Author's Notes: This chapter is a little shorter than the rest, and for that I apologize. Also, I figure I should mention it now: my family is going through a very, very rough time right now, as am I, and...I'm just gonna have to put the story on pause, if not stop it completely. I've gotten as far as chapter thirteen (and have finished it), and that's the last one. I hope to pick this story up again at some point, but for now, it's gonna have to take a backseat to everything else. I know I said I planned on shutting it off there until after season 4 popped on, so who knows? That might work out. It all depends on how things go. Sorry /

Please leave me a review to let me know what you thought of this chapter :) Comments are always loved!

Dean gripped the sleeve of Sam's jacket tighter than before.

"Sammy…"

Sam couldn't respond. Tears were still falling on his face and his throat was quivering now, too. It had taken so much longer than he thought it would to get here, to get Dean back, but he had finally done it. His brother was alive again. Life suddenly had a new meaning to him. And the relief that he felt…

Swallowing and letting out a somewhat choked laugh of amusement, Sam pulled his head back and away from Dean's, looking at his brother in the eyes.

"Dean…thank God."

"If you say so…" Dean murmured.

Sam let out another brief, quiet laugh then. "You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice."

Dean grunted in effort in an attempt to lift himself up and into a seated position. It took a little bit more energy out of him than he seemed to have, however, because he fell against his brother, who kept him close.

"Don't try to overdo it right now, Dean," he advised lightly. "Come on. I'll help you into the car, all right? And we can find somewhere to go, so you can get better." At this time Sam looked up, and found Bobby staring at him. The expression on Bobby's face was far from anger, which was what he had been expecting. Instead he seemed a little dazed, but mostly concerned.

"Why don't you boys come back home with me?" Bobby suggested. That made Sam blink. "You can rest there for a while. I can watch over you, make sure you're okay."

While Sam had the distinct feeling that Bobby was speaking specifically about Dean, he didn't say anything about it. Instead he looked down at his brother, who was opening and closing his eyes blearily, as if trying to focus them. He said, "Come on, Dean. Let's go. You can rest in the car."

"Why don't you let me take him in mine," Bobby said lightly, but in a way that clearly was more of an order than an idea.

Although Sam wasn't entirely willing, he nonetheless nodded, and soon he and Bobby were helping Dean to his feet. Together, they helped him into Bobby's car, where he moved to lie across the back seat. Before either of them even really had a chance to say anything, Dean's eyes were closed and he looked like he was about ready to fall asleep. Given how overwhelming the entire situation had been, neither of them really expected him to stay awake for too long at first. When Sam shut the door he turned to Bobby, who reached out and clasped his shoulder.

"Look," Bobby began. Then he stopped, giving a somewhat resigning sigh. "…Never mind. We'll talk about it when we get home. All right?"

"All right," Sam said.

Nothing more was said after that, and each hunter got into their respective car, flipped on their lights, and started on their trip to Sioux County, South Dakota.

. . .

When Sam pulled up behind Bobby, he put the impala into park, killed the engine and then tugged the keys out of the ignition. He shoved them into his pocket and climbed out, eager to stretch his legs. He had been driving for hours, and with no pit stops, his legs had gotten pretty cramped. If at all possible, he didn't plan on driving for a while, just so his body had time to recover from how much of it he had done in the last several days.

Dean remained pretty much out of it while Bobby and Sam helped him into the house. When they laid him down on the couch, he curled up into a near fetal position, which sent a jolt of concern through his younger brother. Dean had never been one to lie like that when trying to sleep. But, after everything that had happened to him…it wouldn't be far fetched to assume he didn't get any sleep, and had surely felt unsafe. That would hopefully change soon.

Sam was just about to walk away, ready to follow Bobby into the kitchen, when he felt Dean suddenly grip the fabric of his jeans. He turned around quickly, looking down at the other to make sure he was okay.

"Sammy," was all Dean said. He shifted on the couch. Then he grunted in slight pain.

The younger hunter reached over and tugged a nearby chair toward him so that he could sit in it. When he did, he kept himself close to his brother, who, although he had let go of his jeans, was now reaching out and grasping for Sam's arm. It was still a feeble sort of grip, but it was insistent. Sam gave him his left arm, and Dean brought it close to him for a moment, almost clinging on to it. Seeing that nearly broke the younger one's heart.

