Okay people. this is the last and final chapter of this story...sniff I really wanna thank all you guys you read and reviewed this fic. It's cool to know that you guys enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing it. So without further ado...the conclusion

oh, and the POVs jump around a little...you shouldnt have a problem following though...i dont think...lemme know if you did

Chapter 17

Sam heard the deafening click for the second time and shivered at the thought of his impending end, his body telling him to move, to survive, to fight; his mind demanding he stay calm and accept his fate. But he couldn't, not without some form of a struggle. Sam determined that if he was to go down, he was going down Winchester to the core, fighting like mad until death brought him to his knees.

His last and only hope was to break free of Myrah's hold. He twisted and shifted against the wall, gritting his teeth as his injured shoulder objected strongly to the rash jarring movements. As the seconds wore on, he continued but remained grounded to it nonetheless. What's taking her so long? Just get it over with…

Sam blinked his eyes furiously, ordering them to see something, anything he could use, but they blatantly refused him. In frustration and panic, he hurled obscenities and curses at Myrah and begged Jessie to not give up, pleading with her to wage war against Myrah's onslaught. All his efforts were quickly smothered with icy laughter and a frigid touch on his cheek bringing him to silence. His lips continued moving rapidly forming words that held no sound.

He stopped every action, finally accepting defeat. There was nothing left in the world to save him and this was how he'd meet his end--a bullet. He'd always imagined something more horrid, vile even—like being torn apart by a werewolf or pinned to a ceiling on fire, not with a bullet in his head. That was too common of a death for someone who lived their life fighting the evils of this world, battling demons and saving innocents.

The more he thought about it the more Sam realized he'd never dreamt his own death. He had Dean's, his father's, and countless other people. But he'd never seen his, only imagined it. He wished he had. Sam thought about what his funeral would look like, whom among his friends would show up and whether or not his father would set a foot near his plot. He wondered if Dean would remember to place him next to Jess or as close as he could to her, he was sure his brother would. He'd saved him that day from yet another fire, and rescued him from a world of despair. Dean's always there for me. Always.

Sam's world shifted that instant. Dean had never failed him in the past, but he'd failed him now. He needed his brother more than anything and he wasn't anywhere to be found. Sam contemplated as to whether or not Dean was elsewhere in the house still searching, completely oblivious to his current plight, or maybe he was in some random room of the house alone and unconscious from pain and rapid blood loss, or worse yet—dead. Sam begged the heavens to save his brothers life. Dean deserves a normal life…and dad won't be able to take losing both of us. Dad…I'm never gonna get a chance to see him again…

He shoved the remorse concerning his father away, and drifted to the past week. All the angry, hateful things he'd said that would never be resolved. There'd be no chic flick moment aside from his brother kneeling alone in front of his grave, their issues remaining unspoken even in death. He knew everything wasn't Dean's fault, and he hoped that Dean knew it too. He will cause he knows how much I hate to be "mothered". He'll remember that.

A smirk came to his lips as Sam recalled the hundreds of moments in the past six months alone when Dean had treated him like a helpless child instead of the twenty-two year old man he'd become. Dean always putting him before himself and saving him over and over again, but through all his fervent protesting to his older brother's wild antics and crazy rescues, Dean continued to insist he had to take care of him because it was his job, it would always be his job. Not for long bro…C'mon, just do it.

He smiled, a real smile, as the sound of gunfire resonated, signaling his departure from the land of the living, ushering him into the world that had separated his mother and lover from him for too long, but no more. He sensed Myrah's hold ceasing, as his body began sliding down meeting the floor with a thud, a sudden flash of white appeared and vanished as the sound of a women's shrill shriek echoed in his ears as he gave into the darkness.

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Jessie stood frozen, mouth open, eyes wide, burning as salty tears poured from them as she gaped at the site before her. She waited to hear Myrah's voice praising her for the heinous act she'd committed in her weakness, but was greeted with silence.

