Chapter 12

Well, here we are at the end of the road. I really enjoyed working on this story – I had forgotten how much fun writing fanfiction could be. Big, big thanks to those who took interest in the story and took this journey with me. I really enjoyed reading your reviews and your feedback was always fun. Thanks for sticking with this story to the end!

As I've said, next story is already in the works and you won't have to wait too long for it. More notes at the end

When Dean opened his eyes, he was surprise to see daylight. He was lying in the front seat of the Impala. He sat up to spot Sam in the backseat. Judging by the way his hair was hanging in all directions, he must have just woken up, too.

Last night became a blur after escaping the flaming cabin. He vaguely remembered reaching the car, and by then he was coughing so hard, he could barely stand up straight. He was sure he had protested when Sam pushed him into the passenger seat, taking the driver seat himself – Sam was the one with the gimpy arm, after all. He might have threatened to break Sam's other arm, if his brother crashed the car, but, really, who could blame him?

At any rate, it did not seem as if Sam had driven long before stopping. They were still outside the town. Dean did not remember stopping at all. He must have been out of it by that point.

"So, what happened last night?" Dean wanted to know.

Sam rubbed a hand over his face. He still looked tired.

"I drove until we got to a safe distance. Then I stopped. You were pretty out of it by then, so I'm not surprised you don't remember."

Dean nodded. He was feeling much better after several hours of sleep. He glanced at Sam.

"So," he said lightly. "I'm calling this a win."

Sam did not look too convinced.

"I mean, there were victims," he pointed out.

Dean's eyes narrowed.

"Sam, what are you beating yourself up about this time? Brad was dead before we even came into town. And, if you're talking about Alan – you know I don't usually victim-blame, but he was visiting his mistress the night after his son had heard his little brother be killed on the phone. I hate to say he had it coming, but Piru did the world a favor ridding the world of that sleazebag."

"What about Mikka?" Sam asked. "I mean, I talked to him before we knew what we were after. If only I'd have caught on that something was wrong with him…"

Dean shook his head.

"He was dead the moment he decided to bind Piru, Sam. You know how these things go. Besides, he was ready to kill at least five people out of some misguided act of revenge – against the wrong target. We've got Elias and his band out of this safely. So, let's take this as a win, alright?"

Sam still did not look too convinced, and Dean wondered what it would take for his brother to stop beating himself up for every little thing that went wrong in the world.

"What about Piru?" he asked. "I mean – you heard what he said. He's got allies back home. What if they find out what happened to him? What if they try to free him?"

Dean's face turned grim. He sat up and put his hands on the steering wheel, just to have something to focus on.

"Let them try."

After a few minutes, they were driving back to town, ready to take on whatever came as they always did – together.

xxxxXXXXXxxxx

Sam was in Mikka's hotel room, packing up the occult objects Mikka had left behind. He had no idea how the cuffs used to bind Piru worked, but he was sure they could come in handy, taking into account all the things they dealt with. Besides, better they were safe in the Bunker, instead of in the hands of someone who had no idea how to use them. And that went for everything else in that room.

"So, what are you going to do with all this?"

Sam looked up to see Elias standing in the doorway.

"We have a safe place for it. We'll make sure nothing here is a problem to someone again."

Elias nodded and stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him.

"I don't know how to thank you guys, really."

"So you told me last night," Sam said dismissively. "No thanks needed, really. Just doing our jobs."

Elias's eyes roamed around the room.

"Do you think I could have talked to Mikka?" he asked uncertainly. "If I figured out what was going on sooner, that he was connected to our run of bad luck, do you think reasoning with him would have stopped all this? There are three people dead, Mikka included. That's on me, right?"

Sam remembered his own conversation with Dean in the car. Somehow, it was easier to believe things had been beyond their control when someone else was taking the blame.

"It's not on you," he assured Elias. "It's on Mikka. Even if you had figured out what he had done, it was too late. He had already bound Piru. You don't mess with this kind of stuff."

Elias shrugged.

"I understand him, though. In a way. I understand revenge. I had a lot of hatred for the British Men of Letters for a very long time for getting my family killed. I still do, but there was a time when I was really messed up. I was around sixteen, I was thinking there was something I could use against them. I even found a curse in one of my adoptive father's old books. I came this close to using it."

Sam tilted his head. He understood revenge, too. He remembered the Yellow-eyed demon and Lillith and all that had followed. He knew where revenge usually led, too.

"I take it you didn't use it," he said. "Why not?"

Elias's smile held something bitter in it.

"It came to me that they wouldn't have wanted me to do that. My parents and my sister, they wouldn't have been pleased. I had this revelation, you know. It was Christmas and I was listening to one of our carols. It's about a girl who feeds a sparrow on Christmas morning, because, as she says, it's cold and the sparrow is probably hungry. And the sparrow takes the seed and says: I'm actually your dead little brother, and this seed you gave a hungry sparrow has fed your brother in Heaven."

Elias paused. Sam waited for him to finish.

"That's when it dawned on me," Elias went on. "That it was up to me to make my family proud. To live in a way that they would have approved. That by doing this I would make sure they were at peace." He paused and looked uncertainly at Sam. "Does that make sense?"

Sam thought of him and Dean and their own reactions whenever one of them lost the other. He knew what Elias was doing was not easy – neither he nor Dean had quite managed to do it.

"It actually does. Keep on doing what you're doing. It's good."

Elias nodded.

"Helmi and the others have given me until the end of the tour to tell them what's been happening," he said, changing the subject. "What am I supposed to say?"

Sam took the book of spells he had found in Mikka's room the first time he was there and placed it in his duffel bag. The room looked inconspicuous now, all questionable paraphernalia taken care of.

"How about the truth?" he said.

Elias snorted.

"You mean – tell them my ancestors used to hunt monsters and they nearly became the targets of a mythological spirit? How's that gonna help?"

"You said they were family, right?" Sam pointed out. "Then they deserve the truth."

He hesitated briefly, then took out a piece of paper and wrote his phone number and e-mail address on it.

"This is where you can reach me," he told Elias. "You and anyone from the hunting community you might know back in Europe. We've got quite a hefty collection of lore books. If you need help and information, I'd be glad to give it to you. Like this you won't have to rely so much on the British Men of Letters."

Elias broke into a grin. He took the piece of paper and pocketed it.

"Thanks, really," he said shaking Sam's hand. "I hope I'll see you guys again."

Most people don't, Sam thought, but he did not say it out loud. Elias seemed to have a different view of Hunters, even though he was not one himself.

XXXxxxxxXXXXX

Dean was packing up the car in front of the hotel, waiting for Sam to come out with Mikka's stash of weird.

"Leaving so soon?"

Dean grinned and turned to Helmi.

"You know how it is. Always on the road. Never in one place too long."

"Sounds like my life. Apart from this fixing things that you do."

Dean heard the unasked question but chose to ignore it.

"So, Elias OK?" he asked instead. "He kinda hit his head in a…erm…bus accident last night."

"You mean when he crashed our bus?" Helmi asked innocently. "I can put two and two together, you know. But he's fine. Shouldn't probably attempt much headbanging in the next few days but otherwise, as he has firmly told me this morning, he doesn't need his head to play."

Dean had to wonder if that was just Elias being a workaholic, or if he was looking for a distraction from his experience as Piru's prisoner. But Dean knew he was definitely not the right person to lecture others on healthy ways of coping with trauma, so he decided to let it go.

"I should head back inside," Helmi said eventually. "You two take care of yourselves, won't you?"

Dean shook her hand and then gave her his and Sam's contact information on a whim.

"We obviously can't be of much help if you run into trouble back home. But if you ever find yourself on this side of the ocean again and something's going on that doesn't feel right…Sammy and I will be glad to help."

There were times when the job gnawed at Dean's soul, exhausting him and shredding his humanity. There were times when it took away so much, brought him so low that he had no idea how he was still functioning. Then there were days like this one, when he could be sure he and Sam had done well. When he realized that they were exactly where they were meant to be not because of the many times they saved the world, but because of how often they saved individual people. Those were the days when Dean was happy with himself –when he knew it was worth it.

xxxXXXXXXXXxxxxxxx

They got back to the Bunker early next evening, since Dean had insisted they stay for the last night of the festival and actually enjoy themselves for a change. Sam had not complained. It reminded him of the early days – just the two of them and no complications in sight.

Castiel was still in the Bunker and looked up when he saw the two brothers walk down the stairs.

"Dean, Sam," he greeted. "How did it go?"

"Well, we've got one pissed off Finnish forest demon locked up for good in the woods in Gatlinburg," Dean said. "I think it worked well."

Sam looked around him at their home base. He could not deny that it felt good, having a place of their own. But sometimes, he enjoyed being on the road with Dean more. Still, he would not begrudge his brother his desire to settle down from time to time.

"So, Cas," Dean was saying. "Know anything about symphonic metal?"

Sam sniggered at the question, as he made his way to his room to unpack. He took his time, because he wanted to let Dean make whatever he had in mind for dinner and had no desire to be tricked into kitchen duty. He took out the Apostles of Shadow poster he had rolled up and placed at the bottom of his duffel bag and grinned. It was autographed by the band members and all. He had managed to snag one before the concert. He did not think Elias would mind.

He placed the poster in his box of memories, where he kept all the things that reminded him of the good times. Despite still having some guilt that they had not managed to figure out what was going on in time to save Mikka, Sam was still willing to believe Dean when he said they had done the best they could. And they had managed to forge some connections, as well, maybe establish a link with European Hunters and that had to be a win too, right?

With that thought in mind, Sam closed the door to his room and went to join Dean and Cas in the kitchen. They were going to have a quiet night in for once.

Until the next crisis came, of course. But, as long as he was facing it with Dean, Sam was not that bothered.

The end

Thank you for reading until the end! I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did writing it. First chapter of new story (unconnected with this one) will be up quite soon – some time between Sunday night and Monday afternoon (Europe time).

Notes:

-The Christmas song Elias mentions is real. It's a very beautiful carol called Varpunem Jouluaamuna (Sparrow on Winter morning). Lots of people I talked to who know the lyrics consider it creepy. I think it's actually about dealing with loss through doing good to others.