A/N: You guys are awesome! Thanks so much for reading, and especially for all of the reviews, favorites and alerts! A very special thanks to my wonderful beta, Cynbad3, who will probably be very tired at work tomorrow because she stayed up late to help me get this chapter ready to post right away!

Disclaimer in chapter 1

Chapter 2

Sam had been out long enough that both Dean and Bobby had gotten tired waiting for him to wake up. Bobby had gone upstairs to sleep in his bed, but Dean had opted to stay with Sam on the off chance that his brother would finally wake up. Death had performed his little procedure that had left Dean cringing at his brother's screams of pain, but then once the glowing light had died down, Sam had immediately passed out, and he hadn't so much as moved in the long hours since then.

Death had vanished after one last significant look at Dean, as if to remind him of his order that he keep digging, leaving Dean and Bobby staring at Sam in silence. Dean had immediately checked Sam's pulse and breathing and then relaxed, convinced his brother was physically fine. Then Bobby had disappeared into the recesses of his basement, returning with two dusty fold-up lawn chairs, which he had set up against the wall, brushing the dust from the material. Without a word, the two men had sat down and the vigil had begun.

When Bobby had finally given up and gone up to bed, Dean leaned back in his chair, still watching Sam for any signs of movement. He wasn't sure whether he wanted Sam to wake up soon or not. He was really worried about his brother's state of mind. What would he remember? Would the wall hold, or would he wake up with all of his horrendous memories intact? Had they done the right thing, or had Castiel been correct that the kindest thing would have been to have left him the way he was? Dean shook his head at this thought. Sam could not have continued living the way he was. If Death had not decided to help them, he didn't know what would have become of Sam, but they could not have let him continue to exist as the detached would-be killer he had become.

Dean continued to watch Sam for a while, still lost in thought. He studied his brother critically, realizing that since Sam had not slept since the two brothers had been reunited, this was the most peaceful he had seen his younger brother in over a year and a half. Sam was limp on the cot, his head turned to the side, and even with the long hair straggling across his face, he still looked young and innocent like this. Dean crossed to the cot and brushed the hair out of Sam's face, cursing himself for a sentimental fool as he did. The Sam he had known for the past several months would have laughed at him for such a girly gesture.

Dean sat back down in the chair, stretching his legs out and leaning back against the wall. If he was being honest, a part of him had secretly found some of the changes in his brother refreshing in a way. True, the fact that Dean was now the most empathetic brother was a pain, especially when they had to interview a grief stricken wife or mother. He had never envied Sam that part of his job, and now that he had become the more approachable of the two, he often got entangled in uncomfortably emotional moments with the family members of victims.

But Dean had spent his entire life trying to protect Sam not only physically, but also emotionally, and Sam's new take-charge attitude had relieved him at first. It had actually been kind of nice to let Sam take the lead at times, especially since Dean was a bit rusty after a year off from hunting. Letting Sam take charge of the hunt had given him a chance to begin adjusting to life without Lisa and Ben, and a way to let him get his feet wet before jumping all the way back in.

Even though he had been wary of Sam's state of mind, watching him spout one-liners at the cop on the dock in Buffalo, and even, if he was being honest, to that freaky Fairy lady in Elwood had been entertaining to some extent. It had been amusing to hear Sam say the things that he knew they both had been thinking but professionalism would never let Dean actually say. He couldn't let Sam know that, though, so he had immediately launched into the whole Pinocchio/Jiminy Cricket analogy.

As he had thought about it more, however, the blunt comments had become less amusing and more disturbing. He really hoped that when Sam finally woke up he would not remember the things he had said and done while soul-less. He always came across so empathetic and caring with their witnesses that he would be mortified by his behavior.

Dean closed his eyes wearily. He had been sitting down here for nearly twelve hours, only leaving briefly a few times for necessary trips upstairs. And he had made sure that Bobby was sitting here while he was gone in case Sam woke up. Bobby seemed a little skittish if he got too close to Sam, but Dean knew that their surrogate father still cared about him. It was going to take time to get over the fact that if Dean had been one minute later getting back, Bobby would have been dead and Sam would have been beyond redemption in Dean's eyes. If Sam had succeeded in killing Bobby, it would have made him the monster he had always feared becoming. Dean was just glad that he had arrived back in time to avert the disaster that had been unfolding.

He must have dozed off, but he didn't think it had been for very long, when he jerked awake to a change in the room. Sitting up, he looked at the cot with bleary eyes, and then jumped to his feet. Sam was awake, but his whole body was tensed up, and his face was turned toward the wall. Dean could still hear the hitching of his brother's breath as he muttered something over and over. He walked hesitantly toward the cot, not wanting to spook the younger man. As he got closer, he could hear what Sam was saying over and over again.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . . ."

Dean's blood ran cold. Sam was sobbing in between the words, and he wondered if this meant that the wall hadn't held. Or did Sam remember what he had done since his body had returned from the cage? Something was crushing him with guilt, and Dean couldn't stand it. He had wanted his brother back, but what if Sam was too damaged to live like this? Stepping forward, he laid a firm hand on Sam's shoulder, hoping to comfort him, but Sam flinched like he had hit him, hunching further away.

"Sammy?" Dean ventured tentatively, wanting to make sure his brother knew he was there. "Sam, look at me."

