In The Arms Of Love

Epilogue

The end is nigh...

'Tell me now do we bare the sins of each other!'

T'Pau, Rage.

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Dean sat slumped in his seat, tired beyond belief. The last few hours had swept by in a blur of helicopter flights, EMTs and white coats. Once the pain medication had been administered his little brother soon became almost blissfully unaware of what was going on around him. Dean had held onto him as long as possible until the flight personnel began to prepare Sam for the journey.

It was hard, letting him go. The memory of the last sixth months could never be erased and Dean knew he would never be the same again. Anxious eyes followed his brother's stretcher, heart pounding, and perspiration dripping down his face. He remembered all too well what had awaited him at the other end.

But this was different wasn't it? Sam had been awake, talking to him. He hadn't fallen from the loft, his neck wasn't broken. Sam wasn't dying this time round.

A loud argument broke out in the barn as Nick insisted she was ok and that Dean should ride with his brother; the EMT clearly wasn't happy and neither was Joshua. But the little French woman was stubborn as hell, not to mention quite intimidating when her temper got going, and both Joshua and the paramedic experienced the full force of it.

"Nick you've probably got a fractured jaw and some broken ribs. You need medical attention…" Joshua tried again.

"And I can achieve that perfectly well from my own private doctor." She'd pointed over at Dean, frowning. "That boy needs to be with his brother."

The EMT sighed and nodded, knowing it was useless to argue. "Fine, but at least let me check you over before we take off, and give you something for the pain."

Nick grudgingly consented to that, recognising a compromise when she saw it.

John glanced over at Dean, noticed the pitiful attempt to smile. Worry lines, way too old for a kid of eighteen had etched their way onto Dean's face and John was pretty certain it had nothing to do with the prospect of boarding the chopper.

"Dean." Dean seemed to jolt out of whatever thoughts had trapped him and he looked at his father questioningly. John jerked his chin in the direction of the bird. "Go on, we'll meet ya there later. Keep your brother company."

Dean nodded and stumbled over to the chopper. John had never seen his oldest son like this before. He seemed to almost be in a trance as the EMT tending to Sam shifted over to make room for him, but it soon broke when he gazed at his little brother and for some reason Dean started smiling.

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During the pre-flight checks Dean had been holding a conversation with his little brother. He grinned when Sam opened his eyes wearily and gazed up at him.

How ya feeling Sammy?

Hmm. Stoned. Shoulder doesn't hurt though. Sam giggled drunkenly and Dean's grin widened. You gonna be ok on this flight? You don't have to Dean…

Yes I do. Was Dean's sudden overly-sharp answer and Sam blinked up at him in surprise. He softened his approach, not wanting to scare the kid. I'm ok Sam. Just not ready to let you out of my sight, not yet.

Sam frowned worriedly. Is there something you're not telling me?

Nah. But you had me scared back there. Dean reached out and tugged Sam's hand into his own, the other was resting on his kid brother's scalp. The nasal oxygen tube strapped to Sam's face was a welcome sight, given that before the trickster's intervention he couldn't even breathe by himself. Thought I was gonna lose you, runt.

You don't get rid of me that easy. Sam smiled brightly.

Better not!

Dean sensed the curious glances of the EMT but thankfully nothing was said; it would have been tricky trying to explain that he was communicating with his brother via telepathy and Dean was fairly certain that the two of them would end up in the nut house.

He'd been separated from Sam for long enough, and was still having some trouble readjusting to this new reality.

Sammy was alive.

The rotor blades picked up speed as the other EMT, having finished his examination of Nick Le Monnier, leapt aboard and signalled to the pilot. Once take off was cleared, Dean felt the downwash of turbulent air buffeting his face, and somehow it didn't worry him in the slightest when he felt the craft lift off.

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On arrival at the hospital Sam had been immediately whisked away from him for tests, scans and god only knew what else. The doctor in charge of the ER had graciously come out to talk to him once or twice, and it appeared that Sam, whilst badly injured, was now out of danger. The bullet had passed straight through his shoulder and clean out the other side, and the surgery to repair the muscle damage had been fairly clear cut, much to Dean's relief. The injuries he'd sustained from the beating had been superficial with the exception of two cracked ribs and a fractured cheek bone. All in all, it was agreed that Sam had gotten off light. In Dean's opinion, anything was better than the alternative; a scenario he'd witnessed firsthand.

