Author's Notes: Here's chapter nine! This is probably the one everyone has been waiting for...I've reread it several times, and rewritten it several times, too, because I wanted a certain scene to be...well, more or less perfect, if I could swing it. And if not perfect, then at least gripping! So with any hope (and crossed fingers!) that's exactly what I've done. I'd love to get everyone's feedback on it, and wanted to say that I appreciate the last few reviews! They're always a good way to start out the day, finding them in my inbox ;)

Enjoy!

Sam looked at Ruby like she was some kind of alien. His body was still in fighting mode, with adrenaline pumping through him, his blood pulsing in his ears, and his hands gripping tightly around the hilt of the Colt. He furrowed his brow.

"What?" he repeated.

"Are you deaf?" Ruby asked. "I said, I think you might be ready to save your brother."

Something washed over him at that moment. It was almost like a mixture of fear, relief and excitement, with a number of other feelings thrown in there. The possibility that he was ready to save Dean was…well, it was indescribable.

"Do you really think…?"

"Would I have said it if I didn't mean it?" Ruby shook her head. "Sam, you just basically beat your first demon to death with your powers, and didn't even flinch."

"Second," he corrected automatically.

"Second? Wait. You don't mean—" The blond haired demon looked almost surprised, but not entirely in a negative way. "Sam, did you kill the incubus with your powers, too?"

"Yeah."

"Huh. No wonder this was so easy for you." She stepped closer. "I would definitely say you're ready, then. Now more than ever."

"Why now more than ever?" That sounded so corny to him, but he couldn't help asking it. He was hooked, and wanted—no, needed—to know more.

"Because your powers are coming to you like second nature. Before, all you could do was use telekinesis to throw things around. Now you've just told me you killed a demon with your powers, and you just threw another around like some kind of play toy. And you had a vision that led you to the Colt. If we wait any longer…" She paused, as if what she were going to say next wasn't what she truly wanted to say. "Well. I don't think Dean would like that."

Sam unfortunately didn't catch it, hyped up as he was with the prospect of being able to save his brother and finally reuniting his body and soul. There were a few things he needed to gather up for the ritual, but he had absolutely no worries about that. Plenty of occult shops—and even regular shops as well—carried the required materials. What really made the ritual work was the spell that came along with it. Done properly, Sam could make it a very easy transition for his brother back into his body.

"I need to gather up some things and get Dean's body," he explained. "Then we can go to Wyoming, to the Devil's Gate, and I can get him back."

Ruby hesitated for a split second. "If you wanna do it that way."

Since that seemed to be the best route to Sam, the young hunter decided that he was going to go with it. Of course, this meant driving back to New York, and then suffering an incredibly long drive nearly all the way across the country just to get to Wyoming, but he could handle it. He had no choice. Dean had been in hell for a month, and that was far too long for his tastes.

"Come on, then," Sam said, gesturing for Ruby to join him.

"No, I've got something else I need to check up on right now, Sam. I'll meet you back at the motel room in a while. See if you can't get what you need in order to save Dean while I'm gone."

Although somewhat baffled by her sudden withdrawal, Sam didn't hesitate in returning to the impala, where he put the Colt inside the glove compartment, then turned over the engine and roared his way out of there. He had work to do.

. . .

Sam spent the morning that followed gathering up his things from the motel room, checking out, and heading back to New York. Missouri was nice, but Fletcher didn't have a lot to offer in the way of occult items that he needed for the ritual. He figured that New York would have many more shops with plenty to offer.

Having made even fewer pit stops than before, he had made it to New York in record time, arriving early in the morning on the third. He was, of course, just as exhausted as he had been when he made the trip down to Missouri, but there was a kind of giddiness inside of him that kept him from falling victim to the tiredness. That, combined with a refreshing coffee or soda every couple of hours, helped him to stave off sleep just long enough for him to make it to his dad's lock-up. Sam brought his bedroll inside and used it, along with his jacket as a makeshift pillow, to sleep on the floor.

He was full of cricks and pains when he woke up later that early afternoon, but he ignored them completely. On his drive back to New York, the thought had occurred to him that their dad might have had a collection of various ritualistic items, perhaps even including the things he needed for the one he planned on using on Dean. After having brushed the sleep from his eyes, he searched through his dad's stores, but came up with only two things. So, later, once he got some breakfast, Sam searched through the city in order to find everything else that he needed. Thankfully the list was short, and the shops he found were decently stocked. With a little bit of angelica root, some rosemary, and a few other items, he headed back to the lock-up to stock up the car completely.

All that remained was getting Dean in there safely…

When he opened the freezer and saw his brother's body lying in there, he noted that it looked about the same that it had the last time he saw it. He knew that was mostly due to his having tended to his brother's wounds and checking up on him often so that he didn't get freezer burn. It appeared as if the coldness of the freezer had helped the wounds to close up more afterward, as well. For that, he was thankful.

