Thank you so much Ncsupnatfan for beta'ing this for me on the hop.

After watching the episode yesterday, I had an idea. I spent the evening talking it over with NC and with her help, advice and encouragement I came up with a cohesive plan. I woke up early this morning and devoted 5 hours to writing it.

Fair warning: It's got an open ending that will probably lead into a new story. I can't guarantee it though, and if you're looking for a story with clear resolution to what Jack did, this isn't it. I hope that some of you will give it a try though.

At What Cost

Dean held his hand in front of Sam's eyes. "How many fingers, man?"

Sam brushed his hand away with a small smile, "I'm fine, Dean. Jack fixed it all. Don't worry."

Dean scoffed. "Who's worried? I'm just checking nothing got scrambled in there. You looked pretty pasty for a while."

Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean looked away. He didn't want Sam seeing just how close the trauma of what had just happened still was to him. Sam had been dying right in front of his eyes, something vital in his head rupturing and taking him away, and Dean couldn't rid himself of that feeling of absolute helplessness he'd felt in that moment, as Sam whispered his words that, no matter what shapes of gratitude and observation they formed, were a goodbye.

It was always a goodbye for them, and why didn't Sam, who knew Dean better than anyone in the world, know that Dean would rather have those conversations on any other day of the year than in the moments he was also watching his brother slip away from him. And why couldn't Dean, who loved Sam though it was never said openly, make himself let him say them in any other moment? He called them chick-flick moments, and he pretended to hate them, but he would listen to the words gratefully when Sam wasn't dying.

"We should get to Mom and Jack," Sam said. "I want Nick's body dealt with."

"You're not seriously thinking of giving him a funeral, are you?" Dean asked incredulously. "After everything he did…"

"No! He's not getting a funeral, but he is going up in flames. I want that bastard ashes before tomorrow. I don't want any demon crap bringing him back so he can start again."

Dean knew Sam had suffered his own trauma, too, and not just his head injury. He had seen the look of fear in Sam's face when Jack had told them how close they'd come to Lucifer being brought back. No matter what happened, how deeply into the Empty Lucifer was flung, he was never going to not be a threat to Sam. He had done too much for Sam to ever be able to forget what he was capable of.

"I'll get Donatello out of here and we'll go," Dean said. "Get the phone tracking Jack. It'll be easier than trying to follow his directions. Kid might be the most powerful being on earth, but he can't navigate on roads worth a damn."

Sam laughed and pulled out his phone as Dean walked to the Impala where Donatello was sitting by the open door in the back, his legs planted on the asphalt and his eyes downcast.

"Hey, Donnie, me and Sam need to take off," he said. "We've got a maniac to salt and burn, and unless you want to come make S'mores with us…"

Donatello shook his head jerkily as he stood and closed the car door. "No, no. I think I'd do better to go home. I've had enough excitement for one day. Being used as a mouthpiece for the devil is exhausting, even for a man without a soul." He patted his pockets. "I don't suppose you have some money though. Nick didn't bring my wallet when he kidnapped me."

Dean took a fold of bills from his wallet and said, "That should get you a bus home."

Donatello took the money and tucked it in his pocket. "Thank you, Dean. And thank Sam for me."

"You want a ride to the bus station?" Dean asked.

"No, I think the walk will do me good." He raised a hand in farewell and started away.

Dean watched him go, smiling to himself, and then went back to Sam who was tapping at his phone. "Got him?"

"Yeah. His directions weren't all that bad. They are about an hour out of Topeka."

Dean patted his arm and said, "Let's roll then."

They walked back to the car and climbed in, Sam shifting his legs in the shotgun side to get his tall frame comfortable as Dean started the engine. He was just putting them in gear when his phone buzzed.

"It's Cas," he said, connecting the call and saying, "Hey, Cas, about time you called back. You missed game night. Well, we all missed it really thanks to Nick, but it—"

"We have a problem, Dean!" Castiel cut him off and Dean's heart lurched at the raw emotion in his voice.

Dean put the call on speaker and said, "Sam's listening, too. What's going on?"

Castiel spoke in a rush of words. "I heard Jack crying out on angel radio. Something happened. I have tried calling him, but he's not answering. Do you know where he is? I can't sense him."

