Dedication: To Sangerin, whose enthusiasm for fan fiction finally got me posting; who has been reading this story despite not watching Supernatural; and with whom I am magnanimously still friends despite the fact that she has never read The Lord of the Rings and has only watched two of the films. As Sam says to Dean: "I'll have you reading it yet."

Author's Note: Finally, the last chapter, the chapter that I've been working towards since the beginning. Thank you to everyone who has read and especially to those of you who have commented. I've had a great time writing; I hope you've had an equally enjoyable time reading. Comments, including suggestions for improving future stories, not only welcome but begged for.

My fellow LOTR-geeks will note that Dean must have watched the extended version of The Two Towers. Everyone else, don't worry about it.

Warning: Lots of spoilers for The Lord of the Rings movie trilogy.

Timeline: No idea how this chapter fits into the timeline of Season Three, but I think it takes place between The Magnificent Seven and The Kids Are Alright, except that Dean knows that Sam is still trying to save him.

And Finally - September, 2007

It had been, in Winchester terms, a relatively simple job. A vengeful spirit, rather than one of the demons that had taken advantage of the opening of the Hell's Gate in Wyoming. A simple salt and burn, rather than any sort of exorcism. But the vengeful spirit had not gone quietly and had sent Dean flying into a tree.

Then, while he was still trying to gather himself, it had swiped Sam in the head with his own shovel. Once he'd regained consciousness, Sam had taken that pretty personally.

So, here they were, back in another tiny motel room in the middle of nowhere and Dean was trying to work out whether Sam needed to go to hospital, while Sam was being pretty vehement that he needed no such thing.

There had been a time when Sam would have given in to Dean for the sake of peace and quiet, and because Dean was, after all, the older brother. But ever since Sam had decided that it was his mission in life to save Dean he had become almost, well, Dean-like in ignoring his own injuries, along with his own needs for sleep and food. Dean sometimes wondered whether it was Sam's subtle way of punishing Dean for making the deal that had saved Sam's life and doomed Dean's soul. He'd never realised how irritating his trademark stoicism about injuries was until he'd been on the receiving end of it. How the hell was he meant to know if Sammy was really hurting if all his brother would say was, "I'm fine"?

So, once he'd cleaned the gash in Sam's head, given it the three stitches he'd decided it needed, dosed Sam with a couple of pain pills and seen him fall asleep, Dean settled in for a wakeful night. With a head wound like that he wanted to check on Sam regularly and there was really no point in sleeping between the checks.

Plus, ever since Sam had died Dean had discovered whole new levels of over-protectiveness within himself, something he wouldn't have thought possible. Watching over Sam while he slept seemed like a generally good thing to do, and tonight Sammy wasn't going to be waking up to bitch at him for it.

There was a television opposite his bed and after checking that it was turned away from Sam and that the sound was down low Dean turned it on. Flicking through the channels he came across a battle scene, swords and arrows and axes and men in armour, and paused. A quick glance through the guide told him that he was watching the beginning of The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, and that the channel was doing a marathon; The Two Towers and The Return of the King would follow.

Suddenly in Dean's mind it was 2001 again and Sam was gone and the world had fallen apart and he was reading The Lord of the Rings.

There were times: when Sam was taking his turn at driving the Impala and Dean had nothing to do but stare out the window; or when waiting in line for the bacon cheeseburgers that had become his default breakfast; or when Dean was cleaning weapons while Sam researched, that Dean's mind wandered down the rather strange path of wondering which was worse: Sam leaving for college; or Sam dying.

On the one hand, when Sam had left for college Dean had known that he was alive and well. Even after the phone calls and the emails stopped, Dean had been able to swing by Stanford between jobs to take a quick look at Sammy and, in later years, the beautiful blonde he was living with. He was able to indulge in big brother protectiveness whenever he liked, and it had helped to fill the hole in his chest, in his life. While Sammy lying dead – nothing could ever fill that hole.

On the other hand, Sammy lying dead had been a problem with a solution. Sure, the solution was giving up his own soul but that was a price Dean was more than willing to pay. Sam leaving, by his own choice, of his own accord – there had been nothing Dean could do about that. No solution to Sammy's absence, until John going missing, followed by Jessica's death, had sent Sammy back to the only family he had left. And no matter how glad Dean was to have Sammy back, he would never, ever have wanted that at the cost of Jessica. Losing Jessica had hurt his brother too much.

Maybe an involuntarily dead Sam was better than a voluntarily missing Sam. One he had regained after a few days. The other had been gone for four years.

