The door squealed as it opened. Dean didn't look up from where he sat on the edge of Bobby's desk. He'd set the gun aside and now stood staring down at his brother's body with a dull, lifeless expression – as if he too had died. Something certainly felt dead inside him. It had gone the moment he fired the gun; it went with the life he'd taken from Sam.

“You didn't know?” he asked quietly. “That we could still send him back like this? Tell me you weren't lying to me, Cas.”

Castiel joined him at the desk. “No, I wasn't lying,” he said. “I didn't know, not until Sam shut you in here. I realized then. I'm sorry, Dean. But....”

Dean raised his head to look at the angel with eyes gone cold and hard. “Don't you dare tell me I did the right thing. Don't you dare!”

The angel didn't continue. Instead he turned his head and looked off into the distance, avoiding Dean's gaze in favor of the wall. “It will take time to put new seals in place.”

“How much time?”

“Months, a year. A year preferably. He must not be allowed to escape again.”

With a wince, Dean shoved off the desk and went into the circle. He knelt and pushed Sam's hair back from his face. Beneath the bruises, Sam looked peaceful, as if he only slept. The sight was painfully familiar. The aching misery he felt deep down in his chest was just as familiar. His words too, followed an already beaten path.

“So, how long will I get?”

“You're assuming we're bargaining.”

Dean stood up and returned to the angel. Their eyes met. “I think you'll bargain,” he said. “I paid my debt, and more. God owes me some change.”

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want.” Dean replied. “And no stowaways this time.”

“You'll be in debt again, Dean.”

Nodding, Dean did not dispute this. “What does he want?”

“Love. Faith. Obedience.”

“He drives a hard bargain.”

At this, Castiel smiled wryly. “You'll find that my father is more generous than Lilith,” he said, and then added softly. “A lifetime, Dean. You'll have a lifetime.”

Dean let out the breath he'd been holding. “Fine. I'll do whatever you and God want me to do, now and in the hereafter – on one condition.”

“You're already getting a condition, a pretty big one,” Castiel pointed out. “You're getting your brother back with very few strings attached.”

“Oh, this isn't for me. This is for Sammy.”

Sam tossed the notebook he had been reading down and looked up at his brother from his hospital bed. While Dean had gone back to the motel for some rest, Sam had been reading. His first words to Dean upon his return were, “What the hell have you been smoking?”

“Nothing! It's all right there,” Dean pointed to the notebook. “I swear to....God, Sammy. Every word is the honest truth.” He paused, eyeing the remains of Sam's lunch. “Are you going to eat that Jello?”

“Dean....”

“Come on!”

With a long-suffering sigh, Sam pushed the Jello across his bed tray. “Here.”

Dean hesitated before taking it. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry you have to go through it all again....you know....Jessica, and Dad.....” He chewed his lip. “When I asked Cas to tweak your memory I didn't think he'd blast you back to oh-five, and then feed me some lame-ass excuse about it not being an exact science...”

“An angel. Dean come on, seriously?”

“Seriously. How do you think you got here?”

“By ambulance.”

“Right, smart ass.” Dean rolled his eyes. “And you got hurt, how?”

Sam gave him a look. “How am I supposed to answer that question if you had an angel wipe my memory?”

“So you believe an angel wiped your memory?”

“I'm more likely to believe my brother is a raving lunatic with a sick sense of humor.” Sam toyed with the paper bracelet around his wrist, frowning at the name Sam Houston printed on it. “For all I know Jess is....” he stopped. His voice grew rough as tears gathered in his eyes. “Never mind,” he said softly. “I know she's gone. Somehow....I know.”

Dean fidgeted in the silence that followed, and broke it with an honest confession. “I didn't want you to remember it, Sam. Not like I do. I just couldn't.”

“You mean Hell?”

“Yeah.” Taking a deep breath, Dean added, “It's not....good....there, Sammy.”

Sam quietly studied his brother for a moment, searching his eyes for any tell-tale sign of deception. He found none, but whatever it was he did see hit him perhaps harder than the losses of Jessica and his father. “You're not lying, are you? All this,” he gestured toward the notebook where Dean had attempted to record all the events that occurred during the five years of memory that were lost. “Is true?”

“Every word.” The Jello temporarily forgotten, Dean retreated from his brother's scrutiny. At the window he looked down at the hospital's parking lot where a large black rectangle stood out in high relief among a sea of small, brightly-colored ovals. “Pinky swear,” he said softly.

“Pinky swear,” Sam murmured. “How old are you, seven?”

Dean returned to the bed and reclaimed the Jello. “Times ten.” He paused. “I've missed you Sammy. It's been a rough year.”

“You know, if we hadn't been raised with this stuff, I would be having you hauled down to the psych ward right now, or rehab to cure you of your crack habit.” Pushing the tray back, Sam swung his legs off the bed, but grabbed Dean to steady himself as he swayed on his feet. “Dammit.”

“Sorry.”

“Your so-called angel sucks, Dean.”

“Hey, you were dead longer! Cas did the best he could with what was left. We picked a bad place to bury you. Too wet. The coffin flooded.” Dean eyed the Jello queasily for a moment before shrugging and peeling off the paper lid. “You got pretty squishy.”

“Uh...gross?” Sam grimaced. “I can not get my head around any of this, seriously. I can't.” He waved off his brother's offer of assistance and wobbled to the bathroom under his own power. “Just get me out of here, and please tell me you aren't still into Dad's old hair bands.”

Dean dug into the Jello. “Okay,” he mumbled around a mouthful of plastic spoon. “I won't tell you.”

“I heard that.” A few minutes later Sam came out of the bathroom zipping up his jeans and looking a bit more steady on his feet. “Dean you have got to be kidding! You mean I'm going to be riding around with you and the best of mullet rock?”

“Looks like it,” Dean grinned. “Just like old times.”

Sam snorted. “And God has you earmarked for the angel corps. What's wrong with this picture?”

“Don't be an ass.” Tossing the now empty Jello cup over his shoulder, Dean headed for the door. “Come on Sammy, shake a leg. We've got work to do.”