"He's in Louisville," Sam said.

"We're on our way now," Dean added, tossing the phone to Sam then slamming the car into gear and peeling away from the side of the road.

Sam caught the phone and held it between them. "What was he saying, Cas?"

"Nothing coherent, but he was in pain."

Dean's fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "Mom's with him," he said, his fear obvious in his voice.

"I'll text you the coordinates," Sam said. "How far out are you?"

"I'm less than an hour away from Lebanon."

"Drive faster," Dean said curtly, his foot pressing harder on the accelerator. "We'll meet you there."

"I will," Castiel said and then there was the beep of a disconnected call.

"You don't think Lucifer hurt them, do you?" Sam asked.

"No. He can't have. Jack stopped him."

Sam closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. "Then what happened?"

"I don't know, Sammy, but whatever it is, we'll fix it."

They had to.

The closer they got to the blinking dot on Sam's phone, the worse he felt. His stomach rolled and there was a ringing in his ears that made him think of angels. He glanced at Dean and saw he was swallowing convulsively and looking a little green.

"Do you feel that?" Sam asked.

"I've felt it before," Dean said hoarsely. "It's grace. It's going to get worse."

Sam cracked open the window and drew deep breaths of the cool air, but it did nothing to dispel his nausea. He looked down at his phone again, his eyes swimming, and said, "It's the next right."

Dean nodded and spun the wheel as they reached a break in the trees that led onto a dirt track. They bumped along it for a few minutes and then the trees thinned and Sam spotted a cabin ahead of them. Dean skidded them to a halt, and they both threw open their doors and quickly climbed out of the car.

Sam stumbled and retched as the nausea washed over him, even more intense now, but he didn't let it slow him. Abandoning caution, he shouted, "Mom! Jack!" and ran into the cabin while Dean took the left around the building, his gun held in front of him.

Inside the cabin the air smelled of burned flesh, and Sam had to stop to vomit bile on the floor. He had nothing more in his stomach to lose, not having eaten since the day before, and it burned his throat.

He came into a large room that seemed to take up most of the cabin's floorplan and stopped dead as he saw Nick's body on the floor. It looked strangely misshapen. For a moment, Sam just stared at him, seeing the end of his enemy and the threat of Lucifer, and then he snapped back to himself at Dean's shout from outside.

"Jack!"

Sam ran out to him and saw Jack standing with Dean's hands on his shoulders. Dean was speaking to him, demanding to know where Mary was, but Jack didn't seem to be hearing him.

Dean shook him roughly and said, "Jack! Where the hell is she?"

"I didn't mean it," Jack whispered. "It wasn't my fault."

Sam stomach lurched, not with the sickness of grace now but with horror, and he grabbed Jack's arm and turned him. "What did you do?" he growled.

Jack didn't look at him, he just muttered, "I didn't mean it."

"Where is she?" Dean bellowed.

Jack looked up at last, and his face was a picture of horror. "I didn't mean it."

Dean drew back his fist and slammed it into Jack's jaw. He absorbed the blow without doing more than jostle back, though Dean's knuckles immediately reddened.

"Jack," Sam said, trying to force himself to sound calm even though his mind was reeling and he wanted to land a blow of his own. "What did you do?"

Jack looked into his eyes and said, "I couldn't stop it."

"Stop what?" Dean shouted then retched and turned away to spit bile on the ground.

Jack bit his lip, said, "I just didn't want her to tell," and then vanished.

Sam had been steadying himself on Jack's shoulder, and when the support disappeared, his stumbled and staggered.

"Jack!" Dean roared, his whole body shaking with fury.

"He's gone," Sam said, spitting on the ground to clear his mouth of the foul taste.

Dean turned wild eyes on him and said, "We've got to find her."

Sam looked around, searching for any signs of his mother. There were footprints in the snow and trampled areas to where they stood, but none leading away. Wherever she had gone, Mary had either walked back into the cabin or disappeared some other way.

Dean's hands came up to tug on his hair and he said, "What the hell do we do?"

