I'm alive! Contrary to popular opinion, I have not yet been taken down by a supernatural creature of darkness. And so we come to the last chapter of my story... Wow, this has been fun! I have highly enjoyed my journey with the Winchesters--and consequently, my journey with you, my readers and reviewers. Said journey would not have been possible without you, or without amyblair, my amazing beta!

Chapter Ten

Dean watched with a feeling of satisfaction as Baldwin stiffened, obviously fighting to maintain control.

"And what are you telling me to do?" Baldwin asked. His mouth was tight with a forced sneer.

"Call off that creature." Dean pointed toward the female demon, who was still circling Beryl.

"She doesn't answer to me," Baldwin replied, his smooth demeanor only faltering slightly, only visible in the quick flash of fear in his eyes.

"I don't answer to him!" Asherah confirmed. With a shriek of rage, she launched herself at Beryl.

Dean had never been more afraid for a dead person. "Baldwin, you bastard! NOW!" he shouted gruffly, grabbing the front of the demon's flawless shirt and jerking the creature closer. When the demon made no response, only staring blankly, the young hunter lifted the paper in his hand, fixed his eyes on it, and started to read. He was not quite as easy with Latin as Sam. He was sure his words faltered a bit, but they were still words of power, he knew.

He knew this because Baldwin's face began to twist in agony.

He knew this because Asherah suddenly shrieked, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her leap back from Beryl, clapping her hands over her ears.

Why stop now? Dean continued to read, the Latin coming more easily to his tongue.

Baldwin jerked in Dean's grasp, stepping backward and yanking Dean forward.

Heat flared up across Dean's ribcage, and he coughed, the exorcism interrupted. Baldwin took advantage of the split-second lapse, grasping Dean's forearm and shoving it down, ripping his shirt from Dean's grasp. The hunter stumbled back, but was steadied by strong arms. One long arm reached around him, snatching the exorcism from his shaking fingers.

Sam. Sammy. Good ol' Sammy. Dean doubled over, arms wrapped tightly around his ribs, as Sam stepped up beside him and began reading in his young, strong voice.

Baldwin shrieked, jaw locking, teeth clenching. The demon was determined to stay inside the body it had stolen, but Sam kept reading. Baldwin collapsed to his knees, body bucking, grasping his own throat.

Doubled over, Dean lifted his head slightly to catch a glimpse of his brother's face. Sam was starting to smile smugly now, confidence in every word he read. "Keep goin', Sammy," Dean encouraged before bowing his head again. The room was spinning… I hope that demon bastard is feeling the same…

Then, without precedence, a female form launched itself across the room at Sam. Dean's head snapped up just in time to see Asherah flinging her arms outward at his younger brother, hands curled into claws. "No!" Dean shouted, straightening and quickly moving himself between his brother and the female demon. He braced himself for impact, arms held before him, feet firmly planted.

Asherah slammed into his arms full force. One of her clawed hands reached around his blockade to scratch at his face, but he jerked his head back just in time to avoid her sharp nails. The demon woman shrieked in rage, but could do little to fight him, weakened as she was by Sam's reading of the exorcism. Dean quickly grasped her wrists and spun her around, locking her arms against her chest. His eyes scanned the cave room quickly, frantically. Where is Beryl?

"Where's Beryl!?" Dean demanded, shaking the demon roughly.

Behind him, Sam's voice began to pronounce the last few sentences of the exorcism.

The demon woman laughed bitterly, her laughter joined by Baldwin's.

Dean swore. "Where's Beryl!?"

"You'll never find out if you exorcise me, hunter," Asherah panted, her body trembling convulsively against him as the exorcism worked its power on her.

And then Sam stopped reading.

Dean quickly spun to face his brother, still clutching Asherah in an arm lock against his chest. "Sam?"

Sam looked at his brother with wide, worried eyes, shoulders heaving as he hauled in ragged breaths. "Dean, what do we do?"

The Winchester brothers held each other's eyes, each unsure, each worried, each angry.

Dean shook Asherah violently. "Where's Beryl!?" he demanded a third time.

Baldwin laughed wickedly. "Foolish humans. Always so easily attached, so pitifully protective of what you deign to love."

And then, from seemingly nowhere and everywhere at once, there came a voice--feminine and strong--echoing through the cave. "Finish it! Finish it, Sam!"

"Beryl!" Dean cried raggedly, eyes darting around the cave. "Where are you!?"

