Author's Note: This is it. The final chapter (squeeeal). I know, I know, it's late BUT I was waiting on Mikey, who was busy with mid-terms. He wins all of the awards for putting up with me and providing thoughtful and helpful critique throughout the story. Finally l must thank YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for reading/following/reviewing/favoriting. I don't think I could have gotten as far as I did without your lovely support.

Oscar speech over, prepare for the feels!

Dean gaped openmouthed at the figure before him. Cas, or rather, Castiel smiled benevolently back. Cas' typical slumped, round- shouldered posture had been replaced by a straight, firm stance; his spine magically uncurled. Despite the white aura that was still slowly dissipating around him, Cas' eyes were flat, cold and slightly vacant. Dean swallowed convulsively and moved in front of the sofa on instinct, shielding Sam from the angel.

"I won't harm you or your brother," Castiel reached out a hand but Dean flinched back, his mind still working in fits and stops. So cold...

The angel made a low humming sound in the back of his throat, as if perplexed by the boy's behavior. "Very well. I must leave you, for now. I am forbidden to interfere anymore."

"Wait!" Dean cried "My dad-" but a loud fluttering noise interrupted his plea and the angel vanished in an instant.

He's forgotten everything. He's gone home now for good. Probably best if he didn't remember the shitty time he had here anyways. But I'm never going to see him again. Pain clawed at Dean's heart, but he forced himself to turn to Sam, shaking him gently awake. Never would have meant anything anyways. We were leaving. We always leave. They always leave.

He breathed a sigh of relief when Sam stirred beneath his fingers.

"Dad," the younger boy gasped out.

Dean took a deep breath, willing himself into stone. "Not here, Sammy. Demon's dead though. He could be anywhere."

"In the parking lot," Sam grasped the front of Dean's shirt urgently, "I saw-" his eyes fluttered closed.

Dean raced out the door, not daring to hope, not daring to breathe. Oh God, that can't be him, Dean though numbly, staring at the crumpled, bloody form that was collapsed on the pavement. One arm still stretched towards their room, as if John had been reaching out to his boys.

"Dad!" Dean called out as he knelt by his father's head. He jammed two fingers into his neck and weakened with relief when he felt a pulse. Too faint, thready. He's breathing but barely.

"It's gonna be okay," Dean addressed the unconscious man, trying to keep his voice level. He raced back into the motel and within minutes the walls were bathed in the eerie red-and-blue glow of an ambulance.

Dean sat in silence, counting ceiling tiles, flecks on the floor, hot nurses, anything to keep his mind occupied as his ass slowly fused with the hard plastic chair. People came and went around him, blurring into a meaningless stream of motion and sound.

"Dean," Sam was tugging at his arm. They finally let him cheek was freshly bandaged and his wrist was nestled in a splint. "The doctor wants to talk to you," he looked furtively over his shoulder and dropped his voice to a whisper, "What are we gonna tell them?"

Dean sighed, running his hands distractedly through his hair. "Uhhh I guess that some crazies tried to break into our room and we fought them off." Dean scrambled desperately for a better idea; a story filled with just enough detail to make it plausible, but not so much to raise suspicion. He felt like he was scratching at a white wall. Sam was looking at him with raised eyebrows. Great. Even my little brother doesn't think they'll buy it. Truth be told, Dean's head was simply too full of questions and worries about his father, angels, and demons to process yet another layer of complication.

Sam was pulling on his sleeve again. "C'mon Dean, they want to talk to you now."

How come hospitals are so damn cold all the time? Dean wondered as he rubbed his bare arms briskly in an attempt to ward off the chill permeating the air. He felt naked without a jacket on. The room was small and white, with blinds on the windows. All the better to shield grieving families from the harsh world out there, Dean thought sarcastically. Hell, they've even got blinds on the door. Dean swallowed the growing lump in his throat. He was beginning to feel awfully closed-in. The figures facing him on the other side of the table weren't helping. Is this a frickin' interrogation?

"What's wrong with my dad?" Dean spat out, a little angrier than he intended. The man sighed heavily, flipping through his charts as he motioned for Dean to take a seat, but the woman sitting next to him gave Dean a sympathetic smile. Shit. Dean gripped the back of the chair hard enough to turn his knuckles white but he refused to pull it out.

"Well," the man began, rubbing his temples. Dean wondered if he'd gotten any sleep in the past twenty-four hours. Probably not, judging by his greasy hair. "Your father's suffered some pretty severe trauma. Massive blood loss, both internal and external. He's stable for now, but we're not sure when he's going to wake up…" The man's lips continued to move, but all Dean could hear was a loud roaring sound. No. He's practically invincible, dammit. One piddly little demon couldn't have… But then he remembered the blood, black in the moonlight, spreading slowly across the parking lot and had to close his eyes to avoid being sick.

"It's going to be alright, honey. We're going to make arrangements for you and your brother while your dad is in the hospital." The woman laid a comforting hand on his arm, still wearing that small, sad smile. Dean jerked back and fought the sudden urge to slam her dumb head into the table.

"What the hell do you mean 'arrangements'?" Dean's voice was strained, his breath coming fast and hot, like he'd explode if he didn't blow off enough steam.

The woman raised the arms, palms flat in a placating gesture. "Calm down, I'm here to help you. Dean, right?" He jerked a nod. "Both you and Sam are underage. You need someone to care for you while your father is in the hospital. Now, the records show that you have no extended family…"

Realization was begging to dawn on Dean. "No! You- you can't do this to us. I'll be eighteen in a few months. I can take care of my kid brother; I've been doing it all my life!"