Dean had called his father's cell earlier to tell him about Sam's progress. Caleb, Joshua, and Bobby were also on their way, with a grumbling Nick in the back of the RV. Dean had the opportunity to talk to her for a few minutes, though her jaw was obviously painful. She instructed Dean to tell the hospital staff that he and Sam were her Godsons, and that she would talk to them as soon as she arrived; that took care of the medical insurance.

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The police had arrived at the farm shortly after the chopper took off, and John, Caleb, Joshua and Nick filled them in. A very angry Denzil had been discovered in Nick's kitchen, thoroughly bound and gagged, whilst the bodies of Tony and Marco had been removed by the forensics team.

Bobby had finally directed the officers to two more men that lay trussed up somewhere in the trees, and grinned at the filthy looks thrown at him as they were taken into custody. They'd struggled a little but soon calmed down when they realised that the game was up, and the knowledge that their boss was dead and not about to bail them out with the services of some bent lawyer certainly helped subdue them.

Kerac and Peppy had been found lying in the yard, and there were several sighs of relief when it emerged that they were both alive. The tiny darts John found on examining the dogs were bagged and taken as evidence, and the dogs themselves were carried into the kitchen where they could sleep off the effects of whatever they'd been drugged with. The local vet 

had been called just as a precaution but given that Peppy was snoring away like a buzz saw, everyone felt certain that Dean and Sam's canine pals would be ok.

Nelson, Nick's old black lab, hadn't been so lucky. He'd taken a large calibre round to the belly and had bled out on the floor of Nick's bedroom. His poor body was already cold by the time Nick got to him but that didn't stop her holding him gently in her arms whilst she stroked his soft silky ears. Silent tears rolled down her face as she whispered to him, telling him how much she loved him and what a good, brave dog he'd been. Joshua's quiet presence didn't mock her sentimentality and had been a respectful comfort as he sat next to her cross-legged on the floor of the bedroom, his own blue eyes dark with grief. Nick told him how Nelson had defended her, giving his life to keep her safe, and being the man he was Joshua had to respect a warrior's death.

Nelson had been buried, wrapped in his favourite rug on the far side of the farm, and Nick was sorely missing him. But the comforting presence of the old lab was still there, somehow, someway. And that had to be enough. Old Nelson was still watching out for her, Joshua decided quietly to himself.

It hadn't escaped anyone's notice just how well Nick and Joshua seemed to gel. Even John acknowledged that they made a handsome couple, and it really wasn't like him to pick up on such things.

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"Dean? Your brother's been settled in his room. Would you like to see him?" The nurse grinned at Dean's expression and rolled her eyes good naturedly. "Silly question. Follow me."

Dean smiled in response as he got to his feet. The nurse was middle aged with grey hair pulled back in a tight bun; her features seemed severe, scary even, until she smiled. She had the kind of smile that lit up her face like a Christmas tree and Dean had taken quite a liking to her. In return she'd taken to mothering him, stopping by with coffee, sitting with him for a while and even bringing him doughnuts and muffins. At first he'd been withdrawn and refused to respond to her, but she soon drew him out and now he knew practically everything about Nurse Amelia Harding, up to and including why she became a nurse, how long she'd been married, and all the names of her grandchildren. Of which there were many. Even though she was obviously busy she took time out to make sure he was comfortable. In her eyes, healthcare was about quality rather than quantity.

Dean trudged a little unsteadily into Sam's room, noting worriedly how pale his little brother was. Amelia eyed Dean appraisingly. He looked exhausted, scared and on the verge of collapse. Haunted green eyes searched his brother's face and the nurse left the room, clearly on a mission.

She came back a few minutes later wheeling a comfortable looking recliner, with soft looking blankets folded up over the arm rest.

