Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me. Thank you also Gredelina1 and SandraEngtrom2 for all your help.

Chapter Fifteen

"I'm going to cure it."

Dean's mind spun back over the years to that church, to the sight of his brother with blood dripping from his palm and Crowley bound to the chair, something close to human. The look in his eyes when Dean had implored him to stop and his complete confusion, his inability to understand why it mattered that he could die when he said, "So?"

A wave of horror rose up his throat like bile and he rasped, "No."

"Dean…" Sam started, sympathetic but clearly exhausted.

"No!" Dean said with more power. "That's not happening. We're not going there again."

Castiel frowned. "You're speaking about the trials?"

Sam nodded. "I think it's the only way to stop this."

"By dying you mean?" Dean asked. "Because that is how it would end, you remember that, right? You finish the trials, you die."

Sam looked away across the room, and Dean thought Lucifer was back, but Sam blinked and spoke softly, "It's happening anyway, Dean. Look at me. I'm on borrowed time. This way I have a chance at doing some good on the way. I know it's not what you want, but you have to accept it's what's going to happen. The least I can do is control it when it happens. I'm not letting Lucifer win. He doesn't get to take me out."

"No? You'd rather you did that to yourself, right?" Dean spat. "What's the point in fighting when you can commit suicide?"

Sam stared Dean in the eye. "It's not suicide if you're already dying."

"You're not dying!" Dean argued. "Sure, you're not at your best, I get that, but that doesn't automatically mean you're on your way out."

"It does this time, Dean. You know it as well as I do. Whether it's another seizure or me shoving him out, it's going to happen, and soon."

Dean looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the things he had missed before. Sam looked terrible, as if he really was dying, but it was more than that. It was the deep lines in his forehead and the tremor in his hands, the slump in his shoulders and the wetness of his eyes. It was the look of absolute defeat in him that Dean had seen in that church, when he had been ready to end it before. Sam was fading. Last time, he'd been able to drag him back from that cliff edge with the right words. He had reached Sam, showing him that he cared and that Sam mattered more than anyone to him. He'd made him see. He couldn't do that again. Sam already knew Dean cared. He knew he was needed. He knew there was a reason to fight. He just didn't have any fight left.

The air of the room stuck in his throat and his lungs felt flat and empty. This was really happening. He was losing Sam, be it by Lucifer or by himself, he was going. He must have paled or swayed or something, as the next thing he knew Castiel was saying, "I'll help him," and a chair was being slid behind him and a hand on his shoulder pressed him to sit down. He obeyed without thought, and concentrated on dragging air through numb lips and raw throat to lungs that didn't want it.

When he had himself under control again, he looked at Sam, almost hoping that some kind of transformation would have taken place, that the way Dean felt was from somehow drawing Sam's pain into himself and curing his brother. It hadn't. Sam looked as ill and done as ever, though even sadder now.

He understood now, he could see the truth of Sam's fate, but he had one last chance to save his brother, and he was going to use it. "What if there was another way?"

"What way?" Sam asked.

"I saw Amara on my way back here. She said she could help."

He fought the urge to squirm under Sam's piercingly suspicious gaze.

"How can she help?" Sam asked slowly.

"She can kill Lucifer."

Castiel drew in a sharp breath and Dean glanced at him to see the widening of his eyes and the look of almost excitement on his face. "Yes," he breathed.

Sam wasn't excited. His suspicion seemed to have ratcheted up another level. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Uh, because you're ready to bow out with the trials, Sam. I figure if there's a solution that doesn't involve you dying, you might be up for it. Am I wrong?"

"No, but I don't understand why you haven't told her to kill him already. If it was such an easy solution, you wouldn't have come back here until it was over. That means there's more to it."

"There might be a price," Dean admitted.

"I knew it!" Sam said, his voice a raw shout. "I knew it wasn't over. What does she want from you?"

"Nothing from me. She'd do it for me without asking for a thing. It's the consequences of killing Lucifer that's the… problem." He drew a breath and then spoke in a rush. "There's a chance that killing him will have the same kind of side effect as the prizefight with Michael might have. It'd be in Hell, so it might not be so bad, but it could be. She just doesn't know."

Sam stared at him, stunned, and Dean waited for the explosion. It didn't come. Sam didn't look like he had the energy for it anyway. He looked more wrecked than ever as he thumbed away a tear that crept from under his exhausted control. "You can't seriously think I'd let that happen," he said wearily.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest but didn't speak.

