Thank you so much Jenjoremy for the fab beta job, and Gredelina1 for being the best support system I could ask for. You ladies make this story for me xxx

Chapter Fifteen

An hour after Sam's meltdown, he was sleeping on his bed, exhausted by what he had been through. Doctor Platt had left, though he was planning to come back again in a couple days. Dean had been forced to accept that Sam's outburst was not down to the doctor but Sam's own mind. The doctor might even be able to help Sam cope with what he had discovered about himself.

Dean wasn't any more worried than he had been before. If anything he was reassured, as Sam's reaction to his grief was what he would have expected before. Sam was wounded and he was withdrawing to deal with it. He would have preferred Sam to stay with him, to talk, but this was his normal.

Though seeing Sam's grief for himself and Jessica had been among the worst moments of Dean's life, he was glad it was all out in the open now. Sam knew everything Dean knew, and now he would be able to sort through it and maybe understand what was happening to him a little better. If nothing else, Dean wouldn't be hiding stuff anymore.

Dean crept across the room to the chest of drawers where he kept his duffel. He rooted inside for the journals, his hand brushing against something metal. He pulled it out and saw it was Bobby's hipflask. Some whiskey still slopped inside it. He had stuffed it in his bag when he'd brought it into the hospital, not wanting the temptation of liquor in his pocket while he was trying to deal with what had happened to Sam in the early days. He'd forgotten it after a while, but now he turned it over in his hand. Bobby had been the one to break Sam today—the Bobby of his mind at least. He wondered what the real Bobby would have made of Sam's situation. Would he have backed Dean in not telling Sam the truth until now or would he have wanted Sam to know? He could never know now.

He tossed the flask back into the bag and picked up the journals. He checked to make sure Sam was peaceful still and then crept out of the room, leaving the door ajar so he would hear anything that happened.

Elsie and Alfie had returned to their shopping list, though Elsie looked strained and she quickly closed the cupboard door when Dean entered the kitchen and asked, "How is he?"

"Sleeping," Dean said. "He's exhausted."

"I'm sure," Elsie said fervently. "I've never heard anything like that before, not in person anyway."

"Me either," Dean admitted. "I've seen Sam hurting before, but not like that. It wasn't even that extreme when she died. It's like he held it in all these years and now he's just letting it go."

"It was awful," she said with a shudder.

"He's okay now," Dean said. "And he knows everything. That's got to be better."

"Yes," Alfie said, setting down his pen and looking at Dean. "But better for how long?"

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, concern creasing his brow.

"I mean after what you're going to do to him."

"I'm not doing anything to him," Dean said stiffy as Elsie frowned at her husband. "I'm taking care of him."

"Really, and when you have left him alone, how well do you think he will handle that?" When Dean looked at him blankly, he went on with a bite of anger in his tone. "I read 'All Hell Breaks Loose.' I know what happened to Sam at Jake's hands and what you did to save him. The books stopped with 'No Rest For The Wicked' when you died, but you said it ruined him. Tell me, Dean, what happened to him."

"It was bad," Dean admitted.

"Then why would you do it to him again? Don't you think Sam would rather stay exactly as he is now if it meant you were with him? You cannot make a deal and leave him behind again. It will destroy him, I am sure. You cannot do that to any of us."

He was impassioned, furious, and Dean was momentarily shocked at the change in his usually mild-mannered friend.

"I'm not leaving Sam," he said.

"Really? What do you think will happen when your deal comes due then?"

"Dean?" Elsie said fearfully, her hand on her chest.

"I'm not making a deal," Dean said.

Alfie frowned. "You're not?"

"No. It wouldn't work anyway. Crowley would never allow us to make a deal with him or any of his crossroad demons. We've not exactly come through for him lately, but he prefers us alive than dead right now. There's stuff he wants from us. Besides, things the way they are, Sam like this and me having to watch him suffer, that's Crowley's idea of a good time. He wouldn't get in the way of that."

"But you told Sam…"

"That I'd fix it," Dean said. "And I will. There has to be a way; I just have to find it. A healer, an angel, a witch even; someone has to know how to do it. I'm going to do whatever it takes to find them."