Dean glanced from the nurse to the recliner and back. "Uh…what?"

"Sit". She ordered and Dean got the impression that arguing with her would be a really bad move. Covering him with one of the blankets and tucking him in like a small child, Amelia spoke softly and determinedly. "You brother won't be awake for some time hon, so you 

might as well get some sleep." And with that she released the reclining mechanism, the backrest dropping slowly until Dean was lying almost horizontal.

Amelia turned to check on Sam, still muttering. "You won't help your brother if you make yourself sick, sweetie." She made a few adjustments to Sam's IV then brushed the long fringe back from the kid's forehead, a fond smile on her lips. "And god knows, with all you boys have been through…" Amelia turned back only to find that Dean had fallen into a deep exhausted sleep, one hand on the bed, fingers clutching at his kid brother's. Her smile fond broadened.

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Dean woke up and blinked rapidly to clear his vision. His father sat across the bed from him, head sunk to his chest, snoring softly. But when he turned to the bed he immediately sat up and smiled. Sam was staring at him sleepily.

Hey buddy. How's the shoulder?

It's a little stiff. Sam looked troubled. Dean, what happened exactly? I still can't shake the feeling I'm missing something.

Dean thought privately for a moment, trying to find a way of setting Sam's mind at rest without telling him everything. All you need to know is that we're both alive and safe now. We even have police protection until the rest of Marco's business associates have been rounded up.

It was just a precaution in case anybody else out there decided to take another crack at the Winchesters, though it was considered pretty unlikely. Besides, Sam and Dean had their own personal bodyguards in the form of John, Bobby, Caleb and Joshua.

Sam's frown lifted a little as he considered that. I guess you're right.

Of course I'm right. Dean grinned smugly. I'm always right; that's what comes with being the oldest.

Yuh huh.

S'true!

You're so full of shit Dean. Sam chuckled.

Get some more sleep runt!

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Rumours had been rife throughout the hospital, everyone one, patients and staff alike curious about the two boys that had arrived by chopper. It was a small community with usually very little excitement apart from the odd mountain rescue, and as whispers of drugs, kidnappings and bullet wounds had been stirred up into almost a frenzy, it had fallen to the likes of Amelia to keep the gossip mongers a bay.

These kids needed to be protected until their family got here. And if Amelia found it strange that two law enforcement officers were stationed outside the boy's room, she never mentioned it.

When the father had arrived, a tall intimidating man with deep, fierce brown eyes, he'd been understandably upset to find his boys under police guard. But the detective in charge of the case had somehow managed to calm him down, and Amelia got on with her business, discreetly studying John Winchester from a distance.

He was highly protective of his young, that much was obvious from the way he sat bolt upright, suspicious eyes never leaving her as she bustled round Sam's room, tidying, administering antibiotics and pain meds, and conversing with his oldest whilst his youngest remained in a post-operative doze.

Amelia decided that she pretty much approved of their father, so the next time she came on shift she brought a batch of her famous freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

The other visitors soon grew on her, charming in their own gruff way. Two of them had been introduced as friends of the family, one as the boy's Uncle Bobby and then there was the delightful French lady who was apparently Sam and Dean's god mother, who'd offered a fantastic sounding recipe for Thai style Moules a la crème.

Amelia tried to draw the line at bringing two dogs onto the ward, but the Newfoundland had fixed her with soft brown, pleading eyes and the retriever reminded her of the dog she had as a child.

She was a gonna within seconds, and soon smuggling the canines on the ward late at night.

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A lot of things happened in a very short space of time.

Nick tentatively sipped at her coffee and grimaced. Not only did her jaw ache and her broken ribs annoyed her, but now she had to suffer the insult of vending machine mud. She'd been to see her doctor and stubbornly argued against admission to the hospital for overnight observation, claiming that she had better things to do than laze about, not to mention that she had a farm to run. She would have ground her teeth if it hadn't hurt so much.

Sure, the part time farm hands had agreed to take good care of the place and she trusted them to do a great job, but it still made her uneasy. After her house had been invaded and her sanctity violated, Nick wanted to make the place her home again. Eventually she'd been persuaded to stay on for a while longer just to make sure she didn't develop complications, but now she was anxious to get home.

