ARE YOU READY FOR THE FINALE?

HELL'S YEAH! I AM!

I honestly to god swear, that I did my very best.

THEN:

"What if I'd say yes. - How'd this work?" He opened his eyes, pupils dark and blown wide, determinacy reflecting from their very core.

That night, Dean Winchester wouldn't wake up panting and staring ahead in terror.

That night, Dean Winchester slept, tangled in Sam's arms who held him close. So close …

Fields of Jasmine

Chapter 41 ~ Down We Go

Something startled Sam awake. His sleep-fogged mind not quite sure what had made him open his eyes in the first place.

"Detroit", fell from his lips.

Maybe it had been the lack of warmth beside him. The uncommon loss of his alpha's presence anywhere near him.

The missing morning-kiss to his forehead, which Dean would give him before leaving for work...

Coldness - not physical coldness – but the emotional one you get when you know someone beloved is gone and there was no way they would come back to you.

Coldness though – that didn't quite fit. It was more to that. It was piercing, bitter … dead.

Dead-cold fingers that would reach deep into your soul's heart, and chill it until it'd stop to beat.

Bleary eyes searched the room, slowly the realization dawning onto him, that Dean hadn't just taken off to work.

The faint scent of his Alpha still lingered in the chilling air of the room. He had to be gone for a couple of hours …

Sam glanced at the clock, somehow mechanically.

He didn't sleep in.

It was short past seven.

There was an envelope on Dean's pillow.

Sam's fingers trembled.

Because somehow he knew … this had to be a farewell...

Not just a - I'll go run errands. I'm back in an hour. I needed to get cigarettes … nope that wasn't that.

This was finite.

Though Sam hadn't found his courage yet to reach for it, read it, he knew. He could sense it...

A mate would know...

~ 67' Chevy Impala ~

Robert Singer was humming along to bad moon rising.

Sun not quite up yet, so he had the kitchen-lights on, pouring some coffee into his favorite mug and seasoning it with quite some whiskey to go with.

He heard the front door squeak open, soft footfalls in the hallway and the closing of it by slipping shut.

"A bit early, don' you think?", he sounded quite satisfied, though gruff as he always was.

"Bobby?", Sam's yaw was set, his lips a thin line. There wasn't a single emotion readable on the man's face.

The omega was still dressed in his sleeping gown, barefoot, holding a piece of paper in his left hand. The man's face was blank, his eyes wide open and his pupils blown. No hazel to be seen.

The old man – rather surprised – turned around on his heels.

Sam rounded the corner into the kitchen, closed up onto Bobby, and handed him the paper, which looked like it had been cradled multiple times.

Bobby cocked an eyebrow, taking in Sam's appearance, figuring within lesser than a second that something wasn't right. He tore his look away, lips twitching as he unfolded the note.

"I love you, Sammy. I need you to know that.

Don't go after me.

Don't let Bobby go after me.

Stay put.

Don't leave.

This's all going to be okay."

Bobby didn't read the words out loud. Sam could recite them in his head along. He has read them about a dozen times.

"Knucklehead, dammit.", Bobby mumbled to himself sucking in a deep breath.

"What do we do?", Sam's features remained emotionless despite the fragile situation. What can we do to stop him? And if it's too late to stop him from handing himself over to Lucifer … what can we do to get Dean back? How are we going to defeat devil and stop him from using Dean as his meat-suit?

~ 67' Chevy Impala ~

They started to dig into the lore, go through books. Journals. Everything they could find.

Sam pulled some old rusty motor circles into Bobby's garage, which he had chosen to become his fortune ride as soon as they were fixed up.

Bobby had told him, that they were beyond repair. That he had to stay put, do the research and that the others – so Bobby, Caleb and the rest of them – were on this.

That this was no thing an Omega was supposed to be involved.

Even arguing with them, that he wasn't the fragile person he's been not so much time ago anymore, didn't work.

Sam had insisted and Caleb declared that he'd try and work one the motorcycles. Doing his best to patch them together - somehow. Sometime …

During those days, Sam would only sleep when his sleep-deprived body screamed at him for rest. He went into town, got himself suppressants, to get his non-plan on the road. He couldn't risk, that his strong scent would reveal him to anyone when it was getting serious.

