A/N: OKAY. Who's ready for this doozy of a chapter? :D

Hello, everyone! Here is the second-last chapter. I've had people asking me about the prologue, and yes, THIS is where you'll get to see what exactly went down in the prologue.

I love you guys for the constant support you've given me, and for all the reviews and follows and favs. Most of the time, I just wanted to blurt out the ending, and I am not sure how I managed this story without giving up. I wrote this through happy times and sad times, and exams and now my internship and it soon, I won't be opening any new docs for starting SSaB chapters.

Good luck to anyone who's giving exams, and YAAAAYYYYY, if you've finished. :D

This chapter was hard for me to write. I'm currently in the middle of a nervous breakdown and am not nearly as calm as I sound lol.

Thank you, SPNxBookworm for all the moral support that I needed like oxygen for this chapter! She was there while I was writing it and after I wrote it and while I edited it and did not mind all my caps-locked exclamations, and if that's not true friendship, I don't know what is.

Also, many, many thanks, as always, to my lovely, amazing betas, BohemianMoose and quickreaver for making this so much better.

STAND STILL AND BREATHE

24. Saving Sammy

The moonlight seemed sinister as it filtered in through the windshield of the stolen Volkswagen that Castiel drove roughly through the quiet streets. He didn't quite know how to drive yet, only the basics, and the car careened dangerously as he sped with it. However, he had no choice. He had to drive tonight. Time was of essence, and waiting for Dean wasn't an option.

He thought of what was waiting for him at the bunker and wondered if a part of his grace would do it. If not… they'd have to revert to other measures… but Castiel didn't want to think about that. It was a full moon night at last, and there was just one thing on his mind. And there was finally hope. Well, a bit of it anyway.

He didn't let the wisps of grief get to him this time. He had work to do. The last couple of weeks had been nothing but Sam and Dean offering him support, helping him try and fight the despair away, and that was saying something, seeing what they were going through themselves. Most of Castiel's grief was for Sam, though, and fighting that was harder. However, Dean was always there, constantly reminding him that they were in this together, and trying to remain determined through the hopelessness.

Castiel thought of Dean, probably slumped somewhere in a bar right now, downing drink after drink. He thought of Sam, at the bunker, under his blankets, waiting to be saved. Dean hadn't wanted to leave Sam alone, of course, and when Castiel suggested that he should get a bit of fresh air, Dean had yelled at him. Then, a few minutes later, he had gathered his jacket and disappeared through the door. After that, he hadn't come back and Castiel had left him voicemail, saying he was going ahead to finish the ritual, and begging Dean to be careful.

It was very, very important to finish the ritual in time, or Castiel would have waited to check how Dean was doing.

His mind reverted to the night before, when Dean had been so restless, he hadn't slept. Castiel had gathered him in his arms, but Dean had pushed him away, saying he was too warm, and then had gone to the kitchen and gotten a beer. Castiel had followed and wanted to sit with him, but Dean insisted he had to go back to his room with the beer, saying he needed to be close enough to keep an eye on Sam.

Then Dean drank a lot of beer and then some whiskey, after which he developed a headache, but never slept. Finally, near dawn, he had crawled into bed, where Castiel was lounging against the headboard, quietly watching, and Dean had lay down and buried his face in Castiel's lap, throwing his arms around Castiel's waist. Castiel had not been startled. He had just held Dean — like he'd been doing everyday of late. This was a side that Dean didn't allow Sam to see. In front of his younger brother, Dean was always positive and he tried to look as happy as possible. Sam could guess that Dean wasn't doing all that well, though. Castiel could see it in the way he behaved with Dean.

Castiel had always known that Sam and Dean shared a unique bond as brothers, but he had witnessed it all in the last few months. They didn't always agree with each other but they cared, and they showed it in absurd ways. Castiel couldn't help but sympathise with them about how their lives were always messed up. Both of them deserved a lot better, and yet, had almost no opportunity to experience happiness.

But that was about to change. Castiel would help them the best he could, and make sure it changed. For the time being, though, he just hoped that this plan wouldn't fail. He just prayed that it wouldn't fail.

~o~

Dean barely registered the burning sensation in his throat as the last of the whiskey went down. His head spun a little, and his thoughts were swirling in uneasy circles. He had to get back to Sam… Sam was by himself in the bunker, and Dean knew he shouldn't leave him alone like that.

