Note: This story and I stopped getting along (it was done with me and I was done with it), so I decided to finish it in one fell swoop. I hope everyone isn't too put off by the end, and that you aren't confused by the different points of view. Thanks for your support and please review this last chapter! If anyone has any questions I forgot to answer or suggestions on future stories or anything at all, don't hesitate to bring them up! I thrive on your opinions!

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With as little warning as he'd had when the vision swarmed him, Sam was slammed back into reality. Dean was driving already, lines of salt neatly redone on every entrance to the car. The younger hunter was a little surprised. Apparently, he had been out longer than just the usual few seconds. He tried to get out of his uncomfortable position where his neck kinked at an impossible angle against the door.

"Ow," he murmured when he moved.

Dean looked over quickly. "Sam? You okay?"

"Not really," the other answered as his head still throbbed. "Where are we?"

"Nearly to Bobby's. You've been out for about three hours. I stopped already to replace the spare tire and nothing tried to get me. I don't think whatever wants revenge is following us. And I called Bobby."

"Three hours?" he repeated. "Ugh."

"What happened, Sam? You kind of did the vision thing but then you passed out."

"I had a personal visit from an old friend," Sam ground out.

Dean knew exactly what he was talking about. "And?"

"And he said it's his turn."

"His turn? What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know."

Dean nodded as though this was a perfectly acceptable situation. "That's okay. We'll figure it out before anything else happens."

The pressure in Sam's head was letting up, which, as it turned out, was both a good thing and a bad thing. The good news was that he could finally focus. The bad news was that he could also finally feel other parts of his already abused body. His ribs were on fire, and pain lanced up and down his leg. He tried to ignore it.

"At least you're mostly out of danger," he said, trying to make conversation that he was sure would distract him from his throbbing body.

"We don't even know what's going on here, Sam, and you think I'm out of danger? From what I can tell of the past four hours, the only person who was really in danger was you."

Sam sniffed lightly but didn't respond. Dean stole glances at his brother, worry all over his face. "Sam? Maybe you should get some rest. You look like death warmed over." There was a pause, and before his brother could reply, Dean continued, "No, you look far worse than death warmed over. We've had a lot of experience with the dead, and most of them look better than you."

"Your concern really touches my heart, Dean. It really does."

"Sleep," the elder Winchester commanded from the driver's seat.

Sam wasn't inclined to argue. He felt terrible. His eyes slipped shut before he realised what was happening and he soon found himself slumbering. In retrospect, both he and Dean should have known that it was a bad idea; he was extremely vulnerable to visions and dreams while he slept. And that was when the demon came for him.

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Dean was beyond concerned when he pulled into Bobby's place. Sam had started to sweat and shiver at the same time. His forehead felt hot. He trembled. He didn't respond to any of Dean's attempts to wake him. And he whimpered. That was the worst part. Something was making him whine in a completely un-Sam-like manner. It annoyed him. In fact, Dean was almost enraged when he got to the passenger door and jerked it open. Bobby was already on his way out to greet them.

"Dean?" he asked.

"He's in serious trouble," the older brother said. "Sam's unconscious and something's getting to him."

Bobby accepted this without another question and helped Dean carry Sam into the house. They laid him on the couch, which just so happened to be under another devil's trap. Bobby figured Dean would be too distracted by his brother's health to notice, but those hazel hawk-eyes still picked it up.

"What's that for?"

"You already said on the phone that you don't know what's going on. We can't be too careful."

"He's not possessed," Dean snapped. "And the last few days haven't given us any good experiences with those stupid traps."

"It can't hurt. Besides, we don't know why he passed out. Let's just get him settled and then figure this thing out."

Dean nodded after a moment's consideration and brushed his brother's hair out of his face almost paternally. "I'll save you, kid," he whispered, knowing his words were falling on deaf ears.

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Interestingly enough, Sam could hear Dean's words of comfort from the prison inside his own mind. And it was a good thing, too, because it helped him to wrap his head around the idea that this wasn't real. He was currently trapped in a hanging cage that was barely big enough for his whole body. Actually, his legs and arms were hanging out of the large metal bars so he could ease the pressure on the rest of himself. The demon stood below him, a mass of black cloud and those irritating yellow eyes. The only positive in this whole situation was that his physical pain hadn't followed him into this place.

