Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way!

Summary: Sam and Rowena make a deal to "save" Dean, and Dean ends up paying the price. Hurt!Dean and Protective!Sammy. SPOILER ALERTS for episodes S10E17-S10E19.

Author's note: Hi everyone! I realized belatedly that the chapter I had previously posted for 24 was not the final version I had written. Unfortunately, that version was somehow erased from my computer, so I had to go back and try to recreate it before reposting. Hence the added delay to getting this chapter up for you all… So sorry about that!

The changes won't drastically affect the story going forward so you don't have to reread it to stay on track, but I just wanted to let you know it is a bit different now (and about five pages longer!) if you wanted to give it a second shot. And without further ado, here is the final chapter. Thank you all for your patience and support!

Dean was dead.

Eyes glazed over and staring up at nothing, blood all around him. He had fought for as long as he could, but the human body had limits, and Dean's body had reached every single one of them.

He was dead, and there was nothing Sam could do about it, except mourn.

Sam jolted awake in the hard plastic chair that he had pulled up to the side of his brother's bed.

Heart still pounding in his chest from the nightmare, he silently rose to his feet and checked on Dean for what must have been the twentieth time in the past two hours since he had crept down the hallway and snuck into his brother's room.

The walls were just starting to brighten with warm hues as the sun slowly crested over the horizon and day broke, bathing Dean's skin in an ethereal glow, putting some color back into his pale face.

He was so still again that Sam considered waking him just to be sure that the dream was in fact only a dream. But after what the poor guy had been through, Dean needed all the rest he could get…

Four minutes and twenty-three seconds.

That was how long Dean had convulsed against the hard, unforgiving cement floor of his bedroom. His blood, which continued to stream out of every orifice, had turned to a viscous black ooze and pooled sluggishly onto the ground beneath him.

Sam could only guess that the ectoplasm-like substance was the curse finally being expelled from his brother's body.

But the sounds… Those were the worst part. It was like Dean was choking on his own pain and blood, torn between gagging and screaming.

Flecks of black goo sprayed from between his tightly clenched teeth as the convulsions forced him to cough, most of which ended with choked-off whimpers.

Sam knelt down next to his flailing brother, feeling utterly useless as he tried his best to cushion Dean's thrashing head.

"It's okay, Dean. I'm right here. Don't fight it. Just try to breathe."

He kept up a steady litany of words, more to keep himself calm than his brother as he wasn't even sure Dean could hear him.

"Please don't leave me, Dean. I still need you, big brother. Please just… Just open your eyes…"

That had been three days ago.

Sam hadn't felt that terrified since the night he had watched those Hellhounds rip his brother apart and drag his soul to Hell. He couldn't lose Dean again. Not like that.

Cradling his brother's face in his hands, Sam had counted every painful second as they ticked by, hoping that the older man would just snap out of it and tell him to get the hell off of him.

No chick-flick moments allowed, after all, even when Dean was on the verge of dying. The man had a reputation to uphold.

But when the seizing had finally stopped, Dean hadn't said a word. Hadn't opened his eyes. Hadn't made another sound. His previously animated body had fallen completely still.

Lifeless.

Even the bleeding had stopped just as suddenly as it had started, though it had left dark red and black lines across Dean's cheeks and temples like masochistic war paint.

Sam had thought his brother had officially given up the fight, but he should've known better. Dean had made him a promise, and he never broke them. Ever.

And yet, Sam still couldn't get that macabre image of Dean out of his head. So for the past three nights, he had ended up wandering into his brother's room in the early morning hours just to prove to himself that Dean was in fact still breathing and on the mend.

He hadn't meant to drift off in the chair by the bed, but he was completely exhausted. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had slept more than two hours in a stretch.

The nightmares had made sure of that.

He was going to have to make a big pot of coffee soon to survive the rest of the day, but for the moment, he was content to just stand there and watch as his brother's chest rose and fell steadily beneath the cotton sheet draped over him.

It didn't take long before Sam started to match the comforting rhythm of Dean's breathing, feeling his racing heart slowing back down to a more natural pace.

That is, until Dean shifted a bit with a groan, then went stiff.

Sam held his breath, knowing that his brother had just sensed his presence in the room. And when Dean let out a heavy sigh, the younger man knew he had been busted.

"Damn it, Sammy… You've gotta stop hoverin' like that, dude. It's creepy."

Sam blushed and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, head hanging in shame. "I know. Sorry. I was just… worried."

