***TISSUE WARNING***

This is the last chapter and so you might want to grab a Kleenex before reading.

Chapter Eleven

Sam was asleep.

No, that was too gentle a word; Sam was unconscious. He had fallen asleep before Dean had got back to him after his emotional—and he now realized, selfish—outburst in the Impala, and he'd never woken up again.

When Dean had got back to him, Sam had been slouching in his chair with his chin resting on his chest. Dean hadn't had the heart to wake him, so he'd just sat down beside him and stared up at the stars, waiting for Sam to wake in his own time. But he hadn't. He'd slipped into oblivion and Dean hadn't been there to say goodbye.

Dean held out hope that Sam would wake again, at least once, and he would have the chance to say all the things he had thought were beyond him. He'd never been emotionally verbose, but if given the chance now, he would say all the things he thought but never said. All the things he realized Sam should hear before the end.

Amelia said it was possible he would wake, something called the surge, but she said it was probably better for him if he didn't. According to her, it was better for Sam to be unconscious as it gave him some reprieve from the pain. She didn't know Sam though. Dean did. Unconscious or not, Sam was still hurting. It was the smallest signs: the slight tension in his brow, the occasional uneven breath, the pallor of the skin. Dean recognized all those things as Sam's tells for pain, and there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it other than pummel the boost button on the pump and hope that it helped Sam somehow.

Dean wasn't stupid or in denial. He knew what was happening, and he knew he was as ready as he would ever be for it to happen, but when Sam's breath hitched too long one afternoon, Dean realized he would never be ready to lose Sam.

They were alone in the room, because Dean was cleaning Sam up with a washcloth and warm water, but as soon as Sam's breathing stuttered and stopped, Dean bellowed Amelia's name.

She came running into the room, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. "What is it?"

"Sammy," Dean said. "He's not breathing. Call an ambulance."

Then an amazing thing happened, Sam drew a deep heaving breath. Dean's eyes snapped to his brother. His lips had parted and he was breathing, but the sound was wrong. It was rattling, and the space between each inhale was too long.

Thanking God for the reprieve, Dean reached for his cell phone.

"What are you doing?" Amelia asked.

"I'm calling an ambulance," Dean said in the tone of someone explaining something very simple to someone very stupid.

"Dean," Amelia said sadly. "What do you think a doctor will do for him now?"

"Um… help him!"

Sam took another heaving breath and then paused for a beat of five seconds before exhaling.

"No, they will hurt him. They will connect him to a ventilator that will breathe for him, but they won't help."

"But he can't breathe!"

Amelia shook her head. "I know. This is how it happens, Dean. It's called Cheyne Stokes breathing. Sam is…" She wiped a hand over her face. "He's going now."

"No!" Dean gasped. "He's not. It's not time. He needs a little longer."

Sam's breathing hitched again, making Dean feel sickened, and though he was talking to Amelia, he couldn't look at her. All his attention was on the man lying on the bed.

"It's not time."

"It is," Amelia said softly. "This is Sam's body letting go. We can't intervene. Sam made his wishes clear when he filled out his advanced directive. He doesn't want machines keeping him alive. You know this, Dean. You helped him."

Dean remembered. 'Allow me to die as gently as possible.' The words coming from his brother's mouth that day had been awful, but Dean had never really considered the reality of them. He was going to have to watch as his brother slipped away, and there was nothing he could do because Sam didn't want it.

"It's what Sam wants," Amelia said. "We have to follow his wishes."

Dean closed his eyes and a tear slipped down his cheek. "I can't do this."

"You can. You will. Remember, this is for Sam. He told me you've done some amazing things for him before. This is the last thing you can give him. Help him go."

Dean shook his head mutely and another tear slipped down his cheek.

"Why don't you take a minute," Amelia suggested. "Get some fresh air. I'll sit with him."

