A/N: Holy crap were there ever typos in the last chapter, I'm surprised no one pointed them out lol. I guess it was another one that I wrote at ass o'clock in the morning and posted it thinking that I was impenetrable to sleep deprivation. Thank you to everyone who reviewed and supported, as Dean would say, you're awesome.

Brothers, Always

Sam

If Sam had to guess what it was like to be on acid while being completely hammered, this would be it. It's like being there but at the same time not, and he has no idea which way is up and which way is down, or if there even is an up or down. The darkness that he's spinning in gets interrupted occasionally with bright, fluid bursts of color that remind him of the Northern Lights. His insides feel like they're freezing, like frost is settling over his organs but his skin his alarmingly hot. Sam wonders if this is what dying slowly is like, if this is the experience that he missed out on the first time. Then he realizes that he's not scared. Where ever this place is, whether he's alive, dead or on his way to being dead, it feels safe and it's peaceful. It's a feeling that he hasn't felt in a long time and he's drawn to it, like a bug to a lantern.

Without warning or apparent reason, the air around him shifts, like he's entered a completely different gravity field. Wind rushes around his head like he's caught in a storm or free falling from a scary height. Suddenly white light explodes around him and the wind picks up, sending a bolt of fear right into Sam's stomach. The feeling quickly passes into pain, however, as he crash lands hard onto something solid. The force of the impact steals the air right out of Sam's lungs and he freezes, too physically stunned to move. He gasps and heaves as he fights to get oxygen back into his body. When he finally does, he curls in on himself in attempt to relieve the sharp pain in his chest.

"Sorry about the drop, there's no easy way to get to this place," a voice from above him says and from the corner of his eye, Sam sees a hand offered to help pull him up.

With effort, Sam moves his arm and lets the stranger haul him up straight. The movement sends another starburst of pain through his back and chest, and Sam gasps.

"I know. You'd think that being here would make everything pain free, but for some reason, everyone feels the fall," The voice says conversationally.

Curiosity wins over pain and Sam forces himself to look straight to see who, or what, is talking to him.

He's just a normal looking guy with spiky light brown hair, blue eyes and a small, flat mole next to his left eyebrow, and preppy mall clothes. Sam stares and blinks, trying to get his mind to catch up while his body recuperates.

"Who are you?" Sam mutters, wincing as he tries to stand up straighter.

"Name's Ethan," he says and extends his hand, "I'm your guardian."

Sam alternates between staring at Ethan's hand and face, trying to quickly flip through the rolodex in his head so he can figure out just what in the hell a 'guardian' is.

"S'ok, I get that a lot," Ethan says with a smile as he takes back his hand, "We'll try again later."

Sam blinks again, "Where am I?"

Ethan shrugs, "Some say it's a level of consciousness, others argue it's an actual alternate plane. I like to keep it simple and call it the Waiting Room."

"And what is that?" Sam asks, glancing around.

"Kinda like Purgatory or Limbo just not as shit-your-pants terrifying," Ethan replies with a crooked grin.

Sam doesn't know if he agrees with that as he takes a good look around. He's standing on a slate gray floor that's probably thirty feet by thirty feet and that's absolutely it. There are no walls, no ceiling, and no furniture. And underneath the floor is absolutely nothing, it just falls into inky blackness.

"Right," Sam breathes as he swallows, taking a few solid steps away from the edge, "And you're a…guardian?"

Ethan smiles brightly, "Yeah, I'm here to keep you company until you figure out what you're going to do."

"Do?" Sam echoes and furrows his brow, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know why you're here, right? You know what's happening to you?" Ethan asks rhetorically.

Sam shakes his head slowly. He can't really remember much of anything besides being caught in a bad trip from the 60's.

"Oh man, really?" Ethan asks and runs his hand through his hair, sighing, "You got knocked around pretty good, man. Stab wound, a few good hits to the head, busted ribs, ringing any bells?"

Yeah, it was. Sam remembers the bar, Zeke and Greg, a few flashes of Dean and a whole 'lotta pain.

"He stabbed me in the back," Sam whispers loudly as the pieces fall together, "Am I dead?"

"Not quite," Ethan replies, "Coma."

"Then why am I not a spirit? When Dean was in a coma his spirit stuck around the hospital, why am I not there?" Sam demands, point off into the blackness as if he has any idea where reality really is.

"Whoa, calm down, dude. I don't pick and choose who comes here, I just guard them," Ethan says with his hands up in defense.

"Yeah, you keep mentioning that. What does that even mean?" Sam asks, narrowing his eyes, "Are you a guardian angel?"