John had agreed to let the boys stay on with her until Sam was fully recovered, and Nick wanted to clean the house, scrub the bloodstains from the barn, and generally get the place back to normal in time for Sam's release.

In order to placate the injured woman, Joshua had taken a trip back to the farm to get things in order whilst Caleb, John and Bobby kept an eye on the boys. Dean had developed a nasty cold but refused to be separated from his brother, and had to be supervised round the clock. Not that he was seriously ill; it was only because no one trusted him to take it easy.

When word came back that Marco's three surviving accomplices had been charged with attempted murder, kidnapping and a whole host of other offences, all three Winchesters were able to draw a tentative breath of relief. It had been further confirmed that everyone associated with Marco had turned their backs, some of the other Italian families even coming out and publicly condemning his actions. Because of Sam's tender age the Winchester name had been kept out of the press, which was another cause for relief.

Now that the danger had passed, John had a few questions for his boys.

"Alright, what's going on with you two?" He folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. Nick glanced between John and his sons and hid a smile. She had a fairly good idea but it wasn't her place to discuss it. Sam was still her patient after all.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

"Uh…" Then Dean sneezed.

Sam winced and glared at him. "Dude, you could've warned me! My head felt like it was about to come apart."

"Sorry kid." Dean sniffed with genuine remorse and blew his nose. "Wasn't expecting that one."

John frowned. "Since when does Dean sneezing cause you pain, Sammy?"

Sam smiled sheepishly. "Um…since…well….we….uh." He looked at his brother for help with this one. Preferably snot-free help. He was out of luck as Dean sneezed again then broke out into a harsh round of coughing. Sam winced again, this time in sympathy.

"We…uh…somehow, and we don't know when it really started but…we learned how to communicate….telepathically." Only that last word came out muffled and sounded more like 'tnnnelpathny'

"What?" John shook his head on confusion. "Didn't catch that."

Sam rolled his eyes and scratched absentmindedly at his healing shoulder through the sling. "Telepathically." He batted Dean's hand away when his older brother tried to stop him scratching. "We can use telepathy."

John's mouth dropped open rather comically. "Huh?"

"We can read each other's thoughts." Dean rasped out. "It's proved useful from time to time."

John stared at his sons for a moment before turning to Nick, almost accusingly. "Did you know about this?"

Nick gave her famous French shrug. "I had my suspicions."

There was an uncomfortable silence before John took a deep breath. "Well, at least I know you boys can stay in contact with each other no matter what."

"Apart from when one of us is unconscious or in a deep sleep, which was why I couldn't hear Sam after he was taken." Dean croaked. "He just disappeared off the radar."

"Must've been a powerful sedative." John raised a surprised eyebrow.

"It was." Sam answered quietly. "I felt something in my neck and a second later I was out."

That was really the only blessing about all this. Sam had been drugged again and therefore didn't recall much about that night. Dean, on the other hand, had missed nothing and now he couldn't even hide the anxiety from his brother as was more than obvious by the concerned looks Sam kept throwing him.

It was slowly dawning on Dean that he was the only one who knew what really happened before the trickster showed up, which in some respects was a blessing in disguise. He would have to serious work on those shielding techniques when it came to Sam. He never wanted Sammy to find out about that now non-existent period.

In time maybe he could forget those sixth months. Sixth months without Sam, his little brother dead and buried. Not even his father seemed to remember. But now he had no one to talk to about it, no one that he could share the lingering grief with. For as much as Sam was now alive and kicking, Dean still felt the pain and anguish of his death.

Shrugging it off and planting a mischievous grin on his face, Dean pulled out a pack of cards. "Who's up for some Blackjack? We got some time to kill before Sammy gets his walking papers."

Sam glared at him. "No cheating. I can't hear but I can read your mind!"

"Would I?" Dean sneezed into a fresh Kleenex.

Sam screwed up his face in disgust at the wet snorting that followed, and John got to his feet laughing.