Elsie looked relieved but Alfie was still suspicious.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Alfie," Dean said. "I know what I owe you."

Alfie stared into his eyes, searching for something, and then he nodded. "Very well. I believe you. What are you going to do though?"

"I am going to search Bobby's notes first. He was in the hunt longer than anyone I know apart from Rufus. He can't have known anything to bring people back because he would have told me when Sam was killed, and I'm sure he didn't know a way to heal physically, but he might know something that can heal this mental trauma. If we can just take Lucifer out of the equation, that will help. I think Sam can cope if he's not being tormented all the time. It will give me time to find something that can fix the rest."

"And if Bobby doesn't have a solution?" Alfie asked.

"Then I'll start asking around. I have my dad's and Bobby's journals, and they're full of details of other hunters. I will track them all down and ask what they know."

"What can we do?" Alfie asked.

"What you're already doing," Dean said, looking from him to Elsie. "Both of you. You're doing everything by being yourselves and helping me take care of Sam. We're never going to be able to make up for what you've done for us."

Elsie smiled at him. "It's been our pleasure. You and Sam are special. I don't mean the hunting or the fact you have actually saved the world, but just who you are. We help because we both know you deserve it. Alfie told me that the day he first came home from the hospital. He saw something in you, and I see it, too."

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn't know what it was in him that they saw, but he was immeasurably grateful for it. They were good people, unlike any he'd ever known before, and he and Sam would be in their debt for the rest of their lives.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Elsie smiled and then her eyes fell on the journals in his hands. "Is that it?" she asked. "Your father's journal?"

Dean held it out. "Yeah. You want a look?"

"Can I?" she asked excitedly.

"Sure."

Elsie quickly dusted her hands on a cloth as if she was worried she'd dirty the journal and then took it from. She carried it almost reverently to the table and sat down. With careful movements she opened to the first page and her eyes brightened.

"I went to Missouri and I learned the truth," she read. "That was such a powerful line. Edlund may have had his flaws, but he could create an impact."

"Except he can't," Alfie said. "Those words were written by John Winchester himself. All the writer did was transcribe what he saw."

"Oh. I didn't think of that. It makes it better though. I am reading John Winchester's very own words in his very own writing."

Alfie looked despairing and Dean chuckled.

Elsie turned the pages one by one, an entranced look on her face. "All these people saved," she said. "Each page is a life, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but there was more than that," Dean said. "Each page is a monster Dad found, but he came up against most of them more than once. I doubt even he could have told you how many hunts he took in his life. I know I couldn't tell you all of mine. Sam might be able to. His memory is—was—incredible."

"It will be again," Elsie said confidently.

"Yes, about that," Alfie said. "You said you were looking for a healer for Sam perhaps. Have you met any healers since Faith?"

"Faith?" Dean asked. "Oh, the book. No, we haven't. Angels can heal, so Castiel did that a couple times, but no one else."

Alfie looked thoughtful. "But the healer in Faith was using a tethered reaper to transfer the sickness to other people."

Dean remembered it well. Because of Sam's determination to save him, an innocent man had died. His second chance at life had come at a price. He realized what Alfie was leading toward now.

"You want to know if I'd use a reaper for Sam?" he asked.

"Yes."

Dean shrugged. "Lucifer isn't a physical sickness the same way what happened to me then was, so I doubt they could transfer it."

"If they could?"

"I don't think you need me to tell you," Dean said. "You know me well enough by now."

Alfie nodded once, looking troubled.

"Put yourself in my position," Dean said. "If, God forbid, it was Elsie that needed help, is there anything you wouldn't do for her?"

Alfie looked at his wife and pressed his lips into a thin line, refusing to answer, though Dean knew what he was unwilling to admit. Alfie would do anything for her.

"Sam is the most important person to me," Dean said. "He always has been. I will do what I've got to do for him. If that makes me selfish or cruel, I can live with that." He sighed. "A reaper probably can't do it anyway. I'll try searching Bobby's notes first, and then ask around. If that doesn't work, I'll search myself."

