a/n: The longest of all the chapters. The next is the last

Sam Winchester: Faith Helped

Sam cross referenced every local death for the last six months with the reported healings by Roy LeGrange. Everything lined up perfectly; both the times and causes of death matched up perfectly with the those cured by Roy. There was no denying a reaper was involved. He must be taking the lives of healthy individuals and trading them out with those about to die.

Damn. There was no way Dean would be healed by this guy, not if it meant someone else had to die.

Of course, Dean doesn't need to know, does he? Sam could always wait until after Dean had been healed to tell him.

No, that's ridiculous; Dean would kill him. They had both had enough of lying to each other.

Sam watched his brother sleep on the hard motel mattress. His hair was looking greasy and matted, and his face was sweaty and pale. Sam resolved to get Dean into the shower next time he woke up, or he might just die from poor hygiene habits.

Having finished the necessary research, Sam reached for the remote across the table and flicked on the television. Whatever guest had used it last apparently hadn't bothered to turn the volume down before turning it off, and the sounds of Casa Erotica 5: Cabana Nights filled the room.

"What the hell, man?" Dean called groggily as he sat up in bed.

"Sorry." Sam turned the volume down to just above mute.

"I didn't - uhg," Dean clutched at his chest and his face distorted momentarily in pain, "-know you were into that kind of thing."

Sam looked at his brother with worry, who rolled his eyes.

"I'm fine, Sammy."

"You are literally the least fine person I have ever met, Dean, even when you aren't dying."

"You got me there." Dean struggled to pull himself off the bed. He finally made it up and over to the bathroom. The short trip had winded him and his breath came out in choppy bursts. He leaned heavily on the sink.

Sam rose from his place at the table and stood in the bathroom doorway while Dean examined his face in the mirror.

It was embarrassing how gross he looked, and Dean felt momentarily ashamed that he'd actually gone out in public and eaten lunch with Layla looking how he did.

"So, what have you found out so far about this reaper?" Dean asked as he fiddled with his hair. He tried to style it how he usually did, but even his hair was tired and it just sagged downwards.

"I cross referenced all the deaths in town with all of Roy's healings for the last six months, and they line-up perfectly. Time and cause of death. I think the reaper is trading one life for another."

"Okay, but why? And how?"

"Well, reapers don't usually do this type of work, so I'm guessing it's being controlled somehow, through like a spell or something," Sam explained, "I think maybe Roy used the reaper to save himself, and now that he has the reaper under his control, is using it to heal other people."

"Again," Dean started to pull off his hoodie. He got it about half way off his head before he stopped. Sam reached over helped it the rest of the way. If Dean noticed the help, he didn't acknowledge it. "Why? As far as I know, he isn't getting anything from healing a bunch of strangers."

"I don't know, but we still need to take him out." Sam watched Dean slowly pull of his white undershirt. He could tell every move hurt and took a lot of effort, but didn't want to offer too much assistance or Dean would get pissy.

The Winchester boys were naturally lean and muscular. Years spent on the road, killing monsters tended to keep a person in good shape. Aside from frequent cuts, bruises, stabbings, and the like.

Dean, however, looked unusually thin, and his muscles were less defined. The pink scar tissue of previous wounds stood out against his pale complexion. It amazed and worried Sam how small Dean had become in just a few days.

"We can't just 'take him out,' Sammy," Dean stated angrily. "He's a person. If we kill him we'd be no better than him."

"So we don't have to kill him," Sam said, "just stop whatever spell he's using."

"Great. Let me just take a shower, get cleaned up, and we'll head out."

Sam watched Dean twist the shower handle on. He had no intention of letting Dean hunt a reaper, but wasn't quite sure when the best time to mention it would be.

Sam was lost in thought watching Dean when the older brother's voice brought him back to reality. "Do you mind?"

Startled, Sam stuttered for words.

"For fuck's sake, Sammy," Dean rolled his eyes, "I'm not going to die naked in the shower. You don't have to watch me constantly. Go get some sleep. You look worse than I do."

"Right, yeah," Sam stuttered and backed out of the bathroom. Dean quickly shut the door after him.

