A/N: I could worry obsessively over this chapter for awhile longer, because I still am not happy with it, but I'm going to get over it and post. This is the last chapter. There's an epilogue to follow. I sincerely hope I don't disappoint after all this. Anything good in this chapter is because of geminigrl11, who really is the most exceptional beta (and friend). Anyway, onto the boys...

Chapter Twenty-Three

When Dean next woke, he wasn't sure what day it was.

The sun was out and the room was warm, but Dean could not place how much time had passed.

Turning over, he saw Sam still sleeping on the next bed.

Dean's stomach growled, and he thought about going out to grab some food, bringing something back for Sam. But glancing again at his brother, he remembered everything they'd been through, and couldn't bring himself to leave him.

Instead he took out his father's journal, perusing the pages, waiting for his brother to awaken.

Time seemed to slip by, slowly, until he finally heard something shift beside him. Sure enough, Sam was waking, blinking blearily into the daylight.

As Sam came to full consciousness, Dean saw him search frantically. "Is it here? Is it here?"

Dean was already over by his brother. "No, Sam, hey, calm down. Nothing's here."

Sam seemed to flinch at his words and when he saw Dean's face, he flushed and pulled away. "I...is this a dream?"

Dean wasn't sure what he had expected, but this certainly wasn't the response he had hoped for. "No, this is real now, Sam."

Sam shook his head. "But I remember...I remember the hospital and the demon...and these voices. Always these voices."

"Yeah, it's been a crazy couple of days."

Sam didn't seem to hear him. "I couldn't tell. You told me it wasn't real, but...I couldn't tell."

Dean sensed Sam starting to panic, his expression growing confused and his movements jerky. "Sam--"

"Did I...?" he looked down at his bandaged arms. "Did I do this?" He turned his eyes desperately back to Dean. "This is a dream."

"No," Dean said quickly, grabbing Sam's hand and pulling it to his chest. "Real. Remember?"

Sam still looked panicked, but as his hand felt the beating of his brother's heart, his features calmed somewhat though his brow was still scrunched in confusion. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"It wasn't all a dream. Was it?"

Dean actually laughed, releasing Sam's hand and sitting back on the edge of the bed. "No, Sammy, unfortunately it wasn't."

"It was...a demon? All of it? The dreams? The things I saw?"

"Yeah, a demon," Dean agreed. He paused before he spoke again, trying to find the words. "But Sam--I think we still need to talk."

"It made me see things. It made me dream. About you. About Jessica."

"Yeah."

"But it wasn't real," Sam said, sounding more confident.

"No. It made you seem crazy..."

"So the hospital...it was real?"

"Yeah," Dean said with an awkward chuckle. "Sorry about that."

"You killed it," Sam concluded as he pieced together the remaining details. "And we're okay now. Right?"

Sam sounded so hopeful, so in need of affirmation, that Dean wanted to give Sam the easy answer. But glossing over things was what had gotten them here in the first place. Dean forced a smile. "Yeah. We're okay." He paused, looking for the words. "I know the demon pushed you, Sam, messed with you. But--the PTSD--"

Sam stiffened visibly, looking away from his brother.

Dean kept his gaze steady on his brother. "It's not all fake. Is it?"

"The demon--"

"The demon made you see things, Sam. It pushed you over the edge, but all of this--it was all still there."

Sam's voice was small. "I'm fine."

"I don't think you're fine."

Sam's eyes searched for anything but his brother's face.

"Sam? Come on. I think we need to deal with this."

"There's nothing to deal with, Dean," Sam insisted, strained and quiet.

"Sam, eight months ago--"

"Was a lifetime ago," Sam finished for him sharply, his eyes flashing as he looked up. "It was a different life."

Dean saw the crack in Sam's facade and his suspicions of Sam's percarious mental state were confirmed. He couldn't back down now. "You can't just forget about it."

"And I can't dwell on it either, can I?"

"Your girlfriend died. You saw her burst into flames. You have to deal with this."

"Dean--"

"We've let this slide long enough--"

Sam shook his head, gritting his teeth, pleadingly. "Dean--"

Dean pushed further, sensing Sam's breaking point. "No more avoiding this--"

And there it was. Sam's composure snapped without warning. "What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say?" he asked, his voice like gravel. "That I miss her everyday? That I can still feel her blood on my head? My head? That I see the terror in her eyes when she burned alive and didn't know why? I lied to her and I can never take that back. Everything I hoped for, dreamed for, worked for--everything I left for--and I have nothing to show for it. I betrayed you, I betrayed Dad. I betrayed Jess, and it got me nowhere."

"Sam--" Dean started to protest. He had been waiting for this, but it didn't make it easy to hear.

"What?" Sam exploded. "What comfort is there, Dean? What? There's nothing you can say that will change it, that will make it all right. I did this to myself. I should have known better. But instead I just did what I wanted and you had to save me. Again." Sam's eyes glistened as he met his brother's gaze. "Why do you always have to pull me from the fire? You are always saving me and I'm not worth it. I'm not, I mean--" His head fell and he cradled it in his hands.

"Sam, stop," Dean said. He swallowed thickly. "Yes. You are worth it. And I do it because I have to. Because..." Dean's voice caught. "Because I don't think I could live without you. But for all ways I tried to protect you, I've messed this up more than I can even explain."

"This isn't your problem, Dean. This one isn't about you. I can handle this on my own." Sam's voice grated angrily.

"This is my problem because you're my brother. Don't you get that? We're in this together."

Sam shook his head tightly. "There are some things I need to deal with on my own--"

"Nuh-uh," Dean interrupted. "That one doesn't fly anymore. Not after all of this. Not after what happened. Because that whole don't-ask-don't-tell policy really hasn't gotten us very far. All this time I've been so worried about the next gig and haven't paid attention to what you were feeling or what you'd been through. I never thought about it before, but come on, Sam. You never tell me about college. You never tell me about Jess. It's like you lost four years and neither of us ever acknowledge it."

Sam clenched his teeth and blinked rapidly. "I didn't want to remind you that I left."

Dean gaped. "Sam, you're not the one who should be worried about my emotions. Not after everything you've been through. Not with Jess, the demon, your powers...," Dean trailed off, unable to explore the weight of these issues. "You know it's okay to grieve, don't you? I don't expect you to be a robot about all this."

Sam's lower jaw quivered. "I just--I didn't--I'm--"

Dean watched as his brother tried to pull into himself, and felt the breakdown Sam was desperately keeping at bay. He inched forward. "It's okay, Sammy."

All at once, Sam broke, the events from the last few days and the last eight months culminating inside of him and released in a broken sob. Another sob shook Sam's lean frame, and another, before Dean pulled his brother into his arms.

Sam's brokenness scared him, made him feel weak and afraid, but as Sam trembled in his grasp, falling apart in his arms, he knew this was what Sam needed. He felt the anguish overflowing in Sam, the unspoken despair that lurked beneath his brother's facade realized for in a single instant. He murmured nothingness into Sam's hair, stroking the dark locks, and simply holding on, holding Sam together, his own tears slipping silently down his face as he realized what he'd come so close to losing.

Eight months of pain and guilt couldn't be erased in a single conversation, in one solitary session of grieving. They had spent a lifetime running away from their feelings, and one close encounter wouldn't be enough to undo all the damage already done. But denial and avoidance had nearly cost them everything, and that wasn't a price Dean was willing to pay for his own fear of feeling.

He didn't know how to make Sam better. He didn't know how to make himself better. He didn't know how either of them would ever heal from everything that had happened in their lives. But as he held Sam, his own emotions too raw to be denied, he hoped that this was a start.