Archive of Our Own

The world had gone to shit.

A civil war that left tens of thousands dead and even more injured. After years of peace, the British Men of Letters had returned to the States to eradicate the American hunters and wipe out all those who knew about monsters.

Of course, Sam and Dean were smack dab in the middle of it. 

Six months ago, Charlie called for Sam to join her in the North. There was some high level tech situation that she needed him for, and Dean couldn’t come because he was looking out for a group of refugees back at the bunker. 

It’s been six months since Sam and Dean last saw each other. Four weeks since the last phone call.

Three weeks since it was announced that the Northern station was broken into and five hunters, including Sam, were captured by the Brits. Dean had gone up for two weeks to help search for his brother, but was eventually sent back to the bunker -after a very long fight- to do recon. Charlie told him he could look for his brother better with the technology the bunker provided, and he knew she was right. It took days, but he caved. 

For days now, he’d been trying to find Sam. He’d been calling him, sending every hunter he knew to spy on the Brits, and even directly contacted the British Men Of Letters to threaten them into giving up Sam. 

Nothing. 

He was starting to climb the walls. 

Until… 

Until it struck 2:00pm on a Thursday in June and Dean got a call from an unknown number. He’d been on high alert ever since Sam went missing - answering every call just in case. 

“Hello?” He sighed into the phone, sick of false hope. 

The voice he was met with belonged to Ava Bellisario, a hunter slash detective that had been in charge of the American Hunter units scattered all over the Midwest. She came right out and told him to meet her at Southern HQ. She said she had important, urgent news. Within an hour, Dean was out the door and on the road. 5 hours later, he was walking inside to meet Bellisario in her office. 

She greeted him not with a hello or any attempt at small talk. She stared right into his eyes from behind her computer desk and announced, “Dean, we were finally able to make contact with the Northern battalion.” 

Dean immediately approached her and asked urgently, “And?!”

His heart pounded and his eyes widened as he waited for a response. 

“And they were already planning a rescue mission for Sam and the others.” Bellisario informed him in her standard no-emotions-allowed tone, “They left at nine am this morning to execute the mission. They got back an hour ago.”

“Oh my God.” Dean exhaled, leaning down and grabbing the desk to steady himself. He asked breathlessly, “Sammy?” 

“Listen, Dean.” Bellisario sighed and Dean’s stomach twisted because he swore he could hear sorrow in her voice, “Several soldiers were able to get into the BMOL base undiscovered. They were able to free Rufus and Garth. Both are alive and will make full recoveries. Sam was in a much heavier guarded ward. Those people wouldn’t let him go.” 

“What?” Dean knit his eyebrows, chest tightening, “So… he’s still there?” 

“No.”

Dean shook his head, closing his eyes and trying to make sense of what was coming out of her mouth, “But you said…” 

“Our people tried to get him out, but those animals… they wouldn’t let go of him alive.” She told him in a solid, remorseful tone, “I’m so sorry, Dean. Your brother was shot while trying to escape. The wounds were fatal.” 

Dean let go of the desk and felt his eyes burn as his stomach sank. His jaw dropped and he shook his head rapidly. Sam was fine. Sam was always fine. And if he wasn’t, Dean was always right there beside him. He wasn’t dead . He wasn’t gone . No fucking way. 

“No. No, no, no, no. That can’t be right.” He argued before the emotions overwhelmed him and he screamed, “You’re lying to me!” 

“Dean, I am truly sorry.” Bellisario said simply, unphased by his outburst.

“No!” Dean screamed again, throwing his fist down into the desk so hard his hand erupted in pain. He ignored it and screamed, “He’s not dead! Not until you prove it to me! You have to show me !” 

Bellisario sighed.

“We anticipated you would want proof. That’s why I acquired and am prepared to give you access to the video footage from the time of his death.” She announced, “But, I must warn you, it is graphic. Are you sure you want to witness it?” 

Dean knew Sam wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be dead. If Sam was dead, he would feel it. But he needed to see whatever video they had. He had to make sure . 

“I have to.” He said with a clenched jaw. 

“Okay.” She agreed, though she seemed somewhat upset about it. She pointed to the empty chair on the other side of the desk and told him, “Sit down.”

Dean did as told and watched as she turned her computer monitor towards him. He sat on the very edge of the seat as whatever video she had queued up began to play.

