AN: According to my traffic stats, not a single person visited or read the last chapter. I also never got an email telling me the chapter posted. So I re-posted and still nothing. I'm guessing there is a glitch of some kind on this site. If anyone sees this - please send me a private message to let me know if chapter 13 shows up okay. We're at the end, so thank you to all my loyal readers. Hopefully this conclusion is satisfying. As always italics means a dream.

Home

The hot water was great against his sore muscles. He'd gotten them back to the motel, booked a room and helped his brother get settled. Exhausted was an understatement. Honestly, he could probably fall asleep right here, leaning against the grimy tiled wall of the shower. Forcing himself to keep moving, Sam washed his hair, taking extra care to scrub all the grit from behind his ears. As usual, the shower head was too low, but he was used to it. Once he was clean, he turned off the water and stepped out, slinging a towel around his waist. Brushing his teeth and pulling on his soft sleep pants killed the very last of his energy.

Dean was already asleep, peacefully snoring in one of the beds. The curse had put his brother through the wringer, but for now it was in remission, and he didn't seem to be in any discomfort. A wave of fondness washed over Sam. He was so goddamned lucky to have Dean. Once they were back home, he would find something in their library to make the cure permanent, but tomorrow during the drive to the bunker, he'd stick close to Dean. Sinking to his own mattress, Sam plugged in his phone, clicked off the light and shuffled to get comfortable under the thin comforter.

A noise woke Sam. "Dean?" he asked, rolling over to check on his brother. The room was too dark for him to see so he fumbled for the lamp between the beds. The light clicked on.

"Heya bunk buddy!" Lucifer was sitting in the next bed where Dean had been, dressed in red satin pajamas. Heart in his throat, Sam instinctively scuttled backwards, getting tangled in the covers as he tried to put some distance between him and the devil. A tiny part of his subconscious recognized this was a dream, but that did nothing to stop the fear and panic that flooded through him.

"C'mon now Sammy. Don't you miss our little sleepovers? All those…things I would do to you." Lucifer sniffed and smiled, but his lascivious tone made Sam's skin crawl. He willed himself to wake.

"You're not here. You're dead!" Sam said breathlessly.

"Awww, don't be scared, Sam. I may be dead, but I'll never be gone." Lucifer flipped back the covers and covered the distance between the two beds. With a knee on the edge of Sam's mattress he loomed closer. "You and I were so...close. Don't you remember all the fun we had together?" he leered, words dripping of innuendo and horrible memories Sam had worked hard to forget.

Shoving farther away, Sam tried to escape off the other side of the bed, but his back hit something. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed it was the dirt wall of Charity's tomb. The motel room morphed into the ghost's earthen cave. The furniture and lamp were gone, leaving only the red glow Sam remembered from the Cage. A clump of dirt fell from the ceiling, landing on the bedspread.

"London Bridge is falling down, falling down…" Lucifer sang as he crept closer. More dirt rained down around him. "Sammy," he intoned in a sing-song voice. "Sammy, let's get dirty, roomie." A huge chunk of the roof collapsed, partially burying Sam and knocking him onto his back. He fought to break free, but he couldn't move. The weight across his chest was growing, pinning him, keeping him locked in place. Panic flared as Lucifer loomed over him.

"Get away from me, don't touch me!" Sam pleaded. The archangel smirked.

"Oh, touching is where I'm going to start, Sam."

"Sam. Sam!"

With a gasp he sat up. Dean was only a few feet away, sitting on the other bed, a deep and well-known expression of concern etched across his face. Early morning sunlight was shining through the thin curtains, painting Dean's hair a rich, golden color. Sam looked around; the motel room appeared normal - faded wallpaper, TV, table strewn with their gear - familiar and routine.

"Sammy, you okay?"

Nodding, Sam ran a shaky hand across his sweaty face. "Yeah. Yeah, just a bad dream."

"I figured." Dean said with a sad frown. "You want to talk about it?" There was a time when his big brother would rather lose a limb than discuss their feelings, but Dean had matured somewhere along the bumpy road to now. They both had. Sam took a deep, cleansing breath as his heart rate began to slow.

"Nah. It was the usual stuff." As much as Sam appreciated the concern, some indignities he wasn't willing to share with Dean. The past couldn't be changed, and it would only hurt Dean to learn the gory details. It was enough that his brother was willing. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. It was early, but he might as well get up and start the day.