Alfie looked pensive but he nodded.

"What about Sam?" Elsie asked. "How are you going to search with him?"

"I don't know," Dean said honestly. "I'll find a way."

"He could stay here," she said hopefully. "Alfie and I could take care of him."

"I can't leave him; this will take more than just a few hours," Dean said.

"Perhaps you should," Alfie said gently. "I know this will be difficult for you, but Sam needs stability. He needs to be here for Doctor Platt and he is due a check from Katherine soon. We can make sure he gets everything he needs."

"I'm not sure…" Dean said slowly.

"I know you don't want to leave him, but it would be best for him if you did," Alfie said. "You can't drag him around the country. Sam wouldn't be able to handle it as he is now. If you must leave, let us be the ones to help him. You know we can do whatever he needs."

Dean considered. The need to keep Sam with him was overwhelming, but he wanted what was best for him, too. Being away from Sam would hurt, but dragging him along would hurt him.

"I don't know," he said. "I know you can take care of him, but it feels wrong to leave him, too."

"Think about it at least," Alfie said.

Dean nodded. "I promise I will."

He opened Bobby's journal and started the turn the pages, searching for anything helpful and hopefully mobile. He would do what it took to save Sam, but he didn't think he would be able to leave him behind to do it.

Dean's certainty that Sam's withdrawal was a normal step evaporated the next morning. He had woken him in the evening to take his medication, and Sam had been quiet, but it felt normal. It wasn't until Dean woke from his restless sleep to see Sam staring up at the ceiling that he realized something was really wrong. Sam was somehow gone while still there.

"You going to get up?" Dean said with forced lightness. "We should go get breakfast."

Sam pushed back at the blankets and sat up. Looking blank, he took clothes from his duffel, walked into the bathroom and closed the door. Dean got his own clothes from his duffel and listened to Sam in the bathroom. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. There was something really wrong.

When Sam came out and sat down on the edge of the bed to put on his boots, Dean leaned forward. "Sammy, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Sam said in a flat voice.

"Look at me," Dean said.

When Sam brought his eyes up to him, he sucked in a breath. They were dead. There was no sign of emotion, of life, in them at all. It wasn't the same as when he saw Lucifer. He wasn't seeing something outside of reality. He was just gone.

"Sammy? What's wrong?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing."

"Talk to me," Dean pled.

"Why?" Sam asked. "What's the point?"

"I'm the point! I need you. I told you I will fix it, but you have to give me something. Tell me what you're thinking."

Sam stared at him with those dead eyes. "I can't. There's nothing to say."

"Are you mad at me because of Jess and Bobby?" he asked. "You can blame me if you need to, but I was trying to protect you, Sam. You'd already been through too much. I was scared you couldn't take anymore. I'm sorry."

"I couldn't take it," Sam said.

"Then why are you pissed? Is it because they died? I should have stopped it, I know. I should have never taken you from Jess, and I should have protected Bobby. I'm sorry, Sam."

"I need to eat now," Sam said dully. He laced his boots quickly and stood and walked away.

Dean rushed after him and grabbed his arm. "Sam, please," he said.

"It's too late," Sam said without turning. "It's over now."

He pulled free and left Dean standing frozen in shock. This wasn't Sam as he had seen him before. There was nothing alive left in him. He was lost. How was Dean supposed to reach him now?

Devastation and fury rolling in him, Dean pulled back a fist to punch the wall and then froze. To do that would be to serve himself only. He would hurt others by doing it. Sam probably wouldn't register busted knuckles, but if Alfie and Elsie saw it, they would be upset. Dean had to protect them, even if he couldn't protect Sam.

Wiping a hand over his face, Dean picked up his clothes and carried them into the bathroom to clean up and prepare to start a new day of this nightmare.

He took his time in the shower, in no rush to get downstairs to his empty brother and the pain that caused, and only when shaven perfectly and neatly dressed did he find he had no more reason to delay. He hung up his towel and went back into the bedroom. Alfie was waiting for him, sitting on the side of Dean's bed.