Hearing the misery in his brother's voice, Dean forced his heavy-lidded eyes open and rolled his head towards the younger man, squinting up at Sam until the blurry mass came into focus.

He took in Sam's slightly thinner frame and the bruising around his eyes, both of which proved to him that his little brother hadn't been taking care of himself since this whole mess had begun.

He frowned, easing himself up onto his elbows with a grimace so that he could address Sam more properly as his big brother instincts took over.

"Look, I get it, alright? I do. I did the same thing with you after Jake…" stabbed you in the back. Dean swallowed hard against the memory, then continued. "After what Jake did to you in Cold Oak. But you're startin' to look worse than me, man. You should be in bed, catchin' up on some well-earned Zs."

A mischievous glint filled Sam's eyes and he smirked down at his tousle-haired brother. "Fine then. Scoot over."

Without waiting for a response, Sam slid onto the edge of Dean's bed, careful not to jostle him too much, and rested his back against the headboard contentedly.

They hadn't shared a bed since Sam's first major growth spurt which turned him into a lanky octopus when he was a teen, but somehow it felt like coming home. There were only two places in this world where Sam felt safe; in the Impala, and by Dean's side.

The older man simply rolled his eyes at him, like any good big brother would do.

"So not what I meant, dude," he muttered begrudgingly, but he slid over a bit more to make room just the same. "Fine. But if you start snorin' or hog the sheets, I'm kickin' your ass onto the floor, Sasquatch."

"Hey, I'm not the one who snores."

"Oh, right. My bad. You're as quiet as a church mouse. Or, you know… A friggin' freight train."

Sam huffed out a laugh. "Shut up, jerk."

Dean snuggled back down into his pillow and let his eyes fall closed again. "You first, bitch."

Sam was grinning like an idiot, finally feeling some of the weight from the past week lifting off his chest. He had missed trading barbs with Dean. Hell, he had missed Dean.

They had cut it way too close this time.

Looking down at his brother, who was on the verge of falling back asleep, Sam couldn't help but flash back to when the curse had finally broken.

Once the seizing inevitably stopped, Sam was terrified to check his brother for a pulse, convinced that he wouldn't find one. But when his shaking fingertips registered the faint, but erratic, beat just below the surface of Dean's pale throat, he sent out a silent thank you to the man upstairs.

Dean was alive. He was alive.

Overcome with relief, he clutched at Dean's shoulders, closed his eyes, and rested his forehead against the older man's sternum, feeling the shallow but steady rise and fall of his brother's chest.

Sam had endured every emotion the human body was capable of feeling within those five painstakingly long minutes- not to mention the absurdly high stress levels he had been under during the past few days since it had all began- and at that moment, he couldn't decide whether he wanted to laugh, cry, scream, or punch something.

But when Dean let out a low groan and finally began to stir, the crying option won out because, honestly, Sam just didn't have the strength left to keep those floodgates closed anymore.

Even now, he could feel his eyes welling up again just from the memory alone, which was primarily the reason he didn't see the pillow flying directly towards his face until it was too late.

"What the hell was that for?" he demanded of his brother once he had recovered from the initial shock of the impact.

"Cause you're thinkin' too damned loudly," Dean mumbled back, eyes still closed, though there was a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips now.

Sam scoffed at him, but then tried his best to relax and clear his head. One thought kept plaguing him though, refusing to give him peace.

"Hey, Dean?"

Dean grunted a tired response that sounded vaguely like an irritated "What?"

Sam watched his brother tentatively. "How much do you remember? You know, about everything you've been through over the past week."

When Dean had first woken up on his bedroom floor, scantily clad with his brother hovering over him, he hadn't remembered any of it. But then he caught sight of Crowley and Cas by the door, and suddenly the horrors of his past came flooding back in.

He remembered every gruesome detail. Every spike of pain. Every embarrassing whimper that had left his lips. And no amount of therapy was ever going to make that okay.

He sighed heavily and cracked his eyes back open to find Sammy staring back at him expectantly.

He thought about telling Sam the truth, he really did. But his brother had already endured more than enough on his behalf, so he fudged the details a bit.

"Not much. I think I ran into Rowena at a bar, and then I was waking up on my floor, askin' you for pants. She must've roofied me or something, cause the rest is pretty hazy."

Sam looked worried at first and Dean was afraid he had made the wrong decision, but then his brother nodded, looking content for the first time in days.