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean," Sam said reassuringly, hunching himself over a little and resting his free arm on top of his thigh.

Sam stayed like that for a while, until he felt the grip on his arm loosen. One look at Dean's face told him that his brother had fallen asleep. That was good. He needed his rest. He needed food, too, of course, but that would come later. Maybe around that time, Sam's appetite would come back to him, too. As it was, he hadn't eaten anything in over seven hours, but he just didn't feel like it. Far too much had happened. Far too much was still going to happen.

He watched Dean sleep for a few minutes until he heard the sound of Bobby rustling around in the kitchen. Getting up, he made his way into the small, but quaint, cooking area, taking in the sight of the older hunter preparing what smelled like chili. It reawakened Sam's hunger, which hit him full force—complete with a loud, grumbling groan from his stomach.

"Thought I'd make a snack," Bobby explained. "Breakfast'd normally be in a few hours, but…hell, I'd normally also be asleep right now."

Sam didn't say anything in response, simply stepping further into the kitchen toward Bobby. The two of them shared a look, after which Bobby pulled his gaze away to check up on the chili. But afterward he returned it to Sam. Finally, he said:

"How's he doin'?"

"Better than I thought he would be," Sam admitted. "But I think he's so exhausted that even food wouldn't wake him up."

When silence followed their little exchange, part of the younger hunter once again expected to be berated for what he had done. But as it was, Bobby just continued to make the chili, stirring it occasionally and pulling away from it long enough to grab a spice container or something of the like. Sam could tell that things were going to be tense between them for a while, if not somewhat indefinitely. After all, he had opened a gate to Hell and let loose God only knew what, just for his brother. But he needed him. Sam couldn't go on without him, no matter how much he may have tried fooling himself into believing he could.

A world without Dean wasn't a world at all.

Bobby's voice quickly snapped him out of his little reverie. "You look beat, kid. Why don't you go get some sleep, too, and we can deal with all of this in the morning?"

Surprisingly, Sam didn't argue. There was a mirror hanging in Bobby's kitchen, just above the phone on the wall, and when he turned to look at himself in it, he looked worse than the last time he checked himself out. There were many factors, of course, but a good night's sleep would hopefully at least do some good. And he could stave off hunger for just a few more hours. Especially if it meant having something home-cooked.

"Yeah, all right," he murmured, reaching up to rub his eyes. "I'll see you in the morning, then, Bobby."

Bobby gave Sam a brief wave as a goodbye while the young hunter stepped out of the kitchen and back into the living room. There were bedrooms upstairs, and although he started making his way toward them, he paused in the archway and stared at his brother sleeping on the couch. Dean's face was contorted and he looked uncomfortable, but he wasn't making any noise, nor was he moving around.

Sam hoped it wasn't anything serious. Dean was probably just dreaming.

With any luck, maybe his own would now end. They had seemingly served their purpose. But so many of them had ended with Dean becoming demonic that he wondered if they were even to serve one at all. After all, it had only been a month. There was no way that someone could become evil in that period of time. Even if they had suffered Hell.

It took years for things like that to happen, he assured himself.

He thought on that while he went upstairs, feeling fatigue weighing on him heavily. By the time he had kicked his boots off and draped his jacket over the desk chair in Bobby's spare room, he already felt like he might pass out. So it was no surprise that when he crawled onto the bed and his head hit the pillow, he immediately fell to sleep.

Sam slept soundly for quite some time. But, somewhere in the middle of the morning, he was abruptly awakened. It was a strange sensation that ran through him, one that he couldn't figure out. It was almost as if an alarm had gone off in his head and he had simply responded to it. The odd thing was, he didn't even feel tired, or sluggish, like he usually did when he woke up. It felt as if all his senses were on the alert.

Scratching his head, the young hunter shifted onto his other side and attempted to go back to sleep. He struggled with this for several minutes, and eventually failed completely. He sat up in the bed and rubbed his eyes, despite the fact that they didn't need to be. What was going on?

There was no clock in Bobby's spare room, so he grabbed his watch that rested on top of the nightstand to check what time it was. The sun was rising outside, and that made sense—it was somewhere around nine in the morning. He groaned quietly. His whole sense of time had been thrown off with all of these long ass drives.

