Well. Here we are again. I would offer profuse apologies over how much later this is than I wish it was, but that would be no fun to read. Let's just say that I put very much time, mental agony, whiskey shots, tears, feels, blank stares, muscling through, flailings, and many more things into this epilogue, and I am sorry it took so long. I rely too heavily on pleasant little bits of inspiration, rather than just getting the writing done, which is something I certainly must do something about.

Secondly, I apologize if this isn't the sort of epilogue some of you were hoping for... it's a heck of a lot more angsty and less light- hearted than I intended, but I started being able to get into Bobby's head, and I realized what a really sad thing that is to do. So... that kind of translated here. But! There is tons of brotherly love, and schmoopiness, and sweet fatherly Bobby, and all around gooey feelings to be had with this, so I hope you enjoy that. (Also cuddling. Like, practically shameless. I regret nothing.)
(Also it's basically a whole 'nother chapter, 'cause this is far too long to call an epilogue.)

(Not to mention all I listened to while writing this was songs that bury me under avalanches of feels, like practically anything by Phildel, and Gabrielle Aplin, and "Brother" by Matt Corby. So there's a playlist if you want one.)

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Dean was trying to stabilize himself, and to be honest it wasn't working out so well. He had always prided himself on being able to keep a level head and detached emotions, even under duress, but standing with cold feet in a steamed over bathroom with your little brother falling apart in your arms tended to make things a little more difficult.

Over and over in his mind ran the words he wished he could make himself say; 'I'm so sorry, I would take this all if I could, nothing hurts worse than knowing you hurt, you're so strong and you will never know how proud of you I am...'

... but he couldn't do it. He knew he would regret it later, that when Sam looked at him with fear clouding his hazel eyes, with hellfire creeping at the edges of their life, he would wish he had been able to spill his guts, however ugly, and harsh, and vulnerable it would be. But he just couldn't. Instead, he found himself desperately hoping that it would somehow channel non-verbally, through the trembling tightness of his arms that were the only things keeping his brother from physical collapse.

Sam's normally carefully held walls were completely down, letting the flood of emotion and hurt wash over him in waves, even as some wild hope deep within him kept him clinging onto the only thing that had ever kept him going. His head had ended up tucked under Dean's chin- he wasn't sure how, given the height difference- and over the steady /thump-thump/ of Dean's heart in his ear he could just make out what his brother was saying.

"-gonna be alright," Dean was just saying, his voice still pretty much a whisper. "I'm here, Sammy, let's just get you outta here and warmed up now."

Sam just swallowed hard, closed his eyes against the sudden movement in the edge of his vision, and decided that there was really no point in protesting at all as he heard Dean open the door and felt as he practically bodily hauled him back out into Bobby's study. He tried to lock his knees and help out a little, knowing that Dean's knee couldn't be holding up very well, but cold and exhaustion had sapped his strength, and his legs were almost as weak as his crumbling resolve.

His face was still pressed to Dean's chest, the rough blanket his brother had practically swathed him in soaking up the persistent tears that he couldn't seem to stop, and Sam could feel more than he could hear Dean's deep rumble vibrating along his skull as he spoke quietly to someone else in the room. Bobby, he realized after a minute, and then vaguely registered that he was slipping slightly from Dean's grasp as Dean had let go with one arm and was apparently moving some things around.

After a second he threw his arm back around Sam and sort of hitched him up further against him, holding him so tightly that Sam accidentally let out another sob, though it was far more squeaky than he would have liked to admit. Dean sputtered a surprised little laugh, his hand coming up to cup the back of Sam's neck for a moment, and Sam reminded himself that Dean had a concussion and therefore wasn't entirely responsible for what he found funny at the moment.

Bobby was still trying to make sense out of the flash of fierce, warm protectiveness he had felt upon hearing that strangled little sob come out of the shivering form in Dean's arms, when Dean suddenly asked him for help. He blinked, unused to hearing the word "help" actually come out of a Winchester's mouth as a request, but stepped up, reaching out to grasp Dean's elbow when he realized the kid's plan was to pretty much just find the floor.

