Thank you so much MaggieMay17 for beta'ing this for me and toning down Nick when I made him too dastardly. Thank you Ncsupnatfan and VegasGranny who were with me from the beginning of this story to the very end. I can't overstate how much help they both were to me, truly blessed ladies, and I miss them so much now I'm writing Marvel without them.

This is the last chapter of this story, but the sequel is almost complete, so I will be able to continue to weekly posting schedule seamlessly. Remember that when you get to the ending and start penning attack reviews for the cliff-hanger.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sam stirred on the couch, and his eyes drifted open. It was dark outside the window, but he didn't know if it was the same night he'd arrived at the cabin and collapsed or if it was a new one. For all he knew, it might have been days since the fight.

Almost as soon as he'd gotten to the cabin, his legs and wings had given way, and he'd found himself face down on the floor, his blade falling from his hand beside him.

He'd spent some time lying there, bleeding and weak, before he'd found the will to get to his feet and tear off the tattered and blood-soaked clothes he was wearing that felt sickening against his skin. That had taken the last reserves of his strength, and he'd dropped onto the couch and fallen into a kind of stupor that made him drift on the edges of memories and awareness at the same time. It wasn't sleep, he still had too much grace to allow him that, but it had been close. He'd not been able to move at least. If one of Michael's monsters had attacked then, they could have torn him apart without him being able to fight back at all.

He felt stronger now, though, and he tested himself by trying to sit up. He found he could do it, albeit listing slightly to the side, and then struggled to his feet and ran his hands down his chest and stomach. The wounds Michael had left him had closed, though they'd left red scars. They were still raw inside, though, sending scorching pain through him. He thought it was going to take a long time for them to heal fully.

He tested his injured arm, the one with the deep slash that he'd inflicted on himself in a determined strike to win— the strike that had ended it. There was a red scar there that he could feel running around the side, too, and he imagined that it was going to be one he bore for the rest of his life, however long that happened to be.

Sam turned and walked to the bathroom. Keeping his eyes averted from the mirror, he wiped at his skin with a washcloth, removing the remaining blood. He would feel better if he could shower, but he didn't think he had the energy.

He dressed in clean clothes and then went back to the living area of the cabin and picked up his blade. He weighed it in his hand for a moment and then tucked it up his right sleeve, feeling it fall into place against his skin and then disappearing. It would stay there until he needed it again, he knew.

He sat down on the couch again, feeling weakened by the energy he'd expended cleaning himself up, and mulled over what he needed to do next in his mind. Michael was dead, but Violet was alive; she needed to be stopped. She'd had a part in Michael's plans and would perhaps still be a threat. More than that, he wanted to kill her for himself, for revenge.

Sam wanted to see her dead, but he wouldn't kill her without talking to Billie first. Violet had betrayed her, too, and perhaps there was some consequence for doing that from Billie's perspective. She might want to punish Violet in her own way.

He wouldn't do that yet, though. He was worn down, and he didn't think it was the right time to set himself up for another fight. If Billie gave him the go-ahead to hunt Violet, she would want it done there and then, and he wasn't strong enough for another fight.

He wondered what Dean and Nick were doing. He'd left them a hell of a mess to clear up. Not only did Michael's vessel need to be salted and burned, but there were also the bodies of the monsters Sam had battled outside, too. That was going to take them a while. He figured they'd burn them as burying them meant a pit that would take a long time to dig.

And Claire. He assumed Castiel had gotten the blood to her but had it been in time? Was Jody even still alive? The question jolted him, and he sat up straight. He was on the point of standing and flying to Sioux Falls to find out for himself, but the way his head swam at the movement stopped him.

Sam relaxed back against the couch cushions and reached out to Castiel within the voices in his mind, "Castiel, it's Sam."

"Sam?" He sounded startled. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Sam said. "Is Claire?"

"Yes." There was relief and fondness in Castiel's voice as he said it. "We were able to get the blood to her in time. No one was hurt. She was struggling with the aftermath when we first arrived, but she's in a better place now emotionally. Jack and I are with her."