"I think I'll pass. Nick? Mind if I have a word about the living arrangements?"

Nick nodded congenially and left the room to the sound of the boy's good natured bickering.

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John faced Nick with a worried, almost angry expression on his face.

"So, my boys can mind read."

Nick shook her head. "Only each other's as far as I can tell." Then she unleashed the big news. "Your boys are psychic John."

"Damnit!" John faced the wall and glared at it.

"I don't understand what the problem is here." Nick responded with some surprise. "Surely this is a good thing for them. They can protect each other much better as they learn how to use their gifts."

John didn't say anything for a moment, then he asked quietly. "Is Sam's hearing loss really permanent?"

"Like I told you on the phone." She replied sadly. "There's nothing we can do."

They both fell silent.

"I felt it John." John glanced up at her in surprise. "Whatever it was that helped Marco find the boys, it was powerful. I've never come across anything like that before. I could feel it, probing my mind until it found a way in. Then it used my own mind against me."

"Yeah." John breathed out. "Demons can do that."

"So that's what a demon feels like?" Nick tilted her head to look up at John. "Hmm. I'll know better for next time." Then she changed the subject completely. "So, I've organised to have a bed made up for you at the farm. I trust you'll be staying with us while the boys heal." It wasn't a request.

"Damn straight I am. Spent too long away from them as it is."

"Bon!" Nick grinned and made to go back into the boy's room, but suddenly glanced back. "You are a good man John Winchester." And she was gone, leaving a very perplexed John in her wake.

After everything that happened, he sure didn't feel like a good man.

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Sam sat out on the veranda, an open copy of Great Expectations perched on his raised knees. His arm was still in a sling but it hurt less each day. Kerac dozed beside him, stretched out lazily, front and rear paws extended. Occasionally the young dog made small snuffling and whimpering noises in his sleep, then his legs would start scrabbling around as he dreamed of chasing rabbits. It never failed to amuse Sam every time.

He glanced up every now and then to watch his brother putting Peppy through his paces. Dean was attempting to train the Newfoundland as an attack dog. He'd even made a dummy out of sacks filled with straw and drawn a face on it with a black marker pen. Sam had taken the opportunity when Dean's back was turned to draw thick girly eyelashes on the damn thing and added pigtails he'd made from some old rope he found in the barn. The result was that every time Dean pointed at the sack dummy and yelled 'kill!' the dog just looked at it and appeared to laugh in his face.

It was to be the start of a prank war. Dean got his revenge by dressing the dummy in one of Nick's nightgowns, drawing on a suggestive expression and placing it in Sam's bed. The resulting girly screams kept him laughing all through the night.

And that led to Dean opening the bathroom door one morning to find the dummy hanging by a noose from the light fitting; to add insult to injury a blue tongue had been drawn on, and Dean had to admit it was a good prank.

John put a stop to it after that, knowing his sons had a tendency to let these things get out of control, and the sack dummy was once again employed in training Peppy. Dean was certainly persistent; Sam had to give him that. After hours of careful, iron willed patience, Dean had managed to get Peppy to at least sniff the dummy, before the dog rolled on his back, legs in the air, begging for a tummy rub.

As Sam grew stronger the boys once again began going out on daylong hikes, but this time John went with them so that Sam didn't have to carry too much. It was real quality time with their father, the likes of which they'd never really had before. There were no hunts, no discussions of anything supernatural, just family, and John was impressed at their ability to 

blend in with nature. Bobby even accompanied them sometimes when he wasn't helping out round the farm.

Joshua and Nick spent a lot of time together, in between Sam's music therapy sessions, and their relationship was blossoming.

Caleb was the first to leave, having been terrorised by Napoleon one too many times. It wasn't that the goose disliked him, however. Just the opposite. Everywhere he went Napoleon followed, beating his wings and honking at him. Caleb swore at him, yelled and even tried to threaten him. The last straw came when he found the goose in his room sprawled out on the bed as though he owned the place, which in retrospect Caleb supposed he did. He'd certainly never met a more territorial bird. But one that was apparently gay – in his view

- was just too much.

