Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. They own me.

Spoilers for "No Rest for the Wicked" and "Lazarus Rising"!!

The End.

He sat on the floor in the darkness of the hotel room and poured another shot. The whiskey burned as it went down, but did nothing to shake the chill wrapped around his heart. The tears were gone, but still the sobs shook his lean frame. He had failed. Another clink and he swallowed. Darkness completely separate from the one he sat in loomed before him. He swallowed again. The darkness took a step closer.

With less than an hour, they had fought with everything they had. Spells, chants, magic portents etched on skin, even an ancient reworked charm added on his Egyptian necklace for luck. Three hundred and sixty-five days of research for nothing. Twenty minutes later, Lilith released the hounds and he was dead.

Nothing had stopped the bleeding. Nothing could close those terrible wounds; keep his life from spilling onto the floor. Dean didn't even make it out of the den. Sam with all his training, all his years spent learning and researching…despite everything he'd tried, Dean had died. Even as he raced to his brother, falling to his knees and willing with all his supposed powers, screaming with his very soul to stop this NOW, he died.

The darkness was almost within reach now. The numbness had begun and he poured the last of the bottle, the last drink to a fallen brother. His family was gone. He was alone. Darkness took a final step forward and he fell into those open arms.

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The Beginning…

He sat at his laptop typing away; well, at least pretending to. The gibberish on the screen didn't matter. He only had eyes for one thing in the room and that was Dean. The problem was, he couldn't just sit and stare at his brother even if he was just back from Hell. How girly would that look? Plus he would never hear the end of it. Sam yawned quietly, stretching his arms over his head, leaning his head back past his arm to peek at the still figure again.

Dean was sitting on the bed nearest the door, leaning against the headboard. He had simply walked over and sank down; reclaiming what always had been and always would be his. God, some things never changed. He had gravitated right for it, not mentioning a thing about the room having two beds or that the one with Sam's stuff on and around it was the only one slept in. It was also the one farthest from the door. He had offered to help with the research and Sam started a pile for him on the table.

Slipping into the bathroom, Dean came out in a long sleeve T shirt, sweats and heavy cotton socks. At Sam's glance, Dean smiled, shrugged and stated, "Cold." Sam tuned his head down, but watched underneath his bangs as Dean sat back on the bed for a moment, then started on the pile of papers and books next to him.

Sam knew the quiet in the room would be Dean's undoing. He had purposely left the television on low and used a light on the table near his computer. He sat at his laptop, fingers tap, tapping away on the keyboard and patiently waited until he knew Dean was asleep, his body starting to list to one side, his breathing deep and heavy. Sam then quietly stole over in his stocking feet, silently removing the text and papers from his brother's lap. Easing him down on the pillows, he left his fingers just touching the pale face a moment longer. Dean shifted, turning into his favorite sleeping position. Sam just stood beside the bed, watching. He noted again the paleness and exhaustion. And he hadn't missed the hoarseness in Dean's voice, like he had when he was really sick with strep throat or like he had been… screaming. Sam felt his stomach start to roll and lurch at the thought.

Hell must have been…well, Hell. A mumbled curse and he looked down at his brother's face, then watched him shudder, shivering. Sam reached over and pulled his extra blanket off, gently laying it over Dean, pulling it close around him.

Dean murmured again and then was silent, still sound asleep. 'Thank God.' Sam thought. He never would have heard the end of this "Yes, I am tucking your ass in so just shut up" moment.

A sprinkling of freckles across the pale face and his right hand tucked under his chin gave Sam an almost ghostly view of youth and innocence. His breath caught in his throat as he choked back a sob that turned into a snort as he realized the left hand under the pillow clutched his thirteen inch silver knife. Okay, maybe not that innocent.

Walking around, he sank down near the foot of the bed on the left side. He pinched himself hard again and he prayed for the hundredth time that this was not some dream, some madness keeping him wrapped in hope.

Sam was so tired, and still felt so alone. Almost afraid too…

Reaching out, he gently closed his hand over one sock covered ankle sticking out from under the covers. He felt the warm skin beneath the heavy cotton and sighed, biting his lip. His brother was back. Sam had failed him, but somehow, he was back. Sam didn't care how or who or what. He let the silent tears fall.

Dean stirred. A flash of green as sleepy eyes turned to Sam.

"Sammy, you ok?"

A choked laugh, part sob and Sam finally felt his heart start again. Dean had always put Sam first, always. His big brother was back from Hell. He had been through horrors Sam could never imagine, but his first concern was Sam. No dream, no demon could fool Sam, he knew the real Dean.

Sam closed his eyes, face hidden behind long brown bangs. He smiled and face wet with tears, he leaned forward wrapping his right arm around his brother's blanket covered legs and laying the right side of his face on top of the blankets.

"I'm getting better." He whispered.

Dean's hand fumbled then lost itself in Sam's hair. He cupped his hand on the back of his little brother's head, gently rubbing his fingers back and forth. Sighing, Dean went back to sleep and this time, he took Sam with him.

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A/N: This was my first SPN story, I hope you liked! Thanks for reading!