He fought the lump in his throat. He had promised Castiel that he'd be back to burn the bones, but he couldn't leave from where he was. And he was so scared, so nervous, because they were so close now, and if anything went wrong, Sammy wouldn't…

He couldn't even think of it. He needed Sam to get back to what he was — Sam needed to walk again, and to laugh, talk, and joke, and say idiotic shit about Dean being in love with Cas and Dean wanted his little brother to be like he used to be.

They were in the last stages of saving Sam. It was the day, and that was why Dean was so scared. Because just when everything seemed to be getting better, things had a way to go horrifically wrong. That was how the Winchester luck ran. And it was not like everything was going okay, or according to their plan. It wasn't as if everything hadn't already been screwed up, and now Dean didn't even know whether it would be right ever again, but he was still dangling by that last string of hope, and he hated himself for it. Also maybe it was better for Castiel to be on his own, without Dean there to fuck it all up by his mere presence because of all the bad luck he carried around at final moments like this.

Dean momentarily buried his face in his hands before reaching into the pocket of his jacket and withdrawing a folded sheet of paper. His eyes lingered over the barely-legible words, evidence of how badly his hands had shaken when he'd written it down. He sighed. He didn't know if Castiel would succeed, but Dean had another way… there had always been another, foolproof way. But even for that way to work, it was necessary that Cas didn't fail his task.

Everybody — Castiel, Charlie and even Sam had said no to Dean's way, but Dean thought it was fitting. It was the best path, and screw them all. Dean knew what was best for Sammy; he knew it better than Sammy himself. So none of them had a say in this.

He got up, holding on to the counter as he swayed, and the barstool made a scraping noise as he steadied himself. He dug into his pocket and produced a few dollar bills that he placed on the counter, under his shot glass, before leaving.

Dean was going to save Sam. And how poetic, he thought, that what he was about to do shared an ingredient with Castiel's ritual. Except, Castiel needed to be at the cemetery, while Dean needed to be next to the ghost. And Dean's method was way, way better.

~o~

The graveyard finally came into view and Castiel sighed in relief when he saw it. It was well past midnight and there was just an hour to dawn — the perfect time according to the spell book at the bunker. Castiel could hear a dog howling somewhere when he put the car into park. He looked over at the passenger seat and grabbed the shotgun there before exiting the car. It was loaded with rock salt shells. Just in case, Dean had said, but Castiel was almost certain he'd need it, because they'd found an actual haunting in the town, and had decided to kill two birds with one stone. Castiel's ritual, after, all, needed the ashes of freshly burned human bones.

He was going to help save Sam tonight.

~o~

There were teenagers in the abandoned house, and they were planning to spend the night on a dare. Dean aimed his shotgun at them and told them to leave, and they did, their eyes wide. One brat even squeaked out that he'd call the police.

Dean couldn't bring himself to care. Gosh, kids could be so stupid. The fact that they were doing shitty things like this on dares proved it all. Dean had listened to Castiel's voicemail on the way to the house and he knew that Castiel should have reached the graveyard by now, and hopefully, he wouldn't take much longer to dig up the grave. Dean glanced at the paper in his hands, unfolded it, and squinted at the incantation for a moment, before chanting it into the cold, musty air.

Nothing happened. There was no flash of light, no shift in the air, and no ghost that appeared before him. Hoping that this was going to work, Dean pulled out a small, glass vial that he'd kept in another pocket, opened it, and licked his lips. "Come out, come out," he said to the silence around him. "If you think you can spook me, show yourself, you son of a bitch!"

Almost immediately, the temperature around him dropped from cold to frigid. A plume of white mist came out of his mouth when he breathed and Dean gripped the shotgun harder, the hairs on his neck standing as he turned around. He waited. He couldn't make his move. Not yet.

The ghost — a young man with a missing eye, flickered before Dean. His senses heightened as he narrowed his eyes at the spirit before him, who didn't look very pleased at being disturbed. "Why are you here?" the spirit asked in a deep, echoing voice as he came forward.

Any moment now, Cas, thought Dean, as he swallowed. He'd brought the shotgun for safety, but he didn't actually want to use it because he didn't want his only chance to slip away. However, before he knew it, the ghost came closer still and Dean felt his guts, his belly, seize up as something stabbed him. He let out a loud gasp and his breath caught in his throat. He looked down to see the ghost's hand in his abdomen, cutting through flesh as blood bubbled over, thick and fast.

