Author's Notes: Just wanted to extend thanks for the well wishes people have sent, whether through reviews or elsewhere! It certainly made my day today when I got online and checked it all out. I thought I'd update the story, too, since it's been a bit and there's just a little while to go. Recently I've made the choice to try and read an old book series I used to be into when I was a teen: Animorphs. This prompted me to re-read my entire story I wrote like, 5 years ago, which was full of glaring typos and crap that just drove me up the wall. So if that's your cup of tea, I'm going to be updating it and fixing it on the site (I've gone through and fixed it in my master copy on my comp here--just need to upload it) as time progresses. So with any luck, it'll look a lot better. I'd love to write in that world again, but I forgot how damn depressing it was. I've only finished book three, and I'm like, my God.

Anyway, here is chapter eleven. Not quite as long as usual, but as always, I have my reasons. :) Please don't forget to review!

Dean moved to stand. "Yeah, guys, I'm…gonna get a shower before I head to bed. The heat's making my bandages sweat, and it's getting all itchy."

"All right, Dean. Just remember, you gotta let the water run for a few before you hop in there. Unless you wanna freeze yourself." Bobby chuckled.

It had been two days since Sam had saved Dean from Hell. And those two days had been both some of the best—as well as some of the worst—of his life. There was no describing the joy and comfort that he felt now that he had his brother back. But just the same, there was also no way of describing the frustration and fright that he felt when dealing with Dean and his…episodes.

That was what Sam had come to call them. These periods while the older hunter was asleep, wherein he would curl up into a ball, begin to murmur quietly at first, until eventually he was thrashing all over the bed and crying out in what sounded like not only fear, but rage and pain as well. There had been three thus far, none of which seemed to be particularly worse than the other. But nonetheless, they were worrisome. Sam knew they were nightmares from what Dean had seen and experienced in Hell, and he wished that there were some way to get rid of them. To his knowledge, however, there was no way to prevent dreams; there were only really suggestions for, or ways of, inducing them. And the last thing he wanted to do was make Dean see even more traumatic memories in his sleep.

Sam tried not to talk about them while Dean was awake. He had lightly breeched the subject of Hell to his brother at lunch the day before, but the other wanted nothing to do with it. In fact, he promptly switched the subject, asking about whether or not Sam had kept up on hunts while he was gone. Sam told him about the incubus but failed to mention the details as to how he had killed it. Thankfully, Dean didn't press further by asking. But that topic in particular would need to be discussed in the future, Sam was sure of it. Anxiously sure.

He watched as Dean made his way up the stairs toward the bathroom and, once he was gone, turned his attention to Bobby sitting nearby. The two of them had yet to talk, either, about all that had taken place not too long ago. Sam could sense that that was about to change. This was the first time that he and Bobby had been alone since they first arrived, and he had intentionally made it so, having wanted to delay this conversation for as long as possible.

"Sam," Bobby began.

Ten points for me, Sam thought, noting the other's tone.

"Yeah, Bobby," he said.

The older hunter waited a minute to make sure the water upstairs was running before he began speaking again. He looked at the other. "You haven't told Dean about how you saved him yet, have you?"

"No. Maybe soon. He needs to get better right now. That's the biggest thing."

Bobby looked as if he didn't entirely approve of that. "You know he's gonna start asking."

"Yeah, well, he can ask when he does. We'll deal with it then." Sam hadn't intended to sound so short when he spoke, but Bobby had struck a nerve—quite deeply—that apparently the younger one had mistaken as less sensitive than it truly was.

Bobby hadn't expected it, either. He spoke with indignation. "Well. All right, then. If you got all the answers, Sam, we'll just do it your way. Since you don't seem to give a shit either way about what I think!"

"Oh, come on, Bobby," Sam muttered in exasperation. "I told you I was going to do whatever it took to get Dean back, and I did it. I also said I wasn't gonna wait around while you came up with some kind of way of getting him back, because it couldn't wait."

"Yeah. And you just happened to forget mentioning that you released even more demons from Hell in the process. M'sure your brother's really gonna appreciate that."