"Sam, you were trapped underground, almost buried alive. I'd be surprised if you didn't have nightmares." Dean squeezed Sam's knee briefly and Sam gave him a weak smile. It was nice to feel that Dean understood him so well.

"How are you doing?" He asked to change the subject. Dean pursed his lips and scrubbed a palm over his hair, tousling it into fluffy spikes.

"Sore, hungry, but mostly alright. No sign of the curse yet." If Dean wasn't hurting, why did he look so uneasy?

"That's great."

So, what was with that trippy mind-melt thing? I didn't know you could still do that." There was no judgement in Dean's voice, but Sam still felt awkward and guilty.

"I can't. I mean I don't have any idea how that happened." He said anxious to explain. "Bryce believed that Charity was grabbing people who had some level of psychic ability. Maybe in an attempt to communicate? She forced her way into my head and I just…" Sam wanted to say how terrifying it was to have the ghost ransack his mind, how close he felt to the edge of insanity, how thinking of Dean kept him from losing himself. He wanted to confess just how much he needed and would always need his big brother. When everything was going sideways, he was always going to call out for Dean. But how do you say all that?

"I don't know exactly, it's all a bit of a blur," he finished lamely. Dean nodded, apparently accepting Sam's reasoning.

"That makes sense. I wondered if it had to do with the cure mojo." Dean tossed out. He was studying the ugly wallpaper over Sam's shoulder, avoiding eye contact.

"Look…" Dean cleared his throat and dropped his gaze to where his hands were worrying the corner of his blanket. "I uh, last night was…not my finest moment. I'm sorry I dropped the ball. I should have found you sooner. I should have been able to get you out of there."

"Dean, stop it." Sam loved and appreciated Dean more than he could ever express, and he leaned over to purposefully catch and hold Dean's eyes. "You saved me, you always save me." Knowing that his brother would always look out for him was one of the few constants and comforts in Sam's life. "We're not keeping score, okay? Which is good for me, since you'd be winning." He couldn't help but smile at Dean. "You've literally been saving me my entire life."

Dean twitched half a smirk. "Damn right, I'd be winning," he teased with a soft laugh. "But seriously, Sam, you shouldn't have had to go through that."

"Right back at you." Sam refused to let Dean beat himself up over the situation. "So, are we good?" he asked. Finally, Dean smiled back, a real smile, eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Yeah, we're good, Sammy." Then he smacked Sam's arm with the back of his hand. "C'mon, I'm starving. Let's get dressed and get out of here."

A little while later Sam was wiping the last of the toothpaste off his lips when there was a knock on the door. Tossing the towel into the bathroom sink, he watched as Dean peeked out the window. "It's Jane," he said over his shoulder and opened the door.

"Hey," Jane said. Although the bruises on her face were beginning to turn an unpleasant shade of purple-green, she looked better than when Sam had seen her last night.

"Hey. How are you guys doing?" Dean asked for both of them. She chewed on her lower lip.

"Good enough. I'm still working one handed," she held up her cast, "and Bryce is a little tired, but we'll be fine. So, we're heading out, we got a lead on a poltergeist outside of Lexington. I just wanted to check on you guys before we left."

"We're all right," Sam said, joining Dean at the door.

"Okay, good." Two units over, the door for number 14 opened and Bryce gave them a two-fingered salute as he loaded their bags into an old Ford pick-up. Jane took a step away but turned back quickly. "Thanks," she said, the weight of emotion making her voice thick. "For everything." With a final wave, she hustled down the walkway and climbed into the cab of the truck where Bryce was waiting.

Standing in the doorway, they watched the Ford pull out of the parking lot.

"I can't believe you let her drive my Baby," Dean shoved him, laughing and dancing out of the way before Sam could retaliate. "Let's get moving Sammy, we're burning daylight."

In short order, they were loading their own bags into the trunk of the Impala, ready to hit the road. Dean got behind the wheel while Sam dropped into his usual seat at shotgun. Being in this car, with Dean by his side was the closest thing to home he'd ever known, and Sam relaxed into the leather. He nudged Dean's shoulder.

"So, breakfast burritos?"

Dean snorted.

"And deal with you being gassy for the next 300 miles? Hell no! I vote for pancakes." Sam rolled his eyes, happy to play his little brother role. Dean cranked the Impala to life, pulled out onto the black top and together they headed out into the morning.

The End.