"Good. That's probably for the better."

"Yeah, I'm startin' to get that impression."

They both fell silent after that, and it wasn't long before Dean's breathing evened out again and Sam knew his brother had fallen back asleep.

Not surprising really, considering Sam had finally forced him to take the good stuff to help keep the intolerable pain at bay.

As to what Dean had said about his memory loss, Sam knew he was lying. He wasn't the only one suffering from nightmares, and when Dean was on the strong meds, he had a tendency to talk in his sleep.

From what he could tell, Dean remembered everything.

But now he knew that his brother didn't want to discuss what he had been through, and for the time being, Sam was willing to grant him his wish.

Part of Dean's healing process would be to rebuild all the mental and emotional walls he had knocked down since this disaster had first started. But when and if Dean was ever ready to open up more about his past, Sam would be there, ready to listen.

He let his burning eyes fall closed, succumbing to his body's demand for a break. Maybe a little more rest wouldn't hurt…

When Sam's brain registered that his brother was waking up, he lifted his head from Dean's chest and watched his face with bated breath.

Dean was a mess and in desperate need of a shower, but when he slowly blinked up at Sam in confusion, it was the most beautiful thing Sam had ever seen.

His brother was alive, and that was all that mattered. The rest they could deal with in time.

"Hey, Dean. You with me?" Sam asked softly, noting the fear and disorientation on his brother's gore-streaked face as Dean glanced around the room, taking in the recent destruction caused by his violent fit, as well as his two visitors lingering awkwardly over by the door.

"S'm?" the older man ground out weakly, flinching at the burning in his throat caused by the choking and screaming. He shifted slightly and it hurt like hell, but he was able to latch onto his brother's forearm, desperate to get his undivided attention. "S'mmy…"

Sam leaned down further so he could hear Dean better. "I'm right here, buddy. What do you need?"

"You… You p-promised me…"

The younger man frowned in confusion, searching his memory for something he might've said to Dean over the past few days, but he came up blank. "Promised what, Dean?"

"I t-talked…" Dean gasped out, his grip on Sam's arm getting tighter as he fought through a significant wave of pain. "You owe m-me."

If anything, that just confused Sam more. Dean talked? So Sam owed him…? And then it hit him. Even on the verge of unconsciousness, Dean was still asking for his damned pants.

Sam couldn't help it. He started giggling like a crazed five-year-old on a sugar-high and gently pulled Dean into his arms.

Dean's entire body tensed at the contact, and Sam realized belated that his brother might not want to be touched after all the horrors he had just relived.

Feeling guilty, he started to pull away, but then to his surprise- and elation- Dean's arms slowly came up and wrapped around his back, returning the embrace.

Dean's skin was warm to the touch, but not boiling hot like he had been before. The fever had finally broken, and along with it, the curse.

"'s okay, Sammy. It's over now."

With that, Dean's eyes fell closed again as he gave in to the exhaustion, passing out in the safety of his brother's arms.

The next twenty-four hours had been touch and go for Dean. He never stayed awake for long, mostly because Sam was keeping him on a tightly monitored drug regimen to help him heal faster.

It was a testament to how poorly Dean was feeling that he didn't even protest the meds, willing to take anything to help ease the pain and suffering a bit.

But when he choked on one of the horse-pills Sam had given him, doing more damage to his already strained throat and upsetting his broken ribs, Sam had switched him over to injections until Dean was well enough to sit up and take the capsules properly.

Thanks to all the crap he had been through recently, Dean's immune system had been completely destroyed. And after spending a cold night in the woods that ended with him drowning and hypothermic, Sam was amazed his brother hadn't contracted pneumonia yet.

As a cautionary measure, Sam sat in the hard plastic chair the entire first day, doing his best to clean Dean up, patch all of his new wounds, and keep his brother from getting out of bed until Cas showed up on the second day to relieve him.

He was in the process of preparing the next injection when Dean started to stir. His face was pinched with pain and a low whine emanated from deep in his throat.

"Hang on, Dean. Almost ready…"

Sam reached for his brother's exposed arm, but then Dean's eyes snapped open, the whites of them completely masked by black, and he latched onto Sam's approaching wrist with a bone-breaking strength, keeping the needle at bay.

Sam froze in horror as Dean quirked a deranged smile at him.

"Hiya, Sammy…"

"Sammy! Sam! Wake up!"