Sam was up and out of his chair before he even realized it. He looked down at Bobby, who appeared surprised. His tone was short, somewhat angry. "Listen. We'll deal with that when the time comes. But for now? At least let's let Dean get better. The world isn't gonna come to an end if we don't get right out there and hunt, Bobby. There are sometimes more important things to worry about. Weren't you the ones who told us that?" He turned and headed for the stairs.

"Sam, wait—"

But Sam didn't wait for Bobby. In fact, he was only upstairs for a minute; just how long it took to get the keys to the car. When he came back down he attempted to stalk past Bobby, who was waiting for him at the landing.

"Sam, how did you close the gate?" Bobby asked bluntly. He blocked the taller hunter's way, which irritated Sam, trying to move past him. But Bobby didn't budge. Again he asked, and with more insistence this time: "Sam. How the hell did you close the gate?"

Sam stopped trying to move past Bobby and simply stood there, gripping the keys tightly in his hand. He looked down. This was the one thing that he had been hoping he could avoid, but it was obvious by the look in Bobby's eyes that he knew. There was no denying it.

Still. He tried.

"I used my hands."

"That's a load of bull and you know it." Bobby gripped the banister a little harder than before. "Don't tell me you…" But he didn't finish speaking. Instead he simply looked down, shaking his head. He stared at Sam. "How could you?" he finally asked, sounding almost betrayed.

Sam didn't flinch. He just set his jaw and looked at Bobby briefly before turning his gaze to the front door. "I told you: anything to save Dean."

. . .

Things were tense between Bobby and Sam that following morning up until Dean's arrival to the kitchen table, where the aforementioned two were having breakfast in silence. The three of them ate and chatted briefly, and after a while Bobby excused himself, claiming that he had some work at the salvage yard which he had been putting off that needed to be done as soon as possible. Dean didn't seem to mind and Sam was actually rather glad when he left. Every moment where Bobby was around caused anxiety in the youngest hunter—he had a distinct feeling that he was going to spill the beans to Dean at any given moment that Sam wasn't around.

For Bobby's sake, he hoped that it wouldn't happen.

This left him and Dean alone, an occurrence that had happened somewhat rarely since their moment in the kitchen some days ago. Dean continued to eat like a starved child while Sam continued to watch him. After the older one finished he leaned back in his chair, scratching idly at his chest.

"How're the wounds on your chest doing?" Sam inquired.

"Better than I thought they'd be," Dean replied. "It's getting so that I don't even feel the sting of the hydrogen peroxide anymore. They'll leave some scarring, but…"

Sam looked at his own shoulder, then down at his finger. Having been shot and having had his nail torn out—among countless other things—he knew a bit about scarring, himself. They were battle scars. And for once, he wasn't ashamed to have them. "Comes with the territory," he said to Dean, smiling in faint amusement.

"God knows we got our own fair share." Dean gave a laugh.

The two of them continued to sit there in silence for a few more minutes. It didn't make either of them uncomfortable, nor did it incline them to say anything. It was almost as if some kind of unspoken bond was reaffirming itself by their just being in one another's presence.

Sam eventually started picking up the dishes while Dean tidied up the kitchen table.

"Remind me to get Bobby something really good as a thanks for all of this," the older hunter stated while sweeping some breadcrumbs into his hand. He brought them over to the sink and dropped them inside, clapping his hands together afterward to make sure everything was off of them.

Sam gave a non-committal sort of sound. Any mention of Bobby was making him unnecessarily anxious, and he didn't like it. "Well, when he lets you leave the house, then I'll be sure to remind you. Until then…"

Silence fell upon them again after that while they continued to clean up the kitchen from the mess of breakfast. Sam had taken to doing chores around the house as a means of both keeping himself busy and as thanks to Bobby for letting them stay there. Later, he was going to reshelf some books in a better order, as well as organize some files. He still needed to get a shower, but that would come later.

"Part of me almost thinks it's better for us to stay right here for now," Dean announced while putting the placemats back in their appropriate spots. He glanced at Sam. "I mean, Lilith is gonna be coming after us, right? We're stronger if we have a solid base. And with Bobby, there isn't one much stronger."