Dean sagged at the sympathy in his eyes. "You've spoken to him then."

"If that is what you would call speaking, then yes," Alfie said.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. That's the problem. He barely said a word. He drank the coffee I brought him and toyed with the toast Elsie made. The only real response I got from him was when I gave him his meds, and that was to laugh."

"Did he take them?" Dean asked.

"Yes. He took them, washed his mug and plate, then walked out of the room without a word. He's going through the motions, but he isn't engaging at all. Elsie is very upset."

"I'm sorry," Dean said. "I hate that you're having to go through this, too."

"So do I, but not for the reason you think. I hate that Sam is feeling like this. To cut off the way he has is terrible. What he must he be feeling…" He shook his head. "Have you ever seen him like this before?"

"No. He's been distant before, but never like this. When I was talking to him, it was like he wasn't even there. He answered me, but he didn't connect. It was like I was talking to a stranger, not my brother." He sank down onto the edge of the bed. "What do I do, Alfie?"

"We need to get him help. We should call Doctor Platt and have him come speak to him again. He might have some insight we don't."

"I have to find something," Dean said. "I have to fix it."

"I know," Alfie said sadly. "I will make the calls, and you can get to work looking for help. I can help if you need me to. There are two journals."

"No. All I'll get from Dad's is names and numbers of hunters. I have read that thing cover to cover so many times. There's nothing in there I don't know."

"Then I will let you concentrate on finding something in your friend's and I will watch over Sam."

"Thank you," Dean said gratefully. "I don't know what I'd do without you and Elsie."

"We are happy to help," Alfie said. "You and Sam mean a great deal to us, and we want to do what we can. Elsie said you're special, and you are, but not just to us. The world needs you both, Dean, and that means we must save Sam."

Save was the right word, Dean thought. He had been trying to save Sam from his injury and trauma before, but now he was trying to save him from himself. Whatever had happened in Sam to change him, he had to bring him back.

Dean needed him more than the world.

Dean was sitting in the living room with Alfie and Elsie, waiting for Doctor Platt and Sam to finish.

It had been a tough morning of trying and failing to connect with Sam. He rarely responded to him, and when he did it was in curt and distant words. Dean had worried that they would not be able to get him to go into the study with Doctor Platt again, but he'd seemed resigned to it when the doctor arrived, following him into the study without a word.

They'd been gone a long time, and Dean was hopeful that Sam might actually be talking to him, but when they finally emerged, Sam walked right past them and the doctor shook his head.

"We need to talk," Doctor Platt said when Sam was gone. "I have asked Sam's permission to share with you what he said. He gave it, though I think it was more indifference than an actual decision. I can share it though, and that is the important thing. Would you like this conversation to be private?" he asked, glancing from Alfie to Elsie.

"No," Dean said. "We all need to know."

"Of course. Well, Sam did speak a little in our session, and I know you were concerned that he wouldn't. What he said is worrying though." He opened his notepad and checked something. "Sam is presenting with a form of disassociation disorder. It's hard to be sure, as I couldn't do a full assessment, but some of the things he said lead me to believe that is the case."

"What does that mean?" Dean asked.

"It means Sam feels disconnected from his body and actions. When I asked him if he knew who I was, his response was 'You're not real'. I believe that is a sign that he has detached himself from reality and us."

He went on but Dean's ears were ringing and he couldn't hear the words.

'You're not real' meant something to Dean. He had heard it before. Had Lucifer convinced Sam that he was in the Cage still or was this a shock reaction to what he had learned? Was it easier for him to believe that they were all imagined than for him to accept that Jessica and Bobby were really dead and that he was damaged? He couldn't do this again. Sam couldn't. Their situation was already a nightmare; they didn't need to pile more on.

He felt the couch dip beside him and a hand settled on his arm and squeezed it gently. He looked into Elsie's concerned eyes and the ringing faded.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"This is too much," he answered.

She took his hand and held it between her own. "You can do this."

Taking comfort in her surety, Dean turned to the doctor and said, "Sorry. I missed that. What were you saying?"