Sam jerked awake with a gasp, instinctively pulling his wrist out of Dean's hold and shoving him away as he lunged off the bed, stumbling when his half-paralyzed legs nearly dumped him onto the floor.

Dean hissed in pain and curled into himself a bit, but somehow still managed to hold his hands up in a placating gesture. "Easy, easy! It's just me, Sammy."

It took a moment for Sam to register the fact that his brother's eyes- while red and puffy- were far from black. It had only been another nightmare.

"You good?" Dean asked softly, his tone laced with concern as he watched Sam carefully.

The older man still wasn't moving, his hands up and most of his weight resting on his right elbow so that he could face Sam.

It was clear from his pale and drawn appearance that the position was causing him a fair amount of pain, but he didn't dare risk spooking Sam with any further movement until he knew his brother was truly awake and aware of his surroundings.

Sam nodded, giving his throat an extra second to unclench before muttering, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"Uh huh..."

Sam let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair, the reality of the situation finally dawning on him as he watched his brother slowly lower his hands in favor of cradling his throbbing ribs with a wince.

Sam knew for a fact that he had elbowed his brother there in his attempt to get away quickly.

"Crap. Dean, I'm so sorry, man."

Dean shook his head dismissively. "Forget it. Wasn't your fault."

"Are you alright? Can I get you an ice pack? Or maybe some more meds? You're probably due for another dose by now…"

Dean chuckled, relaxing back down onto the mattress as the initial wave of pain receded. "Think you've doped me up enough already, doc. I'm fine, seriously. Just do me a favor and don't mention this little incident to Cas, okay?"

When the angel had stopped by the day before to check up on Dean's progress, he had been ecstatic to see him awake and lucid for longer periods of time, albeit clearly looking worse for the wear.

But more importantly, Dean had remembered Cas and all their history together, which lead to an overly enthusiastic embrace that made the older Winchester yelp and recoil in pain.

Cas had apologized profusely, then took it upon himself to be Dean's caretaker for the remainder of the day, putting some of his extensive collection of supplies to use, much to his patient's displeasure.

Sam was actually surprised by how much mothering Dean had tolerated from the two of them, including one of Cas' infamous sponge baths, which amused Sam to no end. He figured Dean's lenience was mostly due to his brother's lack of energy to fight them off.

Well, that and the heavy drugs.

But when Dean complained that he had to take a piss and Cas appeared with a bedpan that he had found amongst the extensive medical supplies in the bunker's basement, Dean drew the line and threatened to banish the angel back to Heaven if he brought that contraption any closer to him.

So instead, Sam took it upon himself to shuttle his brother back and forth to the closest bathroom when necessary, making sure Dean didn't put any pressure on his injured leg. But other than that, Dean was still forbidden to leave the bed on his own until further notice.

The angel had every intention of staying by Dean's side until his friend no longer needed the assistance, but Sam caught his brother's pleading look and managed to convince Cas to let Dean sleep through the night in peace.

No doubt Cas would be joining them again soon though, picking right up where he left off by concocting some random, foul-smelling herbal remedy to help heal Dean's extensive injuries.

Dean cringed just on principle, then shook himself mentally so he could concentrate on the situation at hand. Considering how over-the-top attentive the angel had been already, what Cas didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Sam nodded his acknowledgment to Dean's request of keeping the angel out of the loop when it came to any possible re-injuries committed on his behalf. It was the least he could do, after all.

Then he slumped back into the chair he had been occupying earlier, afraid to get any closer to his brother for fear of causing him additional harm.

He pinched the bridge of his nose before pressing his thumb and forefinger against his clenched eyelids to push back the intense headache that always came with lack of sleep, coupled with an adrenaline rush.

"You wanna tell me what had you so spooked?" Dean asked, his tone void of emotion, for which Sam was grateful. Dean wasn't demanding that Sam talk, or pitying him for his outburst. He was just offering to lend an ear in case Sam wanted to vent.

"Not really," Sam replied honestly, dropping his hand down to his lap so that he could lock eyes with his brother and let his weary expression do all the talking for him. "Just another stupid nightmare to add to the ever-growing list."

Dean studied him for a moment before a nostalgic smile slowly spread across his face.

Sam frowned warily at his brother's unexpected reaction. "What?"

"Nothin'. Just… Remember when you were knee-high to a grasshopper and kept havin' those nightmares about Plucky Pennywhistle comin' after you?"

