A/N: So that took... longer than expected. Sorry. It was a while before I knew how to translate my idea for this chapter into writing. Some parts of it have been done for ages, and ages - by that I mean half a story ago - and the rest I wrote in, well, maybe three hours of frenzied writing. Writing is a fickle, fickle mistress.

But back to this story. I hope you enjoyed the ride so far. I will tell you right now that this chapter is not the last, although it marks the beginning of the end. And it is an end, of sorts. You'll see.

So yeah, guys. Let's go howl at that moon.

He's never hated anyone this much. He'd remember hating anyone this much.

"Oh, don't be a baby," Ruby tells him. "It's barely in you. I know what I'm doing."

"Fuck off," he says breathlessly, trying not to writhe in pain because that's undignified. Won't give her the satisfaction.

His mind's clear again; whatever she did to him, either it wore off or she took it off. Not that it matters which, at this point, but this means that as he balefully glares up at her Dean can think of around a hundred painful ways for her to die. At least twenty are within his current budget.

Not that he has the energy for any of them.

She rolls her eyes. "No gratitude nowadays," she sighs, and, ignoring the knife, effortlessly pulls him up and brings his arm over her neck. This of course is horribly awkward because for one, said knife's still inside him, and for another, damn is her vessel short.

He lets her help him stand, not that he has much choice about it. Her grip is tight, bordering on painful as she starts dragging him out of the room – and that makes no sense whatsoever, to the point of it actually being boggling. As a matter of fact, everything that's happening right now is boggling.

Boggling's a good word, incredibly applicable to this situation.

"What are you doing?" he asks bewilderedly. He tries at first to dig in his heels but it's not working out too well – Ruby's demon strength is, well, pretty strong, and also there's the whole, you know, knife inside him deal. In case anyone's forgotten. "Why aren't you killing me?"

Her laughter vibrates through him. "Maybe I just like you."

Even now, with all the pain – which fine, he admits, he's definitely had worse – he has to snort at that. "Yeah, sure, pull the other one."

"What? You have grown on me, a little," she says. "You Winchesters are like freaking barnacles, I swear. It was so cute how you didn't want to kill me."

"Really regretting that now."

Ruby beams. "And to think you used to be such a stubborn, shortsighted pain in my ass. Gotta say, love what this amnesia's doing for you."

Okay, enough happy snarky banter time. "Haven't forgotten my question."

She glances at him, raises her eyebrows. "Why kill you? I need you incapacitated, not dead. "

He feels like sighing. "Why, Ruby."

"Lilith's orders. And don't ask why again, Deano, can't tell you what I don't know. I don't ask questions." Ruby pauses for a moment, then adds, "Although Lilith's a bit of a drama queen, honestly, so you can probably make a guess or two."

Yeah, he can. "So tell me, what's –" his breath catches as they almost trip over a stair, which, yeah, uncomfortable is not the word when your gut has a knife in it. Because that's still a thing. "What's stopping me from taking this knife and killing you with it?"

He hears her grin. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because that'll finish you off quicker, and you need to be alive if you're going to stop Sam and Armageddon? You're fine now, sure, but once that's out, well." She chuckles. "Tick tock."

Son of a bitch, she's got a point. "Where is he?" he growls.

"Probably just about to find Lilith, now." She grunts a little, and muses, "Probably also wondering where I ran off to. Huh, I should get back to him, shouldn't I."

"Go back to hell," he says.

Ruby just laughs, and kicks open the door to the hall.

0000

She looks different. But it's her.

Lilith's eyes widen, then crinkle with pleasure as she sees him. "Oh," she purrs. "How sweet you are to come."

Dean swallows.

Her lithe, womanly figure treads nearer, until finally she's close enough to stroke his cheek. She looks different. Feels different.

But when she smiles, it's that same sharp smile he remembers.

"How very, very sweet."

0000

Drama queen is one way to put it.

Dean chokes.

"Now now," Lilith croons, her delicate bare foot ever so slightly pressing further on his neck as she crouches over him. "No more complaining, or I'll take you with me." She stops, seems to consider him for a long moment. In return Dean does his best not to look up her white dress. Only fair. "Well, in a manner of speaking. You still don't know where you're going after, do you?"

The question hits him hard - isn't like Dean thinks he's a straight shoot for hell anymore, but heaven's looking more unlikely by the minute.