Dean didn't want to leave Sam, but he couldn't bear to be there either. Sam was going and though he'd sworn to himself that he would be there when it happened, he was afraid now. More afraid than he had ever been in his life.

He got to leaden feet and slid open the glass door that led to the yard. He would be able to see Sam from there and hear him, but if he positioned himself right, he would be out of Amelia's view, so he could have a moment of peace.

He positioned himself on the chair, the same chair he had sat on with Sam at his side what felt like a lifetime ago, and covered his face with his hands.

He could hear Sam's slow, fractured breathing and Amelia's voice murmuring to him, but he couldn't make out the words.

He didn't want to be alone. He wanted someone with him, someone he loved to tell him it was all going to be okay and that he could handle this. But there was no one left. His parents were long since gone. Bobby was dead. Sam was dying. And Castiel was trapped. But… maybe that wasn't the end…

"Castiel," he said hesitantly. "Man, I don't know if you can hear this where you are, but I figure you should know, even if you can't do anything about it." And that was right. Sam was Castiel's friend, too. He should know what was happening. He had earned that right. "Sam's sick. No, Sam's dying. Look, Cas, I know I let you down, letting go like that, but I need you now. Sam needs you. Get to that portal, fight your way back to us, 'cause we need you, man. Sam needs you. I need you. I can't do this alone. Please." His voice broke. "Help me." He bowed his head and his shoulders shook as he sobbed. He couldn't bear this pain. He felt like his insides were on fire and his mind was reeling away from it. He needed someone to tether him. Someone else to be strong for a moment. "We're in Kermit, Texas. If you can hear me, if you can get out, please come—"

"I am here, Dean."

Dean leapt to his feet, his heart pounding in his throat. "Cas?"

He couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was Castiel, in his trenchcoat with his tie askew. It was really him.

"Am I going crazy?" he asked.

Castiel didn't answer. He was peering through the door to Sam, and his forehead was creased with sadness. "Oh, Sam."

He walked through the door and Dean heard Amelia's squawk of surprise, but he didn't care about her. He raced in after Castiel in time to see him roughly shove Amelia aside and sit on the bed beside Sam. He reached out a hand and laid it on Sam's fitfully moving chest.

There was a split-second in which Dean could maybe have intervened, but he didn't. He wanted this so much it overwhelmed him. In that moment, he didn't think about the promise he had made Sam, he just watched as their guardian angel moved his hand from Sam's chest to his temple. Amelia was shouting, demanding to know more, and at some point Dean must have stopped her because he was gripping her arm and holding her back from getting to Sam. Dean watched in awe as bright light emanated from Castiel's palm and then he stepped away.

"It is done," he said mildly.

"What did you do to him?" Amelia shouted.

Castiel turned to her, a look of irritation on his face. "I saved him."

Dean released her, and she hurried across the room to Sam's side. Dean couldn't move. He was afraid this was all a dream and if he moved, he would shatter it. But it seemed real. Sam's steady breaths seemed real. His rising color and the shadows disappearing from his eyes seemed real, too.

"Cas," Dean said gently. "Is he okay?"

Castiel nodded. "He will wake soon. His body just needs a little time to adjust. Perhaps it would be better if the crying woman wasn't here when he did. Shall I take her away?"

Dean smiled and shook his head. "It's her house."

Castiel nodded and gripped Amelia's arm. "Then let us take advantage of her yard."

He tugged Amelia out onto the back deck. Dean heard him say, "It's better they are alone for a moment," before the door clicked closed.

Sam hadn't moved other than to breathe, and Dean was afraid to approach him in case the spell Castiel cast broke. Then Sam's eyes flickered and Dean lurched forward in long strides and fell to sit on the bed beside Sam as his eyes opened and he looked around the room.

"Dean?" he whispered.

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm here," Dean said in a choked voice. He couldn't believe it was real, that he was hearing Sam's voice.

Sam looked at him and there was fury in his eyes. "What did you do?"