"Just make this easier on yourself, Sammy," the demon said. "You're going to lose one way or another; it will be so much less painful if you give in now."

"Go to hell," Sam snarled dispassionately. He had already had this same conversation about thirty times now, and the response was almost involuntary now. He would never give in.

"They can't save you, you know," the demon growled.

Sam permitted a mirthless grin. "My brother can save me from anything."

"You have misplaced faith."

"Not a bit," came the confident reply. "He's always been there and he always will."

"But there isn't any way to stop me now. Your soul was sold to me."

"Jo sold my soul to you? Is that even legal?"

The demon smiled. "It is unconventional, but not impossible."

Sam thought for a second. "So I could sell her soul for my dad?"

"We can definitely make a deal."

"I don't want to make a deal with you, you imp," Sam scoffed. "I was just wondering how it worked."

"To be honest, Jo Harvelle's soul wouldn't be enough for your father. You'd have to sweeten the pot."

Sam shrugged. "Good thing I have no intention of making any deals with you."

"Wouldn't you like to see your father again?" the demon pressed.

"Of course I would. I'd also like to see Mom and Jess and everyone else I know who has died. But they're gone. I accepted that a while back."

"I can let you see them, if only you –"

"Go to hell," Sam grated out.

"You keep saying that, but apparently you don't realise what it means."

"Sure I do," came the response. "I was there for the whole monologue about hell while you tried to kill my brother a while back. Now, leave me alone so I can concentrate on getting out of here."

"I'm done talking, Samuel," the demon warned. "This is your last chance to join me without pain."

"Hah. That chance was passed a long, long time ago."

"You are not usually this insolent, boy."

"Don't call me 'boy,'" Sam grumbled. "And you're right. I'm not. But I miss Dean's sarcasm and thought I'd try my hand at it."

"You aren't even trying to fight me."

"I'm just getting warmed up."

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"Jo did what?" Bobby almost yelled when Dean explained the whole story. "She sold his soul?"

Dean stopped short at that. "Can she do that?" he asked. "I mean, she could never trade Sam for her dad, right?"

"Actually, she could. But it takes a lot of skill and plenty of preparation. She had to have been planning this for a while."

The young hunter bristled. "I'm going to kill her. I'm going to kill her dad. I'm going to kill her mom. And then I'm going to kill that demon."

"Focus," Bobby commanded. "You can plan your revenge once we free Sam."

"You're right," Dean said with a nod. "What can we do?"

"I have no idea, Dean. You can't break a deal with a demon without making another one."

"Then I'll make one. How do I summon it?"

"You can't just go selling your soul to save your bother. He'd hate you for it. He'd hate me, and he'd never forgive himself."

"What else is there?" Dean shouted in anger.

Bobby thought for a minute. "Didn't you say you had seen a strange symbol that trapped Sam before?"

"Yeah. He said it was a manaia or something."

"It's a protection symbol, Dean."

"And it protected him from what – me? He was stuck in there for hours."

"I know," Bobby continued, excitement shining in his eyes. "But it means that someone already laid claim on Sam and we can break the deal. It isn't valid if he belongs to someone else."

"He doesn't belong to anyone."

"But someone already made a deal for his soul, Dean."

"And how do we find out who that is? Can they set him free?"

Bobby was grinning now. "More or less. I don't know of very many people that fit all of the qualifications of the person we're looking for. It has to be someone pure and noble and acutely aware of the situation. They had to have a lot of power and know exactly what they were doing."

"So how do we find out which one it was?" Dean asked impatiently.

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Sam may not have had his horrific headache or leg wound or broken ribs in this cage, but he was still starting to ache from the cramped quarters. He shifted uncomfortably and looked back apathetically at where the demon was setting the room on fire.

"That won't hurt me," he warned.

"I assure you, it will," the demon retorted.

Sam sniffed and shrugged, moving again in an effort to ease his muscles. It took only seconds for the searing pain to reach him. It felt like he was inhaling the fire, and that was agonising. He had known his bravado was a pathetic facade, but he couldn't help it. Hanging onto Dean's laugh-in-the-face-of-danger attitude felt like his only lifeline right now. And so he clung to it, desperately trying – and failing – to distract himself from his own burning flesh.