Lilith. Sam hadn't thought about her in some time. He had been so focused on Dean that the whole ordeal of her seemed insignificant, which was almost ironic. "I guess you're right," he said in tentative agreement. "Plus, you could probably use another day or two to recuperate completely before we do any heavy traveling."

"At least we don't have to worry about Ruby any more," Dean added with a light shrug. "Don't get me wrong, I mean…she helped us out a few times." He scratched his head. "But still, what a bitch sometimes."

There were so many things that Dean needed to hear, Sam thought to himself. He didn't even know where to begin. And it was all so fragile. The night before, after his argument with Bobby, Sam spent most of his time before going to sleep running over different ways of telling Dean all that had taken place over the last month. In retrospect, it was a lot more than Sam had really considered, which was partially what made it difficult. But what made it the hardest was the fact that he had given in to his powers, and that those were what saved Dean's life.

In one scenario, Dean yelled at him for hours and told him to send him back to Hell, because he couldn't live in a world where his brother was 'like that'. In another, Dean seemed more scared and paranoid, having a hard time believing anything Sam said. But it was the last one that worried him the most, because he knew it was the most likely option: Dean would freak out, then attempt to find some way to fix it so that Sam was 'normal' again, and in the process, destroy everything they had worked so hard for.

Truth be told, Sam had mostly come to accept the fact that he wasn't, in fact, normal, and that he never would be. And if his powers had been what had saved his brother, the last thing he wanted was to get rid of them. Without them, closing the gate would have been nearly impossible, as well.

Oh yes, the gate, Sam thought. That was an entirely other subject that they had yet to bring up together. It was like they were playing a game of Russian roulette, and any topic that they spoke about could lead to the untimely death of either one of them.

Tread lightly, he told himself.

"Let's just focus on you getting better right now," Sam suggested. "That's what's important. If you're not functioning well, it throws your whole system off."

"What system?" Dean asked, confused.

"It's a figure of speech, Dean."

"Oh." Dean nodded suddenly. "Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I knew that."

Sam started to make his way out to the living room, but was stopped when he heard his brother suddenly clear his throat. He turned.

"Hey, Sammy, what do you say we skip out on the things Bobby asked us to do and watch a movie, instead? Just some you and me time?" Dean almost sounded like a child when he asked it, as if he were about to bounce up and down if Sam said yes.

So it wasn't surprising to Sam that, when he did agree, Dean smiled widely. It was the first time he had seen a true Dean Winchester smile in a long time, and it brought a unique smile to his own face.

"Come on, let's see what he's got," Sam said.

The two Winchesters headed into the sitting room where Bobby's television was. They almost never went into this room, mostly because they had no reason to. And from the looks of it, neither did Bobby. The television wasn't much bigger than your average one—maybe a 13 incher—and looked to be several years old. There was a VCR covered in dust underneath it resting on a shelf of a stand. Beside it stood a little shelf upon which several videotapes were scattered out. Other than that, the entertainment seemed pretty null. There was a couch sitting parallel to the television with some end tables on either side of it, but that was about all that filled the room.

"Now we know why he finds things so quickly, huh?" Dean joked. He moved to kneel beside the shelf, giving a light grunt as he did so. He perused the videotapes.

Sam nodded, considering it. Bobby probably kept busier working in the salvage yard than watching movies or television. "What's he got?"

"Looks like…Air Force One, Star Wars Episode Four…" Dean leaned in some to read even more carefully. "Pulp Fiction…oh! Ha! The Sound of Music…" He chuckled to himself. "Oh, Bobby. You're so gonna get crap for that one."

"Anything good?"

"Define good, Sam. Most of these movies are all right, but nothing special."

"Whatever," Sam said with a snort. "Let's just…Star Wars. It's a classic." He took a seat on the couch, spreading his arms out along the arm and the back of it.

"Classic it is, then."

