CHAPTER ELEVEN

His hand clung onto some form of dirt and rock, having grabbed it the second his feet went out beneath him. The force of the wind carried downward, making it difficult to hold on. Dean spared a second to look around, down at the gaping abyss of nothingness beneath. Sam was just below him, also attached to the same dirt and rock, though it looked like he was barely clutching, slipping maybe.

"Sammy!" Dean called over the wind. "Hang on!"

"I don't think I can!"

The comment sliced a bit of panic in Dean's gut. If Sam fell, he'd be in the pit for Eternity. He slid his feet around and found a protruding root. "I think I found a root. It's here at my foot. Can you reach it?"

"I'll try," he heard his brother reply.

He saw Sam shift his weight over, grab a loose rock, and slid. Dean's instincts rang true and he hinged backwards and grabbed his brother just in time, his foot ensnared in the root. The combined weight snapped his ankle in two and he screamed in pain.

Through the pain, Dean watched his brother. Sam clung onto his arms and the wall desperately, looking around for a possible solution. He saw the saddened expression when his brother found none. Sam was right. There was no way they could climb up. The dirt was becoming looser by the second. Sam's weight was heavy, the root dropping a half inch, his bloody hands sliding down the leather of his jacket. To his horror, he saw in Sam's face the decision he made.

"Don't you dare Sammy! We'll figure this out," he cried, tightening his grip on Sam's shirt and wrist.

"It's okay Dean. I'm going to let go," Sam said, a tear sliding down his dirty cheek. "It's not your fault. It never was."

"Stop! Just stop you son-of-a-bitch! Just hang on!"

"You can't save us both. It's okay Dean. I'm okay," Sam said, releasing his hold on Dean's arm.

"No!"

"You've been there for me my whole life. It's time I returned the favor. Let me save you Dean."

Tears spilled down from Dean's cheeks, over his forehead, and onto Sam's face. "Sammy, I can't."

His wrist began to slip through. Through all of Dean's strength and ability, he couldn't impede the force that was about to take his brother. Sam shared a small smile with him as his wrist slipped through his fingers.

The nightmare of his dreams, of his life, was becoming a reality. He watched Sam fall towards the gaping hole …and then grab hold of a rope that appeared. Dean looked up and saw it was Cass and Bobby who dangled a rope down to them.

"Oh Cass! I swear to God I'm gonna give you a big fat kiss!" Dean cried happily. The two men worked together in hoisting Sam up from the hole. They pulled him over and then released the rope for him. He untangled his broken ankle from the root and allowed the men to bring him up from out of the Hellhole. Just as Sam was, he laid down on the grass and clenched his eyes shut.

Death, the horseman, gave a short nod and closed the hole up. The roaring wind ceased allowing a preternatural silence to take its place. The horseman pursed his lips and said to Sam, "Pity. No reaping today. I trust you'll clean this mess up. I have a dinner date with a certain politician I'd rather not miss."

Sam gave the horseman a salute from the ground. It was clear to Dean his brother had no intention of cleaning anything up, but maybe get an icepack for his bruised face. Both Bobby and Cass helped them up, carrying them over their shoulders.

"Come on boys, let's get out of here," Bobby said.

Three Days Later…

Crutches in hand, Dean sailed across the living space, hitting every creaky floorboard along the way, until he padded into the kitchen. Bobby and Cass worked together in making dinner, Bobby showing the newly made human how to work the stove. Cass turned the dial too high and the flames soared sky-high. Dean silently laughed as Bobby cursed up a storm scrambling to stymy the raging fire.

"You're just heating up beans, Cass!" Dean piped, and then said at their stern looks, "Carry on gentlemen!"

He crossed over to the fridge, pulled out two beers and limped out through the back porch door. Sam sat on the porch steps, admiring the dipping sun over the yard full of junk cars. Dean passed him his beer and placed his crutches down, sitting down on the stair. He allowed his brother an additional moment of quiet.

