Sam Winchester strode through the familiar corridors of the Bunker, a plate carrying an impressive grilled cheese sandwich held in one hand, two chilled beers swinging from the other. Doors flashed passed and tiles blurred as he swept by, his feet carrying him dutifully to his usual haunt.

The garage lights were on, which was normal. They flooded the open chamber with brilliant illumination, making it the ideal place for work. The old classic cars silently watched the 1967 Chevrolet Impala parked in the centre of the open space. Two jean-clad legs stuck out from under the car. The staccato clanking of a wrench filled the room, the sound bouncing off the bare walls in gently diminuendoing echoes.

Sam leapt lightly up the small staircase and walked over to the tiny fraction of free space on the table he and Cas had brought in for tools. They lay in haphazard order over the tabletop, some half-buried by their fellows. Sam slid the plate bearing the still-warm sandwich onto the sparse empty space, nudging the half-eaten burger with extra everything into a small pile of spanners.

"Grub's on," Sam called to the legs under the Impala. "Want a beer?"

Dean pulled himself free of the car with a grunt and got to his feet. His grey shirt was stained with black smudges, as were his hands. He picked up a rag from the table and wiped them clean. "Yeah, sure."

He took the opened bottle of El Sol from Sam and took a swig.

"How's the Impala coming?" Sam asked, putting his own bottle to his lips and leaning back against the table, watching his brother.

"Slow," Dean replied shortly.

"Got enough parts?"

"For now."

"Done with the chassis yet?"

Dean took another drink. "Just about. Exhaust pipe needs some work, though. Pretty sure I can salvage it."

"Good."

They brought their bottles to their lips in unison, the fizzing liquid sloshing against the necks.

Sam glanced back to the half-eaten burger. "You hungry?"

"Not really."

"Made you a grilled cheese," Sam said persuasively.

The corner of Dean's mouth twitched. He looked to the perfectly browned sandwich. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam smiled at the return of the old nickname and took another swig of beer. It was deliciously cold.

They drank in silence for a while, both gazing at the beloved car. It was looking far better, Sam thought. Apparently Cas had worked out most of the biggest dents and breaks while Dean was comatose, and in the two weeks since he'd woken up, Dean had already made noticeable progress.

The wheels had been removed, their breaks and suspension now gleaming a healthy silver. Dean had buffed out any remaining dents so that, apart from the broken windows and the obvious need for a paintjob, the old car was looking like its old self at last.

The same couldn't be said of its owner. Sam watched his brother out of the corner of his eye as they drank their beers. Dean was still underweight, though, thankfully, not half as thin as the version Sam had met in the Panic Room. Dean's fleeting appetite wasn't exactly helping with the weight gain, but the work on the car was rebuilding the lost strength in his muscles. His skin was starting to look healthier, and though he was still pale, save the dark rings under his eyes, Sam could tell he was at last on the road to recovery. Physically, at least.

Mentally, Sam wasn't so sure. Dean had yet to volunteer to say anything. Whenever he did speak, it was in answer to a direct question. Judging by his willingness to offer more than the minimum number of syllables, Sam knew this was a good day. Most weren't.

Sam wasn't sure how much of the ordeal Dean remembered. From what he could tell, Dean knew what had happened over the last year, but it seemed to Sam that the significance of it hadn't hit home just yet. Dean was still absorbing it all, sifting through it. Although Sam was going mad not knowing what was going on in his brother's head, he was – currently – content to wait and allow Dean the time to make sense of what he could.

All Dean wanted to do for now was work on the Impala. He was silent and uncertain about some things, some memories, and generally just pretty out of it. Sam wondered if he might have some mild form of brain damage from his time in the coma. He and Cas had been sure to keep oxygen flowing through Dean's cannula, but even so. It hadn't exactly been a standard coma.

Since Sam had no interest in the wider world just yet, and since he knew he was as desperately in need of some time off as was Dean, he just left his brother to his project. When he wasn't tactfully badgering Dean to eat, Sam spent his time in the chair he'd brought into the garage, catching up on some non-work related reading. He'd already finished The Wizard of Oz and was halfway through the first Game of Thrones. It was a welcome privilege to lose himself in a book, and he savoured the time he spent reading, comforted by the sounds of his brother working a few feet away.

Cas split his time between the garage and library. He said he was researching ways to reopen Heaven and take down Metatron once and for all. Sam left him to it. He was happy to leave the world in the mess it was in for now. He'd earned some time off. Besides, Dean was in no shape to take on such a demanding job anytime soon.

Dean set his half-empty bottle of beer on the table and returned to the Impala, wiping a stain from the wing mirror. Sam watched him, thinking.

He didn't know if Dean remembered what had happened to him when he was unconscious, and for once, Sam wasn't going to ask. He decided instead to trust in Dean's resilience, and to make it abundantly clear that he was available to talk to. After all, Dean had survived the cure, and the aftermath. All he needed was time.

The nightmares were all that really worried Sam. Dean still looked exhausted, and his eyes bore the haunted look only recurring night terrors could cause. Sam hadn't asked about them yet. He didn't want to rush what was sure to be a slow healing process. Instead he feigned ignorance of Dean's nightly terrors, and took to sitting on the edge of his brother's bed every night throughout the worst of the screaming. Dean's soul may have survived the cure and subsequent torture, but Sam knew better than most that souls took a long time to heal.

As Sam took another, longer draught of cool beer, Dean glanced briefly in his direction.

"Hey, Sammy?"

Sam quickly turned his choke of surprise into a half-convincing cough. "Yeah?"

"I've been thinking."

"What about?"

