Thanks everyone for the reviews, faves and adds for the last chapter. I really appreciate your support.

Chapter Eleven

The room Amelia set Sam up with was nice. The walls were painted a clean teal and the bedclothes matched. One wall had vast glass doors that led out onto the deck at the back of the house, visible from the bed. During the day, Dean threw open the curtains and let the light stream onto the bed where Sam rested. Dean had a room of his own, next-door to Sam's, but he was barely in there. He preferred to sleep on the recliner in the corner of the room, where he could keep an eye on Sam.

Sam did not sleep at regular hours anymore. He slipped in and out throughout the day and night, and Dean matched his sleep to his, not wanting to miss any of Sam's waking hours now there was so few.

It was early evening and Sam was sleeping, lying on his side with his arms curled around his pillow. Dean had just woken when he heard paws padding on the hall floor.

"Hey, boy," he said as Riot nudged the door open with his nose and came into the room. Riot cast him a fleeting glance and jumped up onto the bed.

In the beginning, Dean had protested the dog's presence, Sam's body was trashed already, he didn't need dog germs stealing his strength, but it seemed to make a difference to Sam to have him around, so he sucked it up and let it lie. It didn't hurt that the dog's arrival usually woke Sam and any time that Sam spent awake now was precious.

Riot eased his nose under Sam's arm and huffed as Sam's fingers began to smooth over his fur, though his eyes were still closed.

His eyes were closed more than they were open these days. It had been a week since their appointment with Doctor Jacobsen, and Sam was failing fast. The independence he had fought his whole life for was sapped from him, and he needed help with the simplest things, like using the bathroom, though that was less of an issue these days. Amelia had explained to a horrified Dean that basic human needs were going to be less of a problem as Sam's body shut down.

Sam grimaced and reached for the small box beside him on the bed. His finger searched for the small, red button.

"Okay, Sammy," Dean said softly, crossing the room and pressing the button for him. "I got it."

The day after they'd met with Doctor Jacobsen, they'd moved to Amelia's and Sam had been set up with a pump to deliver his painkillers. It sent a steady stream into him but when that was not enough, Sam could have a bonus shot. Dean had worried at first that Sam would use it too much and overdose, but Amelia had assured him that it was impossible. There were safeguards in place. Besides, Sam didn't use it much. He fought against the pain as much as he could before using the drugs. Dean would prefer he use it more. He didn't want his brother to be in pain.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam breathed as his eyes opened.

"You wanna sit?"

Sam nodded. "Please."

Dean eased him upright and shifted the pillows around to support him. Sam smiled his thanks and Dean sat on the edge of the bed.

"How're you doing?"

It was stupid question. There mere fact that Sam had needed the boost of meds before he even had his eyes open was sign enough that it was a brutal day, but Dean didn't know what else to say.

Sam leaned his head back against the pillow, as if he didn't have the strength to hold it upright anymore. "I'm okay." He looked down at the dog beside him and smiled. "Hey, Riot."

The dogs ears pricked up and he looked up at Sam with his tongue lolling out and his tail thumping the bedclothes.

"You know what I'd like," Sam said, apropos of nothing.

Dean leaned forward. "Yeah?" Sam had been beyond requests for more than ice chips and meds for a while now, and Dean had floundered in his attempts to help. If there was something Sam wanted or needed now, Dean was going to deliver.

Sam shifted slightly on the bed. "I'd like to see the stars."

Dean's ready smile faded as nostalgia swept over him. They had spent countless nights parked up in the middle of nowhere, watching the stars, not speaking for hours at a time. They hadn't done it since he'd got out of Purgatory.

Sam caught his eye. "Can we, Dean?"

There was something about his expression, the childlike innocence of it, that stole any resistance Dean might have had. There was so little time left and so much not done. If this was what Sam wanted, it was what he would have.

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Sure, Sammy. We can do that."

Sam beamed at him and raised a shaking hand to push back the bedclothes.

"Hold on," Dean said quickly. "I need to get stuff ready for you first. Besides,the stars aren't even out yet."

Sam looked out the window and smiled sheepishly. "Guess I lost track of time again."

"No worries. Let me just get a chair and stuff set up for you and we can sit out till the stars appear. Unless you'd rather sleep a little more first."

Dean hoped Sam didn't say he wanted to sleep. He had missed most of the day already, and Dean had a sick fear every time Sam went to sleep that it would be the last time he did. He had to resist the urge to wake him every time he closed his eyes.

"I'm good," Sam said, combing his fingers through Riot's fur. "I don't want to sleep yet."

Dean grinned. "Give me a sec and I'll have it ready for you. I've just got to go out to the car for a minute. You be okay?"

Sam nodded. "Sure. I'm not going anywhere."

Was he aware of just how much that statement tore at Dean's heart? The problem was that he was going somewhere, and soon, and there wasn't a damn thing Dean could do about it.

Dean left through the front door and made a beeline for the Impala where he had parked it outside of the garage. He hadn't driven it since they arrived at Amelia's house. If there was ever something they needed from town, Amelia fetched it. More powerful than Dean's fear that Sam would die at all was the fear that he would die without Dean being there. He needed to be with his brother when it happened.

