Author ramblings and prompt are included as a final chapter.
Standard Disclaimer Applies.

"I don't care what it takes, Dean. You're not going to go to Hell. I'm not going to let you. I swear."

Sam should have known those words would come back to bite him in the ass. Some promises should just never be made. Simple as that. And Sam had practically promised the world.

Maybe he could be excused that one little impossible promise. This was the Winchesters they were talking about. They did the impossible every week. More often than that. And more to the point, Sam had every intention of keeping that promise. Those were not hollow words to comfort the doomed. It was fact. Bobby had found a way to pin down Lilith's location and that was all Sam needed to end the entire disaster.

Except Dean had forbidden Sam from contacting Ruby. Sam understood. She was bad news and he knew it. Sill, as far as he could see, she was their only chance at bringing down Lilith. She was a means to an end. She had information they needed. She had the knife. If Ruby was Dean's get out of jail free card, then Sam fully intended to use her. Dean would just have to deal.

So naturally they had ended up right where Lilith wanted them. And maybe Sam was a little pissed that big brother had been right again. Why couldn't just one little plan work in their favor?

When Lilith finally cornered them in that tiny dining room, Sam knew it would end in blood. His body had slammed up against the wall hard enough to make the room spin. If he had not been suspended, he might not have been on his feet at all. He hung there, pressed flat against the wall, struggling to break free – to move, breathe, anything. He could hear her prattling on in the background while she held Dean pinned to the table like some modern day sacrifice.

Sam's eyes widened as she went for the door.

Lilith smiled.

"Sic 'em, boys."

He struggled harder. This couldn't be how it all ended. It just couldn't. Sam watched as the door swung open, the dust lines breaking as it drug through them.

Sam watched. He could hear himself shouting, but couldn't bring himself to look away.

He watched as Dean was torn and shredded by the invisible dogs. He watched as his brother writhed to escape the teeth that ripped into his flesh. He watched as his brother crawled, dragging himself with what strength he had left. His screams filled the room.

And what Sam wouldn't do to block out the screams. Dean's screams. He watched until Dean was still and silent, a broken mass of flesh and dripping blood.

As it ended, he barely had time to register a flash of yellow-white light. He dropped from the wall and landed in a heap on the floor, shielding his face as best he could against the golden brightness. Odd how something so evil could look almost angelic. As the light faded, all that registered was tingling. Everything felt strange, as though someone had rearranged all the molecules in is body, and set them to thrumming. He could taste something charred and the stench of sulfur accompanied a high pitched ringing in his ears and a dull throbbing behind his eyes.

Through the dancing spots in his vision, he locked eyes with Lilith. He pulled himself to his feet, using the wall as leverage. Her eyes were wide with shock and she tried to pin him again.

He took another step forward and bent to retrieve the knife that had fall to the floor.

She said something, he couldn't quite make it out over the increased clanging in his ears. Whatever it was, she was obviously scared. With a grunt he lunged at her with the knife. She was gone with a scream and pillar of black smoke before he could get near her. As Ruby's former body fell lifeless to the floor, he forgot about her completely. He dropped down next to Dean and cradled his brother's head in his hands. Dean's lifeless eyes stared back at him. Sam clutched his brother to his chest, dimly aware that he was crying. That's how Bobby found him.

By the time the old hunter got Sam off his brother, he was exhausted. He let Bobby guide him through the motions of taking care of Dean. He had enough sense left in him to stop Bobby from burning Dean's bones. Sam was going to get him back and he would need something to come back to, some doorway to slip though. Beyond that though, Sam was numb. He just wanted to sleep. He would feel everting in the morning but for now he needed to get cleaned up and crash.

It took them all of ten minutes to find a motel to hole up in for the remainder of the night. Sam knew he couldn't make the drive back to Bobby's house. He went to check them in and found the front desk manned by a middle aged man who looked about as bored as possible. It took less than a minute to get the rooms and back out to Bobby, who was stashing the most questionable gear out of sight of the casual passerby. It was only as he approached the older hunter that he realized he'd gotten two rooms out of habit. He sighed as he handed the key over.

Bobby looked at him oddly, but seemed to realize what he'd done and didn't comment on it. They walked in silence to Sam's door. Sam was sure he should say something to Bobby, but he didn't know what. Instead, Sam slipped into the room and dumped his duffle on the bed closest to the bathroom.

When he turned, he saw Bobby leaning in the doorway, staring at him.

"Bobby, please," he said. "Just let me sleep."

The older hunter frowned and started to say something. Sam was sure he was going to offer to stay, but Sam shook his head. "I'll be fine. I just need rest. I'll meet up with you tomorrow morning."

Bobby stepped back out of the door and Sam shut it unable to bear being under scrutiny one more moment. He needed to be alone. He didn't need a witness, however close the man might be, to his coming unglued.

He was still for all of a minute before he stumbled to the bathroom to clean himself up so he could sleep. He'd need to get some rest if he was going to tackle this. Dean was gone and Sam had to fix it. He would. There had to be a way.

He stared at himself in the mirror. Grit and dirt covered his face and neck. His eyes were red rimmed and swollen and at some point his nose had bled. The cut on his forehead had scabbed over and was going to be awful to get cleaned. He ought to get on with it now since he already had a headache. The clanging in his ears had subsided to a dull thrumming that might help his headache if it ever let off.

He grabbed one of the mostly white washrags on the sink and wet it. He scrubbed down his face, took care of the cut. It was not deep just a typical head wound. It's a wonder the man at the desk hadn't called the , the events of the day and the alcohol Bobby had plied him with drug him down to sleep. He passed out on top of the bed without even taking his shoes off.