AN: Last two chapters and epilogue here, all at once when I (briefly) have access to wi-fi. Sorry in advance for flooding your inboxes if you get notifications!

I don't feel like I did justice to the brothers' interaction, but my muse took one look at it, gave me the finger, and went back to her margarita. She obviously feels that adequately covering such a deep, important brotherly interaction is beyond me, but I did my best.

Standard warnings here for difficult content and a little language. And as in some previous chapters, my responses to my FABULOUS commenters are at the end of the chapter.

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Sam stood, feet braced far apart and a spear held lightly in one hand. He felt like some ancient hunter looking to take down a mastodon. But this was something far, far more dangerous. The darkness seemed to coil around him as equally dark emotions swirled through him. He was scared and excited and worried and some other things he didn't have words for.

But, wait. He didn't want to die any more. So why was he here again looking for a monster that would give him a trip to the other side? Whatever else he was feeling sank under unease. He'd been here before, so how was he back again? Was the universe disappointed that he'd survived the first time, and doing a reset to make sure he died this go round? Or…was there another tarasque? That must be it.

Before Sam could puzzle it out, he heard a high scream that he'd never forget. With a surge of determination that this thing wouldn't kill anyone else, Sam readjusted his grip on the spear, which felt curiously light in his hand.

But as the water of the lake surged over the tarasque's bowed back, everything was wrong. Its muzzle was long and jagged, like Maleficent as a dragon in Sleeping Beauty, and it spread impossibly broad, leathery wings, blocking out the entire sky and plunging Sam into complete darkness. He cried out in fear and held the spear out in front of him as if he could ward the monster off that way.

Abruptly, the wings snapped shut so Sam could see again. But what he saw terrified him more than anything he'd ever seen in his life. Between Sam and the mutant version of the tarasque stood the upright, implacable form of stupid, protective, way-too-brave big brother. Dean was unarmed, which was ridiculous in and of itself. When was he ever unarmed?

Sam screamed at him, "Dean, RUN! DEAN!"

Dean turned and looked over his shoulder. Even across the expanse of the beach, Sam could see his expression as clearly as if they stood nose to nose. There was acceptance, resignation, and apology. Dean was going to stand there and let the dragon kill him. "Better me than you," he said quietly. "Goodbye, Sammy."

The nightmare jaws came down with a crunch that seemed to go on forever and Sam screamed and screamed and screamed, but he could hardly make a sound. "Dean! No! Please, no! Dean!" he sobbed. But there was no answer. Dean was gone.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Dean had had it with people keeping him away from Sam. He'd allowed Dad to kick him out before because it went against his grain to disobey the man. Then he'd let Bobby and Dad gang up on him and make him leave to sleep in Bobby's room. It all added up to Dean hardly getting more than a few minutes at Sam's side, and none of it with the kid awake, not since right after they'd gotten him back to the room and he was out of his head. He didn't care that it was some ungodly hour of the morning – he was awake, and he was going over there.

Naturally, Dad came awake despite how quietly Dean pulled his jeans on. "Goin' to check on Sammy," muttered Dean, and was out the door before his father could respond. He really hoped Dad would go back to sleep or at least stay put for a while. Dean and Sam were long overdue for a chat.

Dean softly did his proscribed knock and let himself into the room after a brief pause. He knew Bobby wouldn't be asleep, but startling a hunter is never a good life decision. Bobby stood wearily as Dean walked in. In the meager light leaking around the nearly closed bathroom door, Dean could just make out the lump on the bed.

Bobby smiled slightly and inclined his head to indicate they should step out of the room to talk. Dean cast another, reluctant glance over at Sam, but obediently stepped out of the door. He wanted to see his brother, but he also wanted to hear what Bobby had to say.

"He was awake," Bobby reported without hesitation. "He's hurting, but doin' better already. No sign of fever or confusion, but we gotta keep an eye on those ribs." Bobby gave Dean one of those perceptive looks that would probably be intimidating to someone who didn't regularly face John Winchester. "Dean, more than anything, Sam feels guilty. He hates that we all know what he almost did and he's embarrassed about it. And I think he's scared that we'll look at him differently. Especially you."

"Bobby – "

"I know, son." Bobby set a hand on Dean's shoulder. "He's uncertain of everythin' about now. Tread lightly. Now, I'll go run interference with your old man for a couple hours at least." He yawned and walked away, swatting Dean's bicep lightly as he stepped past.

"Bobby?" Dean croaked just before the other man reached the other door. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Bobby, I hear you."

Bobby smiled a little. "He's close to wakin' up again."

Dean nodded and stepped back into the room Sam was sleeping in. He moved unerringly to the bedside, sitting on the chair Bobby had been using to avoid waking Sam. But Sam was already moving restlessly in his sleep. Dean scootched the chair toward the bed and leaned closer. He could see the teen's lips moving, but he wasn't making any sound.

Dean's heart gave a little lurch when he read his own name on Sam's lips. His little brother was calling for him. Dean moved to sit on the side of the bed and laid a hand against the side of Sam's neck in a gesture of comfort he'd been offering as long as he could remember, but Sam didn't relax. Instead, he began to thrash and his mouth opened on a silent scream, pain and fear on his sleeping face.

"Sammy!" Dean called sharply, hoping to snap the teen out of it. "Wake up! You're dreaming."

Sam whimpered, a broken sound, then cried out loud, "Dean! No! Please, no! Dean!"

Dean's heartrate rose. Sam should never sound so terrified. "Right here, Sammy. Wake up right now," he commanded. He grabbed Sam's bicep and shook him lightly. "Sammy!"

Sam shot to a sitting position, grabbed two fistfuls of Dean's shirt and buried his face in Dean's shoulder in a way he hadn't done in at least 4 or 5 years. Dean reacted without thought, wrapping both arms around the sobbing kid. It didn't seem to matter that Sam was 16 and taller than Dean now, Dean knew how to handle this.

Sam's words were mostly incoherent, but Dean caught enough to get at least an idea of what the nightmare was about. He mostly heard his name, but also my fault and dead and dragon. Even as the words and tears mostly subsided into panting, Sam was shaking so hard Dean worried he'd end up hurting himself if Dean let go so he just held on tighter.

He kept up a mindless litany the whole time, knowing eventually his voice and tone would penetrate. "Yeah, Sammy, I know. This décor gives me nightmares too. You should see Bobby's room. The walls are orange, like Syracuse orange, man. Ceiling too. I think the decorator is cross eyed and color blind. Yup, awesome big bro is still here, and I'm not going anywhere. You remember Puff the not-so-magic dragon is fertilizer, right? You stabbed it right in the heart and Dad took its head off and Bobby turned it to mulch. Gone forever, dude. Now that attack was freaking bad ass, but that doesn't mean I'm not giving you a beat down for trying to face it alone. At least as soon as your stitches are all out." Sam had quieted by then, and Dean felt the slight stiffening as it occurred to Sam that he was huddled in his brother's arms. Guessing just how vulnerable the kid must feel at the moment, Dean gave him an out.

"Speaking of stitches, think I can get a look at those? Want to make sure you didn't bust any by poppin' up like a prairie dog."

"Prairie dog?" asked Sam, and Dean thought he could feel a hint of a smile. It was gone by the time Sam started pulling back, but Dean counted it as a win.

"Careful." Dean helped Sam lie back down, far too familiar with how painful that simple motion was with broken ribs. "Yeah, prairie dog. You know, the things that pop up out of holes. Like, you know, that little guy in The Lion King." Dean couldn't miss Sam's swollen, red eyes, the tear tracks on his face, or how pale he was after his little stunt, but he figured the kid could use a little reprieve while he regained his equilibrium for a couple minutes.

"Timon?" asked Sam, his frown confused but also slightly amused. His breath was evening out a bit, too, and Dean noted both even as he gently peeled back the bandages and subtly checked Sam's pulse. Strong, but too fast, he thought.

"Tim – who?" he asked, deliberately obtuse. Dammit, there was new blood. "Yup. Look at that. Busted two of those suckers. Hang on, I'm gonna grab the kit."

Sam seemed to realize that he was holding hem of Dean's shirt, and he let it go, blushing. But he knew the Winchester code, so he kept up the banter. "Timon. From The Lion King. Except he's not a prairie dog. He's a meerkat."

"He is not a cat," scoffed Dean, setting the smaller first aid kit on the bed and taking up his perch again. "I know you slept through most of the movie and it was, like, a couple years ago, but c'mon man. He's obviously a prairie dog."

"There aren't any prairie dogs in Africa, Dean, you idiot," snorted Sam. His voice was still shaky, but he sounded more like himself than he had in a long time. "And I didn't say cat. I said meercat. They're some kind of weasel I think." He flinched as Dean began to carefully work the broken threads out, but held himself impressively still. The wound was slightly puffy and looked very sore.

"Weasel? Cat? Make up your mind. Maybe we need to do another concussion check," teased Dean without looking up from his work. Internally, though, he was cheering Sam on. That's right, kid. Tell me I'm wrong and quote some geeky facts and get yourself grounded. Big brother is right here, and whatever you were dreaming about isn't real. "You're all scrambled, moron."