"I get it," Sam said sadly. "And I'm not going to pretend I wouldn't be pulling the same stunt if the situation was reversed. But I can't do it, Dean. I have been the cause of so much pain. People we love have been killed. I won't let the world suffer more because of me. This is the end. I am going to do this last trial and I am going to die. It's going to be over. This is what I need, not another apocalypse."

"And me?" Dean asked, cursing the way his voice cracked. "What about what I need?"

Sam smiled sadly. "I can't give you what you need, Dean. I'm sorry."

Dean shook his head, refusing the apology. He looked to Castiel instead and said, "Would it even work? The trials were stopped a long time ago."

Castiel shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. The secrets of the tablets were never the angels' to know."

"It'll work," Sam said confidently.

"How do you know?" Dean asked.

"I feel it," he said serenely. He nodded and smiled across at Dean. "Thank you."

"I didn't say I'll help," Dean said a little bitterly. He hadn't even decided if he would yet. Accepting that Sam was dying and understanding that he wanted to go out on his own terms was one thing. Actually letting it happen, helping even, was another. He wasn't sure he could do it.

"You will," Sam said. "I know you won't let him…" He trailed off and his eyes became distant.

Lucifer was back.

Dean wanted Hell closed. He wanted every black-eyed bastard locked away for good, but at the cost of Sam's life? Not a chance. That was why he was so reassured by the knowledge it wouldn't work. Sam was going to cure a demon, but that would be the extent of his achievement. And Dean was only letting that happen because he had learned from his mistake of overriding Sam's will with Gadreel. He would go along with it, he would get Sam to the demon and help him make it through the next eight hours, and then he would comfort him when the trials failed.

They were waiting for Castiel to call to say it was all set; Sam slept while Dean gathered everything they would need for the cure. Dean himself would have gone to find the right location and the demon for Sam to work on, but he didn't trust anyone but himself to watch over Sam now. He accepted that what had happened wasn't truly Castiel's fault, but that didn't make it any easier to bear the knowledge of Sam's suffering.

Dean was just stowing the duffel he'd packed in the trunk of the Impala when he heard the shuffle of Sam's footsteps approaching. The fact that Sam's state of being was obvious before he was even in the room galled Dean. He hated that it had come to this, that Lucifer had brought Sam so low.

"Hey," Sam said, coming into the garage. His face was wan and tired but his smile was large and genuine. He was energized by something. "Cas called." And that explained the smile. "He's got us all set up in Kensington.

Dean forced a smile. "That's great."

The understanding look in Sam's eyes made it obvious that the smile had failed completely. He knew Dean was suffering; he always knew.

"We should head out."

"You in that big a hurry?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "Makes sense to get it over with before Lucifer gets a grip again."

The easy way he said it, as if Lucifer breaking into his head and torturing him was as natural as breathing was infuriating. That things had come to this. Dean didn't think he had ever hated anymore more than he did Lucifer in that moment.

"Okay. I've got everything you'll need." Dean rounded the car and climbed in behind the wheel. Sam braced himself on the hood as he walked to his door and almost fell into his seat.

"Ready?" Dean asked.

"Yes." Certainty and determination in his tone. "I'm ready."

Ready to die. It wasn't going to work. It couldn't work, because that would mean Sam was gone.

Largely, Lucifer had been tame during the hours in the church. He still dragged Sam into himself, but he didn't torture him into seizing again. He was mainly occupied with sneering comments on Sam's lack of resistance and the complete failure the attempt to close Hell would be. Sam suspected that he was so confident Sam would fail that he wasn't worried about interfering with the process.

"Sam!"

Dean's voice broke through Lucifer's hold and Sam jerked back into awareness in the chapel. Dean was leaning in close, holding the back of his neck with one hand and the other was on the arm of the chair. When he saw Sam was aware again, he released him and stepped back. "You with me?" he asked.

Sam nodded and drew in deep breaths through his nose, grounding himself in the moment and reality. He took Dean's proffered hand and allowed himself be helped to his feet. He swayed slightly, and then got a grip on himself and straightened.

"Are you ready?" Castiel asked, holding out the syringe.

"Yes." Sam took the syringe and pressed the needle into his arm, drawing up the blood required with a hiss of pain. He felt Dean and Castiel's eyes on him, and he looked up at them and smiled. He wanted to give the impression of confidence and surety in what he was doing. He didn't want them picking over these last hours and seeing any trace of doubt in him that they could blame themselves for not capitalizing on when this was over, when he was gone. Though he was sure he was doing the right thing, he wasn't happy about it. He didn't want to hurt his brother and friend, and he knew he would with his death. It was the only way though. Death was coming for him and he wanted it to be on his own terms.