Still not entirely sure why it was that he had just suddenly woken up, Sam figured that he might as well stop trying to go back to sleep, since it seemed like a lost cause anyways. As such, he got up and out of bed, heading out into the hall to go to the bathroom. But he stopped, his ears catching the sound of something stumbling and then a faint crash around below. He shot a look toward Bobby's door and noted that it was shut. The only other option was Dean.

"Dean."

Worried, Sam headed for the stairs and quickly descended them, heading into the living room. He saw his brother standing there in the middle of it, his back to him, and his arms held away from his body, almost like he was tied up. At the sound of Sam arriving he turned around immediately. There was a near manic look on his face.

"Oh, God, those evil sons of bitches…fucking—" he cut off suddenly, letting out an angry, frustrated sort of growl. "This is sick, do you hear me?!" he shouted. He brought the heels of his palms to his forehead, pressing them into it as he tightly closed his eyes. "God damn it!"

"Dean!" Sam stepped closer to his brother but stopped himself when he saw the way Dean hurriedly jumped back from him.

"You're not my brother," Dean said quickly, shaking his head. "You're not Sam. No. You're just another god damn demon that's trying to make me think—"

"Dean," Sam insisted. He gingerly reached out, trying to grip his brother's wrist, but Dean jerked his arm away and let out a whimper that made the young hunter wince. "Dean, it is me, I swear!"

"Don't—don't do this. Not again." In a second's time Dean stumbled into the side of the couch and fell onto the wooden floor, letting out a pained grunt as he crumbled out over it. Sam approached him but said nothing, and this made him bring up his hands to hide his face. "Just leave me alone…"

The tone that Dean was using was so unlike him that Sam couldn't even recognize it as his brother. He looked down at him and finally, biting his tongue, reached out and took hold of his wrists, attempting to pull Dean's hands away from his face. It was surprisingly easy to do so—so easy, in fact, that the strength Sam used actually jerked the older hunter's arms outward, which caused him to cry out in pain.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Sam apologized quickly, almost timidly. Dean was nearly writhing on the floor now, shaking. But he wasn't fighting back, which gave the taller one the opportunity to bring his brother close to him. He wrapped one arm around Dean's shoulders like he had earlier, and he used the other to lift him up off the ground and against his chest. Dean continued to shake, and he tried to push Sam away, but he couldn't.

"You're not my brother," Dean repeated faintly, as if he had lost the fight within him.

"Dean, I swear to God, it's me. It's Sammy." Sam spoke softly, as comfortingly as he could, and he unknowingly began to rock the other back and forth. Dean, whose head was pressed against his younger brother's chest, gave a trembling sort of sigh. "I promise it's me, Dean. I saved you…"

It took Dean several moments before his shaky breaths and anxious trembling began to subside. When it did, he gripped the other's shirt, looking up at him. "Sammy?" he asked tentatively.

Sam nodded, trying to smile soothingly. "In the flesh."

Those words seemed to placate Dean. The young hunger felt all the tension in his brother's body disappear, and watched as he closed his eyes, bringing himself in closer. He gripped Sam's shirt tighter.

"Thank God," he murmured.

Sam cradled Dean in his arms for a few minutes before the heaviness of his body began to weigh in on his arms. Grunting quietly, he gestured to the couch. "Come on, let's get you up there." Dean complied, and soon the two of them were sitting on the couch. Sam looked over him, realizing that Dean was still wearing the clothes that he had been at the time of his death.

"How're you feeling?" he asked.

"Like…shit," Dean replied tiredly. There were dark circles under his eyes, but it seemed that, by reuniting his soul with his body, Sam had thus undone all the signs of deterioration that the other's body had undergone. Dean looked sickly, but not like death, like before. The wounds were still visible, but they were certainly better than they had been.

The older one brought a hand up to his face. "Please tell me this is real."

"Normally this is where I'd pinch you, but I think you've been through enough pain as it is." Sam pursed his lips momentarily. "It's real, though. I promise. We're at Bobby's house. Last night…"

"Last night," Dean repeated. He turned his gaze to Sam. "God, it's all like a blur. What happened?"

Where to begin, Sam wondered? He decided to drop the bomb first. "Well. Last night, I…resurrected you, pretty much." Dean's face fell at that, and Sam knew immediately what he was thinking. "I didn't make a deal," he said quickly, in his defense. "So…don't worry." Dean seemed to loosen up again. "I used a ritual to reunite your soul with your body."

Dean didn't seem to know what to say to that, because nothing came out of his mouth afterward. He glanced downward, taking in his body's appearance. Everything was exactly the same as when he had been killed, right down to the bloodstains, save for the dressing his wounds had gotten. When he looked back up at Sam he still said nothing, but he moved in, wrapping his arms tightly around his brother's shoulders out of the blue. Sam responded afterward by returning the hug, but gingerly, so as to not injure him further. When Dean pulled back, his eyes were slightly moist.

"I don't know how you got me out of there, but…thanks, Sam." He patted Sam's knee.

It was a rarity for Dean to ever say he was sorry or that he was thankful, let alone cry, and for it all to come so freely from him as it did at that moment was something Sam was going to treasure. Giving his brother a soft smile, he nodded. "Don't worry about it. You're my brother, Dean. I'd do anything for you."

The entire thing felt surreal. As silence overtook them, Sam couldn't help but stare at Dean, expecting this, too, to be some kind of dream for him. But he knew it wasn't, because no dream could have been as intense and long lasting as what had just happened to them. It was just impossible.

"What time is it?" Dean asked all of a sudden, looking over his shoulder.

"It's about nine," Sam replied. "Bobby and I got here sometime early this morning…we put you on the couch to rest, and then went upstairs and did the same. I was gonna take you up there with me, but I figured it'd be better to just leave you resting where you were. Too much moving could've done some damage."

"What's the date?"

"It's June sixth." Sam knew Dean wanted to know how long he was down there for. And sure enough, the next comment verified that.

"It felt like so much longer down there."

"It felt like that up here, too," Sam said with a quiet snort. "Believe me."

There was so much left unsaid between them: what Hell had been like; what Sam had done in his time while Dean was down there; how the two of them had changed; how everything had changed. But neither of them brought any of it up. In fact, the next topic couldn't have been further from it.

"I'm hungry as hell," Dean announced. "Feel like I could eat a whole Thanksgiving feast to myself."

"When couldn't you before?" Sam joked. He felt a wave of comfort—of relief—rush over him at that moment. He hadn't realized just how much he missed joking like this with Dean.

"Let's get something to eat."

Although Sam was up and standing in no time flat, it took Dean some time to get himself the same. When Sam reached down to try and help him, he batted the other's hand away, giving him a light grunt. The two Winchesters headed into Bobby's kitchen, where Dean took a seat at the table, while Sam rummaged through the cabinets. He pulled some bread out of it and headed to the refrigerator to get some mayonnaise, mustard and lunch meat. Bobby always had ham in his house, that much he could remember. Some of the chili from the night before was in there, too, and so he pulled that out, then prepared a meal for him and his brother. It wasn't anything fancy, but food was food, and neither of them was picky.

When the plate was placed in front of him with a sandwich and a bowl of chili, Dean looked at it as if it really were a Thanksgiving dinner. He went for the sandwich first, gripping it with both hands as he took a large bite out of it. The look on his face was pure bliss, but it seemed tainted almost by some kind of longing desperation. He gave a groan of satisfaction as he took another bite, then another, quickly in succession.

Sam frowned. He couldn't very well tell his brother not to inhale the food; because from the looks of it, it was the first thing he had eaten in…well, over a month. He had barely taken a couple of bites out of his own by the time Dean finished with his, picking up the spoon and going after the chili next. The two of them sat in silence while they ate, with Sam watching his brother intently. Dean finished his meal with a long, but content, sigh.

"You know how long it's been since I've eaten anything good?" he asked quietly.

Sam took the question as rhetorical, and as such, didn't answer. Instead he just shook his head, taking another bite from his sandwich. When he looked at his brother, he was surprised to see the way he was staring at his food. "Did you want more?" the younger one asked.

"You mind?" Dean requested.

"No, no. Here, take it." Sam extended the other half of his sandwich to his brother, who snatched it up with thanks and had almost eaten half of it within seconds. It surprised him how quickly Dean could eat sometimes.

Things weren't back to normal just yet. They both still had a lot of explaining to do, as well as many things to sort out, but they were well on their way, and Sam was thankful for that. Given time, he knew that some semblance of what they had before would be regained, if not all of it.

That was what he hoped for.

And he was nothing if not insistent…