A/N: Thanks so, so much to everyone for the awesome reviews on part I! :D

And now, to wrap it up(a couple days later than I meant to, sorry!)…part II.

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When he opened his eyes, the light hurt. He winced, took a deep breath and realized that although his ribs felt sore like he'd been coughing or something for days, they didn't ache the way he would've expected. He could remember it all too well, falling to the floor and realizing too late there must've been a hex bag somewhere in the room that he'd missed and then blacking out, 'waking up' to fire and screams and that goddamned son of a bitch he'd thought he was rid of forever. He took another deep breath, threw an arm over his eyes to block out the light for a minute.

"How ya feelin', kid?"

He let his arm slide off, blinked and squinted over to the side, let his vision focus fuzzily. "Bobby?" His voice was scratchy, raw, and he violently shoved back the memories that reminded him why. He had a lot of practice with pushing hell to the back of his mind, now. It came out in his nightmares but during the day…during the day, he'd gotten pretty damn good at control.

"Hey. You want some water?"

He nodded, pushed himself to sit up against the wall and take the glass of water Bobby was offering. It was cold, so cold it almost hurt but it was good. He swallowed slow, let his head fall back against the wall. "Friggin' hate witches."

"You and me both."

He laughed, low, cracked his eyes open again to look over at Bobby. "How long was I out?"

"9 days for sure, probably longer. You hadn't called for three days so I tried callin' you, got Cas to take me out there when I got no answer. Found you on the floor." He sat forward, his eyes a clear mix of curiosity and concern. "What happened?"

He shook his head, tried to remember exactly how he'd slipped up. "She was on to me, I guess. Nasty old bitch, I can tell you that. She's been prolonging her life through some life stealing ritual, has to perform it every 25 years. Takes 13 bodies. Anyway, she was about halfway through her quota in Springfield when I started poking into it. Takes her awhile, see, cause she can only take one a week. Anyway, she musta figured out I was trying to find a way to get at her. Slipped a hex bag in my room or something." He took another sip, rolled his shoulders experimentally and found that though there was a dull ache, he really didn't feel all that bad. "Hey ah…thanks. For…" He gestured vaguely at himself, at the dark stains he could see marking the sheets. "I don't know what all was goin' on here exactly but looks it was about the same as what I was…" As everything that happened, down there. Everything I thought I was past. "Anyway, musta been a handful looking out for me so…thanks for that."

"Dammit…"

Dean looked up, his eyebrows lifting. "Bobby,-"

Bobby held up his hand, stopping him. "Don't. I've had it, and I didn't even last as long as I thought I would. And I already knew I'd tell you!"

"Tell me what, Bobby? What'd I say?" God, please don't let him have heard everything…

"What you said doesn't matter. What does is the fact that it wasn't me taking care of you." He stared him down, and Dean turned away, unwilling to read anything in his gaze.

"Cas? Where is he, I thought-"

"Are you really that stupid? Huh? You really that stubborn that you refuse to believe Sam would be willing to help you now?" Dean opened his mouth, ready, but Bobby wouldn't let him speak. "No. You let me finish. I called him cause I knew this was gonna be more than I could deal with right now, and he pretty much broke the land speed record to get to you. He stayed right there-" He jabbed his finger at the empty space beside him, the sheets there rumpled but largely free of blood. "And he hardly moved a damn inch the whole time you were out of it! I swear, Dean, I've never seen the poor kid so focused! He couldn't help you, but he kept trying, kept telling me he wouldn't let you go through this alone, cause he should've been there the first time around and he wasn't." He moved closer, held Dean's eyes with the intensity in his own. "I know you're hurt. I do. But Dean, he's your brother. And whatever he's done, you mean everything to him. The things he had to see this week, the things he heard? If you wanted him punished, he has been. Trust me."

"Bobby…" He cut his eyes down, fought the tears he could feel welling behind them as he looked away. "I…"

"Personally, I wish I could've taken care of you myself so he wouldn't have had to go through that but if I had, I'm not sure he would've forgiven me. You think somehow you're not his responsibility too? Just cause he got a little screwed up don't mean he doesn't love you, Dean. The two of you need each other, and dragging this out into something big in the middle of the damn apocalypse is ridiculous. You wanna shut him out cause you think that'll keep you from ever getting hurt again? Fine. But I am not helping you do it."

He looked up into the light and let him blind enough to burn a little. This was everything he didn't want to think about, everything he didn't want to consider but even so he couldn't help thinking about parts of it. He could remember with perfect clarity the level of internal hell he'd reached hearing Sam scream himself hoarse down in the panic room, and then, he hadn't even been yelling for Dean. Mostly. Thinking about what Sam must've heard… If he still cared. His heart clenched, thinking it, but he shot the thought down quick. Much as he didn't want to acknowledge it, the puppy eyes he'd gotten every day between Lucifer's release and the day Sam left were more than enough proof that Sam still cared enough to be willing to pretty much beg, at least. And he probably would have been willing to big if Dean had given any indication to him that it would do any good. At the time, it hadn't meant enough. It was easier to assume that if he trusted Sam now, it'd come back around to bite him in the ass. Easier to remember their relationship like it was and think of it as something lost, something utterly out of reach, something he could never have again. If he thought of Sam as being already gone, then it was easier to let the person that wasn't really his brother go. At least, that was the reasoning he'd used.

It felt much less solid now.

"Can I see him?"

"Nothing I want you to do more, but I can't help you with that. He's gone. Took off this morning, while you were still sleeping. He's been gone 'bout 10 hours or so now. Said he didn't want you to know he was here, but I thought that was bullshit so I didn't promise him anything."

His fingers twitched, already inching toward his pocket where his phone should be. "He ah…he say where he's going?"

"No. But knowing the state of mind he was in after the past few days, I'm pretty damn sure he's headin' to Springfield."

"What?" He threw his legs over the side of the bed, practically bolting out of bed. "Bobby, are you crazy? What the hell are you thinking, letting him do that alone? That witch is one seriously messed up bitch; she could do anything to him!"

"Yeah, and after seeing what she did to you, you really think anything I said could've stopped him?"

He was shaking his head, yanking his shirt over his head. "When did he leave?"

"Around 10 this morning. He's probably just getting there now."

"Son of a bitch…" He shoved his hands into his pockets, remembering too late that the Impala would still be back in a motel parking lot in Springfield. "Son of a bitch!" He dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Is Cas-"

"Busy. Taking on some temple translation over in the Middle East. He's been outta cell reach last couple a' days."

"You have a car?"

"Blue Nissan out back should be runnin', but I'm not sure she'll get you to Springfield."

"It'll have to do."

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Getting into Springfield, it had been easy enough to find Dean's motel. He'd only had to check two before he found it, the Impala in the parking lot giving it away when he pulled in. He'd picked his way into Dean's room, gritted his teeth against the rage that came when he saw the bloodstained carpet between the two beds. He'd forced himself to focus, fished around in the room until he found Dean's research and skimmed through it all as quickly as he could.

There wasn't much, and it didn't take long. Dean never had been one to write much down, even when he was compiling his cases. There were a few printouts, a couple of scribbled notes, and their Dad's journal open to a page on life prolongation rituals. It wasn't a wealth of information, but it was enough to give him what he needed. He'd had an address and the confirmation that this for sure was a witch, and that was all he needed. He'd taken the Impala and parked outside her house, and it was only then that he really started to consider what exactly he was going to do.

Clearly, she was major bad news. He couldn't exactly expect to just burst in there and take her, even if he felt like he was angry enough to pull it off. He was going to have to put at least some thought into this. Consecrated wrought iron, for sure. Last time he'd checked there was a box in the trunk, and considering they didn't use as much of that as they did rock salt, there should still be plenty. Other than that he was pretty short on ideas, and at the moment he didn't exactly have the patience to sit down and plan. In his head he could still hear Dean screaming, still his body wracked with pain every time he shut his eyes. He couldn't kill her fast enough.

He got out and slammed the door, dug around in the trunk and loaded his gun with the iron rounds. The lights were all out, and he went around to the back, picking the lock in a matter of seconds. It was quiet in the kitchen, though the faucet dripped and he could hear the creak of wood under his boots. Other than that…nothing. He let out his breath slow, closed the door carefully behind him. Either she was asleep, or she was out. Or she was in the basement getting ready for her next kill. This would be so much easier if she was asleep.

He took another step, turned into the next room. There was a fire burning in a brazier on the dining room table, and he could smell a strange edge to the smoke, something that burned down his throat. Whatever it was it wasn't familiar, and alarm bells were going off in the back of his head, telling him he needed to get the hell out, quick.

He'd barely taken five uneasy steps when his knees buckled.

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Driving into town he didn't even bother stopping at the motel first. He went with instinct(or was it dread?)and tried her house first, one hand slamming hard against the steering wheel when he saw the Impala parked across the street.

"Jesus, Sammy…" It was early morning, the light just beginning to blaze over the horizon as he ran around behind the house, gun in hand. He didn't bother with trying to pick the lock, he just kicked in the flimsy wooden door, unsurprised to find it blasted explosively open. It didn't matter. He was past subtlety, at this point. "Sammy!"