There were stacks of books littering the living-room, some open and piled up the "important-stack", some abandoned in the farthest corner of the room.

He'd work out, gaining beef, finding himself on a mission.

Making it his mission.

He was not going to stay put and let the others handle this on their own.

Hell, he's been a damn freaking awesome hunter himself back in the day. - And with the suppressants, his know-how and his instincts he'd regain some of his composure back, and wouldn't be all moody and shit when it'd come down to the day Detroit was burning.

Sam didn't shed a single tear.

Not a single one, since Dean was gone.

Dean didn't get to be the martyr in this. He didn't get to hand himself over to the devil, without Sam fighting this.

The Omega was beyond pissed.

His mind was set at getting Dean back. Destroying Lucifer. Preventing apocalypse.

No matter at what cost.

No matter what it would take.

He was there, and he wouldn't let Dean go down that road on his own.

If anyhow, they'd go down together. They were in this together. Like Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid.

He'd go in there. Guns blazing.

They were meant to be together.

And if not alive, then in death.

~ 67' Chevy Impala ~

It's been a month and a half since Dean was gone …

No further cities burnt to the ground so far. No riders of the apocalypse had been seen. But something was bubbling at the very surface to break through.

It lingered in the air.

It was too calm – Except this was meant to be the so called "calm before the storm".

Bobby was looking out for Sam – or at least tried to look out for him – in any way possible. His possibilities were limited though, as much had to be said, since the omega wouldn't listen. And he wouldn't talk.

This circumstance may bore down the old man more than a crying and whimpering omega calling for his mate.

The bike (made out of five different ones), rusty and fucked up all over, stood in the garage. Caleb was about to prepare it for it's painting.

It wasn't like he had nothing better to do, but since Sam didn't need as much as casting his meanest puppy-dog-eyes at him every time they'd cross paths, he felt himself delivered to something much more meaner than the devil could ever be.

A grieving, underestimated omega was a whole lot more dangerous than that.

So was Robert Singer. Sam dared him to see him as an equal in this. And he eventually – finally – did.

~ 67' Chevy Impala ~

Sam lightened the candles, he's been positioning in a circle on the floor. They weren't absolutely needed, but it would make it easier to read and recite the curse he had put together.

There was a pentagram drawn in the middle. A bowl with several ingredients set in place..

Sam had Dean's demon-killing knife set just before him where he was kneeling.

A piece of oil-tanned leather , laid out, words in an foreign writing carved into it.

Sam reached for the knife, freshly engraved with angelic sigils and demonic bindings. He did it himself. Put together this THING he didn't know if it'd work for sure.

It was a prohibitive curse ( or spell, high likely it was a bit of both) with patched-together-bindings like Sam came up with by himself. You would never exactly know how high the price is, what it will take from you sooner or later.

Sam could remember, that he had done something similar before – so he figured – even if this was a completely different background – it could work. IF he'd get it right.

He wouldn't get a second try on this.

Sam started to recite the chant from the cloth, reaching for Dean's knife. He enveloped it in his palm and cut deep. Deeper than necessary after all. He wanted this to work, chanting his prayer to hell, heaven and the worlds between to enslave what had been buried deep inside of him for so long.

He hadn't just been any hunter. He's been the shadow. A fucking shadow in the dark. And he would be damned, if this wasn't going to work. Because hell or high water, he was going to be united again with his Alpha.

The chanting continued, Sam held his bleeding hand over the bowl. Blood dripping into the dark-green glistening substance.

He chanted the foreign words a third time, before he eventually stopped.

Sam lowered the knife to the ground and let go of it. All steady and composed. He then reached for the bowl, set it on his lips and drank it down. All of it.

Not a drop of it was going to waste.

No one saw hazel-green eyes morph into white for a split second. No one heard the agonizing scream ripped from Sam's lungs, as he crashed backwards on the wooden floor, blood spilling from his mouth.

~ 67' Chevy Impala ~

Bobby was hovering over a stack of books, still trying to figure out how to get the devil out of his surrogate son. To end the apocalypse. To save humanity.

Without ending it all in the course of it.

