Thank you so much Jenjoremy for all that you've done for this story. You're the best. Thank you Gredelina1 for all the evenings spent outlining, pre-reading and supporting me. Thank you all for reading, reviewing, and supporting the story this far. Here's the last chapter. Enjoy x

Chapter Twenty-Nine

After everything Sam had been through, he thought he'd reached the peak of suffering. He'd believed nothing could be worse than the Cage when it came to pain. He had no idea. He could never have imagined the things Abaddon would do to him.

She didn't hurt him physically; all her torment was mental. She made him watch as she hurt others, children, infants. He could still feel the blood on his hands, his face, in his eyes. He had screamed but his mouth had laughed as they died at his own hand, and Sam had been an impotent observer, pleading for mercy for her victims—pleas that made her happy for mercy that had not been given.

Sam felt devastation and absolute defeat. He knew there was no chance of rescue for him, there was only death—death that he prayed for. To die was to be freed. If Crowley or Dean found the right weapon, Abaddon would be killed and Sam with her, and that was right, what he needed, as he couldn't live like this. He wished for the end more than he had ever wished for anything in life.

Abaddon heard his wishes, she heard his prayers, and she relished them. To her mind, no revenge against him was enough for what they had done to her—dismembering her and burying the parts. She whispered it to him again and again—"You deserve this, and this is only the beginning. We have forever together now. I will never let you go."

Sam howled and she laughed.

And now they were in Wyoming, in the very cemetery Azazel had died in, where he had gotten his first glimpse of Hell, and Sam knew he was going back to the Pit again. The idea didn't scare him as there was no space left for fear in him. His anguish overpowered everything else.

There were demons all around him: young men and women trapped inside their bodies while the demons ran wild. They stopped running when Abaddon arrived though. They fell respectfully silent and listened as she began a speech Sam knew she had been preparing for a long time.

"We have waited. We have plotted and planned for long enough. It is time for us to go take back what is ours. We will storm the King's hell and make it our own. We will make it great again! We will…"

There was murmuring and Sam felt Abaddon tense. Something was happening; he could feel it like an approaching storm. Abaddon looked up at the sky, and Sam saw through her gaze the pillar of blue-white light shoot from the sky to earth like lightning. It hit the demon standing closest to Abaddon directly, and she dropped to the grass like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

"What…?" Abaddon started, but she trailed off as the next strike came.

"The angels," Sam cried triumphantly.

Another demon fell, then another, and another. The light strikes came thick and fast and Abaddon's army fell one by one. She cried out in anger, and Sam laughed. It was coming. She was going to die. They both were.

The last demon fell and Abaddon looked around at the devastation that had been her army and she screamed, incensed at her loss and Sam's laughter.

She didn't seem to realize what was coming next. Sam waited, and then he felt it. The air pressure changed and the light poured down onto him. He expected to feel it burn, but instead it was a drawing sensation, as if something was being pulled from him like poison. It was. His mouth opened without instruction, and the black smoke began to pour out. He thought for a moment it was Abaddon escaping, then, as the last left him, he saw the smoke hit an invisible barrier. It was as if it was caught in a glass orb, it pummeled the edges of the barrier, fighting to be free.

Sam watched, stunned, wind whipping through his hair, as the smoke began to contract and shrink. It grew smaller and smaller, darker, until with a crack like a cannon, it disappeared. Black dust rained down on Sam and he laughed. Abaddon was gone, defeated, and he was alive. The relief after the despair of his captivity was like being reborn. Everything felt new.

"Thank you!" he cried at the sky. "Thank you!"

He felt warmth rush over him and for a moment, he thought it was the angels grace touching on him in return, and then the warmth grew, too hot, burning hot. Light enveloped him and he understood. For a moment he felt betrayed—the angels owed him—but then peace came and he understood. This was right. This was time.

He threw back his head and breathed out his last, and then felt the disconcerting sensation of his body falling while his heart rose. There was warmth, gentle now and welcoming, and then he heard a familiar voice speaking.

"What have you gone and done this time, ya idjit?"

The car horn blared as the headlights rushed at them. Castiel threw himself over the seat and grabbed the steering wheel, yanking it to the right he swung the car onto the correct lane. It wasn't fast enough though. The truck coming at them clipped their tail and sent them into a spin. Dean's head snapped to the side and he cracked his head on the side window, leaving a cobweb of cracks in the glass. He fell unconscious at once, his foot falling from the gas. As they slowed and rolled to a stop, Castiel steered them onto the grass bordering the road. He put on the parking brake and slid closer to Dean to cut the engine.