"How long's it been since the fight?" Sam asked.

"A full day. Have you been unconscious all that time?"

"I don't know what I've been," Sam said. "But I'm okay now. Mostly."

"Will you come to see us? I think Dean would like to speak to you."

"Sure," Sam said. "I'll need a few days, though."

Or a few weeks. He'd said stuff to Dean that Dean was going to question. Perhaps it was better to sever ties now. He didn't need to see them at all now that Michael was dead. He could make it his own mission to deal with Michael's monsters and Violet and let them go on with their lives in peace.

"Okay. Rest and take care of yourself," Castiel said and then paused, his silent presence in Sam's mind still there. "Thank you, Sam, for what you did. We're all grateful to you."

"It was my job," Sam said, then withdrew from his own mind and severed the connection.

Claire was okay. She'd not fed, so the cure had worked. There hadn't been a terrible price to Michael's distraction.

He relaxed again and closed his eyes. He liked the idea of leaving the cabin, going to a mountain perhaps, and just being free, but he felt so worn down and didn't think taxing his wings was a good idea.

Suddenly, a panicked voice ripped through his mind. "Sam! You have to come to the bunker. It's Dean, he's hurt, and Castiel and Jack have been banished. Please, you have to heal him! I think he's dying."

Sam was on his feet and in flight in a split second, coming to rest outside the door of the bunker and shoving his weight behind his shoulder as he slammed into it. The door flew open, and he ran inside, shouting for his brother even as Gabriel's voice shouted at him within.

He's lying, Sam! He said Cas was banished, but he's with Claire. This is a trap.

The words didn't fully register with him; he was wholly focused on his brother's safety.

He flew down the steps and into the library where Nick stood. He didn't look worried or scared, not the way he would if Dean really was in danger, but he seemed wired, full of anxious energy.

Sam came to a stop in front of him and said, "What's going on, Nick?"

Nick withdrew a lighter from his pocket and flipped the flame alight, then dropped it onto the floor. A circle of fire sprang up around Sam, its heat giving Sam the same sense of menace it had when the British Men of Letters had trapped him.

"I'm dealing with you," Nick said, his voice a threat in itself. "Come on, Rowena."

Sam stared at Nick as Rowena walked to stand with him and set a bag down on the table. She gave Sam a quick, fearful look, and then began extracting items from the bag, candles, a copper bowl, bags of herbs and powders, and a wooden box that Nick took from her and opened, his eyes fixed on Sam.

Sam saw the hyperbolic pulse generator, and the meaning of the ingredients Rowena had produced for her spell work made sense. They were planning to send him to the Cage.

The idea would have horrified him if he'd believed it would work, but he'd already seen proof that it wouldn't. It did anger him, though. What had he done to Nick to deserve this? He'd saved his life.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

Nick's lips twisted into a grimace smile. "Because I have to."

Sam closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them with a sigh and said, "Okay. Do what you need to do." He looked between Nick and Rowena. "Both of you."

Rowena frowned. "You want us to do this?"

Nick glowered. "It's a trick, Rowena. Reverse psychology. He doesn't think we'll really do it."

Rowena's eyes narrowed. "We will." She tipped some of the ingredients into the bowl, lit the candles, and fixed her eyes on Sam.

You don't think maybe you should call Cas? Gabriel asked. What if it does work this time?

Sam considered a moment and then shook his head slightly. He knew it wasn't going to work; the Brits had proved that, and he thought both Nick and Rowena needed to do this for themselves. Something that looked like him had damaged them both terribly. They had to take back the power over them they thought Sam had. If they could take this stand and see him walk away from it without hurting them, they would see he really wasn't a threat to them. It would help them both.

"You ready, Rowena?" Nick asked.

Rowena gave the bowl a small shake and said, "Yes."

Nick fixed hate-filled eyes on Sam and started the chant that would have expelled him from his vessel if he was any other angel, lifting the pulse generator in front of him. "Vade retro. Princeps Inferni…"

Sam stood perfectly still and kept his expression serene.

