I'm sick. Three days before District Speech and I'm sick. I hate life.

In totally unrelated news, this is the final chapter, so please enjoy. I know it will seem a bit odd, butIabsolutely love the ending. I just hope that you will, too.

Thanks so much for reading, and keep your eyes open for my next story, "On Angel's Wings 5." Yeah, I said it. It might take a bit longer, but it's coming :) I think.

"Where were you? I was worried sick." And for a minute it was like nothing had changed, like he'd stayed out too late with his friends, like Sammy had actually been worried. Like he was dad again.

And then Dean looked up, saw that Sam's mouth was in his direct line of sight as the taller man approached, and hated himself. He shouldn't have been that tall. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up.

"I went to see Bobby."

"You found him?"

Dean shrugged. "Wasn't that hard. There's only one other motel in town."

"What did he say?"

"After effects." Dean muttered. "And then he left."

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

Sam shook his head, confusion written across his face. "For what?"

"Everything." And then it all began to pour out of him, a torrential storm of a last-ditch effort to keep what he'd found. "I'm sorry if I was a brat, and I'm sorry for what I asked for, and I'm sorry that you had to do everything alone, and I'm sorry I was so clingy and that I made us share a bed and that I wanted so much and I'm sorry."

The once-again younger man blinked. "What?"

"Don't leave," Dean whimpered, "please." He let his eyes slide shut, blocking off the tears that had gotten so used to flowing over the past two months. "I swear, I'll be good."

The room fell silent and Dean gulped back emotion, longing, needing, everything that he'd let out, everything that shouldn't have gotten out, the thing inside that always asked for more.

He wanted more than anything to run into his father's arms, to smell the familiar scent of motel soap and sweat and blood, to be safe. But he knew that he couldn't, because he wasn't a child. He was an adult, and adults don't do that kind of thing.

Apparently, though, Sam did.

Dean jumped, just as he had that first night, his feet actually leaving the floor as Sam enveloped him in strong arms. "I'm not going anywhere," the taller man whispered, "and things are gonna be different."

Dean pulled back to stare at his brother, careful to stay in the protective circle of the younger man's arms. "What?"

"I bought an apartment. In Rhode Island. I figured, if you wanted to start over…"

"But I can't. I mean, look at me."

Sam nodded. "Yes, Dean. You're very pretty. Don't worry about it. Daddy took care of everything."

Dean blinked, trying to process, trying to figure out if the last sentence was just as mocking as the mirror had been. It wasn't. "I don't get it."

"I asked around," Sam explained, "and Ellen has a friend that used to be a member of a coven of witches. They tried to sacrifice her, and she fled. Ellen kept her safe, and the girl owes her a favor. So, if you want to be that favor…"

"She can change me back?" He could hear the hope in his voice, feel it shining through every pore on his body, radiating from him, giving him away, leading him to more pain and loss and despair.

"Yeah," Sam said, "she can fix it."

Before he was even conscious of what he was doing, Dean had fallen back into his brother's embrace, letting the tears fall freely. "Daddy?" he whispered cautiously, unsure of the reply he might get.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

He smiled. "I hurt my hand."

"I know you did. It's gonna be ok. We're gonna be ok."

o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean remembered. He remembered everything, and he hated himself for it. He hated looking at small hands and knowing that they were supposed to be bigger, hated blowing shaggy blond bangs out of his eyes and knowing that they weren't supposed to be there. He hated remembering what it was like the first time, the first time he had to give everything and do more.

He didn't have a nightmare. He was just happy to be small enough to curl up next to someone bigger, to wrap a strong arm around himself, to feel safe again. He wanted to be safe.

He knew Sam was awake. He could tell by the way he was breathing, the twitching of his eyelids, the pounding of his heart. As long as Sam pretended, Dean would. He wanted it that bad.

"Safe."

And that was that.

The End.

So, any final thoughts? Complaints? Declarations of love?

Thanks again for reading.

And That Was That.