"As I said, this is a form of disassociation. If I had more to go on, I would possibly diagnose Derealization Disorder." He paused. "Sam said something else to me that made no sense. Perhaps it will to you. He said there is no 'stone' to build from."

Dean felt a punch of shock to his gut. He had been banking on himself and their bond to ground Sam in this, just like he had last time. Sam was completely alone in this now. There was nothing he could do to reach him. He was useless.

"I see you know what that means," the doctor said.

"Yeah," Dean said, his tone defeated. "It means we're screwed."

"What are our treatment options?" Alfie asked.

"Psychotherapy," he said. "There also is medication, which he is already taking, and hypnotherapy, but Sam's brain injury makes that inadvisable."

"We have to do something!" Elsie said. "You've been talking to him for weeks now and making no progress. Sam is worse. And he's taking the medication. He cannot be left like this."

"I agree," he said. "But our options are limited. Derealization Disorder is difficult to treat as it is. Combined with Sam's injury, it is even harder. I am going to do everything I can for him. I will make daily visits. I may have to make some outside of my usual hours, as I still have a full service to run at the hospital. I will come though, and I will spend as much time with him as I think he can handle." He looked at Dean. "I am going to do everything I can for your brother."

"Yeah," Dean said. "Me too."

He frowned, but Dean didn't explain. He couldn't. He would never understand, as he didn't know about the other side of the world. Dean did. It had never been more important for him to solve a case than this one. He would do anything.

"What can we do for Sam?" Elsie asked. "How do we help him?"

"Be as gentle as you can. If he isn't speaking to you, don't try to force it. Make sure he takes his medication. I don't believe he is any danger to himself, but keep a careful watch on him, and if that changes, let me know at once. If I am unreachable and you're very concerned for his safety, bring him to the ER and he will have access to the duty psychiatrist. Most of all, be patient. He may say things that are upsetting, but you have to remember it's not really Sam saying them."

Dean nodded. He could do that. He'd been through it before when Sam was without his soul.

"I should go," Doctor Platt said. "I will come back tomorrow as early as I can, but I will call first."

Dean stood and was going to see him to the door, but at that moment he heard a crash from the sun room. He ran in and saw Sam on the floor. As if things weren't bad enough already, Sam was seizing again.

Dean closed Bobby's journal and sat with his head in his hands and his eyes squeezed shut. He was tired and stressed. He'd spent two days ensconced in the living room, reading every page of the journal in hope that there would be some small clue as to what he could do for Sam, but there was nothing. He hadn't found even a hint. And Sam wasn't doing well. He'd had another two seizures since his breakdown and he still hadn't engaged properly. It was like living with a ghost of who he had been. He drifted from room to room and sat staring into space for minutes upon end. It was hard to see when it was Lucifer now compared to Sam just being lost.

He had accepted the wrist monitor without difficulty though, seeming disinterested when Dean had explained what it was for. Dean was slightly reassured that he knew when the seizures came wherever he happened to be at the time now.

Sam was currently in the kitchen with Elsie. She was making muffins and Sam was just sitting at the table. When Dean had left he'd been occasionally watching her with a furrowed brow. Alfie was doing something in the garden that involved his roses. Dean wasn't sure what it was. He'd been distracted by watching Sam when Alfie had been talking about it at breakfast.

He lowered his hands and stood. His next step was to start calling around hunters to see if anyone had come across something that might help them. He wanted a break first though. He needed to check on Sam and maybe get a coffee.

He walked through to the kitchen and sighed as he saw Sam's position. He was sitting at the table, staring into space again. Dean thought he was seeing Lucifer again.

Elsie was working at the counter, studiously not watching Sam. When Dean came into the room, she looked to him and said. "He's been gone two minutes now."

"He'll come back," Dean said, his tone remarkably even considering the turmoil he was feeling inside.

"I know," Elsie said. "I just hate to see him like this."

After another minute, Sam drew a deep breath and shook his head. "Hey, Sammy," Dean said.

Sam looked at him and shook his head, looking disappointed. It hurt Dean's heart to see it.