Joshua moved on next, though he planned to make regular visits. It was obvious he'd fallen for the doctor but he wasn't the type to settle down in one place. Maybe one day, but for now he had work to do and Nick didn't have much to say about it.

Bobby had to return the RV, get back to his salvage yard and so the numbers dwindled even further.

John decided to give his sons a little longer. It was Nick who persuaded him. She'd been observing the brothers more closely than ever before and she knew something was troubling Dean. Every now and then, when Dean thought no one was watching him, his eyes glimmered with fear, especially whenever he looked at Sam.

When they first got back from the hospital Dean's over-protectiveness had been spiralling out of control and he barely left his brother's side. Sam hadn't minded and even took comfort in 

it, which surprised John. His youngest boy was extremely independent and usually hated being coddled, but he seemed to sense that this was what Dean needed. Anything to put his big brother's mind at rest.

But as days turned into weeks Dean began to relax. It helped that the boys hadn't been called as witnesses to the trial of Marco's goons, mainly because the evidence was overwhelming but also because full confessions had been obtained.

When it was finally the Winchester's turn to leave there were a few problems to overcome. Namely the dogs; there was no question of who they truly belonged to. Kerac was Sam's, Peppy was Dean's. But taking two dogs on the road was out of the question, especially in the Impala. In the end it was agreed that the dogs would remain with Nick. It was their true home after all.

Peppy and Kerac would undoubtedly pine for Sam and Dean, but the boys were encouraged to visit often, and John promised to make sure of it.

He watched his sons as they took the dogs on their last hike and decided to stay behind; they needed time to say goodbye. And John needed time to think.

The yellow eyed demon would come after the boy again someday, he was certain, and the next time he might succeed. But now it seemed that Sam wasn't the only one of his sons in danger from the bastard.

John also had the nagging feeling that something was missing, that a significant amount of time had passed without him remembering. In short he felt displaced.

It worried him because he was sure that Dean was heavily involved, but trying to get him to talk about it was like trying to get money from a lawyer. Even Sam felt uneasy though he couldn't say why. All he told his father was that Dean and he had to learn some thought-shielding techniques for the sake their sanity and privacy, and Dean had become a master of it. And Sam could only guess that his older brother was hiding something.

John also guessed there should be no surprises there. It always had been Dean's forte. They weren't going to get it out of him, even with torture techniques. It was clearly something Dean needed to work through on his own.

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On the last day, Dean went to the barn and gazed up at the hayloft fearfully. He could still recall it, he could count every second that it took his little brother to fall. A shudder ran through him and he scrunched his eyes shut...

Oh god Sammy...

"Dean?" He turned sharply. Nick was sitting on a bale of hay, watching him carefully.

"You don't have to say anything; I have a pretty good idea." She continued softly.

"You reading my thoughts too now?" But his tone was trying to be good natured.

"Non. Just your body language. Tricksters are, by their very nature, tricky, yes?" She tilted her head in that way that made him feel intensely scrutinised, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"Nick..." Dean sounded and looked desperate. "Please, Sammy can never know." He stopped when she held out a hand to him. He hesitated before moving over and placing his palm in hers.

She gazed at him steadily. "He will not hear it from me. But one day mon Cheri, you may have to tell your Sammy. This is just your first encounter with such a being. And it

won't be your last."

Dean nodded resignedly. Somehow he believed her.

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John was tempted to leave his sons with Nick, but instinct... told him they had to stay with him. Or was that purely because he assumed they belonged? In the end it was the boys that decided it. Sam wasn't going anywhere without Dean, and vice versa. Apparently, Sam and Dean had made their own decisions.

It was truly sealed when they reached the motel, Sam booted up the laptop, took one look and announced to his family. "What's the point in putting this off?"

And that really told him something...it told him a reluctant warrior had been truly born.

And for that reason, no matter what came of it, John would never forgive himself.

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Authors notes:

Make of it what you will.

Got major writers block and I can't do this anymore.

I apologise for anything that seems out of whack; if you don't like it then just remain quiet. For my sake pleae.

Kind regards,

ST.xxx.