The screen showed blurry white and black lines for several seconds before clearing up into a sharp image of an empty hallway. There were dark stains on the concrete floors and the walls appeared to be brick. For several seconds, it remained like that. And then there were suddenly shadows followed by three bodies walking into the frame. Dean immediately identified the middle one as Sam and felt his heart lurch. God, he missed that face. His bottom lip quivered and he bit down on it to stop the involuntary motion. The other two men had masks over their faces, making them unrecognizable. So far, nothing looked too off.

Until two more shadows appeared from the opposite side of the screen with guns pointed up high. A brawl broke out, those two men engaging with Sam and the two men by his sides. Fists flew everywhere and legs kicked high. Sam knocked out one of the two men and the men who walked in with him started beating on the other one. It looked like an unfair fight. Both men went down easy and Sam and his counterparts exchanged looks before walking again, leaving the bodies behind. 

Suddenly they looked behind as if they heard something and then they started running. Something tiny and blurry wizzed across the screen and then Sam was freezing, falling to his knees. Dean realized it was a bullet. His brother was shot. Then his body jerked again. And again. And again. Four total shots. Right in the back. Sam fell to the floor, head hitting the concrete and limbs spreading out. Blood started to pool under his body. The other men turned to attack the shooters and then the video cut out. Dean didn’t believe it until that moment… Sammy . 

“No…” He whispered, jaw dropping and eyes filling with tears. His entire body tightened and his heart squeezed so tightly it hurt. 

He felt a hand land on his shoulder and squeeze, “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t even speak. The shock was overwhelming. Just minutes ago he had hope . For the first time in weeks, he believed he was actually going to get Sam back. He was going to see his Sammy again. He was going to hug and kiss him until neither of them could breathe. He was going to kiss away all the pain and fears. He was going to make love to his brother and hear his sounds of pleasure again. He was going to cook for him, and dance with him, and just… just love him. For the first time in months, he was going to sleep with Sammy by his side and hold him through the night.

He wasn’t even with him. 

Sam died and Dean wasn’t even there . 

The emptiness in his heart, the numbness pounding in his brain, and the sheer nothingness that took hold of his soul threatened to engulf him entirely. His lungs were devoid of air and his brain was devoid of thoughts. He couldn’t even cry. Everything was just Sam.

The last thing he said to him was that they would be together again soon. He promised Sam that everything would be fine. That they would be okay. 

He lied . 

They weren’t together. They weren’t fine. They weren’t okay. Sam died and Dean wasn’t there .

“Sam was an inspiring soldier, and an even better man.” Detective Bellisario told him solemnly, “His loss will not be taken lightly.” 

Dean just stared at the screen in front of him, mouth still agape and eyes wide. His stomach was twisting. 

Never again… he’d never see him again. He’d never hold him again. Never kiss him again. Never see his smile again. Never… never. Never again. 

Never. Again.

“Dean.” 

It was Bobby’s voice this time, his gruff tone filled with sorrow and remorse. Dean had never even heard him enter the room, yet here he was. He stepped forward and reached for Dean’s unobstructed shoulder, squeezing it tightly in comfort.

“He was a great man.” Bobby whispered, his voice strained from his own tears, “He made us all proud.” 

Dean didn’t flinch. He kept staring forward, breathing hard.

“Mr.Singer is right.” Detective Bellisario picked up, “Kevin Tran was the commander of Sam’s mission in the north. He told us that Sam figured out how to unlock the airlock codes. After he was kidnapped, all Lieutenant Bradbury had to do was finish what he started. Your brother saved countless lives. He died a hero.”

Problem was, Dean didn’t want a hero. He wanted Sam. 

God, he never got to tell Sammy that he loved him one last time. He didn’t get to hold him close before he slipped away. He never got to look at his loving, beautiful face, which always brought him so much happiness, before he died. It happened so quickly and quietly while he was away. Sam was his anchor, and now he was starting to drift. He had always been there for Dean with a smile shining in his bright eyes; and now he was gone. Forever. 

Waves of pain washed over him, and his body suddenly started convulsing to meet each one. Sammy was gone, his light consumed by death’s empty darkness. All Dean had left of him was the fading image in his mind. He could still see him, sitting in his rolling chair surrounded by books, as always. His soft, loving hands folded on the table and his chestnut hair framing his strong jaw. 

