Author's Note: Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, guys. I'm really blown away by the great comments and I really appreciate each one! This chapter marks the final full chapter; chapter 9 will be an epilogue to get the boys put back together enough before 6.15. So, please leave me a review and let me know what you thought!

Warnings: Spoilers in this chapter through 6.14 with a few hints through 6.20. This story takes place between 6.14 and 6.15.

Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine. I'm just happy to play in the sandbox and promise to put the toys back when I'm done.

Chapter 8

Vigil

A shadow crossed Sam's face and Dean knew he'd hit his mark. Sam swallowed. "Dean, please. Don't—"

Sam cut off as he made a choking noise and his eyes rolled up back into his head. His entire body racked with tremors and all thoughts of revenge flew from Dean's head. He dropped the knife to the ground and rushed to Sam's side, grabbing onto his brother as he stilled, just like back in Rhode Island.

"Sam," he called to his unmoving brother. "Sam!"

"Dean," someone said but Dean ignored the word.

No, no, no. Not now, dammit. Not now! "Sammy!"

But his brother didn't respond. As Dean knew he wouldn't. Dean swallowed and put a hand to his brother's neck, searching desperately for a pulse—for the second time in minutes. He felt the faint beating beneath his fingertips, but the weak sign of life did little to assuage the terror in his chest.

"Don't do this to me again, Sam," Dean groaned. "Not again." Not when he'd just gotten him back…again.

"Again?" Bobby asked with panic barely contained in his voice. "Dean, is this—?"The older hunter was sitting on Sam's other side with features drawn in worry

Dean nodded. "The wall, yeah," he managed to choke out against the lump in his throat.

He'd told Bobby about Sam's seizure on Rhode Island in hopes of brainstorming ways to keep it from happening again (they hadn't come up with any ideas other than keeping Sam away from places that might trigger him, which Dean had already figured out on his own, thanks very much), but hearing about it and seeing it were two different things.

"He was out two or three minutes the last time," Dean added hoarsely, feeling like he needed to fill the otherwise dead silence. "Said…" He swallowed. "He said it felt like a week."

Bobby's face lost its color and his mouth worked, but no sound came out. He looked just as helpless as Dean felt.

He freakin' hated this more than he'd hated just about anything in his life. Sam was locked in memories of torture even Dean couldn't imagine and there was nothing he could do to protect his little brother from it despite every instinct inside him screaming to do something.

"Look after Sammy."

"Yeah Dad, you know I will."

Bang up job he was doing on that front. Dad would be so proud.

Dean swallowed and forcefully shoved the thought aside. This was not the time. He looked back down at his brother—his battered brother who was broken in so many ways—and put a hand on his forehead before jerking it back in surprise. Sam was burning up. Dean wasn't sure why he was so surprised; his brother's mind was back in Hell, after all.

Then again, Lucifer ran cold.

Dean shook his head and put his hand back on Sam's forehead and ran the other back through his brother's mop of hair, idly thinking the kid needed a haircut. He didn't know what else to do. He didn't know if this was just another crack or…

"C'mon Sam," Bobby murmured, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder like he was trying to anchor the kid. Or maybe himself. "C'mon back to us, son."

Dean's eyes went back up to his angel friend. "Cas," he began, trailing off. He didn't think he could put into words what he wanted to know; that would make the possibility real, and he wasn't ready to face that.

The angel frowned down at Sam. "I believe it's just another crack, Dean."

Dean didn't have the energy to be weirded out by Cas' apparent ESP. "Like before?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Cas leveled a stare at him, and Dean suppressed a shudder at the look. "I believe it will be much worse when the wall comes down fully."

"We'll know, you mean?" Bobby paraphrased.

"You'll know," Cas agreed. He looked sad and Dean tried not to think about what that could mean.

"Can't you do… something for him?" Dean pressed. "Anything?"

"I told you before, Dean, I wouldn't know where to start," the angel replied wearily. "And anyway, I used a considerable amount of energy healing his physical wounds."

"Oh. Right." Something deflated in Dean at that; his last hope for some kind of miraculous rescue for Sam gone.

With nothing else to do, Dean looked down at his watch. Sam had been unconscious for four minutes, already longer than his first seizure. That probably shouldn't surprise him either; Winchester luck and all.

God dammit. He didn't know how time moved in the Cage, but if three minutes had felt like a week to Sam before, Dean didn't want to think about how long this trip down memory lane would seem to Sam, especially when he was so wrecked already.

"C'mon Sam, please," Dean pleaded with his unresponsive brother. "You're out of there. You're not in the Cage anymore. You're safe with me. And Bobby. And Cas. Lucifer can't hurt you anymore. We won't let him. No matter what. Please, Sammy."

