Well, this is the end, folks! I'd like to say a special thanks to Tree for helping make sure the med stuff in this part is accurate and believable! And now…on with the show!

Someone or something was behind Sam. He could hear the scuffling noises as who, or whatever it was hurriedly scrambled down the embankment. Maybe Azazel was back already. Maybe his sacrifice just didn't work without a real death.

Sam should have spun around, should have been ready to meet the attack head on, but he just didn't care anymore.

When a warm and gentle hand squeezed his shoulder he finally craned his neck enough to see who the newcomer was.

The eyes that met his were pleasant and soothing, no hint of orange glow in their pale blue hues. "You found your brother…" The fire fighter from earlier kneeled, slipping a hand to Dean's neck to quickly feel for a pulse. "Sonny, you need to let me take him. He needs help…" The words were soothing, as if he somehow knew just how numb Sam was feeling. He'd seen this kind of reaction so many times - too many times, in fact.

Sam flinched back as calloused hands offered to take his brother. He wasn't letting go, couldn't let go. It didn't matter about the throbbing in his hand, it didn't matter that he was struggling to stand with Dean's weight. Somehow, he wasn't going to let big brother down again.

The fire fighter backed off a little, offering Sam a steadying hand as he clambered up with Dean's limp body in his arms. His steely blue eyes watched the younger man carefully, ready to take the load should Sam falter on his rapid ascent of the embankment.

Sam's long legs traversed the muddy incline with surprising speed and agility, despite the lifeless weight he bore on both arms. But then, Sam didn't feel Dean's weight, all he felt was the same void in his stomach the night he'd watched Jess burn, the night he'd stood outside Dean's hospital room as he'd flatlined, the same loss he'd felt every time Azazel had his way.

You don't win tonight, you bastard…

False bravado spurred the young hunter on, the elder fire fighter jogging at his side as they approached the emergency vehicles Sam had seen earlier. As they grew closer Sam began to feel nauseous. This was the part where he had to hand Dean over. He had to put his brother's life in others hands.

Why can't I heal him, dammit!

Sam gritted his teeth, suddenly pulling back as a paramedic offered to take Dean's sagging body from his arms. He didn't trust anyone with his brother. How could he after Missouri? To let go now would be like admitting it was over. His fingers gripped Dean harder until his broken hand seemed to scream at him to let go.

"Son, you have to let them take him." Sam felt the fireman prying his fingers loose. "C'mon, let the medics do their job…"

"I…I have to watch out for him…" Sam stammered out the words as if he were drunk, but then, that was what this felt like – some liquor induced nightmare he would wake up from. "Have to look out for him, like he has me…"

"You are, son," the elder man reassured. "Now let them look after him."

Sam felt his grip loosen, although he had no real memory of his brain telling his muscles to do so. It was like watching a movie. It wasn't real. It wasn't really happening to him, was it?

As he watched, bleary eyed beside the ambulance's two rear doors, the paramedics worked on Dean in the back of the rig. He couldn't see everything, couldn't hear everything, but what he saw was enough to bring back echoes of the past he didn't want reminding of.

In truth, he remembered little of the aftermath of the crash in Missouri. His first fleeting memories were of the paramedics carrying him from the crushed Impala along with Dean and their father.

The medics had said little to placate his worry back then, and somehow he expected the same response now.

What can they say? They know I don't want to hear he's dying…

"You gonna be alright, son?" The fire fighter placed a blanket over Sam's shoulders.

Sam nodded, only now realizing how much he was shaking. Covered in Dean's blood he probably looked as big a candidate for the back of the ambulance as Dean did.

Not that bad. I'm not dying. I'm not the one who always pays the price…

It was easy to take the blame. Easy to take the weight on his shoulders for everything that had happened. Just not so easy to accept he was going to face the world alone. Sam swallowed, feeling bile rise in his throat. He felt sick to the stomach – sick of the crap life dealt the Winchesters.

He dared to look up, to try and peer into the back of the rig to see what was going on. Part of him didn't want to know for fear of what the knowledge might bring.

From what he could see, the medics had already cut off Dean's clothes and hooked him up to an EKG. Sam's eyes focused on the monitor, watching the tiny lines that mapped out his brother's heartbeat. Looking at it, hell looking anywhere, was better than looking back at the shredded mess of Dean's chest now his shirt had been removed. .While the little machine kept on beeping, Dean kept on living, and that was all Sam was interested in.

"Jesus, what the hell makes a wound like that…"

Sam started as he realized the medics were talking about the demon's handy work. Until now, he hadn't even really been aware he could hear their conversation.

"Okay, hand me another trauma dressing ..."

"IV's in. Running it wide open."

It was ironic, but as Sam watched the pair work, he couldn't help but realize the Dean's earlier quip had come half true. One of the medics working on him was a girl. If he'd been conscious, no doubt her number would already have been memorized. Not that there was any chance of that happening now. If this played out like Missouri and Sam's gift didn't kick in, it was likely Dean wouldn't wake ever again.

The idea was too much and Sam turned away, blinking back tears as he was forced to continue to hear the ambulance's crews muffled dialogue.

"MAST pants…on and inflated…"

Sam didn't even understand some of the medical banter, but it didn't matter. It really didn't take too much of his imagination to fit the pieces together. Would he soon need to make another funeral pyre like their father's?

"Dude, you cut up my best pair of friggin' jeans…"

Sam's eyes opened wide at the muted but slightly angry voice. I'm hearing things…

"Sammy…"

Sam spun around so fast the blanket dropped from his shoulders and he thought he'd slip on the wet gravel beneath his feet. Inside the rig, Dean had pulled off the oxygen mask that had been placed on him and was weakly struggling with the nearest paramedic, blissfully unaware that he'd lost far too much blood for such antics.

"Dean, just…" Sam clambered into the back of the ambulance, not quite sure what to say, but knowing he had to do something to stop his brother undoing the medics work. "Just lay back, I'm here, alright?" He placed his damaged hand atop Dean's, feeling a sense of relief wash over him along with a fresh surge of pain from the broken bones that were gleefully grinding together.

Dean huffed and then grimaced. "Dude, isn't it…about time you worked some of your…mojo on me here? 'Cause I'm telling you this hurts like a bitch." He looked at the female medic still working on him and his lips curled into a slightly roguish smile that said a lewd thought had definitely crossed his mind, blood loss or not. He eventually let his head loll sideways. "Dude…what they put me in, I feel like the friggin Stay Puft Marshmallow Man…"

Sam noted the bizarre pneumatic pants on his brother and could only guess at their purpose. Still, anything that kept Dean alive was nothing short of amazing, and if he could have given the designers his gift, hell, anything, he would have right then and there.

He caught the girl paramedic shooting him a look and wondered if she'd noticed Dean's bawdy expression. If she had, he hoped she chalked it up to shock, and not that his half dead brother was a pervert.

"Dean…what you said back there about faith…" Sam wanted Dean to believe in something now, anything as long as it kept his wayward butt fighting.

Dean took a breath and his eyes closed momentarily. Damned if he wasn't tired again. He let his fingers squeeze Sam's arm with what little strength he had. "Sammy, the only thing I ever had faith in…is you, little brother…" With that his eyes closed again and he drifted off into peaceful ignorance.

Sam's gaze instantly shot to the monitor still checking Dean's vitals, but it continued to beep rhythmically. He sighed with relief, the constant memory of his father and Dean flatlining in Missouri tugging at his soul. At his side, the male medic slipped the oxygen mask back over Dean's face and jerked a thumb towards the rigs doors. "We need to get moving. You can ride up front if you like. We need the room back here to work."

The younger Winchester opened his mouth to protest. He didn't want to leave his brother, not for a moment, not for a second. Dean would want him to be here if…if…

No, that wasn't going to happen. Dean had come around once, he would again. Sam nodded and clambered out of the rear doors, cradling his hand to prevent further mishap. When he realized the medic wasn't right behind, he turned, needing answers. "He's my brother," he simply stated, the emotion in his tone making it quite clear how fragile his mind was right now. "I…I need to know…"

"He's stable for now, but he needs a hospital. We really should get moving…"

So little information, just like Missouri, but then, at least this time he knew Dean was alive. Back at the Impala he hadn't even been given that snippet of hope.