During those four years, Dean had tried to avoid even thinking about The Lord of the Rings. It had prompted his worst ever emotional breakdown; or what had been his worst breakdown until his Dad had died and he had taken his pain and anger out on his baby. It had been hard for a while; with the movies coming out each year for three years Dean had had no way to avoid the blanket coverage. At unguarded moments he had found himself wondering whether Sam had gone to see the movies; whether Sam was still reading the book once a year; why Sam had left his copy behind when he left for college. But that way led to pain, and fear, and the possibly of losing control, and so Dean had clamped down his feelings and kept on with the job.

But now Sam was back, was here, was where he should be, sleeping in the bed next to Dean, and everything was different.

He wasn't going anywhere for the next eight hours. Maybe it was time he tried this story out in another medium.

Dean settled back against the pillows and prepared for a long night.

After the big battle scene, after the original journey of the Ring had been described in suitably ominous tones, the film started almost as slowly as the book. Happy hobbits doing happy hobbit things. The first thing that really caught his attention was the actor playing Frodo. Man, the kid had big eyes. He might be only person on earth who could compete with Sammy in the puppy-dog stakes. Maybe he and Dad should have sent Sam to Hollywood, where he could have put his eyes to use making them a fortune instead of putting them to use making Dean do anything Sammy wanted.

'Sam' looked nothing like Sam. Well, maybe the hair. Something else to tease Sam about; not only did he have a hobbit name, he also had hobbit hair.

The scene of Frodo waking in Rivendell, the scene that six years ago had had Dean in tears, was slightly different. Frodo no longer asked "Where's Sam?" on waking, and Dean found himself annoyed by the change. "Where's Sam?" was such a significant question in his life that he wanted it to retain its significance in Frodo's. But Sam still ran in and took Frodo's hand; and Gandalf still told Frodo that Sam had hardly left his side. Dean looked over at his Sam, who now scarcely left Dean's side, and found himself smiling.

The movie was starting to draw him in. Dean was caught up by the fight against the cave troll, the rapid firing of arrows against the orcs, Aragorn's swordplay. He even held his breath when the cave troll speared Frodo. Sam's tears at the sight of an apparently dead Frodo, and his relief when Frodo moved, had Dean glancing over at his Sam again, just to make sure that his Sam was still breathing.

Gandalf fell, and Dean remembered a twelve-year-old telling him, with tears in his eyes, that Gandalf had died in Moria. Frodo's huge eyes merged in Dean's mind with Sam's, and he smiled at the memory of the little boy who became so emotionally involved in what he was reading. Of course, Sam still became just as immersed in what he was reading, was just as emotionally invested, but now he read books in a desperate search for ways to get Dean out of his deal with the demon. Dean hoped that the day would come when Sam could go back to reading fiction.

As the film progressed Dean began to pay more attention to Boromir, a character that he had never really noticed in his occasional attempts at reading. He understood Boromir; he empathised with him, fighting to save the two younger hobbits even when full of arrows. Dean knew that feeling, that determination to protect the innocent despite the pain, that impulse to fight on for others even when his own strength was gone. Then Boromir died in Aragorn's arms: "I would have followed you, my brother. My captain. My king." Aragorn accepted Boromir's trust, Boromir's mission, took the guards from Boromir's wrists and fastened them around his own as symbol of his vow. When his year was up, would Sammy do the same: farewell Dean with a kiss; promise to continue Dean's mission of saving people; fasten Dean's amulet around his own neck? Did Dean want him to, or did he want Sammy to live the normal life he'd always sought?

Sam and Frodo hugging in the boat; Sam refusing to leave; "I made a promise, Mr Frodo. A promise." And the last line of the movie: "Sam, I'm glad you're with me." Dean glanced at his Sam again. Every second of every day, every fibre of his being said the same thing: "Sam, I'm glad you're with me."

There was more to this story than Dean had ever imagined. Maybe Sammy's obsession wasn't so weird, after all. Dean felt emotionally wrung out. But he wasn't going to stop watching. There was time enough to check Sam properly ("Dean, I'm fine, no concussion, just let me sleep!"), make a cup of coffee, and find his giant bag of M&Ms before he leaned against his pile of pillows to watch The Two Towers.

There were parts of The Two Towers that Dean remembered. He'd read the deadly competition between the elf and the dwarf to a concussed fourteen-year-old; and Sam and Frodo's journey with Gollum and the meeting with Faramir to an eighteen-year-old recovering from pneumonia. He laughed quietly at the reference to dwarf-tossing, and the dwarf's description of the elf as a "pointy-eared elvish princeling". That might be a good insult to toss Sam's way sometime, except that it would reveal to Sam that Dean had actually watched Lord of the Rings.

There were other parts that Dean definitely didn't remember from his occasional reading, and when Boromir reappeared in Faramir's memories Dean sat up. The bond between the two brothers was familiar; Faramir assuring Frodo that Boromir was dead because "I know it in my heart. He was my brother." Dean could get that. Then the memory of Faramir's last day with Boromir, reclaiming a city in battle: "Remember today, little brother. Today, life is good." Two brothers together, until their father turned up, praising his firstborn, Boromir, condemning his younger son as of little use, separating the two of them, sending Boromir away.

