Author's Note:

We're going back to Dean in this one, though unfortunately I can't provide another magnificent shower scene like the one we got in 9x18!

I wanted to point out that there's one or two things in this chapter that may seem like I've forgotten a detail or something like that, but there's a reason for it, so for my more fastidious readers, relax, there's a plan!

Thanks to Acidspades, ToxicTenshi, annburgum, SPN Mum, yuffb, and one guest for their reviews on chapter 5!

Chapter 6 - We Have A Problem

Sam had already packed the box and set it in its designated spot, hoping that this time he wouldn't have to wake up, deactivate the e-mail to the post office, and unpack the box again.

Heading into the bathroom, Sam picked up the knife he had set out by the sink, and pulled the jar of poison he had mixed and enchanted. Somehow, he felt like this might be the one, but there was only one way to test that. He had hesitated briefly in his preparations, the memory of Castiel in his dreams from the night before giving him pause, but he pushed it away. Castiel didn't understand. Dean probably wouldn't either, but neither of them were there right now. This was about giving them a chance, giving the world a chance.

Sitting down next to the bathtub, Sam rolled his sleeves up and buttoned them in place, flexing his arms briefly to examine the veins. Unscrewing the jar, he dipped the knife in the poison and swirled it around, making sure it was liberally covered in the stuff. With a deep breath, he raised the knife to his right arm, grimacing at the multiple scars he already had. He wouldn't be following all of those scars, since they all ran horizontally, and he was planning to do a single vertical slash down each arm.

Positioning the knife in the crease of his elbow, Sam closed his eyes briefly before reopening them and pushing the blade down, piercing the skin with a flinch and drawing it down. It hurt like hell. Not that he'd been expecting it to feel good, but the pain was more intense than he'd anticipated. He dragged the knife down his skin as quickly as possible, dropping the knife with trembling fingers when the gash was complete. Lifting the poison jar with his still shaking hand, he poured more of the liquid into the wound, hissing at the burning sensation it caused.

Before he could lose his nerve, Sam gripped the knife again in his weakened hand, moving over to the poison jar to re-coat the blade, then immediately moving to replicate the wound on his left arm. His dominant hand was very unsteady from the blood loss, but he still had just enough control to finish opening the skin on his arm. It might not have been as deep, but it would do the job. Before he could lose his range of motion, Sam lifted the jar again and poured all that remained over both arms, being more liberal on the deeper cut. Some spilled, but he figured he'd placed enough into his blood by now.

His heart was pounding furiously, which Sam thought was probably counterproductive to the body's natural survival tendencies. If his body really wanted to save itself, his heart rate should be slowing to prevent the blood loss, not increasing to pump it out faster. It occurred to him that shock was probably going to come on soon, if it hadn't already. He wasn't sure what stage of dying he was at, exactly, but he was far more dizzy than he'd ever been from any injury, so at least he should pass out soon. The pain in his arms was starting to dull, so that was probably a sign of success. He lifted his left hand to his chest, gripping onto the amulet he was still wearing. The new position of his arm meant he was getting blood all over his shirt. It was probably funny that that kind of bothered him

As he drifted off, Sam imagined he could feel Lucifer's rage at having finally been defeated. He sincerely hoped that was the case. He was starting to get tired of the disappointment of coming back to life. He could feel his fingers slipping away from the amulet, and he tried to grip it tighter. Everything started to go dark, and he wasn't sure if he succeeded in keeping his hold or not.

"Dean!" Castiel's voice was loud and urgent as he appeared in the hunter's hotel room, directly in front of the television.

Dean had been relaxing with a beer after finishing his hunt, and his focus had casually been an old Star Trek re-run he'd managed to find on TV. Castiel's appearance startled him badly, and he managed to spill beer on his chest before he caught the bottle and calmed himself. "Dammit, Cas! Don't scare me like that!"

"I do not have time to cater to your many whims, Dean," Castiel snapped on him, striding forward and removing the beer from Dean's hand, pulling him to his feet and glaring at him.

Eyebrows skyrocketing, Dean held his hands up in surrender, confused. "Okay, wow. What the hell is going on, Cas? What's got you so worked up?"

"Sam," Castiel replied immediately, his expression shifting to one of concern.

"What did he do?" Dean asked, his face flickering back and forth between worry and trepidation.

Castiel scowled. "Nothing," he over enunciated, frustrated by Dean's reaction. "Yet."

"Okay, what's he going to do that's got you so worried?" Dean brushed his hand over his shirt to try and rub out the beer, and moved around Castiel towards the bathroom.

"I visited his dreams, to try and ascertain his location," Castiel explained. "I had to help him fight of Lucifer before we could successfully have a conversation."

There was a pause, and Dean turned again to study Castiel's expression before finally asking, "Is he all right?"

"Physically, he is fine," Castiel huffed. "Mentally, he is weary, and misguided. I need your help to stop him before he succeeds in his plans."

