Chapter 11

Bobby was sleeping at his desk, amidst a massive collection of lore books and other ancient tomes, when his phone began to shrill. The harsh tone startled the grizzled hunter awake, and he cursed himself for having fallen asleep during his research before reaching for the ringing device. "Yeah?" he growled, massaging his stiff neck.

"Bobby?" The voice on the other end was tired, and sounded small, almost childlike. Bobby sighed, immediately recognizing the fear and grief in young Sam Winchester's voice, and felt his heart sing. Something had to be very wrong for the usually calm, steady young man to show his vulnerability. Something involving his father or more than likely, his brother. Balls, he thought to himself. Goddamn John Winchester…

"Sam? What's wrong, boy?" Knowing damn well what the problem was, and dreading the answer.

"It's… it's Dad. He dropped off this gun, Bobby, said it was a special Colt…."

"Balls!"

"….and he wasn't supposed to make any contact with us." Sam drew a deep breath, knowing that he probably sounded far from coherent at the moment. "Bobby, Dad breached his contract when he gave us that gun. He's… he's…"

"Jesus, Sam…" Bobby felt his heart ache for the young man. He was far from John Winchester's favourite person, but the man had moved Hell and back for those boys. The thought of him being mauled by Hellhounds sickened him. "I'm sorry, Sam, about yer Daddy."

But Sam ignored Bobby's offers of condolences, and instead felt a sob forming from beneath his throat. Quickly he swallowed it back, wiping yet another onslaught of tears from eyes already red and burning from crying. "It's not just Dad, Bobby. Dean…"

Dean. Immediately the hunter cursed himself as he recalled the last conversation he had had with John Winchester. Of how one of the penalties of any breach of contract was the return of Dean's cancer. "Sam," he repeated sadly, and felt the moisture forming from beneath his closed lids. "Is he…?"

"No, not yet. But I need your help, Bobby". A hint of determination had returned to the young hunter's voice, bringing much needed comfort and relief to the older man. And Dean was still alive, at least for the moment. And with that was even the slightest hope that maybe there would not be a second Winchester corpse to burn. "I can take care of it, son. Where was yer Daddy when he….? Well, you know."

Sam paused in surprise. In his fear for his brother's life, he had forgotten about his father, the arrangements that needed to be made. The typical hunter's funeral. As if on autopilot, he gave Bobby the necessary information, and fresh grief overwhelmed him. The fact that he had nearly forgotten about his father's mangled body, of how he was being tormented at this very moment in Hell, sickened him. But Dean was still alive, and if nothing was done soon, there would be another corpse on the funeral pyre. No. Not if I can help it.

"Thanks, Bobby, I appreciate it. But I need your help with something else, too."

"Well, doesn't that sound completely non suspicious."

"There weren't any deals. I swear. But I do know where the demon Dad was hunting is going to be. It's somewhere in Lawrence, but I don't know exactly where. Was hoping you could narrow things down a bit."

"No deals, huh? There better not be. Because if I find out you pulled a stunt like that for yer brother so help me God…"

Sam sighed, fighting to hold back the exasperation in his voice. "There were no deals, Bobby. I promise. But I need your help. The demon said…"

"No deals!? But you're talking to a goddamn DEMON? Jesus, Sam, ye idgit!"

"I didn't make a fucking deal with her!" Sam felt his voice rising, only slightly feeling guilty for raising his voice at the man who had been their father figure for years. He felt the Impala surge forward, and Sam eased on the gas. He had to cool down, for both his and Dean's sake. "Look, I understand. Demons can't be trusted. But I'm running out of options, Bobby. And this one gave me not only a location, but a possible way to save Dean."

Bobby sighed, the anger gone from his voice. "How would killing that thing save yer brother? And besides, how can you be sure it's telling the truth, Sam? Demons lie. It's what they do. They get off on manipulatin' people." There was silence on the other end of the line, and for a moment, Bobby thought that Sam had hung up on him in frustration, no matter how out of character it seemed. People tended to act irrationally out of fear and grief. But after a moment, the old man heard a soft sigh, and Bobby could tell the kid was trying to keep from crying. "I know, but I can't see him die, Bobby. Not again. Not like that. Please. You have to help me." Sam cleared his throat, and spoke again in a steadier voice. "Can you at least give me something? Look up some signs of demonic activity?"

Bobby closed his eyes, massaging his aching temple. He didn't want to see Dean suffer any more than his brother did. He loved both Winchesters as if they were his own, and had grieved almost as much as Sam and John when he had first heard of the kid's cancer diagnosis. Allowing him to die a slow, painful death, for the second time in months, would be cruel, to both brothers. But rather than show any emotion, he let out a gruff "I'll see what I can do" and Sam disconnected the call, feeling the first gleam of hope since Jess's death.

XXX

Bobby had called back with the information a few miles before Sam reached the Lawrence city limits. There plenty of signs throughout the area, but they seemed to be the strongest on the city's outskirts. Cattle dropping dead, freak electrical storms, the usual MO of demonic activity. Sam eased the Impala to a stop and dialed the hospital for an update on Dean's status. Still in critical condition, suffering from kidney failure; he could go at any moment. Trying to block out the image of his brother dying and focusing on the still alive, Sam pocketed his phone and drew a deep breath. According to Bobby, Yellow Eyes was close.

"I'm coming for you, you sonofabitch," he hissed, opening the trunk and pulling out the Colt and other necessities for the summoning ritual Bobby had given him. Fortunately, Sam had most of the ingredients on hand, and had little trouble acquiring the rest. Satisfied, the hunter made his way into the building, praying that his crazy plan to save his brother would actually work. There was a possibility that he was not walking out of here alive; but so long as Dean was cured, he had no quarrels with that outcome. Jesus, guess I really am more like Dad.

Within a few minutes, Sam was in the basement of the abandoned building, constructing an elaborate devil's trap. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he prepared the ritual, sliced the palm of his hand, and lit the match. At first, nothing happened and Sam began to question the accuracy of the information, despite the fact he knew damn well that Bobby Singer didn't fuck things up to that magnitude. He was just deciding that perhaps he had been the one to mess up when he heard a sneering voice from behind him.

"My, my, where did you learn that trick? Daddy, I assume? Guessing the apple didn't fall too far from the tree, hmm?"

"Shut up."

"My, my, don't we have our panties tied up in a knot?" The demon walked toward Sam, and his eyes flashed gold. "I know you." He scrutinized the hunter for a moment, and a slick smile spread across his face. "You're one of my special children, aren't you? An excellent specimen, too. Looks like someone has been eating his Wheaties."

"Shut up."

The demon laughed, his voice pure venom. "For someone as supposedly educated as you are, you have a limited vocabulary. But you're smart." Scrutinizing Sam a second time, and nodding in satisfaction. "Oh yes, you are definitely my favourite. But I'm sure there's a reason for our little rendezvous, am I right? Let me guess. Following Daddy's footsteps, hmm?"

"Save him."

"Now whatever are you talking about, Samuel?"

Sam gritted his teeth, struggling to control the urge to just kill the sonofabitch now. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Bring back my brother. Now."

The demon grinned again, that smile that made Sam nearly want to vomit what little was left in his stomach. "Oh, that's right. Your beloved older brother. On death's door as we speak, is that right? Liver cancer? Wow, what a bad way to go. Maybe he should've laid off a bit on the hard stuff. That stuff'll kill you."

At that, an overwhelming fury threatened to overcome Sam. Pulling out the Colt, he aimed the weapon at Yellow Eyes' temple. "Save my brother you fucking sonofabitch of I swear to God I'll send you right back to hell." The demon seemed unfazed, not once flinching at the sight of the Colt. But there was a moment's hesitation in his voice. "Where did you get that?"

"Oh, this thing?" Sam could feel himself calm at the demon's discomfort; so he hadn't known of the Colt. "You wanna know what would make my father risk breaking his contract? Seeing me put a bullet between your eyes."

The demon was at last looking a little worried. He lunged toward Sam, furious, only to be frozen by an invisible barrier. "A demon as powerful as you know noticing a simple devil's trap? Must be losing your touch." Once more the demon's eyes flashed yellow, and he outstretched his hand; in seconds Sam was pinned to the wall, the Colt skittering uselessly across the floor. "Don't underestimate me, boy," he hissed. "You might be one of my special children, but you are still expendable."

