Chapter 1

Death leaned over his brother, pressing the blinding white light into Sam's heaving chest. His heart beat faster, wanting to, no, needing to force his little brother's panicked, terrified words from his memory. You don't what what'll happen to me. No Sam. No I don't.

How could he be so scared if he had no soul? Was it… was it just animal instinct? Adrenaline? Or was there a bit more of Sam in there somewhere than he'd thought, of his Sam? He shook the thought from his head. Of course not. He… it… tried to kill Bobby. Sammy wasn't home. Or at least, he hadn't been. Back in 5 minutes?

The screaming stopped, Sam's strong, tense body suddenly falling limp, a big arm dropping loosely from the cot and swinging, looking lifeless. Dean felt his own heart pause, as he had on too many occasions before and suddenly he was back in Cold Oak, back in Stull Cemetery, the words Sammy, no running through his mind yet again.

Death stood back from the too-small cot and met Dean's terrified green eyes.

"Don't let him scratch, Dean."

Not a bit of panic in his freakin stupid calm English voice. What was with all these Brits from the underworld anyway? His panic meant that he didn't remember Bobby telling him the same thing when Sam was five and he'd looked after them both through the chicken pox. Bobby. He span around, Bobby behind him, Bobby who for some reason didn't seem quite mad enough that Sam had tried to kill him; and Death was gone.

Dean's eyes widened as he turned to Bobby, a plea to the older hunter to tell him what to do next. He nodded silently towards the bed. Bobby didn't often say anything if he didn't think he had to. Dean knew what he was being told to do. But he didn't want to. Didn't want to get to his brother's side and find out that it wasn't, that Sam wasn't… wasn't right.

"Check on your brother, Dean." Bobby's gruff voice ordered him, stern yet soft enough to ground him.

Check on Sam. He looked at his brother. Or what he hoped was his brother. Maybe it always had been... he shuddered, remembering Sam's pleading from a few moments earlier. Not the time for doubts now, Winchester.

Dean could suddenly feel his heart beating again as he noticed Sam's chest rise, drawing in a big heaving breath. He took a few hesitant steps towards his brother's gargantuan form, noticing his brother's eyes closed, shattered.

He could feel Bobby's deep stare penetrate him as he placed a tentative, trembling hand on his brother's chest, feeling it rise and fall as Sam breathed deeply. He scanned Sam's face, looking, checking, searching for Sammy. Was he in there? Sam's long hair had fallen over his eyes, Dean feeling a slight tug somewhere in the pit of his stomach as he remembered the bangs that his little brother sported up until a few years ago. He reached up with his other hand, brushing Sam's hair back from his face to look a little more like Sam's more recent haircut. And it suddenly felt… better. He pressed the back of his hand to Sam's forehead, checking for fever and not sure if the heat he could feel was his own panic or rising from his brother's body. He looked at his own hands, aware that they were shaking. Drawing in a breath, he turned to Bobby.

"Bobby." His mouth was suddenly dry and he had to stop and swallow. Focus, Dean. You did this. And you promised to deal with – well. With whatever happened. He dropped to his knees next to Sam, hoping it was his brother that was sleeping in front of him. It felt like him. Or was it wishful thinking? He stroked his hair in an absent minded manner, remembering sitting up with Ben after he got sick last summer. All night.

"Son?"

"I errr… I'm gonna need a blanket. And a chair. And a glass of water. And some coffee. That's for me. And -," Dean stood up, slightly aware that he was babbling and started to unbuckle the restraints from Sam's wrists, cursing his shaky digits. He caught Bobby start to protest, but he quickly stopped. I guess I don't look like I want arguing with, he thought.

"He's not waking up and findin' himself still in a cage, Bobby. He's not." He looked up, his eyes pleading with the older hunter.

Bobby shrugged his shoulders and turned, hearing Dean call for a first-aid kit too. Sam had messed his leg up falling through the basement. Not to mention messing up my freakin' house. Again.

Dean settled himself on a wobbly wooden chair, mostly oblivious to Bobby having delivered his shopping list. He looked down at what he hoped was his little brother, a shiver running down his spine as memories of Cold Oak came back to him. But Sam was breathing. He was asleep. He stroked his hair again, not sure whether he wanted him to wake up and chew his ear for touching and fussing him, or just stay asleep. Just for now.

"I do hope this wasn't a bad idea, Dean."

The angel's monotone echoed around the mostly empty room, but Dean didn't flinch.

"If you're just here to say I told you so, then you're a little too early. He's sleeping. So be quiet, 'ass- butt'." Dean still didn't look at Castiel, but kept his tone as level as the Angel's. He tried to sound cool, collected, ready for his brother to wake up but convinced that both Sam and Cas could hear his heart hammering against his ribcage. He stood up, leaving Sam's hair alone and rolled up his jeans. There was a lot of blood.

"If you want to be useful, you can hand me that first aid kit."