“Dean, say something.” Bobby begged quietly, coming around to stand in front of Dean, blocking his view of the screen.

Dean trailed his eyes up to meet Bobby’s. The older man had tear stains on his cheeks and his lips were chapped and dry. Bobby loved Sam, too. Dean swallowed and blinked, trying to find any words to say.

The thing was, he simply didn’t have any. 

His mind was just racing with thoughts of how could this happen? How is this real? 

Denial, maybe. 

He never… yeah, he never saw what happened after Sam went down. He never saw his eyes close. He never heard his pulse fade. Maybe he wasn’t dead. Maybe it was all just an overreaction. That’s what it was. Sam didn’t die. Sam couldn’t die. 

He broke out in a grin and Bobby’s eyebrows furrowed in horror and confusion. He looked genuinely scared. But Dean just laughed suddenly and shrugged.

“He’s not dead.” He said flatly, smiling confidently, “Sam’s not dead.” 

Bobby’s shoulders sagged and he sighed, “Son…”

“No!” Dean shouted, standing up from his seat and whipping around to face the detective, “The video cut out, we don’t know that he’s dead! He could’ve survived!”

Detective Bellisario looked down at the ground and breathed out. She looked like a mother that had to tell her child their grandparent had passed away. When she looked back up, there was a deep frown on her face.

“Dean, our men extracted Sam’s body.” She said quietly, “The third bullet hit his spine. He was not breathing when they got him out of there.”

Dean shook his head, “No. How do you know for sure ?” 

Bobby grabbed his arm and squeezed, begging, “Dean, you watched the same video we did. There’s no way Sam survived that. I am so sorry, son. There’s just… there’s no way.” 

Dean shook his head again, tears starting to rapidly fill his eyes as he shouted again, saliva gathering in his mouth, “He can’t be dead!” 

Bobby saw the breaking in Dean’s shell for what it was. He immediately surged forward and wrapped his arms around Dean, pulling him hard into his body. Dean immediately released control, falling fully into Bobby. They fell to their knees on the floor. 

“He can’t be dead, Bobby.” Dean whispered as the tears finally started to run, “I can’t lose him.”

Bobby brought a hand up and held the back of Dean’s head, closing his eyes and soothing, “I’m so sorry, Dean. I’m so sorry.” 

Dean shook in the man’s grasp. He barely hugged him back. The only person he wanted to touch was Sam. The only person he wanted to hold him… 

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” Dean whimpered, eyes wide as the tears poured silently down his cheeks. 

“I didn’t get to tell him I love him…” He hiccuped, breath hitching, “One last time.”

Bobby just sighed and held him tighter.

“He knew, son.” He assured softly, “He knew.”

—————

Dean hadn’t cried since the night he found out about Sam. He was totally empty and callused. It was like all of the tears had dried up inside him. 

He spent the first few days after in complete denial, trying to figure out a way in which this was all some elaborate trick. He just kept coming up empty. Sam was dead and now he was living in the aftermath. 

It was just surviving, now. 

Sleep. Wake up. Eat. Drink. Breathe. 

It was just surviving. 

Sam was the only reason he had ever wanted to actually live. His purpose was directly linked to the happiness of the man he loved. Even in the months they were apart, he kept going because he knew they would be together soon. But, now? Nothing mattered. The only reason Dean didn’t stick a gun down his throat and pull the trigger was because he knew Sam wouldn’t want him to. 

He would honor Sam’s legacy no matter how painful it was to continue surviving without the only reason he wanted to live. 

His heart was a wasteland. A deep well in his chest that sucked all the good things into it like a black hole. Every time he walked by their shared room, saw one of Sam’s possessions, or just remembered that damn smile, the hole grew larger. His entire soul was being pulled into it, and soon, there would be no good left. No happiness or compassion. Just coldness and despair. 

The video of Sam being shot and left for dead was on a constant loop in his brain. He’d seen it an endless amount of times, yet with every bullet, he still flinched. He still wanted to run to Sam and pull his limp body into his arms. He wanted to say goodbye and make sure his face was the last one Sammy saw before slipping away. 

He stopped caring about his own wellbeing. He only showered when it became absolutely necessary and wore the same clothes until he couldn’t any more. He grew his beard out and didn’t cut his hair. He slept in the guest room, too broken and mournful to even consider sleeping in their shared bed alone. 