"Jack is the only one that knows what happened. We've got to find him." He jogged back to the car and picked up his phone from the seat where he'd dropped it. The dot had moved to Lebanon now. "He's gone home."

Dean nodded with effort and said, "You go get him back here. I want to know what he did. This sickness… It was him that did it. I've felt it before."

"What is it?"

Dean spat again and shuddered. "Cas called it Smiting Sickness. It's what happened after the angels tried to take down Amara."

Sam's eyes widened. "Smiting sickness? You don't think he…"

Dean threw up his arms. "I don't know what he did. All I know is that she's not here and he's looking damn guilty and not telling us what happened." He pointed a finger into Sam's face. "I swear, though, if he has hurt her, I will kill him."

Though Sam knew it was a futile threat, there was nothing any of them could do to hurt Jack, there was such pure anger in Dean's eyes that he knew Dean meant every word.

"I'll go get Jack," he said. "You wait here for Cas. Maybe he'll be able to sense something. He might…" He ran a rough hand through his hair. "He might know what to do."

"You can't go alone!" Dean said, his eyes wide. "That kid is a, probably, soulless nuke right now. What if he smites you, too?"

"He won't," Sam said. "He's just scared and confused. We've got to calm him down if we're going to get her back. He did this. He can fix it. And you're too angry to deal with him now."

"You're not angry?"

Sam was more than angry; he was furious. He wanted to slam his fists into Jack until they got answers, but he could control that need for his mother's sake. "I can do it," he said.

Dean breathed hard through his nose and said, "Yeah. Go. Get it out of him what he did. I'll call you when Cas gets here." He nodded. "We're going to fix this, Sammy."

Sam stared into his eyes, seeing the lie and knowing what Dean needed, and said, "I know. She's going to be fine."

Dean threw open the door to the bunker and jogged down the stairs with Castiel on his heels. Castiel was genuinely afraid. He had never seen Dean so enraged before, and he didn't know what Dean might do in the throes of his fury. He would not succeed in the threat he'd made when Castiel had been forced to tell him what Jack had done to Mary, there was no way, but he thought Dean was going to try.

He understood it, and he had felt that same wave of fury when he'd reached Dean outside that cabin, slumped against the tree and vomit at his feet from the Smiting Sickness that had been gradually weakening his body. It would have gone on, slowly killing him, had Castiel not given him the news that drove him away from that place with murder in mind.

Dean ran into the library where Jack was sitting with his head bowed and Sam was standing in front of him, pleading with him to talk, and they both looked up as Dean passed them and went to the wooden chest on the shelf.

"No!" Sam shouted, seeing where Dean was headed. He grabbed Dean's arm to stop him, but Dean turned and shoved him so hard that Sam fell back onto the floor.

Castiel knew it was Dean's fury-driven strength that had enabled him to wrongfoot his brother when in all usual times they were equally matched physically, and it made him fear for Jack. There was no way the archangel blade would work on him, he thought, but if there was ever an instance of a human being powered by emotion to the extent that it made them less human, Dean was it now.

Dean drew the archangel blade from the warded box and stalked towards Jack who looked up at him with no look of surprise. His expression was more of quiet acceptance.

Castiel grabbed Dean's arm and tried to force it down, but Dean was stronger than Castiel had ever known him. He resisted, and Castiel struggled to stop him.

"Dean, no!" Sam shouted, scrambling to his feet and jumping between his brother and Jack. "You can't!"

"You don't know what he did to her," Dean growled.

"Then tell me," Sam pleaded.

Dean drew a breath and spoke in a menacing growl. "He killed her, Sammy. No, worse than that. We could get her back if she was dead. We'd deal or find God or do something, but after what he did… There's nothing!" he roared.

Sam turned to Castiel, his face pale and eyes wide. "What's he saying, Cas?"

Castiel stared into his friend's frightened eyes and said, "Mary was destroyed, Sam. She was blasted into atoms."

Sam shook his head slowly. "No. That doesn't mean… Raphael did that to you, Lucifer did it, too, and you came back. We can fix it."

"It's not the same," Castiel said regretfully, still struggling to keep a grip on Dean's arm. "My vessel was destroyed and my grace sent to the Empty. Jack…" He swallowed hard. "Even her soul was destroyed."