There was agony, white-hot pain, and then, everything felt cold. Dean blinked, his vision blurring as the ghost kept his hand inside, twisting it and sending shots of pain through him. But Dean stayed the way he was, not fighting the ghost or attacking it because if he did anything, he'd fail. So he had to hold on; he had to finish this.

His fingers curled tighter around the vial in his hand. Fight, said a voice in his head. Sam's voice. And Dean was fighting. He was fighting for Sam.

And then, miraculously, his belly began to feel lighter as the ghost flickered, and Dean knew what was happening. Mentally thanking Cas, Dean managed to dredge up what he had to say, and it was a quite a feat, considering how he was barely able to think straight anymore. Dean gathered up the last of his adrenaline and began to stutter out the words of the spell he had memorised.

The ghost started to flame away, bright orange-yellow taking over the pale grey, and in Dean's tunnelling vision, it looked beautifully terrifying. He held up his vial as the ghost, instead of vanishing, reduced itself into golden light which made its way towards the vial.

When it was gone, Dean staggered and lidded the vial. He put it back in his pocket securely and looked down at the wound perforating his belly. Blood was oozing out of it, soaking his shirt, and soaking his jeans but Dean had to hold on… he had to hold on…

For Sam.

He tried to walk, but couldn't, and his knees buckled, black spots appearing in his vision as the floor came up to greet him. He couldn't pass out. He had to help Sammy. He had to get back to the bunker and finish the rest of the spell. The crucial ingredient was already with him now and the rest of the spell was easy. He just needed to get out of here.

Please don't let me pass out. Not right now…

But the blackness, the bastard that it was, won over and Dean fell onto the floor, particles of dust dislodging from the inertia, his last prayer just half-formed as he gave up consciousness.

~o~

Blue light engulfed the cemetery as Castiel felt the grace enter him, his arms and legs tingling with warmth. He drank inthe power of his grace flowing through him again, the feeling almost alien after having been human for so long. The nerve synapses that had been shooting endlessly in the last few months calmed down and his body numbed a little — as though he was on one of those pain pills that Dean had given him after he'd cut his wrist. The clouds of hopelessness in his mind shifted a little to give way to rational thinking, although that didn't stop the sadness from lingering. It was odd — to not feel after so many months of emotional onslaughts that had been difficult to handle. But finally, Castiel felt good.

He took a deep breath. He was an angel again.

Castiel could feel his grace humming inside him, vibrating enthusiastically, and he flexed his fingers, smiling at the familiarity that was returning. But even with all this, something felt off — like he was an angel, but not completely, and Castiel knew that this was because he only had a part of his grace back. He would have to wait a month for the rest of it.

Fear struck him. What if this wasn't enough? Camael, when she had healed Sam, had had her grace intact, but she'd been weak from the fall. Castiel had never met any angel with only part of their grace intact, but he was sure that having all your grace was preferable, especially when the case with Sam now was so much worse than before. But he would try. He would definitely try his best.

He tucked the shotgun under his arm and returned to the car in quick strides. He wondered if anyone had noticed the brilliant light when he'd gotten his grace back; he didn't want to attract the police. He started the car and drove it back to the bunker, hoping against hope that his grace would work on Sam the way he wanted it to.

~o~

Dean woke up to a weird sensation. He was lying face-down on a cold, hard surface. He couldn't move and his body felt stiff all over, as though his joints were glued to immobility and his arms and legs were…

… bound.

He opened his eyes to a blurry, dusty floor. He could feel ropes cutting into his wrists and his ankles, the rough bounds going through his skin and causing slippery blood to leak out in tiny streams. His abdomen hurt horribly, pain coursing through him in stabs, but he gritted his teeth to try to ignore it, although it was difficult to do that, seeing as he was lying on his belly. He felt thirsty, unstable and cold. His heart was hammering in his chest. He was too weak to move, but he knew he had to. However, he was confused. He didn't understand how he had gotten here. Hadn't he come to gank a ghost?

Dean suddenly remembered Sam at the bunker. Sammy… so pale, so sick. No… Dean had to get out of here. He had to go and help his brother. And he didn't understand why this was happening and he didn't have time to save Sam and this needed to stop so he could get back to Sam.