"Would you like a coffee?" Elsie asked.

"Please." Dean sat down at the long table and pushed aside the journal, watching Elsie as she took the coffee pot from the cupboard and loaded in water and ground coffee from the silver tin. She set it on the stove and hummed to herself.

"Would you like some, Sam?" she asked without turning.

Sam's gaze drifted to her and he frowned.

"Sammy," Dean prompted. "Do you want coffee?"

"No." Sam got to his feet and pushed the chair back into place before walking out of the room. Dean heard the back door open and close, and he stood and walked to the window. Sam was walked across the lawn to the cherry tree again. He sat down at the base and stared up at the peeking blossoms.

Elsie drew a shaky breath and Dean saw that she looked miserable.

"He's okay out there," Dean said. "Alfie's with him."

"I know. I just… This is so hard. I am a mother. It's my job to know the answers for my family, and you and Sam are family now." She bit her lip. "I hope that's not offensive to you. I just feel that you were always supposed to come here in the end. Do you understand?"

Dean crossed the room and pulled her into a hug. She reached her arms around him and held him with surprising strength.

"You are family," Dean said, pulling back and looking into her eyes. "You and Alfie had been so good to us, and we have given back so little. Very few people have helped us like this in our lives, and no one has been more gentle with us when we've needed it than you both."

"It is a pleasure." Elsie dabbed at her eyes as she went to the stove and removed the coffee pot. She poured a cup for Dean and handed it to him then glanced out of the window. "What do you suppose he's thinking?" she asked, looking at Sam.

"Right now, probably about Jess," Dean said. "He told me a story about her when we were out there the other day."

"I hope it's a happy one," Elsie said. "He needs that now."

Dean nodded as he remembered the day Sam had told him about Jessica and the cherry blossoms. He'd thought things were tough then, and he'd appreciated the fact Sam was opening a little, but this was so much worse. He didn't know if Sam would ever open again now.

He had to do something. "I'm going to take this into the living room and make a few calls," he said.

Elsie nodded vaguely, but she didn't seem to hear him. She was staring out of the window still.

He stood and carried his coffee into the living room and set it on the table beside the couch. He took his phone from his pocket and sat down.

He had a long list of numbers that he'd taken from Bobby's journal, and he considered where to start. It occurred to him that a lot of the hunters he knew were working the Leviathan problem with Garth and Annie, and he could save time by calling straight through to one of them and seeing if they'd heard anything first before slogging through the others. He took a sip of coffee and dialed Garth's number. He answered with his usual cheer.

"Dean! How's it going?"

"Hey, Garth. Things are… okay." He didn't want to open up to the truth. "I need some help though."

"Go ahead. You know me, man, I'll do anything I can."

"I know, and we're grateful," Dean said. "I'm looking for someone to do a little healing. Have you come across anything like that lately? A healer or angel even."

He didn't expect a positive response. He thought maybe he'd get a promise to ask around, but Garth caught him off guard.

"What are the odds, man? I was talking about this only a couple days ago: how I'd wished we'd known sooner so you and Sam could have had a little help when you needed it."

"What do you know, Garth?" Dean asked intensely.

"It's a healer. We've got a guy with us called Mackey. He was going blind. He'd lost sight in one eye, and was losing the other, too. He heard about this guy with healing hands and checked it out. He wasn't expecting help, he was there on a hunt, but this guy blew him out of the water apparently."

"He was legit?" Dean asked, his breaths coming fast.

"Yeah. Mackey has perfect sight in both eyes now, and there was nothing shady about the guy at all."

"Where is he based?" Dean asked.

"Aw, man, now you're asking. I know he told me, but there's been so much going on lately that I can't remember."

"Have you got a number for this Mackey?" Dean asked hopefully.

"Sure. Hold on. I'll check my journal." There was a rustling on the line and then Garth reeled off a number.

Dean wrote it down and thanked him quickly.

"No worries, Dean. Let me know if you need anything else. How are you off for cash?"

"We're fine," Dean said. "Thanks, Garth. I'll call Mackey now."

