A/N: Still sending thanks for the positive feedback and encouragement…and the adds. I'm glad you're enjoying. Conclusion coming up in the next day or so!

The sunlight streaming through the window with the early morning seemed offending to Dean's tired, reddened eyes. His head pounded and he felt ill, moving to the bathroom to clean and refill the bowl for what seemed like the thousandth time. He felt robotic, his body disconnected from his brain as it moved through the motions seemingly of its own accord. There were no tears left for him to cry and his throat was raw.

Carefully placing one foot in front of the other, he made his way back across the hall and into the bedroom, noting to himself that it had been over two hours since Sam's last convulsion. Worriedly, he checked for a pulse, finding it faint and fleeting under his fingertips. He sighed heavily, sinking back down to his abandoned seat on the floor.

Cas wasn't coming. He'd resigned himself to that. Since the last attack, he'd been preparing himself for the moment that Sam would draw his last, ragged breath, once more leaving him alone to face the terrors that they faced every day. It wasn't just that he'd promised their father that he'd look after his younger brother. As strong as they were apart, they were stronger together, despite their continual need to sacrifice their lives for one another.

"Dean?" Bobby mumbled from his corner, stirring a bit. "How is he?"

"Alive," he answered, his voice hoarse and hardly audible, "barely." He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. "Won't be much longer now."

Uncomfortable silence fell over the room. This was now officially a deathwatch. Dean had never felt this helpless before, though he imagined Sam had. His younger brother had been pinned to the wall, forced to watch the hellhound rip his body apart when his year had been over. He'd gone on to have four months without him while Dean had been in Hell. Would there be a redemption for Sam this time? With Sam's history, could it be possible for him to find Heaven rather than Hell waiting for him on the other side of eternity? The possibilities made his head spin.

"He…he doesn't deserve Hell, Bobby," Dean finally spoke, looking back at the man he'd come to think of as a father. "Is there…any hope for Heaven for him? After all we've done?"

"Son," Bobby paused, pushing himself out of his chair so he could move to stand in front of Dean, "we'll do everything we can…to keep him from goin' to Hell. Neither of you boys deserve that."

Dean's chin quivered and he bit the inside of his lip, searching the air between them, desperate for some shred of hope to fall his way. When he spoke, it was with a small, defeated voice. "I'm scared, Bobby."

"I know, son…I am too." He sighed, taking his hat off and scratching his scalp though his matted hair. "I'm gonna go…make some calls. Maybe some of the feelers I put out yesterday will've paid off. You…you call me if anything changes."

He nodded, dreading being left alone in the room with his weakening brother. He looked back to the bed as Bobby walked out, his eyes resting on Sam's tired, pale face. Within moments, he found himself thinking back to all they had shared since their childhood. Sam was more than his brother; Sam was his best friend.

Exhausted, he sighed, finding his eyes drifting closed of their own accord. He soon found himself lulled into a light sleep where images of Sam's lifeless eyes stared accusingly into his own, searing into his mind. He could even hear Sam blaming him and he could do nothing to defend himself, agreeing that it was his fault. He should be the one on the bed, not Sam.

He found himself startled awake a few hours later to the sound of struggling on the bed. He scrambled to his feet, the bowl of water skidding across the floor as he grasped his brother's arm, trying to keep him from thrashing about. His breathing was shallow and labored, wheezing in his chest and the cries that had faded hours ago were back, redoubled in their intensity.

"Sammy?" Dean called, shaking his brother.

Sam's eyes snapped open and he grasped Dean's shirt, pulling him close to him, his lips working, trying to form words.

"Sam?" He tried to read Sam's lips. "Sam, I'm here."

He screamed, his body lifting off the bed as a bright, pulsing light surrounded his body, completely encasing him and forcing Dean to look away.

"Bobby!" the older Winchester called frantically, forced to loose his grip on his brother and back away, the heat intense. "Bobby! Oh, God, Sam!"

"Dean!" The panicked cry came from the midst of the blinding light, followed by pained cries for help.

Dean reached back toward his brother, but found the heat unbearable, singing his skin. He drew back, gaping. There was no heat until he tried to touch his brother. "What the hell is goin' on?" He'd never seen anything like this before. Fearing the worst, he steeled himself, bit the inside of his cheek, and reached forward determinedly, feeling his hands grip Sam's shirt before the burning sensation intensified. He cried out, cursing as he drew back, his hands and arms burned and scarred. Shocked beyond pain, he could only stare down at the unrecognizable flesh.

"Dean?" Bobby called, pausing in the doorway as he found the scene in front of him. He knelt down beside the older Winchester, his wide eyes sweeping over the burnt flesh. "What…what the hell?" He started as renewed screams sounded from the bed, the light glowing brighter, forcing them to shield their eyes.

As suddenly as it had started, it faded. They unshielded their eyes, freezing as they found Sam standing in front of them, a soft, golden glow resonating from his body, white glowing from his eyes. He stared down at them for a moment before reaching down, laying light fingers against the ruined flesh of his brother's arm. Dean gasped as he felt a sharp rush of pain, tingles coursing from his fingertips to his elbows. He looked down to find the burns completely healed.

"Sammy?" he whispered in awe, looking up at his brother. "Are you…are you…what's goin' on?"

"I…did not mean to make you worry, Dean," Sam said in a voice that was not his own. It was deeper, more commanding. "It…is over now. You should both rest. We have work to do."

"Cas?" Dean managed.

The light intensified again, pulsating outward, forcing them to look away. When they looked back, Sam was laying on the bed, apparently in a deep sleep. Dean crawled to his feet and stumbled over to the bed, looking down at what had just been a glowing Adonis. Sam was no longer the sickly grey that had scared Dean so much. His skin had regained the healthy tan that it had always had. No blood dripped from his lips, the crimson stain had been erased. He felt weak in the knees, overwhelmed, and looked over at his mentor, hoping for answers.

Bobby had none for him.

tbc…

Stay tuned for the conclusion, coming up right after the commercial break.