Dislcaimer: No, I do not own Supernatural. I pout about this often.

A/N: Thanks again to Merisha for her awesome (and exceptionally swift, omg!) editing, and Kaorukamiya307 for cheerfully keeping me on track. This chapter's a bit shorter than the others... but this just felt like the right place to end it.

In response to some concerns: Yes, I am aware that I write them driving in a mustang. This is because the Impala is still at Bobby's yard. Also, I don't typicall write in the vernacular, but in the cases of words like "gonna" and "idjit", I do. I apologize if this is disconcerting.

Another special thanks to all that reviewed. It really does touch me that you take the time to do so and let me know what you think, and it definitely keeps my enthusiasm up. So thanks again! And for those of you who didn't review... come on, like it's that hard? *totally puts on one of Sam's bitchfaces*

Chapter 4

Two hours later, Sam was dozing on the thin mattress in the panic room. He had developed a sort of cycle. Fitful movements, trying to make himself comfortable, before giving in to his exhaustion. There would be a deepening of his breath, a stilling of the nervous twitching that had taken hold of his extremities, until at last he drifted into slumber. Fifteen minutes later, he would jerk awake, and the process would begin again.

Dean had watched every second of it, his stomach lurching with each jolt and gasp from his baby brother. This was his fault. If he'd thought things through, if he'd done what Bobby had said and reached out to him... hell, if he'd just been stronger, Sam wouldn't have felt the need to protect him.

If he'd been able to let Sam go in the first place, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't have gone to hell, wouldn't have cracked, wouldn't have broken the first seal. Sam wouldn't have become... this. This desperate, confused man an inch away from insanity and inhumanity. No, he'd be kicking it up in heaven with Mom and Dad and Jess.

No. Even after all this, Dean knew he couldn't have done that. Bringing Sam back was worth every agonizing moment. He'd do it again. And again.

Which was why the world was screwed if it had to depend on him.

Sam turned over, his large frame rising and falling with each deep breath, but his shoulders didn't relax. He hadn't relaxed since all this started. Not once.

"You wanna take a break, Dean?" Bobby asked, one hand coming to rest on Dean's shoulder.

Dean took a moment to process the question, glean some understanding from the words that poured from the older hunter's mouth. Then another moment to form an answer. No. Seemed too obvious to be worth the effort of answering, though.

"Dean?"

"We really screwed up, Bobby," Dean murmured. "Put our faith in the wrong people. I just want to say I've had it with anything and everything that isn't human."

Bobby didn't say anything right away. They both knew that, depending on the outcome of this dry-out session, they might find themselves dealing with someone not-quite-human anymore on a daily basis.

Dean's stomach churned as the back of his throat burned with bile.

"Dean, if there was any time for us to tolerate and forgive each other, I figure it's now."

"Here's the thing, Bobby," Dean replied hoarsely. "Reading a fortune cookie and doing what it tells you to do ain't exactly the same thing. One's a helluva lot harder."

"He's your brother."

"Yeah." Dean swallowed. A tremble began to tug at his fingers. He clenched his hands into fists, hoping to still it, his eyes fixed on the hulking, vulnerable figure on the bed. "Yeah. He's my brother. And I couldn't save him." His voice caught and he stopped, clenching his jaw. He was more tired than he'd thought.

Bobby heaved a sigh and removed his hand, shoving it deep into the pocket of his jeans.

"Well, I guess I could tell you there was nothing you could have done," he mused. "But you're too much of an idjit to pay attention to good advice when you hear it."

Dean tried to smile, he did. But it came out as more of a tired grimace. Right now, he'd be lucky to ever smile again.

"Listen, uh, I really wish I didn't have to ask this of you," Bobby continued. "But I just got a call from the bus station. It was Jimmy Novak. He's got one more bus ride to go and he'll be here in about an hour. Now, I don't want anyone leaving the house alone, and I sure as hell don't want Sam to be left here alone. I think it'd be best if the two of you went together to pick him up."

"Why can't you do it?" Dean asked hollowly. He didn't really care why, but it felt like Bobby had something important to say on the matter. He always did.

"Because he needs his brother right now, not some crotchety old hunter. And before you go, I want you to try and catch some rest. I'll wake you."

Dean hesitated. The logic of Bobby's argument had sufficiently pierced the fog that had filled his brain, but he didn't want to leave his spot. He didn't want to miss a moment, just in case Sam changed while he was away, became something that wasn't Sam anymore.

"Dean," Bobby urged, and this time it wasn't a question. It was an order.