Sam shuddered at the thought. "Gee, thanks for that image…" he groused, though he was starting to smile at the memory too in spite of himself.

"Every night for like three weeks straight, you'd walk over to my side of the bed and stare at me without sayin' a damned thing, just hopin' that I'd wake up and see you standin' there. Used to scare the hell outta me, man."

Sam huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, well… Kept you sharp, didn't it? Besides, I didn't want to risk wakin' Dad up."

Dean scoffed.

"Back then, he spent most nights half in the bag anyway. I doubt he would've heard a bomb going off right next to his bed, let alone heard you callin' for me from less than a foot away."

"True. Father of the Year, right? All I knew was that whenever he stumbled his way back to our motel room in the middle of the night, any sound we made usually resulted in him tryin' to hurt you."

The smile faded from Dean's eyes as his mind began traveling down a road he definitely didn't want to revisit.

"Can't say I was a fan of his methods, but he did the best he could."

Sam shook his head at Dean in disbelief. "You're kidding me, right?"

Dean blinked away the thoughts of his troubled past, then refocused on Sam, quirking an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"I don't get it, man. After all the shit he put you through, right up till the day he died, do you really think he still deserves your loyalty? I'm startin' to believe you might be suffering from some form of Stockholm Syndrome or something."

Dean huffed in annoyance. "Give it a rest, Sam."

"I'm serious, Dean! Your whole life, you hero-worshiped the guy like he was the Second Coming. And all you ever got in return were black eyes, split lips, broken bones, and concussions. How can you still defend him, after everything he…?"

"Because it wasn't his fault."

"What wasn't?"

"Any of it."

Sam scoffed incredulously. "I'm pretty sure his conscious decision to drink qualifies any resulting abuse as his fault, Dean."

"That's cause you don't know the whole story."

"If you're about to tell me he was possessed, that was one time. It hardly excuses the rest of them."

"No, Sam," Dean practically growled. "I wasn't gonna say anything about the demon. Dad had his own reasons for doing what he did, and so did I."

"Enlighten me then."

"You really think Dad was fast enough, let alone coordinated enough, to catch me when he could barely see straight? Give me a little credit, dude."

"So you're sayin' you let him beat the hell outta you, is that it? Kinda like how you let Randy attack you?"

"That's not even close to the same thing, but yeah. A lot of the time, I let Dad catch me."

Sam was clearly not convinced. "And why would you do that?"

"It's not rocket science, Sammy. Do you remember how it felt after Jess died?"

Sam's throat immediately closed up again at the unexpected mention of his deceased girlfriend, so the best he could manage was a short nod.

"Mom and Dad were married for eight years, man. Mom was the glue that kept our family together, and without her…"

Dean trailed off with a shake of his head.

"Dad unraveled. The pain was too much for him to take, so he started drinking. It was the only way he could sleep through the night without seein' nightmares of Mom burnin' on the ceiling.

"That kinda pain… It eats away at you until every nerve feels raw. Until lashing out at something, or someone, takes the edge off a bit."

"And that someone just had to be you?"

Dean shrugged.

"I had to do something, Sammy. He was tail-spinnin', and I was terrified we were gonna lose him too. So I confronted him one night when he was ten sheets to the wind. I said some awful things about him bein' a lousy father, and next thing I knew, I was pickin' my baby teeth up off the ground. Pretty sure a few of them were already loose anyway."

"Jesus, Dean…"

"But afterwards, he stumbled his way to a corner and passed out. The next morning, he was Dad again. He took us to the local fair, bought us ice cream, and read you your favorite book till you fell asleep.

"I don't think he remembered anything about the night before, but a weight was finally off his shoulders and he could breathe again. He could smile again. We had Dad back, and that's when I knew every bruise and busted lip from that point on would be worth it."

Sam ground his teeth together against the pain and anger that were consuming him. He wanted to blame John for how messed up his brother was, but that wouldn't have been fair. Sam was no better, and he knew it.

How many times had he slammed his brother against a wall in a fit of rage? How many times had he punched him, walked away from him… Hell, he even shot him a few times while under a demon's influence.

But Dean never fought back. He took the punishment like he somehow deserved it, and never once asked for an apology. It was as though he thought taking beatings was somehow part of his job; part of his responsibility when it came to protecting his family.

And considering how they had grown up, Sam could see why he'd believe that.

All that weight… All that burden on his shoulders that Dean had been carrying around for decades, and not once did he complain or throw his hands up and say screw it.