Sam entered the living-room. Tall, taut muscles. Wearing his boots and leather-jacket Dean had bought him back then. A black shirt peaked out under the leather and a dark grey jeans strained over his toned thighs.

The expression on his face feral. DANGEROUS, sending an icy shiver down the old hunter's spine when he looked up and caught the omega's form in the doorway.

This was definitely not the Sam from back then when he first had seen him. All roughed up and – not to sound too offensive – girly.

THIS SAM was the shadow from all those years ago. You wouldn't mess with this one.

"I'm done." Sam was playing it all cool, no hint of the emotional turmoil that was going down inside of him right now.

Bobby cocked an eyebrow and got up from the couch. His former tired orbs blown with pure adrenaline. "You sure you wanna do this, kid?"

"Detroit is down. It just came on the news. - Dean's going to be there.", the omega's yaw was set. His look telling, that this was going to be it. Their chance on getting the drop on Lucifer. "I know how to cast Lucifer back to hell." … well, he didn't exactly know HOW and WHERE he was going to be casted at. But they'd go from there as soon as he would have freed Dean from the devil's grasp.

~ 67' Chevy Impala ~

Sam put the helmet on, tightened the strap under his chin. He checked the .45 at the back of his waistband, his fingers wandered to the sheath installed to the belt on his left hip. He checked for the demon-killing knife's shaft, to make sure it was in place and he had it with him. He had to keep it close.

This was his only chance on this. It was their only chance.

He went through the plan in his mind again.

Well … it wasn't exactly a plan … actually he had nothing specific to roll with. Nothing but his determined will to rid Dean (and the world) from Lucifer

The motorcycle wasn't painted, when Caleb rolled it outside the garage.

Sam couldn't care less.

He mounted it, his in leather boots hitting gravel. He turned the turned the key, kicked the starter down, and the bike roared to live before it's engine fell into a low and steady rumble.

The shadow was back on the road.

~ 67' Chevy Impala ~

It was a devastating view.

Detroit was burning and smothering, the skyline and buildings tainted in a faint red, dark and heavy fog rising from the city.

There was nothing left, but ashed and coals.

Gleaming nests of fire. Sulfur poisoning the dusty air. A sharp odor, which mingled up with the smell of liquid iron and death.

Sam didn't tell Bobby about his non-existing plan. Using the false pretense, that if anything was going south, neither of them was possibly used to give away something.

Bobby and Caleb were supposed to hole up outside of town to deal with the eventual outcome of the job.

Sam would need someone outside to come and get them, as soon as it was done.

The both men would wait at their lair for his call.

Sam did in fact recon, that he wouldn't get out of there unharmed.

~ 67' Chevy Impala ~

Sam rounded the corner, back lined up with the weathered wall. The helmet long discharged and forgotten along with all of his past life.

His sharped senses blanked out what would only distract him from getting into that building.

The omega still had no plan for his plan on how this was supposed to go down. And maybe it was better to go into this without planning too much, after all, plans often tended to go awry.

And maybe, if it wasn't for him of having a perfectly plotted plan, there'd be no absolute terms about this endeavor. Nothing the devil could figure out nor giving him a chance to interfere.

So, not having a plan was the best plan after all, Sam figured.

He could sense his mate, even when it was faint and distant somehow. As if he wasn't really there. But his body was.

Sam kept close to the wall, noiseless and swift he was sneaking into an open corridor towards the apartment complex's inner yard.

The closer he got, the more the unearthly stench of hell intensified. Sam reached for the .45 in his waistband, his long fingers curling around it. He ever so slowly pulled it out, while he was crouching down mid-step and let it slip to the ground, ever so silently.

The shadow didn't make a noise. There was nothing heard but the clicking sounds of heated up buildings and concrete, dissolving ingredients loosing fraction amongst them due to the heat radiating though the air.

Sam brushed a long strand of hair out of his face, revealing his scar all the way.

His eyes were a fiery pit of hazel, hollow and though filled. Empty and though jam-packed with promises.

Ever so slowly he straightened up again, leaving the weapon behind as he continued to go along his task.

Heat was making the air harder to breathe now. He had to be closing in …

Sam sensed that this wasn't all luck that there were no demons. That there was no enemy lurking at him, coming for him. He knew he couldn't be possibly be better than the devil himself.

