Dean's wager with Death had failed. He'd ended up taking the ring off before his time was up, in order to right a wrong he'd done with the power he'd been given. It had, in the end, been a lot more difficult than he'd imagined.

But by some odd twist of fate, Death had just been trying to teach Dean something with the wager. His intention all along was to retrieve Sam's soul anyway. He left Dean sitting at the kitchen table in Gibbs' house after telling him he'd be going to Hell to get the soul. And now all Dean could think was that he really really needed to sleep.

Since he had the house to himself for the time being, he decided to take advantage, and stalk into the bedroom, foregoing any such bothers to change out of his clothes. But he did think to call upon Castiel as he fell into bed.

"How was your twenty-four hours?" the angel asked when he appeared in the room.

"Craptastic," Dean replied, not bothering to open his eyes where he lay. "But Death is on his way to Hell to get Sam's soul. So you might wanna get Sam here, somehow. Death will be back within a day."

"Did he mention what the consequences of returning Sam's soul after so long could include?"

"He's gonna put up a wall," Dean said sleepily. "Only thing he can do. Hopefully it sticks."

"A wall?"

"Just get Sam here, will ya, Cas? I'll explain more tomorrow. I need to sleep, nightmares or not."

"I will. But I should warn you; Sam will be reluctant to accept the return of his soul. You should prepare for this." Castiel stood silently for a moment, not receiving a reply from Dean, before leaving to find Sam...

*~.~*

Tony awoke on Gibbs' couch the next morning after hearing movement in the kitchen. To his surprise, Dean was cooking. And once Tony's sense of smell decided to start working, he recognized the scent of bacon and eggs. And pancakes.

Three things went through his head at that moment. One, he was hungry. Two, Dean had never, in the entire time he'd been there, cooked breakfast. Not that he hadn't wanted to help out. He almost always made dinner for them when they were home for it, and did everything he could to help out around the house. But he'd never been mentally capable at any point in the morning to even consider eating, let alone preparing a meal for others.

Three, he wanted to know what happened yesterday. In fact, when they'd gotten home the previous night, he'd sought out the hunter for information, but found him fast asleep. Tony had even stayed up a while, waiting for the inevitable moment when Dean would be thrust awake from the nightmares and refuse to go back to bed. But Tony had fallen asleep before that happened.

Tony stood from the couch and made his way to the kitchen. "Morning," he greeted Dean.

"Hey," Dean glanced back at him. "Breakfast's almost ready. Grab yourself some coffee."

"How long have you been up?" Tony asked, as he made his way to the cupboard for a mug. "Gibbs isn't even up yet."

"About an hour, I guess," he told him.

"You slept through the night?"

"Yeah. No nightmares. Seems weird, but I'm not complaining."

"That's...great, actually. Good to hear," Tony told him as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "How did it go yesterday?"

"Long story. But the part that matters, Death will be bringing Sam's soul back today. So we need to prepare. Apparently, he might be a little reluctant to get it back."

"That's good news; the soul thing, I mean," Tony replied. "What do you mean, he'll be reluctant?"

"Not sure. Something Cas said last night. I think. Can't be too sure, actually, that I wasn't just dreaming it," he cocked his head, smirking just a bit as he plated the food. "I made all the eggs scrambled," he said, turning to Tony. "That cool with you?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," he answered. "Thanks," he took the proffered plate of food.

"You made breakfast?" Gibbs' voice sounded as he entered the kitchen.

"Yeah," Dean replied, turning to prepare him a plate. "Coffee, too. Though you'd already set that up. I just pressed a button," he smirked, handing Gibbs a plate.

"Thanks."

"I'll get your coffee," Dean turned and grabbed a mug from the cupboard, and Gibbs took a seat at the table with Tony, who shared a glance with him.

"I take it yesterday went well?" Gibbs inquired.

"He'll be here later today," Dean told him. "Sam and...ya know...his soul."

Gibbs paused, mid-chew, looking at the younger man as he made his way to the table with his own plate. Three thoughts went through his head in that moment. One, he'd not seen Dean eat breakfast in his entire time living with him this past year. Two, Dean made really good eggs. And three, Sam was going to be there. Today.

"There anything we need to be doing?" Gibbs asked.

"Not a damn clue," Dean replied, stuffing a giant forkful of eggs into his mouth.

"He didn't have nightmares last night," Tony told Gibbs.

"That's real good," Gibbs replied. "Good to see you actually got some sleep, for once."

"It's weird, ya know?" Dean replied over his mouthful of eggs. "I'm still worried as hell. This wall thing Death said he'd put up in Sam's head, there's a pretty fair chance it'll fail. Maybe not even work at all. So I'm kinda terrified. Yet I feel better today than I have in the past friggin' year." He dove back into his eggs.

Gibbs and Tony shared a glance.

*~.~*

"So," Tony began, as they tested to make sure the cot was secured to the floor of Gibbs' basement, "Tell me again why we're doing all of this?"

"Cas said that Sam might be reluctant to get his soul back," Dean explained. "This is precautionary."

"Cuffing him to a bed?"

"If we have to," Dean replied. "Hopefully that won't be the case. But I'm not taking any liberties if Cas says he might fight us. So when he zaps directly down here, we play it cool and see how things go."

"Don't you think seeing this might set him off to begin with?" Tony asked incredulously.

Dean cocked his head slightly, gazing over the cot. "You might have a point. But I figured this looked more like a replica of Bobby's panic room; like maybe he won't even notice anything's off."

"Why not just do this at Bobby's?" Gibbs asked. "Not that you're not welcome to do it here..."

"Bobby and I aren't on the best of terms, at the moment," Dean replied, wandering to one side of the basement, looking for something to cover the cot with. "He knew. He knew this whole time that Sam was back. And he said nothing." He grabbed a drop-cloth from a box and walked back toward the cot. "So yeah, I'm not really in the mood for askin' Bobby for anything." He draped the cloth over the cot. "There!" he smirked.

"Oh yeah," Tony raised his brows, "That's not suspicious at all."

"Shut up," Dean replied without any bite, then made his way toward the bottle of bourbon sitting on the work bench. "Mind if I..." he glanced to Gibbs, who shrugged. "Thanks."

The telltale sound of rustling wings was heard behind him and he spun around.

"Dean." It was Sam. Castiel was beside him, sure. But Sam was right there, looking at Dean like he was surprised, yet glad to see him.

"Sam?" His younger brother smiled, and suddenly Dean's ears were ringing, though he couldn't understand why. But a hundred thoughts raced through his mind; one of them wondering what, exactly, Sam was without his soul.

Sam looked over at the agents, narrowing his eyes for a moment until he came to the realization of who they were. "Gibbs? Tony?" he asked.

Tony smiled cautiously, "Hey, Sam."

"Good to see you," Gibbs said.

Castiel stepped forward, looking to Dean. "I must leave for now. There is a problem with Crowley. I'll return when I can."

"Thanks, Cas," Dean replied, though he wasn't exactly sure what he was thanking him for. Then the angel was gone. Dean's eyes fell back on his brother who was now stepping forward, himself.

"I know what you're planning," Sam told him. "I think it's great, you getting my soul out of the pit. But I don't want it back."

"What're you talking about?" Dean asked. "Why wouldn't you want it back, Sam? It's your soul."

"Without it, I'm a better hunter," he told him in a tone meant to be convincing.

"Hunting isn't all that matters," Dean replied.

Sam let out a small laugh, "That's funny. Coming from you."

"Why does not having a soul make you a better hunter?" Tony inquired.

Sam looked over at him briefly, and Tony noticed the difference between looking at this Sam, and the Sam he knew. They all did.

"Because there's nothing to get in my way," Sam explained, looking back to Dean. "There's no hesitation to make the right call because some pesky bit of conscience fights its way into the equation. They can't use anyone against me. There's no one; not Bobby, Cas...not even you, Dean. They can't use any of you against me, because I just...don't care. About any of you."

Something inside of Dean broke. Sam didn't care about him? About any of them? And what in the hell had happened in the past year, that Sam had come to these conclusions? What godawful things had he done to figure out that 'not caring about anyone' got the job done?

He gave Sam a once-over, noticing how much he'd hulked out since he'd seen him last. He was huge. In fact, there was nothing familiar about the man that stood in front of them, other than his face and voice. And even his voice had something in it that made Dean wary.

"Well, that's too bad," Dean told him as calmly as he could manage. "Because I don't need a robot. I don't need some heartless terminator. I need my brother."

"This isn't about you, Dean," Sam argued. "I've made my decision."

"Yeah, well," he smirked, "You don't get human rights without a soul, buddy."

Sam glared at him for a long, awkward moment. The men all stood there, unsure of what to do next. "If you're going to fight me on this," Sam finally spoke, "There's a way to ensure you can't put it back."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Dean gruffly asked.

"I knew what you were planning, so I did some research. Killing my father would make this vessel unfit for accepting its soul back."

"Our father is dead," Dean's face skewed angrily.

"Father figure will do," he retorted. "And since Bobby is a bit far away right now, there's one other person I can think of."

Dean prepared himself mentally to fight Sam. But he was momentarily confused about what Sam planned to do. Until Sam suddenly lunged in Gibbs' direction. "Sam, no!" Dean shouted, trying to beat him there.

But Tony came between Gibbs and Sam at the last second, and the struggle began. Gibbs came around Tony and pulled Sam off of him, right as Dean gripped the front of Sam's shirt in his hands and spun him around, shoving him up into the workbench with a crash.

Sam pulled himself up, ready to face Gibbs and Dean who stood ready in front of him. Sam dove for Dean, but was stopped by his brother's fist connecting with his face. It knocked him to the ground, and Dean was quick to hover over him and deliver a few more punches before Sam could even calculate another blow.

Gibbs quickly grabbed onto Sam's left arm and began to haul him to the cot, with Dean assisting on the right. They managed to tear off the drop-cloth, shove Sam down onto the bed, though he was quite close to unconsciousness now, and Dean snapped the wrist and ankle cuff securely as Gibbs started on the other side.

Dean stood, appraising his brother one last time before hitting him to knock him out, just for spite. He looked down at himself, confused for a moment as to where the blood on his hands and shirt had come from. Something pulled his attention over to the senior field agent, who had been absent from the fight since his initial blocking of Sam.

"No..." Dean blanched, then met Tony's eyes just as Tony met his. Tony looked down at his own chest to see the handle of a knife buried to the hilt, sticking out from between his ribs. Out of some kind of confused shock, he pulled it out as if he was just now noticing its presence in any fashion. It immediately fell from his hands, clanging to the floor. Tony felt it now. Gibbs looked over at the sound of metal hitting the concrete.

"Tony!" Dean lunged for him as his friend's knees began to buckle...

TBC...