It's just as well he has other things on his mind right now.

"Oh, never mind," she suddenly says sunnily, and flaps her hand in a way that's somehow at odds with the adult woman she's currently possessing. "With all you've done, you're definitely coming home!"

When she eases up a bit he tells her hoarsely, "Never figured you for the suicidal type."

"But of course, silly. Anything for my lord," she says, utterly serene, and as she straightens and her hand lowers Dean finds himself even more tightly rooted to the floor. Which wouldn't hurt so much, except he'd been flung to the ground when he refused to cooperate. His whole body is sore. "And I could say the same about you, you know."

He draws in a ragged gasp. The knife – which is still in his fucking stomach, Lilith was very explicit about wanting him alive and dying – rises with his breaths, probably just only getting deeper and deeper in him than before despite all efforts.

"That's better. Now hush hush, Sammy's coming."

It's Sam, you bitch. He doesn't get to say it, though, and sorely regrets the fact.

Sam would have appreciated the sentiment, he thinks.

0000

The door blasts ajar not a minute later. Out of the corner of his eye Dean sees two blurs – probably Sam and Ruby – run inside. Dean can only imagine the scene they intrude on; a run-down chapel hall littered with leaves and defaced with randomly-drawn graffiti on all walls, with the vague dark smell of dust and candle-smoke and something indefinable, toxic, that's almost visible in the air.

There are candles, because of course there would be. It's Lilith; she likes a good show, the more candles the better. They aren't enough to actually make the room anything close to bright, but the flickering light is dramatic enough that only a blind man would miss Lilith and Dean, waiting patiently in the middle of the room.

"You –" Sammy starts off fiercely, only to stop just as suddenly. "…Dean?"

It's a shock to hear his voice. It's been so long.

And, at the same time, not long at all.

He sees Lilith smile. "Say hello, Sammy."

Sam starts forward, halts immediately when Dean gags for air.

"Ooh, there's a familiar sound," Lilith says, looking down at Dean as if in pleasant surprise at the noise. "Would you like me to stop?"

Silence. Then –

"No, don't listen to her," Ruby says in a whisper, "stick to the plan –"

"Please," Sam answers, raggedly.

Lilith claps her hands. "Oh, and he's polite, too!" she tells Dean brightly. Dean does so appreciate being included. "I knew there was a reason he's my favorite!" She winks at him and leans close, cutting off his air even more thoroughly in the process. "Don't worry, sweet, you I love even better naughty."

"Please!" Sam says more desperately. Dean hurts for him.

(Well. Dean just hurts, period.)

Lilith relaxes her foot and, smiling, removes it from Dean's neck, only to lightly rest it on his chest. Better balance, probably. "Sam, Sam, Sam. The things you'd do. The places you'd go. All for this poor hell-bound soul."

"Dean," Sam says, utterly ignoring her. "Are you all right?"

He can't find it in himself to speak, so instead Dean convulses and allows his gasping and the knife – yup, still a thing – do his talking for him.

Sorry, Sam, gotta put you on hold.

"...It's too bad you both think it's all for nothing, isn't it?"

Sam's eyes finally cut away from Dean. "What are you talking about?"

Lilith raises her eyebrows. "Look at him, Sam," she says, and smoothly, removes her foot and kneels, wrenching Dean up and backwards by his short hair – or maybe not so short, actually, since he did sort of neglect to cut it since DC. "Really look at him. Something's wrong, isn't it? You've known it since you first laid eyes on him."

No, Dean thinks faintly, realizing what she's up to. No.

"Knew what?" Sam spits. Dean can see his face clearly now, horridly pale as his eyes keep switching from Lilith to Dean's face.

"Don't pretend you never thought it." Her voice changes, twists as Sam's voice suddenly comes out of her mouth. "This isn't him. He wouldn't forget me. Dean would never forget me." Her smile widens. "It's impossible."

Sam blanches. Shakes his head. "Shut up. Stop it."

"Well, Sammy," Lilith purrs smugly, back in her vessel's voice. "Turns out you were right. And you weren't the only one having doubts. Though to be fair, his were a lot more concrete than just a paranoid hunter's gut feeling. The angels really did a number on him, that's for sure."

"What does that mean?"