With every step he took and every breath he exhaled, he thought about Sam. He couldn’t stop. He closed his eyes and imagined the smooth feel of Sam’s forearms under his fingertips. The soft, plush sensation of his lips. He pictured those soft dimples, and the way his hair fell in front of his eyes when he blushed and looked down. His brilliant, ever changing eyes and the little mole by his nose. His firm arms that made Dean feel safe when wrapped around him. His hard, broad chest that somehow felt so warm and comforting when pressed against him. 

Every time Dean imagined those things his body became more fragile and light. It was like his biology knew he was missing a piece of himself. He wasn’t who he was supposed to be. Not without Sam. 

With every hug that surfaced in his memory, his arms ached. Every kiss remembered made his lips dry. Every smile made his frown deepen, and every touch made his chest constrict. 

He was so fucking scared that he was going to forget. Not Sam - he could never forget Sam. But he was terrified that eventually he’d stop being able to see all of his little features. His dimples, his crow’s feet, his kaleidoscope eyes. The veins in his arms and how his nose scrunched up when he thought something was gross. He was scared he was going to forget his laugh, or the sound of his voice. He was just… he was so scared. 

And he was a broken man. 

Bobby called to check in every day. After a week, Dean stopped answering. Eventually, Bobby stopped calling. 

Detective Bellisario called every few days with some new details to offer about the ongoing war. Some other hunter that was taken or saved. Six days after Sam was killed, Garth was released from the hospital after being treated for a few broken ribs and severe malnutrition. He wanted to stop by, but Dean refused. Garth seemed to understand. 

He walked through the bunker like a zombie. He avoided their bedroom like it was poisonous and refused to stay in the library for any extended period of time. He cooked and ate only foods that Sam didn’t like. 

He isolated himself from everyone and everything. He survived because killing himself would be a stain on Sam’s memory. He wasn’t living, though. He couldn’t live. Not without Sam. 

He laid awake at night just wondering where everything had gone so wrong. He stared up at the ceiling and thought about all the people they had lost along the way, and all the ones still here. Sam had only been dead for two weeks and he was already wondering how in the living hell he was supposed to go on a day longer without him. How could he live the rest of his life like this? 

Once every couple of nights he actually got some sleep. Most of the time he just stared at the ceiling and let his thoughts stray and his heart ache. 

On Wednesday morning, the doorbell rang for the first time in two weeks. Every cell in Dean’s body told him not to open it. He didn’t want to engage with other people. He wanted to drown in his loneliness and sorrows for the rest of time.

But then there was the flicker within him that said what if .

What if it has something to do with Sam?

What if Bobby is dead? 

What if it’s an emergency?

Those nagging worries won out and he got up and went to the door. He opened it to see a short red-head staring up at him, her lips parted in a small smile and eyes bright. 

“Charlie.” He breathed out, fingers going to grip the doorframe. 

The last he had heard about the woman in front of him was that she was in the Northern quarter helping break hunters out of the men of letters’ foundry. Sam had originally gone up to help her with the technical protocols. He didn’t know how or why she came South, but he didn’t really care.

“Oh, Dean.” She sighed, her smile dropping as she walked forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. 

Dean didn’t hug her back, but he didn’t stop her either. He didn’t have the energy nor the will. He didn’t have the heart, either, to push her away and tell her that the only person he wanted to touch him was Sam. The only person he wanted to touch him was dead. 

He let her burrow her head into his shoulder and blinked his eyes shut when she announced sincerely and painfully, “I’m so sorry.” 

He clenched his jaw and nodded, finally bringing a hand down to rest on the small of her back. 

“I know.” He whispered.

She pulled back after a moment and looked up at him with glassy eyes. Dean watched as she reached behind her and closed the door before stepping further inside. She never asked if she could come in. There was probably a reason for that. Dean knew he was likely to say no. 

“You look awful.” She said worriedly, bringing a hand up to touch his stubbled cheek. Dean flinched away. Nobody else was supposed to touch him there. 

Charlie didn’t seem deterred. She just tisked and continued, “You’re losing weight. And you smell.” 

Dean rolled his eyes and walked away from her, down the stairs into the main room. Charlie followed close behind.

“I’m fine.” He mumbled, crossing his arms. 