Jack made a sound of pain in his throat and whispered, "I didn't want her to tell."

Sam lost his footing, shock weakening him, and he staggered to the side, leaving Dean's way to Jack clear.

"No," Sam moaned. "She can't be…"

"There is nothing left of her for Heaven, Hell or the Empty," Dean spat. "She's gone."

Jack rose to his feet and stepped towards Dean. "Do it," he said.

Castiel dropped Dean's arm and grabbed him around the chest instead, holding him back with all his strength. He was fighting for Jack's life, to save him from the man that had loved him like a father, and though he didn't doubt why he had to stop him, he understood Dean's need. Even Sam made no move to defend him now.

Jack threw up a hand and Castiel was thrown backwards and Sam to the side. They hit the floor hard and were pinned in place as Dean stood alone and poised to kill in front of Jack.

"Kill me," Jack said.

Dean raised the blade to chest height and his back stiffened.

"No, Dean!" Castiel shouted. "You can't kill him."

"I'm damn well going to try," Dean snarled.

"If you do this, we can't save her," Castiel said.

The shock of his words swept over the room and the force holding Castiel down disappeared. He got quickly to his feet and rushed to stand between Jack and Dean, so close that his chest was inches from the tip of the blade.

"This is some bullshit to save his life," Dean growled. "You said not even God can do it."

"He can't," Castiel said. "Not even Jack can do that, but we can take away what was done already."

"What?" Sam scrambled to his feet and shoved Castiel's shoulder. "Talk, Castiel!"

Castiel pushed Dean back a step, able to move him now his shock had stolen some of his strength, and said, "There is a spell. We can undo what Jack did."

"Do it!" Dean snapped. "Whatever it takes."

"It requires a specific ingredient," Castiel started, and Dean spoke over him, "We'll get it."

"Please, Cas," Sam said desperately. "You have to help us. What do we need?"

"Jack's grace," Castiel said, turning to look his son in the eye. "It will wipe everything the grace did in the last seventy-two hours, including smiting Mary, but it will need Jack's grace."

Jack's eyes widened. "Yes! Take it."

Sam nodded eagerly. "What else do we need? I'll get it." He was poised to move, to run to the store rooms and ransack them for what they needed.

"Rue, foxglove, sands of time…"

"Wait," Dean whispered.

He looked at Sam and a moment on silent communication passed between them. Castiel thought Dean looked worse now than he had in the throes of Smiting Sickness. It almost looked as though he was dying.

"We're doing it, Dean," Sam said brutally. "It's my choice."

"What do you mean?" Castiel asked.

He couldn't understand the hesitation. Though he knew from what he'd seen at that cabin that it was Jack's grace that had killed Nick, he didn't think bringing Lucifer's vessel back was a big enough threat to Dean to make him abandon the mother he adored.

"I healed Sam," Jack whispered.

Sam nodded. "You did. You healed me, and it's my choice what happens to me next." He fixed his eyes on Dean. "You have a chance with me. I might be okay."

"You were dying, Sammy," Dean said quietly.

"Then I die," Sam said, unconcerned. "You can find God or get Billie to help. We can't do that for Mom. This is the only way."

"And if we can't? If God doesn't show up—he hasn't every other time I've asked—and Billie might not help, this could be it."

Sam shrugged. "Then I get Heaven or the Empty. Neither are that bad compared to what happened to Mom." When Dean just stared at him, Sam went on, impassioned. "This is my choice, Dean, and it's Mom. I can't live knowing we had a chance at saving her but didn't do it because of me."

"No. We're not risking that. You might not get Heaven or the Empty. You might get Hell."

"It wouldn't be the first time," Sam pointed out.

"No!" Dean shouted. "We're not doing it. Mom would never want it."

"It's not her choice," Sam said.

"And it's not yours! I am the one that has to live with it after, and I get do decide." He dropped the blade down onto the floor and said, "I'm saying no." He stared at Sam, his fury now given over to desperation. "You understand me?"

Sam closed his eyes and a tear slid down his cheek as he nodded. "Okay. I understand."