"What plans?" Dean demanded, exasperated. "You sound like you want me to be all freaked out, but you haven't told me what I need to be worried about yet!"

"Sam is in danger, Dean!" Castiel nearly yelled at him, fury building in his expression. "You should be concerned no matter what the imminent threat!"

Dean looked like he was about to argue, but after a moment he backed off. "Okay, okay. You're right. I'm sorry. What's going on?"

"Sam is trying to kill himself," Castiel finally informed him, his tone reverting back to barely concealed panic. "Evidently he has already tried, but Lucifer is resurrecting him each time, so during your separation, he has been endeavoring to find a way to make his death permanent, so Lucifer no longer has a way to bring him back."

Immediately Dean looked angry. "What the hell?" He blurted. "He thinks he just check out? What, is dealing with this mess too much for him?"

"Do not speak of that which you do not know, Dean Winchester!" Castiel practically snarled at him, moving forward in one swift movement to pin Dean against the wall. "Listen to me before you judge your brother. I believe his motivation is to make your apparent task of stopping this apocalypse easier. He wanted to convince me of the merit of his idea, that if Lucifer is trapped in his weaker vessel, he will be more vulnerable. While true, that does not mean this mission Sam has set himself is more important that his life." Castiel was fierce in his explanation of Sam's words during the dream. He needed Dean to help him, because he didn't believe he was enough to stop Sam by himself. Perhaps if Sam truly understood how much Castiel valued him, but he already knew that that was not the case. If Dean came with him, however, then Castiel had a far better chance of convincing Sam.

Dean was silent throughout Castiel's explanation, his expression varying as he listened. After a moment, he pushed lightly on Castiel's arm until the angel let him move away from the wall. "What the hell gave him the idea that killing himself is going to make anything easier on me?" He muttered, more to himself than Castiel.

"I believe, from what Sam explained, that this particular mission arose largely out of the manipulation that was your trip to Heaven," Castiel explained.

"What do you mean, manipulation?" Dean asked, brow furrowed.

Castiel sighed deeply. "Zachariah deliberately inflicted memories with painful emotional attachments on Sam, choosing moments of fleeting happiness that had lasting pain involved, and moments that were specifically designed to attack your relationship. Sam noticed, of course, but instead of coming to me with his concerns, assumed that Heaven was trying to push him out because he was corrupted." The look on Castiel's face spoke volumes as to what he believed about that idea.

Dean's mouth opened in shock, then shut again, then opened again to let out a low moan. "Oh, god." He reached up to run a hand through his hair, beginning to pace against the floor. "God, I'm such an idiot. And an asshole. Geez, why didn't he say anything?"

"Sam has a habit of being more self sacrificing than is good for him," Castiel pointed out.

Dean let out a choked laugh. "Yeah, no kidding. We need to go, like now. God, what the hell am I even going to say to him? He's probably beyond pissed at me. How could I have been so blind?"

"Sam is not angry," Castiel informed him. At Dean's questioning look, he added, "He seemed to believe that your loss of faith in him was justified."

A brief flash of horror flew through Dean's eyes before he schooled his expression into one of determination. "Do you know where he is?" He demanded.

"Close," Castiel admitted. "We will have to do some trial and error searching, but I was able to narrow it down while I was speaking with him."

"Then we need to go," Dean said firmly, moving forward to grip Castiel's arm. The angel nodded once, then they were gone.

It took Castiel about four different tries to find the place he'd glimpsed in Sam's mind, but he recognized it as soon as he saw it. When they landed and he indicated with a nod of his head to Dean that they were in the right place, the older Winchester immediately bolted for the door, slamming it open and lurching into an empty room.

"SAM?" Dean yelled, spinning around to take in the entire room.

Castiel moved past him, dread coiling low in his abdomen as he pushed into the small house's bathroom. He saw Sam's white face first, an expression he couldn't name formed with still features. His hair was messy, as though he'd woken up and not bothered to brush it. He saw Sam's shirt next, which was covered in blood from an odd angle. It took him a moment, once he had observed Sam's arms and the wounds on them, to realize that Sam had been holding onto the amulet he was wearing - Dean's amulet - and once his grip had faded, his arm had fallen to its awkward position. The other arm rested naturally at his side.

The floor was coated in blood, and an empty jar and knife lay haphazardly next to Sam. The tools he'd used to end his life, Castiel supposed. It was his guess that the jar had contained a poison of some kind. He had heard of similar death curses. If nothing else, at least, Sam was determined in achieving his goals. Castiel had a sudden desire to simultaneously gather Sam into his arms and protect him, despite the fact that nothing remained to protect, and smack him across the face for even considering doing this to himself. The worst part, Castiel realized, was that this was not the first time Sam had taken his life. Every other time, Sam had come back to an empty room, alone. A glimmer of hope reminded Castiel that there was a chance that Sam might once again return, but somehow he couldn't quite manage to embrace that hope.