Sam stopped repeating his unnerving apology, but he shook his head, trying to pull away. Dean was not about to let that happen, not after everything he had done in search of this moment. He grasped Sam's chin, gently but firmly twisting his brother's face toward him so he could see his eyes.

Sam looked up at him with hazel eyes full of tears, and Dean thought painfully that he had never seen Sam look this devastated, not after losing Jess, not after Madison, not after losing Dad, not even after finding out how Ruby had tricked him into starting the Apocalypse.

"Sam, it's okay. You're okay now. Just take it easy. Everything's going to be okay." Dean tried his best to sound like the strong older brother who had spent his life taking care of Sam, but he was afraid he had probably come across instead as weak and helpless as he felt right now.

At any rate, Sam didn't seem to buy his act. He closed his eyes again, trying unsuccessfully to turn his head away, but Dean refused to let go. He was not about to let Sam deal with this alone. Sam moaned, a tortured, desperate sound, and then choked out six words that chilled Dean to the bone.

"Why didn't you just kill me?"

Dean's panic exploded. What was his little brother remembering that was so bad that he would rather be dead? Death had said the wall had a seventy-five percent chance of working, but maybe it had failed. Dean frantically tried to figure out what he could do to help his brother, distractedly petting Sam's head in an impotent attempt at comforting him. "Sammy, hang on." In sudden inspiration, he turned his head toward the ceiling, knowing what he needed to do. "Castiel!"

Sam jerked away from him, confused, but then the color drained from his face and he gagged. Dean knew Sam well enough to know what was coming, and he frantically unlocked the cuffs, getting Sam tilted over the edge of the cot just as he started heaving. He didn't have a lot in his stomach, but even after he had expelled it all, his stomach continued to heave painfully. Dean grimaced, but held on, rubbing Sam's back soothingly. "It's okay, Sammy. Just relax, little brother. Castiel!"

His bellow might not have brought the angel, but it did bring Bobby thundering down the stairs, wiping sleep from his eyes with one hand and holding a shotgun loaded with salt in the other. "What's wrong?"

Dean looked up at Bobby desperately as Sam's heaving seemed to only get worse. "I don't know what to do for him, Bobby! I don't think the wall worked, and something keeps making him hurl. Cas would know what to do, but he isn't coming, and I don't know how to fix this!"

Bobby leaned the shotgun across the abandoned chairs, stepping forward to rest one hand on Dean's shoulder and the other on Sam's. "Take it easy, Dean. It's going to be okay. We'll get him calmed down, and then we'll figure this out."

Dean shook his head, eyes burning. "I should have left him alone. Why did I think this would be better? I'm supposed to look out for him, and look what I did to him."

"I warned you this could happen."

Both men turned to see Castiel standing behind them, watching them impassively.

Dean's panic turned to fury. "Could you save the 'I told you so' for later and help him?"

Cas studied him for a few seconds, and then leaned in and grasped Sam's chin in his hand, lifting the drooping head firmly. Sam's face was wet with the sheen of a cold sweat and his eyes still dripped tears as they roamed the room lazily, but he squinted and focused lethargically on Castiel, looking confused. Cas touched two fingers to the center of the younger man's forehead, and Sam went limp in Dean's arms.

"Thank you." Dean was struggling to contain his own emotions now that Sam was no longer suffering, but he blinked against the threat of tears and cleared his throat. "Is there any way you could help me get him upstairs?" Before the words were completely out, Dean blinked to find all four of them in the spare bedroom that Sam and Dean shared when visiting Bobby. "Uh, thanks."

Dean and Bobby situated Sam on his bed, removing his shoes and covering him with a blanket. Castiel watched from the other side of the room, and Dean thought that even though Cas seemed impassive, the fact that he was still here was an indication that their friend was concerned as well. Cas may not show emotions well, but Dean had no doubt that he did care about them. Once Sam was as comfortable as they could make him, Dean sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

"It didn't work, did it?" He rubbed his eyes wearily. "He's going to be a basket case, and it's all my fault."

Castiel shook his head. "I don't know, Dean. Until we can get him to wake up and be calm, there is no way to know for certain what caused that reaction. I do fear that it may be his memories of the cage, but I cannot say for sure."

Dean nodded, letting his head droop forward. He was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open, but he didn't want to leave Sam alone. Bobby came back into the room with a basin of water and a cloth, and Dean wondered distractedly how he had missed Bobby leaving in the first place. He stood up, intending to take the basin, but Bobby shook his head, clutching the bowl more tightly.

"Let me do this, Dean."

Dean studied Bobby's face for a minute and then nodded. It would probably be good for the older man to be able to interact with Sam while he wasn't awake to seem threatening. He thought again of how close he had come to losing both of them. If Sam had actually killed Bobby, Dean would have had no choice but to take him out. He sat back down beside his brother and watched as Bobby cleaned the sweat and gore from Sam's face and neck. Dean figured he should probably change his brother's shirt, too, as it appeared to be sweat-soaked, but that could wait. He was terrified that they would wake Sam again and they would be right back where they started.

Sam shifted on the bed and his breathing hitched again, but he didn't seem to be quite back with them yet. Cas studied him critically, and then turned to Dean. "He should be waking up again any minute. We should wait outside. Let us know if you need us."

Dean barely acknowledged Castiel's words, already fully focused on his brother. He wondered anxiously what Sam's frame of mind would be when he did finally wake up. But then suddenly it was too late for thinking, because Sam sat up with a ragged gasp, hazel eyes wide with panic.

TBC . . .