Ethan lets out a short, amused laugh, "An angel? No way, man. You've met those guys, right? Total pricks. No, just guardian, one step bellow Reaper and way nicer."

"And you're here to…"

"Help you choose," Ethan finishes.

"Choose?"

"Life or death, dude, the big decision," Ethan says, smiling, "It's a toughie, some people want help."

Sam blinks, trying to get his brain to work through the information. He figures he has two choices: believe this guy Ethan, make his choice and move along, or not believe him and figure that this is all in his head, and a complete product of all the drugs the hospital must be pumping him with. His logic is leading him to the product of drugs theory.

"How do I know you're even real?" Sam asks.

"You can always try walking off the edge of this floor to see what happens," Ethan says with a knowing smirk.

Sam glances over the edge of the floor again to see it drop off into nothingness, and decides that real or not, he's fine staying right where he is.

"So are you going to humor me?" Ethan asks, his voice tickling with amusement.

Sam glares.

"I'll take that as a yes," Ethan says, not at all bothered by the glower, "So…"

"I'm going back," Sam interrupts fiercely, "I still need to do something."

"Put on the breaks, dude. Have you even thought about this? I mean, do you even remember what it's like out there?" Ethan asks as he starts to circle around Sam, "Your relationship with your brother is completely on the rocks, damn near annihilated. The angels want you dead so in reality, you might just end up back here anyways. The apocalypse is coming and oh yeah, you're completely mutating your blood into demon DNA. What part of that sounds like fun to you?"

Sam's nostrils flare in anger as his throat works against traitorous tears. None of it sounds like fun. In fact, Sam's thought about biting a bullet so many times that he's lost count.

"And what, you want to go back to kill that chick Lilith? Man, it's not even worth it. Say you kill her, ok? What then? Dean still hates you, you're still on your way to becoming something not so human, and then what do you have left?" Ethan continues as Sam fights with his emotions.

Sam looks up at that and stares at Ethan, who looks like he's actually waiting for a reply. Then Ethan shakes his head, "She isn't worth destroying yourself over. And that Ruby chick? Bad. News. Come on, Sam, don't you think you've paid enough debts? Don't you think you've lost enough? It's done for you up there, man, just let it go."

"I thought you said you were here to help me choose, not make the decision for me," Sam fires back harshly.

"You're the only one who can make the final say. I'm just here to tell it like I see it," Ethan shrugs, "Some times it takes an outsider to make people see the truth."

Sam swallows. He can't deny that everything the Guardian said was true, painfully so, but that doesn't mean he's going to give in. He's put too much into his revenge to just let it go and Dean…he can't leave Dean up there to fight the big fight alone.

"I can't leave my brother," Sam says firmly, "He wouldn't leave me."

Ethan gets this sad, pitying look on his face, "I know how you feel, Sam, I do. But Dean was ready to leave you. He's already let you go. Come on, you can't tell me that you don't know that you two are barely hanging by a thread, and when he finds out, really finds out what you've been doing?"

Ethan pauses and lets that sink in before he continues, "There's no reason to hurt each other anymore. He'll be ok, he's got angels at his back, remember?"

Sam doesn't answer, he just swallows and looks down, wondering why he's even considering letting this happen. The little voice inside him is saying it's because Ethan's right. He's so tired of fighting, so tired. He's tired of darkness and pain, of fighting just to stay human and keep being Dean's brother. He's tired of watching Dean hurt and not being able to fix it, tired of Dean pushing him away like he couldn't care less. Some days it all hurts so much he can't stand it. Some days, he wants to find that final kamikaze mission. And isn't that what Lilith is? The final hunt? Dean'll take care of her, there's no way he'd let a demon that big go. But the question is, can Sam let it go?

"I'll go to hell," Sam replies softly, his voice clogged with tears, "There's no way they'll let me into heaven."

Ethan shrugs, "That's not my department. But there are more planes than just heaven and hell, you know? Like, you could stay here forever if you want to, lost in coma land."

Sam shakes his head, "It'd kill Dean, he'd never be able to let go."

"Then we're back to square one. What's it going to be, Sam? You jumping or are you going back?"

Sam looks back into the emptiness below him and then back at Ethan, wondering if he has the courage to jump or not.

Dean.

It's been two days since Dean marched into Sam's room and demanded that his little brother wake up and get with the program. Since then he's made an effort to get himself back together as well. He shaved, ate some real food and called Bobby. With the huge mess he's in, Dean forgot all about Bobby and cringed to think what the man would say once he got him on the phone. He wasn't disappointed.

"What the hell do you mean Sam's been in a coma for three weeks? You forget how to use a phone, boy? Or am I just last on your damn Christmas list? Where the hell are you?"