“No, you’re not.” She pushed, grabbing his forearm and tugging it until he turned around and faced her, “You’re losing your mind, Dean. Sam wouldn’t want this for you.” 

Dean yanked his wrist out of her hand and snapped back angrily, “Don’t tell me what he would want!”

Charlie put her hands up in mock surrender and quickly apologized, “I’m sorry, I overstepped. I just mean… you should be taking care of yourself. There are still people around that care about you. We want you to be healthy and safe.”

Dean straightened his shoulders and set his jaw.

“What’s the point, Charlie?” He asked lowly, almost like a growl, “What’s the fucking point of going on without him?” 

She closed her eyes for a moment as if willing back tears before fluttering them open again and speaking softly, “I know it hurts. I miss him too.”

Dean just huffed and looked away from her face. She had no idea what missing Sam felt like. 

“But you can’t just throw your life away. You still matter, Dean. Your skills and your mind are still valuable. There are people out there that need you. You can’t give up on them.” 

He turned back to face her and shrugged, “And what if I don’t care?”

Her shoulders sank and her jaw locked. She offered quietly, “Well then you’ll be letting all the people that your brother saved down.” 

Dean yelled at her until she finally fled out the door.

A week later, Bobby finally came to the bunker. He never told Dean he was coming. 

They didn’t talk. Bobby tried to hug him, but Dean just tensed and stepped back. He didn’t want anyone to touch him. Nobody but Sam had that right. 

Bobby told him about what was happening both up north and at home base. The squad that had rescued Rufus and Garth was on its way South. They’d be here next week. Detective Bellisario was going to meet them at base. They wanted Dean to go with her. Of course, his immediate response was no. 

Then Bobby told him that they had Sam’s body. 

Dean felt what was left of his heart shatter and the hole in his chest expand. He didn’t speak. But one week later, he did follow Bobby out the door. 

The drive was silent. Dean sat passenger's side, staring out the window and ignoring the other cars surrounding them. Bobby didn’t try to get him to open up. 

When they reached home base, Detective Bellisario greeted him with a much too lively smile and open arms. Dean refused her embrace, crossing his arms and quietly asking when the squad was arriving. Two hours from that moment was the accurate answer in hindsight. 

When Kevin and Rufus walked in, Dean approached them silently. They looked at him with odd expressions, like they were stuck somewhere between sadness and hope. On any other day, Dean would ask why. Today, however, he only had one thing on his mind.

“Where’s the body?” He asked quietly, arms crossed over his chest and shoulders sagging. His eyes felt heavy and dry, lips chapped. 

Rufus stepped forward and planted a rough hand on Dean’s shoulder. He spoke with that too loud, cigarette-scratchy tone, “Now, boy, what on earth are you talking about?” 

Dean repeated in a broken whisper, “Where is my brother?” 

Rufus’ eyebrows pulled together in a look that was pure confusion. His mouth opened to speak, but before he could get a word out, Detective Bellisario came up behind Dean and cut them off.

“Dean, come with me.” She offered softly, as if she knew she was walking on glass, “I’ll take you to the body,” 

Dean locked his jaw and turned away from the two men across from him. Detective Bellisario started walking and Dean followed behind quietly, tracing her footsteps for yards and yards. Eventually they reached a door at the end of a long, dark hallway. She stopped in front of it and turned to look at him.

“Dean.” She sighed, “Take your time, okay?” 

She placed her hand on the doorknob and started to twist. Before she could open the door, however, he reached out and grabbed her wrist - halting the movement.

“Wait.” He swallowed, eyes suddenly a little panicked and heart pounding, “Is he… his body is really in there?”

The detective looked down and breathed out before tilting her head back up and whispering in affirmation, “His body is in there.” 

Dean’s stomach sank. He knew he needed the closure, but actually being here? He didn’t know if he had the strength to do this. His cold exterior started melting away and all of the emotions he shoved down resurfaced. His longing for Sam’s touch, his grief, his sorrow… it all hit him at once. Before his knees could give out he punched out a breath and turned to look at the detective.

“Can you leave me alone, please?” He basically begged, voice suddenly shaky, “I just… I need a moment.”

Detective Bellisario nodded and immediately stepped back, walking away from him without another word.

The second he was alone, Dean fell forward, his forehead hitting the door and holding his body up. He took deep breaths and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down. 