"It means they messed with his head, lovely. Just like we did. It means they turned him inside out and spat him out for you and the vultures to find. But you knew that, didn't you?" Lilith brings Dean close, and hisses into his ear, "Sammy's so smart."

Dean tries not to flinch. "Sam," he starts to croak, but the demon shakes him silent, cuts him off.

"The real question is," she continues, "did you figure it out?"

"Figure what out?" Sam. Sounding like he's about to explode.

She grins into Dean's skin. "Who he is, dear." She bares his throat, licks it as he lies rigid. "Aside from someone with truly delicious meat. Mmm. Have I mentioned how I missed you, my sweet?"

Sam is practically quivering. "Let him go. Now."

"Or what?" she asks, almost curiously.

"Or I'll end you."

"Remembered what you're here for, have you?" she asks. Her face sobers. "Well then. Come and get me, Sam. Unless you have any last words, Dean?"

He meets Sam's gaze with effort. If he has a chance, he'll damn well take it.

"Sam." He makes sure to pronounce it clearly. "Halloween Town."

Lilith and Ruby blink. "What?"

"What?" Sam echoes, and for a long moment Dean finds himself despairing of all hope. But then, just as quickly as the hunter starts to frown, he stops in favor of a nod in Dean's direction, expression hardening. "Got it," he says shortly, glance flickering around the candles and the graffiti, sizing it all up. And then, finally, he brings up his hand.

Lilith chokes, letting go of Dean – who falls to all fours, panting gratefully for air.

"Where'd you put it?" Sam asks him. Dean gestures breathlessly at the wall at his back. Their eyes meet for a brief second – understanding – and then Sam's eyes stray beyond him. "Smart."

"I thought so."

"The hell's going on?" Ruby demands, pulling at Sam's arm. Sam shrugs her off, and instead hurls Lilith backward with the mere flick of a hand.

Dean smiles slightly at the ground, and answers her. "Sam's saving the world."

Ruby's eyes grow big as she stares at him, then the advancing Sam and retreating Lilith, then at the marked-up walls, and then back at Dean as it all appears to come together in her head. "No!" she snarls at the room, hands clenched into tiny angry fists. "No! You have to kill her, Sam! That's how it's supposed to go!"

Sam's stride stutters, but he keeps going forward. Keeps pushing Lilith back.

"Dean has a plan," he says.

"You idiot," she shouts, stalking towards him. "We had a plan! And you're, what, just gonna throw it away for your dumbass of a brother?"

Sam only shakes his head silently. It truly warms the cockles of Dean's heart.

Ruby whirls on Dean. "What did you do, you dumb hick?"

He shrugs.

She looks back at Sam, who's ignoring her, then at Dean, who would chuckle triumphantly if he could spare the strength.

She screams in outrage.

"I had this, I fucking had this! After everything I've gone through to bring you here – pretending to betray my own kind, working for Lilith without any recognition – Lucifer was going to pay me beyond my wildest dreams! He was going to pay us both, Sam! You just need to kill her!"

"Not gonna happen," Dean sing-songs back at her, grinning breathlessly.

Sam's expression grows so very, very cold. He shoots her a look that would easily strike fear into Lucifer's own heart, freezing her in place when he holds up another hand. "I will deal with you later," he growls, and the curling of his fingers makes her crumple to the floor.

And then he turns his back on the both of them, and begins to chant.

Which was originally supposed to be Dean's schtick, but never mind – if Sam remembers the words to a spell they never even got to use, Dean will gladly let him take the floor. He's never been all that great at Latin, really, and besides, the kid deserves to have this.

Dean's content to watch.

"You ruined everything," Ruby says from behind him.

It's painful. Still, he sits up, turns.

The demon's glower threatens to swallow him whole. Something about her almost seems brittle. "But you know what?" she grins wildly. "If I can't have everything, at least I can have this."

Her mouth widens, and without sparing any thought for his pain – or rather, putting far too much thought into it – she finally pulls her dagger out.

"Tick tock," she hisses, dark eyes alight.

His wound gushes.

He stares at it, gasping as blood pools on the ground, as his hand flies out to grab her wrist when she tries to make her exit. "You forgot something too," Dean breathes absently. Tick tock.

She frowns.

He snaps the knife out of her grip, and just as smoothly plunges it into her chest. "I don't die easy."