But, just like in Rhode Island, Dean's words had no effect. His shoulders slumped, but he kept running his fingers through Sam's hair. The thought of not being able to touch Sam suddenly seemed too much to bear. He needed to be as close to his brother as he could. It was the only thing he could do for him now.

The barn lapsed into cold silence as they all watched Sam and waited. Dean could practically feel the second hand on his watch ticking against his wrist, each stroke a painful indictment of his inability to protect Sam. Worth. Less. Tick. Tock.

"What do you think triggered it?" Bobby asked gruffly at the seven minute mark.

Dean blinked and tore his eyes from Sam's still form to look at the older hunter. Bobby was watching him, nothing but worry and concern on his grizzled face. Dean gave him a half shrug and looked down at Sam, pressing his lips together. He hadn't been so much concerned with the cause as the effect.

"It's…" he began, unsure of how best to say what he was thinking, "it's harder when you're hurt. To keep those memories at bay," he clarified at Bobby's confused look.

Even now, years after Dean's trip to Hell, he would wake in cold sweats from dreams spent in the Pit after a nasty hunt. Considering the memories waiting behind Death's wall and what Sam had been through over the last week, Dean supposed it was only surprising the seizure hadn't happened sooner.

Bobby merely nodded thoughtfully and turned his gaze back to Sam. He'd grabbed the younger hunter's wrist with his other hand at some point and was rubbing circles against Sam's skin with his thumb, though Dean doubted Bobby even realized he was doing it. It was something he'd done for them when they were kids staying at his house if they'd been sick or hurt.

Dean remembered getting knocked on his ass by a nasty flu bug when he was seven or eight. Bobby hadn't let Sam in the same room for days to keep the younger boy from also catching sick as well, but the older hunter had stayed at Dean's bedside instead, reading books Sammy had supplied from his meager collection of bedtime stories and rubbing those comforting circles on his arm while Dean dozed in a sickness-and-medicine-induced haze. That much he remembered clearly.

Another thought struck Dean with the force of a punch to the gut. The phone call. He'd seen how pale Sam had gone when Walt had played the message, how defeated his posture after all the resistance he'd put up until then. Dean knew his brother, knew the countless stages of rebellious Sam after his rough, argumentative teenage years.

He'd seen the exact moment his brother had given up his resistance—the moment Sam's will to fight had broken.

The memories might be harder to keep at bay when hurt, but the apparent burden Sam had been keeping to himself for the last two and a half years—something Dean meant to clear up as soon as his stubborn masochist of a brother was back on his feet because he would wake up and he would recover; there was no other way things could happen as far as he was concerned—had been what had put another crack in the wall.

As if Dean couldn't feel any worse about that damned phone call.

A sudden gasping for air pulled Dean from his dark reverie. He started sharply before looking down to see Sam's eyes open but not focusing. He was jerking weakly against the hands holding him. Bobby pulled away, clearly not wanting to spook the younger man. Jolted into action by decades of honed protective instincts, though, Dean gripped Sam's shoulders tightly.

"Hey, Sammy, you with me?" he asked.

Sam blinked a few more times before looking up to see Dean leaning over him. Hazel eyes narrowed in confusion before they lit up with recognition moments later. He nodded. Dean sighed in relief and helped ease his brother up off the floor. Sam sagged against Dean, his head drooping against his brother's chest. His eyes shut before blinking open again. Dean shifted slightly to get a better grip on his brother but otherwise didn't move.

Dean patted Sam's shoulder lightly, hoping he wasn't hitting any wounds. "You in there, Sam?"

Sam was trembling and Dean pulled him closer. He felt Sam swallow. "Yeah, Dean," he croaked shakily.

Damn, it was good to hear his brother's voice, even if it was shredded from screaming.

"We need to get him out of here," Bobby said, brow furrowed.

"The car's a mile on the other side of the field," Dean countered. "I don't think Sam's exactly up to walking and I don't want to risk carrying him in the dark." Too many divots and roots in the ground to trip over. And even if Cas had healed the worst of Sam's injuries, no way in hell was Dean risking hurting him any further.

"I can walk," Sam protested.

Dean scoffed. "Don't think so, kiddo. You can barely sit up."

Sam sighed but didn't argue—a testament to just how crappy he must feel. Bobby was right, though. Sam was in rough shape and they couldn't afford to stay here all night.

"Hey Cas," Dean said, looking up at the angel once more. "Think you could…? I mean, could Sam…?"

Cas frowned thoughtfully for a moment before nodding. "I can send you to the Impala. That short a distance shouldn't further aggravate Sam's injuries."

Dean nodded. It was a little over a two hour drive back to Bobby's, but Sam looked ready to pass out again and would probably sleep the whole way anyway.

"What about them?" Bobby asked, nodding toward the four hunters lumped gracelessly in the hay bales.