Dean paused, wadding the oil-stained cloth into a ball and not looking at him. "Once I finish fixing Baby, I ..." He turned to face Sam, leaning back against the hood of the car. "I want to get back to work."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You sure that's wise?"

Dean looked down to the cloth in his hands. "No."

"You should probably take it slow, Dean. You're not at a hundred per cent yet." Far from it, he resisted adding.

"I know. Believe me, I know. But, the thing is ... last year ..." Sam straightened. "Last year, I did a lot of bad –"

"It wasn't you, Dean, it was –"

"The demon, I know. Except that demon was me, Sam. I was there." He held up a hand to halt Sam's arguing. "Just, listen to me. I set a lot of bad things in motion, things no one else knows about, so no one else can stop. Sooner or later I'm gonna have to clean up the mess I made. Not to mention Metatron and Heaven being closed.

"I saw the Veil, Sam," he said quietly, rubbing his already clean hands with the rag. "The souls ... they're not meant to stay there so long. We've gotta help them."

Sam looked down to the bottle in his hand. He hadn't told Dean the whole truth about his deal with Death yet. He knew they'd have to find a way to free the souls sooner or later if Death was to recant his claim on Dean's soul. "I guess you're right," he muttered, swilling the last of his beer around the bottle's base.

"I know I'm not ... not fully right yet," Dean went on. "Full disclosure, I'm not entirely sure if I ever will be."

Sam looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

Dean shrugged. "'S just a feeling, Sammy. I can't explain it. I feel ... different."

"Well, that makes sense, you know – I mean, that cure took a hell of a lot out of you, it only makes sense that you feel weird for a while."

"I know. But it's more than that. It's like ..." Dean frowned, searching for the words. "It's like something deep has changed in me, Sammy. And I can't tell if it's a good thing or not."

Sam pushed himself off the table and went to stand beside his brother, leaning against the cool Impala. "I understand."

"Do you?" Dean asked quietly, still studying the oily rag.

"Yeah. When I got my soul back ... I knew something was different."

Finally, Dean looked up at him. "You did?"

"Yeah."

"You never told me that."

"There was nothing you could've done about it. Besides," he said thoughtfully, "I knew it was something I had to figure out on my own."

Dean nodded beside him. "I want to get back to hunting, Sam. I need to get back to saving people."

Sam huffed, smiling. "'Saving people, hunting things: the family business'?" he quoted.

Dean smiled. "Yeah, something like that. I'm a hunter. I want to feel like one again."

"I get that."

A comfortable silence fell between them for a time.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Thanks."

Sam looked around at him. "For what?"

"For not giving up on me. I know I didn't exactly make it easy on you. I know what you did to find me. To bring me back. I just want you to know I really appreciate it." Dean met his gaze. "Really. Thank you."

Sam smiled. He nudged Dean with his shoulder. "Come on, what are brothers for?" That got a chuckle.

"Apparently for hunting you down and pumping you full o' blood, huh?"

Sam laughed. "Guess so. That generally just saving your ass and having your back. And getting pie."

"Seriously, though. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

There was a pause.

"We got a lot of work ahead of us, don't we?" Dean asked, sounding subdued.

"Yeah, we do," Sam sighed. One supercharged god with a legion of new mindless angels, one Knight of Hell with an army of demons, and a sealed Heaven Sam had to break open or forfeit his brother's soul. A lot of work. Sam drank the last of his beer in one swallow.

Suddenly Dean broke into a grin. He looked up at Sam and said cheerily, "Well, at least it's not likely Metatron has any demon clowns."

Sam stared at him in disbelief. "I knew you'd remember that! That was so not cool."

"Ah, come on, it was a little funny."

"He tried to kill me!"

Dean sobered. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

Still smiling, Sam bumped Dean's shoulder again. "Jerk."

"Bitch." Sam spied Dean grinning slightly out of the corner of his eye.

"Well," Dean said after a pause. "Demon clowns or no, I figure we've got a fighting chance of beating Metatron, and Michelle, if she turns up again."

"You do?"

Dean looked up at him, a small smile twisting the corner of his mouth. He nudged Sam with his shoulder. "Sure I do. Look at our track record, Sam. You really think some jumped up old secretary is a match for the Winchesters?"

Sam laughed and, to his delight, Dean joined in.

The weight of anxiety Sam had been carrying in his chest all year was finally beginning to ease. He had done it. He'd brought Dean home, in more ways than one. Dean had pulled through his own private hell, and even Cas was better, nearby and armed with a brand new, eternal Grace. Just this once, everyone had lived. They were battered, sure, broken, yes, but they were alive, and they were together.

Sam looked over to his brother, chuckling quietly beside him. His smile widened. They may have a lot of work waiting for them, and he had no reason to think the road ahead would be any easier than what lay behind, but the thought didn't affect Sam's grin. He had his brother back, and his angel. And if there was one thing this past year had taught him, it was that nothing could stop a determined Winchester.

Especially a Winchester with a sawn-off in his hand and a brother by his side.

A/N: A massive thank you to everyone who read Son Of Cain, and to those who were kind enough to leave reviews! It really means the world to me and I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it - though, maybe minus the frustrations of trying to translate Jensen Ackles & Jared Padalecki's acting nuances into words!

If you know someone who you think would enjoy this story, please share it around, and if you'd like to discuss it with me my inbox is open!

In case you're wondering, the story doesn't end here. Son Of Cain does have a sequel, one I'm looking forward to writing. I'll be focusing on an original story next, however, so it will be quite a long while before the sequel is written. I can't promise when it'll be ready, but I can promise feels, blood, and brotherly love beating the odds.

Thank you all, and happy reading!

Author out :)