So...life happened, sorry about the wait, but I wanted to get the epilogue done before posting this so I could give you all a definitive ending date and not keep you hanging in case something else should happen. I got swamped with school stuff (science major means lots of research papers, yay!) and a new job, and I hit a wall with the story. The March deadline flew by, good intentions, am I right? My biggest fear has always been making it too repetitive, and it got to me. So I stopped and reread the entire thing, which gave me an idea for a solid half of this chapter. (Extra thanks to ThornsHaveRoses for a few ideas, you rock ;)

This is the last official chapter. The epilogue, which is a substantial thing in itself, will be posted Sunday I promise, as a celebration of my freshman year of college being done, my birthday, and having worked almost exactly for two years on this story (I started writing it in June 2017). All this being said, thank you all so much for sticking with this, I know I say this a ton, but I can't say anything else, because it really does mean a lot to me. Hopefully you like where everything's gone :)

I don't own the show, obviously, and wow I haven't posted since the announcement was made, it's been a while. I'll still be writing stories of course after the show ends, don't fret. Exact dates included in this were based on some superwiki research because that site it amazing. References made belong to their respective owners.

Sam was watching his brother carefully, hoping for some sign that what he was arguing had started to settle in. Of course, Dean was fairly stubborn, especially when self-blame was involved, and this situation made things ten times worse. He saw the gears in Dean's head turning as he looked anywhere but Sam; the sticks he kept fumbling with in his hands, the light dusting of snow under and on his shoes, anything. But at least he was thinking it through, not outrightly denying that it wasn't his fault, which Sam counted as a win.

"Is there something else?" he asked eventually. He left it open, Dean could either come forward and say what was eating at him or say no and leave their conversation at that. Sam didn't know what the true answer to the question was, but he found himself almost hoping nothing else had been dredged up.

"Those few days just all kinda," Dean made a motion with his free hand towards his head. "Lot to process."

Sam nodded slowly. So there was more, he should've expected, but Dean was trying to stick to their 'help me help you' agreement, which he hadn't been overly hopeful about but was glad that it had turned for the better.

"I mean, between Charlie and the Stynes and beating Cas within an inch of his life," he made a face with that and his hand reflexively curled around what was left of the stick in his grasp, "everything with Death," he added with a scoff and finally threw the wood to the ground. "I wasn't possessed or cursed or soulless," which apparently he had remembered, Sam decided to file away, "it was me, just…twisted."

"Twisted you isn't you, Dean," Sam reminded. Maybe with enough repetition it would finally bust down some of Dean's walls, throw a ladder of rationality and belief over the top of the mountain of self-blame. "Those few days, what the Mark made you do, it wasn't you. When Cas gets back he'll say the exact same thing."

Dean cast his eyes up at that.

Sam pushed a hand through his hair. "A few weeks ago you literally pulled me from a fire. Again. You saved lives. You help people, countless before the Mark and during and after, and it's not stopping any time soon. You're playing wounded and still trying to make sure other people survive. That's the only you that matters."

His unrelenting faith in his big brother had both gotten them into and out of some tough spots, but more often than not it was a positive to any situation they were in. He just had to get Dean to see that even with the Mark, even with the people they'd lost over the years, it still added up to a lot more good than bad. Years…

Something clicked in his mind, something he hadn't been sure he'd even show Dean, but maybe, just maybe, it could be the final piece of the puzzle. Dean must have seen something in his face change because suddenly he was much more focused.

"What? You just had a total lightbulb moment," he said and eyed Sam carefully.

Sam nodded. It was an apt description at least. "Kinda, yeah, I'll show you when we get back to the bunker. Until then…" he trailed off, noticing Cas coming back through the snow with a decent sized carrot in his hand. He seemed almost relieved that both brothers appeared to be alright, for any worry that had been on his features melted off.

"I believe this should function well," Cas held the carrot out for inspection, and after Dean agreed that it would work, the angel nodded. "If perhaps we had a magic hat, we could bring it to life."

He said it with such a serious face that Sam had to let out a breathy laugh that puffed clouds into the air around him.

Dean, on the other hand, looked at him almost incredulously, but the corner of his mouth was turned upwards into a smirk. "Are you seriously referring to Frosty? Like the singing, dancing, frozen cartoon?"

"I thought the reference would be well received, as you especially tend to refer to many things," Cas replied.

Dean looked between him and Sam, apparently lost on something but amused all the same. "Speaking of, when did you become all pop culture savvy? It's like -"

"Like Jack Sparrow," Cas finished for him, which had Sam chuckling again.

Dean paused, fitting the pieces together. "…no. Kinda. Whatever. See like that, how do you know that?"

They were still dealing with memory gaps, but at least it was something small that had just been overlooked. Cas filled Dean in as they put the finishing touches on the snowman. While the mention of Metatron's name threatened to take the lightness out of the moment, it was a relief that Dean mostly recalled the angel that had caused them so many problems over the past few years. Sam was learning to live with the small victories, at least.

Their conversation eventually lulled as they took a step back to admire their creation. So maybe it was a bit lopsided, but for two hunters and an angel, who had maybe made three snowmen between them as experience, it was a decent attempt. Again, Dean took a photo to send to Jody later, and then the three of them were trudging back inside to find something to warm them up.

After hot chocolate had been served and frozen pizza heated and eaten, the three of them went their separate ways. Cas headed to the library, Sam to his room, and Dean to his, still wondering what the hell Sam had meant when he said he needed to show him something. Maybe it would wait until morning?

Dean pulled out a chapter book he had been reading over the passing week; he did read from time to time and especially now that they had some free time and it helped focus his mind when it got overactive. It had probably been Sam's at some point, but he wasn't really sure and made a mental note to ask later. It didn't have a crease across the spine, not yet at least, since Dean tended to bend the pages back, which Sam always mentioned was bad for the books considering he kept his in pristine condition, so yeah, probably his.

He was propped up on pillows under his stomach and arms, lying across the bed to read, when not thirty minutes after they had parted, Sam tapped on his door and came in. When Dean craned his head to look at his brother, he saw that he had a small flash drive in his hand.

"What's that for?" he asked, though he was pretty sure it was 'the thing' Sam had his lightbulb moment about. Dean rearranged himself so he was sitting and earmarked the page while Sam pulled Dean's laptop off his desk. He even looked the slightest bit annoyed that Dean would earmark a book, figured, definitely Sam's then, for sure.

"What I mentioned I'd show you," Sam filled in with very vague detail. He sat on the edge of the bed, stuck in the flash drive, and booted up the computer.

Dean watched as Sam opened up the drive and then some sort of a word document. "You want me to read a manuscript or something you wrote?" he looked at Sam, not following.

"More along the lines of 'or something'," Sam handed off the computer, but remained stationed on the bed. Dean just took a cursory first glance, and what immediately popped out at him were dates spread out across the page. And every page after that when he scrolled down. All from the years he had been missing.

When he looked back up, Sam was pretty interested in the bedspread. "When you first got the diagnosis, we didn't…we didn't know how bad it would be," he started to explain, "so I put down as much as I could onto paper in hopes that if it were needed, it could help. The good, the bad, everything. And I know that you've mostly got it back now, but if there's any blanks that need filling in, or…reassurances to be had, they may be here." He finally raised his eyes to look at Dean.

"I mean, I would've done it before, but seeing what things triggered certain memories, I didn't want to dump this on you and send you into a spiral of our worst hits. I didn't want to make a bad thing worse, if I could help it," he added in a quicker explanation.

"You don't have to explain, Sam," Dean assured first and foremost. He understood, of course, about Sam's train of thought, especially knowing personally how much of a mess his memories and the triggers had been. "Just, why now?" He broached it as an honest question, not an accusation, and Sam sighed.

"You're still walking around with the world on your shoulders, you always have. This," Sam lightly tapped the computer, "has the bad, but it also has the good. The people we helped, the ones I could remember anyways, just in case you don't yet."

It was essentially a book of truths, but also of reassurances. It was pages and pages long, and Dean absently wondered how long it had taken Sam to type it all out and when he had done it. Dean was stuck wondering if he should say thanks or not, but Sam beat him to it.