Dean could barely think. It was like his thoughts were slipping away, rationality dripping away like water draining from the gaps between the fingers.

"Well, well, guess who's decided to join us!"

The voice was unfamiliar and Dean twisted his head to see a pair of boots approach him. He couldn't crane his neck beyond that, and he was too weak to flip over. His captor, however, crouched before him, to reveal a face that Dean had never seen in his life.

He tried to place the man, and wondered if they'd ever met, but Dean was pretty sure they hadn't. At least, he couldn't remember if they had. What did this bastard want right now? Was it absolutely necessary to do this right when Dean needed to be there for Sam? When time was running out? And how had this dude even found Dean?

"I'll make this easier for you," the man said, sitting beside Dean and crossing his legs. "You don't know me, but I know you very well."

"Y-Yeah, I gathered t-that," Dean mumbled, barely able to keep his teeth from chattering.

"Not doing so well, are we?" the man asked, smirking, and Dean watched as two of the stranger's friends joined them. The two other men knelt down beside the first man as he spoke. "That shouldn't be a problem, though," he said. "Castiel's back on angel radio. So I'm sure he can heal you. That is if we don't damage you more than the salvageable limit."

Dean understood then. "Angels," he whispered.

"Very good," the angel replied. "And I'm surprised you don't remember me, seeing as I was declared brain dead by the doctors in the same hospital that your brother's been pathetically depending on to save his life. I was one of the famous patients who 'miraculously' recovered. But those stupid humans didn't know we were angels, of course, and we had to run to escape their research and tests."

Dean remembered now. Charlie had been gushing on about some coma patients waking up or something and he hadn't really listened, because he'd only been concerned about Sam at that point. But that was a long time ago — the time when Dean had gotten the flu and if this douchebag had woken up then…

"Yes, we've been keeping a close watch on you, Dean," said the angel. "Cancer. Not something you'd expect God to inflict on someone who was just trying to lock the demons away, right? But don't worry. It's not you we want. You can get back to that messy, sickly brother of yours. We only need your boyfriend. We're fully expecting him to come here to try and be your knight in shining armour."

Dean laughed. "C-Cas ain't going t-to get trapped."

"Oh, I'm sure he will. His love for you being so tremendous and all." The smile on Douchebag Angel's face widened. "And you know who will lure him? You. He might not know where you are, but he can listen to your prayers again."

Dean swallowed. He hadn't thought of that. But then again, these bastards couldn't make him pray to Cas. No matter what they did, there was no way that Dean would break.

He gathered his energy, coaxing his mind to work. He somehow needed to undo the bounds and get out of here. Sam was his priority, but he'd make sure these assholes were taken care of. They'd probably taken the blade he'd kept in his jacket, so he'd have to think of another way.

"We're going to untie you now."

Dean wrinkled his eyebrows, confused, but the angel gave him an explanation. "You will fight us, and while you're losing, you'll pray to Castiel for help."

"No," said Dean.

"See, that's why I'm going to let you fight," said the angel. "If we just beat you while you're tied up, you won't pray. But when you're actually fighting — trying to escape, run, and overpower us — you won't realise whom you're praying to."

"Your l-logic sucks," Dean rasped.

"It will work," said the angel plainly, as he began to cut the ropes at Dean's ankles. One of the other angels worked on Dean's wrists and once the bounds were gone, they backed away, waiting for Dean to get up.

"Come on," said the leader. "Stand up. You know how to fight, don't you?"

Dean's head was spinning as he got himself on all fours, his hands shaking while he tried to stand. And just as he gained his balance, he heard the door of the house open, and a voice call out to him. A voice he'd been waiting to hear for long enough.

"Dean!"

It was Sam.

~o~

"Sammy."

The word escaped Dean's lips before he could help it, but he shouldn't have done that, because the angels turned in the direction of the door. The leader waved his hand, and Dean heard the door shut again. He smiled at Dean. "Baby brother, huh? Very good, Dean. Let's see if you can still resist us."

Dean swayed as Sam appeared amidst them, and he drank in the scene before him, eyes wide. And looking at Sam, Dean wanted to cry in relief. He looked so much better. His eyes were still a little sunken, but he could walk. His face was fuller. He looked steadier. Compared to what he had been, he looked healthy.