He found what he was looking for in the trunk: an old green blanket. It had been John Winchester's back in the day, and it had always been kept in the Impala. When Sam was a kid, it had covered him while he slept on the backseat while Dean rode up front with his father. Amelia probably had nicer blankets, warmer and softer, but this was what Dean wanted for his brother. A piece of home.

Sam eyes were closed when Dean got back to the bedroom, and he paused in the doorway with the blanket held across his chest. Of course it was too much to hope for, for Sam to be able to hang on long enough for them to get outside to see the stars. He should have known, but it had been such a nice idea, that they could have shared that time together once more.

"You wore him out," he scolded the dog softly, and set the blanket on the end of the bed, resigning himself to watching Sam for hours in silence again.

Then Sam opened his eyes and spoke softly. "Not sleeping. Just resting my eyes."

Dean chuckled. "Remember Old Lady Saggit"

Sam grinned. "How could I forget. The woman never slept."

Dean nodded. She had been one of many babysitters they'd had over the years, but the one thing that stuck out about her was her ability to go from snoring to wide awake in seconds, whenever Sam or Dean thought about doing something she wouldn't like—such as turning the TV from cartoons to late night movies. She always came up with the same explanation for her wakefulness. "I'm not sleeping, boys. I'm just resting my eyes."

Sam sank a little deeper into the pillows, as if he didn't have the energy to hold himself up anymore, but he was smiling widely.

Dean opened the door to the yard and tugged the Adirondack chair toward the door. Sam adamantly refused to the use the wheelchair Doctor Jacobsen had delivered to Amelia's, even though he clearly needed it.

When he got inside, Sam had thrown back the blankets and was slowly easing himself round to sit on the edge of the bed. Dean wanted to help, he hated seeing Sam struggle, but there was so little Sam could do for himself now that Dean wanted to let him do what he could, only intervening if Sam asked.

Sam was only wearing a tank and sweats, so Dean fetched a hoodie from the duffel in the closet and handed it to him. Sam put it on with effort and tucked his meds pump into the pouch pocket, then he looked expectantly at Dean. "We good?"

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean said, gripping his hands and pulling him to his feet, "we're good."

Walking slowly and leaning heavily on Dean, Sam made his way out to the deck and sank gratefully into the chair with a groan.

"You need another shot?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut. "No. I just need a minute. It'll be okay."

Riot padded outside and lied down beside Sam's chair with a grumble.

Dean wasn't someone that humanized animals, but if he was, he would have interpreted Riot huff of breath as a reprimand at what they were doing. Not that he would have cared either way. This was what Sam wanted, so this was what was going to happen.

Dean laid the blanket over Sam's knees and tucked it into his sides. He pulled his own chair up beside Sam's and perched on the edge, ready to leap into action if Sam needed him. "You okay?" he asked.

Sam drew a deep breath of the fresh air and nodded. "Better. It's good to be outside, you know?"

Dean understood. He had been cooped up inside almost as long as Sam, and the air felt good against him skin.

Seeing Sam was settled, he sat back further in his chair and leaned his head back. "We haven't done this in a long time," he said.

"Hasn't been the right time," Sam replied.

Dean heard more meaning in that than he was willing to admit, but he pretended ignorance even to himself. If they didn't talk about it, kept things light, it was okay.

They didn't speak for a while, and Dean was sure Sam was falling asleep with his head resting back, but then he plucked at the blanket with one thin-fingered hand and smiled. "Haven't seen this in forever."

"Well, you got big, Sammy. I figured you were too old for me to be wrapping you in blankets when you fell asleep in the car. If you missed it, you only had to ask. I'd have tucked you in and everything."

Sam huffed a weak laugh. "Jerk. I was just saying. It's nice to have some things of home around."

Dean wondered how it felt to be Sam, having no memory of a real home. The closest thing they had was Bobby's place, and though the older hunter had done everything to make them welcome, it wasn't the same. Before that there had been his apartment in Palo Alto and that had burned down. In fact, now he thought about it, all Sam's homes apart from this house had burned down, and he didn't think Sam really thought of Amelia's place as home.

"Sam! Dean!" the voice came from in the bedroom and Dean recognized the strident tone at once as Amelia.

"We're out here," he called back.

Amelia appeared on the threshold and she looked from Sam to Dean and back again with her hands on her hips. "What are you doing?"

"Stargazing," Sam said.

Amelia looked up at the dusky sky. "There are no stars."

Dean rolled his eyes and Sam laughed. "We're waiting for them, Amelia. It's a Winchester thing."

On a scale of one to ten, with ten being Bobby-level-pissed, Amelia ranked at least a twenty. "You shouldn't be out here, Sam," she scolded. "You're supposed to be resting."

Sam took a deep breath. "Dean, you mind giving us a few minutes?"

Dean did mind. He minded a lot. But he figured he owed Amelia since she'd given them a comfortable home for now, so he set down his beer and got to his feet. "I'll be within calling distance," he said, making his way back into the bedroom.