Dean appeared behind Castiel in the doorway a second later, urgency still evident in his steps. He stopped dead in the door, taking in the scene over Castiel's shoulder. He saw the blood first. Any time Dean had ever seen that much blood in his life, it had been pouring out of a monster he had killed. Now, it was pooled around his little brother, and Dean couldn't help but wonder if Sam had died thinking Dean considered him a monster. He saw Sam himself next, and had to look away from the gashes in Sam's arms. The wounds were nasty, and Dean couldn't really believe Sam had done that to himself. As his eyes moved upwards, Dean froze at the sight of the amulet - his amulet - around his brother's neck. He couldn't have imagined feeling worse at that moment, but suddenly he did. Throwing away Sam's gift to him had been the most physical way he had been able to think of to signify how finished with everything he felt after they returned from Heaven. It hadn't just been about Sam, of course. The complete absence of God's intervention was pretty faith-shattering, both for him and for Castiel, but Dean had been blind to not realize what his action would signify to Sam.

Neither of them had said anything, and as far as Dean was concerned, there was nothing to say. Castiel seemed content to stand guard in the doorway, and neither of them seemed to want to move forward and confirm through touch that Sam was really gone. Suddenly, movement from outside caught Dean's attention. Latching onto the distraction like a drowning man to a raft, Dean bolted towards the front door, narrowly avoiding running into the postal worker who had just picked up a package from around the corner.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean barked, realizing belatedly that what he was looking at was a postal service uniform.

The man froze, looking frightened. "Uh, Nick? Nick Fields. I'm just here to pick up the package."

"What package?" Dean demanded, relaxing slightly at the complete absence of an apparent threat.

"Our office got an e-mail to pick up a package at this address, with instructions as to where it would be," Nick explained, holding up the box as evidence. "I'm guessing you're not the one sending it, then."

"No, that would be my...brother..." Dean managed to reply, stumbling over the mention of Sam. "Who's it to?"

"Uh..." Nick flipped the box around so he could check the label. "Dean Winchester, care of Robert Singer. South Dakota address."

"I'm Dean," Dean blurted immediately, reaching for the box. "I swear to God, that's me. Sam's my brother. He's the one mailing the stuff, but I came to see him, so he doesn't need to mail it to me."

Nick looked at him skeptically. "You got ID?"

That through Dean for a loop. Did he have any ID with his actual name on it? He pulled out his wallet and started thumbing through cards. He almost wilted with relief when he found an old library card stuffed down behind a fake credit card. It immediately made him want to cry as well. It was very old, and the only reason he had a library card with his name on it was because Sam had been too young at the time to get his own. Dean had hung on to it because he thought it was funny that he even had one. There was no reason for it to be in his wallet still, but somehow he'd managed to hang onto it. Coughing and collecting himself, he held it out.

"Sorry, it doesn't have a signature, but it has my name on it." Dean prayed desperately that this guy would just give him the damn box and leave.

Nick sighed and nodded. "You don't seem like the kind of guy I want to fight with on this," he said wryly. "Here. Just don't go telling anybody. If you turn out to be a psycho or something, I don't want to get fired for giving away someone else's mail."

Dean had to give a half smile at that. "Your job is safe, dude. Get out of here."

The postal worker nodded and took off for his truck, leaving Dean to take a deep breath and walk back inside.

Castiel hadn't moved, but he did swivel his head to see Dean when the hunter reentered the room. "What was that?"

"Sam had the post office pick up a package. I caught the guy before he took off. Good thing, too, since it's addressed to me at Bobby's place. I wouldn't have seen it for at least a week, probably more." Dean scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably and started hunting for something to cut through the tape with. He was reticent to touch the one knife he found, so he settled for a ball point pen and started poking the tape until it was weak enough he could tear it off.

"What was Sam sending you?" Castiel inquired curiously.

Dean didn't answer right away, opening the box and removing some foam to see Sam's laptop on top. He pulled it out and set it aside, putting the charging cable he found next on top of it. There was a note next that detailed where to find Sam's weapons, since he couldn't send them through the mail. That was exactly the kind of thing Sam would be concerned about, and Dean couldn't decide if that made him want to smile or if it made him feel like crying again. The only other thing in the box were three letters. One was addressed to Bobby, one to Castiel, and one to Dean.

"What are those?" Castiel asked, turning slightly to see Dean better.

"Sam, he, uh," Dean coughed slightly, trying to clear the lump in his throat. "He wrote us letters. There's one for both of us and for Bobby."

Castiel strode forward immediately and held out his hand. "May I see mine?"

Dean handed it to him without protest. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Castiel returned to his vigil by the door, then turned his gaze to his own letter. He didn't want to read it, but at the same time it was the only thing he wanted to do. He could hear a crinkling paper sound indicating that Castiel was opening his letter. With a deep sigh, Dean slowly slid a finger under the edge of the envelope and began to tear it open.