Dean blinked in their direction, having completely forgotten about them after Sam had collapsed. Cas must have been keeping them still and silent while Sam had been out, which was a relief. Dean didn't think he could bear listening to the taunts they might have thrown out.

The bastards didn't understand what Sam had sacrificed for them, didn't understand the price he was now paying for it. He felt his anger spike again, but the feeling fell to the wayside in favor of worry for Sam. As much as he'd like to rip them limb from limb, Sam needed him now. And Sam always came first.

"Dean," Sam said tiredly.

Dean looked back down at his brother, who was watching him carefully, fighting valiantly to stay conscious until the situation was settled. Sam hadn't wanted him to take the hunters out before he'd collapsed. Hadn't wanted him to go back to the part of himself he hated the most.

And, damn the geek, he was right. It wasn't worth it. Not now, not with more important matters to deal with. Message received, Sammy.

"Doesn't matter," Dean said wearily. Sam huffed a relieved breath against his jacket.

"We can't just leave them," Bobby argued. "They'll just come back for you again."

"I'll take care of it, if you wish," Cas volunteered.

Dean and Bobby both stared at the angel. Cas' unwavering gaze, however, gave away nothing. He might as well have said the sky was blue or the moon rose at night.

"What are you going to do?" Dean asked carefully.

Cas titled his head. "Make sure they never come after you or Sam again," he said.

"Cryptic much?" Dean muttered.

"Dean," Bobby pressed, eyes flicking to Sam, who was fading fast.

Dean bit his lip before nodding. He trusted Cas with his life—and more importantly with Sam's. That's all that mattered here. Besides, Cas was an angel. What was he going to do to some humans?

Cas nodded and walked over to the kneeling trio. Dean shook Sam's shoulder gently and the younger man sluggishly looked up at Dean. "Cas is gonna get us out of here, alright?"

It took a moment for what that meant to dawn on Sam, but he nodded once it did. "'Kay."

Cas fixed Dean with an intent stare. "Keep a hold of Sam."

"I always do."

Cas raised a hand to Dean's and Bobby's foreheads and the next thing Dean knew, he, Sam, and Bobby were kneeling in the dirt next to the Impala in the dark copse of trees he'd last seen in the fading daylight. Dean's stomach turned over but quickly settled with solid ground beneath him. Dean blinked and exchanged a look with Bobby before looking down at Sam.

"Sammy, you good?"

A wan smile. "Peachy."

Dean snorted. "Sure you are." He dug into his jeans pockets until he came up with his keys. He supposed he should be lucky that Walt and the others hadn't bothered to take them from him after they'd knocked him out. He tossed them to Bobby, who'd gotten to his feet. Bobby caught them reflexively before looking at Dean in surprise.

"I don't think me or Sammy are up to driving tonight," Dean supplied with a one-shoulder shrug.

Bobby simply nodded, unlocked the car, and opened the door to the backseat. Dean glanced down at Sam. His brother's brow was furrowed like he was trying to shove down a wave of nausea—which, considering the ride on the angelic expressway, he probably was.

"Sam," Dean said and Sam opened his eyes to glance up at Dean.

"Present."

Dean's lip quirked at that. "Glad to hear it. Look, we need to get you into the car."

Sam tried to push himself away from Dean's chest but didn't get very far before sagging again. "Hey, hey," Dean said, grabbing at him to keep him from faceplanting, "don't push it." His eyes flicked up to Bobby, who was waiting next to the car door. "Let me and Bobby do the work."

Sam sighed at that, but nodded into Dean's shoulder. Dean managed to maneuver out from under Sam and gripped his shoulders. Bobby came over and grabbed Sam's legs. Sam's eyes screwed shut and he hissed in pain as Dean started maneuvering him into the backseat. Dean got in first, backing into the car, pulling Sam's upper half with him; he muttered apologies the whole time as his brother couldn't hold back some moans of pain. Bobby helped swing Sam's feet into the car as Dean scooted back.

Dean realized too late he'd gotten into the car without opening the other door. He was stuck against the door, Sam's upper half backed up against his chest. Bobby peered in and Dean shrugged. "I'm not going anywhere, Bobby." The older hunter snorted but shut the car door behind them. He got into the driver's seat and buckled up.

"Dean," Sam whispered, no strength behind his voice, "this can't be comfortable."

"No idea what you're talking about, Sammy."

Dean felt rather than saw his brother roll his eyes. "I'm fine. Sit up front."

"Like hell you are," Dean retorted. "Just shut up and get some rest."

"Such a jerk," Sam muttered, his eyes already drooping shut.

"Bitch," Dean replied with a small smile, wrapping a protective arm around Sam's chest—whether for Sam's sake or his own, he couldn't say.

Dean looked up as Bobby started the car and pulled her onto the road. Their eyes met in the rearview mirror and the older hunter nodded before looking back at the road.