Nothing. He whipped around the corner into the dining room, gun first. There were ashes in a brazier on the table, but the fire had long burned itself out. It was quiet, too goddamn quiet. He could smell herbs in the air, aloe and a mixture of far too many things to name, some he probably hadn't even heard of before. This bitch was into the deep stuff, God only knew how long she'd been keeping herself going at the expense of so many lives. He licked his lips, tightened his grip on the gun and burst around the next corner, unsurprised to find nothing yet again. His nerves were jangling, the back of his mind scrabbling with panic the almost uncontrollably frantic urge to find Sam.

He turned the next corner, saw the door to the basement cracked. A trap if he'd ever seen one, but at this point he really didn't care. He kicked it open, led with his gun even though he knew he wouldn't be encountering anything. Yet. She'd come from behind, probably when he was down there looking Sam over.

He practically ran down the stairs, pulling his flashlight from his belt to shine down into the darkness. "Sam?" He didn't care that she knew he was here. Not at all. In fact, it'd be better. Distract her from anything else she might be doing. It looked pretty big down there, section off, and when he first went to the right he found nothing. He darted left, around a cinder block wall, coming to an almost sliding stop on his knees when he saw Sam chained back in the corner. He slid the gun into his pants, dropped the flashlight beside his knee and took Sam's face in his hands, wiped blood away from his eyes. "Sammy? C'mon, man, wake up." He shook him, gentle. "C'mon, Sam. Get up."

"Mm? Dean?" He blinked, winced at the light.

"Yeah. Yeah that's it." He could've drowned in the relief. He patted his neck once, brought his hands down to start picking the lock on his brothers cuffs. "How bad are you hurt? What'd she do to you?"

"I…I don't really know. Not much, I don't think. I remember…" He swallowed, his head rolling a little farther back as he thought. "I remember coming in here and smelling something I didn't recognize, thinking she was drugging me, but it had to have been strong, Dean, I couldn't even get to the door."

Dean ground his teeth together, yanked the cuffs violently apart. "Yeah, well what the hell were you thinkin', Sam? Coming after her alone? I mean c'mon, how stupid are you?" it was harsh, harsher than he'd meant to be and he winced when he saw Sam's eyes flicker to the ground. "Forget it, ok? You're not…you weren't thinking." He turned on his heel, shined the light into the dark back in the direction of the stairwell. "She come from up there or somewhere else? Or have you been out this whole time?"

Sam shifted, rubbed his bruised wrists and pushed himself up higher on the wall. "I've been out for most of it, but there's a couple fuzzy things…not direction, just that…I saw her moving one of the bodies. The marks on his arms…" He looked down at his own, drew Dean's gaze to a bloody rune etched into the skin near the crease of his elbow. "Maybe she was to do 'em one at a time? Either way, think it's pretty clear I'm her next sacrifice."

"The hell you are. Come on, get up." He smelled it then, sickly sweet and unfamiliar, and if he listened close enough he could hear her soft chanting. "Shit, Sam! Hold your breath!" He swung the flashlight around, caught a gleam of gold in the beam and launched himself in that direction. His foot connected with metal, knocking it into the wall with a satisfying clang, jarring open the door of the handheld incense burner and knocking the herbs loose. It wasn't enough to totally stop the smoldering, but for the moment it lessened the concentration. He had felt a body close for a moment, heard her breath in the space beside him and he reached around for his gun. A blade dug into his arm, sharp and searing, and though he kept his response to a low grunt of pain his hand snapped open on reflex, the gun clattering to the floor.

"Dean!"

"Over here!"

She was chanting again, and Dean sucked in a sharp breath and yanked his injured arm to his chest, spun around and kicked out, his boot striking something solid. He heard air rush out of her lungs and he surged forward, flailing in the semidark for her hair and using it to slam her head into the nearby wall. He didn't have the momentum he'd need to knock her out, but he felt warm blood ooze over his fingers and when she jerked away from him, her movement was unsteady.

The light stabilized then, and he could see that Sam had picked it up, had it leveled at her. As well as the gun. He fired, his aim true from the first shot. Straight in her heart, and she dropped like a stone. He didn't stop there. He stepped closer, emptied the gun into her chest, and Dean could see the flaming rage in his eyes that seemed to only burn hotter every time he pulled the trigger. It reminded him sickeningly of watching him kill Samhain, but he didn't let himself draw away. He stepped up to him, closed his good hand around Sam's arm and squeezed until he had his brother's attention.

"It's ok, Sam. It's done."

"The things she-"

His voice shook, and Dean realized that Bobby had had a point when he'd talked about what Sam had been through. Dean nodded, looked down at the body lying still on the floor. "Yeah, I know. But it's done." He let his hand slide from Sam's arm slow, watched Sam lower the gun just as carefully. There was a silence between them now, awkward and unnerving and unlike any Dean would have ever thought there'd be between the two of them. He cleared his throat, busied himself with wrapping his sleeve around his bleeding right arm.