Sam searched for the blanket that he had brought with him in order to wrap Dean's body up safely and hide it from anybody who might be looking in. It took a lot of effort to get it to fit comfortably in the back of the impala, but somehow, he managed. This whole thing was horrifically twisted, but because Sam was so focused on saving Dean, he didn't really notice that, nor did he notice how wholly unnerving it was. Instead all he noticed was that it would look odd for him to travel with a large, body-shaped lump in the back, and so he threw a few others things back there—a few books, a fast food bag or two, and some soda cans—to make it look mostly like just a collective mess of things.

Sam said goodbye to New York not too long after having arrived. Then it was off to Wyoming. The entire trip, including only three or four minor pit stops for brief naps and food, had taken him just two days. He arrived in the southern part of the state in the late evening of the fifth of June. Like with all of his long excursions, he was feeling tired, but there was no time for rest. He shoved any and all fatigue he felt to the back of his mind, willing himself to gain a renewed sense of energy.

And somehow, it had worked. When Sam found the path to the old cowboy cemetery centered amidst the five churches, he felt a burst of power course through him. He didn't know from where, and he didn't know from what, but it had restored him.

The sun was setting in the western horizon, giving the entire space around him a somewhat golden glow somewhat unbefitting for a cemetery. Sam stepped out of the impala and looked around himself. Memories of the year before flooded his mind, and he felt a distinct sense of loneliness pierce his heart. He realized he was staring at the tree he had been forced up against by the Yellow-Eyed demon, where he had seen his father appear, and where he had seen Dean use the Colt to destroy their nemesis once and for all.

Now here he stood, all alone, with nobody to turn to.

He stared into the back seat of the impala. Even though he knew—knew that Dean's body was back there, part of him still expected his brother to come up beside him, clasp his shoulder and tell him that they had some hunt to go and do. One month of being alone couldn't undo the years and years that Sam and Dean had spent together, especially the last three. There simply was no way.

Sam sighed quietly to himself, almost in resignation of it all. He needed to gather the ingredients from the back of the car, needed to prepare Dean's body in a safe place, and then would need to open the Devil's Gate. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of it. Hundreds of demons, specters and all sorts of other evil beings had escaped last time…and they hadn't even found all of them yet. In doing this, Sam was guaranteeing that at least another couple hundred were going to break out of Hell's grasp.

But he had said that he would do anything to save Dean, and he meant anything.

Biting back some inexplicably hot tears that came out of nowhere, the young hunter purveyed the area for a few minutes to find a good, protected place where he could put his brother's body. He eventually decided upon a flat spot of dry, yellow grass about thirty feet from the Devil's Gate, which was protected by two large tombstones that faced it. He went and gathered rock salt—along with the other necessary items—from the back of the impala and poured it in a circle around the spot, then proceeded to get Dean's body, carrying it to the little shelter he had made. He laid the body carefully onto the mostly dead grass and then draped the blanket over him, leaving his face uncovered so that he could breathe when the time came.

Somewhere nearby, Sam could hear the loud chirping of the crickets in the bushes, as well as some birdcalls overhead. Their background noises provided him with an incomprehensible sense of comfort. Maybe it was simply because he felt like everything around him was doing its own thing like normal while he did his; like he wasn't being watched. Part of him felt as if he were, although he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. He chalked it up to paranoia and a lack of decent sleep.

He headed back to the impala once everything was set in order to gather up the incantation for the ritual that he was going to perform. He had found it deep within the pages of one of his books with Latin spells, and that had only been after several hours of intense searching. He was just about to start it all when he realized that he was missing the most important piece—the Colt. It was still inside the trunk. How he had forgotten that, he wasn't quite sure. There was being scatterbrained, and then there was just being completely forgetful.

Sam turned around on his heels and started for the car, but when he lifted up his head and saw something before him, he stopped dead in his tracks. His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest.

Standing beside the impala with his arms folded over his chest and an irritated, yet disappointed look on his face, was Bobby Singer. Having tracked Sam down by using the GPS in his cell phone, the older hunter had become aware of the fact that Sam was moving cross-country not too long ago. He hadn't thought much of it when he went to Missouri, but the fact that he had quickly gone back to New York, and then through South Dakota—where he hadn't stopped in to notify Bobby of what had happened—to Wyoming, had set off multiple alarms in the older man's head.

He was wearing his usual garb—some jeans, boots and a faded t-shirt with a black vest covering it. What Sam was paying attention to, however, was the way Bobby was staring at him. It was like a bullet through the heart.

"I can't believe you, Sam," Bobby stated after a moment of silence.

Not knowing what to say, the young hunter just stepped onward, approaching the impala's trunk. When he went to lift it, Bobby quickly placed his hand atop it and prevented him from doing so.