Sam was dead. Sam was dead . And his dead body was on the other side of this door. His bullet-filled, pale corpse. Dean didn’t know if he could do this. If he saw Sam lying still and pale, his heart would probably shrivel up and die right then. But then again, maybe that would be a good thing. Then he could join him. 

He took a long, hitched breath and pushed the door in, opening his eyes as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The room was large and dark, a few tables and a couch spread out. The lights were off and the floor was concrete. But, there was no body. There wasn’t even anything that looked like it could hold a body. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and walked further into the room. There was a dark corner all the way to the right. Dean took deep breaths as he walked towards it, knowing that his brother’s body was probably waiting for him. His heart pounded and his eyes watered. He didn’t know if he could do this. 

He swallowed down the fear and finished the walk to the corner. There was nothing there but another chair and a whole lot of dust. He furrowed his brows in confusion and tried to think about what could possibly be going on. Was this a trap? 

Then out of nowhere, every single hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. He heard footsteps behind him. He tensed and clenched his jaw, ready to turn around when all of a sudden, he heard something he never thought he’d hear again… 

“Dean.” 

Every ounce of breath in Dean’s lungs was whipped away like a vacuum was stuck down his throat and put on high power. His shoulders sank and his knees became shaky. Tears sprang to his eyes and his entire chest felt tight and heavy, like all of gravity was suddenly centered in the pit of his stomach. His face scrunched up and his lip quivered as he slowly turned around, heart pounding in his chest. 

Because he knew that voice. It was the same one that had been calling his name for his whole life. The same tone that lulled him to sleep even after the worst nightmares. The one that constantly reassured him and made him feel loved. The one… the one he never thought he’d hear again. 

For a second, he thought he had made it up. Just a figment of a grieving mind and hyperactive imagination. There was nothing but darkness and shadows. His chest tightened even further and he was about to collapse into a pile of his own grief and horror when suddenly… there were more footsteps. Dean jerked his head around until he was looking in the direction of those uniform sounds. He froze.

There was a face slowly appearing from the shadows. Sam’s stark and usually so innocent eyes locked on his own as he stepped forward, expression suspended somewhere between grief and joy. It was… motherfuck, it was Sammy. His eyes were glassy with tears, lips pulled into a small smile. He looked so skinny, cheeks sunken in and dark bags under his eyes. His hair was longer than Dean had ever remembered it being and he had scruff all over his jaw and around his mouth. But good God… it was Sam . It was his Sammy. And fuck if he wasn’t the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever seen in his whole goddamn life. 

Seconds passed as Dean’s brain tried to take him in, struggling to comprehend that he wasn’t a ghost or zombie returning from the dead - that he was real . But his brain couldn’t formulate a thought, at least not one based in any language, and suddenly the overwhelming urge to feel Sam slammed into him and he knew that if he didn’t touch him soon, his atoms would tear themselves apart. How the ground between them was erased he’ll never recall, but one moment they were apart and the next they were morphed into a single being. The warmth of Sam’s body met Dean’s cold skin, seeping into him like the tide meeting the shore and giving Dean hope like only Sam knew how. One of Sam’s hands clasped around Dean’s lower back, the other stroking his hair. With each soft touch more tears fell, tears neither of them wiped away. 

Dean couldn’t think straight. Sam was so solid and real beneath his fingertips. He could feel his firm chest against his own, his big hands wrapped around him. His brother was real . But how was that possible? He watched him die.

“You’re dead.” Dean sobbed into Sam’s neck, holding onto him for dear life. His nails dug into Sam’s back as his body shook, tears falling down his cheeks in messy waterfalls, “I… I saw you get shot.”

He could feel every pound that made up his body; the ground rising up to meet his feet and the gravity pull of his heart in his chest. He could feel the shakes and the ache in his stomach from the sobs falling from mouth. 

“I’m not dead, Dean. I’ll explain it to you later.” Sam whispered, wrapping his fingers even tighter around Dean’s hair and pulling him closer to his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to Dean’s hair and rocked his brother, “I’ll explain it all.” 

Dean just continued to shake and cry. He breathed in Sam’s familiar smell and asked in complete disbelief, “You’re really here?” 

Sam nodded immediately and assured, “I’m here.” 

Dean’s body finally gave up and his legs buckled. He fell to his knees, pulling Sam down to the ground with him. Neither of them reacted, Sam just kept hugging his brother and soothing his cries. 

“I missed you so much.” Sam whispered after a moment, and his words were hitched and broken, laced with emotions. He pulled Dean into him even tighter and rubbed his hand up and down his back in a soothing gesture. 

Dean sniffled and pulled away from Sam’s body, shifting so that they were face to face. They both smiled big, watery smiles when they made eye contact.

“I thought you were dead.” Dean repeated in a whimper before reaching a shaky hand up to frame Sam’s cheek. He used his thumb to stroke Sam’s jaw and Sam made a soft humming noise that shattered Dean’s ability to hold back any longer. 

He surged forward and pressed his lips to Sam’s, feeling all the weight on his shoulders melt away as they reconnected for the first time in months. He whimpered when Sam started returning the kiss, their lips weaving with each other and fitting together like the puzzle pieces they always were. Sam held Dean so tight it was like he was scared he’d disappear if he let go. They poured months of loneliness, fear, and desperation into the kiss, letting all of their walls fall down and relinquishing control to each other. They had spent months apart, hoping they would get the chance to do this again. Months missing the feeling of their lips pressing together. All of those feelings poured out both in their tears and through their lips. When they finally pulled away, Sam rested his forehead against Dean’s and stroked the back of his neck with his hand. 

“I love you so much.” He whispered, nuzzling their noses in a faint eskimo kiss, “I’m never taking a mission where I have to be separated from you again.” 

Dean felt his throat choke up and he asked quietly, “Promise?”

Sam smiled almost painfully as he assured, “I promise.” 

Dean nodded before dropping his head back to Sam’s shoulder and hugging him tighter. Tears continued to fall as Sam rocked him. 

“Never let me go.” Dean whispered, relishing in the feeling of Sam’s arms around him. His anchor.

Sam shushed him gently and reached up to stroke his hair, “Never.”

The hug was stronger than anything Dean had ever known. It was as if holding Dean wasn't quite enough for Sam. No… he had to feel every ounce that was him pressed into every ounce that was Dean. The older brother felt like a caterpillar wrapped up in its cocoon; safe and protected. Loved. He let his body sag, his muscles becoming loose. Sam was simultaneously giving him the respect of an equal and cradling him like a cherished child. In that embrace, Dean felt his worries lose their keen sting and his hope rise. 

“I missed you so much.” He whimpered, fingers curling into Sam’s shirt.

Sam winced a little at the pressure on his back. He tried to hide it, but Dean knew him too damn well. He released his tight grip and exclaimed in remorse, “Oh God, your back!”

He pulled away to look at Sam, holding his face in his palm and asking urgently and worriedly, “You were shot! Are you okay?” 

Sam shushed him gently, reaching up to wrap his fingers around Deans wrist. He smiled softly and told him sincerely, “I’m okay, Dean. I swear. It will all make sense soon.” 

Dean shook his head in confusion and asked through the tears, “What will make sense?”

Sam caressed Dean’s arm with his finger and smiled before calling out, “Guys!” 

Dean raised his eyebrows and turned just in time to see the door open. Detective Bellisario was in the front and there was a man he didn’t know trailing behind her. 

Sam squeezed Dean’s wrist and urged, “Come on.” 

He helped Dean off the floor, keeping their sides pressed together and hands wrapped up in one another. They sat down on the couch, Dean leaning against Sam, their arms interlocked and thighs pressing together. Dean suddenly felt his heart seize and his anxiety rise. He needed more contact. So, he swallowed and rested his head against Sam’s shoulder. They hadn’t stopped making bodily contact since they reunited and he didn’t plan on breaking that streak anytime soon. Not even with company.

As Detective Bellisario walked forward, she smiled softly at the two of them. She walked up to Sam and reached out her hand. He immediately took it and nodded in acknowledgment. They both turned to look at the man who owned the second set of footsteps. Dean didn’t recognize him at all. He was short, but built. Dark black hair. Sam didn’t seem to have a confused reaction though. He must know him somehow. 

“Dean, my name is Paul Stempniak.” He walked right up to Dean and shook his hand, “I was in charge of the mission to save your brother and the other two hunters captured by the foe.” 