She tore her gaze from the young man and forced herself to look upon the cause of his state. Her body shook as she glanced down at the trigger through pools of unshed tears. Jessie cocked her head slightly to the side when she noted the position her finger held on the trigger a gasp escaping her lips.

It hadn't moved. The trigger remained at the same half way position it had held when she'd begun to challenge and battle Myrah's hold on her mind, her index finger holding steadily to it. Jessie's breaths came in rapid succession as she flung the gun to the floor and brought her shaking hand to her face, placing it over her mouth. It's not possible…He's on the floor and he's not moving…Myrah's just playing with me again…I heard the shot…I heard it…

Jessie stiffened as a succession of thuds from behind her filled her ears followed by a gravely voice but in her haze she couldn't make it's message. Myrah?…no, this voice…this voice is different…

Jessie turned slowly around to face the sound, preparing herself for the worst. She inhaled sharply as she viewed the source, fresh tears running down her face, but these were not tears of fear and guilt, these were tears of overwhelming relief and joy.

"Oh my God! Dean!" She cried out, running over to the man slumped over the stairwell, his head lolling to the side as he tried to bring his eyes to hers.

"S-sam." Jessie nodded knowingly and went to help Dean make it down the rest of the stairs and over to his brother.

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Dean stumbled out of the room slowly, breathing heavily, and thanked whatever powers above that there—no more than 4 feet away was the banister. He sighed in relief and practically fell forward as he quickly tried to grasp his newfound support. With one hand tightly clutched to the rail and the other with a secure grip on his rifle, he trudged forward with one thing on his mind. Sam.

When Dean reached the top of the main stairs and looked down to the foyer below, he thought for sure he'd have another heart attack. Myrah's spirit lurking over Jessie, who for some reason, more than likely Myrah, was pointing a gun at his little brother, who appeared to be extremely calm. That kid needs some serious therapy.

Dean swallowed the growing lump in his throat as he saw Jessie's fingers moving towards the trigger. With rapid speed, he shouldered his rifle, aimed and fired for the white orb that had caused him and his brother so much pain. He smiled as a chilling scream filled the air and a blinding white flashed throughout the room and disappeared. He'd hit his mark.

The smile was wiped off his face when he heard his brother's body connect with the floor. I gotta get down there.

Dean braced himself against the banister and started down the flight of stairs. His bad leg falling heavily against the wood as he went. He'd almost reached his destination when the combined pain of all his past movements reached a climax. He gripped the banister firmly and willed himself not to collapse. Not yet.

He heard her voice filled with relief and happiness to see him and tried to focus on her, but his eyes locked with his brothers still form. He muttered his name and felt her arm slip around his waist and her placing his arm over her shoulders.

The distance between him and his brother seemed that of a gaping chasm to Dean, and had it not been for Jessie's support, he honestly didn't think he would have made it.

Jessie released her hold on him when they reached Sam. Dean slumped down to the floor, and ran his fingers through his brothers hair, grimacing as his eyes met the crimson stain that covered his brother's worn tee.

"S-sammy?" Dean worked himself into a sitting position and tried to pull Sam towards him. Jessie looked on and went to help but he pushed her away and continued stroking his younger brother's hair. "Sammy, please wake up."

"Mmm…Dean?" Sam's eyes fluttered open and he moved his head slowly trying to locate his brother. He felt Dean's hand caress his chin and gently nudge his face to side, and Sam didn't doubt he was now looking into his brother's eyes. "I—I'm not…"

"No." Dean stated abruptly. He didn't even want to think about what would've happened if he hadn't gotten off that floor.

"Myrah…what happened?" Sam asked, and Dean could feel his body tensing.

"Don't worry, Sammy. I took care of her." Dean spoke softly.

"It—It's Sam. And I knew you would." The words were accompanied with a lop-sided grin and Dean couldn't help but smile back.

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2 weeks later….

A knock sounded from the hotel door--3 knocks, a pause, followed by 2 more. Sam smiled. Dean was back, and the best part was he had food with him. Sam fought to stifle his laughter when he opened the door and saw his brother fighting with his crutches trying desperately not to drop the coke bottles while maintaining his hold on the take out bags and trying to move forward all at the same time.

"What you laughing at, four eyes? I'm a wounded man, here." Dean's snide remarks only made Sam laugh harder as he went to grab the bags and drinks from Dean.

He set the bags down on the coffee table and pushed his slipping glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He hated those things, well, not the glasses as much as Dean's constant torment over the fact he had to wear them. He had reason too, the things were so damn thick, but they let him see and that was something he would never curse. The doctors still declared him legally blind, but also had said that his chances of regaining his full sight were good as long as he didn't put too much strain on his eyes. So he'd decided he'd wear as many pairs of glasses they would give him in hopes that one day he wouldn't ever have to use them again.

Dean regained his balance on his crutches and made his way into the room. He smirked when he saw Sam fiddling with his glasses and he worked to set out the food. Dean set his crutches upright against the wall next to his bed and collapsed onto the bed. He thought he must've looked really beat, 'cause Sam made his way over to him and helped prop him up against the headboard, and placed some pillows under his cast leg to keep it elevated as the doctor had suggested. Sam went back to unwrapping the food and Dean set about studying his cast for the thousandth time since the doctor had put it on. The doctors had told him they had to fuse his bone with metal and screws to reform his leg into the proper shape. Dean had asked if it would set off any metal detectors, Sam looked at him as if he was crazy and the doctor shrugged and told him it's happened. That was enough to put a huge smug grin on Dean's face as he informed Sam that he would never have to step foot on a plane again.

"Dean, you got onion rings. I told you to get fries!" Sam complained as he dug through the greasy paper bag.

"Yeah, so? You called Dad on me. Only fair." Sam turned to face Dean, his jaw clenched.

"I called Dad on you cause you left me here—alone." Sam stated bitterly.

"Yeah, well, you were acting like an asshole" Dean shot back.

"I was scared Dean. Terrified." Sam's voice held a hint of emotion as he plopped down on the bed avoiding Dean's gaze.

"Of what, Sammy?" Dean asked slowly not sure if he really wanted to know or enter this impending Oprah moment.

"Not knowing if I would ever see anything ever again, and all I had for the rest of my life was darkness. If I'd made you so mad you wouldn't come back and then something bad happened to you because I pushed you away." Sam's bottom lip was quivering and Dean could see tears brimming in his eyes.

"I'm never going to leave you like that, Sam." He stated firmly, shifting over closer to Sam and bringing his hand to Sam's chin, forcing his little brother to make eye contact with him. Dean's heart broke as Sam lifted his head, his big brown eyes moist beneath the thick glass.

"I know." Sam whispered dropping his gaze once again.

"Good. Now, if you aren't going to eat those onion rings, I will. So hand them over." Sam smiled as he stretched his long arms over towards the table and grabbed the bags of food, tossing them on the bed.

"Dean?" he asked passing him a burger.

"Yeah?" Dean replied absently, his attention focused on finding the remote.

"Don't you ever want to leave sometimes? You know when I really make you mad." Sam posed the question quietly.

"No." Dean's reply quick.

"Why not?" Sam's brown eyes wide as he stared at his older brother.

"'Cause I have to make sure you're ok no matter what. Regardless if I want to kill you or not. It's my job, Sammy. A job I like, trust me." Dean answered purposefully. His eyes roaming the comforter scanning the food spread haphazardly over it, his gaze landing on a bag of Peanut M & Ms, shooting a warning glance at Sam before turning back towards the TV.

"You eat those—you die."

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threw the epilogue in causei had some people ask about it...and well, not quite sure how it turned out but you know...so if you guys wouldnt mind letting me know what you thought about this chapter or the story--doesnt matter that would be great...so click on the little button and send me a line! I'm gonna miss this one!