Castiel had succeeded. And yet, Dean wasn't done. He'd still finish his own spell, because it was time for Sam to get a reprieve from all the months of torture that he'd gone through.

"Sammy," Dean whispered again.

Sam smiled at him before drawing his angel blade and coming forward.

~o~

"Almost there."

"S-Sammy…"

Dean's wounds hurt double now. His abdomen felt ready to explode and his wrist was bent at an odd angle. His head hurt, a cut bled profusely into his ear, and his lip was torn. He was pretty sure his chest was bruised too. His legs felt heavy and he could barely walk.

He couldn't remember why he was injured so badly, or who the three dead men were, although the fact that he and Sam had killed them with angel blades suggested that they were the angels. However, Dean couldn't remember fighting them and apparently, neither could Sam, and this was worrying. Sam was also hurt some from the fighting, and Dean wanted them to get back to the bunker soon so they could take care of Sam's injuries. And anyway, Sam wouldn't be suffering his cancer much longer now.

What Dean could remember from tonight was that he had come here to fight a ghost, so he could do the spell for Sam, and that was it. He didn't even remember when Sam had turned up. Everything from the night eluded his memory. Everything, except for the fact that he had gotten his brother back today.

"Hey, come on," said Sam, supporting him as they walked slowly. Dean's feet felt leaden. He rested his head against Sam's shoulder and Sam didn't shrug him off. Instead, he led him ahead gently.

"H-How did y-you…?" Dean asked his brother, the words feeling alien in his mouth as the sentence refused to come out fully. How did you find me?

"After Cas healed me, he was worried about you," Sam explained, his voice low and his breaths a little ragged from the effort. Dean remembered that Sam was still sick, that he wasn't completely all right, and he tried to let go of his brother so he could walk by himself.

"Hey, no, it's okay," said Sam, evidently feeling Dean's weight lift a little. "How many times have you helped me now? Come on." He pulled Dean closer as they limped to the entrance. "Anyway," he said, "Cas and I decided to split and look for you. He went to the bar. And he said he'd come here if he didn't find you."

Dean's knees buckled and Sam tightened his hold on him.

"Come on, man," Sam said again, "don't pass out on me. We need to get out of here."

"C-Cas…"

"He's on his way."

"D-Did he…?"

"He did," said Sam, and Dean could feel worried eyes on him again. "We just saw the ghost flame away, remember?" He sounded uncertain as he said it. Even Dean couldn't remember now if Sam had been there when the ghost had flamed away. The angels still didn't make sense either.

"Almost there."

Dean just smiled at Sam's words. He had his brother back.

~o~

Castiel drove the Volkswagen in a frenzy, his stomach doing back-flips at each turn and his lips praying, at every moment, that Dean was okay. Dean wasn't at the bar. And Castiel should have known — he should have known even as he left for the graveyard that this would happen. He should have known months ago, when they'd found the spell that he, Charlie, and even Sam, had forbidden Dean to use, that this was ultimately the path that Dean would take.

He pulled over roughly on one side of the road and didn't bother to shut the door when he got out of the car. The Impala waited on the other side of the road, calm and majestic, and Castiel's heart missed a beat. The house was dark, abandoned and run-down, and the door was shut. Castiel tried it, but it wouldn't open. It was locked from the inside, but that didn't seem like something that Dean would do. Castiel tried again to open the door, with much force.

"Cas?" a tired, muffled voice called out suddenly, and Castiel stood there, alert. And then he heard something else — but the voice was so low, he couldn't make out anything. Finally, the Impala keys were slid under the door.

Castiel knew what to do now. He rushed to Dean's car and opened the trunk, finding the axe inside. After shouting out a warning, Castiel started to break down the door. He made enough room for a single person. Dean was just inside, leaning against the wall and bleeding profusely from what seemed like every part of his body.

Castiel gasped as he moved forward to help him. "Dean!"

Dean came willingly, with Cas muttering reassurances and helping him out of the house. Dean's skin was too pale under all the blood and his eyes kept drifting in and out of focus. His breathing was laboured and he seemed extremely confused. Castiel rested Dean against the Impala and placed two fingers to Dean's forehead, but it wouldn't work. His grace was too weak to heal.

