he could keep his fingers on his pulse.

It was about an hour later that Dean heard his brother whimpering and glanced over to see tears on his face, contorted in pain although still asleep. He started to move - small reflexes of fear cut short as fast as they began, like something was stopping his every attempt to defend himself or get away.

It wasn't like Dean was happy to see his brother crying and writhing around under the throes of a nightmare, but it gave him the excuse he needed to lift Sam up for a second so he could get behind him and lean against the head board. It took some maneuvering, specifically with getting the pillows against his back right, but eventually he got settled.

Sam twitched and shivered against him. His wrists flicked and Dean held them steady against Sam's chest. Sam's legs kicked and Dean lightly wrapped his around Sam's.

"Shhh, it's okay, it's okay," Dean whispered as he reached his arm across Sam's chest, trying to suppress his brother's torso twisting and turning. Sam gave a pitched whine of distress over Dean's restraints but Dean continued to shush and speak gently, running a hand through Sam's hair like he always had when they'd been young.

After a few minutes, Sam calmed. Dean pulled the covers over them both, making sure not to cover Sam's head lying against him. He sighed and relaxed his grip around Sam's chest under the covers, his arms lying on Sam just for the sake of casual comfort now.

For the rest of the night, any time Sam made a sound and every time Dean saw that image, he'd tighten his hold around him to make them both drift back into peaceful sleep.

###

Dean woke to the sound of his little brother's aborted gasp practically in his ear, then a whirl of panicked motion and noise to get away and out of his arms.

"Sam-"

"Get away!" Sam hissed, then his elbow came out of nowhere to clock Dean's jaw, snapping Dean's head back to ram against the headboard. Dean grunted in pain, dizzy, and he heard the muffled thump of Sam falling to the floor, still wrapped in the blue and yellow starburst blanket.

"What have I done..." Sam whispered, his voice trembling as he slid on the floor into a corner, shaky heads covering his head. "Oh my God..."

"Sam-" Dean slipped out of bed to the floor.

"-don't talk to me," Sam interrupted viciously, eyes burning.

Dean stared at his brother.

"Uh...okay?" Dean replied, at a loss. Dean had to admit he was somewhat relieved Sam was so responsive. His relief shattered at Sam's next words.

"Lucifer!" Sam shouted, loud enough to be heard through the entire Inn.

"Jesus, Sam-!"

"Lucifer!" Sam continued, ignoring Dean until he was practically on top of him, doing his best to shut his brother up. "NO!" Sam yelled in distress as Dean got his hands on him.

"Sam," Dean struggled, trying to pin Sam to the floor, "stop it!"

Sam yelled with frustration and fury as Dean got his knee on Sam's back so he laid prone on the floor, the side of Sam's face pressed against the carpet by Dean's hand.

"Lucife-AH!" Sam yelled just as Dean stuffed some of the starburst blanket into Sam's mouth.

"Uh," Dean groaned, holding Sam down tight but stable, "I'm so sorry, Sammy," he muttered. Dean waited, trying to be as gentle as possible while still keeping Sam efficiently restrained. Sam screamed through the cloth and bucked under him, and Dean was inwardly impressed by his tenacity until a soft knock rapped on their door.

"Shit," Dean whispered, and Sam exploded with new energy, guttural howls and yells through the blanket in his mouth, his body contorting in every way possible. Dean gritted his teeth and laid into Sam harder, pushing him flush against the floor.

"Dean-?" a hesitant voice came through from the other side of the door. Connie.

"Hey I- I can't get to the door right now, Connie," Dean said breathlessly.

"Okay. Is everything okay? We got a call to the front desk-"

"Everything's fine!" Dean replied, his voice strained with the effort of keeping Sam down. Dean bent down to look at Sam and confirm for himself. The sight of his brother caught him off guard: red-faced and sweaty with exertion, Sam's terrified, grief-stricken eyes were breaking tears that were falling onto the carpet and Dean registered Sam's screams were interspersed by heaving sobs.

Dean's hold on his brother weakened, and then everything went to hell.

With one quick-as-lightning torso twist from Sam, Dean's knee slipped to the floor and Sam used his body to shove Dean off him. Before Dean could react, Sam swung the back of his hand around to slam straight into Dean's ear, forcing his head to hit the wall, and slump to the floor, his ears ringing in his head.

"Sammy," Dean murmured dazedly, watching Sam disentangle himself from the blanket and stumble towards the door Connie stood behind. "No..."

Wearing nothing but his sweatpants, Sam whipped the door open. Dean could barely hear Connie's surprised, "oh my God!" at the sight of him before he took off in the other direction.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to comment/review if you can spare the time!