"I could heal that wound in a fraction of the time it would take for you to dress it. Has your highly charged emotional state meant you've forgotten, or do you want to keep him incapacitated in case he reacts violently when he wakes?"

Dean drew in a breath, turning around to the angel, his voice raising slightly. "If you're not here to help me with this, what the hell do you want, Cas?"

"I heard your prayers."

"I wasn't praying."

"Yes you were."

"Yeah. Well… maybe. Not intentionally."

"Prayer is a complex –"

"Save the theology lecture, Cas." He ran a hand through his sandy hair. "I just… I just want him to be my brother again. Because… just cause." He finally made eye contact with his friend. Windows to the soul? Not if you were an angel. And not if you didn't have one. "And I need him to be okay."

"What is it that you miss about your brother?" said Castiel, giving Dean one of his limited emotions; confusion.

"Seriously, Cas?" Dean frowned at Castiel, incredulous. How could he not notice the difference? Surely he knew that the guy who'd been his friend less than a year before just wasn't there?

"I think my recollection of your brother might not be synonymous with yours."

"I didn't have to let you in here."

"Nobody let me in, I simply–"

"Cas!" Dean growled at the angel. He was wrong. He was – shit. No. He had to be wrong. He felt the tremble in his hands become worse and suddenly his whole body felt hot. Too hot. He sank to his knees.

"Are you sick, Dean?"

This was a terrible idea, stupid for even you, Winchester. I'm not… I'm not getting Sam back. I'm not getting back the kid who used to love lucky charms, who used to share his ice cream, whose knees knocked at the McDonalds adverts. The boy who gave him his amulet had long since turned into the man who trusted demons, effectively had a drug problem, and that determination and drive had been there since Jessica died. Probably before that. I'm getting the damaged, hardened man who was hunting on his own, soul intact, without me. RoboSam was just going straight to the credits on what had been a slow-burning plot. All part of Sam trying to look up to me. To act like me. Crap. I'm not solving anything. I'm being selfish again. And he knew it all started with his deal. Not… not all of it. He knew that was years before. But Sam… he let Sam down by being so damn emotional. He'd sold out too easy with just twelve months. And he'd been selfish about leaving Sam to cope on his own. And about putting the responsibility for Dean going to hell all on his little brother's shoulders. Even though… even though that wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. And -

"Dean, I strongly suggest you slow down your breathing as I believe that such large quantities of oxygen can be detrimental to the human body."

Dean raised his hands to his face, breathing in, out. He listened to his own breathing slowing a little, the blackness at the side of his vision beginning to come recede and the dizziness subsiding. Holy crap.

"Do you often have such a physical reaction to emotional situations?"

Dean gingerly placed himself on the chair next to Sam's cot, his brother not having stirred through Dean's panic attack.

"No. Not really. Not since… well." He dropped his head to his knees, slowly blowing air through his lips and resisting the temptation to hum Metallica. "Not for months now."

"It wasn't my intention to upset you, Dean. I was simply trying to explore the alternative to your self-deprecating viewpoint in order to ensure you'd made a clear decision."

"Devil's advocate?" Dean raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"I do none of Lucifer's bidding." His chest swelled proudly.

Dean closed his eyes for a second, wringing his hands together. Damn Angel. "Never mind." He concentrated on his breathing, trying to slow it, trying to avoid the panic taking him over again. "So what do I do now, Cas? Just, sit and wait?" Please tell me he's okay, please tell me that it worked…

Castiel walked towards Dean and glanced down at him. Dean's nerves were frayed. His heart was slowing slightly and the angel's steps echoed as he paced around the perimeter of the room. What did he even want, anyway?

"Would you like me to leave?"

What, so he can read freakin' minds now? Dean opened his mouth to speak, intending to send his useless holy ass packing back to heaven if he wasn't going to actually do anything, but instead found himself shaking his head. "No. No, Cas. Stay."

"You could tell me more about your brother. From before I knew him."

"Yeah, and we could toast marshmallows too. Or even paint our nails." Dean gritted his teeth as he watched Cas turn his hands over, carefully rubbing at his cuticles and curling his top lip in what could only be careful consideration of Dean's snarky suggestion. "You're right, Cas. He changed."

"When?" Castiel buffed his fingernails on his trenchcoat, not entirely ruling out Dean's suggestion of a manicure.

"Jeez, I don't know. When his girlfriend got burnt to death on the ceiling, when he found Dad dead on the floor of his hospital room, when he started banging demons, when he started exorcising demons with his mind?" Dean's voice raised slightly, placing two fingers to his own temple to illustrate exactly where he thought Sam's mind was but ending up executing some kind of odd salute. "Maybe when I sold my soul and was hell-bent on -" Huh, figures, "- taking off and leaving him to pick up the check." His voice fell. "I know it started then. And that I – woah, Cas. What're you –". Dean scooted the chair back, looking up at his so-called buddy advancing on his forehead with two fingers extended. Cas, no, not now, you sunnuva – holy crap.