"How'd you find me?" He sounded so damn much like a kid, lost and scared and having run away from the motel room just to see if Dad would come find him. Of course, Dad never did. That was always Dean.

"Bobby."

Sam nodded, kept his eyes on the body. "Right." Another second, and he turned toward the stairs, actually made a couple of steps.

"You just gonna walk away? Just like that?" Maybe it wasn't the best thing to say, but it stopped him.

He froze, his back still turned. "I don't know, Dean."

He coughed, shifted, scuffed one boot against the concrete floor. "Cause I was thinking…there was this case out west, Utah. Old mining territory, think it could be a wendigo. Something's eating people, I dunno…"

Sam wasn't making this easy on him. Or, more likely, he didn't want to rise to the bait only to find it wasn't really bait at all. Cautious. Yeah, maybe he had the right to be a little cautious.

"I was thinking we should take it. You know. The job." He swallowed, flexed his hands. God, this was hard.

Sam turned around for that, and the stark hope in his eyes was like a damn semi to the chest. "Us hunt together again?"

"Only if you want to."

His face broke into a grin then, pure transformation. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good, Dean."

He straightened, nodded. "Great. Let's get to it then." He took a step, stopped when he realized he wasn't done. "I'm not…I can't tell you I trust you, Sam. Not yet. But-" That look was rising in his eyes again, the one that made Dean feel like he'd just ripped his heart out and run over it with the Impala and it drew him closer, stepping right up to him. "But I can tell you I want to. And I'm gonna try, really I am. And I promise I will, if you give me time. Ok?"

He nodded, quick and silent, his head turned away.

"And I…I wanted to say thanks for-"

That got him talking. "Don't." His eyes actually met Dean's, and yeah they still looked a little abused but his gaze was strong, stubborn. "Don't thank me for that. I should've saved you, I promised you I would, and I-"

His voice broke, and Dean closed the last distance between them, his hand gripping Sam's shoulder tight. "You listen to me, ok? Look you don't know how much I wish you didn't know any of the things I'm sure you do now, but I swear to God, Sammy, none of that was your fault, ok? You couldn't do anything to get me out, and that's not your fault. And I never blamed you for it. Not once."

"But you wanted-"

"Of course I did, Sam! It's hell!" It hung in the air, sharp and almost rough, and he hated himself for the way Sam ducked his eyes again, still guilty. "Sam, look at me. Look at me, ok?" He did, slow and reluctant. "Bobby, he said you stayed. The whole time. And I'm tryin'…" He shook his head, fought his own wave of emotion as the now fresh memories from hell brushed through his mind like salt in reopened wounds. "I'm tryin' to thank you. For staying. For not…not making me do that alone."

"You didn't even know I was there." It was resigned, dejected, and Dean wanted to shake him until he realized that nothing that happened in hell would have been anything Sam could save him from.

"Maybe not, right then. But that doesn't make it meaningless."

They fell quiet, and this one was easier. Maybe not normal, but it felt just a little more genuine. Almost devoid of fear. Dean let go of his shoulder, was letting his arm fall when Sam worked up the courage to ask whatever it was he'd clearly been running over in his head the past few seconds.

"We ah…" He took a deep breath, made himself look Dean in the eye. "Are we ok?"

His eyes were bright, tears and hope and Sam combined into something so fragile Dean knew it would only take a word to make him shatter. That was Sam, always. He let people see when he was about to break. Dean, he kept it inside, broke quietly and tried to smooth over the fissures with his own plaster until the whole damn thing just collapsed. He nodded, let the tension ease out of his own frame. "Yeah. Yeah I think we're gonna be ok, Sammy."

He wasn't surprised when Sam wrapped him in a tight hug, wasn't even surprised by how much weight it seemed to take off of him to hold on just as hard, his left hand gripping into Sam's shirt like it was fused there, impossible to separate. He didn't care that it lasted longer than his macho pride said it should have, didn't care that he turned his head to wipe his eyes against Sam's sleeve as he pulled away. His little brother was smiling at him, the way he had his whole life, and even though everything wasn't alright, it was good. Whatever it was, it was definitely a good place to start.

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I really really love this one as a whole, and I'm so glad I decided to write it, cause at first I almost didn't cause I had too much else I was wanting to work on. This was definitely more than worth the time.

I'm not sure I like that my badass witch died so 'easy', but at the same time I rationalize that in my head by saying she's more effective working over a distance, hex bags and curses and the like, and she would've already expected Dean to be incapacitated…at least that's what I'm saying in my head, lol