The demon was sitting, staring at the stained glass window that she faced. She was in the meat suit of a middle aged, motherly looking woman. Sam almost wished they were exorcising instead of curing, as this woman didn't deserve to have her body taken by a former demon. This was the demon Castiel had found though, and Sam had to work with what he had in the limited time they had.

As Sam reached to tilt her head to the side to inject the blood, she tensed and closed her eyes. She had been quiet since the fifth hour's dose. Before then, she had taunted and mocked. Sam remembered the stages of Crowley's decline into emotional breakdown, and wondered if she would mimic him to the very end, if she would cry and ask him questions he had no answer to. Just like with Crowley, he would have no answer to give if she asked what he had confessed. Not even Dean knew this time. Sam had been alone in the church when he had whispered his confession: God, forgive me for leaving my brother behind.

Sam seemed to have sunk into a kind of exhausted stupor. He slumped in his chair with his eyes half closed. Dean stood beside him, his hand on Sam's shoulder in an unspoken gesture of comfort.

When the hour before the last dose ticked by and Dean's phone beeped, he said Sam's name softly and shook his shoulder, rousing his brother to wakefulness. "It's time," he said. Time for blood. Time for Sam to attempt to close Hell. Time for him to fail.

Sam pushed himself to his feet and held a hand out for the syringe. Castiel handed it to him and Sam drew up the blood, watched by them all, the demon included. He staggered to the demon's chair and braced himself on the backrest. "Here goes," he said, forcing the needle into the demon's neck and depressing the plunger. The demon cried out at the pain, but Dean's and Castiel's attention was fixed all on Sam as he dropped the empty syringe to the floor and wiped a shaking hand over his face.

"Sam…" Dean said in a strained voice, unsure of what would follow, but Sam didn't even seem to hear him. He was drawing a penknife from his pocket and flipping open the blade. His hand shook so much as he brought it to his palm that Dean thought there was a real risk of him hitting something vital.

He plucked the knife from his hand and Sam's eyes widened, "Dean?"

"Let me help," Dean said softly. He could do this, help Sam finish the cure. He could say then with good conscience that he had helped Sam try to do what he thought he needed to do. When he was consoling him later, back at the bunker, Sam couldn't blame Dean for not supporting him. That felt important.

Sam nodded and a wash of gratitude seemed to flow through him. He held out his hand and Dean drew the tip of the blade quickly across his palm. Blood welled in the wound and Sam brought it slowly to the demon's mouth and smiled. "It's okay," he said gently. The demon's eyes were wide and afraid but Sam's were reassuring as he spoke the Latin required.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Hanc animam redintegro. Lustra! Lustra!" Sam staggered back and Dean raised his arms to catch him. He panted with strain, and Dean brought a hand around to his chest and patted it. "Easy," Dean said. "You're okay."

"What? Why? What happened?" the demon asked, "What did I do?" The eyes were brown and the expression horrified, but neither Dean nor Castiel paid it more that a moment's attention.

"Wow," Sam gasped. "It's done."

That wasn't true. It was almost done. There was still the trial to attempt.

Sam stepped out of Dean's hold and turned to face him, his tired face resigned. "Thank you," he said. There was no pretending he was thanking Dean for his help in the immediate. There was too much emphasis for that. Dean shook his head. He couldn't bear to hear the goodbye, even though it wasn't spoken directly. "Sam, don't…" He didn't want Sam to even attempt it. He didn't want to draw Sam to the attention of the fates. "Don't do it," he said. "You cured her. Let's just leave it at that, okay?"

"I have to try," Sam said.

He turned to Castiel and with a sad sigh, Castiel stepped forward and his arms came up to embrace Sam. They held each other for only a moment before Sam was pulling back and smiling sadly. "See ya, Cas."

When Sam turned to him, Dean stepped back, shaking his head. "No," he croaked.

Sam looked sad but understanding, as he said, "Okay," and pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it and opened his mouth to speak.

Dean acted instinctively. He grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him into a hug. They held each other long, their breaths coming fast and hard in unison, and Dean tried to swallow down the horror that was rising in him at the possibility that this could be it. He tried to find the words to tell Sam not to do it, to stop him, but then Sam was stepping back and patting Dean's cheek and he still hadn't spoken.

With one hand on Dean's shoulder, Sam smiled and said. "Kah-nuh-ahm-dahr."

There was nothing for a moment, and then his eyes rolled back and his knees buckled. Dean grabbed at him, calling out his name, but Sam slipped through his weak grip and fell hard onto the floor. Dean shouted his name again but Sam's unseeing eyes didn't blink and his parted lips formed no words.

He was already gone.

So… I guess I should say sorry. It's not over yet though. Have faith.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx