Wow.

This is it.

The final chapter.

Geez.

I'm going to save the speech until you've read this one, so...enjoy the wrap-up!

Chapter 29

The rag in his hands had been light blue when he had snatched it from Bobby's big box of rags containing all kinds of that stuff in different sizes and colors earlier. Now, after working on the Impala's engine for almost an hour, the rag was completely black, daubed with oil and grease. So were his hands. It would take him several minutes and gallons of water and liquid soap to clean them. And probably an equal amount of time to get his blackened fingernails back to their natural shade.

Dean smiled. The first genuine smile he could muster for quite a long time. Standing outside in Bobby's salvage yard, surrounded by the most beautiful car wrecks he could think of, looking at the Impala's engine almost lovingly he was finally able to push his thoughts and feelings into the background a bit.

The foundations of his walls were ready to build upon. Stone by stone.

He took a deep breath, welcomed the smell of gasoline, oil and metal mixing with the cool fresh morning air. The last few days had been hard. Or rather the nights. Not only for him, but for Sam and Bobby as well. It hadn't been Dean's absent strength and his frustration over it that had poisoned the atmosphere. Not the feeling of nausea and the headaches that were bothering him the whole time.

It had turned out that the long and peaceful sleep Dean had had in the Impala during their journey from Florida to South Dakota had been the last long and peaceful one. Probably because of the homelike noises his baby made when the engine was running. Probably because of the vibrations, or the familiar scent of leather and oil wafting through her interior.

Sleeping here had been impossible. Not that Dean wasn't tired. Or had trouble sleeping in a bed that was actually exactly that, a bed, not a cot. A bed in a guestroom, a room Dean and his brother had slept in since they'd been little kids, and not a cot in a small cold cell, the only exit a heavy door that could only be opened with a cheap little magnetic card.

Slide. Beep. Fucking click.

It was guilt depriving him from the much needed sleep. Guilt over the things he had done. Mike's words sounding in his head, Even if I'm not real here and now, I was real down there, Dean...I'M STILL DOWN THERE, YOU SON OF A BITCH! They were all still down there. Still suffering from what he had done.

And what about the people upstairs? What would happen to Julian? How was he? Would he be okay? Or had Dean managed to destroy another person's life? Had the police believed in Phillip's statement? Was he still working at the facility or had they tipped to the scam and Phil was in jail?

So many questions. Guilt pressing down on him, crushing him. And never ending fear.

It was fear keeping him awake. Fear of reliving what he had experienced during the last weeks. The fear of seeing Mike's smug smile again, turning into the grimaces of the very souls Dean had tortured and doomed.

This fear was justified. He had jerked awake in the middle of the night so often he had stopped counting. Had jackknifed in his bed, sweating, his clothes clinging to his skin. Had screamed every time, while waking up and certainly in his sleep. Once or twice he had woken up with tears streaming down his face. It hadn't been visions, hadn't been the hallucinations that had haunted him back at the mental hospital which caused him to panic now. It were only dreams. But, God, they were bad. They were as bad as his drug-induced hallucinations had been.

It was always the same scene. Repeating itself, sometimes only once or twice per night. Sometimes, and this was the vast majority, he was screaming himself awake for four or five times, almost every hour until he would scramble out of bed, rush into the bathroom and throw everything up he had managed to eat the evening before. Which wasn't much. Which worried Sam and Bobby, who had already stopped cooking altogether and tried to get everything he knew Dean loved, only to watch him at least swallow a few meager bites of his cheeseburger or taco or whatever the old man had obtained.

The last days Dean had spent sunrise either sitting in the Impala or on Bobby's porch, watching it dawn, a bottle of something strong in a tight grip.

Not alone, though.

Sam had always been there with him. Sitting beside him. Watching it dawn.

When he had done this the first time, Dean had sent him away. Well, had tried to. But Sammy had been adamant, had told him to cut the big boy crap. And had snatched the bottle from Dean's hand to take a pretty impressive swig from it.

It had been awkward at first. Sitting there. Saying nothing. Shoulder against shoulder and just holding each others peace. But now, after almost a week, every morning starting like this, Dean had to admit it was something he didn't want to miss. Sam's presence alone was his bastion of calm.

He surely would have gone truly insane in the meantime if it weren't for Sam.

Dean knew it was something he couldn't and shouldn't take for granted, though. Sam being there when he ripped his bleary eyes open. His little brother gripping his shoulders and talking to him until he was fully aware again after another dream-induced panic attack. Sammy sitting beside his bed until he'd fall asleep again, ready to catch him when the next waking would come.