Her body starts to glow, a Molotov cocktail before the explosion. Ruby's mouth is open wide as she gags, chokes on a last protest that will never be heard, now. After a long second, her soul sputters out. So much for explosion – her body tenses, only to relax anticlimactically. The black eyes roll back to white before falling shut.

Finally, what used to be Ruby slumps bonelessly down to the floor.

"Ha," Dean breathes, and, as Sam yells out the last incantation in a brilliant flash of light, does the same.

0000

After what feels like an eternity, the light fades.

Dean winces, attempts to open sun-struck – or, more accurately, portal-back-to-hell-struck- eyes, but isn't having too much success with the whole seeing shebang. Still, Lilith's nowhere to be seen, far as he can tell, while Ruby's body is still on the floor next to him.

Seems promising. He'll put a 'maybe' on the whole averting apocalypse thing.

At a quick glance, everything looks pretty much the same, except the candles are out, the myrrh and sage are smoking quietly in the corners, and it seems as though the markings he put on the wall are gone. (Easy cleanup, he muses, definitely a bonus) The room's taken on this unnatural quiet, too, like maybe the dangerously-blinding demon-binding seal had somehow vacuumed all the sounds out of it.

Or maybe Dean's gone deaf as well as blind. Also an option.

"Dean!"

Though apparently the wrong one.

Hell of a spell, Bobby, he thinks with a smile. Hell of a spell.

Somebody shoves Ruby's body away from him and proceeds to possessively run their hands over his stomach as though that's any of their business. Which means it's no great mystery who this is – only one person would think that, and that's Sam.

Who seems incapable of anything but muttering no over and over again.

…Yeah, super helpful.

"Dude, stop that," he interrupts, still squinting as he attempts to fend Sam's hands off. He can vaguely make out too-long dark hair and a shadowed face. Definitely Sam. "Did we – did we do it?"

The annoying chanting stops.

"Yeah, probably," Sam answers him, though with far less concern or triumph than maybe saving the world from Armageddon should probably merit. Still, as Dean's eyes are allowed to adjust back to the dimness of the church he can see the deep trench of a wrinkle between the furrowed eyebrows – he didn't miss that wrinkle, not at all – and oh, there is definitely concern.

Just not for Armageddon.

"We – we gotta get you to a hospital, Dean. Think you can stand?"

Holy absurd question, Batman. Dean blinks, cranes his neck in order to steal a glance at his feet. Which he knows he has, they're just right over… somewhere. "Uh, no thanks."

"Dean." Bitchface.

"No, seriously," he says wearily. "Really feel like that's a bad idea right now."

Sam swears, something Sam doesn't do very often. Dean thinks about commemorating the occasion, except that if he lives – ha – he'll probably have a million other reasons to remember today by, so yeah, forget that.

"Phone's not working," Sam says in the meantime, sounding far beyond frustrated. He looks pretty drained, too, anemic and worn out as though whatever mojo he used to hold Lilith in place really took it out of him. "Ruby must have done something to it, where's yours?"

He thinks about his back jeans pocket and considers maybe shifting his butt, but then Dean remembers being flung against the floor – repeatedly – and at one point hearing the sound of something crunch. Demons, as it turns out, are pretty hazardous to iPhones. Should have bought that phone cover in Texas. "Pretty sure it's broken."

"Let me –"

He's not shifting for heaven or hell, and definitely not for a messed up cell phone. "Like really pretty sure, Sam."

"Fuck," Sam replies. He bites his lip as he stares in the direction of the doorway, deep in thought.

Dean peers at the shaking hand clutching a shirt to his abdomen, tries to replace it with his own and utterly fails to do anything but get it grossly wet. "This what it's really like to get stabbed, huh?" he jokes, wiping his fingers discretely on the floor.

Sam doesn't reply, let alone spare him a glance. Not much for jokes, is Sam. Maybe he doesn't even remember that whole hysterical confrontation in Bobby's junkyard.

…One can only hope. Dean winces at the memory. Not his finest moment by far.

The movement seems to jolt Sam back to earth.

"Damn it," he snaps almost angrily, looking pained and cold with only a jacket. "I don't know if – I can't carry you all the way to the car, Dean, are you sure you can't walk? It doesn't even have to be the entire way, just enough that –"

Dean tries moving his legs, and then definitely does not whimper when that makes something violently shift inside him. Sam's hand clamps tighter on his abdomen, which only helps very, very slightly, and also hurts a lot.

Yeah. Bad idea.

"Okay, okay easy, easy," Sam tells him instantly, talking him down. He shifts so Dean's now half lying on him, head bracketed by intimidatingly muscular thighs. Not optimal. "New plan, I'll just go bring the Impala closer, think you'll be all –"

He deliberately isn't rolling his eyes. This may not be the end of the world anymore, but it's close enough, all things considered. (Also wow, woozy.) "Sam," he says, and as he clutches his brother's sleeve he does his best not to blurt out anything dumb like please don't go. "Don't think that'll work."

Sam squeezes his eyes shut, breathing far from steady. "Shit, shit –"

Dean very carefully doesn't sigh.

The ground trembles. Or maybe it's just Sam. "Damn it all, Dean," Sam asks painfully, "why'd you even come?"

What a fucking stupid question. "Fuckin' stupid question," he mumbles.

"You tried to take on Lilith yourself, man, it was practically suicide –"

"Oh," he has to interject, because seriously, the nerve, "and you were better?"

"Of course I was!" Sam argues heatedly, and also, idiotically. "I had my powers – Dean, you barely had a gun, and that wasn't even the Colt! Not to mention you were completely without backup!"

"Had the seal –"

"Which you didn't even know would work!" Sam says, because of course Sam would know Dean well enough to recognize when he's going off a plan improvised on the fly.

"Had to save your stupid ass, didn't I."

Sam just shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut. "By yourself?" he whispers brokenly.

And just like that the anger flies out of Dean, leaving him exhausted. "If I had to," Dean replies, even as he wonders about Bobby, Jo, Rufus and the others. About what must have happened to Cas.

…Though maybe it's better he doesn't think about the last one too much.

You child, he thinks tiredly at the world, and whatever dickheads might listen. You stupid, stupid child.

"You should have just stayed wherever you were," Sam says, head lowered.

He stares uneasily at his own shoulder. Wets his lips.

And then sighs softly.

"Sorry I ditched you, Sam." He clears his throat. "Shouldn't have."

For a moment, there's nothing, and weak as he's become, Dean has to wonder whether he'd really said anything at all.

"Can't blame you," Sam tells him at last, avoiding his eyes. "I – I know what it looked like, and I know now what you must have been thinking. I know I must have… must have scared you."

He lets out a cough, forces it into a chuckle. "Me, scared?" he scoffs, and in his head there's something faint, like an echo – they can't love me if they're scared. "Of what? Your Rapunzel hair?" Seriously, it is getting beyond embarrassing now.

"Dean." A whisper.

He stares at the ceiling and wishes for the billionth goddamn time that the kid would finally learn to drop it. "Don't be ridiculous."

Sam's arms tense around him. "I'm not. It's not. I, I know it's not just that, but – Dean, I'd never send you back to hell. Ever. I can't even…" he swallows audibly, starts over. "I wish I never made you think I could. Or would."

Great, now they're both uncomfortable. "It's not all your fault," he admits, once his throat's finally working again. "I got… I got issues."

Sam gives a little grimace – which was supposed to be a smile, Dean knows, it's just that things inside that giant head tend to get lost in translation, more often than not.

"Guess we both do," he says.

Dean almost laughs. "Yeah." Truer words never uttered.

…Speaking of which.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?" Sam's voice sounds funny – deep and gravelly, like a smoker's. But Dean's pretty sure Sam's never smoked. Not in high school. Not even in Stanford.

He's just not the type.

Dean inhales, swallows down whatever's threatening to come up (it's not blood, it can't be blood), and then turns his gaze towards the direction of the ceiling, where Sam's face is.

"Don't bury me," he says to it. "Don't let them use me anymore."

"No," Sam replies immediately. "No, you're not going to –"

It hurts to smile but he can't help it, Sam's just being so Sammy right now.

…As in a giant, uncooperative toddler.

"Dude," he scolds. Talk about denial.

A flinch. Dean feels it rock through his entire body. "You can't – you can't ask me that, Dean, stop it, you're not, I can't just let you –"

"You have to."