Sam planned to wait on the bed by the bathroom, listening, just in case Dean needed him. Low blood pressure, courtesy of a poorly functioning heart, could cause light headedness and nausea. Dean passing out and cracking his skull open would be the last thing anyone needed.

But Dean was right: Sam was exhausted. He'd barely slept at all since the accident; he'd spent all his spare time looking for solutions.

It didn't take long for Sam to drift off.

He was startled awake again by a loud bang and a grunt. It only took Sam a moment to become aware and jolt to the bathroom door.

"Dean! Are you okay? Dean!" Sam pulled on the handle, but it was locked. He resorted to pounding repeatedly on the door, and just as he resolved to break the door down Dean's voice responded.

"Cool it, Sammy. I'm fine," Dean called. His voice muffled through the door. "I just, uh, slipped. But I'm fine, okay."

Sam stopped pounding, but he didn't back away from the door. He noticed then that the shower had been shut off already, so Dean must be almost done.

A few moments later, the lock clicked open allowing Dean to step out into the room.

He was still mostly wet and held his crumpled up shirt and hoodie in front of his uncovered chest. His jeans sagged a little without a fastened belt. All Sam saw, though, was the quickly forming black eye.

Dean pushed past his giant brother to get to his duffel bag. Without a word, he began pulling out shirts and a jacket. Putting each one on carefully to limit any unnecessary pain.

"Uh," Sam tried to think of the best way to phrase his question. He didn't want Dean to think he was parenting too much, "What happened?"

Dean shrugged his old, green jacket on over an unbuttoned flannel. "Nothing. I just slipped. No big deal. It happens."

"Were you feeling light-headed or nauseous?" Sam pressed.

Dean continued to ruffle through his bag, looking for something. "I said I was fine, Sammy."

"Enough, Dean. You're not fine. You're dying. But if you told me what was going on, I could help you."

Dean stopped digging and turned to look Sam in the eye. "Help me?" he said angrily, "I'm dying, Sammy. Now tell me, how exactly are you going to help me? And don't say faith healer."

Sam felt way worse than he should. He had spent the last few days doing everything in his power to help his brother, but his one lead, Roy LeGrange, had been a bust and now he didn't know what to do.

"I can give you medication. Here take these," Sam passed him an orange bottle from the top of the dresser. Dean wondered momentarily when Sam had gone to a pharmacy.

Dean twirled the bottle around in his hand and skimmed the label. Possible side effects: drowsiness. Exactly what he needed, more sleep. Either way, he tossed two in his mouth and swallowed.

"You ready to go?" Dean asked and pulled out one last item from his bag.

Sam looked startled, "What?"

"To stop Roy's spell."

"Oh, right, yeah," Sam stuttered. He still hadn't come up with a good way to force Dean to sit this one out short of tying him to the bed. Knowing Dean, the stubborn bastard would use his dying breath to crawl to the fight scene and stab one last demon. And Sam too.

Sam therefore settled to let Dean come along. Destroying some reaper spell shouldn't be that dangerous. Roy was blind, for christ's sake.

"Then let's hit it," Dean said momentarily sounding like his old self. The image was ruined though when he pulled a tattered old beanie over his hair causing Sam to smile a little.

"What?" Dean asked as he made his way slowly past Sam and out the door, "it's cold."

It was actually pretty warm. Low blood flow to the extremities meant they would feel cold. It wouldn't surprise Sam to see Dean shivering even with layers of winter clothing.

Together they drove back to Roy's place and Dean complained the entire way that Sam's driving was too rough and he needed to treat his precious Impala with a lot more love or Dean was going to haunt his ass.

"Jesus, Sammy, you're making me sick," Dean joked. "Can't you take those turns any smoother?"

"You're one to talk," Sam teased back, "You drive like the world is Fast & Furious and you're Vin Diesel."

"Oh, shut it," Dean's face suddenly turned green. He had that abrupt feeling in his stomach you get right before you're violently ill.