Dean very well remembered the times he had woken up in the middle of the night. Before this whole fucked up ordeal. When his dreams had been bearable and the task of waking up had been easier, calmer. The moment of realization when he had turned his head to check on Sam, worried he might have had woken up his brother only to find Sam's bed empty. The lies Sam had gotten entangled to when he returned a few hours later.

He knew it was a matter of time before Sam would do it again. Continue this stealing away at night thing. Telling him lies. They would need to talk about it some day. But maybe not now. Maybe not tomorrow. Because right now Dean was grateful for Sam's concern and care.

The crunch of gravel ripped Dean from his thoughts and he glanced past the Impala's opened hood, a slight wave of relief washing over him at seeing Sam walking up to him.

That kid seemed to have an antenna, always close when he was starting to crash.

"Hey", Sam greeted, waving two bottles of beer at Dean, "thought you might drink something mild from time to time."

"Sounds like an honorable idea", Dean replied, closing the hood and accepting the beer gratefully.

"Something wrong with her?" Sam asked, nodding towards the car.

Dean shook his head. "Nah. Just cleaning her up a bit." He sipped at his beer, leaning back against his car. "She's ready for take off."

"So you want to leave?"

"Yeah. I think we've pestered Bobby long enough now. And I don't want him to spend any more money on junk food for me."

"He doesn't mind doing this, you know."

"Whatever." Dean took another sip and looked at Sam. "Why do I have the feeling you're not keen on hitting the road again?"

Sam sighed and leaned against the car beside Dean. "I don't know...I just think...maybe you need more time, that's all."

"I had enough time, Sam, I'm itchy. Let's get back to routine, find us a little job, something nice and easy for God's sake so I can proof that I'm capable but please, let's get going."

"You're tired, Dean..."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious, I know that, but that's just it. I need to get back on the horse, otherwise I won't get better at all." He looked up at his little brother, tried not to look as desperate as he felt. "Please, Sam. I need to get going. I can handle this...can handle me...I just..." He stopped. Who was he trying to convince here? Sam had been with him the last nights, he knew in which shape Dean was. What was he supposed to do if Sam said 'No, we stay'. Go alone? Probably not. He hated to admit it, but right now he was depending on Sam. He was still sane because of Sam. As stupid and ridiculous as it sounded.

"Okay."

Dean felt his facial features drop. "Okay?"

Sam took another deep breath. "Look, I want you to rest. I want you to lay down and sleep, I want you..." He ran a hand through his hair. "I want you to be okay. But, apparently you won't feel okay when we stay and you won't feel okay when you sleep, so, if packing our stuff together and leave is what you want and need...fine."

Watching his brother intently Dean noticed Sam's fatigue. He was trying to help, trying to coax Dean to rest, to take it slow. But he looked as if he was going to collapse every moment himself. And Dean was sorry. So sorry. Sam needed sleep, too. And Sam needed a functioning big brother by his side. There was an Apocalypse to prevent. An unbelievable amount of demons and other fuglies to stop. And he was going bananas. What a crappy timing.

So yeah, they needed their lives back. Their routine. Hunting. Shabby motels. It would work this way. It always had.

"Well...okay", Dean said, emptying his bottle. There was the tiniest jolt of joy in his chest. Yet, his pleasant anticipation was dulled by the never stagnant roundabout that were his thoughts lately.

"Do you think Phillip is alright?" he asked, picking at the bottle label and watching it peel of.

"I don't know", Sam answered softly, "maybe when the furor has died down in a few weeks or so we could…I don't know, ask Bobby to call the facility and pretend to be his uncle or whatever, ask for him. Not sure. Something like that."

Dean nodded. Sounded like a plan. He took a deep breath, dreading the next question. "How about that kid?"

Sam's head jerked up abruptly. "Who do you mean?"

"Who do I mean?" Dean scoffed, "That kid…Julian. The one I turned to apple sauce with my bare hands, that kid."

"I don't know, Dean…I'm sure he's better."

Dean nodded sadly. He wished Sam was right. But then, his sibling knew as much as him. And of course he wouldn't say anything else than 'He'll be fine'.

"There's still something I can't wrap my head around." Dean looked up and met Sam's gaze. "How did Julian know what he knew? If he wasn't a demon. How could he know about…well…my hell?"

He searched Sam's face for answers or reassurances. He wasn't prepared for the uncertainty and nervousness he was met with.

"I wish I'd have an answer for that", Sam replied, "maybe he was possessed and the demon escaped before you got to him? And maybe Julian has inherited the demon's memories?" He pushed himself off the car. "Hey, did you eat for a change? How about we drive into town, see if there's some place we could get a pizza?"