"Are you seriously going to do what I think you're gonna do? Are you gonna open up that damn Devil's Gate and try to get your brother's soul back that way?" Bobby scoffed quietly. "What's happened to you?"

Sam simply stared at Bobby after the other spoke, not saying a word. All of those questions were so loaded that he had no idea, really, how to answer any of them. Of course he was doing to do it, and of course he was going to get Dean's soul back that way. And what had happened to him was that his brother had died, had left him all alone in the world, and that just wasn't right. Dean had sacrificed his life for Sam, and Sam hadn't been able to get him out of the deal like he had promised. That was a guilt that nobody could live with. But now he had the chance to fix things. He wasn't going to let it slip through his fingertips.

"Take your hand off the trunk, Bobby," Sam finally settled on saying, and somewhat flatly, almost distantly.

"Sam, you must be crazy if you think I—"

"Bobby. I'll ask you one more time. Take your hand off the trunk."

The older man was clearly surprised by Sam's tone, and after a second, he removed his hand, disbelief and discomfort written on his face. He turned to face the taller one, putting his hands on his sides. "Sam—"

"What're you even doing here, Bobby?" Sam asked incredulously. "You know, I don't remember telling you what I was planning on doing, and I don't remember asking you for your opinion on how to save him. This is something that I gotta do alone."

"Why?" Bobby demanded. "What is with you Winchesters and this self-destructive need to take on the entire load yourself? Do you not remember me tellin' you that I would be there in a second if you needed me? If you needed anything?"

"No, I remember, Bobby. But I couldn't sit around and wait for months for some kind of possibility or a lead on getting Dean back. Not while he's being tortured in Hell!" Sam was shouting now, and he felt a little bit of spit dribble from his mouth, which he quickly wiped away with his jacket sleeve.

Bobby threw his arms up into the air. "Do you realize just what this is gonna do, Sam? How many demons are gonna escape, and how many more problems this whole thing'll cause? Are you really willing to risk all of that just for your brother's sake?"

"Yes!" Sam nearly roared. His voice quieted down almost immediately, to near inaudibility. He looked at the ground briefly. "Dean gave up his life for me. And I'm gonna get him back if it's the last thing I do." His voice rose to normal level, where determination rung. "I don't care how. But I'm doing it."

At first, it seemed almost like Bobby had been placated by Sam's answer. But that was soon proven to be false when he placed his hand back on the trunk, promptly shutting it with a loud slamming noise. He stared Sam in the face, who looked back at him in mild surprise.

"I can't let you do this, Sam," he said. "I can't let you open that gate and release God knows what on the planet just so you can get your brother back. One life is not worth the death of hundreds."

Sam spoke slowly. "It is when that one life is my brother."

In just the split second after the young hunter spoke, Bobby reached for him, attempting to grab him and pull him away from the car. But Sam, who was beyond angry now, reached out and took hold of Bobby's vest and, using his superior strength, lifted the other man off the ground and tossed him some yards away. Bobby gave a yell and hit the ground hard, arms fumbling as he tried to lift himself up after the shock of it.

"Don't interfere, Bobby," Sam warned as he reopened the trunk. "I don't want to hurt you. But I told you, I'm getting Dean's soul back. And I don't care how many demons I let out in the process. I'll track them all down and kill them myself if I have to. Whatever it takes."

After retrieving the Colt, Sam moved away from the impala and headed toward the Devil's Gate. He had failed to notice that the crickets' chirping and the rustling of the birds in the trees had died down and given way to silence. All he could hear was the wind blowing past him, and the blood pumping in his ears.

When he arrived at the gate, he turned back to make sure that Bobby wasn't coming after him to prevent him from doing what needed to be done. Once sure, he focused his attention on the Devil's Gate and promptly thrust the barrel of the Colt into the keyhole. The locks on the door began to shake and shift, and they gave a long, loud groaning noise as what was behind them fought to be free. Sam pulled out the Colt and then stepped back a few feet in order to not be hit by the doors, which by now were shaking almost violently. He pocketed the gun and watched with morbid focus and intensity as the two halves to the gate burst open, revealing a brilliant mix of red, orange and yellow. All sorts of screams and yells erupted from the doorway, but none of them sounded like his brother.

Sam had to believe that as he called for Dean's soul within his head—within his heart—that his brother would hear it, and that he would come to the front. Above, there was a sudden large thunderclap, followed by some sizzling and crackling that broke his concentration and made him drop the gun. When he looked up in the air, he noticed that the clouds around them had darkened considerably, and he felt the wind pick up, blowing his somewhat long strands of hair into his eyes and mouth. Sputtering, he looked back down at the gate, then backed up quickly, because from within he saw a massive collection of tendrils of black, swirling smoke bursting out. His instinctive reaction was to cover his face, and although he did so, he remembered that he had a job to do.