Throughout the agony of the fire, the demon was tearing away at him emotionally, reminding him in no uncertain terms of the horrible things he'd done in his life. He mentioned Sam's part in his mother's death. He talked about Sam leaving the family for selfish reasons, lying to Jess and thus getting her killed. Then he brought up many more recent memories – shooting Dean with rock salt, abandoning him with a killer scarecrow, shooting his dad, getting all three of them thrown into the hospital from a stupid car accident, letting his dad die, getting drunk and forcing more emotional trauma onto his brother through a stupid promise, shooting his brother in the shoulder and then trying to torture him to death only hours later . . . and the list went on. Sam shuddered as the guilt alone threatened to draw him under. In spite of his efforts to not listen and to convince himself that the things he did hear were vicious lies, he soon began believing it. And he knew he was in serious trouble. Blood dripped from his nose and eyes. His outer layer of skin was completely singed off.

Just at the moment that he was going to beg for release, even if it meant giving in, the fire went out. The demon, probably more surprised than his victim, stopped his recitation of Sam's "sins" and whirled around. Sam tried to look as well, but couldn't find the strength. Was it possible to pass out when you were already unconscious? If it was, he was about to do it. But an angelic voice brought him back with striking clarity.

"You will let him go," the voice commanded.

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"I'm pretty sure I know who was behind it," Bobby assured Dean. "And it's a good thing. What I don't know is who the host was."

"The host?"

"The person who painted the symbol up there and physically completed the deal. Because I'm almost positive that the one who instigated it isn't human anymore."

"What?" Dean asked, utterly confused. "You're not making any sense."

"Sorry, my boy," Bobby said good-naturedly.

Dean stepped back. "Are you possessed?"

"Of course not."

"Then please tell me what's going on and don't mince words because I'm not in the mood."

Bobby nodded. "Well," he began, "the most important ingredient in this sort of deal is true love . . ."

Dean groaned. "Why me?" he muttered.

The story was interrupted in its beginning by groaning from the couch. Sam was thrashing, his skin turning an unhealthy pink.

"What is that?"

"He's being burned because he's fighting," Bobby responded. "But don't worry; she'll get there in time. I know she will."

"Who?" Dean queried.

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"Mom?" Sam croaked, maneuvering himself onto his side. His ankle caught between the bars and twisted with a sickening crunch, but he didn't even register the pain of it. His eyes peered through the bars at the glorious image of his beautiful mother, dressed in white, standing defiantly before the horrible demon that had sapped out her life so long ago.

"Why would I let him go?" the demon growled. "You mean nothing to me."

"A bargain has already been made," Mary answered simply. "And you were not a part of it."

"Mom?" Sam asked again, sounding and feeling like a little boy.

His mother smiled. "I created a binding contract that even you cannot break."

"How?" snarled the demon.

"Before you made your deal, I made my own. Samuel was marked with protection."

"When, Mom?" Sam asked from his cage. "What happened?"

"I'm sorry you were trapped on that couch for so long, son," Mary answered tenderly. "It was the only way. And if you and your brother hadn't found the way out, none of this would have happened."

Tears stung Sam's already sore eyes as he realised what she was talking about. "But that woman was possessed," he said as he thought back on his vision of the ghostly woman wandering through the cabin and putting up the manaia.

"Yes, Samuel, she was. I didn't have any other choice. I had to let that happen in order to save you. I promise that she has been freed since then. And now you must be freed, as well." She turned back to the demon. "Let him go."

"But – my deal!" it sputtered.

"Your deal does not matter to me. You can see that Samuel has been marked with protection. You cannot have him."

Suddenly, the cage door opened, and Sam slid eagerly out without pondering his landing. He thumped into the ground hard, but was so excited to be free, with his mother, that he didn't even care. He rolled to his feet just in time to see a battle of wills being raged in front of him.

"Go back to Dean," Mary commanded.

"I can't leave you, Mom," he insisted.

"You're injured, Sam. If you don't go back soon, you won't be able to."

Her words reminded him of his seared skin and he nearly collapsed again. Only sheer determination kept him on his feet. He couldn't leave her.