"Let me know if you need anything, alright?" he said as he slowly stood up. Dean was left mostly nodding to himself, but he stopped his brother before he made it all the way to the door.

"Sammy?"

Sam paused in the doorway and looked back. If Dean didn't know better, which he did, he'd say Sam almost looked nervous at having given Dean the document. "Thanks," he added in a genuine tone. And just like that, any nervousness that had been stiffening up Sam's frame melted away. He gave a half smirk and turned the rest of the way out of Dean's room, mission accomplished.

Dean, on the other hand, got himself into a more comfortable position on the bed with the laptop and scrolled back up to the top. He actually had to take a breath to make sure his heart would keep functioning. Yeah, who was nervous now? Lucky and unlucky for him, the first date was one he already knew by heart.

May 13, 2010.

It was the day Sam had jumped into the pit. The day that up until a few weeks ago, was the last one he remembered in absolute, heart wrenching clarity. It had faded just a bit as he got the rest of his memories back, like a book that was slowly being pushed to the bottom of a stack. But it was still there, always there, and it would never take long to pull back up.

At a first glance, he noticed that there was no explanation under the date like there appeared to be for some others. So Sam had written this sometime after they knew where his amnesia started. They had a definitive start date and Sam had worked forwards from there. There were a few dates after that, each with a few sentences about some memorable people they had saved or events that had happened.

But the next big chunk didn't start until January 2011. Sam had titled it 'When I got my soul back'. Dean remembered most of the events surrounding it, but what had been put onto the paper wasn't something Dean would have known before.

I woke up in the panic room, completely confused, but like always, finding you put the pieces back together. Strange that then I didn't remember anything from the past year and a half (though I eventually would), and now here we are, me filling you in about the past seven years.

More people they saved, that time Cas almost broke the world when he thought he was doing right, Sam's downward spiral…

September 2011: I cut my hand and you turned it into a reminder that you're my stone number one that I can build on. Everything we've been through since that, everything we've said and done and seen, even though sometimes it may not have seemed like it, I never doubted it. And I swear that I'll be it for you in whatever comes next for us.

Dean had a ghost of a smile on his face at that. It directly mirrored some of the recent conversations they'd had, Sam had really taken it to heart, and it had made a difference.

January 2012: Everything goes here, everything I can remember at least. But if there are a few things I can hope get fuzzed over in your head when you eventually get your memories back, it's this. Not in its entirety, but the rawness of it.

We lost Bobby. Dick Roman, aptly named, shot him in the head and there was nothing we could do. Nothing. And I know how being powerless screws with my head, and yours especially. He came back as a ghost and helped out. It started to go bad, but not too bad, and he got the peace he deserved, I promise.

May 2012: We met Charlie. You were pretty much instantly connected to her, and me too, and it was hard not to be. She was a good person, a sister almost, eventually, and she helped us take down Roman in ways no other person could.

May 15, 2012: You and Cas got sent to Purgatory, not that I knew that at the time. I wish I had more information, but you'll have to remember most of what happened there on your own. It…wasn't our best year. But when you came back, we've both come back from the dead before, but there's nothing else like it. I know we had our fights after, but that doesn't mean I wasn't ever grateful to have you back, and still am.

May 21, 2013: You convinced me not to board up hell at the expense of my own life. You got me stuck with an angel without my permission, but you meant well. That doesn't erase how pissed or hurt I was in the months after, which I think to some degree you understood, and I understand now why you did it. I wouldn't give up an opportunity to save you, not if I knew that something could be done. Not if I had an inkling that I could change anything.

October 2013: We saved Alex. It may not have seemed big at the time, but she's become a part of Jody's life, and a part of our pseudo-extended family. She's better off because we were there to help, and she's made something of her life after that, which means something. It's not every day we get to know that the people we saved do okay afterwards.

December 2013: We lost Kevin.

There was no more explanation after that note. Just reading those three words stung. Dean remembered more feelings than the actual memory of the event, but it was enough to go on. The utter helplessness and rage were telling enough of how bad things had gotten.