"Sammy, stop," Dean uttered out quickly, his voice wavering at the end. Sam glanced worriedly over to see his brother with the tell-tale about to wretch face. He slammed on the brakes and the Impala slid to a stop on the shoulder beside a corn field.

Dean immediately threw the door open, the car still rolling slightly, and stuck his head out. Disgusting vomit sounds could be heard over the classic rock cassette tapes which had been playing quietly on the ride over.

Sam knew he should be comforting his brother right then, rubbing circles on his back or whispering comforting words into his ear like nice people did in movies, but instead he just sat in awkward silence and watched Dean empty his stomach on the side of the road.

After a few moments, Dean sat back up and pulled the door shut. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked at Sam. "Told you your driving was making me sick."

They drove the rest of the way without incidence. The unexpect bout of sickness was likely a result of taking medication on an empty stomach. Sam really needed to get Dean to eat something.

He'll add that to his to-do list right after stop Dean from dying of massive heart failure.

They pulled up in front of the LeGrange's old wooden house. No sermon was scheduled for the day, so the Impala was the only car around.

Sam pulled guns and other potentially necessary equipment from the secret trunk.

"I'm going to go inside. You just stay here," Sam commanded as he loaded a handgun.

"I did not come all this way to sit on the bench. I'm coming with you," Dean insisted and grabbed a handgun of his own.

Dean could be so stubborn Sam just wanted to handcuff him to the steering wheel and be done with it.

"You can say you're fine until your voice gives out, but you're not. Since you insist on getting yourself killed before you die, the least you could do is not get me killed. What you can do is stay here, keep your phone on, and be a look out. I'll call you if I need backup," Sam demanded, his tone reminding Dean briefly of their father.

Sam slammed the trunk shut and hussled up the front porch, leaving Dean standing alone beside the car. Begrudgingly, he slid back into the Impala and cranked up the AC/DC.

Sam entered the old house with quiet precision. He'd certainly snuck into enough buildings, many way more secure than this one, to know how to go about it.

It was fortunate the house was empty. The LeGrange's must be out to lunch or something. Sam desperately hoped he'd be out before they returned, but also had confidence his brother could find an excuse to hold them off while Sam made a break for it if need be.

Sam moved easily through the living room where they had previously talked with the couple over tea. Beyond that was a small kitchen, and to the left a small office.

He moved into the office. It had clearly been years since any work had been done there. Dust covered the desk, counters, and bookshelf. Sam closely examined the books, all of which had completely ordinary titles like Encyclopedia of Britannica. Plus, it was clear none of them had been picked up in years.

Sam was just about to move on when he noticed one book was not covered in dust, indicating it had recently been handled. He pulled it out and flipped through the pages. Nothing demonic there.

As he went to put it back, he noticed a smaller book tucked all the way in the back of the bookcase. He tugged it out of its place to examine it. It was small and black. It didn't have any words of the cover, but a quick flip through showed pictures of skeletons, demons, and reapers.

Sam turned to a page which had been dog-eared. On it was a picture of a fancy cross with a circular top, and a recipe for binding a reaper in latin.

Okay, suspicions confirmed. All Sam had to do was find the alter the recipe described and destroy it.

He returned the books to their rightful spots and left the office.

It took a few tries, but Sam eventually found the door which revealed a staircase into the basement, a perfect place for demonic alters and rituals.

Sam pulled the cord to turn on the dangling light bulb and illuminate the small room.

It was cluttered full of dusty boxes and shelves overflowing with random trinkets and keepsakes. It was difficult to move around all the junk.

Sam could hear a faint rumbling sound like a car in the distance. They must be back, Sam realized.

But he was so close, he just knew it. Dean could stall for five minutes while Sam hurried to stop the spell.

Outside, Dean was sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala. He hated that Sam treated him like he was made of glass, but now that he was alone without anyone to judge him, Dean had to admit he wasn't doing to hot.

Sam was gone about ten minutes when Dean heard the sounds of an engine approaching. He glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the LeGranges approaching in a yellow pick-up truck.

He quickly texted Sam a warning, then got out and stood beside his car. He'd think of a way to stall soon enough.

The LeGranges parked beside Dean, and got out.

