A/N: I don't plan on making this fic writing a habit again by any means, but I've had these images in my head all weekend and needed to write them out.

Still heartbroken over the finale.

Absolutely no Wincest intended.

Open, Closed

When Sam is finally alone in Bobby's house, he lies next to Dean's body on the stripped mattress in one of the spare rooms. He lays his arm across Dean's chest, pressed all along Dean's side, and his chin rests on Dean's shoulder, brow against his brother's head. He sniffles, face wet and tears clinging to the tip of his nose and his jaw. He shuts his eyes and holds on. Lying there for half an hour, he says nothing while he cries, and when he does speak, his voice comes out high and quivering.

"Please," he says. "Dean."

He squeezes his brother's shoulder, pulling him closer when the space between them has already been destroyed. His breath is hot against Dean's neck, face red and gleaming. He shudders and sobs.

"I can't do it," he says. "I can't. I can't. Dean, please. Please, God, I can't do this."

He twists, burying his face in the mattress and Dean's neck, fingers digging into Dean's shoulder. He moans long and deep, the pain in every one of his cells, agony he has never known before – not for his mother or father or Jess and not in Broward County. This is Dean, his Dean, taken from him and suffering every moment.

Sam wants to kill himself. He wants to do it so badly, and even though he's never been suicidal before, it doesn't scare him now. The pain is all that exists, driving him mad and paralyzing him. Death is his only way out, but he can't.

He needs to get Dean out of Hell. He's trapped here until he does.

It takes Sam three days to close his brother's wounds. He lays Dean's body in the bathtub Bobby brought for him and washes him first. The water disappears down the drain in shades of pink. Sam turns off the faucet and sits beside the tub, running his hand through Dean's hair. His lips tremble, eyes constantly wet.

"I'm sorry," he says. He can't speak above a whisper now. "I failed. I failed you."

He and Bobby fill the tub with ice and nestle Dean into it. Sam refuses Bobby's help and sits in the bathroom alone, first aid kid emptied out of everything but needles, sutures, and disinfectant. He stops too many times, hands shaking and vision blurred. He sobs and whimpers and throws up in the sink once, but he finishes.

The stitching is as good as it always is.

They refill the ice in the bathtub several times a day, and Sam won't leave it. He doesn't want to eat, but Bobby brings him food anyway. He doesn't do anything except look at his brother and cry.

"Come on, Sam," Bobby says on the sixth day. "You aren't going to get him back if you just sit here. We have to find Lilith."

Sam shakes his head, takes Bobby by the wrist, looking up into the other man's eyes.

"I can't," he says. "Please. I need you to find a way – but I can't move. I need to stay here. 'm sorry."

Bobby wants to argue but can't find the heart. He doesn't even resent Sam for dumping the task on his shoulders; he just nods and leaves. When he takes research breaks and peers into the bathroom, seeing Sam's back makes him think Dean traded his brother's soul too without knowing it.

In the end, Sam doesn't have a choice but to leave Dean's body; Bobby finds Lilith and leads Sam to her. Sam forces her to relinquish Dean's soul, and she escapes.

When the brothers are reunited, they don't speak anything but each other's name. They lie together on the bare mattress, wrapped around each other so that Bobby can't tell where each man's edges are. They moan, Dean screams, and they cry into quiet.

Dean isn't the same for a long time. He follows Sam on the hunt for Lilith only because they can't be separated again. His eyes are hollow and full of scars at the same time, and Bobby hears him screaming in the night. The brothers sleep together, clutching to each other, and Sam cradles Dean to him, murmuring and singing songs Dean used to love.

Sam isn't the same either. He kills every demon he can find, and Bobby looks at him and doesn't see a human. But when he's with Dean, when they're safe in Bobby's house, Sam is still too raw. Bobby wonders if he'll ever heal, if he'll ever regain who he was.

"I'll never leave you," Sam says to his brother the night after they kill Lillith, his hand curled behind Dean's ear as they lie in bed. Their foreheads lean together.

"I know," says Dean, eyes shut and arm around his brother's torso.

"You're still afraid," says Sam. "But I'll keep telling you until you're not."

Dean goes outside and touches the Impala, weak smile on his face, but doesn't drive it until he and Sam finally move out of Bobby's house three months after Dean's resurrection. They each hug Bobby and thank him with unshed tears, pride and inhibition sucked out of them. Dean sits in the driver's seat, Sam takes shotgun, and for a minute, they sit still together.

"I don't know if this will ever be the way it used to be," Dean says.

"I don't care," says Sam. "We're together."

Dean looks at him. "I still don't – do the talking thing well. I know I should, but it won't be easy."

Sam almost smiles. "That's okay."

Dean looks back out the windshield. "Hunters really do need their own shrinks."

"Yeah. We do."

"Maybe you could be the first one, Sammy."

Sam shakes his head and looks out the window; Bobby is still standing just outside the front door, watching.

"Just want to listen to you," Sam says.

Dean slides his arm up on the back of the seat and cups his hand over Sam's neck. Sam lays a hand on Dean's knee. They close their eyes, swallow, and pause. When they're finally on the road, Dean turns the volume up on the stereo but doesn't sing along.

Not yet.