Sorry this is going up so late in the day, but we had a bunch of storms last night, including a tornado warning that lasted for THREE FREAKIN' HOURS! Then I debated on whether or not to update today, decided that I like you all, and here it is. The final chapter should be up tomorrow :)

Chapter 13

Maybe Forgiveness Is Right Where You Fell

Sam stood on shaky feet, narrowed eyes watching the lanky figure that stood behind the cage. His head came up, long hair hanging in a sallow face. Red eyes blazed, as if fighting for control, as pools of black formed behind the irises, eventually blotting out any color. The eyes closed, and when the reopened, they were bright green.

"Dean?" Sam asked, taking a cautious step toward the body his brother had disappeared into.

Thin lips twisted into a smile. "How ya doin', Sammy?"

"I'm confused."

"You should be."

"Who the Hell are you fighting for?"

Dean reached down and sprung the latch on the cage, swinging the door open. Marc looked up at him with steadily clearing eyes, and Sam realized that whatever had knocked the shape-shifter out had been psychic in nature. "Go," he instructed, "we need help." Marc nodded and left the room.

"You tricked me," Sam said.

"I tricked two of you," Dean clarified. "You're rusty."

"Explain."

Dean shrugged. "You sprung me outta Hell about five years ago, found me a suitable host," he nodded over to the place where his old body had fallen, dead. "You knew that there were people trying to fight you, so you sent me out to spy on them, came up with this whole sad story about you losing yourself. Sad part was, it was pretty much true. I didn't want to leave you alone again. Dunno if you picked up on it, but you're different when I'm here."

He nodded. "Yeah. I did. Almost like a little kid."

"An eager little kid." Dean added. "Anyway, I found Bela, gave her my story, and was in. I didn't think she'd trust me so easy, but I guess she felt bad about what happened."

"So you really were working for the bad guys?"

"Hell, no. Let's just say I had my own agenda."

"And what was that?"

The demon smiled. "Keeping you safe. I didn't leak any really important stuff about the resistance to you, but I leaked all kinds of stuff about this place to them. I stopped after Meg."

"After I killed her?"

"Her last mission was an assassination attempt. She was gonna kill you."

"Would have done the world a favor," Sam said, finding himself relaxing again, believing Dean like he always had, even though the man was a damned good liar and he had just witnessed proof of it.

"I knew I could get through," the demon insisted. "You saw yourself, the way you changed when I walked in. You're still in there. I know it. I'm not sure what I did last time to make you think that it was hopeless, but-"

"What are you talking about?"

Dean shoved his stolen hands into his stolen pockets and sighed, finally moving out from behind the cage to stand in front of Sam, looking him the eye. "Time is a loop. Eighteen years ago, this you," he motioned toward the body he was currently inhabiting, "came here. I guess I couldn't get through then, because this still happened. But you can change that."

"It's destiny," Sam said, shaking his head. "I felt it back there, when you were talking to him. People who go to Hell become demons, and I'm-"

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"What do you want me to do, Dean? Leave you to rot?"

"Come here," Dean said. He grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him roughly to the windows, shoving him up against the glass and pointing out at the muddy roads. "What do you see?"

Sam looked out the window, looked at what was taking place on the streets of Cold Oak. Demons were fighting humans and witches and vampires and werewolves and other demons and it was a bloodbath. In the middle of the fray, he could make out the figure of a petite blonde cradling something in her arms. Her son's head lolled limply against her chest as she screamed at the heavens for taking her only family.

"Will…"

"You know what you have to do," Dean said, placing a warm hand on Sam's shoulder and pulling off the younger man's own puppy-dog eyes to perfection.

"I'm not gonna leave you." But the conviction left his voice as he watched a demon stab a splintered board through Jo's midsection, impaling her against her son's cooling body.

"I dug my grave," Dean whispered, "I don't want to be responsible for digging yours, too."

Sam turned to look at his brother. "I don't want to be alone."

"You won't be. You still have a family. I'll be sure to thank Meg for you."

He snorted laughter, but it came out wrong, like a sob. "I did bad things."

"Let you in on a little secret, dude," Dean said, leaning in close, "the cord isn't severed, but movement will snap it."

Sam backed away. "What the Hell was that?"

"You're the smart one. Figure it out."

"Anymore advice?"

Dean smiled. "Forgive and forget? What's dead should stay dead? Oh, how about, go be your baby daddy?"

"I can't do that."

"If you don't, you've got this to look forward to."

Sam gazed back out of the window, looking down at the carnage that war and his own selfish wants had brought. Suddenly, just as sure as he'd known it was Dean, as sure as he'd known his brother was hiding something, he knew that the older man was right. "You can send me back now?"

"Now? Yeah. You have no idea how powerful you really are."

He looked at what he had become and shuddered. "I don't want to know."

Dean nodded. "Good choice. Now, you gonna do what I said?"

Tears burned behind his eyes, but Sam fought them off, thankful as he was to feel them there after so many dry years. "Yeah. I will."

"Guess you're going back, then."

"What are you gonna do?"

"Me? Well, I don't have anything to worry about, because you're gonna make sure I never wind up inside of you."

"That's disgusting."

"Close your eyes."

"Not after that!" Smiling at his own wit, he did as he was told. Dean placed two large hands on his shoulders, and the world began to spin. Wind whipped around his face, sending his dirty, bloody clothes flapping around his body as his stomach dropped and his feet left the ground. He was falling, falling away from a future that was anything but bright, falling away from what could have been, falling away from his brother. And that was the way that it had to be.

o0o0o0o0o0o

His head hurt again. His head hurt and he was dizzy and disoriented.

Slowly, Sam struggled up into a sitting position on the floor. The altar was in front of him, with the sundial in the center. The thought of Bela, of what he'd done, of what her life would be like, sickened him. He welcomed the sickness, the displeasure, any emotion in this time. He felt like he was coming back.

He stood, his feet shaky beneath him, and frowned at the lack of weight at his side. He'd left the knife. He'd left the knife in a future that was never going to happen. He was going to honor his brother's request. The knife wasn't important. Too dirty, anyway.

He stretched, sticking his fist into the small of his back, waiting for the familiar popping sound as his knuckles slid over the slightly raised scar that Jake had left when he'd severed Sam's spinal cord.

The cord…

"The cord isn't severed," Sam muttered, "but movement will snap it." His eyes widened as he realized exactly what that meant. "Bela!" He dove over the bed, grabbed the phone, and dialed 911 in one swift motion. He only hoped the paramedics got to her before she came to and tried to reach a phone by herself, finishing off Sam's handiwork and losing all feeling in her legs forever.