Sammy's head shakes itself roughly, hair flying stubbornly from side to side. "No – no, stop, that's not fair, that's not even close to being fair –"

"I know. But you have to."

After a long moment Sam swallows again, and finally, reluctantly nods. He looks down and away from Dean, throat working silently, and hold on, that's not right, Dean won't stand for that crap now –

"Hey," he says, trying to be gentle, and Sam brings his head up quickly, too quickly, like maybe he's been waiting for it. Waiting for Dean to say something else, for Dean to tell him something different.

For Dean to take it back.

…But he can't take it back.

"Hey," he says again. "It's not so bad."

Sam stares, then huffs out a horribly wet laugh as he blinks repeatedly at the church around them. "How?" he asks, voice so raw it makes Dean flinch. He looks back at Dean with his bleak little brother eyes. "How isn't this the worst, Dean?"

He's quiet for a bit, just thinking. "Could be better too, I guess," he then concedes, and this time Sam's laughter is almost as genuine as it is unwilling.

"Idiot," the kid chokes out.

Now there's a déjà vu. He smiles again – it hurts less this time, like maybe he just needed the practice. Could have used some more, he reflects wistfully. "That's okay. Got my looks."

An inhale, a tremor. Fat, silent tears slide down Sammy's cheeks, only to drip down to Dean's face.

Which is very touching and heartwarming, sure, but as it happens it is also pretty annoying because goddamn, it tickles like hell. Dean's hands are too heavy to do anything about it, though, and he blinks again, and again, and again.

"I'm sorry," Sammy whispers. "I'm so sorry, Dean, I'm so sorry for everything –"

He knows what to say to that, at least. "Shut up, Sam."

"You shut up," Sammy retorts in what is in fact a hilarious childish croak. And then he breathes in sharply and says, "No – no wait don't, wait, stay with me, please stay with me –"

His shoulders are being shaken, which is when Dean realizes he can't see anything because his eyes are shut. He forces them open, struggles to focus on Sammy's increasingly whiter face.

"Sorry," he says, lamely.

Even as Sam's face crumples he makes a terrible attempt at a smile. It's thin-lipped and small, not even close to reaching his eyes, but considering the circumstances it looks fine, and he really should smile more, Dean thinks, Sammy should always smile, should always have all the reasons in the world to smile.

"It's okay," Sam lies to him. "Just… hang on a little longer, all right? Just a – a little longer. For me."

What's there to say to that? He nods a little. He'll try, at least.

Suddenly neither of them knows what to do next, which is… well. Not exactly unfamiliar. The discomfort probably only lasts a few seconds, but still, these are some of his last few seconds, and they feel like forever.

There's just too much between them – too much to say, too much to explain, too much to apologize for.

And not nearly enough time for it all.

The church is silent around the two of them, oppressive with its Gothic high ceilings and its grim crucifixes in every corner. Definitely a mood-killer, Dean thinks to himself. This must be pretty much the worst place to die in, ever – if his guts really must spill out of him it could have at least been out on a decent stretch of asphalt, next to a Seven Eleven or something.

…Sky. Man, he'd have liked to see that one last time.

Sam's arms tighten around him, like maybe he's been thinking something along the same lines, and Dean can feel him getting ready – to apologize again, most likely, or else say something else completely dumb and unnecessary.

There's really no need for that, Dean decides.

"What's dead should stay dead," he says abruptly, watching as Sam's features first freeze, then contort into an expression Dean has no hope of interpreting. "For what it's worth, I still believe that."

And you know, the look on Sammy's face right now is about as far from it as it gets, but somehow Dean's still reminded of that one summer night back in high school, just before they both nearly burned down that field; that moment when Dean had glanced down at his little brother's face and found the closest thing to happiness he'd ever seen.

Dean, he reads in Sam's wide eyes. Dean –

He smiles a little.

"But you know what though," he whispers up at the kid he could never want to quit. "I'm glad I came back anyway."

0000

Sam's mouth works inaudibly for a long second before he finally manages a tiny, incredulous, "It's you."

He tries to grin. "One and only."

Strong, unfairly beefy arms clutch him even tighter now. "You jerk," someone weeps. "Oh God, Dean, you jerk, you jerk –"

Sam. It's Sam.

Of course it is.

"Love you too, Sammy," Dean murmurs, and closes his eyes.