"Dean?" Roy asked. Sue Ann must have noticed him from a ways out and told Roy. "What brings you here?"

"Well, you know, Roy," Dean struggled to think of a good excuse that would buy his brother time, "I came to be healed. I saw Layla the other day. It was truly a miracle."

Roy smiled politely, but Dean noticed Sue Ann looking anxious.

"You'll have to come back on Sunday, when we have a service," Sue Ann blurted out. She tugged at her husband's arm to move inside.

Roy gently pushed his wife's hand away. "Now, now, Sue Ann, you don't need to be so blunt," he said gently, "The poor boy's come all this way. Let's at least let him come inside. Although I can't heal you right now, its true, but we can talk over tea and you'll feel better than. Hopefully the Lord will be able to heal you soon."

Dean noticed Sue Ann becoming increasingly annoyed. "Yes, come inside," she said with a fake politeness, and turned rather quickly to move up the front porch.

Normally Dean would probably be able to find an excuse to keep the conversation going outside, but he was so tired lately. Not just his body, but his mind felt so sluggish.

Fuck it.

Dean delivered a surprisingly powerful right hook to Roy's face. It was a cheap shot on a blind man, but it did the trick and Roy fell to the ground unconscious.

The sudden burst of adrenaline took it out of Dean though, and it occurred to him that he didn't have the strength to do it a second time.

And holy shit, was his heart pumping like crazy. Every beat felt like being punched in the chest. Massive heart failure was a fucking bitch.

While Dean struggled to regain his strength and clutched at his aching chest, Sue Ann moved swiftly in front of him. Dean started to get a punch in, but actually having a functioning heart gave Sue Ann a significant advantage and she landed one on him square in the jar.

Dean was momentarily knocked off his feet and fell into the dirt. His head was spinning, but he wasn't unconscious. He tried to get back up, but stumbled over his own feet as he watched Sue Ann race into her house.

Sam was still fumbling around in the basement when he received a text from Dean.

"Hurry up," it read. Sam knew what it meant the LeGrange's had arrived and that Dean was doing his best to stall.

Sam finally located the altar in the back corner when he heard the sound of a door slamming; Dean must have run out of excuses. He quickly grabbed a bottle of kerosene out of his jacket pocket and poured it over the altar.

Heavy footsteps came from the staircase as Sam quickly pulled out his lighter. He had it held above the altar when he was interrupted.

"Stop what you're doing right now," Sue Ann hissed.

"Why? So you can save people?" Sam shouted back. "You're not saving people, you're killing them!"

"The people who died were sinners. The people Roy saves deserve to live more than those scumbags," Sue Ann reached behind a shelf where Sam couldn't see. "And I can save your brother, too. That's why you came here, right? To save him?"

"Not like this," Sam said and dropped the lighter onto the altar. Flames immediately overtook the table and burned everything on it.

Sue Ann lunged forward, a gun in her hand. She fired wildly at Sam who managed who anticipated the attack and moved out of the way. She fell just short of the fire and turned to fire a second shot.

Sam grabbed the nearest blunt object, a gold painted lamp, and started to swing at Sue Ann's head. He stopped, though, when he noticed Sue Ann was no longer focused on the fight.

She was staring at something behind Sam and mumbling to herself.

"No, no, no" she uttered. Her voice began to rise in fear. "No, please, please. No!"

Sam lowered his weapon, but she continued her babbling. She raised her hands to shield her face and cried out.

"NO!"

Her eyes glazed over completely white. She wobbled a bit, then fell over sideways knocking over a several stacks of dusty books and a rusty metal bucket.

Sam dropped the lamp and stared at Sue Ann's dead body. He wasn't quite sure what had just happened. Perhaps destroying the altar had harmed her in some way, he speculated.

Before he could conjure up a more reasonable explanation, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He answered.

"Sammy?"

"Dean, it's done," Sam said with a sigh of relief, and headed up the stairs. He had to admit that was one of the easiest jobs they'd have had. For once, no one had gotten seriously injured or mortally wounded. If only all their jobs were that simple.

"I think I'm having a heart attack."