January 2014: You got saddled with the Mark. Went a bit behind my back to do it, too, not that I blame you, we weren't on the best of terms. Still, if I had known all the pain it would bring in the year to come, I would've done a lot of things differently.

May 2014: You died. Probably a bit redundant, but it still happened. Metatron got to you before I could. Of course, the Mark didn't let go, and you walked out of the bunker a demon, not that I knew that until it was too late either.

But for the record, I'm proud of us too.

August 3, 2014: Cas and I got you back. We can get into details later, but for this purpose, that's the only thing that really matters.

May 2015: Charlie was killed.

June 2015: I spread some pictures on the floor, got punched, and eventually you killed Death. You made him Mexican food as a peace offering beforehand so he would agree to sacrifice you for the good of the world.You killed him. The Death, the horseman. You broke through whatever was going on in your head and swung the scythe at him and not me. I would've taken the hit, knowing what it would accomplish, but having you back after that, even with Amara let out…after over a year of dealing with the Mark, nothing compares to that.

May 2016: You found the amulet I rescued from the trash years ago. We also found God, which turned out to be…surprising.

Then, just days after, you offered yourself up as a soul train to take a bomb to Amara to save the world but doom yourself in the process. We said goodbye standing over mom's grave and I honestly thought that after everything, that could be it. Would've been poetic at least. But you talked your way past her and saved the day. You made it, and the world's grateful for it even if they'll never know.

A few days later you found me, like you always do.

November 11, 2016: The plane went down, and for the second time in just a few months I thought I'd never see you again. No graveyards or impending apocalypses or a world that needed saving. Nothing supernatural, even. No immediate sign that I should've given a more meaningful goodbye or told you to drive safe or convinced you that the meeting wasn't worth going to at all.

Now: I'm sitting in a coffee shop, you're in a hospital bed, and we're both trying to process, just to different degrees. From the few words you got out, you probably don't remember any of this, which is why I'm writing it down. So that when you do remember, you can have something to fill in some of the little details.

We've dealt with worse than this, if the last seven years are any indication, and we'll all get through it. None of us are going anywhere, no matter how many times I have to remind you that you're a good person and that no, you didn't dream the musical, it actually happened.

It was as close to an 'I love you' as a Winchester would ever get, all spread out across ten or so pages spanning just a fifth or so of their time together.

Dean had to take a few moments to make sure he could actually compose himself in the face of all the information. He did remember most of it, but some of the little nuances he had missed, and reading it in Sam's own words put a whole other layer on it altogether. The good and the bad, just as he'd promised, though the good was definitely highlighted. Sam was nothing if not persuasive where his brother was concerned.

As soon as he was a hundred percent sure his brain wasn't about to go into overdrive, Dean left his room and went to find Sam. He found him on his own bed watching something on his laptop that had been propped up on the chair. He was only half focused on it though, for when Dean came in, his attention immediately shifted over. He didn't say anything, but a glance was enough to try and determine if Dean was okay with what he had just read.

And in all honesty, he was.

So he shoved Sam's legs out of the way and when his brother smirked, Dean scooted onto the bed next to him and trained his eyes on what he was watching. "Dude, seriously?"

"What?"

"You don't get enough of this from our day job?" he motioned to the screen, where three guys were headed up some narrow, crazily sloping stairs in a room that had low ceilings. Of course, it was night and they were decked out in top of the line ghost hunting equipment. Still, Dean smirked when one of them got 'pushed backwards'. The overacting gave it away. That and the fact that if it had really been a pissed off spirit, they would've been thrown over the banister. Dean knew that from experience.

Sam was watching him, not that Dean cared. "It's entertaining, alright?" he halfheartedly defended. But when he went back to watching, he looked more amused too, likely thinking the same thing Dean was. If the place was really haunted, those guys would have left their boxes and lights behind and have been running for the hills. Nothing a solid iron poker didn't fix though.

The episode ended and Netflix started the next one, but neither brother made a move to get up.

The world could try to end as many times as it wanted on as big of a scale as it wanted, be it God-level or inside Dean's own head.

But no, they weren't going anywhere.