"Dean! Can you hear me?" he asked.

Dean stirred and groaned. "Sammy?"

Castiel felt a wave of anguish. How was he to tell Dean what had happened?

"It's me, Castiel," he said.

"Cas?" Dean's eyes opened and his gaze was unfocused. "Where's Sam?"

"I don't know," Castiel said evasively.

"He was here. I felt…" Dean shook his head and groaned. "Oh, God."

Castiel reached for Dean's temple and sent a surge of grace through him, curing the developing concussion. Dean's eyes cleared but his voice was still vague from shock as he said, "What happened?"

"We almost crashed," Castiel said. "I think there is some damage, but I have healed you and…" He trailed off as Dean fixed his eyes on him.

"What happened to Sam?"

"What do you remember?" Castiel asked.

"Pain," Dean said. "It was like something was being torn out of me. It hurt like nothing ever has before. And I felt… Sam…" He drew a shuddering breath. "I think something's happened to him." He blinked and a tear slipped from his eye. He caught it on his finger and looked at it as if he wasn't sure what it was.

Castiel understood that Dean knew in some part of him that something terrible had happened to Sam, the part that housed the bond between the brothers, but he was unwilling to accept.

"The angels, Dean," Castiel started tentatively. "They… acted… against Abaddon."

"She's dead?" Dean asked.

"I suspect so. It was an incredible amount of power that was used."

"We have to get there," Dean said, starting the engine. "To the cemetery. Sam'll be… He needs us."

"Dean…"

"No!" Dean said brutally. "Sam needs us."

Castiel couldn't argue. He didn't have it in his heart. Though he knew what had happened and knew there was no way for a human to have survived, he had seen the Winchesters do magnificent things before and survive against seemingly impossible odds and he couldn't help but hope Sam would beat the odds again.

"Yes," he agreed. "Sam needs us."

The closer they got to the cemetery, the paler Dean got, until when they were only a mile away from Sam, Dean had to lurch out of the car to vomit on the grassy knoll at the side of the road.

"What's going on?" he rasped.

"Smiting sickness," Castiel said, realization coming to him with the question. He'd not considered this.

"Smiting what?"

"The angels poured their grace to earth to attack Abaddon. That amount of grace in concentration cannot be tolerated by humans. It's making you sick."

Dean retched again and made for the car. "Doesn't matter. Gotta go." He stumbled and fell when he was almost at the door.

"You can't," Castiel said. "Dean, this is more than sickness. This was a nuke of grace, and the fallout is what you are feeling. If you get too close, it will kill you."

"It's Sam," Dean said as if that was answer enough. Castiel supposed to Dean it was.

Castiel ducked his head. "I know." But what Dean didn't know and Castiel thought was almost surely true was that it was too late for Sam already.

Dean grasped the door and tried to pull himself upright. "C'mon. We've got to go."

Castiel saw his friend struggling to get himself into the car and he knew what he had to do. If there was even the slightest chance Sam had somehow made it out alive, he needed his brother to come out to. And if he hadn't, if he was gone… Castiel couldn't lose them both. It wasn't what Sam would want.

"Let me help," he said.

Looking grateful, Dean held out a hand to him and Castiel took it. He helped Dean into the car, and then, while Dean took deep breaths to control his nausea, Castiel pressed his fingers to Dean's forehead and sent him into unconsciousness. He caught him as he crumpled forward in his seat and eased him over so he was lying across the seat. "I'm sorry, Dean," he said gently, arranging his friend so he looked comfortable and closing the door.

He patted the hood of the Impala and walked away along the road. He hoped Dean would rest a long time, as he was almost sure when he awoke, it would be to a changed and uninhabitable emotional landscape.

Castiel saw the small mounds that were bodies in the darkness before he entered the graveyard, and though he saw no upright form—tall and long-haired—he still couldn't quash the flicker of hope Dean's certainty had given him. Perhaps Sam was injured but alive. If he was, Castiel could save him. He was sure there was just enough grace left in him now to do that. That would be all, but it would be worth it.

He made his way through the bodies to the very center of the group slowly, searching for a sign of Sam. Then when he saw him, he broke into a run.

Sam was close to the doors to the chapel. He was facing away from Castiel, and Castiel felt hope that he looked unharmed. There was no sign of blood or injury. Surely being the vessel for a smote demon would leave some sign.

It didn't.

