Chapter 15

"…Sam…"

The voice sounded muffled, as if he were hearing it through a thick wall. Darkness swam around him.

"…Sam?... Can you hear me?..."

Cas? Sam thought, but he couldn't seem to find his voice. He frowned, trying to turn his head to listen for his friend calling to him.

Sam slowly opened his eyes, blinking heavily. Castiel's face hovered in front of him, creased with worry.

"Cas?" Sam whispered. His throat felt raw and bloody, like ground meat.

Cas sighed in relief, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You OK?" the angel asked.

Sam stiffly dragged himself upright in the chair, rubbing his eyes. They felt as though someone had kicked sand in them. What the hell happened…?

With a jolt, Sam remembered. "Dean!" he choked, lurching forward. Cas put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, saving him from falling out of the chair.

Dean lay on the bed, soaked in sweat. His face was still pale, but the flushed pallor from the fever was gone. Sam glanced at the machines at his brother's bedside; his body temperature read 100 degrees and steadily falling, and his vitals were steadying.

Sam let out a breath, nearly breaking down. He held his head in his hands, barely daring to believe that they had actually done it. Dean's fever had broken.

A small noise escaped Dean's throat. Sam's head shot up.

Dean's face twitched, his brow furrowing. He coughed slightly, then once more.

"Dean?" Sam whispered. Castiel stepped closer to his friend's bedside.

Dean's eyes opened, a tiny slit of green visible in the moonlight. At first they looked blankly at the ceiling, glassy and unfocused. Then Dean blinked, and his head turned slightly to look at Cas, then his brother.

Sam swallowed, practically holding his breath.

Dean's mouth moved, opening slightly to take in a raspy breath through parched lips…

"S…Sam…my?"

Sam let out a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. Next to him, Cas' face split into a grin.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said, his heart feeling lighter than it had in a long, long time.

Dean watched him, confused and utterly exhausted. "Wh…what…happ…ened?" he rasped.

Sam wiped his streaming eyes. "It's kind of a long story, man. The important thing is that you're OK. You should rest."

Dean looked as though he was about to argue, but Sam reached out and put a placating hand on his brother's arm.

"Seriously, dude. Just rest. Let someone take care of you for a change."

Dean's eyelids grew heavier. He wouldn't be able to fight off sleep much longer. "You guys… OK?" he whispered.

Sam and Castiel traded tired smiles.

"Yeah, Dean. We're OK now," Sam said quietly.

-o-

The doctors were utterly flabbergasted when they came in to check on Dean the following morning. He was still quite out of it, but his cognitive functions had somehow miraculously improved exponentially overnight. He wasn't strong enough to leave his bed without assistance, and his speech was halting and a little slurred, but the fact that he had the presence of mind to ask for a breakfast sandwich with extra bacon, extra cheese, and extra grease was nothing short of mind-boggling.

They ran every test they could think of, but no one could explain his sudden improvement. At the end of the day, they had no choice but to write it off as a medical miracle.

Dean had to stay in the hospital for another week. Sam and Castiel never once left his side. By the third day after his fever had disappeared, he was able to stand, leaning heavily on Sam, and his strength grew by the day.

Once in a while, Sam would catch Dean with a far-off look on his face, his eyes staring blankly into space as if he were trying to remember something he'd forgotten. Sometimes he would look at Sam as if he didn't recognize him, but those moments became shorter and less frequent as the days passed.

Sam suspected it was an aftereffect of what Michael had done, that during these moments of confusion Dean had to remind himself what was real. They hadn't spoken about what had transpired inside Dean's mind or what might still be happening, but Sam could guess. He stayed patient with his brother, gently reminding him when necessary, just happy that he was alive.

Better than that. He was alive, he was healing, and the Mark of Cain was finally gone.

Eight days after the fever, Dean was declared strong enough to leave the hospital. He was still a little weak, but his condition had improved immensely (helped along by small doses of healing power from Castiel).

Sam helped his brother into his jacket as they prepared to leave. The curly-haired doctor had already stopped by to wish them well. Castiel had disappeared after muttering something about retrieving dinner for them. With a smirk, Sam suspected he would be flying all over the country just to pick up some of Dean's favorites.

Sam turned to lead the way out of the room, idly toying with the Impala's keys in his pocket.

"Sam."

He glanced back at his brother. Dean was looking at him, a meaningful look in his eye.

Sam frowned. "Something wrong?"

Dean didn't answer. Instead he crossed the distance between them and pulled his brother into a tight hug. Surprised at first, Sam returned the embrace.

"I remember," Dean said quietly.

Sam's heart squeezed, and he gripped his brother tighter, a silent promise to never let him go. After a moment, they stepped apart.

Sam cleared his throat, and smiled. "Let's go home."

THE END

A/N: I haven't written a fic in about three years. It has been SO MUCH FUN getting back into it for a little while. THANK YOU to everyone who's been so supportive and encouraging, especially YesteryearsGirl, Jenna Rudder, DearHart, sabidoche, Quicker Than Silver, and Lakey. I'm so glad you've enjoyed the story! I've certainly enjoyed writing it.

SEASON FINALE NEXT WEEK! I probably won't be able to handle it. Correction: I DEFINITELY WON'T. See you on the other side, friends!

Love, EB