Sam focused fixedly on his brother's soul, wishing for it, needing it, calling for it. He pictured Dean standing in front of him just like their father had not but a year ago, looking at him right in the eyes as if he were corporeal. The wind had begun to blow brutally by now, and Sam could neither hear—nor see—anything at first. But then, deep inside the recesses of his mind, he heard his brother's voice loud and clear.

"Sam!?"

That couldn't have been his own imagination. That was Dean. He knew it. Renewed, Sam continued to call for his brother, clenching his eyes shut and covering his ears with his hands to keep the horrifically loud whistling sound of the wind, as well as the thunderclaps, from bursting his eardrums. Another call from his brother, now sounding somewhere between anxious and terrified, erupted in his head:

"SAM!"

In an instant, Sam opened his eyes. His heart thudded in his chest, and at that moment, everything seemed to stop. Standing there in front of him just a few feet away was Dean's spirit, looking horrendously beaten and bloody. There was fear and confusion in his eyes, but Sam couldn't let that look, nor his emotions, get the best of him at that moment. No, he needed to recite the incantation that would keep his brother's soul around long enough for him to perform the ritual to recombine it with his body.

Reaching into his front pocket, the young hunter produced a sheet of paper, from which he began to read loudly. The wind almost drowned him out, almost took his breath away, but Sam recited the spell with more fervor and focus than he had anything else before. When it was done, he noticed Dean's spirit flash briefly, before it seemed to almost corporealize. Dean himself looked just as confused as before, but Sam couldn't focus on that at the moment. There was another sudden burst of electrical crackling, and he saw three or four more tendrils of black smoke spurt out from the gate. Without thinking, he turned his attention to the doors and brought his hands together with a struggling effort, using his power to shut them. They interlocked with a loud slamming noise, and soon a quick, rapid clicking followed as the locks redid themselves.

The demons that had escaped didn't stick around, and soon dispersed in the air in every direction possible. Sam heard Bobby give a loud curse, but he ignored it, turning his attention to his brother's spirit that was now standing there before him.

"Sammy?" Dean called in his head telepathically, sounding lost. "Sammy, is that you? What am I—"

Sam swallowed, unable to even speak. A wave of emotions had overtaken him, and it was all he could do to keep himself from giving into them and breaking down right there. Instead, he somehow managed to get enough control over himself in order to go over toward the little ritual station that he had set up. Dean's body was still laying there, the sleeping-like expression on his face not having changed one bit.

Dropping to his knees, Sam pulled out another piece of paper, this time from his breast pocket. He could hear the sound of crackling in the distance, as well as the sound of footsteps. He looked up quickly to see Bobby coming toward him, but at a slow pace. He didn't seem too injured, and for that, Sam was partially glad. But his attention returned to Dean's body quickly.

He drowned out the sound of his brother's disoriented and anxious words in his head, focusing all of his energies on the spell written before him. Everything was laid out as it needed to be around them, and he adjusted the agate crystal that he had settled right over Dean's heart.

Taking a deep breath, Sam began to read the long paragraph of Latin words, reciting them clearly. As he spoke, the area around him seemed to fall quiet, and the herbs, as well as the crystal, seemed to almost resonate. Inside of his head he could hear Dean saying, "What are you doing?" or, "What's going on?" and heard him frequently call out his name, but he didn't respond to any of it, not willing to break his tempo and focus. The entire thing took Sam several moments to read and, when he was finished, he looked up and over his shoulder to where his brother's soul was. It seemed to lose its corporeal form, becoming faded and translucent once again, before it began to almost fade away. But it also began to compact, turning into a long, thick, glittering wisp that fluttered through the air toward the agate upon Dean's chest. It then poured into it in a flash, and when every last bit of it was inside the crystal, the older hunter's eyes suddenly opened, and he gave a deep gasp.

Sam, who was kneeling beside him, looked down at his brother's face before quickly reaching to cradle his shoulders in one arm while gently resting the other on his chest. Dean's head lulled to the side for a moment, but his eyes were mistakably open. Their color captivated Sam in a way that they had never before.

"Dean?" he asked, sounding somewhere between desperate and hopeful.

Dean's eyes shot around everywhere for a few, before they finally landed on Sam, whose lips were quivering, and whose eyes were squinted just slightly, tears forming in the corners of them. Dean's arm gave a weak jerk before he seemed to get full control of it, and when he did, he reached out, gripping Sam's jacketed forearm feebly from beneath the blanket.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was rough, gravelly.

Neither man said anything then, and silence settled in between them. Sam tried his damnedest to keep from crying but it finally became too much. A couple of tears dripped down his cheeks as he leaned in, pressing his forehead against his brother's, sniffling quietly.