Dean watched his brother. Watched him walk away a few steps. His hands buried deeply into his jacket pockets. His eyes never locked to his longer then a half second. Dean frowned at the suddenly high pitch in Sam's voice.

He knew those signs. Had learned to read them over the years. Had mastered them over the last few months since his return from the pit.

"Sam?" he growled, leaning forward, "What are you not telling me?"

Sam flinched. "What? What do you mean, not telling you? What am I supposed to keep from you?"

"You tell me, Sammy. And don't start with that 'I'm not lying' speech, because I know you do." Dean felt the anger well up in him. "What is it, huh? Is Julian dead? Did you tell me he's alive and kicking because you wanted to go easy on me? Protect me?"

"Dean…"

"I'm done with that, you know? I'm fed up with everybody telling me lies, no matter if it's to protect me or to manipulate me…now spill."

Sam looked at him with huge sad eyes and a clenched jaw, muscles jumping. "Fine", he said, throwing his hands up in a gesture of frustration, "you're right. I wanted to protect you. Because I'm not sure if you're going to handle this very well."

"Well, how about you let me be the judge of that?"

"Well, yeah, gladly, but I'm the one who has to sweep up the broken fragments, Dean."

Dean shut his mouth with an audible click. So it was something bad. And given Sam's expression his little brother was truly unhappy about what he was going to tell right now. He wasn't angry, which would have been his right after Dean's verbal attack. No, he was calm. Sad, almost.

"Julian is some kind of psychic", he began reluctantly, staring to the ground, toeing a small stone, "it started after his sister killed herself. He...they found some kind of connection to each other, were able to talk and share their feelings…"

"Suicide…", Dean muttered, his voice shaky, "you go to hell for that."

Sam looked up at him and nodded tentatively, "Yes."

"She was there, right? So, that's why Julian knew what I did...she was there and...saw me and told him about it..." A wave of nausea slammed into Dean and the empty beer bottle slid from his hands, suddenly weighing several tons. "Oh my God..." he whispered while he stared at Sam, starting to shake his head in denial, "she didn't just see, right? Oh no...please tell me she wasn't one of...please, no..."

When Sam averted his eyes, swallowing heavily, Dean ran two trembling hands through his hair, gruesome realization hitting him. Like it had so often before. His trusty companion since he had risen from the pit.

"Everytime I think I've hit rock bottom I realize that it has just been another freakin' ledge", Dean said dejectedly, turning around and searching for something at the horizon. As if he'd find answers and solutions somewhere out there.

"Dean", he heard Sam speak up, "as awful and ridiculous this may sound, but...well...you could see the bright side."

Dean turned slowly, raising his brows, looking at his brother through a veil of unshed tears. "What? Sam...there is no bright side. There's either a dark side or a more darker side."

"No, I mean...at least you didn't imagine all the things Julian said to you, ever thought about that? After you found out he isn't a demon, all the time you asked yourself how he could know...come on, what did you think, Dean? That you've lost your marbles, right? That you were imagining things now. Am I right?"

Dean blinked. Of course he had thought that. No so much after the incident with Julian itself, he had been quite busy back then. But while he had recovered. In the hospital. Here at Bobby's. He had truly thought he had gone insane.

"Dean? Come on. What did you think?"

"That I lost my marbles", Dean whispered and felt his mouth twitch at the bright smile appearing on Sam's face.

"See? Julian's psychic ability...in our world, it's possible, it's an explanation."

"But that's just it", Dean exclaimed, the tiny flicker of a smile vanishing again, "it's possible. It's the real stuff. Which means that kid is in there...without being crazy or legally insane. He's perfectly healthy up here in his melon, Sam."

Sam gaped at him. "And...what? Do you want to go back and get him out? Is that what you wanna say here?"

"No...yes...I just...", Dean shrugged and walked up to the bottle he had dropped earlier. With an angry kick he sent it flying through the yard in a wide arc. "We can't let him rot in there. Remember me, Sam? I was there because of a totally common thing. In our world, as you put it."

That caused Sam to huff. "Who says this is the only thing he suffering from? You don't know him, Dean. He might have gone really crazy because of that. I don't know, that psychic thing might have been the beginning but don't you think that something like this...causes something in a young man? Who says he hadn't gone insane after all? Who says he isn't some serial killer?"

"Sam..."