Sam bobbed his head in thanks and climbed up into the rig's cab without further questions. Questions cost time, and time was something Dean might not have. He waited patiently, wondering why the medic hadn't followed him and hit the gas and sirens.

Instead, the driver's door still hung half open, and Sam noticed there was no customary "thunk" of the rear doors closing from behind the ambulance.

He strained his ears, suddenly needing to listen to what was transpiring in the rig behind him.

"He's bleeding through!"

Sam caught his own reflection in the rearview and saw the color drain from his cheeks until he looked like Casper. He fought the urge to race back around to Dean, but all he'd be was a hindrance to the medics.

"Sammy, the only thing I ever had faith in…is you, little brother…"

Sam buried his head in his hands and began to weep. He didn't care that tough guys shouldn't cry. He didn't care that it wasn't macho. All of the pent up feelings of loss, remorse and desperation finally flowed freely.

When the driver finally hastily appeared and threw the ambulance into gear, turning on the lights and siren, Sam's ears struggled to pick up the security of the cardiac monitor as it metrically beeped out its assurance that his brother was still with him.

"What the hell?" A panicked cry from one of the medics rose above the sirens scream and the engine's roar, panicking Sam even further.

Sam turned in time to see a flurry of movement from the compartment behind him, followed by the continuous monotone beep of the monitor as it signaled the absence of a rhythm.

It was a sound that Sam was all too familiar with, and it signaled the death of a Winchester.

----

Missouri Moseley's Home

Three Days Later…

"Dude, do you have to keep fidgeting?" Sam looked across Missouri's dining table as his brother moved uncomfortably on his chair.

Dean scowled, holding a hand over his chest as if its mere warmth and presence would somehow alleviate the pain he was in. "Hey, I feel like a Grandma's best needlework effort here. Show some compassion. Anymore stitches saving your ass and they'd need to rename me Patch."

Sam rolled his eyes, watching as Missouri brought a huge dish of homemade broth from the kitchen and set it down on the table between them. "Dude, you broke my hand!" He lifted up his arm and offered up the cast that was protruding from his shirt sleeve.

"Yeah, well, it's not my fault you act like a girl. Even your bones are soft. First some zombie chick, and now a little knock and you fall apart!" Dean grinned, suddenly feeling the urge to annoy his brother more. "Not to mention you made a complete ass out of yourself in the ambulance. Dude, trying to climb in the back of the rig and almost landing on top of me? So not cool…"

Dean's smirk grew until he saw the huge ladle Missouri was brandishing, and his smile faltered for a moment.

"Well, if you hadn't tried your unruly Great Escape routine and tugged of the heart monitor leads and IV's, I wouldn't have had too." Sam's expression grew momentarily pained. "Dude, you scared the crap outta me. When I heard the monitor…I thought…"

"Yeah, well I'm not going anywhere. 'Course, it might have been fun if the gal medic had tried to restrain me…" Dean sobered just a little after his slightly crude thought. "Good job our old friend Azazel decided not to turn my insides into ground beef quite so soon this time. I guess he's secretly starting to like my smart ass comments and witty comeback, huh?" He eyed the soup now being served into a dish before him. It looked damn good, but he was still wary of the spoon from hell in the psychic's hand as he watched its every move.

"Or he knew if he killed you quickly he had no leverage over me…" Sam rubbed at his head. It was all getting too much again just thinking about it.

Dean had been lucky and escaped with no real internal injuries save for two broken ribs. The rest of the lacerations had been deep, but not penetrating. All his brother had to show outwardly for the attack was a busted and cut lip where he'd unceremoniously face-planted the university wall. Unless, of course, he took his shirt off, then it was a whole different story.

"So, just how did you get out of that burning building anyway? I thought you were toast, literally." Sam nodded his thanks to Missouri who was still serving and taking in the proceedings silently.

"I walked down the stairwell, how else?" When Sam's face contorted he held up a hand in submission. "Alright," he sighed playfully. "A couple of students found me and gave me a hand. But I still had to find your ass on my own."