Despite how carefully Dean wiped away the blood, Sam sucked in a breath. But it was clear he didn't want sympathy. "I th-think you flunked fifth gr-grade, dummy. Or maybe first. Prairie dog." Sam's scoff was weak, but Dean appreciated the effort.

"I'm not the one who took on croczilla, genius." Dean hmmed. "Skin's a little torn up. I don't think I can get new stitches here, but butterflies should hold this part, as long as you aren't doing any more calisthenics or yoga or anything." He had to pinch the skin together and put four of the butterfly bandages on even though it was a small area, because he didn't want to risk them popping open and Sam having to go through the pain again. By the time he was done and wiped it off again, there was sweat at Sam's hairline and upper lip.

"Wanna tell me what that dream was about?" Dean asked quietly. He'd been fighting anger and fear since he woke up, but Sam's pain and fear and need had woken up every protective instinct Dean had – and there were a lot of them. He shot only the quickest glance at Sam's face as he asked, then looked back down to put on new bandages. He knew it was a lot easier to talk without someone staring at you.

"No," grumbled Sam, but his tone said he was going to anyway. He still looked weak and in pain, but a little less emotionally wrecked. Still, there was a haunted look in the back of his eyes that Dean didn't like. "Maybe." He rubbed at the bump on his temple that was now a lovely swirl of reds and purples. Dean pulled Sam's hand away and didn't let go of his wrist until Sam sort of half-heartedly tugged at it. When Sam still didn't speak, Dean put the kit away and washed his hands. Without a word, he took his spot on the edge of the bed again, teenage machismo be damned.

Sam's left eye twitched and his mouth pulled slightly to the side and Dean knew he was going to speak before he opened his mouth. "We were…I was going to fight the tarasque, except it had wings and a bigger mouth, and I was trying to figure out how to kill without…" Sam trailed off, but Dean heard the unspoken without dying as clearly as if he'd said the words. Sam swallowed and half reached to rub his head again, but stopped himself.

"Dean…"

"Just spit it out. It's easier if you just get it over with," said Dean, not unkindly. When Sam still hesitated, Dean clenched his teeth and tightened his fists. Wasn't it the not talking that had gotten them into all this trouble in the first place? With a great deal of effort, forced his body to relax. Aware that Sam was watching him closely, Dean took a second to picture that blond he'd met down in Florida and her teeny tiny bikini…there, now his body language was better.

Dean was a hunter, a strategist – he could figure this out.

"Listen," he said after another pause, "anything you say tonight falls under…amnesty. I won't hold it against you or call you a girl or bring it up again if you don't want me to. One-time offer."

"Amnesty? That's a pretty big word for you." Humor touched Sam's eyes for a brief second, but mostly he was looking at Dean like he had when Dean had chased away three 10-year-old bullies when Sam was six. Or like he had on Sam's fourth birthday when Dean had charmed a cupcake out of the owner of a nearby bakery. To Dean's relief, that's what was lingering behind Sam's pain and the hint of amusement – that hero worship of his big brother.

Ignoring the giant hairball that was in his throat just because his brother was here to give him that look, Dean grinned. "Mutiny on the Bounty, dude," he said, referring to the old movie the two had found on TV a few months earlier.

"From The Lion King to the Mutiny on the Bounty?" chuckled Sam, scooting back like he wanted to sit up against the headboard.

"Hell, yes. The lion kid kinda got amnesty from the weasel cat and the pig, so it all fits, right. Hakuna matata, dude. Stay still. And spill."

Sam ignored the first order, still squirming until Dean rolled his eyes but helped him to sit up and even shoved a pillow behind his back. Sam's thanks was all in his eyes. Then he dropped his gaze and Dean wondered if they'd lost all the ground that the familiar banter had gained. But Sam started talking. "In my dream, it got dark, then suddenly you were between me and the tarasque and you stood there so it couldn't get to me." Sam licked his lips and bunched the comforter in his fists. "And you…it…you let it eat you."

A tear landed on the back of Sam's hand, and he scrubbed furiously at his face. From the little Dean could see of it, he could tell that Sam was blushing. Dean pushed down his own inclination to make a joke and dropped a hand onto the back of Sam's neck instead. "Amnesty, remember?"

Sam lifted his head, leaning slightly into Dean's hand. His eyes were filled with remorse and apology now. "Dean, I felt, well, what I felt in my dream, I don't want you to have to feel. I'm sorry. I was so…stuck…I convinced myself that you wouldn't hurt that much if I was gone. I know better, but I kind of forgot until in the dream when – " he literally choked on the words, and Dean tightened his hand just a little. He wanted to pull Sam into another hug, but had a feeling that Sam was at the limit for what he'd consider weakness. Dean had a brief pang of regret that they were so bad at showing affection.

