AN: This wasn't going to be its own chapter, but my sister asked for more Dean angst and said I owed her (since her name is Robin…lol). So this one's for my only sister who managed to grow taller than me. (Rude, btw, Robin.) The next chapter may actually be up tonight, but no promises.

sfaulkenberry: Our boys are efficient at getting rid of bodies now! LOL I don't actually know if kitty litter helps with blood, only that it pulls oil stains out of concrete floors, so I went from there. Sorry there is so little violence in this chapter. (I really hope you know I'm just giving you grief!) And IRT your comment on the drabble, I adore that ep too! I could watch it 100 times and laugh every time.

sylvia37: Aw, gracias!

Stormysea-breaks: You are so very kind. That bond is really what I wanted to highlight in this story, so I'm glad it stood out of you, too. Of course, you always cut to the heart of any story! I'm really glad you liked the little drabble too. I needed some happy today, which is why I wrote about manure and laughing Winchesters. hehe

Bkworm4life4: I am so glad you're reading and enjoying! I just saw your comment on my little drabble too. Thank you!

Dean's stomach woke him up, and he was surprised to find he'd slept nearly three hours. Stretching with a groan of pleasure, he sat up and was grateful for prescience to bring in the cot.

"Alright, Sammy, how about waking up, huh? I doubt Slenderman thought to feed you. I'll make you that weird spinach and egg white scramble thing you like. Well, if we have spinach. We have eggs though. Maybe. Huh. Well, I'll find you food when you wake up."

Sam didn't respond, not even when Dean tapped his cheek a few times. So Dean gave him a quick once-over, wishing for at least the 7,384th time that this was something he could see, something he could fix. But Cas had said Sam would need time, so Dean went and took care of a few of his own basic needs – bathroom, brushing teeth, and oh yes, coffee. He glanced in on an unmoving Cas, grabbed one of Sam's protein bars that didn't suck, and went back to Sam's room. He stopped short just inside the door, not expecting to see hazel eyes open.

Dean couldn't stop the grin from wreathing his face. He hastily swallowed and set his burdens on the desk. "Sammy!" Dean nudged the cot far enough away that he could squeeze past and sit on the side of Sam's bed. "Sam, hey, hey man. How you doin'?" He patted the side of Sam's neck in an effort to give him one more thing to tether him to reality.

Sam's eyes lazily drifted up to Dean's face. They were confused, a little lost. But it looked like there was activity going on in Sam's brain. A lot of activity.

"Nothing to say? Overwhelmed by how lucky you are to wake up to this face?" Dean offered a hand to pull Sam to sit up, but his brother just stared at it. "Okay, not feeling it. Understood. Let's get you up, get some water into you. Need anything for pain?" Sam didn't fight Dean's arm pulling him up, even helping a little, but he didn't answer or lose the look of incomprehension.

"Fine. That's fine. Let's just get you up, get you some grub, see if we can get your circuits a little more…I dunno…aligned." Dean kept his tone light as he pulled Sam's legs over the side of the bed and put socks on him. It was early yet. Cas said he'd need time. A lot had happened, but Sam had all his memories back, and he'd get back to normal soon enough. He would.

Sam didn't protest or speak when Dean tugged him to his feet, and he was pretty steady, not needing help to stay upright. He didn't fight the hand on his elbow and plodded along with Dean. He did shut the bathroom door in Dean's face, which tugged a reluctant smile from Dean because it felt more alive, more Sam, than anything he'd done so far. "Don't lock it," Dean called, but didn't get an answer. And when he went back in after a few minutes of silence, the toilet was unflushed and Sam was looking at the sink like it was a particularly difficult passage of Greek.

So Dean washed Sam's hands for him, and flushed the toilet, and acted like it was perfectly fine that Sam was acting like a toddler. Albeit, a far quieter toddler than he'd actually been. Perfectly fine. Perfectly temporary. Dean should enjoy the quiet, the compliance. Because he didn't miss the snark and the chick flick moments and all of the noise that came with an oversized, overly intelligent, overly opinionated brother. Not at all.

Sam trailed Dean to the kitchen like a well-trained dog. Dean made two fat sandwiches and tried to turn off his brain, especially when Sam looked at the sandwich and cup of apple juice like they were a complex puzzle. Dean grit his teeth, then smiled and put the sandwich into Sam's hand. "Take a bite, Sam. And no, I did not overdo it on the mayo." Sam ate about half, then lost interest, so Dean put the glass of juice in his hand. He proceeded to drink it all without prompting, and half another glass when Dean refilled it, so at least he was getting fluids and calories.

By the time Dean had taken care of the dishes, Sam was dozing at the table, so they repeated the heeling dog and bathroom routine, and Dean tucked his little brother in like he used to. Sam looked at him for one second, and Dean dared hope there was trust and recognition in that gaze. Then Sam went to sleep.

Dean rubbed hand that definitely was not shaking over his burning eyes and refused to contemplate the thought that he'd never hear his brother speak again. Sam who loved words, concepts, ideas, who could talk a vampire into eating a salad. Who would Sam be without his voice? What would Dean's life be like if he never again got to hear it? Dean had wondered about that before, and every time, he'd gotten the infuriating, loyal, brilliant man back.

He should probably take a shower, Dean thought. Instead, he went to the library and pulled up everything he could find on the Morrigan and parked himself at Sam's desk. He had reading to do.