Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who read this story. I hope that you enjoyed it. I enjoyed writing it. Enjoy the end!!!!! Stacey.
He felt himself on the edge of consciousness, like he was trying to wake up from a dream but sleep still held fast. He finally gave himself that final push and forced himself awake. He looked around, disoriented for a second. Then he saw the devil's trap above his head and the memories of the past week flooded back to him. Some of which he hoped to hell that he could forget.
His attempt at sitting up was thwarted by a huge weight on his side. Now that he realized that it was there, it hurt, and it was heavy. Looking down he realized what it was and sighed.
"Sammy," he said, his voice gruff with lack of use. "Sammy, you big idiot, get up. You are hurting me." He pushed a little at his brother and he roused, looked up at his brother through swollen eyes. Tear tracks traced down his face. Dean couldn't for the life of him figure out why Sam had been crying. Sure wetting himself had been a horrible thing that for once, he hoped his encyclopedic brother would forget, but that was no where near a good reason for crying.
"Dean?" he asked flabbergasted.
"Sammy. Please get up. You are crushing my spleen."
"Your spleen isn't in that spot." Sam said in a sort of automatic daze. Dean. Was. Back. Not just in the, he's alive and talking way, but he was back to his normal, dark hared, smooth skinned, toned and fleshy sort of way. Everything was normal. His eyes were bright again and showed no signs of decay, his skin was taught and tan, and didn't look as if someone had tried to put a too big Dean suit on a small frame, his hair was dark blond again and no signs of white invaded the tresses.
Sam was just about to reach out his hand and touch his brother's face when Dean replied;
"Whatever. Get up. You have to be crushing something important wit that Sasquach body of yours." Sam sat up and watched as Dean struggled to get out of his uncomfortable death rest.
"It worked." Sam finally said.
"Well duh Sammy. Why do you look like you didn't think it did?"
"Because you died last night after the ritual." Dean seemed to think on that for a moment and then shrugged.
"Well, I'm fine now."
"Do you remember where we are?"
"Bobby's. Who else has books around like this?" Sam smirked.
"What else do you remember?" Sam probed. Dean knew what his brother was fishing for, but he was not about to admit that he remembered Bobby and Sam cleaning him up after accidents, or his brother spoon feeding him because he didn't have proper control over his motor skills anymore, nor was he likely to mention that he remembered what it was like to be blind.
"Not much. I remember you telling me you were leaving to find the demon, but that is just about all." Sam felt relief flood his senses. He never wanted Dean to wake up from this and suffer the humiliation of having become an incontinent invalid.'
"Sam…you out here talking…" Bobby Singer, dressed, looking as if he hadn't eaten anything in days but had had his fair share of the hard stuff looked at Dean who was sitting up and grinning at him.
"I'm here Bobby."
"Yeah, Sammy here thought I was dead too. I don't understand why you guys thought that."
"You stopped breathing." Sam said simply.
Dean raised a dark brown and nodded. "I can see where you would get the impression then." Bobby, without preamble, went to the eldest Winchester and hugged him. Bobby was never so happy to see someone up and running again as Dean Winchester. There was something special about the boy that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He held the boy's firm body in his and relished in the fact that he didn't see bone sticking out of wrinkled skin. Dean was whole again and that was all that mattered right now.
Sam watched the two and found himself once again marveled by how easily Dean accepted affection from Bobby. Dean never accepted affection from anyone other than his one night stands. Bobby let Dean go with a pat on the shoulder and an awkward silence ensued as Bobby and Sam starred at Dean. Dean tried not to twitch and the sudden urge to get the hell away over took him.
"Well," Dean said breaking the silence. "I need to go to the bathroom, get a shower and get dressed." Dean stood and hurried to the back of the house and took care of the necessities. Sam didn't speak the entire time he was back there. Dean had died right in front of him and now…now…his brother seemed to be back to normal.
Dean collected himself while he showered, shaved and did his hair. His hands had shook when he had turned on the shower. He felt shaky and slightly stiff. The last time he had been resurrected. Dean stopped when that thought came to mind. He sighed and pushed his head under the hot water.
"Man, Winchester, you are getting to be like a cat, 9 lives. One of these days you aren't going to be so lucky." He chastised himself. But the last time he had come back to this world he had felt empty and like something was wrong. This time, aside from just general achyness, that he assumed had more to do with the fact that his body had rapidly aged and then rapidly de-aged than the actual resurrection itself, Dean didn't experience the wrongness that he had felt the last two times he had been brought back from the dead, or near dead.
He actually decided as he finished shaving, that this time, he had been brought back because he was mean to be here. He was meant to be with Sammy and keep killing those evil "sons of bitches". This, at least, was a get out of jail free card that did not have the price tag of unending guilt. This time, he just had to suffer the humiliating memories until the end of his days. When he got old, if he got old, for real, he'd kill himself before he let Sam clean him up or help him walk to the bathroom, or help him to eat. No-sir-re. That was never going to happen to Dean Winchester again.
Walking out of the bathroom, black shirt overlaid with green shirt and torn jeans, he felt good. He looked good and felt good. Sam looked up when he heard Dean's footfalls and tears almost came to his eyes. Dean looked like Dean again, from the clothes to the hair that was spiked to the right, he was Dean again.
"Dude. Where is my ring?" he asked. Sam jerked to attention and pulled it out of his pocket.
"Here. It was too big…"
"Thanks Sammy." He interrupted. "Why don't we get out of Bobby's hair? I'm sure there is something evil we can hunt out there."
"I feel great Sammy. Come on. Let's get out of here." They said their goodbyes to a flustered Bobby. He wasn't quite ready to see the boys leave. Dean smiled and patted Bobby's chest as he said. 'Thanks for everything." With a grumble of the Impala's engine the boys were out of there.
It had taken Sam several hours to work up the courage to actually say what he needed to his brother.
"Let's not Sammy." Dean said anticipating the heart to heart that Sam wanted to have.
"I have to say this."
"Do I have to talk back?"
"No. You just have to listen." Dean sighed as if he were being majorly put upon.
"Fine. Get it off your chest."
Sam licked his lips trying to find the words that he had had all night. Words that he had said that if Dean had been alive he would never forget to tell him. He could remember none of it. So instead, Sam took a deep breath and said, "I love you." That seemed to say it all.