A/N: I can't believe it's over! This is it! My final chapter! I just want to thank everyone again--everyone who's read this, everyone who's reviewed once, twice, every chapter. I hope this ending is satisfying. And, as always, thanks and hugs to Cati. This is for you--all of it--and I hope it lived up to your expectations :)

Chapter Nine: Unbroken

The nurses had nearly kicked Dean and John out, allowing them to stay only after a hot shower and a change of clothes. Dean barely felt the hot water in the hospital shower as it scorched his skin, just let it rain down on him as he tried to make himself feel alive, stay cognizant. It wouldn't have mattered, but he had to be with it for when Sam woke up.

He had to believe Sam would wake up soon, that he would kick this thing. He wanted to believe it, needed to believe it, no matter what Dr. Hepker said.

"Sam's condition is unchanged. It looks like he's still hanging in there." There was a hint of surprise in his voice. "We'll continue to monitor him."

It was a bleak outlook, but the doctor didn't have to intubate Sam that night. He didn't have to do it the next day either.

By the following evening, he was smiling as he checked Sam. "I think he's been through the worst of it," he said. "He's on his way to recovery."

John's smile was sure and proud and relieved, but he kept it small, so as not to alert anyone to the mix of emotions that had carried him through the waiting period.

Dean was hesitant to believe in the progress. Sam's color improved and his breathing relaxed, but Dean doubted, doubted that the unity he so cherished could ever be restored to its pristine state.

Then Sam woke up.

Their father had been unusually compassionate with his youngest son. Despite all of Sam's fears to the contrary, John was merely relieved that his son was alive, too thankful for that small favor to spend any more time pointing fingers. He talked quietly to Sam, smoothing his hair back with gentle strokes, and smiled more freely than usual.

Dean watched their simple interaction and wondered why it took so much to show love to one another. He knew the peace was fleeting, that soon they would all go home and their father would order and Sam would rebel and he would forever attempt to bridge the two.

Dean felt his breath catch in his throat. Was this image of a perfect family unit enacted in front him real? Had it ever been real? Or was the perfect family he thought he needed, he thought he wanted--was it forever tainted, forever infected? Because he knew, with sudden clarity, that if it was real and pure, they wouldn't be here at all. Dean had wrestled that truth for the last few days, and he was still no closer to knowing how to deal with it. They all projected strength and unity, depended on it for survival. But what decay lay beneath the facade? What if the projection shattered for the lie that it was? What would remain?

Dean didn't know, and he didn't know what to say when his father left him alone with Sam while he got some some dinner.

Sam turned expectantly to his brother. The compassion from John had roused Sam's spirits, and for once Dean believed that his brother bought into the unity he bucked.

"Thanks," he said finally.

Dean was surprised. "For what?"

"Saving me."

"Saving you?"

"I should have known," Sam said. "Should have told you more about it."

"Sam, don't be ridiculous."

But Sam was sincere, honest in his gratitude. A glimmer of hope reflected in Sam's eyes. A hope that true unity could be restored, that they could go back to a happier time, a more peaceful time, that they weren't ruptured beyond repair.

Dean felt the apology catch in the back of his throat. It was an apology Sam deserved--one to rectify the neglect, to remedy the lapse in trust. For one moment, Dean thought he could give it, satisfy the need for absolution--not just for this, not just for him, but for all of them. There was just so much hope, so much need in Sam's eyes, and for once his brother didn't let it be hidden by the cynicism that clouded him.

But the moment passed, and Dean felt the weight of unspoken words on his tongue. As if an apology could make up for 16 years of lies, deceptions, and false fronts. "So you finally decided to wake up?" Dean made his voice light, and he kept himself purposefully leaned back in his seat.

The hope in Sam's features flickered. A half-smile of bravado took its place. "Figured you needed someone around to keep you busy," he said. Though his voice sounded harsh against his unused throat muscles, the tone of Winchester confidence was unmistakable. "Besides, got kind of boring, so I figured I'd better wake up."

Dean felt himself relaxing, falling back into the comfortable give-and-take he shared with his brother. "Right, Sammy," he said, tousling his brother's hair. "You know you could never stay away. You'd miss me too much."

Sam grinned, too tired to duck away from his brother's invasion of his space. Then the moment passed and silence fell, lilting uncertainly. Sam's smiled lessened, but he visibly forced it to remain.

Dean returned the favor with much more gusto. He looked at Sam and overlooked the disappointment, the regret, the need, and accepted his brother's act as the truth he knew it could never be.

The facade was back. The status-quo had returned. It was easier to lie. It was easier to deny. He would never tell Sam about the doubts, he would never tell Sam about the words he exchanged with his father. At least not today.

Because for today, the façade, perfect and unbroken, was enough.