A particularly long update to make up for the wait. Thank you guys for being so patient with me.

If there are any major spelling or grammar mistakes please put that down to the fact that it is 3am right now and I apologise.

This one is dedicated to L Dean Kermick for giving me the inspiration to take up my ... keyboard? again.

BTW: I am trying to promote my original writing so here goes. I have a wattpad account with some original things like poetry and a couple of short stories. Some of the poems are even fandom related to give it a try!

ALSO, the biggie. I have a short story on sale in the Amazon kindle store. It's only 99cents (I think, it's 77p in English money). If anyone is interested then please PM me and I'd love to give you the link ^_^

Anyway, back to Supernatural.

Enjoy ^_^

Dean spent the night staring down the neck of a bottle of whisky until it was empty. Sam was dying. He could have guessed that himself of course, he hadn't been right since the night the angels fell and he had told Sam at the beginning that he knew this was where it would end. He had told him to let all that power go, but maybe it hadn't let go of him.

So his obsession to complete the final trial wasn't some rebellious, stubborn streak, it was pure survival. Maybe, subconsciously, Sam hoped to do something good with his last few days, instead of just wither away.

Dean understood that, he did. But that didn't mean that he would let it happen to his little brother. Crowley could save Sam, and Dean could save Reymes, whatever that was worth. He tipped the bottle back and felt the burn as the last few drops trickled down his throat. It would mean that Hell stayed open, but at least Sam and Cas could keep on fighting the good fight, until Cas finished the angel trials and sorted his own family out.

Then Sam would be free of his evil energy whatever, the life he had always despised and the brother who had practically forced him back into that life. Win-win right?

He wished he had more alcohol. He could go out to a liquor store of course but that would involve moving, and moving didn't seem like such a good idea when his thoughts seemed to be beating themselves bloody on the inside of his skull. He set the bottle back on the table slowly, waiting for the thunk as glass hit wood. Then he sighed and passed his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes.

He wasn't going to be able to sleep tonight, that was for sure. It's not that he was so worried about the actual dying part. It was what came after that scared him. Dean found it highly unlikely that Crowley would let go of his soul just because it wasn't stated in the contract, and once he was dragged back downstairs, Crowley would be sure to angel proof the place. Meaning that he would stay there forever.

Dean squared his shoulders and stood with the steady balance of someone well-accustomed to the amount of whisky he had just ingested. Ignoring his whirring brain, Dean left the hotel and crossed the parking lot to his baby, opening her trunk he checked all of the weapons, salt rounds, flasks and of holy water that he had left in her, taking each gun apart and clicking it all back into place again. His hands were steady, but his guts were churning.

Better him than Sammy, he told himself as he walked back to the hotel. Better him than Reymes. The sleepy guy at reception nodded to him as he walked down the stairs to the bar and ordered a drink. Or four. That shut his head up nicely, so he ordered another to celebrate.

XXX

Castiel appeared in the park where they had failed to capture the nephilim and called to Metatron. He didn't have to wait long. Metatron emerged from behind a tree with a smile on his face that faltered at Castiel's lack of greeting.

'You lied to me.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Nephilim are not part of the trials!' Castiel's eyes blazed and his voice shook, but he carefully fed out each word.

'I had the prophet, Kevin Tran inspect the tablet for me, specifically, the part about the trials' Metatron's eyes widened slightly but he played it off with a sharp exhale

'Castiel, I'm offended, you didn't trust me?'

'I wanted to be sure that killing the girl was necessary.' Castiel said

'It is necessary!' Metatron cried, taking a step forwards 'Castiel, I am the scribe of God. Kevin Tran is an AP student with a power he doesn't understand, who do you think is more likely to have made a mistake?'

'Kevin Tran is a prophet of the Lord, one of the chosen. I trust him'

'More than you trust me? Your family?'

Castiel looked down. In the back of his mind, he knew that Dean was now in the hotel bar.

'I have been deceived by angels in the past' he said

'Oh, come on!' Metatron's expression was disbelief and annoyance. 'Can't you just do what you're told? Why do you always have to question everything?'

Castiel widened his stance subtly but Metatron continued

'And now what? You expect a fist fight? Like children? You can't just chalk it up to an honest mistake?'

'So you're admitting you made a mistake?' Castiel frowned at his brother. Metatron put his hands up in surrender and chuckled

'Dad said an awful lot of stuff for me to write down, Castiel, okay, maybe I got a little ... jumbled. I tell you what. I'll sleep on it, and 'sift through my notes' as it were, and see if I did indeed just...'

'Forget?'

'Exactly.' he finished with a kindly smile, as if he was indulging a child who was being unreasonable.

Castiel moved before the smile was off his brother's face, then Metatron's throat was in between the tree and his arm

'You don't just forget Our Father's word.' Castiel growled 'Just as I know every prophet that ever was or will be, you will know the order of ever letter that He spoke, it will be seared into your brain. There is no forgetting. So therefore, you chose to lie to me. Why?'

Metatron winced as Castiel repeated the question loudly and pressed a little harder into the tree.

'Alright, alright! It's not strictly speaking the trials of Heaven, but it achieves the same thing! All the angels pulled back where we can sort things out!'

'If that's not the Heaven trials then what is it?' Castiel said, letting Metatron down and taking a step back

'It's a bit more complex and harder to undo' pleaded Metatron. 'It's not on the tablet because it's a spell rather than one of God's rituals. Any angel could set their minds to it and find a way to undo the trials, or at least find a loophole in them before we fix our family, but that would be useless against this spell! Please, Castiel, it was just easier to call them the Heaven trials, I knew you wouldn't agree to help me if it wasn't God's word!'

Castiel turned on his heel and started to stride away.