But the woman, fucking social worker, plowed on. "I think foster care would be the best option at this point. There are plenty of area families, so you and Sam could visit you father; and each other if we can't find someone to take you both. If your father gets better-"

If. Dean swatted the chair aside, taking slight pleasure in watching the social worker and the doctor flinch as it crashed into the wall. "OVER MY DEAD BODY. There's no fucking way you creeps are going to get your hands on Sammy. I swore I'd protect him, okay?" Tears were streaming down his face now. "You can't do this. MY DAD IS GONNA GET BETTER AND IF HE FINDS OUT YOU SPLIT US UP HE'LL HUNT YOUR ASSES DOWN." Dean bolted for the door. He heard someone rise behind him, so he slammed it as hard as he could and took off down the hallway, opposite the way he came. He couldn't face Sam.

The hospital was mercifully empty at night. Only a few bored-looking nurses and a night janitor saw Dean Winchester bawling like a baby as he tore through the white-tiled passages. He had no idea where he was going, but he had to go somewhere. And fast.

Dean finally stopped, panting. A flash of color had caught his eye. Stained glass. Wouldya look at that. Destiny brought me to the fucking chapel. How cute. Dean leaned back against the wall, a hysterical edge to his laughter. Why the hell not? It's not like I've got anything else left to lose. He pushed the door open and entered into the dimly lit space. The first thing Dean noticed was the hush. The sound of sneakers squeaking, beeping monitors and muted conversation had all been background noise, but with that taken away Dean was left with his pounding heart and ragged breathing. Kinda creepy actually. He padded down the red-carpeted aisle, trying to ignore the sensation that he was desecrating the holy space just be being there. What am I supposed to do anyways? This is stupid. But then he thought of Cas. Not the souped-up angel, but the boy. The boy who'd snuck into his heart before he knew what was happening. The boy who didn't sleep, who watched the stars instead. The boy who stood too close and sometimes didn't get his jokes. The boy who wouldn't let him go.

Guess we're both in some pretty deep shit now, huh Cas? I mean, can you even hear me? Do you exist anymore or did that grace stuff fry your hardwire? Dean chuckled to himself, picturing Cas screwing up his face in confusion. You probably don't even know what that means. "Anyways," Dean found himself whispering into the empty chapel. It just felt right somehow. "I-I was wondering," he drew a long, shuddering breath, "if you could help me out. If you still remember, y'know? Dad, he's uh pretty mess up and the guys at the hospital-" Dean scrubbed his eyes furiously. "They want to put me and Sam in foster care. Separate us, even. I can't let that happen, you understand? Please, if you can hear me, just- You know I'd do anything for Sammy right?"

"Is that so?" Came a drawling voice behind him

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd been so focused that he hadn't heard anyone approach. The man leaned casually against the doorframe. Everything about him screamed "businessman," from his suit and tie to his balding pate.

"Oh, sorry," Dean leapt up as if he's sat on a porcupine. "If you wanted to pray, or whatever, I was about to go…"

The businessman actually laughed "Oh no, boy. Quite the opposite." British businessman then. And what the hell is he talking about?"

He continued, "Hospitals are great places for what I do. So many desperate people. And you, my friend, are the finest specimen I've seen in a long time."

"Whaaa?"

"Oh come on, Sonny. I know who your daddy is. I'm sure he's warned you about the likes of me. Still," he glanced around casually, "Daddy's not exactly on his game at the moment. And Sammy," he shook his head sadly, "what a shame. Imagine, the Winchester boys, thrown to the wind. So whaddya say, want to make a deal?"

Crossroads demon. One wish for your soul. John had drilled his boys over and over again on the dangers, not to mention the sheer idiocy, of selling one's soul. Dean could hear him in the back if his head. These guys are tricky sons-a-bitches. Salesmen of the worst kind. They'll promise you the moon, but they always find some way to weasel out, cheat ya faster than you can blink. And your soul is NEVER something you should gamble on.

The man seemed to sense the boy's hesitation. He crossed his arms and looked Dean dead in the eye. "Not like you have much of a choice, mate."

Dean hung his head. He cast one fleeting look back at the images of angels soaring on the chapel ceiling before trudging towards the door.

"Atta boy," the demon grinned. "And what can I do for you today? Name's Crowley."

Sam fidgeted in his seat. A whole hour had passed with no sign of Dean. What if Dad really is in serious trouble? Sam was about to go searching for him, when his older brother made his appearance.

"Jesus, Dean! What did they say? You've been gone forever! Are you okay?" The questions came pouring out before he could stop himself. Sam noted the dark circles under Dean's eyes. He was so pale his freckles stuck out like tiny pinpricks on his face.

"'M'fine," Dean mumbled. "Let's go see dad." He grabbed Sam's hand, the one free of the sling. Sam almost pulled away with some complaint about how he wasn't five years old and could walk by himself, but he saw the pain and worry in Dean's eyes. Besides, he'd been through so much in the past couple days; it was nice to have his big brother around to protect him again.

John grinned tiredly at his boys from his hospital bed. Vestiges of dried blood still clung to his nose and upper lip, but his wounds already showed signs of healing.

"Hey," he croaked out, raising his hand is a half-salute, "looks like the sonofabitch couldn't get the drop on you, huh?"

Sam let go of Dean's hand and ran to him like he was a little kid, all the frustration between father and son forgotten for the moment. Dean hung back, watching the scene, letting Sammy's chatter flood over him. Sure, in ten years he would literally have hell to pay, but for now they could be a family again. And that was enough.

END.

Sequel?