And you are not alone in this,
As brothers we will stand and we'll hold your hand,
Hold your hand.
"Timshel" -Mumford & Sons

It was Kat who woke Dean the next morning, banging on the door like the apocalypse was starting up again.

"Dean? Are you in there? Dean?" He pulled his head out from under the pillow and opened the door. "Oh," Kat said, looking more surprised than she should to find him standing there. It was his bedroom after all. He wondered how long she had been knocking. "Um. Can you take Sam to his chemo appointment?" Dean was still half asleep and his back itched. He wriggled his shoulder blades and was rewarded with a burst of pain. He couldn't wait for his back to hurry up and heal. All the pain and stiffness was getting old.

"What?"

"I have to run to an emergency meeting downtown that I really can't miss. My publisher didn't tell me they were going to be in town until late last night. And it's Sam's first dose of this round so I don't want to ask a neighbor."

"Um…" Dean wasn't sure what to say. He didn't really want to take Sam to the hospital. That sounded like a terrible way to spend the day.

She flashed him a smile and started walking down the hall, pulling a sweater on as she did so, turning around as she was about to round the corner into the kitchen. "The appointment is in about an hour and a half. Sam's still sleeping. Wake him up soon. Thanks, Dean!"

"Great," Dean muttered, shutting the door and flopping back down onto this bed. He lay there for a while, trying in vain to get back to sleep. The last thing he wanted to do was watch Sam sit in the hospital. All he knew about chemo was that Lisa's grandfather had done it and still died. Of course, he had been nearly ninety years old so the odds were against him from the start. Not like Sam. Dean couldn't imagine being ninety years old and still having the will to live. He couldn't imagine being ninety years old in general. It had been enough of a shock – and a lot of good luck – to make it to thirty then thirty-five then thirty-seven. God, thirty-seven sounded old. He promised himself then and there that if he ever made it ninety, he'd kill himself before anyone could try and save his life with some stupid medical cocktail of poison.

With that comforting thought, he got out of bed again and went to wake his brother. It was the first time he'd been in the master bedroom and he was surprised to find it painted a deep red-orange, so different from his own light blue walls. The furniture looked like oak or mahogany, dark and heavy. And there was Sam in the middle of it all, sprawled across the double bed. Dean watched him for a moment; when Sam was asleep, it was impossible to tell he was sick. His chest rose and fell underneath the blankets, his breathing soft and easy. Dean hated to wake him; he'd let his little brother sleep forever if he thought that would fix things. It used to. Getting Sam to go to sleep when he was little was far from an easy task but Dean could usually convince him to close his eyes by promising that tomorrow would be easier, better. It usually wasn't but Sam didn't know that. He believed Dean.

"Alright, up and at 'em," Dean said, pulling the comforter off his brother. Sam groaned and rolled over, shoving his head under a pillow. Some things never changed.

"Go away."

"Good try," Dean said. "But your woman insisted." Sam cracked an eye.

"Dean?"

"In the flesh."

"Get out of my room." Dean crossed his arms indignantly.

"Hey, be nice to me. I'm your brother." Sam snorted and buried his face back into the pillow, wrapping his arms around it and hugging it close to his body.

'No, really, you have to get up. You have some doctor's appointment or something." Sam uncurled an arm long enough to wave Dean away.

"Fine. I'll be out soon."

Dean was foraging for food in the fridge when Sam walked out, dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans. He spared his brother a sideways glance than went back to rummaging.

"Here," Sam said, holding out a basket. "Kat usually leaves muffins or something around." Dean eagerly pulled out three blueberry muffins. Bless Kat; they were still warm.

"Your wife is gold, man," Dean said, mouth full. Sam gave him a tired smirk and set the basket back down.

"You gonna have any?" Dean said. Sam shook his head.

"No. Not much point in eating before chemo." Dean's chewing slowed by a fraction as he realized what Sam meant and then he shrugged nonchalantly.

"More for me."

Hospitals gave Dean the creeps; they were graveyards for the living. Dean had never been in the hospital for a happy reason. He let Sam lead the way inside, directing them to large, open area that had curtained rooms around the border. There was a bed and an armchair in each section along with various medical equipment. Sam walked up to the nurses' station.

"Sam Winchester," he said. "I have an appointment at ten." The nurse at the desk was young and blonde and her chest was prominent even under her scrubs but Dean was too uneasy to notice.

"Sam?" Sam turned to find an older gray haired nurse standing behind the boys, clasping a folder to her chest.

"Cynthia!" Sam said, giving the woman a hug. "I wasn't sure if you were working today."

"Are you here for another round?" she asked, eyes full of sincerity.