Dean remembered a conversation with Sam almost two years earlier in Oklahoma; Sam telling Dean that he had never been good enough for their Dad, that John had always been disappointed in him: "Because I wanted to go to school and live my life, which in our whacked out family made me the freak." Was this how Sam had seen their family? Had he imagined himself the despised Faramir to Dean's loved and praised Boromir? Had Dean added to Sam's sense of rejection with his casual comments about getting the extra cookie or his angry identification as 'the good son'? "I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean whispered to the figure in the next bed. He'd said it before and he'd say it again. "Dad was never disappointed in you, never."

Dean found the relationship between Frodo and Sam as bizarrely touching in this second movie as it had been in the first. Sam saved Frodo from giving in to the power of the Ring: "It's me. It's your Sam. Don't you know your Sam?" Sam was Frodo's comfort and companion, and Frodo recognised it: "Frodo wouldn't have got far without Sam." Dean got it; he knew that feeling; he really did.

Half the giant bag of M&Ms were gone, without Dean remembering eating any. He still had half a cup of coffee left, but it was cold. Dean made another, went to the bathroom, checked that Sam was peacefully asleep, breathing deeply, and lay down again.

Very soon The Return of the King was pissing him off. How could Frodo ever have thought that Sam would be stealing food; that Sam wanted the Ring? How could he have allowed Gollum to poison his mind against Sam? When Frodo told Sam "You can't help me anymore … Go home" and Sam began to cry, Dean got seriously mad. Nothing and no one in this world, or even in hell, could ever have poisoned his mind against his Sam, so why the hell was Frodo turning against his Sam? It wasn't right. Shit, I'm completely identifying with a hobbit!

But, of course, Sam didn't leave. He found Frodo apparently dead - and suddenly Dean was identifying with Sam rather than Frodo. He knew that feeling: "Don't leave me here alone. Don't go where I can't follow." But Sam was luckier than Dean; Frodo wasn't dead and Sam could rescue him.

Once again, Dean forgot to drink his coffee as the story dragged him in, right up to the final scenes of Frodo's farewell. Frodo hugged Sam, kissed him on the forehead, and boarded the boat that would take him away from his friends and the world. And for the second time that night Dean thought about what would happen when his year was up. Would his Sam let him go peacefully, as Sam let Frodo go? Would his Sam accept that Dean had had to sacrifice himself to save Sam, as Frodo had sacrificed himself to save the Shire? Would his Sam accept the gift? Frodo's last words to Sam: "You have so much to enjoy, and to be, and to do. Your part in the story will go on," and Sam returning to his wife and children, was everything Dean wanted for his Sam. Surely, before the year was up, Sammy would accept it.

It was dawn by the time the last film ended. No point in sleeping now; Dean decided to go and grab some breakfast for the two of them. With any luck, Sam would never find out how Dean had spent the night. Dean definitely didn't want Sam to discover that Dean had found The Lord of the Rings moving; that he'd identified with a hobbit. It would be Dean's little secret.

D&S LOTR D&S LOTR D&S LOTR D&S LOTR D&S LOTR D&S

If it hadn't been for a tiny slip of the tongue Dean would have got away with it.

They were on their way to Bobby's, but there was no haste, no point arriving until just before nightfall, so they stopped at a diner for a long lunch. Sam, buried in another book, was too slow in extricating himself from the Impala for Dean's taste and he looked back and yelled impatiently, "Hurry up, Samwise."

He didn't realise what he'd said, and was a little surprised at the way Sam smiled at him across the table as they sat down. Sam was looking at Dean as though Dean was, what, adorable? There was a softness in Sam's eyes that Dean didn't appreciate. He raised an enquiring eyebrow at his pain-in-the-ass little brother. Sammy smiled back.

"You read Lord of the Rings."

"What? No, I did not! You're the geek-boy, not me."

"Dean, you just called me 'Samwise'."

"So? I call you lots of things."

"Yeah, you've called me Samantha and Sammich and Sasquatch and Francis, you have definitely called me lots of things. But you've never called me Samwise before, and the only reason you'd use that name would be if you'd read Lord of the Rings."

Dean decided that he had to end this, quickly. "Sam, I can promise that I have never read The Lord of the Rings."

"Okay, then." Dean relaxed. "You've seen the movies." Shit. Busted. Dean stared down at his burger, avoiding his little brother's annoying smirk. As he chewed thoughtfully, a brilliant idea struck.

"So, Sam, you remember the end? Where Frodo says good-bye?"