Dean shook his head and a solitary tear escaped his eye and slipped down his cheek. Sam was angry, and that was fine, because he was alive to feel that emotion. Sam could throw anything he had at Dean and he would accept it all, because it meant he was really there.

Sam lived.

Amelia's yard was vast, and Sam was throwing a tennis ball across the grass and laughing as Riot caught it in his mouth and returned it to Sam with the dog equivalent of a grin.

Dean was standing, leaning on the railing and Amelia was at his side. Castiel had gone for now, but he would be returning soon as they were due to leave Amelia's house. He said he preferred to travel with the Winchesters to stop them becoming lost from him again.

Castiel had returned months ago. By Dean's calculations, a couple weeks after Sam had finally told Dean about the cancer. He had searched the country for Sam and Dean, but found no sign. He had taken to searching down hunts he thought they would take in hopes of running into them. It hadn't worked, but Castiel had saved a lot of people in the process. It wasn't until Dean prayed to him that Castiel had been able to lock on his location, and he had come to them. He had come and saved Sam.

"Are you ever going to explain to me what happened?" Amelia asked, breaking into Dean's thoughts.

He looked out at Sam, gamboling on the grass with Riot at his heels, barking madly. "What does Sam say?"

"He won't tell me," she said. "He thinks I'm better off not knowing."

Dean turned away from his brother and looked her in the eye. He had no love for Amelia, but he accepted that he owed her for everything she had done for him and Sam. "If I was to explain what happened, told you everything about the world you live in, it would hurt you. It's better that you keeping living in a world that makes you happy rather than one that scares you. Believe me, I never had the choice. Your life is better."

Amelia sighed. "But he's okay, right? Sam, I mean. He's not going to get sick again?"

Dean shrugged. "We don't know for sure. It might come back later. But as long as we've got Cas, Sam'll make out fine."

"Sam said you need to leave."

"Yeah, we do. There's things we need to take care of."

"And you won't come back."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Sam tell you that too?"

"He didn't need to. I can tell. You won't come back this time."

"We might. I'm not making any promises. That's down to Sam."

She bowed her head. "It'll never be the same though, will it?"

Dean shook his head. "I know you love my brother, but you need to understand what our lives are like. We don't get the happily-ever-after. You have a husband. You have a life. Make the most of it, Amelia. Make the most of it. Without Sam."

He didn't turn look to see if his words had any impact. He doubted they would. Miracle or no, Sam would always be the one that got away from her.

He whistled and both Riot and Sam turned to face him.

"We've got to get going, Sammy."

Sam nodded and ambled up the stairs to the deck.

"I'll wait in the car," he said.

Sam smiled and laid an arm around Amelia's shoulders. "I'll be right out."

Dean turned away hurrying through the room that had been Sam's death chamber, and out to the Impala. Castiel was waiting there, standing beside the car.

"Where is Sam?" he asked.

"Talking to Amelia. Saying…" Dean shrugged. "Thanks, goodbye, probably both. I don't know."

Castiel nodded thoughtfully. "It is a better goodbye, though, this way."

Dean couldn't agree more. He had come to this house under a haze of grief and he was leaving it light with happiness. There was plenty to come, Kevin was translating the tablet, and soon they would have a way to close Hell for good. It wasn't going to be easy, but he wouldn't be alone now. He had Sam and Castiel at his side.

Life was good.

So… I know some of you are going to be relieved that Sam lived and others will be disappointed that he did. I wanted to make this as accurate portrayal of Sam's illness as possible, and my initial intention was for Sam to die, but when I came to the end, I realized I was in a unique position writing fanfic. In this fanfic world, there are miracles. Angels can come and save the day. I just wish the real world was like that.

Thank you all for your support for this story. Your PMs and reviews have helped me power through to the end.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets.

P.S. If you are looking for something to read, I now have 19 stories on my profile and will be adding another very soon. Click my name at the top of the page and see if there's something there to interest you.