"What're you up to, son?" He asked gruffly, and Dean looked at him over Sam's head and sort of squinted, thinking for a second.

"Uh..." he started, and then looked down at the fireplace. "Just gonna sit here, I guess," he finished quietly. "Sam's still cold, and if I'm with him I don't think the fire will-" He stopped abruptly then, and rested his chin on Sam's damp hair, eyes flickering over the gently popping flames as a furrow deepened between his brows.

Bobby waited a moment for him to finish, but when it became pretty evident that he was done, he nodded to himself and gave Dean's shoulder a firm pat. "Okay," he said softly, beginning to get a grasp on the levels of fragility he was dealing with. "Okay. You wait here and I'll getcha somethin' warmer to wear and some pillows, alright?" He raised his eyebrows at Dean, waiting for confirmation, and after a minute Dean seemed to rouse himself enough to give a wry smile.

"Thanks, Bobby," he said, a small measure of his usual gruff bravado showing through.

Bobby just returned the smile, gave the back of Dean's neck a squeeze, and went to find some extra bedding, all the while in the back of his mind cursing fate for dealing two of the most kind-hearted people he knew such a shitty hand.

When Bobby returned to his study, blankets, pillows and a couple of his own flannel shirts in hand, the first thing he noticed was that Dean's shoulders were visibly shaking. He pulled up short, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth as a feeling of helplessness washed over him. Very rarely had Dean actually shown such emotion in his presence, whether due to his desire to seem strong or some complex over not deserving comfort Bobby wasn't sure, but either way Bobby had to admit to himself that this was something entirely out of his skill set. Finally he cleared his throat, mostly to announce his presence, and warily closed the distance between them. As he drew nearer, though, he realized with a pang of guilty relief that it was Sam who was in distress. His soft cries were muffled against Dean's chest, and Dean, for his part, had his arms wrapped so tightly around him that Sam's weeping shook them both.

Bobby let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He felt guilt gnawing inside him, but to be brutally honest it was just a whole different thing dealing with an upset Sam than an upset Dean. When brought to this point of emotional trauma Sam tended to need- whether he wanted it or not- someone to hold him together while he fell apart. Dean, on the other hand, often resented comfort, something which Bobby mostly understood, regardless of how it irritated him.

Dean's eyes were half-closed, appearing glazed in the firelight, and it took him much too long to register Bobby's presence, and when he did the gleam in his eyes faded to be replaced with a carefully erected wall of blankness. Bobby just sighed quietly and looked at him.

Finally, Dean raised his chin from Sam's head. "I don't know what to do, Bobby," he said, a forced calm in his voice, and an unspoken plea in his words.

Now that, Bobby could deal with. Setting the bedding down on his desk behind Dean, he handed a flannel to Dean while he curled an arm around Sam's bowed back. "Let me take Sam for a minute," he started gently. "At least while you put that on. Don't need the both of ya gettin' sick on me now."

Dean was clearly loath to release Sam from his hold, but he saw the sense in it, and his skin was starting to prickle with goosebumps in the cool air. "Okay," he muttered, letting Bobby pull Sam against him instead, and fumbling to get his arms into the sleeves of the flannel shirt.

Bobby moved Sam from Dean's arms to his own almost flawlessly, and Sam hardly seemed to notice, falling against his chest so hard that Bobby almost wasn't prepared for the weight. He held him tight though, aware that he was keeping him from physical collapse, and huffed slightly at the unexpected onslaught of emotions he was experiencing. Sam's whole body kept hitching with stifled sobs, his hot tears quickly soaking through the thin fabric of Bobby's shirt as he brought his hands up to curl his trembling fists loosely by his face.

With a pang, Bobby realized that he was being forced to experience what most people would consider a normal parental duty; comforting a heartbroken child. Not for the first time in his life, and certainly not for the last, he found himself vehemently cursing his own screwed over upbringing for never teaching him how to really handle this sort of thing.