Sam rubbed at his mouth and frowned. "Yeah, I think you chipped my teeth…man, this is so going on your credit card to get fixed…"

"Hey, well you do have this bad habit of putting guns in your mouth when they weren't made to fit there." Dean took a sip of his broth and savored the flavour. "Thanks," he offered as Missouri finally took a seat between them.

"You're welcome…" Missouri smiled and looked at both brothers. "You know, I bet your daddy had to butt your two heads together when you were kids to stop you quarrelling."

"Mostly he just threatened to take Dean's arsenal of toy guns away." Sam beamed, reaching out for a hunk of home-cooked bread that had been carved up on the table.

As his arm moved, Missouri's eyebrows melted into a frown. Emblazoned right along the chalky-white cast in huge red letters were the words "Internet Porn Surfer."

"Dean Winchester!" Before the elder hunter could move, he found the harsh metallic edge of the ladle from hell rap across his knuckles turning them a tinge of scarlet red.

He recoiled, cradling his hand even though it was really more his macho pride the psychic had hurt. "Hey! I can't help it if little Sammy can't get enough of that stuff!" Dean watched with satisfaction as his brother blushed, indicating his guilt.

"No, but you waited till he was asleep to write on the boy's cast. Shame on you!" Her eyes flashed as Dean almost attempted a retort – almost. "Ah!" The ladle reappeared in Missouri's hand to Dean's horror, followed by the sound of the plump spiritualist and his brother bursting into laughter.

"Hey, I'm injured here…cut me some slack!"

For today, the joke was definitely on Dean.

The brothers exited Missouri's home a little over two hours after they'd arrived. There was so much more to do, and neither had any clue where to begin. How could they, when their foe was the devil incarnate.

"You boys don't be strangers, now. Your daddy left it too long to visit me. Don't you go making that mistake…" Missouri hugged Sam and then looked him in the eyes as if expecting a question. "Well, come on now; spit it out, boy, or do I have to wait out here all day?"

Sam glanced to Dean and then back down to Missouri. "Is it gone? I mean…what we did, was it enough?"

Missouri smiled a wan smile and placed a hand on his arm. "Sam, I wish I had the answers, but even God can't kill the devil. You'll have time to heal - time to find the other children like you and warn them before his return. That's all I sense."

"And when we find the kids, what if this bast…" Dean stopped, searching for the spoon that may or may not be hiding in Missouri's hand. "This… thing has already gotten to them?" He reached for the driver's door of the Impala and then decided against it. Just moving pulled at his stitches until it made his teeth grind. And that was without the agony in his side from the ribs he'd busted. He tossed the keys reluctantly to Sam instead.

"Sam will know what to do." Missouri answered cryptically. "Trust in yourself," she soothed to the tallest brother. "And everything will fit into its place. You're a part of this fight, and you have to embrace that."

Sam nodded. His destiny was already written, already mapped, and all he could do was make sure you chose the right paths. He bobbed down, climbing into the black classic and cranking the engine.

Dean joined him in the Chevy, winding down his window to give Missouri a slight wave. "That's what I keep telling him. Trust yourself." The hunter beamed. "But trust your big brother more…" He grinned then winced, leaning forward to stick a cassette in the car's player.

As Sam pulled away from the sidewalk Bon Jovi's Keep the Faith began to blast out until it was almost deafening.

Mother mother tell your children
That their time has just begun
I have suffered for my anger
There are wars that cant be won

Faith: you know youre gonna live thru the rain
Lord you got to keep the faith
Faith: dont let your love turn to hate
Right now we got to
Keep the faith
Keep the faith

"Dean? Did it have to be that song?" Sam shook his head but knew his brother would never change. That was what made his wayward ass so lovable.

"Hell, yeah!" The infamous "Dean grin" appeared. "Besides, you do realize you gotta get a handle on these powers of yours, right?" He raised a brow.

"Huh?"

"Well, Sammy, I've been thinking…if you can heal…we could do the whole Roy Le Grange thing! Think of the cash, the girls…" Dean winked. "We could retire to Hawaii by summer!"

Sam couldn't help but laugh. "In your dreams, man. In your dreams…."

The Impala vanished over the horizon, heading South out of Kansas and on to its future. Inside, two brothers, two warriors journeyed to their ultimate destiny, the fate of mankind unknowingly in their hands.

THE END