A/N: So… be prepared. Death coming up. But do not fear, nothing is as it seems. The next few posts will be short, and there is going to be three parts to Chapter Eleven, part A, B and C.

Another A/N: I apologize for the huge slump in posting, I've been super busy. Oh, and I just have to say this, because it ticked me slightly… for really stupid reasons… but it did. My last story; 4 1 2 8 0 4 7 (or whatever it was… I don't exactly remember) was in NO WAY meant to be a rip off of Lost. I've never watched that show and I have no idea what numbers they are on that show, or what they mean.

Okay, now that my rant is over. Here you go!

Disclaimer: Song belongs to All American Rejects... right? Oops, I forgot.

Chapter Eleven: It Ends Tonight

The walls start breathing

My minds unweaving

Maybe it's best you leave me alone.

A weight is lifted

On this evening

I give the final blow.

When darkness turns to light,

It ends tonight

It ends tonight…

The horn was stuck.

Christ Dean, I'm awake. Just chill.

Something is holding my eyelids closed.

And why are you punching my head? What'd I do?

Stop honking that damn horn!

"Sammy…" Weak and guttural, whoever spoke was in agony. "Sammy, you awake?"

Sam opened his eyes and took a deep shuttering breath and leaned back. The horn stopped and the night was eerily quiet.

"Thank god, my head was killing me." Dean, obviously.

"Wh… at…" Sam swallowed and turned his head side to side slowly, the world he'd been away from was gray and blurry.

"You crashed my car." Dean whispered, and Sam knew Dean had tried to sound unforgiving, but his tone was soft and weak. "How's Dad?" Dean whispered. Sam looked to the side and tried his hardest—he really did—to conceal that gasp.

But Dean heard it all the same.

"Is he alive?" Dean whispered. Sam reached over, wincing as he moved, and felt their father's pulse.

Faint, but present.

John Winchester had staying power.

"For now." Sam whispered and Dean sighed heavily, his breath catching. "You okay?"

A pause, much longer than Sam would have liked.

"I… I don't know…" Dean admitted. "Sam… I can't… I can't feel much anymore. It hurt like hell for a while, but now its all kinda numb… and my left eye… all I see is red…" God, he sounded so scared.

"Can you move?"

"I've been trying…" He sighed and hit the seat in frustration. "Can you?"

"Think so." Sam whispered and managed to turn around to look at his brother. The entire side of Dean's face was covered in blood.

"I know why you see red, man." Sam whispered. "You got some glass in your eye…" Dean raised his hand weekly, but Sam knocked it down. "Don't touch it." He whispered and struggled to get out of the car.

He nearly fell out of the door, landing on hands and knees.

Stop spinning, world.

He attempted to stand, but that failed miserably so he crawled around to the passenger side and freed his father from the metal prison and set him on the ground, straightening his body carefully.

He crawled to the backdoor and yanked it open. The hinges screamed unforgivingly and Dean slumped to the side and fell into his brother's arms.

"Whoa, easy, easy." Sam whispered and laid Dean on the ground. Dean coughed, and Sam swore there was more blood on his clothes and pooled on the backseat than there was inside his veins.

Dean smiled at him weakly. "It's okay." He whispered. "I'm sorry I didn't do it for you." He whispered.

"Dean, what are you talking about?" Sam whispered, brushing his hand over Dean's forehead.

"The demon… I should have taken care of it… and it's okay that you didn't. Dad will get over it."

"I don't care whether or not he gets over it, I just want you to hang in there." Sam got out his cell phone.

"It won't do any good." Dean groaned, trying to curl in on himself. "They won't get here in time…"

"Don't say that…"

"Do you know how long we've been sitting there, Sam?" Dean whispered. Sam didn't answer.

Please answer the goddamn phone.

"An hour." Dean whispered, letting his heavy eyes close. His left eye wasn't really cooperating, and there was a deep cut in the eyelid. Sam found himself wondering how badly that was going to scar his brother's face.

Dean wouldn't like that. Scars were a no-no when it came to his face.

"Then hold on for two hours, Dean, you selfish bastard." Sam yelled. "Don't you dare do this! Don't you dare promise me all those things and then up and die! Don't you dare!"

Dean's chest was heaving, and Sam could tell that whatever strength he'd managed to conjure was quickly waning.

"Hey, Sammy?" Dean whispered. Sam grabbed his hand.

"Nine one one, please state your emergency."

"I've been in a car accident."

Thank God. Sam sighed. They were going to be saved! They had to be, the paramedics were going to come and save them.

"Where are you located, Sir?"