"You swear?" Dean asked. "You swear on Mom's life that you won't do it?"

Sam laid a hand on Dean's chest and looked him in the eye. "I won't do it. I swear."

Dean nodded and kicked away the blade. "I'm going out. You"—he pointed at Jack—"are going to be gone before I get back, I don't care where you go or what you do as long as you make sure I never have to see you again. Understand?"

"I understand," Jack said quietly.

"Good," Dean said brutally, turning away and striding from the room. Castiel heard his footsteps on the stairs and then the creak and clang of the door.

Sam sighed and said, "Cas, can you go with him? He'll be in Connor's. Don't let him get wasted and drive."

Castiel started away and then stopped and said, "You really won't do this, will you, Sam?"

Sam looked him dead in the eyes and said, "I swore on my mom's life. Do you really think I'd break that?"

"No," Castiel said, instantly apologetic. "Of course not. Jack, I'll… I'll call you when I have helped Dean. Don't go far. We'll fix it. Dean will calm down."

"Sure," Jack muttered. "I know."

Castiel looked between the man he loved like a brother and the man he loved like a son, and then hurried out of the room and up the stairs to save his other brother from himself.

Jack heard the door clang behind Castiel and he trudged towards the bedrooms to pack his stuff. He understood what he had to do and why, but the idea of leaving his home behind was painful, almost as painful as the guilt he felt at what he had done to Mary, and yet even that felt muted. Donatello had asked what he felt. He said he didn't feel the same as he had before, and that had been true, but he'd not realized then just how far from feeling he was. He had been almost completely empty of feeling until then. Now he knew just how bad he could be, the damage he had done, and he felt like he was drowning in it, but it still wasn't enough. It should feel even worse than this.

He felt Sam's eyes following him, but he didn't look back. He couldn't see the pain in Sam's eyes, knowing he was the cause of it. He had taken Sam's mother away from him. He had stolen Mary from them all. He was the monster Dean had first believed he was; he had been right all along.

He got to his bedroom and pushed open the door. Everything was just as he'd left it when they'd been settling down for game night, and that felt like a lifetime ago, not a day. How could it have gone so wrong?

He took the duffel from under the bed then opened a drawer and began to remove his clothes. He stopped with a bundle of shirts in his hand and wiped at the tears that were slipping down his cheeks

He just hadn't wanted her to tell. That was all. He never meant to do that to her. He had loved her, too.

He dropped the shirts into the bag then and threw it onto the bed. His hands came up to his hair and yanked on the strands as he muttered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it. I just didn't want you to tell. I'm sorry…"

"It's too late for sorry," a voice said behind him.

He spun and saw Sam standing in the doorway, his face dark with anger. "Sam! I…"

"I don't want to hear sorry," Sam said. "I want you to come with me. Now."

He turned and walked away, and Jack rushed after him. Sam came to a stop outside one of the store rooms and opened the door and went inside. Jack followed him in, breathing in the musky and somehow bitter smell of the room that he assumed came from the many bags and jars of herbs and other ingredients Sam and Dean kept in there.

Sam took a bowl from a shelf and began to pick up ingredients and tip them in. Jack knew what he was doing at once, and his heart lurched. "You swore…"

"On my mother's life," Sam said. "She doesn't have a life right now."

"But Dean!"

Sam stopped and turned to face him; his eyes sad now. "It's not Dean's choice. Are you going to give me your grace?" Jack hesitated and Sam spoke roughly, "You owe us this, Jack."

"I know," Jack said. "But I don't want you to die either."

Sam smiled slightly, a twisted thing devoid of amusement. "You got the raw end of the soullessness thing, didn't you? I didn't feel at all. You still feel."

"Not enough," Jack said.

"No," Sam agreed. "Not enough." He sighed. "I don't want to die either, but I am not living if it means my mom is gone. And I might not die. I have a plan."

He shook the contents of two last jars into the bowl and then picked it up and carried it out of the room. Jack rushed out after him and followed him into the library.

"We've not got long," Sam said, picking up the archangel blade from the floor and tucking in under his arm. "I got the spell from Rowena, and she'll be on the phone to Dean already, even though she swore not to as well. None of us are good at keeping promises."