As soon as Dean, Sam, and Bobby had gone from the barn, Castiel turned back to the hunters he'd been holding still and silent. He released his hold on their tongues and the one called Walt spoke first.

"What the hell was that?"

"What the hell are you?" the one called Tim chimed in. He looked like he would have liked to back away had he been able to move.

"I told you, I am an angel of the Lord," Castiel replied. "And the Winchesters are my friends."

"I find that hard to believe," Tim said.

"Either part," the one called Reggie added.

"That is not my concern," Castiel said. "You hurting my friends, however, is my concern."

"What are you going to do to us?" the one called Roy asked. There was a tremor of worry in his voice. Good.

"I'm going to make sure you never bother the Winchesters again."

"And how are you gonna do that?" Walt demanded. "And what the hell happened to Sam back there?"

Castiel stared at the hunter, driving the mortal into silence. He felt a pang of guilt in his chest at the part he'd played in Sam's current state. But there was nothing he could do about it now, except keep it to himself until the right time.

"That is the price Sam pays for saving the world," Castiel replied.

"What?"

"But I am familiar enough with humans now to know you will go after Sam and Dean again if I let you leave this place," the angel continued.

"Hey now—"

Castiel strode toward the frozen men. "But you are hunters. You wish your lives and especially your deaths to mean something."

"Wait a second…"

"Be assured that your souls will go to the cause of defeating Raphael so he won't restart the apocalypse." So Sam and Dean didn't sacrifice everything in vain. He stopped in front of the men, whose faces had gone from cocky to fearful.

"Our souls?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Raphael?"

"What the hell?"

Castiel rolled up the sleeve on his coat to his elbow. He leaned over the closest hunter—the one called Roy—and plunged his hand into his midsection.

The screams echoed hollowly through the barn.

Dean was pulling up a chair next to the couch in Bobby's living room when dawn broke. Freakin' endless night, Dean thought tiredly as he looked at Sam. His brother was finally resting, if fitfully, in no small part thanks to the painkillers he and Bobby had pumped into him the moment they'd gotten back to the house.

They'd cleaned Sam up as best they could—Sam had tried valiantly to help but his contribution had ended up being staying conscious while Dean and Bobby worked—changed his clothes, and tended to his injuries. Thankfully Cas' healing had left only the superficial wounds and bruising; they would take some time to heal, but they were nothing Dean or Bobby hadn't dealt with before. Sam resembled a mummy under all the bandages and ice packs, but, hooked up to an IV, he was on the mend.

Well, on the mend from superficial physical wounds at least. They couldn't touch Sam's deep-seeded emotional wounds, Dean amended as he watched Sam shift uncomfortably in his sleep. Fantastic.

He knew the memories that had leaked in through the crack in the wall were slowly eating at Sam. He'd done a pretty good job of hiding it while he was awake after Rhode Island, but he hadn't been sleeping well. And when Sam didn't sleep well, neither did Dean. Sam's nightmares hadn't been this bad since Jess. With this new episode, it was only bound to get worse. Dean only wished he had a better way to help Sam through it; his own methods of dealing with memories of Hell hadn't exactly been healthy. Still wasn't.

And then there was the matter of that freakin' phone call. That, at least, Dean could put to rest. As soon as Sam was back among the world of the living—which might not be for awhile.

Which left the older Winchester to keep vigil over his hurt brother and stew on his thoughts. And the irony of him being the one brooding didn't escape him.

"Awesome," Dean muttered, rubbing his face through his hands. "Just awesome."

A flutter of wings from behind had Dean turning around. Cas stood in the doorway, his eyes going immediately to Sam.

"How is he?" the angel asked, taking a step into the room.

"Resting," Dean replied, rising from the chair. "But he'll recover." I hope.

Cas nodded. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Walt and the others?"

A shadow passed over Cas' face but it was gone so quickly Dean thought he'd probably imagined it. Light was beginning to pour in through the window, anyway. Weird lighting.

"Taken care of," the angel said.

Dean crossed his arms across his chest. "Meaning?"

"Meaning they won't trouble you or Sam in the future."

Dean let the words wash over him before frowning. "Do I even want to know?"

Cas hesitated before speaking. "No, probably not."

Dean nodded at that, too tired to give much thought to what the angel might have done. "Fine. Just as long as they won't be coming back for revenge or whatever."

"They won't."

"Great."

Sam moaned something unintelligible in his sleep and Dean looked over his shoulder to see his brother twitching in his sleep. His heart clenched at the sight, but he turned back to Cas, only to hear a flutter of angels and find the doorway empty.

"Yeah, great seeing you too, Cas," Dean grumbled. And thanks for leaving before I could thank you for your help, dude.

With a sigh, Dean dropped back into the chair at Sam's side and waited.

tbc…