Nick's color rose, and he spat the words at Sam as if they could wound him. "Mah tay, ez loh, say tah!"

Rowena threw a match into the bowl, not seeming to have realized it hadn't worked, and shouted, "Go to hell!"

There was a beat of silence, and they both stared at Sam in horror. Sam looked back at them, keeping his stance open and unthreatening.

"It didn't work," Rowena whispered. "Did you do it wrong? Try again!"

Nick lifted the generator again, and Sam said, "It won't work, Nick. You can't expel me. I'm not like Lucifer. This isn't my vessel. It's me."

"Then we'll find another way." Nick's eyes darted to the shelf, where Sam saw Michael's blade had taken the place of the ceremonial sword that had been displayed there. "I'll kill you."

"You can't," Sam said. "It's not your job."

"It sure as hell is! I get to do this! I've earned this."

"Hurry!" Rowena said desperately. "The fire."

Sam saw that the flames were lowering, going out. He felt no fear as he knew Nick wouldn't reach him with the blade inside the fire, and he wasn't going to stick around when the fire was out. He felt he had to help Nick, though. Sam was going to be fine, he would get out of this, but Nick was going to need his brother after.

He withdrew into his mind and said, "Castiel, you need to come to the bunker. Nick needs help."

"What's wrong with him?" Castiel asked, his voice panicked. "What's happening?"

Sam couldn't answer as that was the moment the flames died completely, and Nick surged forward with the blade stretched in front of him.

Sam's own blade slipped into his hand, and he brought it up to block Nick's strike.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Nick," he said.

He attempted to stretch his wings, but they remained curled at his back, and he realized they hadn't removed the warding that Michael had put in place. He couldn't fly out past them. He could only walk away.

He pushed Nick back with one hand and turned away.

"Nick!" Rowena shouted. "Do it!"

Sam walked towards the war room, still calm, but then there was a roar of rage, and he felt burning pain in his back that he arched away from. His mind was transported back years to Cold Oak. In that moment, it wasn't Nick behind him, it was Jake; it wasn't an archangel blade, it was a filthy knife that was going to sever his spine and injure him so deeply that he would die in Dean's arms.

Anger filled him.

He spun around and threw out his arms. Rowena and Nick were thrown through the air by his pulse of grace, both hitting the walls and crumpling unconscious to the ground. He dropped his blade automatically, not trusting it in his hands while the anger surged.

He looked at Nick and saw the small pool of blood forming under his head that made his anger die and worry take its place. He'd hurt Nick, and that would hurt Dean.

He walked towards Nick, his intent to heal him, but before he could reach him, there was a roar of rage behind him, and he heard Nick's name being bellowed in fury by Dean.

Dean pushed his plate away, only a few fries and a smear of ketchup remaining on it, and picked up his beer. "And I don't understand any of it," he said before taking a swig.

Mary considered him a moment, obviously sorting through what Dean had told her, "So it sounded like you were supposed to love Sam?"

"Yeah, me and Sam were supposed to have some kind of legendary bond. Michael said it would have hurt me to see Sam die."

"Would it?"

"No, not hurt. I mean, I don't want him dead, I want to help him, but there's no bond there. He's nothing like family the way Michael made it sound. I wouldn't lose anything if he died. I guess I'd just be disappointed." He sighed. "It's just more Michael screwing with us, and I get it, but I wish he'd not done it. With that and what he did to Nick, the way it's affected him…"

"We've got to help him," Mary said. "We can now. Michael is dead, and Lucifer is gone. Maybe if we keep Sam away, too, he'll be better."

Dean grimaced. "I wanted to help him, Mom. He lost his family, and we all know how that feels."

"Who do you want to help more?" Mary asked. "Nick or Sam?"

Dean's eyes narrowed. "That's not even a question."

"Then you know what you have to do," Mary said, sipping her beer.

Dean sighed. He really did want to help Sam. It felt important, like there really was some kind of bond there that Michael referred to, though it was impossible. But Nick had to come first. He was Dean's brother. He was the one that mattered. Dean would have to leave Sam to deal with his own mess.