As Castiel rushed around to face Sam, dropping to his knees beside him, he saw that there was no sign of life. His lungs didn't move; his heart didn't beat. The blood remained still in his veins.

Sam was gone.

"No!" Castiel moaned.

He had known in his heart that there was no chance for Sam, but Dean had been so certain, desperate to get to his brother that Castiel thought perhaps he could feel something more.

Sam's hair was over his face. Castiel pushed it back and saw that he looked peaceful. His eyes were closed and lips slightly curved, almost as if he was smiling.

"Oh, Sam."

Castiel felt a lump form in his throat and he swallowed roughly to clear it. This was not an angel's reaction; it was a human's. He was human enough to be able to cry, angel enough to… He gasped. There was no injury to heal, but perhaps there was just enough grace left to return.

His hand trembling, he bought it to the center of Sam's chest and closed his eyes. "Please, Lord, please let it work." He focused his grace and poured it into Sam's chest.

Nothing happened. Sam remained perfectly still on the ground.

Castiel pulled his hand back and swayed as weakness swept over him. He felt his eyes blur and for a moment there was panic as he realized the grace was almost spent. He did not think of it as wasted though. It had been used to attempt to save Sam, and that was not a waste. It was a need.

He rocked back on his haunches and stared up at the starry sky. "Please," he begged, knowing he was speaking to a Father that had long since left.

Suddenly a bright pillar of light shot towards him. He panicked, thinking that it was his end coming, and he wasn't ready, he needed to help Dean, but the light touched down mere inches from him—directly over Sam. The light enveloped him and his body rose into the air. Castiel lurched to his feet, disbelieving of what he was seeing. The light closed around Sam, making him look almost ethereal, and Castiel felt the warmth radiating from him.

"Sam!" he breathed.

The light burgeoned, and Castiel closed his eyes against it, and then he heard the most incredible sound and his heart seemed to leap in his chest. It was a deep, gasping breath, and Sam's voice, loud and proud, saying his name in awe.

Castiel opened his eyes and saw Sam standing in front of him, straight-backed and tall.

"Sam?" His hand came up to touch Sam's chest, and Sam smiled. Castiel felt the touch and blood rushing beneath the surface of a living and breathing man.

"Cas, your wings," Sam whispered.

Castiel felt it then, warmth moving along his shoulder blades, across his wings to the very tips. He glanced to the side, flexing them forward, and saw the perfect shape of them, iridescent black, whole and healed.

"Cas, they're…" Sam started.

"Perfect," a voice said.

Castiel spun on his heel and saw the angel Joshua standing behind them.

"How?" Castiel breathed.

"God. Who else?" Joshua said.

Sam sucked in a shaky breath at Castiel's side.

"He has returned," Castiel said hopefully.

"No," Joshua said, a little sadly. "He says he has settled a debt."

"Thank you," Castiel breathed speaking not to his company but his Father. His wings were incidental; Sam's salvation was the true blessing for him, even if he could enjoy it only for a limited time.

"There is something else," Joshua said. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small vial of swirling light. Castiel felt himself being pulled towards it as if there was a hook in his chest.

"That's my grace," he said, awestruck. "I thought Metatron…"

"He lied," Joshua said. "It was hidden well, but God knew."

He held it out to Castiel who took it in shaking hands.

"Take it back," Joshua said. "Embrace it."

Castiel fumbled with the cap and managed to pull it open. The grace poured from the vial immediately, and ebbed and swirled up to Castiel's face. He heard Joshua say, "Close your eyes, Sam Winchester," even as the grace poured into him.

Castiel's eyes squeezed shut and his arms flew out at his sides as he felt the heat rush through him. The weariness he had grown accustomed to disappeared, the tremors in his limbs, the ache of his body. It was all gone. As he opened his eyes again, he saw that his vision was piercing and clear once more. He was whole again.

For a moment, he stood in exultant silence, and then he laughed. "Thank you," he said again, speaking for himself now. "Father, thank you."

"His debt is paid," Joshua said. "Do not expect him to intervene again."

"We won't," Castiel said.

"Good."

Castiel saw Joshua's tawny wings open at his back and he took flight away from them. He turned to Sam and saw he was staring at the place Joshua had been with awe. For a moment, he seemed transfixed, and then he snapped back to himself and said, "Dean?"

Castiel smiled. "He's okay. He is waiting for us."

With a wordless smile, Sam started for the gate, and then he paused as there was a rush of wings and Bartholomew appeared in front of him.