'Damn it all,' he told himself. There was no one else in this god-forsaken world that cared enough to take care of these boys, so he was going to do his damnedest, even if it killed him.

"C'mon, son," was all he said out loud, bracing his hands against Sam's shoulders and pushing him more upright. Sam choked a little, and then was quiet, becoming completely pliant as Bobby shucked the damp blanket from his broad, shivering shoulders and replaced it with a worn, flannel shirt. As they both awkwardly worked his arms into the sleeves, Bobby found himself remembering doing the same thing nearly twenty years ago with a much, much smaller little Sam. It struck him that the man who stood before him now, shoulders hunched under crippling shame and grief, still dripping tears down Bobby's flannel, was in a way more of a heartbroken orphan than the naive boy of twenty years ago.

He quickly shook the thoughts away, feeling an irrational anger at the universe in general, and buttoned the shirt over Sam's chest, not missing how the kid's eyes were closing, spilt emotions having worn him down the point of nearly falling asleep standing up. Dean had managed to get his own shirt buttoned- off-kilter, but Bobby certainly wasn't going to point it out- and was blinking slowly and frequently, clearly still deeply affected by having his head practically smashed in. Honestly, he looked like he might start crying, so after smoothing back the damp, overlong hair, and resting his warm hand gently on the side of the cold, tearstained face for a moment, Bobby unceremoniously dumped Sam back into his older brother's arms.

Dean made a gasping sound of protest, looking so affronted that Bobby couldn't help but chuckle softly. Sam just buried his face against Dean again, hitching a deep sigh that spread damp warmth across his chest. With an exaggerated grimace, Dean realized that he was going to have to resign himself to this for the time being, and gripping Sam tight around his back, started to fold his good leg under him so he could sit on the floor. Bobby simultaneously dropped a pillow to the floor, and grasped his elbow, slowing their descent as Sam simply curled his legs so he could stay as close to Dean as possible. Bobby helped Dean situate a second pillow behind his back, so he could lean against the desk, and then moved to tend the fire, leaving the two of them to work out the details of their slow-motion, tangled-limb collapse.

As Dean stiffly stretched his injured leg out in front of him, Sam sort of fidgeted around, trying to get comfortable. Finally he just positioned himself on the floor between Dean's legs so he could keep his head on his chest and wrap his still trembling arms around Dean's waist. He became ridiculously small when he curled up like this, and his downed defenses gave him no other desire than to be kept safe, to hell with however "regressed" it made him seem. Subconsciously or not, he would always turn to Dean for that protection, that sense of security, however false it may be these days.

Dean just sighed, deep and long, as he tipped his head back to rest against Bobby's sturdy desk, unaware of the soothing effect it had on his swiftly fading brother. Catching sight of the corner of a blanket on the desk above his head, he reached up and carefully pulled it off, hoping not to dislodge anything from the desktop as he let the blanket flop onto his and Sam's heads. Sam jumped slightly, though his reaction was distinctly delayed, and turned his head further into Dean's chest, his nose poking into Dean's collarbone as his breathing already started to slow once more. It would take some serious persistence to wake him completely at that point, and Dean was thankful for the fact as he clumsily unfolded the blanket over Sam's back and practically tucked it around him.

With a crack of knee joints that rivaled the popping of the flames, Bobby pushed up from his crouch by the fireplace and pulled his desk chair over so he could sit at an angle to keep a close eye on his boys. Sam was already dead to the world, and Dean was clearly close behind, his head still tilted back while he just breathed, slow and steady, stabilizing himself bit by bit. They were both undoubtedly hungry and in need of a decent bed and night's sleep, but Bobby wasn't about to disturb them. The firelight cast a warm light over Dean's slackening features, and his arms gradually loosened but stayed curled around Sam's back. In the morning, Bobby knew, they would both be stiff, and embarrassed over having spent the night in each others arms, and generally not a whole lot of fun to be around, but in the meantime they were right where they needed to be.

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Ugh, there's the end for reals. I struggled with the ending, but decided to just leave it, because I love that last sentence so much.

Hope you enjoy, and thanks so much for reading!