Amara stood over her human guinea pig, watching. Sam's breathing was shallow and rasping. His eyes were closed but Amara knew he wasn't unconscious. Close, but not out. She crouched down next to Sam's head and lowered her lips so they almost touched his ear.

"You know what, Sammy? I think Dean will say yes, just so I will fix you."

Sam didn't react, just kept breathing, but his eyes were moving rapidly under closed lids.

"And here's the secret, Sammy. He'll say yes, but I won't fix you. I won't fix anything. Not until I have destroyed my brother. And for that, I will need your brother."

Faint gun shots caused Amara to lift up her head. She listened. Just as she thought they had ceased, they picked up again, closer this time.

"Your brother is coming," she told Sam and, getting up again she turned to walk into the middle of the ward room. She didn't see Sam's eyes open ever so slightly, didn't see his lips curl up in a weak, bloody smile.

"He'll kill you," Sam whispered, barely audible.

***spn***

Dean advanced sideways, his back close to the wall. He had to stop several times to take deep breaths, trying to steady his nerves and quell the nausea and dizziness. He glanced down at his left leg and frowned. By the looks of it the bullet had ripped right through his calf and pain was radiating all the way up to his hip. He was sure the blood trail he left might as well be glowing like a neon sign.

"Come on, Winchester. Finish what you started," he pep talked himself. Gritting his teeth, Dean gripped his colt tighter and took a deep breath. The throbbing at his temple had been reduced to a dull pain and Dean moved on. The barracks were big, but not overly so. He'd already been through most of it, losing track on the number of rooms as well as zombie soldiers he'd killed. He had to be close to Amara.

Pushing himself off the wall, Dean followed a fork in the hallway and faced a few steps down into a kind of anteroom. It wasn't very big but made Dean's heart race nevertheless, for on the opposite end an archway style opening allowed him a view at the wardroom and in its center stood Amara. Dean made out a crumpled form on the floor behind the Darkness.

"Sam," he rasped, attention solely on his little brother. It was like everything else around him ceased to exist and he almost missed his defense.

***spn***

Mary and Henry had cautiously moved forward, eyes by now well used to the moonlit darkness. Reaching a staircase, Mary decided to head up, gesturing to Henry to keep moving at the ground level. Henry gave her a curt nod and flattened himself to the wall before advancing.

On top of the stairs, Mary almost stumbled over the body of a downed soldier. A circular hole in the man's forehead told her Dean had done a good job. She smiled. It was still weird for her to think of that grown man as her yet unborn son, and automatically she ran her hand over her belly.

Henry found his floor to be empty. No soldiers, no bodies, no Amara, no Sam. And, no Dean. Reaching a grossing of hallways, Henry looked to his right just in time to see the flash of a gunshot before he heard it and then, a good distance away, the muffled thud of a body dropping.

Holding his breath, Henry waited. No running footsteps and no further gunfire lead him to the conclusion that John and Samuel must have made it inside the building. Finally the odds were evening out. Pursuing the direction he was heading in, Henry thought he could hear someone talking. Someone female. Mary was a story above him so this could only mean he was closing in on Amara.

As swift and silent as possible, Henry moved to the end of the hallway where it opened into the wardroom. Keeping close to the wall to prevent detection, the Man of Letters found a position where he could see Amara standing dead center in the room, with what had to be Sam somewhere behind her.

***spn***

"Sam," Dean called, a bit louder. He didn't even try to keep his presence hidden from Amara. What for? She'd probably known he was there for a good while. Why else would she have let loose the pesky zombie obstacle at him?

Crossing the anteroom as quick as possible, Dean stepped into the wardroom, but paused a few steps in. Amara snapped her fingers and all lights came back on. Sam had been laying in a bloody heap on the floor but now Dean could see his brother was looking at him.

Instinctively, Dean's hand went to the back of his jeans to pull out the Colt, trading its place with his personal handgun. Weight all on his good right leg, Dean lifted his arm and aimed at Amara.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," she tutted, shaking her head. "Do you still think you can hurt me? Because even if you could pull the trigger, those bullets would merely tickle me."

"Yeah, that's what you think," Dean panted and squinted his eyes.