He eventually broke loose from the wall when the corridor ended. A human form, not far away, it's back turned at him, gained his attention.

The figure was wearing a black suit, hands in the pockets of his suit pants. Shoulders sloughed down. The beeing turned his head over slightly as if having realized that someone was coming at him.

"Hey there, Samuel." It was Dean's voice. Low and steady. And then again it was not Dean's voice at all. "I wish you wouldn't have come."

Sam didn't say a word. No muscle moved for a moment, before he let go of all caution, slipping from him like a snakes skin being shed in one slow pull.

"Don't provoke me, Sam." The devil turned on his heels to face the omega.

The man was all Dean. And though he was so not Dean.

His emerald-green eyes reflecting something warm and though icy cold back at the shadow. "Well, that's what I call character development. - My father would be delighted."

Sam stopped in his tracks, mere feet away from his foe.

A smug grin formed on Dean's lips, something in his eyes changed, making them way darker. Deeper.

"Dean's not hurting.", the devil continued, his eyes trained at him. "He's at peace where he's now." Reassuring and calm.

Sam's hand went to the knife at his hip, letting it rest there, caressing it's shaft with his fingertips before wrapping his fingers around it.

The devil's gaze followed Sam's movement. He chuckled and cocked an eyebrow at the former hunter.

"You are sure about this?" Dean-not-Dean rose both eyebrows. "I can't keep my promise, if you're coming for me Sammy."

As much as Sam wanted to react to the devil's teasing, he kept his mouth shut tight. He needed to come closer. May as well let Lucifer take on this part in the show.

The devil cocked his head to the side, obviously getting irritated by Sam's behavior. This probably was not how he had been thinking that this would evolve.

"What's your plan, Sam? - Just standing there and trying to stare me to death?" He thought for a moment. "You didn't came with a plan, did you? - You wouldn't come up with something that could actually work to throw me back down, get me all locked up in that cage of mine … again." His smirk widened.

Sam could tell, that the devil knew something was off.

Sam just had to hold onto it for another few seconds. 13 to be precise. Three words echoing through his mind over and over again.

He begged – prayed -that this would work.

The devil's eyes narrowed. So much Dean, and though so less of Sam's mate in the man's expression.

He was counting the seconds down in his mind.

9 seconds to go.

He felt the rising ache in the very pit of his stomach, fighting to keep it all down.

5

Slowly but surely the devil came closer, drinking in Sam's appearance, staring him in the eyes, as if to figure out what this all was about. What Sam was waiting for.

The devil's expression morphed into something dangerous. His yaw set. Realization dawning on him.

3

The ache increased in intensity, crawling up his neck, passing his larynx, filling his mouth, burning his vocal-cords.

A sly grin tugged at Sam's lips, pulling them slowly upwards.

1

Lucifer wearing Dean's body as meat-suit was now so close. So close. Sam could smell him clearly now.

When the omega's mouth parted, it happened in mere seconds, that blood rose from the depths of his internals, spilling it all over the devil's face. Sizzling on the meat-suit's bare skin.

Before Dean's body could stagger back, and out of the spray of sour blood and spit, Sam was right in his face, huge palms gripping Dean's face forceful, daring him to look him into the eyes.

~ 67' Chevy Impala ~

Peaceful silence dominated the cabin in the woods.

There was nothing but birds singing, mullet rock playing along inside the house.

Dean Winchester sat on the porch, the sweet smell of apple-pie in his nostrils and a beer in his hand.

Sam was resting beside him, floppy mop of hair in the former hunter's lap, sound asleep.

This may came as close to heaven as it could possibly be.

No creatures. No fights. No hunts. No pain or gilt.

Nothing severe, that could've dulled his mood in any possible way.

Though, something would poke on his insides every now and then, carrying his thoughts towards the real world out there. Towards the real Sam.

Dean knew this was just a devil-induced dream. He knew that this wasn't Sam resting here with him. That the cabin didn't exist, the woods didn't exist and sure as hell, the apple-pie wouldn't be real too.

But that was it.

If he couldn't save the world, couldn't rid it from the devil, he'd at least make sure that his mate would be save at some point, getting him a possibility to jump-start his life.

So yes. Dean Winchester called himself one lucky son of a bitch. At least he told himself so, even though the whole circumstances made his guts sour and sometimes his decision to say yes to Lucifer would let bile rise in his throat.

He had his eyes closed, his mind roaming stranger realms, feeling the comfortable warmth of the sun against his skin. Sam's soft breaths caressing his thigh.

The former hunter felt the warmth fade away ever so slowly.

The lack of warmth driving a meaningful chill down his spine, as dark clouds shoved before the sun.

There was thunder heard in the distance. Thunder and lightning, and coldness.

Dean's eyebrows furrowed in irritation.

Ice crawled over the land, closing into on the cabin which Dean was calling his home by now. Another bitter-cold shower drove down the back in his neck and settled deep down his back, his mind still battered with cow-beams of farther domains.

With a jolt, his eyes snapped open, his face morphed into one of sheer terror and surprise.

There was Sam. HIS SAM. Right in front of him, moving towards him with such a fierce uncommon look in his eyes, that the Winchester lunged his body backwards to get away from the hand longing for his chest.

There was no escape.

Sam's hand ripped his shirt open and the very next moment his icy palm was sprawled out right above Dean's heart.

Their eyes met.

Sam's eyes were glistening with ice and fire. Unspoken words and a snowy storm of confidence

"I'm sorry, Dean. This is going to hurt like a bitch."

It felt like a sharp ice pick pierced the Winchester's skin and drove right home into his heart, letting him suck in a raged breath, his heart stopping as it froze to a halt mid-beat …

~ 67' Chevy Impala ~

60 seconds. That's what he had told himself. 60 seconds to reach what he was searching for deep inside Deans mind.

60 seconds. Breaching the devil's velvet-soft bubble wrapped around Dean's mind. Tearing his mate away from whatever dream hes been living in. Busting him out of there.

Back in the here and now, a dark, threatening mew rept from the devil's vessel's lungs in agony.

Hell's keeper finding himself on frozen ground all of a sudden.

Sam let go with one hand of Dean's face and reached for the knife at his hip, drawing it in a fury. Blood dripping from his lips and chin.

Aching acid burning deep inside of him, daring him to curl into himself right there.

But Sam didn't.

This was not over yet.

Eyes still locked with the devil's vessel, not letting go of the fading hold Sam had onto him.

Everything went down so damn fast then.

Sam had given his foe a few seconds to understand that he was going to reach for his knife. That he was drawing it.

He laid as much assurance into his expression as he could possibly master, so that the man opposite of him would have no doubt, that he wouldn't hesitate and drive the knife right up into Dean's heart.

~ 67' Chevy Impala ~

The devil gritted his teeth. Anger flaring up in his eyes, burning deep down into his rotten soul of darkness.

He growled – actually growled – at Sam.

With a smooth motion, right on instinct, Lucifer got a hold of Sam's weaponized hand and in a spare second, he had the knife turned around in Sam's grasp which lunged for his heart.

Sam didn't hesitate.

Not a second.

He was pulling at the devil's face, driving his lips into his. His tongue forcing it's way into the man's mouth. Licking at the seam of his gum. He held the knife steady in his hand – the devil's hand covering his, preventing each other from driving it in any of their bodies.

Sam straightened up, and then, with a nice slow move, he pulled the devil's vessel up against himself without hesitation.

~ 67' Chevy Impala ~

Heat radiated through his every limp. His skin felt like burning up against the cold grip of reality. Sweetness and bitter blood on his tongue. His lips moist with red scarlet.

Both, heat and coldness still having a compelling grip onto his very soul.

The heat started to subside some.

The awful smell of death clawed its way into his nostrils and brain, yelling at him that this wasn't right. This wasn't where he'd been before.

He felt himself shifting, his body, his soul. He felt the atmosphere around him prickling and teasing at his senses.

He felt his heavy body. The tear in his hip and knee.

Something he hadn't felt in quite some time now …

And there was this moving softness, right beneath him. A slow up and down against his rib-cage

He felt his own hand wrapped around another one holding onto something.

Terror took a hold of him, when he sensed not only the depriving scent of hell, but also a faint hint of jasmine.

Something he had not smelled what felt like in an eon.