Sam was still staring at him with something akin to pity in his eyes. "Like I said… Stockholm Syndrome."

Dean glared at him. "Shut up, dude."

Sam huffed out a forced laugh to lighten the mood a bit, then stood. "I'm gonna hit the shower. You need anything?"

"Yeah. A big, fat, juicy burger."

Sam grimaced in disgust. "Dude, it's like seven in the morning."

"I don't know what to tell ya, man. The stomach wants what it wants."

As grossed out as he was, Sam had to admit he was thrilled Dean was starting to get his appetite back.

"Alright. Hang tight then. I'll be back in a little bit. And don't get any bright ideas while I'm gone… Cas'll be here any minute."

Right on cue, the angel appeared in the doorway, homeopathic remedies in hand and ready to go.

"Good morning, Dean. How are you feeling today?"

Dean snorted at his friend's professional tone, no doubt something else he picked up from watching medical soaps on TV. "Like I have the mother of all hangovers, but I'm pretty sure there's only one cure for that."

"A greasy pork sandwich served up in a dirty ashtray?" Sam supplied, and Dean let out a genuine laugh that somehow made the bruises on his face a little less stark.

He still had a long road ahead of him, but there was no denying that Dean was on the mend.

Three more days went by in the same manner, with Sam sneaking into his brother's room but keeping his distance. Until Dean was startled awake from a nightmare of his own to find Sam dozing in the hard chair once again.

"Sam," he called out to wake the younger man up. And as soon as Sam's disoriented gaze landed on him, Dean patted the mattress next to his hip and scooted back a bit.

Sam didn't move at first, weighing the pros and cons and worrying about what would happen if he got violent in his sleep again, but Dean was insistent.

"Get your ass over here, dude, or I'll have to get out of this bed to come and get you."

Mind made up, Sam tentatively perched himself on the edge of the bed, then laughed when Dean wrapped an arm around his stomach and pulled him down.

"Sleep, you freak," Dean muttered before following his own advice. And for the first time in days, they both managed to sleep peacefully.

After two weeks and a close inspection of his bad leg, Sam finally relented and allowed Dean to hobble around the bunker on his own. The vamp bite in his shoulder was no more than a scar again, and most of his bruising had faded to yellow or disappeared entirely.

The broken ribs took a bit longer, but after spending a month pent up in their home, Dean was going stir crazy and desperately needed to get out before he started reenacting A Beautiful Mind.

The first time he had stepped outside and felt the sun on his face and the light breeze through his hair, Dean felt human again. But unfortunately, he hadn't told Cas that he was sneaking out for a bit and the angel was far from amused.

"Cas, I can explain…"

The irate angel grabbed Dean's arm and all but dragged him back inside, seeking out Sam for the sole purpose of tattling on Dean.

"Ease up on the death-grip there, Kung Fu Panda," Dean grunted, reluctantly allowing his friend to lead him to his doom. "Use your words."

Another two weeks, and Dean was willing to fight Sam if that's what it would take to get some freedom. Thankfully, it wasn't going to come to that.

"Fine. We can hit the road, but no hunting for a few more weeks at least."

Dean was so relieved that he was going to see Baby again, that he didn't care about his brother's little caveat. At least they were going to be getting out of the bunker, and if Dean happened to find something strange in a town's local paper, they would have no choice but to look into it, right?

Dean stepped out into the cool autumn air and ran a hand reverently along the Impala's frame.

"I missed you, Baby…"

Sam smirked at him as he loaded up the trunk with their bags. "Should I give you two a minute?"

He pulled the keys from his pocket and headed for the driver's side like he had been doing for the past two months but Dean snagged the keys and cut him off.

"I don't think so, Sammy. You've had your fun, now get your ass in the car. We're burnin' daylight."

They waved to Cas as they pulled away from the bunker and Dean smiled contentedly as he stepped on the gas and listened to the engine purr before cranking up the radio.

Aerosmith's "Back in the Saddle" was playing and Dean had no choice but to belt it out, much to his brother's mortification.

"I'm back in the saddle again… I'm back!"

And as he caressed the Impala's steering wheel and settled perfectly into her warm, leather seat, he couldn't help but think "Damn straight."

THE END

A/N: Thank you all again for sticking with me for so long on this story! I really appreciate all of the encouraging reviews, and I hope you enjoyed the ending. Till next time!