"Still here, dude. And that's not gonna change. And you're still here, too. That means we both get another chance. All three of us."

"Dad kind of said the same thing," Sam admitted. "He wants me to use hunting as a…I dunno, release valve, to take any anger or whatever and point it at supernatural stuff like a gun or a bomb or something."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. That sounded familiar. But he wasn't sure that was the way Sam worked. "Is that what you want?" he asked, regretfully dropping his hand.

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again. His hesitation confirmed Dean's theory that hunting was not the answer Sam was looking for or needed. "I don't know what I want," Sam mumbled, staring at his hands again.

Suddenly Dean knew exactly what to say. "Well, you find it, Sam." He leaned forward and tried to stare a hole into his little brother's soul. "Whatever it is you need, you find it. Sammy, you find it. I'll help you get what you need. No matter what."

Sam's expression jumped to startled, then slid into stunned understanding. "Okay. Okay. Thanks, man." Sam's brow furrowed in thought. "Do you think…we could start with school?" He seemed a little embarrassed to even ask. "I mean, uh, it's something I'm good at and I like it. I'd really like to take AP classes because they're a challenge, but they take more time in homework and…"

Dean laughed a little, surprised and pleased at the tentative request. "Such a geek. Yeah, we can start with your brainiac classes. And don't worry about the time. I'll talk to Dad."

There it was again. The my big brother is awesome look. Damn, Dean had missed that. He hadn't realized just how much until right this moment. And to think…he might have never seen it again.

Sam was looking at him strangely, and Dean pulled himself out of the spiral of thoughts before the perceptive little shit figured out what he was thinking about. Suddenly Sam grabbed Dean's forearm so tightly it almost hurt. His eyes were wide and pleading and intense. "Dean, what I felt in that dream – I don't want you ever to feel that in real life. Ever. I swear I'll never try again. Swear."

The giant hairball Dean had almost choked on earlier grew and settled somewhere behind the middle of his sternum, and expanded until he could barely breathe. "You better not, bitch," he rumbled, his voice a full octave lower than normal. He gripped Sam's forearm in return and stared right back. I'm not living in a world without you in it, he thought but couldn't say. Instead, what came out was, "And if you didn't look like an extra from Day of the Dead, I'd kick your ass for not talking to me. And, what's the deal with facing a dragon and not letting me in on that, glory hog? A dragon."

The self-recrimination and apology didn't fade entirely from Sam's weary eyes, but the corner of his mouth did turn up. "Yeah, sorry, jerk," he said, and they both pretended he was only talking about taking the "glory" away from Dean. "Next time we track a dragon, I'll let you have first crack."

"Damn straight." Then, because it was a big brother's job to try to banish the last of that haunted look, Dean added, "You, uh, gonna give me my arm back any time soon?" He looked meaningfully at the bathroom door. "Unless you need me to hold it while you – "

"Dean!" And order was restored, at least mostly. Dean could work with that.

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Scealai: Only if it's also disturbing how often I check if there are any new comments! And it probably shouldn't, but the thing about Lucifer made me lol.

sfaulkenberry: What a lovely compliment! The therapist with lots and lots of liquor made me laugh so hard! I hope you like the Dean and Sam moments here...more on Sam's decision in the next chapter. Unfortunately, we know how well that ended up going over. Poor boys.

radpineapple: Oh thank you thank you! I am so excited that you are enjoying it. I have so many feelings while writing...I'm really glad some of those come through for you and your friend.

Lena: I'm sorry that I worry you. I'm staying with my dad for a while to help him out and he has no wifi so I have to wait to post. I know I owe you an email too...yours made me smile so much!!

superobes: Thank you for your insight! I'm glad you find everyone in character and appreciate you letting me know what you think!

Stormy: You brought me to (happy) tears. Thank you. Your comments and pm mean a great deal to me. There is so much more I could say but I'll leave it at this.

JaniceC678: I am always so happy to see a comment from you. I appreciate your insights and learn a lot from you. :-)

Margo1234: Thank you! I know...poor Sammy.

Shazza19: I adore Bobby, so I'm very pleased that you like the interactions between him and the boys! Thanks!

Atlasina7: I think so too!

ToastySoup: I feel exactly the same way about Bobby! He's my favorite non Winchester on the whole show, I think.

Bell1408: Have I mentioned how grateful I am for your prompt? If not, THANK YOU!!! :-)

Timelady66: Awwww! I wish I could hug them too. And I cried while writing too. Thank you for commenting!

ScionGlobe: It's something very important to me, and I'm so pleased that you find this story addresses it well. Thank you for your comment. I appreciate it very much!