"Good luck," Garth said. "I hope it works out."

"Me too," Dean said fervently.

He said goodbye and then ended the call. He stopped for a moment with the phone pressed against his chest, feeling the racing of his heart. For a moment, he considered telling Alfie and Elsie, sharing the hope and the news, but he hesitated. There was no guarantee that he could reach this guy Mackey had met yet. He couldn't build them up just to let them down. He needed to know more first.

He dialed the number Garth had given him and waited as it rang.

"Hello?" The voice was uncertain, not recognizing the number.

"Is this Mackey?"

"Yeah."

"Hey, Mackey. It's Dean Winchester. Garth gave me your number."

"Dean Winchester, huh. I've heard a lot about you from Garth and Annie. What can I do for you?"

"Garth said you've had a faith healer help you recently. I'm looking for one."

"Yeah. Fixed my eyes up. His name's Emmanuel. He's in Colorado. Place called Orchard Mesa outside Grand Junction. He's a strange guy, but I couldn't see anything wrong with what he was doing. I think he's a genuine healer. Let me just look up the address."

"Thank you," Dean said, rubbing a hand over his face as he waited, feeling the sweat beading on his brow.

"Here we go." Mackey recited an address and Dean jotted it down with a shaky hand. "If you need anything else, let me know. I don't think you'll have trouble though. I think the dude genuinely just wants to help people."

"I appreciate it," Dean said, eager to go now. "I'll let you know how it goes."

"Good luck."

Dean lowered the phone and blew out a breath. His heart still raced and he tried to calm himself. He didn't want to get his hopes too high in case it didn't work out, but at the same time this was huge. This could be it. He could maybe take the first step to healing Sam properly.

Alfie came into the room, tugging his gardening gloves off. "Well, Elsie's watching Sam and I'm done with the roses," he said. "They're pruned, fed and ready for summer. I think the red are going to be especially good this year. They… What's wrong?" He asked, peering at Dean. "Are you unwell?"

Dean shook his head. "I'm okay."

"You don't look it," he said, dropping his gloves onto the table and coming to sit beside Dean. He looked so concerned Dean half expected him to take his pulse. He'd get a shock if he did. Dean's heart was racing so hard he thought it would be visible in his throat.

"I think I've found a healer for Sam," he said. "There's this guy in Colorado that helped a hunter regain his sight."

"Well, that sounds great," Alfie said. "When are you leaving?"

"Soon," Dean said. "I need to work out what to do with Sam."

"I think you already know what to do," Alfie said. "Sam needs to stay here with us. He needed stability before, and he needs it even more so now. Elsie and I will take care of him, and you can bring help to him."

Dean sighed. He knew Alfie was right, but he didn't want to admit it. He felt that he needed Sam with him to be safe. What if something happened while he was gone? What if something happened on the road though? Sam could seize and hurt himself. He would be without Alfie's expertise and the hospital that knew him.

"I know," he said heavily. "It feels so wrong though."

"That's because your heart is fighting your head. You know what's best, but your heart wants Sam close. You have to decide which is more important."

"That's not a question," Dean said. "Sam has to come first."

"Exactly, so pack your things and go. I promise to take care of Sam while you're gone."

Dean nodded and stood. "Thanks, Alfie."

Alfie looked pleased. "I will go tell Elsie you're going. I am sure she'll want to pack something for you to eat on the road."

Dean smiled. "I'm sure she will. I'll just go talk to Sam. I can't just leave him."

"Of course. Do you have enough money for gas and somewhere to stay?"

"I've got plenty. Garth set us up."

"In that case I will leave you to speak to Sam while I help Elsie prepare your feast."

Dean closed the journal and stood. He would speak to Sam, tell him where he was going and why, and hope that it penetrated Sam's mind so he would have some hope.

That was what Dean had now. He didn't let it overpower him, because he was scared it was false, but he used it to enable to him to make the move. Otherwise he wouldn't have the strength to leave.

So… We're on our way to find Emmanuel. We all know what that means. It's time for the cutest angel in the garrison to make an appearance.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx