Here we are…final chapter. I do hate endings! :(

oOo

"I do not wanna die inside just to breathe in." – Cut, Plumb

oOo

Men of Letters Aircraft, North Atlantic Ocean

He sat close, so close that he could feel the heat radiating from his brother. Dean looked down at the sleeping form, studying the new lines and worries that had etched themselves in, unbidden, into Sam's gentle face. The cool glow of the plane's night lights cloaked them gently, Dean the only passenger, who was capable of sleeping, awake. He had ignored his own panic, his own discomfort, vowing to stay awake. Just in case.

His brother might need him. More than that, he needed to know Sam was fine.

They were sat in chairs next to each other, Sam's fully reclined and stretched out so that he could sleep. Dean's was still upright but he'd lifted the armrest, taking away the barrier it created. Sam lay curled on his side beneath the blanket Dean had draped over him, facing his brother. A frown creased the sleeping Winchester's brow, his breathing beginning to rise. Dean reached out a hand, stroking his brother's arm softly.

"It's alright, Sammy" he whispered, his voice gentle, soothing. He continued to make small circular motions with his palm, watching as Sam slowly relaxed, his brow unknitting. It had been less than 24 hours since they'd found him, but he hadn't wanted to hang around, despite Jonathan's – and Dean's – reservations.

oOo

Westminster, London

"Do you really think flying back so soon is wise? You are more than welcome to stay as long as you need to" Jonathan said, his frown concerned. The more time he spent with the Winchester, the more the hunters amazed him. They were nothing like the men Toni had painted the picture of over the years.

Markham had stormed up the hill in Castiel's wake as soon as Ryan had raced down to them. They arrived to find the brothers wrapped in each other's arms as though they were clinging to life itself. Maybe, for them, they were.

"Sam" Cas gasped, surging forward. Both Winchesters turned their heads at the angel's call, Sam's head remaining pressed to Dean's chest. He wasn't letting go, not yet. He couldn't. The angel dropped to his knees beside them, hesitating. Sam's arm reached out, pulling him into their embrace, the three of them sharing in their moment of relief. Seeing that small family – there was no other word for it – together brought forth a turmoil within the head of the Men of Letters unlike anything he'd ever known. They'd rescued Sam, thank god, but the guilt was overwhelming. They should never have had to rescue him in the first place. Jonathan should never have let it get this far.

Things would change.

He had already dispatched his men to find Toni and her house staff, all of whom had disappeared. He had no idea how involved they were, but they would need questioning once found.

Now he stood in the Men of Letters' headquarters with the Winchesters and Castiel, more specifically one of the small side offices. They had tried to go directly to the medical room, but as soon as Sam had seen the sterile, clean surfaces, he'd frozen solid, almost choking on his own fear. Castiel had slammed the door shut as Dean tried to calm him, to reassure him.

They occupied a small, homely office where Sam sat on a plump sofa. Castiel stood near the window but Dean hovered behind his brother. The Men of Letters' doctor had given him a quick check up – as much as he could bear – before announcing him, physically, healthy. Dean looked down at his brother, his hand on the chair behind him. He wasn't going to leave Sam's side any time soon.

"That would be great. Thanks" Dean replied.

"No" Sam whispered, turning panicked eyes up to his brother.

"We can help you, Sam. We want to help" Jonathan tried to reassure him. Sam shook his head fervently, his breathing rising.

"Could you give us a minute?" Dean asked. Jonathan nodded, heading towards the door, leaving the Winchesters and Cas alone. Dean slid down into the sofa beside Sam, their knees touching. "Breathe Sammy, c'mon." He held Sam's gaze, anchoring him, as his voice soothed him. Slowly his breathing returned to normal, his pupils contracting again. Dean gave him a small smile.

"Dean, please. We need to go" Sam implored, his eyes pleading. Dean sighed.

"I'm sorry, Sammy but I really think we should stay. I know the doc says you're fine, but you're not. I know you're not. Travelling halfway across the world in a confined space ain't gonna help" he countered.

"It's not safe. I know they say it is, but it's not. The longer we're here, the worse it is. I have to go home. Please." He whispered, dropping his eyes. "We need to prepare."

Dean frowned, confused. "Prepare for what, Sammy?"

His brother kept his eyes averted, but…what was that? Shame?...rolled off him in waves.

"I need to detox. It'll start soon."

oOo

Men of Letters Aircraft, North Atlantic Ocean

Dean's fist clenched, driving his nails into his palm at the memory. It was their final act of cruelty. Hadn't his brother suffered enough? When was their suffering ever going to be enough? Silently, Dean cursed Chuck. Damned him. They'd given him everything he wanted and this was what they got in return. Four months of torture and a long stretch of demon blood detox to just rub salt in the wound. It wasn't fair; it never had been.

The shame Dean had seen in Sam's eyes had shattered him all over again. Like it was somehow his fault. Dean remembered that look too well. Hadn't missed it and hadn't wanted to see it ever again. It didn't matter that he would tell Sam, with absolute conviction every time, that it wasn't his fault. Sammy would never listen and Dean hated himself for it.

There was only one person he hated more right now.

He swore that when he caught up with that bitch, possessed or not, she would pay for what she'd done.

Dean did not forgive.

oOo

St Catherine's Hill, Winchester, England

The roar of motorway traffic snarled through the quiet country air, enveloping the giant hilltop that loomed over the city. No walkers trudged up its 100 wide slatted steps despite the lack of rain. Those who strolled along the footpath at the base of the hill chose to avoid the climb today, a strange uneasiness that they couldn't explain filling them. The few scattered sheep had quickly tramped down the sides, bleating in alarm.

Inside the small copse that crowned the hill, Lucifer prowled, seething. A deep white scar cut into the flesh of the ground, revealing its soft chalk foundations. The trees that had stood in Lucifer's path had splintered and fallen, clumsily collapsing into their neighbours which groaned under the sudden weight.

He had been SO CLOSE!

Why did that damned Winchester always get in his way? First his revolting little scene back in Stull Cemetery – the thought of the emotions that had overtaken Sam still made him nauseous – then that stunt with the sigil. He should've known the little maggot would pull a trick like that, but he'd underestimated him; Dean wasn't supposed to be smart. And now he was stuck in yet another meat sack because of her incompetence.

The wretched little parasite in him was hollering and scratching, begging. This was all her fault. If she'd prepared properly, done everything she'd claimed, he'd be swanning around in his true vessel. If there was one thing the archangel truly hated, it was disappointment.

Toni was his biggest offender.

Even worse, she was already rotting. She was weak. He couldn't use her. Her internal screams to the contrary were only mildly satisfying.

"If only you'd done all you'd sworn to do," he sighed deeply. "You should know: I have a special…arena in the Pit which I save for those who upset me. I'm sure you're going to fit right in." His grin was vicious, curving to a disgusted sneer at the sound of his words in her ridiculous, weedy voice. Time to find himself another rockstar; now that was enjoyable.

Lucifer stretched himself, pulling away from the mental links within Toni's mind, tilting her head back as he began to glow. Scorching hot, he flared brighter, hotter than he needed to, listening in satisfaction to her screams of agony as he shoved her consciousness forward, letting her experience the full preparation of his departure. Mouth open wide in a silent scream, Toni glowed, Lucifer's essence blazing through her. In a jet of light that flashed across the copse, lighting up the city of Winchester, he shot from her violently and disappeared into the sky. Her body crumpled onto the ground like a ragdoll, burnt out eyes staring lifelessly up at the grey clouds, plumes of smoke seeping up from her mangled corpse.

oOo

Men of Letters Aircraft, North Atlantic Ocean

The tremors were already beginning to tingle in the edges of Sam's awareness. He woke, too warm, too cramped, ripping the blanket off and bolting upright. He needed to get out, needed to breathe. He couldn't breathe.

Almost falling off the plane seat, the hunter lurched to his feet, swaying, holding his hands out to try and steady himself.

"Sam?"

His eyes wandered aimlessly, ignoring the voice. He needed to breathe; he needed air. Staggering across the plane, he gripped the unoccupied seats, heading for the doors, not hearing the voices that were calling his name. The plastic was smooth and cold under his fingertips as he ran them along the side of the plane. He squinted, seeing the door come into focus. If he could just let some air in…

A hand gripped his upper arm, jolting panic through him like a current. Sam whirled, fist flying and connecting with his assailant's nose.

Cas stumbled back, hand cupping his nose which spouted blood. Dean leapt past him.