Bartholomew's gaze moved from Sam to Castiel, and his eyes were wide. "How?" he asked.

"God," Sam said stiffly.

"But you…"

"Were killed?" Castiel growled. "Yes, Bartholomew, you killed him." His blade slipped into his hand and he advanced on his enemy.

Bartholomew looked amused. He didn't even draw to defend himself. "Will you kill every angel that had a part of it?" he asked. "Will you empty Heaven for him?"

"No," Castiel said. "I will be satisfied with your death."

He lunged and the tip of his blade pierced Bartholomew's throat slightly. He looked stunned that Castiel had really done it, and scared.

"You wouldn't. Heaven will never accept you if you do this," he rasped.

"I don't require Heaven anymore," Castiel said. "I have another home."

He jabbed the blade forward, impaling Bartholomew on its length. His eyes bugged as his blood spilled and then blazed with light as life left him. Castiel pulled back and Bartholomew fell to the ground. Ashy marks of perfect wings spread behind him and Castiel nodded his satisfaction.

God had paid his debt, and now Castiel had, too.

He turned to Sam and said, "Let's get to Dean."

"Yes," Sam said with a face splitting smile. "Dean."

"Dean." The name seemed to come to him through a fog. He battled to open his eyes, fighting the influence of Castiel's forced unconsciousness.

His eyes cracked open and he found that he was lying across the front seat of the Impala. He straightened up and scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Dean."

The voice came again, and Dean knew it was over for him. He had lost his life or mind, because that voice would never speak to him again, he had felt it in his heart. Much as he would have liked to deny it, he knew Sam was dead.

"C'mon, man."

He stared out of the windshield and saw the two figures walking along the road towards him. He sucked in a breath, understanding at once; he was dead and on the path through Heaven again.

Not even a little sad at his end, he threw open the door and threw himself out.

Sam smiled at him as he stumbled and dragged himself up by holding the side of the car. "Easy, man. Cas said you took quite a knock."

That explained his death then. Castiel must not have had the juice to heal him properly him after all.

"I'm dead," he stated.

"No," Sam said casually, coming to a stop a few feet from him.

"But I felt you…"

"God," Sam said simply.

Dean knew that was wrong. God didn't rouse himself for anything, not even the apocalypse.

"It's true, Dean," Castiel said. "Sam was returned by my Father."

Dean took a couple shaky steps forward and reached out a hand to Sam. Sam caught it midway between them and pressed it against his heart—Dean could feel the pounding against his palm. Was it a trick or was it impossibly true?

"I'm here, Dean," Sam said.

Dean moved his hand from Sam's chest and pinched his leg hard. It hurt. In a real way, not a Hell way where the pain feels different, wrong.

"You're real?" he asked.

Sam smiled hugely. "I'm real."

Dean fell forward and Sam caught him. His hands came up to embrace Dean, and he gripped him tightly. Dean felt it against his chest when Sam laughed, and tears began to burn his eyes. He was overwhelmed and almost angry.

After a long time, Sam released him and Dean quickly wiped his face before pulling back.

His fingers found Sam's collar and he gripped it hard. "Don't ever do that again," he growled.

"Get possessed by a Knight of Hell and smote by a hundred angels?" Sam asked with a quirked brow. "I'll do my best."

"No," Dean said seriously. "Don't leave."

Sam nodded soberly. "I won't. I promise."

"Good," Dean said. "That's… yeah… good."

Sam glanced along the lines of the Impala and said, "Whoa, what happened?"

Dean turned and saw the deep dent in the rear fender. "Crashed," he said simply.

Sam grinned at him, his eyes fill of mirth. "Really, Dean, you need to be more careful."

"She'll still drive," Dean said.

"Good," Sam replied. "Let's get home."

Home, Dean thought. Suddenly, with his brother there, alive, and his friend, he realized he wanted nothing more than to be home.

So… How was that for an ending? I never meant to actually kill Sam but, oops, these things happen to me. A lot. Pretty much every time actually. I maybe need to get better control of my muse. Wish me luck with that ;-)

My new story is now posting. It's called Lost and Found.

Summary: Sam was stolen from his bed when he was four years old. Dean and John have spent the intervening eighteen years searching for his killer, saving other lives along the way. Until one day, in a bar in Palo Alto, California, John sees a familiar face. Is it possible that Sam's alive after all?

Hope you'll give it a look.

Until the next story…

Much love,

Clowns or Midgets xxx