"This is my part of the deal, Sam," she said without looking back.

Sam's jaw dropped. "I'm not letting you sell your soul for me."

"It doesn't matter what you want, son. As I already explained, this deal is done." She smiled back at him, eyes lining the bottom of her eyes. "I'm going to join your father, Sam. Him for Dean, and me for you." She took a step toward the now smirking demon.

"No, Mom," Sam said, jumping forward. "Don't do it. Let him take me." He was stopped by an invisible wall that held him still.

Mary was now sobbing. "I want to be with my husband. If he cannot come to me, then I will go to him."

Sam had plenty of tears of his own. "Mom, you can't. You can't do this."

"Take care of your brother, Sam."

"You know I will. I always do," he whispered, unwittingly echoing Dean's words when he and their father had had a similar conversation.

"But watch out for him."

"I will," Sam responded, his tears streaming unbidden down his face. He tried to take a step forward but was still stuck.

"I love you, Sam," she said, closing her eyes. "Now you have to go back to Dean."

He tried to resist; he really did. But Sam couldn't hold back the fog in his own mind as it surrounded him, forcing him to his knees. He couldn't see anything. His skin was painful. He really couldn't breathe. And then, to top it all off, he discovered from experience that it was possible to pass out when you're already unconscious.

"Mom," he groaned as he went under.

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One hour later, Bobby had finished his explanation and the two of them had generously rubbed burn-soothing gel on Sam's burnt skin. Dean now sat on a chair next to his brother, tears in his own eyes. "Can Mom really do that?" he whispered, not expecting an answer.

"Only once," Bobby said. "And I can't think of anyone else who could possibly pull this off."

Dean swallowed through the lump in his throat and nodded. "What will happen to her?"

"I'm not sure."

There was a long silence. Bobby actually thought Dean might have silently sobbed himself to sleep until the hunter suddenly raised his head. "Are you sure it will work? I mean, Sam will be free?"

Bobby nodded. "He should be."

Dean nodded again, his eyes locked on the singed lids of his brother's. "Dad for me, and Mom for him," he said so softly that Bobby missed it. Then he almost smiled as he said, "Come on, Sammy. Come back so we can fight together."

Seemingly in response to that, Sam groaned on the couch. Dean jumped. "Sam? Open your eyes for me."

The lids fluttered but refused to open. "Come on, Sammy," Dean urged.

"Sam," came the disturbingly hoarse voice. Sam sounded like someone had taken a meat grinder to his throat – and he probably felt that way, too.

"That's it, Sammy," Dean said, knowing it would annoy his little brother into looking at him. "Wake up."

After what felt like an eternity, the youngest Winchester's hazel eyes slipped open a crack, focusing immediately on Dean.

"It was Mom," he said, tears forming.

"I know," Dean returned, his own eyes filling as well.

Sam took a deep breath, blinked, and tried to sit up.

"Whoa – what do you think you're doing there, little brother?"

"What does it look like?" Sam retorted, though none of their words held any malice. They felt too emotionally dry to bicker as usual.

"You shouldn't get up yet. We're going to go to a hospital and get you looked at."

"You have to go, too," Sam said petulantly.

"I am," Dean answered with a gentle smile. "My arm needs to be set. And I'm still wondering how it got broken in the first place."

Sam's mind suddenly flashed him a picture of Jo snapping the bone while they had both been possessed and he scrunched up his nose. "Uh, I think you'd be happier without knowing."

"Fine," Dean groused. "But at least tell me if it's really over."

"It's really over," Sam said with confidence. "It's over with the yellow-eyed demon."

"And the rest of the angry spirits?"

"Gone, for now. But I don't think they'll be coming back any time soon."

Dean nodded and let his characteristic sarcasm fall back into place. "Well, I just gave you the chick-flick moment of the decade. How about we hug and do each other's hair?"

"Shut up," Sam said, grinning.

Dean smiled back; it seemed that everything was back to normal – well, as normal as things can be for supernatural hunters. And it would stay that way . . .

. . . Right up until the time that their next hunt found them.

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NOTE: Once again, thanks for reading. I have to say that this ended a little different than I expected it to. Fluff and angst and emotion are not my strong suit, so it may not go over well. But I hope you enjoyed it!