Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoy the last part!

"Dean…Dean…oh god, he's not breathing!" said Sam.

"Aw, hell, I don't have a pulse!" said Bobby.

"Death is very close for him," said Castiel.

There was no pain. There wasn't anything, which, under the circumstances, Dean suspected was a very, very bad thing.

He was looking down at himself. He wasn't floating in the air like a spirit. He was just outside his body. But he wasn't gone. Not yet.

He watched with fascination as Bobby began to stubbornly pound on his chest and Sam breathed into his mouth. Observed his pale, limp body not responding. He scrutinized himself lying lifeless in the bed and was truly shocked by his appearance. His skin tone was gray pallor, his face creased with lines of pain, his body gaunt, his hair lifeless and dull. But more than that, he looked old…not old of age exactly, more like old of spirit. He looked worn out…dead. And only half of that had to do with his current predicament.

"Damn it, kid, breathe!" shouted Bobby, thumping his chest with so much force it made him wince. But his body just bounced limply against the older hunter's palm.

"Come on, bro," said Sam, his brother's hand running through his hair, tears streaming in rivers down his lanky face. "Please don't do this. You have to live, man. What the hell would I do with you gone anyway, huh?"

"Were losing him!" said Bobby.

Sam looked desperately to Castiel. "Hospital, now!"

The angel grasped Dean, and Sam and Bobby grasped Castiel. There was a flash and then a moment later, they were sprawled out in the ambulance bay in the entrance to a local E.R. A nurse on a smoke break dropped her cigarette as she saw his broken body suddenly appear before her eyes.

"Please help us. My brother…he…he's…been hit by a car…he's…not breathing," yelled Sam, his brother clutching his lifeless body protectively while Bobby and Castiel lingered over the brothers in concern.

The nurse in the ambulance bay disappeared into the hospital and returned with a stretcher and a team of doctors and nurses in tow. They carefully extricated him from Sam's clutches and then poured his crumpled body onto the stretcher, hooking him up to a myriad of tubes and wires that were connected to scary looking machines. Then they were bursting through the E.R. door with Sam running alongside them, Bobby wheeling behind and Castiel floating up the rear as the E.R. staff rushed him down the hallway towards the double doors of an operating room.

Moments passed, and then they were in the sterile room, trying to save him. There were lots of beeps and shouts. Bobby and Castiel were watching through the glass doors from outside and Sam was standing at the head of the bed, out of the way, as a doctor positioned paddles on his chest, getting ready to shock his heart.

Sam was bawling. He looked broken and lost…almost like a kid again. A kid who needed to be protected by his big brother. Even now, after everything they'd gone through, every way they'd given up on or hurt each other, it always came down to this. They were family. They loved each other. They were all each other had and when they were separated, no good ever came out of it.

He had to get back to his brother.

"Clear," said the doctor before pressing the paddles hard against his chest. Dean returned to himself.

His heart began to beat. His lungs weakly dragged in air. He had a pulse. And he was in the worst pain he'd ever been in his whole life. Then he promptly passed out.

He awoke sometime later in what he gathered was a private hospital room. Sam was snoring in a chair next to his bed and Bobby was passed out in his wheelchair near the door. Castiel was on his other side, gazing at him with relief. "Dean?"

He couldn't talk. He felt bound up and claustrophobic. A cursory glance down his body revealed casts, tubes and bloody bandages. He motioned down himself with his eyes and then looked at the angel.

"You're going to be okay, Dean," said Castiel. "Your body was broken, but the humans in this place of healing have fixed it. You will survive."

He let out a ragged moan. He hurt. He hurt bad. He could tell he was on painkillers…good ones too. But they couldn't quite touch this ache inside of him that pulsed strongly against the plaster of the casts and tape of the bandages they had wrapped him in, threatening to tear them apart. "Cas," he mouthed, knowing he must've looked like a pitiful broken puppy dog. He needed to be free of the pain.

"Rest," said Castiel, taking the hint. The angel placed his hand squarely over his chest and the feeling of warm pain free peace took over his body. He did his best to flash Castiel a grateful expression before he drifted into oblivion once again.

The next time he became aware, Castiel was gone and Sam was still out like a light in the chair. Bobby had wheeled himself next to his bed and was staring at him, smiling. "How you feelin', boy?"

He tried to lick his lips and generate some saliva in his dry mouth so he could respond. "Wha…" he managed to get out.

"It's okay, Dean," said Bobby, reaching for some water.

A moment later, Bobby put a plastic cup of water to his lips and helped tip his head back, the water flooding his system. It felt wonderful. "Thanks," he murmured.

Bobby set the water down and then ran a hand tenderly through his hair. The motion was swiftly followed by a soft whack upside the head.

His breath hitched in surprise. "What the…?"

"Don't ever do anything like that again, ya idjit," said Bobby with a dead serious expression in his eyes.

"Yes, sir," he responded, returning the intense gaze for a few beats. Then his eyes slipped shut once again in utter exhaustion

"Rest, son. You're safe," he heard Bobby whisper before he was once again unconscious.

The next time he became aware of reality, it was late at night and his room was dark. Castiel and Bobby were gone. Sam was next to him in the chair, computer in lap, his brother's face lit up by the screen.

"Sam," he uttered.

Sam jumped in surprise and shut the screen in reflex, leaving the room even darker. "Hey…hey," said his brother, sliding closer to him. "How you feel?"

He took a moment to access. His head hurt. His back hurt. His hand hurt. His stomach hurt. His ribs hurt. His shoulder hurt. His face hurt. "Situation normal, all f'ed up," he responded. "But I'll li…"

He stopped when Sam suddenly pulled him into a gentle hug. He was taken aback. "Sammy..." He awkwardly petted Sam's back with his hand, sort of returning the hug, but not really. It would never hold up in court. "Dude…"

Sam let him go. It was too dark for him to see tears, but he swore he heard a sniffle come from his brother's direction. "Sorry," said Sam, clearing his throat. "It was just touch and go there for awhile, you know."

"Yeah, well, I'm back…and I'm not going anywhere," he said, ignoring the lump in his throat.

"Good," said Sam, grasping his hand tightly. "Go back to sleep. I got your back."

"Thanks, bro," he whispered. And a second later, he let the peace of sleep take him back under.

That's All Folks!