As Dean put in the movie and the familiar scene started, Sam thought to himself how nice this was. Circumstances aside, this was normal; watching a movie with his brother in their friend's house…it was just so normal. And Sam liked that. They weren't looking for a demon, or a vampire, or some restless spirit. They weren't trying to protect themselves from malevolent forces. They weren't even driving cross-country and staying in a motel room like they usually did. Even if he had mostly accepted his abnormalcy, that didn't mean that he didn't long for it around him.

Because he knew it wasn't going to last, Sam figured that he needed to enjoy this as much as possible. The very thought that tomorrow, something could pop up on his daily search through the news, seemed unbelievably scary to him. Normally it didn't. But anything that threatened this fragmented sense of peace he was clinging to so tightly…

Time passed, and the two brothers occasionally cracked jokes or comments about the actors, the characters, and just the movie in general. They hadn't done this for such a long time…hadn't had a brotherly moment that didn't involve one of them getting angry with the other and causing discomfort between them, followed by some odd kind of making up. But this, this was nice.

Toward the end of the movie, right around when Princess Leia was awarding Han Solo and Luke Skywalker their medals of honor, Sam felt Dean's eyes on him, and he heard the other clear his throat.

"Sam," he began, and in that serious tone that told the younger one that he needed to listen.

"Yeah, Dean?"

Dean was quiet for a moment. Nearby came the sound of the cheers and applause from the movie, which he muted with the remote. Afterward he shifted his body to face Sam and looked at him. "Listen, Sam, I…feel terrible. About what happened, I mean."

"What?" Sam asked, blinking.

"About what happened last month. You, having to see me be torn to shreds by that hellhound. I know it must've just…really screwed with you."

That was the first time Sam had recalled the moment since arriving at Bobby's. He felt that familiar sense of dread pour through him, along with the undeniably powerful pain he had experienced, knowing his brother was dead. He tried to knock it all out of his head. "You didn't have any control over that," Sam said immediately.

"But I did, Sammy. I really did. I shouldn't have…" Dean trailed off, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have done the deal. But I just couldn't live knowing that I hadn't done everything I could to save you."

They had been over this before, and Sam recalled the way he had felt the first time Dean said it to him. This time, though, the meaning was entirely different. The fear inside of him about how his brother would react to finding out how he had been saved must have been what Dean had felt after Sam himself had been resurrected.

"It's okay," Sam said reassuringly. "I mean, it hurt, but…you're here now, right? That's all that matters."

"Wouldn't be if it weren't for you, Sammy," Dean said. He clasped his brother's knee in a surprisingly warm manner, and when he pulled it back, he smiled. "Won't ever make fun of you again for sticking your nose in so many books like Bobby. I'd still be in Hell otherwise."

Sam just nodded. Things between them remained silent for the next few moments to follow, during which they both seemed to look around the room, as if searching for a topic of conversation. But when his eyes fell on his brother again, he noticed that Dean was looking at him almost remorsefully.

"I wish it had been any other day than your birthday, Sam."

It took the younger hunter a minute to realize that Dean was right. He had been killed on the second of May, which was, in fact, Sam's birthday. He had been so obsessed with trying to find a way to get his brother out of his contract that he had completely forgotten. The fact that Dean had remembered warmed a part of Sam's heart that had long since been closed off.

He furrowed his brow slightly and pursed his lips in such a way that they almost pouted ruefully. He looked down between them, at the television, at the window…anywhere but his brother. When he finally did he noticed his throat tighten. He refused to cry about this. He absolutely refused.

But it seemed damn near impossible to keep his voice from at least wavering when he heard Dean say:

"Happy belated birthday, Sammy."

Sam didn't hesitate at that moment to move across the couch and wrap his arms tightly around his brother's shoulders. It wasn't until he felt Dean's around his upper waist that he really felt like almost breaking down. For some reason, it was almost as if those words and the emotions behind them had broken the floodgates, and all of the feelings that Sam had kept pent up inside of him were starting to pour out. But all that actually did was a brief sniffle and some moisture in his eyes.

He had hardened himself well.

Sam soon pulled back, looking at Dean gratefully. He didn't say anything, but he didn't feel like he had to.

He was never so happy to have his brother beside him.