Dean dropped his hand like it burnt him and scowled, “Yeah, well, in case you didn’t notice, my brother got shot four times. Clearly your rescue mission didn’t go to plan.” 

The man smiled a little and took a step back, looking over to Sam with a knowing expression before refuting, “Actually, Dean, it went exactly to plan.” 

Dean knit his eyebrows in confusion and tightened his grip around Sam’s arm. 

Sam looked down at him and offered a soft, loving gaze. He instructed Dean quietly, “Hear him out.” 

And Dean couldn’t say no to Sammy. Especially when he just got him back. So… he turned to look at the man, giving him a silent cue to continue.

“Okay.” He breathed out, sitting down across from them and explaining, “We knew from how heavily they locked Sam down that they valued him immensely. They weren’t gonna let him go without a fight, and it would be nearly impossible to get him out. We also knew that he only had value to them if he was breathing. They wouldn’t care about keeping his dead body.”

Dean leaned further into Sam, hating how comfortable this man was talking about his brother’s death.

“So, the answer was simple.” He shrugged, “We had to kill Sam. Well, fake his death anyway.”

As if that was Sam’s cue, he turned his head so he could look down at Dean and picked up on explaining, “One of Stempniak’s men found me in my cell and brought me a kevlar vest. He told me to put it on under my shirt. Then he gave me a pill to hold onto and explained to me what was going to happen. I was going to get shot and I would have to go down convincingly, then quickly swallow the pill. It was a narcotic that knocked me out and slowed my pulse to a near imperceptible speed. My death was faked. The bullets bruised like bitches, but none of them ever entered my body.”

Dean was stunned, looking wide eyed between the two men. 

Stempniak completed, “Once they thought Sam was dead, they had no use for him. We were able to extract him smoothly.” 

“It was a good plan, Dean.” Sam squeezed his hand, “It worked.” 

It was a good plan, and it did indeed work. Dean couldn’t argue with the results. Afterall, Sam was sitting right here, tangible and pressed up against him. That was only because of this plan. But still, Dean couldn’t get over the grief he had felt. And for weeks .

“I get that.” He agreed softly, stroking Sam’s hand with his thumb, “But I… I thought he was dead, sir. You didn’t just fool them, you fooled me . You made me think that the man that I loved…” He choked on the words and breathed out before finishing, “Was dead. I can’t… I can’t forgive you that easily. Not after the grief that I went through.”

Sam pressed a kiss to Dean’s head and reached up to wipe the tears off his face, comforting him in all the little ways that made Dean’s heart melt. 

“I do apologize.” Stempniak sighed before defending, “But, we couldn’t risk communication until we were sure Sam would be safe. I hope you can understand that.”

Dean shook his head softly, “I do understand that. At first. But… You let me believe he was dead for weeks. Do you have any idea the torture that I had to go through because of that? You couldn’t tell me earlier?”

Stempniak frowned as Sam pulled Dean closer into his body, steadying him and providing support.

“We wanted to wait until we got Sam to the South. Until he was reunited with his people and out of enemy territory.” The dark haired man explained stoically.

“Hey.” Sam whispered, nudging Dean so he would look at him. Once they made eye contact, he assured, “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I wish I could go back in time and make the pain go away. But, I can’t. So, we have to focus on the here and now. And here and now, we are together. We’re both alive and okay. That’s what matters, right?”

Dean frowned a little, still not completely okay with this whole thing, “It is what matters. I’m just…”

He trailed off and Sam pulled him in closer.

“I know.” He said softly, rubbing his hand up and down the outside of Dean’s bicep in comfort. 

Dean smiled sadly and looked up at Sam, meeting the gorgeous eyes that he missed so much and feeling his heart tense. They had been apart for months . He had spent endless weeks just hoping that Sam was alive and okay. Endless nights unable to sleep because he missed the body that was supposed to be next to him so damn much. Endless hours wishing he could kiss those lips and see that smile. 

And now? Now he could .

Everything else seemed to melt away as that realization came over him. And he didn’t have to say anything for Sam to know that he was feeling that way. He knew. Sam always knew. 

“Hey guys.” He addressed the other two people in the room without ever looking away from Dean, “I think we’d like to go home now.” 

Their world had come apart and fallen back together over the course of a few hours. They had been apart for months and Dean had thought Sam was dead. Hell and back. 

But now?

Now they were going home. Together.

Everything would be okay.