He looked around the library, seeming to be taking it all in, and Jack realized that Sam was saying goodbye to his home. He said he had a plan, but he didn't really expect it to work. Sam knew he was going to die. Jack knew it, too, and he didn't want Sam to die, but he thought he had to do this for him anyway. He owed Sam this.

"Take us to Prairie Winds Motel," Sam said.

Jack nodded and a moment later they were standing outside a motel with a red and yellow lit sign. Sam pointed at one of the doors and said, "We're going to be in room forty-two. Remember that."

"Why?" Jack asked, but he didn't answer.

Sam handed him the bowl and blade then bent with silver tools in his hands and picked the lock. When the door snicked open, Sam took the bowl back and carried it inside and set it on the table. He took a breath and said, "Which room are we in. Jack?"

"Forty-two," Jack said.

"Good. Now, we're not taking all you've got. Rowena says we won't need it, so heal me if you can. You'll have to be fast. If you can't do it, call an ambulance and tell them where we are. Tell them it's a head injury. Do not try to move me. Let the EMT's do it. They'll be fast; we're only a few minutes from the ER here."

"What do I do if you die?" Jack asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

Sam looked away. "You tell Dean I'm sorry, and make sure my mom knows this was what I wanted. And thank Cas for me. He'll know what else to do for them."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Jack asked.

In response, Sam touched Jack's throat and said, "Just like Lucifer did to you; it's only got to be shallow. Don't let too much out or I'm screwed. That's important Jack. You can't lose too much."

"I'll be careful."

Jack brought the tip of the blade to his throat and closed his eyes as he cut across it. He felt the sting and then warmth and sense of loss as the grace began to slip from him, and Sam brought the bowl up to catch it. He took what felt like almost all of it, and then lowered the bowl and said, "That's enough,"

Jack held up his hand to his throat and felt the warmth of healing as the skin knitted closed.

Sam sighed with relief. "That's good. You can heal. That's really good."

Jack watched as he lit the match and held it over the bowl.

"Be ready," he said, and then dropped the match in and said, "Vitae producat ex nihilo. Factum rapiunt. Redi illud."

Light flared in the bowl and a pulse swept over them. Outside, Jack heard car alarms blaring.

"I think it worked," he said.

Sam nodded and brought his hand to his head where a small wound formed and begun to spill blood. He dropped backwards, falling against the side of the bed and slumping to the side. "Jack," he rasped. "Now."

Jack dropped down beside him and held his palm over the wound. He allowed the grace to flow, weaker than usual but still there, and focused on Sam whose eyes were only half open. The light began to spill from his hand, but it flickered and died before it reached Sam's wound. He tried again, focusing his mind on what he wanted, but the light flickered and when he tried a third time, there was no light at all.

"It's not working, Sam!"

Sam's lips parted and his words were so quiet Jack had to lean close to hear them. "Room forty-two."

"Yes!" Jack said eagerly, pulling his phone from his pocket and dialling quickly. When the coolly professional voice answered, Jack asked for an ambulance and started reeling off the details before the call was connected. "We need an ambulance. It's Sam. He's been hurt."

"Where are you located?"

"Lebanon, Kansas," Jack said. "Prairie Winds Motel. Room forty-two."

"Head injury," Sam whispered.

"He's got a head injury," Jack said urgently. "It's really bad."

"Is he conscious?"

"Yes…" Even as he said it, Sam's eyes slid closed and his lips parted with a shallow breath. "No. Not anymore. You have to hurry. I can't move him."

"No, you can't," the operator said sternly. "Is he breathing?"

"Yes, but not enough."

"Okay. An ambulance is on its way. I will stay on the line with you until they come."

Jack stared down at Sam, the man he'd loved like a father but didn't know what he felt now, and said, "Okay. I will…"

He trailed off as his keen ears heard the sound of a familiar car approaching among the alarms blaring. He got to his feet and opened the door, swallowing hard.

"Dean is here…"

So… You were warned. I am already coming up with ideas for a continuation story but I also have two WIPs and two Big Bangs to write, so I can't guarantee if/when it will be written. I plan to go on with this world though, and I hope you will join me there.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx