My original plan was to have this story done and posted before tonight's much anticiapated premiere. I managed to meet my goal, but we all know what happened to the rest. :(

So...our long wait is not quite over. We'll have to wait another week for what is sure to be one hell of an episode.

In the meantime...I hope this bit of brotherly love helps to ease some of the pain.

The Road So Far...

Dean's head snapped around abruptly, his body frozen in place momentarily at the sudden sound that broke through the silence of the early morning. He'd have recognized that sound anywhere.

"Sonuvabitch!"

"Oh balls!" Bobby grumbled, following Dean as he took off through the living room and kitchen towards the back door, the unmistakable low rumble of the Impala filling the night air.
"What the hell is that boy doin now?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Now...

Dean bolted through the kitchen, grabbing his worn leather jacket off the back of the wooden chair. He skidded to a halt just long enough to open the back door.

And froze in the doorway.

Out in the lot, the Impala was still exactly where he'd left it. The driver's side door was closed and even in the dim light Dean could see that the seat was empty. The engine was running; gray plumes of smoke rising up into the night from the tailpipe. In a moment of numb panic, Dean followed their trail. Sitting on the trunk of the car, as though he didn't have a care in the world—as though Dean wouldn't be tearing through the house like a madman at his disappearance—was Sam.

Dean counted to ten.

Twice.

In Latin.

Backwards.

It didn't help. He sometimes wondered if anything would.

Dean buttoned up his leather jacket and stepped out into the cold, dark South Dakota night, his heart slowly settling back into its rightful place in his chest. He eased the door closed behind him, the rickety, wooden steps squeaked in protest as he stepped off the porch. He walked slowly across the yard, the crunching of the stones under his boots reverberating loudly off the stacks of junk cars piled around them.

Sam hadn't moved a muscle since he had opened the door, and Dean took in his pose as he crossed the yard. His arms were folded underneath the back of his head, and his breathing was deep and even. To anyone else looking, he would have appeared to be simply relaxing, or even asleep. But Dean wasn't just anybody. He had spent his entire life watching his little brother and could decipher every movement, no matter how subtle it was.

He knew that the relaxed demeanor was deceiving. Sam had undoubtedly come out here earlier to go for a walk to try to clear his mind and to organize the myriad of thoughts that were running rampant in his head. Dean knew that his little brother was deep in thought, but had been aware of his presence as soon he had opened the back door.

As Dean came to stand beside the car, Sam sat up slowly and rested his feet on the back bumper. Slipping his right hand into his pocket, he pulled out his Ipod and headphones for his brother to see before tucking them back into his pocket. Dean nodded his acceptance at the silent explanation and apology for worrying him, and for not responding when he knew instinctively that Dean must have been going crazy looking for him.

Dean slid onto to the back of the Impala's trunk, right shoulder touching his little brother's, giving him his silent support and letting him know that he was there for him if he needed him.

It had been a little over a week since Death had gone into The Cage and retrieved Sam's soul, finally freeing it from Lucifer and Michael's grasp and returning it to its rightful home. It had taken hours for the tremors and shaking to stop once he had stopped screaming; and Sam hadn't regained consciousness the entire time, just mumbling incoherently before eventually slipping into a deep sleep.

Dean had kept up a constant vigil by his bedside. Not even Bobby's threat of bodily harm if he didn't get some rest himself or Castiel's numerous reassurances that Sam was indeed simply deep in sleep had set Dean's mind at ease. Constant doubts kept circling through his mind. Had he made the right decision? Was freeing Sam's soul from The Cage, with all the uncertainty that went with that, really in Sam's best interest or was he just being selfish in wanting his little brother back? Had he doomed Sam to a life of intense psychic pain and torment?

Contrary to what everyone thought, he had heard what had been said around him. The fact that the Angles, Demons and humans were in agreement—something that in his thirty odd years of life hadn't happened—that Sam's soul was beyond repair, and that resouling him shouldn't be done and wouldn't work; hadn't escaped him. But none of that had mattered. This was his baby brother they were talking about. His Sammy. The thought of leaving him locked up forever as the plaything for two psychotic Archangels had never been an option. Whatever pain and torment his little brother may experience, he would fix it. That was his job.

Three days later, Sam woke up.

The moment that Dean saw his hazel eyes looking at him, he knew he had made the right decision.

He had his brother back.

"It's good to be home." Sam's quiet voice tore Dean away from his inner thoughts. His brother's gaze was fixed on the distant horizon. Dean studied his little brother, trying to get a read on his thoughts and state of mind. The significance of where they were sitting was not lost on him. Though the Impala was his baby, he knew how much it also meant to his brother. It was a place of refuge, of childhood memories, and the only constant that his baby brother had ever known. Another member of their family; their home. Feeling the familiar, comforting rumble of the Impala humming underneath him, Dean knew that Sam wasn't only talking about getting his soul back.

Sam tucked his hands into his pockets as he continued, a faraway look in his eyes. "This is the last clear memory that I have." His voice was soft, almost reflective, tinged with emotions that Dean couldn't quite identify. "That I know is completely me."

"Well," he laughed bitterly, "not only me, exactly. Cause of Luci and all, but at least I know I was all intact."

"Sammy."

Sam could hear the warning in Dean's voice. The unmistakable I'm the big-brother, I know best, you better listen to me tone. But overlying that, Sam could clearly hear the concern and worry, and he took a moment to bask in the warmth that that feeling spread through him. The feeling that he wasn't alone in any of this. That once again, he had his brother by his side, always watching his back and keeping him safe.

Sam leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as his hands hung loosely between his legs. He tipped his head up, staring out into the vast nighttime sky. Dean sat quietly beside him, mirroring Sam's pose, waiting patiently for his little brother to continue. This is the way it had been since his brother woke up. The conversations seemed disjointed, unconnected; fragments of random thoughts and memories fighting to be put in some sort of order. Like a giant intangible puzzle; and Dean vowed to do everything in his power to put as many of the pieces back together as he could.

"I can feel it, you know," Sam said suddenly, looking briefly over at his brother before casting his gaze once again at the stars. "The barrier. In the back of my mind."

His brow furrowed as he tilted his head in thought, as though trying to find the words to describe something he himself didn't understand. "It's like this … constant niggling at the back of my mind, you know. Not painful exactly, just, always there. This persistent feeling that I'm missing something. That there's something important I need to do." He dropped his head and brushed a hand through his hair.

A gesture that was so Sammy that Dean's heart caught in his throat.

Dean gripped Sam's shoulder and turned him so they faced each other. "Look at me," he said, his voice like iron. "There is nothing you need to know, Sam. Nothing. Do you understand me?"

Dean squeezed his little brother's shoulder lightly, his eyes softening. "Just…trust me on this one," he said gently. "Okay?"

Sam simply nodded, needing a moment to swallow the emotions that were threatening to spill before he spoke further. He hadn't missed the desperation that had tinged his older brother's voice or the glint of fear and pain that had been in his eyes; and Sam knew that his brother had been remembering his own time in Hell, and what toll those memories had taken on him. Sam remembered all too well the nightmares that had haunted Dean after Castiel had pulled him out of Hell. Sam thought back to that time, how hard it had been for Dean to recover after spending forty years in The Pit at the hands of Alastair.

A small shudder ran through him. As horrendous and horrific as that had been for his brother, Sam suddenly realized that he had been there almost four times longer.

Locked in a cage with two very powerful, very angry Archangels.

Archangels that he had trapped there.

Suddenly the term 'curiosity killed the cat' took on a whole new meaning. Sam knew that even as strong as he was, breaching the wall would cause a flood that nothing could contain or stop.

"Don't worry." he said, the sincerity clearly written in his hazel eyes as he locked gazes with Dean. "You have my word. I have absolutely no intention of 'scratching that itch.' I promise."

"So," Sam asked skeptically, clearing his throat, needing to lighten the mood for both of them. "We're trusting my future sanity on a Horseman now, huh?"

"Well, it is a step up from trusting a Demon," Dean drawled, and didn't even bother to hide the smirk at the bitch-face that his little brother leveled at him. It had been over a week, ten days to be exact, since he'd gotten Sam back. He had been waiting; searching for any sign that the essence of his little brother, what made Sam his Sammy, had survived his captivity. This, this was the first real sign of Sammy to surface.

God how he'd missed him.

"He gave us a seventy-five percent guarantee that it would work, bro. Basically no strings attached," Dean said, the joking and sarcasm gone from his voice. "In this line of work you don't get any better odds than that. We've never had odds like that in out favor.

"Besides," he continued, the classic Dean Winchester grin on his face, "this is the guy who's going to reap God someday, dude. That's some serious mojo at work."

Despite the emotions and memories weighing him down, Sam couldn't help but laugh. A lot had changed over the past few years, but certain things had remained constant. He could always count on his brother's humor, however inappropriate, to make itself known in any situation.

"So," Dean asked expectantly.

"So?" Sam stared at him, the confusion evident on his face. "So, what?"

"You certainly didn't come out here in the cold, dead of night to admire the beautiful scenery. What's going on in that sasquatch size brain of yours?" Dean nudged him with his shoulder. "Free chick-flick moment," he said teasingly. "Offer expires soon. Come on, you know you want to."

Sam rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands between his legs as he glanced at Dean, his mouth working to form words that didn't come. He sighed.

"Talk to me Sammy," Dean pleaded. "You're not in this alone."

There was so much he wanted to say. So much he needed to say. The problem was stopping the merry-go-round that had taken up residence in his brain long enough so he could think straight.

"Some things are so clear, you know. Others…" Sam shrugged, "I don't know. It's like I'm in the audience watching a movie or something. My body was up here for a long time without me; an entire year alone before you became it's moral compass." His voice was a whispered shudder as he continued, "I know I did some horrible things."

A piece of Dean's heart broke as the sight of his little brother's slumped form beside him looking so lost. "I will say it a million times if I have to. Sammy. That. Wasn't. You. Don't force it. If the memories come back, they come back and we'll deal with them. Together. You don't have to remember."

Sam nodded absentmindedly in agreement as he continued. "He just had so much power. It was such a different feeling from when Meg possessed me. I could feel him pushing me further and further into the back of my mind, taking control; already starting to feel like I was loosing myself."

"I can clearly remember us being in the hotel in Detroit, saying the big Yes… and then…" Sam took a deep breath and blew it out. "I don't even know how much time passed, next thing I knew we were at Stull facing Michael."

"I remember Michael and…" Sam hesitated, he almost said himself, but it hadn't actually been him. "…Lucifer yelling. Taunting each other. Trying my hardest to grab a hold of Lucifer, get control back." Sam's breath hitched and he drew in a shaky breath. "But every time I would get one tiny hold, I would get pushed further and further back."

"And then they both went silent. I couldn't understand why; what had happened. And then I heard it; that low, unmistakable rumble as it tore through the gate, music blaring." he smiled as he turned his head to glance at Dean, "It was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard."

"I wish you could have seen Michael's face when he realized what it was," Sam said, with a light chuckle, "you really pissed the two of them off."

Dean bit back the retort that almost emerged. He had known exactly how angry he had made the two rogue Archangels. He had suffered the beating at Lucifer's hand for it. But if he had it to do all over again, he wouldn't change a thing. He locked eyes with Sam, putting as much feeling and emphasis into his expression as he could; once again making sure that his brother knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he wasn't to blame for what had happened. It had been Lucifer's hands inflicting the pain and injury, not his.

"Well, you know me," Dean said sarcastically. "My day is never complete without pissing off a few dicks with wings."

Sam laughed, his dimples deepening as his lips curved up into a grin. "Well, you more than succeeded, bro."

"Dean," Sam glanced beside him, then hesitated a moment, "I want…I need to thank you."

"Sammy, you don't…"

"No, Dean. Let me finish. Please."

The quiet plea, combined with his patented puppy dog eyes was Dean's undoing. It always had been. It worked just as well now as it had when the kid had been four years old and asking him for the last of the cereal. We should really figure out how to use that expression as a damn weapon. Dean swallowed any further protest he might have had and gave his brother a small nod to continue.

"I could hear you, at the cemetery; talking to me, encouraging me, telling me that you were there for me." Sam cleared his throat in an attempt to wrestle his emotions under control. "I remember what you told me before we went to Detroit, that you would be there and support me with the entire insane plan. But after everything I'd done, I never expected…"

Sam's voice broke again and he lowered his head, "…never thought I deserved you to be there for me. You've always had my back, have always been there for me whether I thought I needed you or not. You've always looked out for me." Sam looked at his older brother with tear brimmed eyes." Having to watch me jump into that pit, and not do anything to stop me, I know how painful that must have been for you. That it went against every instinct you have."

"I knew I wasn't alone; you gave me the strength I needed, Dean. And I know, even though I can't remember The Cage, I know that it helped carry me through."