When Dean's wounds didn't disappear, Castiel's heart sank but there was no time to wish that he had his complete grace now. He held Dean's chin and made sure Dean was facing him before shining a torch into his eyes, only to see a fixed, blown-out pupil. It was a trick that Dean had taught Castiel when Heaven had cut him off six years ago, and from what Castiel could see now, Dean had a concussion, or maybe even a more severe head injury. That explained Dean's confusion, but it was just the beginning of his wounds. Castiel swallowed as he began to pat Dean down for other injuries. "You have to hold on, Dean. Please," he begged.

He felt Dean's arm tighten around him. "Cas. L-Love… you, man…"

Dean began to slump and Castiel held him up, letting him sit inside the car. He had to rush Dean to the hospital, and the closest one was the one where Sam had been getting his treatment. It was half-an-hour away, and Castiel prayed that Dean would survive the ride. As he tried to get Dean to lie down, he was stopped with a cold, weak hand on his wrist.

"S-Sammy…"

"Dean, the spell won't work," said Castiel desperately. Castiel had failed, and he felt miserable about it.

"N-No," Dean whispered, "you d-don't… understand. 'M s'posed t'do… trials…" He looked at the space beside Castiel, making pleading eyes. "S'mmy, please."

Castiel squinted, at the place where Dean was looking, and then turned back. "You need the hospital, Dean."

"N-No…" Dean pointed at empty space again. "S'mmy… spell…" he cast a pleading glance on Castiel. "Please," he whispered at last.

The spell. Castiel knew what spell that was. It was a ritual which involved taking someone's disability or illness as your own. Just the way Castiel had taken Sam's madness earlier. But he had survived because he was an angel. Dean, on the other hand, wouldn't be able to take it, even if it worked. But as far as Castiel knew, the spell wouldn't work now. Because Castiel had failed miserably.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said. His voice dropped to a whisper as tears threatened to fill his eyes. He braced himself to say it. He had to say it. Dean was being stubborn and he needed the hospital and there was only one way to get Dean to comply.

Castiel took a deep, trembling breath. "The spell doesn't work on dead people," he said quietly.

"S-Saaammm…" Dean repeated, pointing behind Castiel. "S'mmy… n-not… you s-saved 'im…"

Castiel shook his head, looking at the empty space around them. "Sam's not here. There's no one here. Sam is d-dead. I – I couldn't resurrect him. My grace wasn't sufficient. I'm s-sorry… I'm sorry."

Tears were escaping his eyes freely now as he saw a pained expression on Dean's face. He wiped his face and tried to swallow his grief; he couldn't wait here anymore, for Dean was grievously injured. So he gently put Dean's legs inside and shut the door before sliding behind the steering wheel. He had already seen Sam die that morning. There was no way he was letting Dean die too.

A/N: *dies* Reviews? This was a very difficult chapter to write, oh God. It took sweat and blood. Some response would be appreciated. :)

Please don't kill me, though. :o

Okay. I had many, many inhibitions about writing this thing. I'm aware that I haven't warned, but I did say this story was severely upsetting right in the beginning. It was the closest I could come to without saying the actual thing., which would have acted as a gigantic spoiler. I usually warn for death, and would have, but it would have ruined the whole plot. So I apologise. I understand if anyone wants to slam their laptop lid shut and leave, but please WAIT. There is still another chapter to go. And an epilogue. ;)

Review responses:

A Person: Erm... I'll take that as a compliment? Thank you. :)

Apalala: Haha, apparently my mind was fucked up too because this was the dream I spoke about in the prologue. I was apparently Cas, and I knew Sam was dead, but I didn't remember that until the end. So my own dream had a WTF plot twist. O.o It is my subconscious! Hahaha. And thank youuuu! I am so happy that you liked the twist. ;)

g: NO NOOOOO! *Puts on Sirius Black's voice.* "Only one will die today." *Resurrects you.* I AM SORRY. :(

addictsam: *clears throat* Because, I torture all my friends. :p Aww, sorry. Thank you! :*

Seirenia: Yes, working on an update. :) I will not abandon this fic at this point, don't worry! Thank youuuu! :)

Guest: Hello! EEP. I know it's been long! I've been busy, sorry! You can rest assured that the next chapter is with my beta, and will be up asap. It's almost 10k words long. :S