"Finish it!" Beryl's voice commanded.

Dean looked to Sam, breathing heavily, his insides all twisted into knots. Sam was gazing up at the ceiling, jaw clenched. Dean knew that look--stubborn, Winchester determination. And Dean knew, deep down in some place within that always knew, that Beryl was right, that Sam needed to finish the incantation, that the exorcism had to go on; so when Sam looked at his brother, Dean gave him a steady nod.

Sam swallowed hard, then continued to speak the demon-ripping words.

Sam kept a wary eye on Baldwin, who cringed and moaned under the words of the exorcism. The words were coming to an end, and it looked as if they were going to work. Smoke began to seep from Baldwin's mouth, and the demon's black eyes widened with horror.

Sam glanced to where Dean was still manhandling Asherah. The female demon was screeching and scratching at Dean's arms, but the elder Winchester kept a strong grip on her. The look in his eyes bothered Sam, though. Dean almost looked… haunted…

Dean nodded to Sam again, working his jaw. "Finish it!" he ordered hoarsely.

And so Sam continued to read. A thrill of triumph ran through his veins as both Baldwin and Asherah collapsed to their knees, bodies swaying, smoke pouring from their mouths. Dean stepped back from Asherah, moving a bit unsteadily, his body heaving with shaky breaths. Sam spoke the rest of the exorcism mostly from memory, his eyes often darting toward Dean, watching worriedly as his elder brother sagged against the wall of the cave room.

Finally, the words were finished, and with a mighty screech, the black-smoke forms of the demons tore from their human hosts and vaporized through the ceiling of the cave. The man and woman, now empty of demon souls, collapsed to the cold, hard floor like clothing emptied of human bodies.

Sam drew a ragged, shaky breath and pocketed the exorcism paper with a trembling hand. He managed a weak smile as he turned to his brother. "So? What now, Dean?"

Dean grinned back, pressing a hand to his ribs. "Good--good work, Sammy." He closed his eyes for a moment, a wince tightening his features briefly. Then he was looking at Sam again, before Sam could think to worry any more than he was already worrying. "Think we should tie up these guys?" The elder brother nodded at the two still forms on the floor.

Sam laughed a bit at that. "If they're anything like George…"

Dean took a wobbly step forward, then. "Let's wake 'em up and find out." He moved toward the fallen host of Asherah and knelt beside her. But before he could awaken the woman, a voice echoed through the cave.

"Dean."

Dean's head snapped up, and Sam saw it again--the haunted look in his brother's bright green eyes. Dean's throat worked; he was swallowing down something. Tears, maybe? Sam wondered. Whatever it was, it was clear that Dean was unable to speak.

"Beryl?" Sam called, moving to stand closer to his brother. "Is that you?"

"Follow me," came the familiar voice of the benevolent ghost.

Sam frowned as he looked around the room. He saw no sign of Beryl. "Beryl? Where--?"

"There."

Sam looked down at his brother, followed the line of Dean's motioning hand. His eyes widened.

Slender, feminine footprints were appearing in the dust of the cave floor, moving steadily toward the door… and glowing faintly with a bluish light.

Sam blinked. "Do we--?"

"We follow," Dean told him firmly. He braced himself on his own knee and started to push himself up from his kneel.

Sam quickly reached down to hook an arm under his brother's, pulling the unsteady Dean to his feet. "You okay, man?"

"Maybe," Dean replied a bit gruffly. His eyes were fixed on the footprints, which had stopped at the door of the room. "Let's see where she's taking us." He moved from his brother's supportive hold, moved to follow the glowing prints.

Sam took a deep breath, eyes narrowed on his brother's back. His heart clenched with a sudden pang of sadness… He thought it might be sadness for Dean.

Dean had not forgotten his promise to Beryl… nor had he stopped regretting it. His heart beat hard and heavy in his chest as he followed the footprints to the door, then through the door and into the hallway of the cave. He could hear Sam following behind him and hoped that Sam had the good sense to pick up their pack on the way out. He figured Sam probably did. The kid was showing himself to be quite a useful hunter, thoughtful, sensible, a good partner. A good brother.

Dean's throat tightened as he thought of all he had been through with his brother. There was probably more to come. And he wouldn't have it any other way--would never choose anything but hunting with his brother, if given the choice. This was the life, right? As he followed the footsteps down the chilly passageway, he felt a twinge of doubt--not a doubt about traveling the road with Sam, but a doubt about hunting.

Beryl was not evil. Why did he have to burn her bones?

"Dean?" came Sam's questioning voice from behind.

"I think she's leading us somewhere," Dean called back, following the ghostly prints down a narrow slope.

"Obviously," Sam replied, his voice tinged with a bit of sarcasm. "But where?"

"To her bones." The words felt ripped from Dean's throat, ripped from his heart. "She wants us to burn them."

Sam was silent, then, and Dean was grateful for it. Sam was generally pretty good at that, good at reading and recognizing the times when there was a need for silence. And so the brothers silently followed the glowing footprints down into a dark, damp opening--another cave room, this one much bigger than the last few they had visited.

When Dean stopped walking, panting, his side aching, Sam stumbled into him from behind.

"Sorry, man." Sam patted Dean's arm. "I can't see at all in here."

Dean nodded. "It's pretty friggin' dark in here."

"And cold," Sam added with a sniff. "Do you think Beryl--?"

Sam's question was cut off by a sudden flash of blue light from the far left corner of the room. The light dimmed a bit after the flash, hovering over something in the corner.

"I think that's where we're supposed to go," Dean surmised quietly, raggedly. Something within him clenched painfully at the thought of what was to come. "Come on." He tapped Sam's elbow, then started toward the blue glow. "Beryl?"

The lovely ghost suddenly materialized in the midst of the glimmering blue. She hovered a few inches off the ground, hands clasped demurely before her, eyes downcast, blue-gold hair hanging down around her face. "Hello, Dean." Her voice was soft, with a bit of sorrow. She looked up and shook the hair from her eyes, meeting Dean's gaze. "You found me."

"Yeah." Dean's voice caught, and he swallowed.

"You remember your promise?" she asked gently.

Dean nodded. He did not trust himself to speak.

Beryl drifted to her right, looking away from the Winchesters. Her movement revealed what had been hidden behind her--a pile of delicate, feminine bones.

Dean felt faintly nauseated at the sight. Here was Beryl--at least, what had been Beryl--stripped to the bone and left to decay in a far corner of an abandoned mine.

"We beat them, Dean," Sam whispered, moving to stand closer to his brother, ready to provide support, Dean supposed. "The ones who did this to her. We sent them straight back to hell."

Dean sighed. His brother was right. Of course. And it did feel a bit better to have been a part of avenging Beryl's death.

"I'm sorry," Beryl spoke up softly, her luminous eyes fixing on Dean once again. She drifted close to him, reached out to him, then jerked her hand back. "I know you don't want to do this."

Dean clenched his jaw, lips pressed tightly together. No, I don't want to do this…

"It's all right, Beryl," Sam answered her quietly. "We made a promise. We know this is what you want."

Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes. Why can't we protest, Sam? How about we back out on this one? But he took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. "We'll do this for you, but--but…" He winced, pained inside. "God, I'll miss you."

"Dean…" Beryl floated even closer to him, her fingers reaching to brush his face.

Dean closed his eyes and leaned into her ghostly hand, relishing the feel of her soft--if frigid--hand against his skin.

The ghost girl was suddenly very close, her body brushing against his, embracing him. "I wish you would have met me when I was alive," she whispered in his ear, her voice throaty and soft and rife with longing. Her ghostly breath kissed his skin with a bittersweet tingle.

"Me, too." Dean moved to lean his head against hers, but she had already drifted out of his arms, turning her glowing back to him.

"Send me home," she whispered, arms wrapped around herself.

Dean reached into his pocket. The cold feel of his lighter against his fingers surprised him, almost making him jump.

"Can you do this?" Sam asked him quietly.

Dean turned to face his brother, smiling wryly at the concerned look in Sam's eyes. Concerned. Good ol' Sammy. "I can do this," he assured his brother.

Sam nodded, placing full confidence in Dean. "I'll be right here if… you know… If you need me."

And I hope you always will be, Dean thought, but he shrugged and said, "I got this." Then he turned to face Beryl's ghost and bones. "Sam, hand me the salt."

Sam fumbled through the pack and withdrew the box of salt, then placed it in his brother's hands, giving Dean a steady look, which Dean attempted to return.

"Good-bye, Beryl," Dean told her, his voice shaky. "And thank-you."

"No." She turned to look at him, and there was a fragile, lovely smile on her face. "I thank you."

"For what?" Dean asked, frowning.

"For one last adventure on Earth," she replied, her smile broadening. "Now send me on to my first adventure elsewhere."

Dean nodded and took a step forward, sprinkling the delicate bones with salt. His body ached, but his spirit ached more, bruised by heartache and good-byes. With a shaky hand, he lit the lighter, holding it over the bones for a few seconds. I'll never see her again. She saved my life. I'll never see her again. She--

"Thank-you, Dean," she whispered, her light, ghostly breath making the tiny flame dance.

He tossed the lighter down onto the bones, stepping back with a shaky, convulsive sigh as they caught fire. A strong, warm hand rested on his shoulder. Sam, of course.

"You've done the right thing, Dean," Sam reassured him.

"Yeah, and it sucks, doesn't it?" Dean retorted, violently swiping a tear from his eye. As soon as he had cleared his vision, he looked around frantically for Beryl. The blue glow was fading from the cave, and the ghostly woman was nowhere to be seen. "Where is she?"

"She's gone, Dean," Sam told him softly.

"Aw, man." Dean frantically rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Come on." Sam shifted the pack on his shoulder. "Let's go. You need rest, and I need to bandage you up."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean felt cold inside, and numb. He took a deep, shuddery breath. "Let's go, Dr. Winchester." Sam turned and started toward the slope that led upward out of the room, and Dean followed behind him, head bowed, heart bowed.

As Dean was stepping onto the slope, he felt a cool, soothing touch on his back. He spun around, eyes widening at the sight of Beryl standing before him. She was not shimmering blue or floating off the ground. She was just… a pretty girl, just Beryl.

"Beryl." Dean stepped toward her, hands extended.

Beryl caught his hands in hers and squeezed them. Her face was lit up not with a ghostly light, but with an inner glow. "Dean."

"What--what's happening?" Dean wondered aloud. He glanced toward the smoldering pile of ashes that had been Beryl's remains, then looked back at the beautiful, whole young woman in front of him. "How are you--?"

"Shh." She reached to place a cool, slender finger against his lips. "I don't have much time." A grin lit up her eyes, made them sparkle. "It's very beautiful where I'm going. And very happy." The sparkle turned to a mischievous glint. "I told you so, Dean Winchester." She studied him closely. "You're so special, Dean."

The young hunter blinked, surprised. Wasn't Sam supposed to be the special one? "Well, thanks. That's--that's great, but--"

"I get to say one last good-bye," Beryl told him softly, her eyes fixing intently on his. It seemed she was staring deep down into him, assessing the hurt and the pain and the hope and the longing. "Dean, take care of yourself. And take care of Sam."

Dean glanced over his shoulder to where Sam was standing wide-eyed. The younger Winchester nodded to Beryl, and she nodded back. "And you take care of Dean, too," she admonished him.

Sam nodded, eyes huge. "I will."

"Dean." Beryl touched his face, her hand suddenly warm and solid and real.

"Yes?" Dean asked gruffly, reaching to wrap his arms around her. She felt nice against him, resting in the circle of his arms.

"Good-bye," she whispered. Then she leaned forward to press her lips to his in a soft kiss full of bittersweet desire.

Dean kissed her back hungrily, wishing for the impossible, craving for something that could never be. And then she was gone, her breath still warm on his lips, taking his own breath away from him and leaving him almost empty… Almost… He stood in the darkness of the cave, trying to breathe without her, wondering…

"Dean? Are you okay?"

Dean turned to look at his brother and managed a bemused smile. "Yeah," he answered roughly. He cleared his throat, resisting the urge to touch his lips, which were still warm from her breath, from her kiss. "I think so." He walked up the slope with his brother, thankful that Sam had the sense to switch on a flashlight. Dean himself was too shaken up, inside and out, to think of such things.

"She's gonna be okay, Dean," Sam told him quietly, his voice low and confident. "She'll be happy where she is."

Dean smiled, suddenly reassured, but still… but still missing her. "I think you're right." He glanced up at the ceiling of the cave and winked, hoping that she saw him, hoping that she knew. Then he turned to Sam, slapping a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Well whaddaya say we find our way outta here, Sammy? I'm sick of caves, and I could use an ibuprofen or two. And maybe a cheeseburger. Or two."

"Sounds like a plan," Sam replied with a crooked grin.

And so the Winchesters made their way out of the darkness and into the light of day, where it was easier to breathe.