"On the highway, I'm not sure exactly, but we're about ten miles from the hospital… we're near Etchings Boulevard." Sam looked down at his brother who was regarding him with tearful eyes, studying his face.

He's trying to remember me, Sam realized. He reached out and touched Dean's cheek, and his brother flinched slightly, but then pressed into the familiarity of it.

"A unit will be with you shortly."

"Hey?" Dean whispered again, coughing.

"Please stay on the line." Sam threw the phone down and grasped his brother's hand with both of his, leaning closer to Dean's face.

"What, Dean?" He whispered.

"Tell Sammy…"

Oh God, he was hysterical.

"Tell him…" His breaths were hitching and more and more blood was bubbling from his lips. Sam squeezed his hands, nodding.

"I'll tell him, Dean. I promise."

"Tell him I love him… and I'm sorry I didn't…" he paused and swallowed, his eyes hardening with determination. "I'm sorry I wasn't the brother he wanted…"

"No, Dean. You're everything Sam wanted… I love you, Dean." Sam pressed his forehead to Dean's. "It's me, it's Sammy. I love you, Dean. Just please, please hang in there a little longer."

"I can hear the birds, Sammy." Dean whispered, a far away look on his face.

But the night was silent.

"Where are you, Dean?" Sam sobbed, tears rolling down his cheeks. He shifted Dean so his back rested against Sam's chest. He wrapped his arms around his brother and let Dean's head rest upon his shoulder. Sam turned his face so his cheek touched Dean's forehead.

"The beach. Can't you hear the seagulls, Sammy?" Dean whispered. Sam pressed his face into Dean's hair for a moment, wondering where he was going to get the strength to do this.

"I can hear the waves, can you hear the waves, Dean?" He whispered, trying to send himself back to where Dean was.

Dean shook his head, groaning slightly.

"I hear the sirens, Sammy."

And so could he. He put his hand on Dean's forehead.

"I have to go for a minute…"
"No, don't leave…" Dean whispered, a panic in his voice that Sam had never heard before.

"I'll be right back, I promise."

"He's gunna get you, Sammy." Dean whimpered.

"Hello!" A voice yelled. Sam looked up and saw an ambulance parked along the embankment.

"Down here!" Sam yelled back.

Dean squirmed weakly in his arms.

"Shh." Sam whispered into Dean's damp hair. "It's okay. It's okay." He assured him. "Relax Dean, its over."

What a liar.

Because in that final moment before the paramedics came, the Impala, which Sam had been to weak too drag them both away from, caught fire

- - -

TAKE ONE: SAM

Where am I?

Sam's eyes flickered, but the world was spinning and gray and blurry and he gave up and closed them again.

Screw that.

"Sam?" A familiar voice. A female voice.

Who?

"Sam are you awake?" Again, so familiar and yet he couldn't place it. "Samuel Winchester if you get my hopes up one more time…"

Missouri Mosley.

"I'm up." Sam slurred and forced his eyes open. Missouri sighed heavily and grasped his hand. "Oh child…" She whispered. "Thank God." She rubbed the back of his hand and shook her head. "You scared me back to Sunday."

"It is Sunday."

Rowan.

"Will you keep your mouth shut." She hissed and looked back at Sam. "Honestly, the League must really have wanted you, to give you such an obnoxious guardian. I'm surprised one of you Winchesters haven't killed him all ready."

"It's not like I didn't try earlier." Sam rasped, and sat up—or tried—but Missouri forced him to relax with a strong hand on his shoulder.

"Don't move, Sam. You're highly medicated and pretty banged up." She explained.

"Where's Dean? And my Dad?" Sam whispered.

"Let's not worry about that at the moment, baby." She whispered as she pushed away his hair. "You've got such lovely eyes, why don't you get a haircut?"

"Where are they?" Sam prodded.

"Missouri, he needs to know." Rowan whispered. Missouri glared at him.

"Will you hush?" She hissed. "Or do I have to make you leave?"

"Know what? What do I need to know, Missouri?" Sam was on the edge of hysteria and Missouri could hear it in his voice.

"Sam." She whispered, squeezing his hand. "Your father… he was in the car when it caught fire. They were able to get him out before he suffered terrible burns… but there was some major smoke inhalation and not to mention the complications of the crash. He lapsed into a coma last night… and it doesn't look like he's going to be waking up anytime soon…" She squeezed his hand again. "But don't you worry, John Winchester has staying power." She gave him a knowing smile.

"And Dean?" Sam whispered. Missouri cast a long look at Rowan who avoided her gaze.

"The walking mouth chooses now to be silent." She muttered.

"Where is Dean?" Sam yelled.

