Special thanks to LilyBolt and jojospn for their absolutely AMAZING reviews. You guys are the best! And of course thank you to all other readers and reviewers- it means a lot to me that you've stuck with me for this long. This chapter is a little short, but I wanted to get it out there because I feel I've gotten a little behind lately with the updates. Enjoy!

Dean's POV

"Okay so lemme get this straight," I say. "Crowley actually said that he wants to be...that he wants to be loved? Are we talking about the same King of Hell here Sam? What am I missing?"

"Look, I know it sounds crazy, but yeah. That's what he said. And that's why I think the best way to handle all of this is to stop with the torturing and start...I don't know, appealing to his humanity instead," Sam replies earnestly. I'm shaking my head slowly before he's even done talking.

"Jeez are you feeling okay?" I joke halfheartedly, "I mean this is ridiculous, even for us. You want to appeal to Crowley's humanity?"

"Dean, I know what I saw and I know what I heard. My blood was curing him, and if I would've finished the trial..." Sam stops, closing his eyes briefly. "If I had just finished that goddamned trial, I know it would've worked. And everything would be over," he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly between his fingers.

My throat tightens as I think back to how close Sam had actually come to taking that final step. How close I had been to losing him. Again. The sorrow I see in his eyes now angers me. Scares me. As if he regrets listening to me. Regrets being alive.

"And what exactly does that mean?" I whisper. My voice sounds too weak to my own ears, and I know Sam notices it too.

"Look Dean, I'm just saying...it seems like it might've been best if I had just..."

"No Sam," I manage to interrupt, my voiced choked, but louder this time. "No. Your death would never be best, you understand me? That's the furthest thing from "best" there is, so knock it off and start telling me how you're planning on turning Crowley into a goddamn Care Bear," I finish, still seething despite my attempt at humor. Sam can see the effect his words have had on me, and he regroups, succumbing dutifully to my obvious change of subject.

"Alright, well I don't really have a plan formulated. It's not like there's a manual for it or anything. I just think we need to dig into Crowley's past a little. Find out what made him tick way back when and see if we can use it to kind of...turn his emotions back on."

"Yeah but we already did that, remember? When we were getting Bobby's soul back." I stutter a little over the name, but we both choose to ignore it. "He's a tailor named Fergus. And we didn't just dig up his past, we dug up his bones. In Scotland. And if you think I'm taking another nine hour flight, you are sadly mistaken." I shudder at the memory of being cooped up on a plane for that long.

Sam smirks back at me. "We don't have to go to Scotland. But Dean, there's gotta be something Crowley cared about when he was human. Everyone has a soft spot. We just have to find his."

"Alright," I say after a moment, still reeling from the incredulity of the whole situation. "But can we eat first? I'm starving."

I start making my way towards the kitchen before Sam even has a chance to respond, knowing he probably hasn't eaten much today either. I open the fridge, reaching for the pulled pork sandwiches I'd left for him when I'd gone looking for Cas. It's probably the last day we can eat them before they go bad. I've got the container open, about to shovel a few of the sandwiches onto a plate when I remember.

I'm frozen, my hand poised over the container when Sam lumbers into the kitchen behind me. Immediately, I come back to myself, hastily cramming every last piece of pork into the garbage can, letting the juices run down the side and into the plastic bag.

My little brother stares at me for one silent, uneasy moment before opening the fridge, taking in its contents. I grimace at what I know he now sees.

All of the food I had prepared had been laced with angel blood.

I clear my throat. "I'll uh...I'll make a run. You want a salad or something?"

"That's okay," Sam grunts, "I can go. I'm guessing you want a burger, extra onions? We should get something for Cas and Kevin too." He starts moving to the front door, reaching to check for the wad of cash always crumpled in his back pocket.

"Wait..." I start to say. Sam turns to face me.

"What?"

I shake my head, trying to form a coherent thought. Trying to tell Sam how sorry I am, how much I wish he didn't have to know about what I did to save him. How much I wish it had been me that had taken on the trials so that none of this would've happened in the first place. But I don't say any of it.

"...Nothing. I...nothing." I mumble instead.

"Dean, what?" Sam demands. I sigh deeply, wishing I'd never opened my mouth.

"Just uh...just be careful," I say.

Sam cocks his head to the side. "Yeah okay. Get some rest, Dean," he replies, turning to leave once again. I flinch away from the resounding slam of the door and make my way back to the kitchen and the still open fridge, filled to the brim with the thing that has become the source of this newest all-consuming guilt.

I don't remember much of what happens next. I only remember after.

After the leftover food has littered the walls and the broken containers lie in pieces on the floor and I sit in the middle of the whole mess, back pressed into the cold metal of the now empty fridge, hands shaking and chest constricting, cutting off my air. The first one had been the worst.

I close my eyes against the memories, but they come anyway, crashing past my rapidly collapsing defenses.

"Please," the angel pleaded. "Please help me."

I stare, bewildered, at the battered man lying on the road in front of me, his leg bent at an awkward angle and blood seeping into the folds of his clothes, staining them with a deep, rich crimson.

And I almost help him.

I almost run to his side and start to staunch the bleeding with the shirt off my back and I almost lead him to the Impala, taking the weight off his bad leg and making sure he keeps his rib cage open so he can breathe. I almost drive like hell to the nearest hospital and make sure he's in good hands before returning to a different hospital. The one that holds my own dying brother...

Sammy.

I continue to look at the bleeding, broken angel in the middle of the road and suddenly I don't see yet another person for me to save.

I see a gift.

This is the miracle I'd been praying for. This is how I can save Sam. I don't know how I know that angel blood will be his cure, but I do. I can practically see the grace that emanates from the man before me, and suddenly I know exactly what I have to do.

"Wait! Wait!" the angel chokes out as I turn back and head directly for the trunk of my car, lifting the hidden compartment and finding the long, silver blade buried amongst hex bags and iron rounds and sawed off shot guns. The choked sobs for help become an incessant cry for mercy as the angel sees what I now hold in my hands.

"Please. No, please. Please," the angel whimpers. He's managed to push himself up from his elbows, hauling his body backwards one inch at a time as I advance, his broken leg dragging uselessly across the pavement.

"I'm sorry," I say. And I am. But that doesn't stop me from driving the knife home, doesn't stop me from throwing the now dead angel over my shoulder and into the back of the Impala, speeding back towards the only person left alive that could ever compel me to do what I've just done...

Next chapter should be up soon! Have a lovely day.