Dean swallowed thickly, fighting down the emotions to find his voice. "I couldn't let you face that alone. I knew, if there was one person that could pull it off, it was you. You have a lot of good in you, Sammy. Somewhere along the way, you grew up on me. You're not the snot-nosed little brat who used to followed me around everywhere and who I had to look after." He looked at Sam out of the corner of his eyes, "you're still a gigantic pain in my ass though." Dean grinned at the small sheepish smile that came briefly to his little brother's face.

"You overpowered the freakin' Devil, dude," Dean said with pride. " Beat him at his own game. "

Dean's eyes were bright with unshed tears as he continued hoarsely, "We've both screwed up six ways to Hell and back, but no matter what had happened between us, no matter what ever happens between us, we're family. A pretty damn dysfunction one," he said with a shrug, "but family none the less. Brothers. That trumps everything. We're stronger together, Sammy. Always have been, always will."

Dean scrubbed a hand along his jaw line. "So whadaya say from now on, we do things our way. Winchester style; killing evil sons of bitches and raising a little hell. Heaven, Hell, Destiny, Angels, Demons…screw 'em all."

"Sounds like a plan," Sam said nodding, his voice gruff and quivering with emotion. He blinked hard as the salvage yard suddenly blurred in front of his eyes. He made no attempt to hide the tears that ran down his cheeks at Dean's heartfelt loving words. It had been such a long time since he felt this kind of connection to Dean; felt like brothers. At one point he didn't think he would ever be able to get that back. Lies and secrets had driven a wedge between them, allowing outside forces to try and drive them apart and separate them; pit brother against brother, make them doubt one another.

But the powers that be hadn't counted on one thing when they set destiny into play. Family is what matters. They both knew that. They were brothers; stronger together. There had never been any other choice.

They sat quietly side by side, each of them taking a moment to rein in the emotions that were still too close to the surface. The silence between them was comforting and familiar; the two of them, sitting together on the back of the Impala, looking out at the stars like they had a million times in the past.

A thought suddenly came to Sam and he smirked, unable to resist the opportunity he had missed while his soul had been missing. "This new plan," he started nonchalantly, "doing our own thing, telling Heaven, Angles, Demons and anyone else to go to hell, does this also include faeries?" The smirked on his face grew into a full dimpled smile.

"You're a regular comedian, aren't you?" Dean quipped.

"Dude, you nuked Tinkerbell," Sam pointed out. "That's extreme even for you."

"Hey, after what that little, glowing, naked lady and her grabby, incandescent douchebag friends tried to do to me on the…" Dean shivered dramatically, "I can't even say the word."

"Probing table," Sam offered.

"Shut up," Dean admonished. "She more than deserved it."

"I'm still not suppose to laugh, am I?" Sam said, already laughing.

"Sure. Go ahead. Laugh it up fuzz ball," Dean retorted. "This coming from the man who had his butt kicked by Lucky Charms."

"Hey, you try fighting a three foot leprechaun with a magic shillelagh. See how well you do."

"That sounds pretty kinky, Sammy-boy." There it was again, Sam's bitch face. Dean chuckled, man it felt so good to tease his little brother again.

Sam shook his head. "How messed up are our lives that we find none of this even remotely strange?"

"After the past few years that we've had Sammy, nothing surprises me anymore."

Sam slid off the end of the trunk and opened the back door of the Impala. Reaching in, he grabbed two bottles out of the cooler that they always kept stored there. Handing one to Dean, he leaned against the back of the car, legs crossed at the ankles. He opened his bottle and flicked the cap with two fingers, listening as it clattered down through the junk cars across the yard. Sam leaned over, clinking the neck of his bottle with Dean's before taking a long swig.

Dean raised his own beer to his lips, feeling the cool liquid as it ran down his throat. "Not that I'm complaining or anything," he said, glancing at Sam. "But as the older, more responsible one here I feel it's my place to ask."

Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow at his older brother's choice of words.

Dean ignored his brother's expression, and continued, glancing at his watch as motioning out at the still darkened, early morning sky. "But isn't it a bit early to be drinking?"

"Someone once taught me," Sam responded, the corner of his mouth curling up, "that as long as it's still dark, it's nighttime and technically not morning yet, so it's still okay to drink."

"Now that sounds like a very wise person," Dean said with a wide grin.

Sam matched his brother's grin. "he has his moments."

"Bitch"

"Jerk"

~FIN~