Amara smiled, almost relenting. "You won't be able to even try and pull the trigger." Pointedly she stared at something behind Dean, but before Dean could turn, a dark blur shot from the other entrance next to where Dean was standing. The newcomer tackled him to the ground at the very moment gunfire from an assault rifle reverberated in the room.

Vaguely, Dean was aware of a pain in his right shoulder before he hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Whoever had tackled him was laying motionless on top of him. A noise behind him made him whirl around as fast and far as he could. A zombie soldier crumpled to the floor, curtesy to a bullet from one Mary Winchester who was standing at the entrance of the anteroom where Dean had been a few moments prior.

Relocating his gaze back to the man that had tackled him, Dean was almost afraid to find out who it was. Realizing it was Henry was almost lost in a flurry of things happening at the same time.

Footsteps running and entering the wardroom, Amara flicking out her arm, his mother and the new arrivals being flung into the wall behind them and sliding to the ground, unconscious. Dean took a deep breath as it dawned on him that he was the only one he could rely on taking Amara out. Mary, John and Samuel were all out cold on the floor. Sam wasn't in any shape to help him either. Cas was still awol and Henry... Dean sighed and gently pushed his grandfather's body off his legs.

An annoyingly insistant sound filled the wardroom and it took Dean a moment to realize Amara was laughing. She was laughing and all it did was make Dean want to kill her even more. Ignoring all pain from his leg, his shoulder and his head and pushing aside the dark spots threatening to screw up his vision, Dean once more lifted his right arm, ignoring the pain from the latest bullet hole, aiming the Colt at Amara's chest.

"You know, Dean, this is getting mighty old." Amara actually sounded ticked off. "Don't you know when you're fighting a losing battle? Even if you could kill me, Sam is as good as dead. Castiel is dead. The only one who could save Sam would be me. And I don't think I'd be much in the mood to do so if you're shooting at me."

Dean's arm was wavering slightly, but he didn't lower it. Shaking her head, Amara moved her wrist and Sam was airborn, suspended a few meters above the floor, blood dripping from his mostly limp body.

"Again. Shoot at me, and he's dead." Amara closed her fist and Sam was grunting in pain. Dean's vision turned red.

Without conscious thought, his finger on the trigger tightened. Once more he corrected his aim, using his good left arm to steady the wounded right, then all the fury Dean was feeling was focused into one action.

The trigger tightened. The bullet released.

"Go to hell, bitch," Dean muttered as the trajectory tore through Amara's chest, right where the Mark was. Looking down to where she was hit, Amara sported a surprised look on her face. This hurt. It shouldn't hurt.

A thud followed by a groan meant Sam had fallen to the ground. She couldn't hold on to her powers anymore. Her chest looked like there was a fire burning inside, eating her up, tearing her apart. With effort she moved her eyes up to look at Dean. The Colt was falling from his hands and he was swaying. He shouldn't have been able to hurt her. This was all wrong.

"Cas, need you," she still heard Dean rasp as the man fell to his knees. Then everything went black in front of her eyes. The sensation like something was ripped from her was the last thing she felt as she exploded into a giant cloud of black dust.

***spn***

Castiel was tuning into angel radio, but it was mainly silent. Not like he expected to hear any news about Dean's whereabouts. Most of his brothers were no fan of the hunter and his brother.

Closing his eyes, Cas tried to use his powers to feel out any supernatural activity in the area of Lebanon but before he'd even finished focusing, he heard it.

"Cas, need you."

"Dean!" Dean prayed to him. Called him. Finally he had a go to place and within a nano second Cas appeared in front of the wounded hunter.

Dean looked battered, down on his knees, swaying like a ship in a hurricane. Fine black dust covered the ground all around them and Castiel took a moment to take everything in.

Upon seeing him, Dean managed a weak smile that despite all the blood and grime managed to light up his eyes.

"Fix Sam," Dean whispered. Then his eyes rolled up and Cas could just about catch him before he hit the ground.

"Carnage," a deep voice behind the angel stated. Whirling around, Cas stopped hard when he saw who had appeared behind him.

"You?!"

TBC...

AN: I love cliffies... as a writer. As a reader, not so much. Goť an idea who joined the party? Let me know in a comment. :)