"Unfortunately. But you know me; I just couldn't stay away from all the beautiful nurses here." Sam smiled and winked good-naturedly. ""Had to do something to get back. This is my brother Dean, by the way. He's staying with Kat and me for a while. Dean, this is Cynthia. She's amazing. She's the one who did my chemo treatments last time."

"Nice to meet you," grunted Dean. He had to get out of there before he puked in front of all the sick people. An old woman was staring at him from the corner and it was making his skin crawl.

"I'll take him," Cynthia told the attractive nurse who pouted for a moment, watching Dean. He gave her a tight smile.

"I think I'm just going to go get some air," Dean said to Sam, who had already started to walk away.

"I'll be done in a couple hours," Sam said over his shoulder. Cynthia's arm was around his back in a comforting way; Dean felt like he was leaving Sam in capable hands. It's not like he was going to do any good here.

As soon as he got out of the ward, he felt better. The atrium of the hospital was huge with a glass ceiling that let in so much natural light, the fluorescent lighting that hung in other parts of the hospital wasn't necessary. There was a small kiosk selling coffee and pastries and he dug for change to buy a coffee: black. He needed something to wake him up. The bitter liquid sloshed in his stomach but it also set him more firmly on his feet and the woozy feeling disappeared. He meandered around the lobby for a while, stopping in front of an impressive display of pamphlets. On many of them were laughing people. Laughing children, laughing husbands and wives. Who the hell laughed at the hospital?

Childhood Cerebral Palsy read one and on it was a little girl grinning up at a doctor as she held onto a pair of crutches. There was a boy in the background, apparently bending over in sidesplitting laughter, his wheelchair just a blur.

False advertising at it's finest.

Dean reached for the one that had a dog on it because he couldn't keep looking at those happy faces, not when he felt so miserable. He perused the information without reading it, more bored than anything else. Then his eyes caught something interesting and he stuffed the pamphlet in his pocket. He turned around to leave and almost knocked over a kid who had been standing right behind him.

"Sorry," he said, reaching out a hand to steady her.

"It's okay," she said. "What were you doing?"

"What?" The girl was about thirteen or fourteen and didn't have any hair, just a pink bandana wrapped around her head.

"Were you reading those?"

"Uh, no. Yes. Kind of." She was smiling at him, hands clasped behind her in innocence. The pink skirt she wore matched the bandana, as did the white and pink blouse she wore. She didn't look like she belonged in a hospital but a TV commercial for Disneyland.

"All the new people read the pamphlets," she explained. "Did you take any?" Dean started to lie and then stopped himself; there was no reason not to tell the truth.

"Yeah," he said, bringing it out of his pocket and handing it to the girl. She examined it and nodded.

"This is a good one. Who's it for?"

"My brother," Dean said, taking the pamphlet back.

"What does he have?" Instead of being annoyed, Dean was amused by the girl's bluntness. He appreciated anyone who didn't try to pull any bullshit. Everything about this girl was wide open.

"Cancer. It's - uh - in his blood."

"I have cancer too," she said. "But it's in my bones. So it's kind of the same but not really." She could tell the conversation made him uncomfortable so she changed tactics. She walked to the wall of pamphlets, tapping a painted nail against her cheek before grabbing three more and handing them to Dean.

"These are good ones. You should read them."

"Er, thanks."

"Where's your brother now?"

"Chemo." Her eyes widened as her eyebrows went up.

"And you're not with him?" He couldn't believe he was letting a kid make him feel guilty. He raised his coffee as a lame excuse. The girl wrinkled her nose then did something unexpected. She slipped her hand – her tiny hand into Dean's much larger one.

"I'm Emma." Dean was too shocked to pull his hand away. Who was this girl?

"Dean."

"Come on, let's go see your brother."

"Aren't your parents going to be looking for you?" She looked at him as if he were crazy.

"It's a hospital, Dean. How much trouble could I get into? I've got cancer; they won't care if I disappear for ten minutes." It wasn't solid logic but it worked for Dean and he let himself be led back into the depths of the hospital.

Sam's head was back against the recliner chair, eyes closed, half of his body covered with a blanket brought by the nurse. As Dean watched, Sam's stretched his legs and gave a sigh, blinking his eyes open to look at Dean. It took him an extra moment to process the sight of Dean holding hands with a young teenager dressed all in pink. The girl grinned at him.

"Hey," he mumbled, sitting up straighter. "Who's this?"

"I'm Emma," the girl said, letting go of Dean's hand. He was looking around as if planning out where the nearest exits were and how long it would take to get out of the place. "I brought your brother back for you. He was wandering." Sam laughed and looked at Dean, who shrugged.

