AN: This was my original end for the story and, as such, it was written a long time ago. It's a tad dark, but I hope you enjoy it.

There is a second epilogue coming soon.

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Dean stood beneath a white mahogany tree where his brother had once sat to read a letter from a goddess.

The intervening months had not been kind to the Winchesters. Cas had been blinded by his mission and had brought the wall in Sam's mind crashing down. Impossible Sam had somehow survived, but Cas' mistakes weren't done and Sam was far from well.

The scourge of Purgatory stalked the Earth, apparently unkillable and hunting Sam and Dean like rats. Their release had destroyed a repentant Cas. Explosion kind of destroyed.

As those left standing scrambled just to stay alive, much less stem the tide, the Devil, big d, rode Sam's mind and stole him bit by bit.

Then the head dick took away Bobby. The thought still sent shards of pain into parts of Dean he thought would never heal. And now Sam...Sam was fading before Dean's eyes. He was in a mental hospital, unable to sleep, his body breaking down and unable to hide the suffering in his eyes. Sam wasn't even afraid any more, just resigned. He didn't seem to be trying very hard to focus on reality, just unbearably weary and apologetic, waiting for death.

Dean was not going to be the last man standing. He thought often about the words he'd said to Bobby's voicemail once: If you're gone, I swear, I'm going to strap my Beautiful Mind brother into the car and I'm going to drive us off the pier.

That still wasn't entirely off the menu. But if Sam had taught Dean anything, it was how to hope.

They weren't even allowed inside the room with Dad, and at 14, Dean already knew how to read between the lines of the mildly patronizing and noncommittal updates from the medical professionals. They didn't have a lot of hope that Dad would wake up, much less be okay.

A tusk of some unpronounceable monster of Brazilian origin had gone into one side of Dad's left lung and out the other side. Dean had overheard one nurse tell another that they were shocked he was alive when he was brought in.

Only Pastor Jim, with his clerical collar, was allowed in to see Dad, and he wouldn't say much except that the hospital staff was working very hard to save his life.

The long-term friend of the family laid a hand on each boy's shoulder briefly, then said he was going to try and get more information.

Caleb was in the waiting room with a tear through his calf muscle, but he'd only allowed them to stitch him up before going back to wait for news about John. His face was gray with pain...and guilt. Even though he'd been injured too, and saved John's life by literally carrying him to safety, he felt that he should have been able to prevent him from getting hurt.

He was in no shape to comfort the boys.

Bobby had called. Caleb and Jim wouldn't leave the hospital. Sammy was plastered against Dean's side, shivering occasionally.

Dean still felt utterly alone.

Ask him to take point on a hunt and Dean wouldn't blink. Hotwire a car? No problem. Care for his 9-year-old brother for days at a time? Not even hard.

But how was he supposed to do this? How was he supposed to keep it together when the man who seemed impossibly strong was lying in a hospital bed hooked up to so many machines he was barely visible? When all he could do was stare silently at the bouncing line that was the only reassurance he had that Dad was still even alive. Like if Dean looked away, it might stop and Dad might fade away right in front of them.

How could he reassure his little brother and keep him calm when he himself felt like his chest was in a vise? When he had the horrific feeling that if Sammy started crying that Dean would too?

Dean was just grateful that he'd been in shock earlier when Sam had drenched his sleeve.

Suck it up, Dean, he ordered himself. Sammy needs me to be strong.

Sam sniffed and Dean steeled himself against --

"So how many days d'ya think until Dad busts outta here?"

Dean blinked. He'd been braced for fear or tears. "Wait...what?"

"Betcha ten bucks he's breaking out in a week like his hair's on fire, cussing out anyone who tries to get him to stay." Sam had been trying to talk like Bobby lately.

"Sammy..." What was Dean going to say? That Dad might never get out of the hospital? Could he really do that to the kid?

"I know, Dean." Sammy looked up, still leaning on Dean's shoulder. "But you know there's always hope. As long as he's still breathin', I'm going to figure he's gonna get better. He's...he's Dad. He doesn't know how to quit."

Dean stared, trying to see this new, mature kid inside the impish, rosy-cheeked face looking at him with such bright eyes, slightly red but undimmed by even the least bit of doubt.

"You been listening to Pastor Jim's sermons, Squirt? Cuz that sounds like his kind of Pollyanna crap." Dean didn't mean to sound so harsh, but he was stressed. No, he was freaking terrified. He felt horrible the second he finished talking. Great. Instead of comforting Sam, he was yelling at him.

But Sam just kept looking at him with that too-old look he could get sometimes. "No, I learned it from you, dummy." Okay, he might look like an old soul, but he still sounded like a munchkin.

"You did? How d'ya figure that, shrimp?"

"A Winchester never quits, Sammy," said the younger boy in a credible imitation of Dean. He shrugged and looked back through the glass. "Sounds like hope to me."

Kinda sounded like that to Dean, too. And he kinda thought Sammy had enough hope for both of them. Though nothing had changed, Dean felt immeasurably better.

And he happily handed over $10 a week later as a pale but determined Dad bullied his way out of the hospital.

So instead of giving up, Dean was frantically looking for some answer, anything to get Lucifer out of Sam's head.

There wasn't much that could have pulled Dean away from that search, even temporarily. But he'd gotten a call and had driven to South Carolina to fulfill a promise. Once in Della's Hollow, Dean had claimed Kay's tired old body and burned her remains as respectfully as he'd do for a fellow hunter. Now, he spread her ashes mixed with efirin (which was basically basil, and, frankly seemed a bit odd) at the base of the same white mahogany tree where Letty rested.

"I hope it doesn't take you long to find her," he said quietly. "I can't stay." He didn't have any pretty words, but he knew Kay wouldn't have minded.

A breeze touched Dean's cheek, and he could've sworn he could feel Kay smile, then it was gone.

Kay was free to find Letty, and Dean was a bit jealous. He took a swig from Bobby's flask and turned, head bowed, back toward the stupid piece of crap he was stuck driving. There was no time for mourning.

Sam needed him.

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AN: A happier end coming very soon!

Dean's voicemail for Bobby was left in season 7, episode 2, Hello, Cruel World.

Timelady66: I added a line to the previous chapter just for you about Dean being proud of the man he'd helped raised, since it was a great point.

Scealai: *stares around in shock at the ensuing chaos* So. Many. Bunnies. Your "mouth hugs" remind me of the movie Madagascar when Marty says, "You're biting my butt." and Alex says (with his mouth full) "no I'm not." *snicker* Your epilogue is next.

Atlasina7: Thank you! I do love Sam the most...but I love Dean too.