"No, Dean. I want you to...just leave it be, okay? I know you feel guilty and I know you're feeling responsible for him, and for what you did with his sister. But I won't let you run into a minefield I know you won't return from because of a fucking guilt-trip. So this is how we do it: we're going to wait, okay? We're going to look for a job, hunt something down, celebrate the good old times. And then, in a few months, we're going to find a way to get in touch with Phillip. He might tell us about Julian, okay? We'll cross the bridge when we come to it, Dean. But right now, this bridge is over hundred miles away and we'll need to cover quite the distance until it even comes into view."

Dean held Sam's gaze. His little brother's expression was so heated, determined, it was downright scary. It was love, it was fear, it was an entreaty. Sam was at his wit's end, Dean could see it. And he was right. There was nothing they could do right now. Sam hadn't succeeded in getting him out of that facility. How were they supposed to free that kid? With both their faces on wanted posters in addition to it.

"Dean?"

Again, Dean blinked. He hadn't noticed that Sam was standing right in front of him now, touching his arm.

"Yeah", the older Winchester cleared his throat, "fine. I'll leave it be then. For now. But promise me we look into this later, okay?"

Sam smiled. "Promised."

It was a soft smile. A tentative one. But then, too genuine to be fragile. It was a smile Dean had missed the most amongst other things while he had been held prisoner in that godforsaken establishment. A smile not even Phillip could have offered him.

It was more then a smile. It was a prospect. It was an assurance. It was a peace offering. It was the first step back to normal, at least the Winchester normal. It might be the first step to the relationship they once had, before hell, before angels, before the Apocalypse.

Dean hoped for it.

"So, let's set out then, shall we?" Sam asked, rubbing his hands. "How about I take the wheel, so you can lay down in the back seat? Catch a few hours of sleep?"

"Geez, Sam", Dean pulled his head back, "where do you want to drive? Alaska?"

"Why not. It's nice there."

"And cold."

"You could use a few gulps of fresh air, don't you think?"

"Not funny, Sam."

"Aw, come on. A little funny?"

"Shut up." Dean took a deep breath, feeling his tension waning slowly. "Bitch."

They might get there. Back to the good old days. Just him. Just Sam. And some common fuglies.

"Jerk."

Hopefully.

The end.

Build my fear of what's out there
Cannot breathe the open air
Whisper things into my brain
Assuring me that I'm insane
They think our heads are in their hands
But violent use brings violent plans
Keep him tied, it makes him well
He's getting better, can't you tell?

Sanitarium (Welcome Home) – Metallica

(If this thing would have been a movie, this song would be heard during the closing credits!)

Author's notes: There's one last chapter, let's call it the epilogue. If you reached this point and you have the feeling the story's finished for you, you don't have to read it. If you're in for a tiny tidbit, enjoy chapter 30!

I want to thank all you lovely people out there who have waited patiently week after bloddy long week for a new chapter to be posted and for leaving the most wonderful reviews to every single chapter, for encouraging me and showing me why it's worth every minute to work hard on a story. You're AWESOME!

Thank you LadyKryptonite294 for creating such wonderful artwork for this story. Keep going!

Thank you Halit for keeping in touch and for the lovely conversations we had and are going to have!

And a special Thank You for my Beta MeAzrael, who had a rough trot while this story came to existence, and still has, but still took the time and strength to read through my chapters to wipe out all the nasty mistakes and gaps in the plot. Honeypie, you're special. Still don't know how I deserve you. Keep fighting!

WHAT'S NEXT?

I'm currently working on four stories:

Operator
This one's almost finished and the next story I'm going to post. It's a smaller one, it's an experiment and I just had to try it. It's a story based solely on phone calls by John and Sam after Dean's gravelly injured on a hunt and lies in hospital, probably dying. The story contains several connections from either John or Sam to several characters we got to know during the show.

Water Is My Eye
A huge project I started almost a year ago, but after accidently deleting the first chapter (about 7 pages long...) I was so pissed I decided to put it aside. After watching "My Heart will go on" I'm quite inspired again. It's a story about the boys working undercover on a haunted cruise liner and is going to be a mixture between 'Titanic' (minus the cheesy stuff) and 'Event Horizon'.

Untitled I – Desert
A plot that came to me somewhere between showering and towelling myself – Sam and Dean fall into a trap set by other hunters who are after Sam. They take Sam and leave Dean behind in the desert. Oh yeah, that sounds lame. But there's more I'm not going to elaborate further **evil chuckle**

Untitled II – Hellhounds
A reunion with Hel and Patrick (characters from my first story 'Where A River Seperates The Land') and an reencounter with the hellhounds for Dean. The boys join a group of hunters to investigate two abandoned towns. They split up but when it's time to regroup, Dean's team doesn't return.

I'd love to see you all around some time! Take care, all of you!
Barbara