Dean winced, as he moved his head, lifting it, his free hand searching for leverage beneath him to rise.

Tendrils of his dreamworld still hazing his mind and body.

Everything felt heavy. His chest ached as if squished in a crusher, escorted by a stinging sensation.

The Winchester finally managed to brush off the misty cow-beams that covered his mind, urging himself into a rather clear state.

He drew in a deep breath. The sting to his chest increased and let his breath tremble.

"Dean?", the voice was soft. Familiar. Tender. Sam. His mate. His omega.

"Sam?" Dean rose his head. The moving ground underneath him was a body.

That was when he started to feel. The world around him was not the same as in the devil's dreamland. It was hot. He felt his aching bones. He felt his muscles strain at each movements. He FELT the world around him. He FELT Sam.

So close.

His hand was still covering Sam's, not letting go. Never letting go.

"What've you done?", Dean croaked out, searching to catch his mate's gaze.

The younger man's eyes were misted by a white veil.

Sam smiled. Ever so softly. Satisfied. Happy. "Saved your ass." His lips tugged into a smile, his look searching Dean's face for any hint of the devil still being there. Possessing him.

As if he could actually see.

Something did not fit. Something tugged at Dean. Sam's breaths were even and shallow as if he was asleep. But he wasn't.

Dean's chest stung again. His head still busy with trying to figure out what had happened, and at the same time processing what was going on right now.

Sam stayed perfectly still beneath him, muscles strained.

Dean hadn't realized yet. The hand covering Sam's, which was still wrapped around the knife's shaft, loosened it's grip, driving a gasp from the omega's lips.

"Take it slow, Dean." Sam took in a shaky breath under the sudden loss of Dean's weight on him.

"Sam." Dean pulled further back, drawing away from his omega's body just enough so he could see.

Sam's long fingers were wrapped around the shaft tightly now as if to keep in place right where it had pierced into him beneath his rib-cage

"What'd you do?" It was sheer terror and disbelieve and so much more, nothing less.

Dean examined Sam with a fast, but efficient all-over-look.

The knife, to which Sam was holding onto for dear life, had went into him all the way. Only a small amount of blood had soaked into his shirt by now.

Too less for a wound like that anyway.

"We pull it out now, I'm gonna die. Right here.", Sam trained his breaths to be steady and low. He might as well didn't seem as troubled as he might should've been. "We both know that."

Dean on the other hand, stripped down the haze and fog which had still lingered on him, misting his point of few.

As soon as he regained what was his usual state of mind, his face turned pale, the reddish drying liquid on his lips standing out even more.

"You fuckin' …" Dean was at a loss of names actually. Moron? Knucklehead? Idiot? - Nope … nothing of that quite fit.

"Listen ..." Sam's free hand reaching up, searching their way up from Dean's chest towards his face. "It's not that bad at all. - I made sure of it." Beads of sweat formed on the omega's skin, his body ready to go into shock.

So Sam knew that this was going to happen. Sam knew. He had planned this through hadn't he?

At least at some point.

"My phone. - Bobby's waiting for our call Dean."

Dean swallowed thickly. The lump in his throat as big as an orange.

"I told you not to come." He searched Sam's eyes. Hazel still covered in white veils. "Why couldn't you listen."

He knew why. And he'd damn fucking wasn't mad at Sam – at least not as mad as he may should be at least deep down he wasn't. After all, Sam had decided to act with reckless disregard, sacrificing himself.

It took him another second, until he got himself to search Sam's pockets for the phone. His own limps feeling so damn heavy, making it hard to move. Not wanting to jostle Sam unnecessarily and dare to nick any of Sam's internals in the process.

Dean called Bobby, holding onto the phone in a death-grip, giving him instructions he received from his mate at where they would find them.

"We belong.", Sam's voice was fading. Sam was fading. "Couldn't let you go." There was a soft sob. "We made it.", half chuckled half cried, tears gathering in his misty eyes.

It's been too long since he had allowed himself to feel … and now, he found himself at the brink of toppling over into a stormy sea of emotions.

"Damn straight.", Dean bowed down, wiping a tear from Sam's damp cheek. "We made it." He bowed down, brushing his lips against Sam's soft cushions "You did a hell of a job, Sammy." Dean whispered against his lips and pulled back. So not to give away his trembling lips.