He was tempted to hang around in the bedroom and listen to what Sam was saying to her, but she slid the door closed, so he quickly straightened the bedding and made his way into the kitchen. His stomach gurgled and he realized he couldn't remember eating since Amelia had given him a granola bar and coffee that morning. Granola bars were on par with salad in Dean's eyes, so he'd eaten enough to stave off his hunger and then tossed it into the trash can. Now he was hungry, and he had a short time—however long Sam gave Amelia—to get something to eat.

He had made and eaten a sandwich and was washing it down with another beer when he heard the sobs coming from the lounge. His heart in his throat, he raced through the hall and bedroom and out onto the deck, sure he was going to see his worst fear realized and cursing Amelia for taking him away from his brother when he needed him. But Sam was awake, staring out at the yard. He looked up at Dean as he paused, panting, in the doorway, and Dean saw his eyes were wet.

"You okay?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Is Amelia?"

Dean shrugged, unconcerned. "Dunno. You want me to go see?"

Sam shook his head. "Probably better to give her a little time."

Dark was falling fast now, and the shadows were deepening over the yard. Dean sat down beside Sam and looked across, trying to see past the shadowed eyes and hollow cheeks to see what Sam was thinking. He looked tense, and it was more than the pain that was doing it.

"What happened?" he asked.

Sam sighed. "Amelia is better prepared than any of us for this, but she's not handling it as well as I'd thought she would. I had to lay down the facts, and well, you can figure out the rest."

Dean shuddered. "Do I need to hear the facts too?"

Sam tilted his head to the side. "I don't know, do you?"

Dean shrugged and looked down at his feet. "Dunno."

He heard a groan and turned to see Sam pushing himself up in his chair a little straighter. His hand disappeared into his pocket and Dean figured he was tapping the button for an extra dose.

"There's things we need to talk about," he said. "Things we need to plan."

"No, Sam," Dean said quietly. "Not yet. I'm not…"

Sam smiled sympathetically. "You're never going to be ready for this, Dean. But we need to talk about it. I need to be able to let go knowing you're going to do the right thing."

Dean closed his eyes, marshaling control of himself. "Okay. What do I need to do?"

"It's what I don't want you doing that matters," Sam said. "You have to let me go this time. I don't want you making deals with demons or angels or Death this time. Please, Dean, promise me."

Dean didn't want to say it. He didn't want to lose his last, best comfort.

"It's what I need, Dean," Sam said softly. "I need this to be the end. I need to be allowed to let go. I'm so tired."

Dean felt tears welling in his eyes and he turned away from Sam so he could let them fall. "Okay," he said in a broken voice. "I'll let you go. I won't make deals."

He didn't see it, but he heard Sam's exhale of relief. "Thank you, Dean."

"And after?" Dean asked, hating that he needed to have this conversation. "What do you want me to do then."

"For me, I want to be salted and burned. I don't want to come back like Bobby. I don't want to go vengeful. I want peace. For you, I want you to be happy Dean. I thought I knew what that meant once, when I told you to go to Lisa, but I don't know anymore. If closing the gates is what it takes for you to be happy, do that. If not… Just find what you want and cling to it."

Dean wiped at his face and then turned back to Sam. "Okay. I'll do that." He knew it was a lie though. He couldn't find what made him happy. With Sam gone, there would be no more happy for him. He would keep hunting, saving people, and he would wait for the hunt that would end it all. That was his happy-ever-after now, dying.

Sam reached out a shaking hand and laid it on the arm of Dean's chair. "Thank you, Dean. For everything."

There was raw, unveiled gratitude in his voice, and that was what stole Dean's resolve. He needed to be alone so he could release the stranglehold he had over his emotions.

He got to his feet. "I'll be right back."

"Don't be too long. The stars will be here soon."

Dean nodded vaguely as he made his way into the house. He could hear Amelia in the lounge, still crying, and he knew he couldn't face her grief as well as his own. He went outside and let himself in behind the wheel of the Impala. He didn't put the keys in the ignition, he couldn't leave, he needed to be close, but he needed some privacy to let go.

He folded his arms over the steering wheel and rested his head on his arms. Tears began to fall in earnest and he gave into it, letting them come and release some of the terrible pain he felt.

Asylum 12! I just got back from my con yesterday and for those of you that asked to hear about it… here goes.

Jared: Gives the best hugs in the world and Dear Chuck he is gorgeous.

Misha: I have no words. Hilarious and sweet and downright adorable.

Sebastian: I laughed so hard at his panel I was crying. He had the whole hall (probably about a thousand people) doing the Harlem Shake.

Mark P: Can defend Lucifer's actions like no one else, including me and I love Luci.

Mark S: Again with the defense.

Ty: He was just as wonderful as I hoped and his panel crashing was hilarious—Star Wars sound effects included.

Osric: He is such a sweetie. When I got my auto he was handing out candy.

Amanda, Tyler, Gabe, Aj and Adam: Wasn't that excited about them but they completely caught me off guard with their awesomeness. Adam's Yoda voice was worth going for alone.

If you get an opportunity to go to a con, you HAVE TO GO! Best weekend of my life. Even better than last year.