Stiffly, Dean shuffled away from the door, his heart tearing a little more with each step he took, tearing completely as he dragged himself up the stairs. By the time he reached the couch, it felt like his chest was bleeding freely.

o-o-o

Jimmy sighed as he stumbled off the bus, his wrinkled trenchcoat and jacket bundled in his arms as the warm, late May air swept over him. It had been a while since he'd been out in the country. Well, since he'd been out in the country and remembered it.

Blearily, he stumbled to a line of payphones at the other side of the station, overlooking a wide field of dead grass. The sight of it was unsettling, like everything in the world was dead. Well, it would be, soon enough, if things didn't go well. He suppressed a shiver and pulled some change from his pocket, sending a silent mental thank you to Chuck again for his generosity, and inserted it into the machine. His leaden fingers punched in the numbers methodically as he allowed himself to yawn. It had been hard to sleep on the bus. Worry about Amelia, Claire, the apocalypse, and even Castiel had waited in the dark each time he dared to close his eyes. Well, at least now he could finally relieve two of those worries just a little longer.

Amelia picked up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Ames, I'm in South Dakota. I'll be with the hunters pretty soon."

There was a sigh of relief? Frustration? Resignation? on the other end.

"As long as you're safe," she conceded. "When will they reach you?"

"Soon. I called them at the last station, I'll call them again, soon."

"Good that's... that sounds good. Um, any signs of... you know."

A wry smile tugged at the corners of Jimmy's lips. Even after all they'd been through, he still had trouble believing he was actually having a conversation like this with his wife.

"No, no angels or demons. Looks like I'm off the hook so far."

"That's good."

She didn't have anything else to say. Well, neither did he, not on this subject at least, but he couldn't bear to hang up. Not yet.

"So, have you and Claire picked out a dog, yet?"

"Jimmy, it's been like a day," Amelia admonished.

"Yeah, well... you know."

"Yeah, I know."

The smile pulled harder at his lips, and the overwhelming desire to hold both of his girls in his arms swept over him. He wanted to feel them, soft and warm and undeniably alive, to smell Amelia's shampoo and the apple-scented body lotion Claire had been so fond of just a year ago. He wanted to see their faces and know with absolute certainty that they were okay. But it was an empty dream.

A sudden buzzing entered his ears, a low, staticky frequency. As the seconds ticked by, the sound grew clearer and, to his dismay, louder. His mouth went dry as he glanced over at the station. The few people around him -passengers, the driver, the large, balding man sitting at the front desk- were also frowning, some rubbing their ears painfully. As the sound increased, one woman clapped her hands over her ears, her face twisting in pain.

"Oh, God," he breathed.

"Jimmy?" Amelia's voice crackled on the other end. "Jimmy? You're breaking up."

Several more people clapped their hands over their ears, unaccustomed as Jimmy had become to the uncomfortable noise. The first woman's eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed on the floor.

Oh, God, no. Not again. This couldn't be happening again. He had to get out of here.

"Amelia, listen to me," he begged, praying she could hear his voice over the static. "I love you. I love you and Claire so much, and that will never stop, do you understand? I love you."

"J-my... t's ha... ning?"

Clenching his jaw, Jimmy forced himself to slam the phone down on the receiver, just as the window of the bus station shattered. Well over half of the people inside were unconscious, thin trails of blood seeping out of their ears. Jimmy's head throbbed from the noise, his heart pounding as he felt it, as he had so many times before.

Not daring to look up, Jimmy's shaking legs kicked into motions and he sprinted out of the station, across the dead field, arms pumping and breaths gasping. No. He'd escaped this again, he wasn't going to let it happen a third time.

Something on the ground caught his leg, and he went sprawling onto the ground. The noise was becoming unbearable and, with a strangled gasp, he clapped his hands over his ears, rolling onto his back. And there it was. Light, burning like a second sun, barreling down, out of control, screaming.

"No!" Jimmy shouted, but his voice was lost in the roar. Choking on his own breath, he stumbled to his feet, managing only a few backward steps before the light barreled into him.

His breath hissed out from between his teeth as he felt his feet leaving the ground, air whistling past his ears, fire burning every cell in his body. Blackness seeped into his mind, shielding him from the chaos and terror that had entered him and the infinite memory that threatened to overwhelm his sanity.

The last thing Jimmy Novak was conscious of was hitting the ground. Or, rather, the ground flying past him, pain blooming in his back as his momentum jerked to a rough stop. He welcomed the inevitable oblivion when it came.

o-o-o

Thanks for reading. Tune in next week.