"Hi, Emma. I'm Sam." She looked curiously at his IV and brandished the catheter in her hand at him.

"I have chemo later; is this your first time?"

"No," Sam said. She moved closer to him and stroked Sam's hair.

"You're lucky you didn't lose your hair," she said. It was the first time since Dean met her that she sounded anything less than overjoyed.

"Yeah, but I don't get to wear cool wigs like I bet you do." Emma beamed and launched into a description of the one her best friend had just bought her. It was electric blue and someone named Katy Perry had one just like it.

"Anyway, I just wanted to meet you. Dean's very worried about you." She winked at the elder Winchester who rolled his eyes and took a sip of coffee.

"Nice to meet you too, Emma," Sam said, smiling. Before she left, she stopped and waved a threatening finger under Dean's nose.

"Don't leave him. Chemo alone is no fun, okay?" All Dean could do was nod and then the pink-clad girl was gone.

"What was that about?" Sam asked.

"No idea," Dean said. "She pounced on me in the lobby and made me come back. Now that I wasn't going to come back," he said hastily.

"It's okay. You don't have to stay. I know you don't like hospitals."

"And risk being rounded up by Emma again? No thank you. I'll take my chances here." He lowered himself into a plastic chair pulled up against the wall. Sam's eyes were closed again and that made Dean feel even guiltier for trying to duck out. His brother was sitting here while being injected with a toxin that would make him sick before it made him better and Dean was attempting to escape? He'd never felt like such a coward.

He turned his attention to the football game on TV but couldn't focus.

"Sam?" Dean said a few minutes later. "Are you awake?"

"Yep." The hazel eyes opened. "What's up?"

"I-uh-I'm sorry I missed your wedding." There was silence then,

"It's okay." Dean shook his head, leaning his elbows on his knees, a crease forming in between his eyebrows.

"No, it's not. I should have been there. Out of all the bad things we've shared together…I should have been there to share the good things too. I missed your wedding. The birth of your kid." I missed so much, he was trying to say. And I'm sorry. Sam stayed quiet. Even though he was no longer angry with his brother, some small part of him was glad Dean was sorry.

"It was a nice wedding," he said finally, tilting his head back again and giving the ceiling a shadow of a smile.

"Tell me about it," Dean said softly. "I want to know."

"Kat was beautiful. Beyond beautiful." Sam told him. "She didn't let me see the dress beforehand. She went shopping for it with her sister and her mom. We got married in this little church in her parents' town; it's about two hours away from here and when she walked down that aisle –," he stopped to look Dean in the eye. "It felt like the first time I was seeing a real angel." In any other circumstance, Dean would have scoffed. Or laughed. Because they both knew true angels weren't always the good guys. There was a hush to Sam's voice as he went on.

"Dean, it was like everything else just disappeared. From the moment I saw her, nothing else mattered. Marrying Kat was the first time in a long time that I actually felt free, like she was given to me as a second chance." He laughed to himself and then looked at Dean, eyes brighter than Dean had seen them in the last few days. He looked like a little kid again. "Go ahead and laugh," he said.

"I'm not laughing, Sammy," Dean said.

"It sounds silly though, doesn't it? Even now, it sounds kind of ridiculous to me," Sam said after a second. "That just one person can change your whole life. After everything we've been through, everything I've done, I never thought I'd get a happy ending."

Not much of a happy ending, Dean thought as he watched the medicine drip into Sam's veins. Fight poison with poison. But he smiled all the same, indulging his younger brother. After all, Sam had always been the one with the imagination while Dean's mind was rooted in practicality and hard evidence.

"I hope that you find it one day, Dean," Sam said. "I hope you let someone change your world."

"Maybe," Dean said, letting an image of Lisa flash in his brain before pushing it away a second later. "But I don't need my world changing anymore than it already has." Sam just gave him a smile, one that suggested he knew something that Dean didn't.

"Anyway," Dean said, shifting in the plastic chair. "Tell me more about the wedding."

A/N: There's going to be a lot more brotherly moments and discussion from here on out. When I started this, I was really interested in getting into Dean's psyche about what would happen if he was legitimately losing Sam. What would they want to say to each other, what would they want to remember, what would they try to forget etc. Remember this does not go into the Season 9 mindset, so Sam isn't quite as belligerent toward Dean in my universe. The sibling relationship is what has always drawn me into Supernatural and that's what this story stresses.

Also: the lyrics above? If you want chilling, shiver-inducing music that reminds you of Supernatural, listen to this song. I can't express enough how much I love it. Still makes me cry. And as always, thanks for reading!