"La Pine, Oregon," Dean says, "But, you don't have to…"

"If you know what's good for you, you'll shut up. I'll be there by tomorrow, at the latest, don't even think about arguing."

On the other end of the line, Dean blinks.

Bobby sighs, "Keep your head on, Dean, we'll figure something out. Just don't do anything stupid until I get there, you idjit."

Click.

The whole conversation lasts about one full minute, with Dean only getting in a few sounds and words in through the whole thing. He expected nothing less and he'd be lying if he said he didn't have a smile on his face when he hung up the phone. Bobby is coming, he knows how to fix things, they'll be ok. Or at the very least, Dean won't be alone in the silence any more.

True to his word, Bobby's there the next day.

"Talked to Sam's Doctor, told em' I was your Uncle. He gave me the run down," Bobby says as he claps a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"They wanted me to pull the plug," Dean says, feeling hot hellfire burn in his stomach at the memory.

"He told me that too," Bobby answers and then squeezes Dean's shoulder, "We ain't letting him go, Dean, not unless we have to."

Dean nods thankfully and exhales. If he has anything to say about it, they'll never have to.

"What do we do? Psychic, medium, voodoo, mojo, what?" Dean asks as he sits back in his chair next to Sam's bed.

"You talk to any angels lately?" Bobby asks in return.

Dean's expression darkens, "Yeah, lot of good it did. Castiel told me that Sam doesn't want to wake up and that he isn't going to do shit about it. I'd choke him with his damn halo if I thought it'd do me any good."

"So Sam's taking a vacation and he doesn't plan on flying back?" Bobby reiterates.

"I guess."

Bobby falls quiet and Dean's eyes narrow, "I know that look. You know something or you think you know something, what is it?"

"I'm not saying that it'll work, it might even be downright dangerous…"

"Skip the gloom and doom," Dean demands impatiently.

Bobby shoots him a warning glower, "It's a bonding spell."

Dean blinks, "Bonding as in?"
"As in you'll be exchanging vows in no time," Bobby replies sarcastically with an eye roll, "It's a spiritual thing. In theory, you should be able to follow Sam's essence to see where he is, and if he can come back. It's temporary."

Dean rubs his hand over his face and then trails in through his hair roughly, "Ok, what's this spell take?"

Bobby shrugs, "Not much. Your blood, his blood, a few herbs, candles and some latin."

"It's gonna be hard to pull off in a hospital room," Dean says as he frowns, his eyes dancing over the room.

"Well, since you've spent the past three weeks with your ass glued to that chair, I'm assuming you know all the schedules for rounds," Bobby snarks, his lingering irritation from being on the 'last to know list' still burning.

"Yeah," Dean replies with a thoughtful frown, "3 am should be a good time, things start to really slow down around then."

"Ok, that's four hours from now. I have what we need down in the truck, I'll be back up with it, we'll stash it in the room somewhere 'til it's time," Bobby says as he starts to move to the door.

Dean sinks down in his own chair in relief and Bobby frowns, "Don't get your hopes too high. We have no idea if Sam's even in his own head. There's a lot of theories about where you go when you're between life and death."

"Yeah, I know," Dean says and swallows, "But I have to believe that something'll work. He never gives up on me, not even when I'm being a complete dick, and I'm not going to do it to him. He's not dying, I'm not going to let him."

Bobby sighs softly and nods, turning to go out to the parking garage.

Alone in the silence again with the ever present whoosh hiss whoosh sound, Dean grabs Sam's wrist, "You'd better be in there, Sammy, cause I'm coming in to pull your ass out of la-la land, whether or want to go or not."

The last nurse comes in at 2:43 a.m, Dean knows because he's been watching the clock like a hawk for the last three hours or so. She comes in, checks Sam's stats, smiles and Dean and then leaves.

Dean's bouncing around the room like a two year old hopped up on sugar the second she's out the door.

"Come on, Bobby," Dean practically whines as he double checks to make sure no one else is going to come in any time soon.

Bobby shoots him a warning look.

"I'm sorry, it's just…it's been three weeks," Dean finishes pathetically.

It's on the tip on Bobby's tongue to remind Dean that if he had called sooner, it wouldn't have been three weeks, but he knows that's not what Dean needs to hear right now.

"Yeah, I know," Bobby mutters as he finishes stringing together the herbs they need, "sit down."

Dean immediately sits and looks at Bobby expectantly. Bobby takes the rope of herbs he's made and slings it around Dean's neck, who looks down at it like it's a snake.