"Dean!"

The voice came from across the room, and Dean looked up to see Castiel and Jack squeezing though the people towards them. They both looked stressed, and Dean's heart ratcheted up a level.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"It's Nick," Castiel said, and Dean and Mary leaped to their feet, almost upsetting the table. "Sam called to me on angel radio. He said I needed to come to the bunker because Nick needed help."

"Then why the hell aren't you there?" Mary asked furiously.

"Because Sam called to me on angel radio," Castiel said. "He didn't sound stressed or scared. He sounded concerned. I knew that I wasn't the one Nick needed; it was you, Dean. We came here to take you to him."

Dean and Mary exchanged a glance. Dean guessed her thoughts were tracking his. If Sam was with Nick again, adding to the way he was stressing –and twisted up as he was after what Michael had done – he was going to be a mess. He needed Dean for that.

"Let's get out of here," he said, weaving through the people in the room to the door then heading into the cool evening air. The others followed him out, and Dean said, "Get us back home, Jack."

Jack gave no answer, but Dean felt the swoop in his stomach of flight, and then his feet hit the ground outside the bunker. His worry ratcheted up as he saw that the door had been busted open.

"Nicky," he whispered even as he ran through the open door and down the stairs.

He skidded at the bottom of the stairs and ran up the short flight of steps into the library where a living nightmare was a tableau in front of him.

Nick was unconscious on the floor, a smear of blood on the wall where he'd evidently hit and a pool forming under his head. Rowena was crumpled against another wall.

Sam was advancing on Nick, unarmed but still a living threat.

"Nick!" Dean roared, and he ran towards them, pausing to snatch up the long silver blade from the floor.

Sam turned, his hands coming up defensively, and his mouth opened to speak, but Dean's hand was already in motion, driving forward.

It was all suddenly crystal clear to him. Sam wasn't an ally—there was no kind of relationship between them at all, let alone a bond. He had them fooled all along. He was the enemy.

The blade sank into Sam's chest right over his heart, and Dean dragged it out. Blood and grace poured from the wound, and Sam looked down at his chest and then up at Dean, looking oddly surprised as a whisper fell from his lips, "Dean…" before his eyes blazed with light, and he collapsed.

Dean stood over him, watching him fall, and then his knees buckled as his head seared with pain, and a wash of images, voices, and horror flooded through him.

He saw a lifetime of memories, Sam's face as he changed from baby to toddler to young man. He saw Sam laughing and crying, angry and excited.

He saw his brother.

Gut-wrenching pain flooded through him and set his veins on fire.

A scream built in his chest and came out as a stunned gasp, "Sammy! No!"

Nick heard the cries, and his head throbbed with pain. His eyes cracked open, and he saw a flood of blue-white light that seared his vision before fading.

"Sammy! No!" Dean's voice howled, "No!"

Someone was screaming, a woman, and Nick sat up to see Mary standing with her hands over her mouth and her eyes wide and filled with horror. Castiel was standing behind her, his face stunned as his hands supported her back, holding her upright.

Nick looked down, searching for Dean, and found him.

There were ashy remains of wings on the floor, but they'd been disturbed by the man that had crawled through them. Dean was kneeling with Sam's body clutched against his chest. As Mary screamed, Dean rocked Sam, howling for him as if he was in agony.

"What happened?" Nick asked.

His voice seemed to reach Dean, and his howls cut off and became a moan. "Sammy. I remember now. I…" He made a choked sobbing sound. "I… Nicky, I killed my little brother."

Nick stared in horror as he saw his brother clutching Sam to him, and then he groaned as a flood of images and voices filled his mind. Memories, he realized.

He remembered, too.

So… How was that for an ending? Ncsupnatfan and VegasGranny wanted more from this. They wanted to know what Nick remembered, for it to be clear before the next story, but I didn't want to take away all the fun. The question will be answered very quickly in the next story, of course, but I wanted to do it at my own pace.

If you agree with them, if you want to know more now and hate me for not telling, I apologize.

Until the next story…

Clowns or Midgets xxx