Another short A/N. Thank you to all of you who have continued to read/review. You guys are awesome.

Sam's POV

I guess it makes sense. Demon blood was my downfall, so it seems appropriate that angel blood would become my savior.

But that's not exactly true, is it? Because it's actually Dean who is my savior. Always has been, if I'm being honest. And of course I'm still angry. Of course I know how wrong it all is, how horrifying, how sickening it is to drink the blood of an angel. But I also know that there are no limits for how far my brother will go for me, nor I for him. And maybe that's really fucked up, maybe that's all kinds of wrong, but I don't care. Because we are all each other has. And I know that the only way Dean keeps fighting is if I'm there beside him. So I will be. No matter what.

I look up at my big brother across the table from me now, nose buried in some lore book about the origin of demons, steaming mug in hand. It's always coffee now. And even though I sometimes find myself wishing for the simpler days from years ago, I know it wouldn't be worth the return of the ever present stench of whiskey on Dean's breath. We've both come so far since that time. We've both changed so much. I can't imagine ever going back to being the rebellious know-it-all I used to be, just like I can't imagine Dean reverting back to his former self. I know that the pain of the past still wears heavily on both of us, but we've learned to carry it together, to balance it out so that both of us can still breathe.

"You should take a picture," Dean mutters around his mug, eyes still scanning the current page of his book.

"Huh?" I ask, pulled from my reverie.

"I said, you should take a picture. It'll last longer. Seriously man, what's with the people in this house constantly checking me out? I'm starting to think Kevin's the only one I'm safe around anymore," he jokes, but the small smile plastered on his face is a cautious one. I can tell he's watching every subtle shift of my expression, trying to pick up on any indication that he's still unforgiven, that I'm still about to start swinging.

"Sorry, just thinking," I sigh, knowing it'll take a while before that guarded look is gone from his face. And after what he told me about his encounter with Cas in that warehouse, I guess I can't blame him.

"Alright well how 'bout we both quit thinking and start doing. It's about time for another Crowley interrogation, don't you think?" Dean says, standing up and setting his book on the table. He winces slightly, still recovering from his injuries, and I move to stand as well.

"You okay?" I ask, though I already know the answer he'll give.

"I'm good, Sam." He pauses, smiling less hesitantly this time. "To the dungeon!"

I roll my eyes, following him towards the stairs. I guess there are some things about my big brother that haven't changed all that much after all.

"You realize I can do this all day, right?" Dean taunts, tossing another splash of holy water over the King of Hell, whose skin sizzles in response. But just like every other time, Crowley keeps his mouth clamped shut, barely letting out a small groan of pain. We've been at it for about an hour now, and I can tell Dean's getting impatient. I don't like to admit it, but he scares me when he's like this.

When we first found Crowley and locked him in our so-called "dungeon", Dean was hesitant when I asked about the obvious interrogations that would have to take place. And of course I knew he would be.

"It's just...it just gets too close to Hell sometimes, you know?" he had said, eyes still brimming with shame and grief from the things he had been forced to do all those years ago. I had nodded in agreement and hadn't broached the subject again. But Dean had come to me the very next day with a list of what we would need. Didn't talk, he just came into my room with a list titled "Crowley" and a guilty look. But he had finally agreed. Just like I knew he would.

After all, Crowley is a wealth of information when it comes to the location of his demons, his hellhounds, and every other black-eyed evil that walks this earth. And maybe, just maybe, he could give us another way to shut the Gates for good. If only he would open his goddamned mouth.

But as much as I want Crowley to spill his guts, I'm not exactly inclined to do it by any means necessary. Dean's careless sneer is enough to deter me from that. I can't lose him again, not one single part of him. He's about to go in for another round with Ruby's knife (dipped in salt and more holy water) when I latch onto his shoulder, pulling him back to my side.

"What?" he snaps at me, knife twirling expertly in his fingers, shoulders tense.

"Dean, uh, why don't you let me take it for a minute here, okay? Take a break man," I plead. His expression softens almost instantly at my words, his body relaxing as he hands the knife to me.

"Sorry, Sammy," he says, "I didn't mean to get so...you know..."

"It's okay," I reply, slapping him lightly on the back and making my way over to Crowley. The King of Hell regards me with a look of detached loathing, rolling his eyes as I advance.

"Oh come on, Moose," he drawls, "You really think you could ever get anything out of me? Your brother was a torture apprentice in Hell and even he can't make a dent. But good luck to you. I'm just dying to see how this goes."

"I'm not gonna torture you, Crowley," I smile. Dean whips his head around at my words, eyebrows crinkling in confusion, but he doesn't say a word. Knows me well enough to know I have some kind of plan formulated. Crowley isn't so easily accepting.

"Right, that's why there's a knife thrust into your abnormally large hand at the moment," he deadpans, shifting against the chains that lock him down. He seems nervous, more uncertain than we've seen him in all our fruitless interrogations, especially when I place the knife on the table a few feet away, coming to stand directly in front of him.

"Look, I know you want to forget about everything that happened on the night of the final trial, but I won't let you. You're not who you used to be. And you shouldn't want to be that anymore. Just talk to me Crowley. Drop the act and talk to me like you did in that church," I challenge, my eyes never leaving his face.

Crowley stares at me, and for a second, I think we've finally gotten somewhere. And then he bursts into a booming laugh that erupts from deep in his throat and echoes across the walls of the darkened cellar. I grimace and take a step back, trying to hide my frustration. Crowley's laughter turns into a short coughing fit, followed by his next words.

"Oh come on Moosey, you're talking to the King of Hell here. You honestly think you can manipulate me into giving up my own damn army? Thought you were supposed to be the smart one," he jeers.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, trying to keep my voice steady.

"You can lie about it all you want, but I know something happened back there. There was a moment, a small moment, when you felt something, Crowley. Don't back away from that. There's still hope for forgiveness, for redemption. You don't have to keep lying."

I can feel Dean's eyes burning a hole in the back of my skull, begging for answers, though he still hasn't cut in. I realize I haven't yet revealed everything that happened in the church that night. Guess we've both been too busy almost dying for me to give a full report. Despite Dean's gaze, I keep my eyes locked on Crowley, which is why I see the quick flicker of something behind his eyes before his smirk falls back in place.

"Please," he sneers, "save the conversion speech for someone with a soul you impudent hypocrite. I'm not bloody interested." His words are harsh as ever, but the inflection has changed, if only minutely. There's a small waver in his voice, a small lick of doubt at his own words, something I'm sure he's not used to. I smile. We've won this round, even if Crowley doesn't know it yet.

"Alright. Fair enough. Just think about what I said. You don't have to be the same person anymore. There's always a choice," I say, moving back to the tray of assorted torture mechanisms and picking up Ruby's knife. "Let's go Dean."

Dean is still staring at me, trying to process the things I've said, but he shakes himself off and starts walking towards the stairs, Crowley's sarcastic quips about wanting some Scotch following close behind.

The second we're back upstairs, out of earshot, Dean whirls on me.

"Um, you gonna explain what all that was back there Sam?" he asks, eyebrows raised in expectation.

"Yeah, I will Dean, chill. There's some things that slipped my mind while we were both fighting for our lives these past few weeks. I swear I'll explain when..."

"No you can explain now. I've got time," Dean presses, leading me to our enormous dining room table and gesturing for me to sit down. He plops into the seat next to me, all business.

"Okay," he demands, "Spill."

Next chapter coming soon!