"I'm having a bad Christmas flashback," Dean grumbles as he smells the herbs and wrinkles his nose, "at least that stuff smelled good. What is this crap?"

"Marigold, Mugwort, Myrrh, Plantain, and Wormwood," Bobby replies as he hands Dean a knife, "Sam first, then you."

"Gonna be hard to explain a new, random cut on coma patient," Dean says as he hesitantly makes a shallow cut on Sam's hand.

Bobby doesn't reply and Dean makes a cut on his own hand, barely wincing at the sting as the red line wells with blood.

"Remember, when you grab his hand, make sure that you're thinking about nothing except Sam. Any other thought might send you in a weird, bad direction," Bobby says as he shifts the book he's holding in his hands.

"That's comforting," Dean replies as he rolls his eyes, "Just tell me when."

Bobby shrugs, "Whenever you're ready, just make sure that you're solely concentrated on Sam."

Honestly, that's not going to be too hard, because during the last three weeks, his brother has been the only thing he's been thinking about. Dean takes a deep breath and grabs on to Sam's hand, making sure that their blood touches, and he thinks about Sam. He thinks about the bad, the good and the in between, what's changed and what's the same, what's going to be different when he gets his little brother back. The room slowly gets dark as Bobby's voice dims, and Dean instinctively holds on to Sam's hand tighter, as if he's scared that they'll get separated if he doesn't hold on.

The next thing he knows, Dean's rocket launching through blackness, unable to breathe from the force of it, and then he collides with something rock hard. The impact makes pain explode through his whole body and he swears he can actually feel his skeletal system rattle.

"Holy shit," Dean breathes inaudibly as he curls up on his side, trying to find a way to make the pain dull so that he can move.

It takes a few minutes but eventually it fades, and he's finally able to move. Dean sits up slowly and glances around, doing an inventory of his surroundings. He's really not happy with what he sees. First of all, he's on a free-floating floor in freakin' space and second, Sam's sitting on the edge of said floor with his legs dangling off the ledge. Dean keeps his eyes glued to Sam's back as he pushes himself to his feet. He swallows and risks a glance over the edge, just to confirm his suspicions and yep, nothing down there but pitch black and alarming nothingness. Slowly, Dean makes his way over to Sam, making sure to make enough noise so that Sam isn't startled.

"Sam?" He asks softly as soon as he's close enough for Sam to hear.

"Hey, Dean," Sam replies, not turning around, "Ethan told me you were coming."

"Who's Ethan?" Dean demands as he immediately looks around for the possible enemy that Sam's talking about, but there's nothing but the floor and vast emptiness.

"Long story," Sam says and then falls quiet.

Dean shuffles closer, wondering how close he can get and how far away he can be while still being close enough to grab Sam if he goes over.

"What are you doing here?" Dean asks, deciding that three feet or so is the closest he should get in order not to spook Sam.

Sam shrugs and replies flatly, "Thinking about jumping."

Dean freezes, horror and panic blasting over his skin like ice, freezing his heart, "What?"

"Jumping," Sam repeats as if it's the most mundane thing ever, "If I want to leave, I have to jump."

Dean breathes harshly a few times, trying to restart his vital organs, before he tries to speak, "You can't do that."

"I should," Sam immediately repeats, "He was right. He was right about everything."

"Who was?"

"Ethan. He said that no matter what I do, I have nothing left. No matter what I do, I'm not the same anymore and I never will be. So why would I want to stay? Why would I want to when there's nothing left up there but pain?" Sam asks and shakes his head, "I'm so tired, Dean, I'm so tired of it."

Dean's said and thought the same thing himself, a few different times. When their dad died, when he thought Sam was infected with the Croatoan virus, when he was stuck in his own idea of the perfect world, when he knew he was going to hell, when he came back from hell, just last week; he's wanted to give up so many times he's lost count. Who the hell is he to tell Sam not to when it's all he's wanted to do for the past three years? A hypocrite, and a selfish one at that. But he doesn't care.

"I know you're tired," Dean finally says, his voice steady but barely disguising his panic, "I am too, but this isn't the way, Sam. This is never the way. We do it together, remember? We fight through this stuff together."

Dean dares to shuffle closer because he doesn't like the way this is going, but he's startled backwards as Sam suddenly stands up and whips around to face him. The big brother inside Dean hurts a little as he takes in Sam's tear stained face, hollow, desperate eyes and shaking hands. Instinctively, he moves a little closer, "Sammy…"

"We fight together? That's real rich, coming from you," Sam says as he snorts, "All we've done since you've come back is fight each other, avoid each other and push each other away. So don't you dare come down here demanding that I come back with you, saying that we're in it together when you've been a better brother to damn liquor bottles than you have been to me!"