"No," said Sam firmly, making Dean jerk his head up from his meal and eye his little brother, surprised.

"What do you mean, no? You've been reading that book for half your life, and I'm sure the movie didn't change the ending that much."

He was expecting Sam to respond with a triumphant, 'so you admit you've watched the movies', but Sam just repeated his firm 'no'.

"Come on, Sam …"

"Yes, Dean, I remember the scene. I'm saying no to what you're going to say next. You're going to argue that we're in the same situation, that I have to let you go the way Sam let Frodo go, that I need to accept your sacrifice and live a long and happy life. Right? That's what you're about to argue?"

Sam knew him too well. "Well, yeah, something along those lines …"

And now little brother was angry. All softness had left his eyes; all laughter had left his face. "Dean, the situation is completely different. Yes, Frodo's leaving, yes, in a sense he's dying. But he's going somewhere better. He's not going to hell! Look, I'll be Sam to your Frodo, I will, but we're nowhere near the end of the story yet."

Sammy was breathing hard, holding Dean's eyes with his own, burning Dean with his passion.

"Remember when they're on Mount Doom? Sam carrying Frodo up that mountain? Following Frodo into the Cracks of Doom? Sam grabbing Frodo's hand and telling him not to let go? That's where we are, Dean, on Mount Doom. And I'll follow you and I'll carry you and I'll hold on to you and I won't let you go into that fire! And I'll be with you at the end, like Sam was for Frodo. So don't you dare suggest that I should just let you die!"

Dean was silenced. It was what Sammy had said when he found out about the deal: "You're my big brother. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. And I don't care what it takes; I'm going to get you out of this." And he couldn't let Sam do that, because it would mean Sam's death. He stared back down at his suddenly unappealing lunch. His soul for Sammy's life – he still thought it was a fair trade.

At first, when he heard the sounds his brother was making, he thought Sammy was choking. Then that he was crying. It took a few moments to recognise that Sam was actually laughing, laughing until the tears came to his eyes. The last time Sam had laughed like that Dean had had a beer bottle stuck to his hand. And even then Sammy hadn't lost control like this. Sam was trying to talk, but he was laughing too hard and Dean could only catch the occasional word.

"You … Dean … Frodo … hobbit."

Okay, yeah, Dean had just totally compared himself to a hobbit.

"Well, you were the one who said you'd be Sam to my Frodo."

Sam got a little control: "I'm already Sam to your Dean; it's not that big a stretch. Hey, you're short enough."

Dean reached over and whacked his annoying little brother in the head with a menu. But Sam kept laughing, and his laughter was infectious. When was the last time Sammy had laughed like this? Not since before Dean's deal; not since before Dean had told him about John's last words. It was past time. Their waitress, with a sympathetic smile, brought over another carafe of water and Dean poured them both drinks. Maybe being busted on Lord of the Rings watching was worth it to see Sammy's smile. Dean looked down at his lunch again. Good food, and a hunt lined up for later, and a smiling Sammy across the table. Today, life was good.

Sam, of course, brought it up again when they were back in the car. "So, Dean, when did you watch the movies?"

No real point in denying it now. "A couple of nights ago. There was a marathon, and I needed to be up anyway to make sure your sorry ass didn't die in your sleep."

He could sense Sam's smile. "I'll get you reading the books yet."

"No way, geek-boy. I've said it before; Lord of the Rings is a cult for geeks who think that speaking elvish will help them get laid. I don't need any help there."

A few miles of companionable silence, and then Dean asked the question that had been bugging him for six years. "Why didn't you take the book with you to college? I thought it was your weird-ass security blanket?"

"What? I did take it."

"Nuh-uh. I found your copy when I was packing your things up."

"Oh," sudden comprehension in Sam's voice. "I left the new copy behind. It was nice of Alison to give it to me, but I wanted the old one. I'd had it since I was twelve, it was the one you read to me from when I had concussion; it was the one I lent to you when you broke your leg. It might have been falling apart but I wanted that one." That softness was back. "I told you, it was my literary equivalent of you. Of course, I took it with me."

Dean just nodded. For some reason the idea that Sam had taken Dean's book equivalent to college was comforting. More companionable silence, then Sam spoke.

"Well, I guess I'm just going to have to give you your own copy. For your birthday. Your thirtieth birthday."

"Sammy …"

"January 24, 2009. One copy of The Lord of the Rings. I'll have you reading it yet."

There really wasn't any point arguing. Dean was not going to let Sammy save him; the price was just too damn high. But if Sammy wanted to believe that Dean was going to be around in 2009, for the moment Dean would let him. Dean smiled over at his annoying, pain-in-his-ass, joy-of-his-life, light-of-his-world, little brother.

"Whatever, Samwise."

"Whatever, Frodo."

And the Impala roared on towards Bobby's.

The End