This wasn't supposed to end with Sam dying on him. This wasn't supposed to him ever coming back from the devil's induced dream.

"Plenty 'f time, Dean." Actually SAM tried to reassure DEAN that everything was going to be alright, even though it wasn't. This was

Dean's turn to fix this. It had been his sacrifice. To make sure, that Sam would survive the apocalypse and that he was going to forget all about his past life. This was meant to be easy for Sam.

If he would just had gone with that.

Dean could at least try and reassure him, that everything was going to be okay soon. That the wound was going to get stitched up and that he'd be as good as new in no-time.

But Dean Winchester couldn't – wouldn't – lie to his mate. The sour taste of failing his mate digging deep into his heart, gripping him tight.

He had underestimated the omega. He had figured, that the kids tortured soul wouldn't allow him to reach out to Dean in any way possible.

He would have never thought of Sam getting his shit together and going after the devil himself …

"Don't worry. - It'll be fine. Bobby's on the way." Sam had blacked out right after granting Lucifer to drive the knife into him, biting his lip to share their blood in a searing kiss. He didn't know how much time he had lost due his unconsciousness. But at the slow pace he felt himself fading, he fit mustn't have been long.

So plenty of time. They had about 40 minutes to get Sam into the hospital. He had planned this part through. He had studied the human anatomy, informations on spots and angles in which a knife could penetrate him, without scratching any arteries and/or organs.

If they wouldn't make it within 45 minutes, he was going to die.

Dean struggled to shrug out of the blazer he was wearing and rolled it up into a cushion.

"Dean.", Sam gasped. His eyes closed briefly. It wasn't like he was actually hurting, it was more about the darkness surrounding him. That he was loosing his grip onto life. That he was slipping away – slowly but surely.

The former hunter tugged the newly formed cushion under Sam's neck and head to make him more comfortable. "Sam.", he breathed. This was all on him. He searched Sam's face. His eyes. Sam didn't see him. Couldn't see him.

A wet cough erupted from the wounded omega, small triplets of blood spurting into the air. "Guess didn't get the angle quite right ..." Sam rasped out a half lough/half cry. The chances had been high that he wouldn't be able to lead Lucifer's hand quite right.

He had known that. But he did it anyway.

Maybe Sam was running out of time though. Probably punctured his lung – so less than 45 minutes.

"You are a damn idiot, you know that?" Dean's voice was a mess of emotions. Anger, guilt and despair riding it's heights. "You shouldn't have done that, dammit. Sammy. - You could've had a normal fucking life. With any of this shit. I've had a deal. I've had a fucking deal with the devil. You wouldn't remember. You wouldn't." And now he was dying. Right there. In front of him.

"Already tried that one. Didn't work out though." Maybe he wouldn't make it after all, since he had counted on not hitting any life-depending organs at all. But so it was, and now he had to deal with it – taking on a fight for his life against the dark claws of death coming for him.

Dean had loved to punch Sam in the face, just for good measure. Not literally. "This isn't funny." His fingertips roamed along Sam's form on the ground, until he got a hold of his wrist, wrapping calloused hand around it, the tip of his pointing-finger getting to rest on where he felt Sam's pulse.

Slow and steady. And faint.

"There's be no place in heaven or hell I'd have let you go down that path. Not without me by your side."

The low rumble of an engine and the steady hooting of a car's horn were heard in the distance, coming closer. fast.

"Dean. I love you.", Sam smiled at him with tears running down his face. "I had to try."

He was running out of time, and he was aware of it.

The alpha sucked in a deep breath between gritted teeth. He knew. - If it had been for him, he'd done the same stupid thing.

"I love you too, babe. - Don't you dare and die on me. Don't you make me deal with a crossroads-demon, Sam. You hear me? - Because hell or high water, I'm not going to let you die on me."

Sacrifices always come with a price … so you know …

The End

A/N:

Well, here we are. After close to 6 years this story is finished. I can't believe it myself …

I could do an epilogue about the aftermath though, but only if you're in for it, and only if you REALLY REALLY want it that bad.

Because … I THINK … that the story is supposed to end this way … besides, there could be a sequel, dealing with the aftermath, working things out.