"Sammy, no!" he shouted as Sam grasped the levers on the door. He squeezed himself in between Sam and the door, trying to push his hands away with his body but Sam's grip remained tight around the lever. Dean reached up and grasped his brother's face, trying to get him to focus. "Hey, buddy, c'mon. Look at me, Sammy. Sam!" he barked, green eyes wide, urgent, as he tried to lock onto his brother's feverish gaze. Sam's roving stare centred on him fleetingly, a small frown crinkling his forehead. Dean noted the way his hair was plastered to his neck, the skin beneath his palms unnaturally warm. It was starting already. Dean cursed mentally as he called to his brother again.

"Dean's dead" Sam mumbled, pulling at the hands cupping his face.

"No, Sammy, I'm not. But if you open that door, we all will be" Dean replied, his voice almost pleading. Sam looked at him, confused. One of the Men of Letters appeared behind him.

"Maybe we should restrain him" he said, concern evident on his face. The whole of the cabin had gone silent. Sam flinched at the new voice, at the words, a small tremble quivering beneath Dean's hands. Dean scowled at the speaker, letting go of Sam and stepping between him and his brother, eyes livid.

"You try it and I will break your fucking arm. Nobody touches my brother" he snarled, his heart aching when he felt Sam's fist ball in the back of his shirt.

"If he's a danger, we need to act accordingly" the man insisted. Clearly, Jonathan had been rather sparing with the details of their situation. Castiel stepped forward, bloody nose fixed, coming between the men.

"Believe me when I say that he is the least of your troubles" the angel growled, blue eyes smouldering. The man backed off, holding his hands up submissively. Dean watched him back down, jumping slightly when he felt Sam's forehead drop onto his shoulder.

"I don't feel good" he whispered, still clinging to his brother's shirt, a move he hadn't pulled since he was a kid. Dean breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of Sam's voice. The panic had pulled him back from his fever-induced stupor, just.

"I know you don't. C'mon" Dean soothed, turning and tugging him back towards their seats. He pulled back the blanket, encouraging Sam to lie back down. The hunter did so without complaint, his body trembling minutely as Dean tucked the blanket back over him. The tension dissipated from the cabin, the crew visibly relieved. Dean caught the eye of one of the girls. "Could you get me some water and towels?" he asked, giving her a small smile. She nodded and walked off as he looked back down at his brother. Sam was staring up at him, a mixture of disbelief and anticipation on his face.

"How long, Dean?" Sam asked quietly.

"Another couple of hours, I reckon."

"How you doing? Which Metallica album are you on?"

Dean chuckled softly as the stewardess reappeared, placing the bowl on the table in front of Dean, giving him the towels directly.

"St. Anger."

"You hate that one."

"Desperate times, Sammy," Dean smiled as he wrung out one of the towels and dabbed it across his brother's forehead, cooling him. "Trust you to ask when you're the one about to go through it all." Sam's smile was soft, sad.

"Gives me something else to think about."

"Do you want Cas to help you sleep?" Dean asked softly as he patted at Sam's heated skin. Sam gave a small desperate shake of his head.

"No. I need to control this. I'm so sick of being weak."

"It's alright," Dean soothed, keeping his movements gentle and fluid, relaxed. "You're not weak. No one is gonna make you do anythin' you don't want to, Sam. You call the shots. I promise."

They fell into a gentle silence, the only sound permeating the air was the dribbling of the towel whenever Dean wrung it out again. Sam bit his lip, fighting the rise in his heartrate at the sound.

Slowly, he began to relax as the tremors stopped, his temperature cooling. He gazed up at his brother, focusing on all the little details that made him Dean. His eyes had darkened to a forest green, exhaustion tugging at their edges, but their core held a soft concern that only Sam ever got to truly see. Light stubble was creeping up his cheeks and across his neck, giving him a rugged look that hid some of the worry in his downturned mouth. Sam took in all the small details. He had to believe Dean was real – that he was there. That Lucifer hadn't done as he'd said.

That he hadn't said yes.

He couldn't…couldn't think about it. Not yet.

"Dean?" he mumbled, voice thickening with impending sleep.

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you came" he whispered.

"'Course I did," Dean murmured, his smile sad as he looked down as his brave, broken little brother. "You always come first. You know that. It's my job to look out for you."

Dean's words wrapped him in warmth as he succumbed to the blackness that called to him, barely registering the red that flashed through his forest green eyes.

He was safe.

He had his brother back.

oOo

Sooooooooo…do you want that to be the ending? I have a vague plan for a follow-up (not formed in my head enough to be considered a sequel yet) that would deal with the aftermath. If it's something you'd like to read, please let me know!

Thank you so much, again, for going on this little adventure with me and the boys. Please review!