Sam had a rough couple of days following the battle at the cemetery. Bobby and Cass dragged them both to a local clinic for a patch up. He had been given an all clear with a cast for the ankle and a full week of happy pills. Sam needed to be kept overnight for observation. The doctor had concern over his broken ribs, a cracked maxilla, and possible internal bleeding. The tests came back negative for the bleeding, luckily. They were discharged the next day with instructions for plenty of R&R at the Singer abode. Not without effort, Sam barely slept and is well above exhausted. Dean knew this was part of his healing and that he'd heal on his own terms. Meanwhile, a cold beer was in order.

"You good?" Dean asked him.

Sam gave a half-hearted shrug. "Yeah. As well as I can be."

"Bobby's got the grill going. You'll feel better after a nice, juicy burger."

"Cass about to blow up the kitchen?"

At that moment, there was a low grumble in the kitchen followed by a loud chorus of "Dammit Cass!"

"Yup," Dean said and they both laughed, taking a swig of the beer.

"Dean, I need to apologize," Sam said.

"You don't need to."

"Yeah I do," Sam insisted. "I shouldn't have put you in that position…I couldn't think of any other way."

"Dude, don't beat yourself up. That's usually my job," Dean answered. "Hell, even Bobby and Cass understand…once the plan came together of course and the world didn't blow up. This is the biggest shitshow we've ever been through… Sammy, you got out. The angels were not going to let you go without a fight."

"It's still not over Dean. Once Zachariah figures out what they're going to do without Michael and establish their order again, they'll come after us."

"Is it ever really over for us?" Dean drank some more. "One thing I am curious about, how'd you do it?"

"I did what they wanted me to do." At Dean's confusion, he continued, "They showed me what they call the Parnassus."

"So no alien probing, weird sexual experimentation?"

"Dude, no!" They shared a laugh. "No, it's…I don't know what it is, but it showed me the future, but not really. It showed me what would happen if I said yes, if you said yes…what would happen to Bobby, to Cass, to everyone we knew and saved. It showed me so many different scenarios, all ending the same way. I asked it so many questions…and the outcome never changed. But then I caught on to something. In every scene, there was always someone there...in the background, just barely visible. He was the common denominator."

"You mean Death, the Horseman?"

"Yeah, only he wasn't how we saw him back at the motel or the farmhouse. It was his true image. I realized he had a say in this. So I asked about him…and learned everything I could. The Parnassus is full of answers and it gave me everything I needed including on how to get you out of Michael's head…it gave us the leverage we needed. I had to pretend to be on the angels' side. It was the only way of getting to you."

"I bet that dick Zach wasn't expecting that. Where'd you learn how to act all gung-ho like Terminator?"

He shrugged. "I took a theatre class at Stanford."

"Nice. And Death was all too keen to help?"

"Actually, yes. It turns out he doesn't like being ordered around by a brat. His words, not mine."

"He had all this juice to put both Angel twins in Alcatraz?"

"Dean, he's more powerful than either of us realize. He could be just as powerful as God. I'm not gonna lie, I nearly shit my pants when he showed…but he was our only bargaining chip."

"I don't blame you on that. I'm just confused on why he couldn't take care of Lucifer himself if that's the way he felt."

"I guess Lucifer found some ancient magic that even he couldn't stop, chains he called it. The spell only broke when Lucifer went back into the pit. So he was more than happy to oblige…if I kept my end of the deal."

"It worked though."

"There was a big chance it wouldn't."

"What would have happened if you couldn't?" Sam gave him a small smile, a smile Dean read "you don't want to know." He nodded in response. "Got it. But you know what," he placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "It worked. You did good kid. Sure I still feel like Gumby after Michael rode my ass up and down the countryside, but we're here now. We've got Cass. Bobby's got his legs back."

"How long was I gone anyway? How long did the angels keep me up there?"

"Not long enough. I was just about to renovate your room, turn it into our bat cave."

"Shut up, man," Sam chuckled having another swig of his beer.

"But in all seriousness, you were gone long enough. You're here now and that's what counts. The angel douches are locked up. The angels are scattered. Demons…are demons…and uh, there's always a monster to hunt."

"So you're saying, we need to gear up for the next fight?"

"Yeah, I'm sure there will be another shitshow around the corner sooner than later."

"I'll toast to that," Sam said raising his beer bottle. "To the next fight."

"To the next fight," Dean responded. Their glasses clinked together and they finished their beers overlooking the junkyard.

END