Pinned against the wall, Sam saw the demon snap his fingers; in seconds he felt the air escaping his lungs. "I remember the night I first saw you. Just a small, innocent baby, but I knew that you were one of mine. Too bad about Mommy, though. But she just had to get in the way." The demon closed its eyes, reminiscing. "I can still remember that look in her eyes when I pinned her to that ceiling. When I slit her open…."

Sam tried to say something, anything, in rebuke, but could only gasp for breath. He could feel his chest tightening, vision blurring, as he struggled to draw air into burning lungs. Is this how I die? Pinned to a wall with the thing that killed my mother laughing at me? And suddenly, he could see her, as beautiful as ever, smiling warmly. He saw Jess, his beautiful Jessica, standing beside her with tears in her eyes. And his father, his own eyes wet but with a smile on his face, nodding as if in approval. You can do it, son. You can kill him.

I can do this. Closing his eyes, Sam concentrated on his brother, on Dean alive and healthy and gorging on junk food. And suddenly, the Colt shot through the air, into his hands; the demon's hold on him broke, and Sam found himself gulping precious oxygen into starving lungs. Surprised, the demon stared at him, looking frightened for the first time since his summoning. Before he could regain his composure, he found himself once again staring at the barrel of the one weapon that could kill him.

"This is for Dean," he hissed, and pulled the trigger.

XXX

In a hospital room on the other side of the country, Dean Winchester shot up in his bed, gasping.

XXX

Sam stood before the body of the Yellow Eyed demon and for the first time felt himself beginning to tremble. How the fuck had he done that? He'd just thought of the Colt in his hands and the gun had somehow made its way to him. Did it possibly have anything to do with the demon's reference to Special Children? Was he a freak? Massaging his aching temple with his still unsteady hand, Sam stared at the corpse, his eyes once more smarting with that goddamn endless stream of tears, whole body shaking gently with the relief of seeing the thing that had killed his mom, his fiancée, lying there, lifeless. Later, he would remember that the man lying there was no more than an empty shell, just a man who had unwillingly been involved by the sheer misfortune of being the poor bastard Azazel had chosen to possess. But no thoughts of innocent civilians ran through Sam Winchester's mind as he pulled out his cell phone with shaking hands and dialed the hospital where his brother was living his last days.

"You need to get here as soon as possible, Mr. Winchester. We have news about your brother."

For a moment, Sam felt the breath once more drawn from his lungs. It hadn't worked. Azazel was dead, but that didn't change the fact that Mom was gone, too, Jess…. and now Dean too? What of revenge if he could not share that moment with his brother? He felt himself begin to choke up, was ready to cry for what seemed like the hundredth time in less than a year when the kind voice on the other end of the line interrupted him.

"I just don't understand it. They say it's a damned miracle…"

"Wait, are you saying my brother's ok?"

"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I'd have never believed it, but yes, Mr. Winchester, your brother is awake and talking. No traces of cancer in his body whatsoever."

Sam barely remembered the conversation that followed. In moments he was once again behind the wheel of the Impala, breaking records as he sped to California, again crying his eyes out, whispering over and over his gratitude to whatever higher power was listening: Thank god. He's alive. He's going to be ok. Thank god thank god thank god. By the time he had finally pulled into a space at the hospital, he was exhausted from his having driven practically non-stop for over twenty-four hours, stopping only to catch an hour or two's rest in the back seat. Heart pounding, he hurried to the Information Desk, followed impatiently as he was led to his brother's new room. He felt a pang of guilt at the thought that Dean had awakened alone, no doubt scared for not his own wellbeing, but Sam's.

And then, he stood before his brother, sitting up in bed and trying to flip through a copy of Popular Mechanics. At the sight of his brother, the magazine was tossed aside as Dean looked up, trying to look casual and failing miserably. Sam, on the other hand, was not as successful at controlling his emotions. He stood at the door to the hospital room, mercifully uninhabited, and bit his lower lip to keep from crying again. "Dean," he murmured, staring at his brother, his healthy brother.

"Geez, Sammy, you're such a girl." But there was no malice in his voice, and when Sam was at his side, pulling him into a tight embrace, Dean felt himself relax in the hold, patting Sam gently on the shoulder, hoping the simple touch would steady the tremors in his giant little brother's body. After a while, the trembling eased, and Dean pulled out of the embrace, giving his sibling's hand a gentle squeeze before breaking contact entirely.

XXX

The conversation Sam had been dreading came up about half an hour later, the brothers once more alone in the room after yet another interruption by one of the many baffled medical professionals dropping in on the mysterious cancer patient. Sam had been flipping through the channels of Dean's hospital issued TV, trying to resist from grasping his brother's hand. The emotional moment over, Dean would now push away his brother's touch, never one to open up or engage in anything he occasionally referred to as a "chick flick moment". Beside him, Dean was once more trying to focus on the articles in his magazine, but found himself distracted by thoughts of his brother and miraculous recovery. A recovery which was highly suspicious, especially considering his father's….

Dad. The magazine once more slipped through his fingers. For a moment, he sat there silent, eyes closed. His father was dead, of that he was certain. In those terrifying moments when the cancer had returned, Dean had overheard the conversation Sam had been having with his father before…, well, before. And he knew that his father had somehow breached his contract. He was not angry at his father for his actions: John Winchester would never willingly harm his sons; there must have been a good explanation, one he would try to pry from Sam when he was out of this goddamned hospital. But now, there were other pressing issues on his mind.

Like how he was once again miraculously cured of his cancer.

"Sam, what did you do?"

"What?" Playing dumb. Pretending he has no clue when he damn well knows what I'm talking about.

"Sammy." Softer now, with a hint of emotion in his once steady voice. Sam finally looked down at his brother, sighed. "I did what I had to do."

"Please tell me you didn't make a deal. I swear to God, Sam, if you made a deal with one of those sonsofbitches."

"Dean! I didn't make a deal, I swear." Was only seconds away from dealing, though, Sam thought bitterly. There were some things his brother didn't need to know about.

"Then what were you doing, Sam? You weren't here when I woke up, didn't know what happened to you until the nurse said you were on your way."The unwritten Winchester rule, Sam thought with a sigh. Unless absolutely necessary, one did not allow the other to wake up in a hospital alone. It brought nothing but fear for the other's safety, and hidden resentment once the other sibling was accounted for. Sam knew this, and felt once again the pang of guilt that Dean had had to go through that; knew that if his plan had, god forbid, failed, his brother would have possibly died alone too. A thought which nearly made him sick to his stomach.

"Sammy?"

"I went after the demon."

It didn't get any easier, even after confessing the same to Bobby not two days earlier. Dean closed his eyes, and turned his head away from his brother, an action which hurt Sam more than any physical or vocal outburst. "Dad came by the motel that night, and he had this gun with him."

"The Colt?"

Sam looked at his brother, surprised. "Yeah. How'd you know about that?"

"Dad told me stories about it growing up. Figured it was just a myth."

"Well, it isn't," Sam chuckled bitterly. "Heard that killing the demon might cure you, so…" No need for him to know the intel came from a demon, and not Dad.

"So you went out after the demon, alone. Jesus, Sammy."

"And what would you have done, huh? If it were me lying in that bed? I know you wouldn't just let me die."

"You could have been killed, Sam. You're…" You're all I have left. The thought made Dean physically ill. Suddenly there was nothing he wanted more than to get behind the wheel of his Baby, just drive, block out the emptiness and loss from his father's death. He wasn't sure how he could live with that, the guilt that he'd been the reason his father was now suffering in Hell. But to lose Sam, too...

"Dean, I already watched you almost die. And I couldn't do it anymore, ok? I just couldn't." Sam turned away, swallowing the lump in his throat. At least there were no more tears, his eyes finally having shed all he had left. And sitting in that bed, watching his brother still grieving the second near loss of his older brother in less than a year, Dean softened. "It's ok, Sam," he said gently, and he grasped his brother's hand, holding it gently for a moment. The kid needed the touch of his brother at the moment, emotions be damned. Sam looked down at his brother, grateful, before nodding gently and reaching fo the remote.

It was time to move on. For both Winchesters.