Dean blinks in shock as anger starts to build up in his stomach. He quickly pushes the offending feeling down because here and now is not the place to get in a fight, not when Sam's already ready to jump.

"Why are you even here, Dean?" Sam asks brokenly, a vast difference from the rage that was pouring off him moments ago.

People talk about moments when the realize something, something big, but they never really say that it feels like a freight train hitting you at full speed ahead. It feels like that only worse because, god, he's just now getting it. Things are so bad between them that Sam really thought that he'd just let him go, that he didn't even care that Sam's hanging in limbo, only a thought away from taking the leap. Sam thinks he wants him dead.

"How can you even ask me that, Sammy? You really think I'd just leave you behind? You're my brother," Dean replies, his voice hitching.

Sam laughs without humor, "The brother you want to hunt? The one who probably doesn't even have the same blood as you, never did?"

"That's not true, don't you dare even think it!" Dean demands with conviction as he takes another step forward. Sam takes one more step back, closer to the ledge.

"Yes it is, Dean, and you know it. Demon blood, that's what's in me and it's never coming out. Not ever."

"Damnit, I don't care! I don't care what's in you or what you think you are, we're brothers and I'm not letting you die!" Dean shouts with conviction, "You wouldn't let me and I'm not letting you, not again."

"But I did," Sam whispers as more tears flow down his cheeks, "I did let you die and it screwed everything up."

Dean's own throat and heart constricts, "Sammy, it wasn't your fault. I told you that even before I was a hell hound's chew toy."

"But it's true. If I had saved you, if I had stopped it…we'd never be here, and you...we'd, be ok. And it's like it doesn't stop. You're here and I know you're here, but up here," Sam points to his head and then to his chest, "And here, it just doesn't compute. Sometimes, when I wake up, I forget, and it's like…like I failed all over again."

And god, the hits just keep coming.

Dean shakes his head, "This needs to stop, Sam."

Sam nods, "I know, that's why I'm jumping. You'll be ok, better, without me."

Sam takes one more step backwards and Dean feels like his heart is literally going to pound right out of his chest.

"Stop! No, no that's not what I meant! Christ, Sam, just…come back this way, would you? Please," Dean pleads, pure desperation pouring out of his mouth as he takes a few instinctive steps forward.

Sam doesn't move, just stares at Dean with an expression that he can't really decode, and that really bothers Dean, because he's always been able to know what his little brother has been thinking.

"Please, Sammy?" Dean says again when Sam doesn't do anything to help release the tight knot in his chest, "it's all wrong, I know it is, but I don't want to do it without you, not ever."

One more step back, "it's not that easy anymore. We've changed too much."

"It doesn't have to be like that. I'm sorry, ok? I'm sorry it turned out this way but you can't do this. Bobby? Bobby will kill me if I come back without you. And what's the car going to think? Huh? You know she's half yours, she'll think you abandoned her."

What Dean really means to say is 'please don't leave me to do this alone, I need you, and I'll be even more lost than I am now.' He doesn't think he needs to say it, if their brother speak is still intact. He prays that he's not wrong.

Half a step backwards and Sam shakes his head, "You say that now but up there? Everything's different there."

"Not this time, ok? I promise," Dean says as he takes an answering step to Sam's.

He's too close now, too close to the edge of the floor and falling into pure blackness, into death. He doesn't care what he has to say now because all he can think of, all he can see is Sam moving closer and closer to the ledge and not listening to a thing Dean's saying.

"What if you're wrong? What if this is the only way?" Sam asks, heels practically balancing on the ledge.

Hot tears burn behind Dean's eyes and cool as they fall down his skin, "There's never just this way. We'll figure it out, right? We always do. Me and you, Sam, the way it's always been."

Dean takes one more step closer, he's now an arm length away from Sam, if not a little closer. For a moment, Dean actually thinks Sam is going to let him grab him and pull him away from the edge, but then something happens. Dean doesn't know if Sam actually moved to make that final step or if he just shifted wrong but one second Sam was firmly on the ground and the next, he was toppling over, flailing to re-catch his balance.

"Sammy!" Dean shouts as he immediately moves forward, faster than he thought possible, to steady Sam's balance.

But he's too late. Sam's bigger than he is and his backwards momentum was too much to control, and Sam falls over the edge, taking Dean with him.

A/N: I know this went in a…weird direction, but no matter how many times I tried to re-write it, some version of this came out. So, that being said, I hope you like it and if not, that's cool too. You know the drill, let me know what you think! And thank god hellatus is done next week, right? Man, I've been dying.