"Sam, I want you to listen closely to me, okay?" Missouri whispered. "This is going to be a lot for you to take in, but you need to hear me. Really hear me." She sighed. "When Dean was brought in, he had lost a lot of blood and was bleeding internally…" She paused and looked at Rowan. "Help here?" She asked impatiently.

"When he hit his head something ruptured." Rowan whispered. "He was bleeding out fast and in multiple places, inside and out." He explained. "They tried everything, but it just wasn't enough."

"Where is he?"

"He's dead, Sam."

For just a moment the world spun and dipped and then shattered. It shattered into a million pieces as a heavy vice settled around Sam's heart.

He swallowed as those million pieces were torn away and he doubted he'd ever find them again, much less put them together.

Hopeless.

Everything was so goddamn hopeless again.

And Dean was dead.

Dead…

Nononono. God no.

It couldn't be.

No.

"Where is he?" Sam whispered again, his eyes focused on the wall. "I want to see him."

"I requested they keep him alive, so to speak. Sam, his brain is dead but they've kept his heart beating. I knew you'd want to say goodbye." Missouri whispered, her heart caught in her throat. "I want you to understand that when you see him, he's not alive. Please, I didn't do this for you to get your hopes up. I wanted you to be able to say goodbye to him."

There was nothing.

Nothing but cold.

And a weight that he couldn't place. A weight that had settled in some unknown part of him.

And somewhere inside Samuel Winchester his light switched off and he knew it wouldn't be long before the shadows grew and he succumbed to darkness.

And when he looked up into Missouri's eyes, waiting for her to see it, to feel the darkness the way he felt it, she simply squeezed his arm.

It was too dark for her to see.

And for the first time in a long time, Sam realized he was truly alone. Outside and inside.

- - -

Missouri wheeled Sam into the room and left without a word, knowing the boy well enough to know that this was not a moment for talking.

Sam stared silently at the body of his brother.

His older brother who'd been there since the moment he'd come into the world. The older brother that'd been there through every boo-boo, every tear, every death… Dean had been there to make it better.

"Make this one better, asshole." Sam whispered, staring at Dean's pale skin. "How could you do this?" Sam asked bitterly. "We were gunna make it, remember? We were gunna find Dad together and kill that goddamn demon as a family, just like you wanted." He shook his head. "You're such a jerk."

Sam looked up and stared at Dean's hand.

"Twitch goddamnit!" He ordered. "Wake up, you bastard!" He grabbed Dean's cold hand with both of his and held the cold flesh against his hot cheek, willing his life force into his brother.

But this wasn't a cheesy movie.

And when Sam's tears fell on his brother's face, there was no magic that made it all better. The pain of loss didn't mend the fatality of a demon trying to rip out his brother's heart from the inside or annihilating the prized Impala with a semi-truck while he laid bleeding to death in the backseat.

It didn't change a damn thing.

But Sam kept crying, he kept wishing and holding onto Dean's hand, trying to keep it warm.

Dean wasn't coming back.

"Damn it." Sam sobbed.

There was so much he never got to say. Like; I love you Dean and I'm proud to be your little brother. Or; I never called you while I was away because I was afraid of what you'd say, I was afraid that you were bitter, and I was afraid to admit that I didn't want that life, but I always wanted my brother, always and that will never change. And; I meant what I said when we were at that Asylum, but that doesn't mean I don't love you, you bastard. Never does anything mean I wouldn't gladly die if it meant you could live just a little bit longer. You're the good one, Dean. You're the good one.

But none of that mattered anymore.

"I didn't even…" Get to say goodbye.

Sam looked up at the face of his brother and in one heart wrenching, stomach churning moment he imagined a twitch, a blink, a smile, and then saw—with world crushing realization—that Dean really was dead.

He was shivering, he hadn't realized how cold he was until that moment.

So cold.

So alone.

"Sam?" A whisper.

Sam turned and looked at Rowan who appeared to have been there for a while. Sam wiped away his tears.

"What?" He asked rudely. Rowan took a step forward and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Dean, sitting in a waiting room. Dean's hand holding his own. His own still face. A breathing tube. Dean in a wheelchair. John still in a bed, but breathing.

The vision hit him hard and so fast he wasn't sure if it was real or not.

Rowan gave him a knowing smile.

"Sometimes things aren't as they seem." He whispered and then turned and left. Sam sighed, too tried to try and figure out Rowan's cryptic-ness.

Sam let his head fall forward onto Dean's still chest. He turned his face so his cheek rested upon the silent chest cavity and he stared at the underside of Dean's chin. "Good night, Dean."

I love you and goodbye.

I'm going to get him back for this.

He's going to pay.

You will be avenged.

And I'll see you again.

I promise.