'You're right' he said, 'I won't'

'You'll regret this, Castiel!' Metatron yelled after him. 'You will be shunned or hunted by our brothers and sisters! They will know you only as the angel who betrayed his family when they needed him most! I need you to do this for me! For our family!'

'Find someone else.'

XXX

Dean only left the bar when they stopped serving drinks, and even then, he lingered long enough to snatch a handful of peanuts before stumbling out. He made his way slowly through the seemingly labyrinthine halls, past many identical doors, without comprehending that one of them was his. He kept his left hand on the wall, both to steady himself and it took him back to a hunt in Texas, years ago.

It was a relatively short hunt as hunts went, John was only gone for a few days, he didn't remember what creature, vamp maybe. Sammy was almost six and Dean was in double digits so he felt extra responsible.

There had been a funfair eleven blocks down from the motel. They had passed it in the car and Dean had watched Sam's eyes light up with wonder, and the way he rolled down the window and his head swivelled to keep the colours, lights and sounds of happy children in view for as long as possible. Dean had felt something in his stomach and tore his gaze away from Sammy to stare at the back of his father's head. There was no point in asking him for money to go, John always gave them enough cash for however long he expected the job to take, with maybe a day or two extra if he had it on him. He was always careful with the false cards and he had never been all that good at hustling pool. Dean sat up straighter and kept his eyes of the back of John's head. They didn't have time for stupid stuff like fairgrounds and fun. They were here to work.

After John had left, Sam had climbed up to the window to wave goodbye. It had taken him years to kick that habit, it was only when he was about twelve that he realised John never looked back. But long after the impala had zoomed out of sight, Sammy stared at the ugly, whitewashed buildings that were hiding the fairground. He never said anything. He knew as well as Dean did that they couldn't afford to go. They had enough money for three days crappy food. Dean left Sam at the window and turned to wave at him as he passed by on his way to the store.

He felt the notes in his pockets as he filled the basket with Spaghetti O's and froot loops and bit his lip. Thinking of the look on Sammy's face when he had seen that fairground. He ended up putting half the stuff back and pocketing the change. That first night he pretended he wasn't hungry, after all John had bought them lunch on the way there. The second day, Dean had gotten up early, snagged some dry froot loops and shook Sammy awake.

'Come on Sammy, breakfast!'

He had given his brother a full bowl of cereal and a spoon and hurried him into dressing. He had then dragged a reluctant Sam three blocks before he clocked on to where they were going, and suddenly his steps quickened and they were both soon running towards the fairground music.

Dean bought them both a candy floss and Sam raced around, laughing, eyes sparkling, sprinting from the dodgems to the merry-go-round. Dean watched him and couldn't help grinning back, even as the notes in his pocket turned to change. Dean had told Sam that John had slipped him some extra money for a special surprise for Sam. Luckily they were both too short to go on most of the rides. When the sun began to sink and Sammy was starting to get tired, he pulled Dean over to one last attraction, the maze.

Dean handed over his last few coins to the man at the entrance and they went inside. It was inside and actually quite dark and creepy Dean quite liked it, he wanted to wander around for ages and get lost but after several wrong turns Sammy gripped on to his arm.

'We're never gonna get out of here' he said 'Dean, can't we go back? I don't like it. There could be monsters in here.' Dean bent over to look his brother in the eyes 'I'll protect you from any monsters, Sammy.' he said 'It's just a maze, look' he took Sam's left hand and placed it on the wall 'keep your left hand on the wall at all times and it'll get you out. I promise.' and it had.

Dean put on a big show of peering around every corner to make sure that the coast was clear and when Sam took his hand off the wall for even a second, Dean took over, saying that if the connection was broken, the walls would all change and they'd be lost forever. When they had finally come out into the light again, Sammy ran ahead and was laughing when Dean emerged behind him.

They headed back to the motel where Dean fixed dinner and told Sammy that he had gotten a hot dog while Sam had been on the teacups, then they had gotten ready for bed and Dean tucked his brother in but just as he was about to stand up to go over to his own bed, Sam had reached up and clasped his hand behind Dean's neck.

'That was the best day ever' he said. 'Dad's the best.' Dean had smiled and hugged him back.

'No' he said 'you're the best, Sammy.'

Needless to say, four days later, when John finally returned to an ecstatic Sam who couldn't thank him enough, he took Dean outside and gave him a severe talking to about responsibility and how there are more important things than childish whims and what if he had come back and they hadn't been there, ready to leave? John was so angry that it took him a full hour before he relented and said that it was 'a nice thing to do for your brother'. Dean devoured his dinner that night.

It was a strange memory to get lost in as he felt his way down the seemingly endless halls, drunk, nostalgic and angry. He somehow passed his door four time before the brass number registered.

He waited until his door was locked behind him before pulling Ruby's knife out of his jacket and sitting down on the bed. He stared at the symbols on its flat edge and traced them with the tip of his finger the blade blinked innocently, the amount of blood that had poured all over this thing, there was no trace of any of it.

'Guess I couldn't save you from all the monsters, huh Sammy?' he said to no one.

Dean's finger slid along to the point and then down and sloped along the serrated edge. His finger dripped red and Dean pulled away hastily, snapping out of his trance. Red stained the silver, and Dean put his finger in his mouth and tasted iron. A sight and taste that was all too familiar to him.

Better him than Sammy.

He shoved the knife under his pillow and collapsed on top of it, he might be able to get some sleep tonight after all.

So what do you think? Like? No like? Did I make the flashback scene too long or not clear enough? Any mistakes at all? I'd love to hear your opinions.

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Please review and favourite and follow because I am not done with this story yet!

Thank you so much for reading. ^_^

Love Tibbins xx