Author's thanks! : You guys have been awesome. The fat lady's singin'. I wish this chapter was longer, and I hope there will be more some day. All comments/crits welcomed! And thanks bunches for hanging with on this 'til the end.

It wasn't as though Sam couldn't have controlled himself; it was that he didn't want to. All the rage and fear had balled up into a nucleus of hate, and that hate had become a force of nature. Or supernature, as the case might've been. He had freed Dr. Hyde, and it'd felt like damnation. It'd felt like giving up, like surrender. In that moment, he hadn't cared if it had meant his undoing; he'd always known he would kill for his brother. So he did.

The moon washed him in the cold light of revelation. He'd torn out a heart, ate it even as it thudded in his hand. He was a freak. Again.

Sam trembled in the desert night air, wearing nothing but blood and sand. He looked at Dean, prepared to meet the anguish in his brother's eyes.

But there was no anguish, merely understandable shock. "Um. That was …"

"I'd never hurt you, Dean. I swear." Sam sounded like he'd been gargling thumbtacks, or more accurately, chewing his way through a ribcage.

"You unshifted."

"Yeah? I suppose?"

"Because you wanted to? Because you didn't want to hurt me?"

Sam nodded, feeling a hesitant smile make its way out. "Yeah."

"Huh." Dean turned to Olivia, a finger raised in thought. "What do you know about the Leviathans?"

She blinked at Dean's sudden segue. So did Sam, actually. "I've never set eyes upon one, fates forbid," she said. "Never heard tell of a hunter who had! I honestly fancied them to be extinct, or mayhap never more than far-flung legend."

"Hate to break it to you, but they ain't legend. Sammy, that cave you were in, did you see the paintings?"

"What? No," Sam said. "I was too busy, oh, you know, surviving."

"There was graffiti in the cave—"

"Pictographs?"

Dean squinched his eyes. "If you say so. They looked like kid-drawings of werewolves making dog food out of chompers."

"There is obscure lore that confirms this," Olivia agreed, "that werewolves—called the Behemoths—were purported to be the sworn and true enemy of the Leviathan. As the mongoose is to the snake. There was a great and ancient war and the Leviathan were rent limb from limb and banished to the oceans."

Sam had moved to poke around in the ruins of his clothes, and he paused. He filtered through the fresh, new, horrible experiences he'd just suffered: the blind, single-minded instinct to destroy; the prideful swell of authority; the sheer power within the body he'd worn for a few scant moments. It had felt like having the Devil stuffed back inside but this time, Sam still had a say. He'd managed to turn it on and off again … exercise a sliver of control. And Dean seemed to be on-board with it. "Are you suggesting I might be a biological weapon?"

Dean gave a shrug and hoisted his brows.

"Folks." Lom cleared his throat. "We seem to have company." He was staring along a westerly ridge. Backlit by the low-hanging moon was a small silhouette, a child … a girl.

Dean leveled his gun at her.

"Emmeline?" Olivia said, dubious.

The girl approached slowly, picking her way around tufts of weed and bits of dead Billy. She stuck a wand of rock candy in her mouth and gave the scene a round of applause. "Bravo!" she said around the sweets. "I gotta say, Rocky and Bullwinkle here never fail to entertain, but you—" she wagged her candy at the witch "—are getting on my last nerve. First you give me the ol' heave-ho, then you beg for my help? What's it gonna be, sister?"

"I'm…I'm sorry. I just…"

"Yeah, yeah, whatevs. I send you THE infamous Winchester brothers, the least you can do is get me a fruit basket. Jeeze."

Dean lowered his gun. "Gabriel."

The little girl curtsied. "Nothing gets by you, does it, Deano? Oh hey, by the way, Sammy, nice look on ya, man."

Sam straightened up and stared at the angel's strange little vessel. Yes, he felt a tad underdressed, but there wasn't much he could do about it; his clothes were rags. He drifted his hands in front of his crotch and shuddered, skin cooling as the adrenaline burned away. "Not in the mood, Gabriel. What do you want?"

"He just wants to screw with us," Dean growled.

"Not true!" Gabriel had the nerve to look indignant. "Okay, maybe just a little. But I've had my fun now and believe it or not, I like you knuckleheads so I'm here with a peace offering. I'll boot-scoot you right home, boys. Back to the land of Big Mouths and Obama Care. You just say the word."

Olivia stepped forward. "Wait. The Paiute's cure—"

Heat lightning danced between unseen clouds; off along the horizon, thunder rolled. A storm was brewing and something was making Gabriel squirm. She pursed her lips and waited for the rumbling to fade. "What about it?"

"Does it work?"

The little girl's face screwed up in thought. "That's a good question. Yanno, I'm not sure. It's a slippery thing, switching scientific classifications and all. Makes the gene pool pretty damned muddy. But hey, if a vamp can be unvamped, why not a werewolf? Guess you'll have to play the game and find out."

The sky cracked in a jagged white bolt, fizzing with energy. The entire party flinched under the brief flare.

"Who'd you piss off this time, Gabe?" Dean asked.

"The heavenly host has no sense of humor. War this, war that. Borrrrrring." Gabriel pouted. "Okay, so I guess this is my cue to tell you two to shit or get off the pot. Stay for the cure or run home again, home again, jiggity jig. Pick your poison, boys."

Sam locked eyes with his brother. In Sam's mind, there was no debate. A trace of a smile quirked Dean's lips.

Dean walked over to Lom and bent to grasp the piano man's hand. "Take care of yourself."

"I always do," Lom grinned wearily.

Sam nodded to Olivia, but since he was bare-assed naked and coated in dried blood and grit, he didn't think she'd appreciate a parting hug.

The heavens roared again, and an archangel—in the skin of Emmeline Chivington—snapped her fingers.

The end...?