Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.

Author's Note: Before I apologize for this chapter being late or for this one being the last one or for anything else... I want to stress the main importance of this story. It has been, since the very beginning, a story about brotherly love with a little hurt and comfort thrown in for kicks. Okay, a lot of hurt and comfort thrown in. So keep that in mind as you're reading this. I feel as though this is a very fitting ending for this story because it encompasses all that this story has been standing for. So if it's a little disappointing to all of you who were hoping for more... I'm sorry for that. But. I have enjoyed writing this story and I am kind of sad to see it end. But at the same time, I'm glad, cause that means I have an excuse to start yet another Supernatural based story, which I'm really excited about.

Author's Note 2: Thank you for everyone who has stuck with this very strange, very random, very pointless journey. It really doesn't have that much of a pay off plot wise, but I feel like it has a huge pay off if you're just looking for some good old brotherly love between Sam and Dean. Cause let's face it, that has been severely lacking since season 3. In my opinion at any rate.

Author's Note 3: So I conclude this long, winding journey with a promise of new and better stories coming soon.

You Found Me

Chapter 15

Dean wasn't going to admit it to anyone without the influence of heavy alcohol, but he was scared shitless. Not for himself—if he died today, then the world would keep going without him—but for Sam and Bobby and everyone else who had become involved in this insane demon tornado disaster. But he couldn't let on that he was terrified out of his skull and that the mere thought of getting out of the nice, safe Impala and going over there and attempting to kill a demon with a seriously injured brother as his only back up and trying to save someone who could very well be dead was a little daunting. Even to Dean Winchester.

It was like one of those old Mexican stand-offs. Dean, supporting a very concussed Sam, was standing at one side of the street holding a gun and a knife between them, and Meg looking just a little pissed off was standing on the other with a sadistic grin on her face. All that was missing were the tumble weeds, the sombreros, and the spurs.

Time seemed to stand still for the three, who were locked in an epic stare down. Well, Dean and Meg were. Sam's eyes were kind of drooping. But that was beside the point.

"It ends now, boys," Meg said. "This is it."

"Funny," Sam muttered. "I always thought that things were supposed to end when Lucifer and Michael got into it and we were standing there watching them, waiting to see which one killed each other first… and then things would end."

Dean smirked.

"Well, you know us, things never go the way they're supposed to."

"Touché. Should we try that logic now?"

"I'll fire the gun, you go for Bobby."

"Dude, I'm barely standing up as it is right now. How about I fire the damn gun and you go get Bobby?"

"How about I fire the gun and then you go back to the Impala and then I go get Bobby?"

"How about you both shut up and let me kill you already?"

"Sam? Do you feel like dying today?"

"No, not really. I'm getting used to this whole living thing. I kind've want to keep doing it."

"I was hoping you'd say that. Here."

Before Sam was really fully conscious of what his brother was doing, Dean was shoving the demonic knife into his hands and pushing Sam toward Meg while the older Winchester ran toward Bobby. Which, in Sam's opinion, was very stupid seeing as the younger Winchester could hardly keep his eyes open, he was so damn tired.

Meg had a look of faint surprise on her face as Sam got it together enough to point the knife at her chest and stab downward. She smirked and Sam suddenly found himself flying through the air. Again.

"Why the hell does this always happen to me?" he growled as he pushed himself into a standing position, groaning in pain.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," Meg said, shaking her head and clicking her tongue. "Haven't you learned by now how hard it is to kill me? I mean seriously! How many times have you boys tried and failed? There was that first time with the daevas, which has been my favorite so far. And then there was that time with that feathery douche bag, which was cute, but not very effective."

"And how many times have you tried to kill me and failed?" Sam demanded. "Oh , that's right. Every. Single. Damn. Time."

Meg's smirk faded into a dark scowl.

"You know, if you hadn't been so messed up in the head, we could have been friends. Or even something else," she said, taking a step closer and putting a hand on Sam's shoulder. He hissed in pain.

"But now," Meg said, leaning closer and taking a fist full of Sam's shirt. "I want to see you bleed. I want to see you suffer for all of the things you have done to my family. And I want to be the one to do them to you."

"Too bad your pal Lucifer has other plans for me," Sam smirked.

Meg punched him in the face. He let out a grunt of pain, wondering where the hell his brother was.

"Lucifer will forgive me," Meg said. "After all, he hasn't learned what a pain the ass you and your brother have been to me and the rest of us. He will actually thank me."

"I doubt that," Sam scoffed, spitting out a tooth and a wad of blood. "I think Lucifer wants me very much alive. Pain in the ass and all. And I've heard he really isn't the forgiving type. I mean, look at what he did when his father told him that he wasn't perfect."

Meg snarled and wrapped a hand around Sam's throat.

"You're filthy scum," she hissed, tightening her grip. Sam feebly fought back against her, trying to get enough force to stab her with the knife and failing epically. "You're weak. You're pathetic."

"And I'm the one Lucifer wants alive," Sam gasped. "Not you. He's never even so much as cared about any of you demons, has he?"

Meg screamed and threw Sam across the road. He landed against the Impala with a heavy thud. Stars danced across his vision as he tried to get up and failed.

Meg approached him like a lion approaching its prey.

"I'm going to kill you, Samuel Winchester," she said. "I don't care what Lucifer does to me. You are going to die a very painful death."

"Then do it," Sam whispered, spitting out more blood. "If you're so bent on killing me, then do it already. Because quite frankly, I'm sick of this cat and mouse game."

Meg's response was a scream of agony. Sam stared in blank surprise as her host crackled with white energy and then fell to the ground, staring up at the sky with lifeless eyes.

Sam looked up, his mouth falling open as he saw Castiel standing in his customary trench coat with a bloodied sword in his hand, looking very much like an avenging angel. For the first time since Sam had met him, he respected the angel.


"I am sorry it had to come to this," Castiel said gravely. "If I had known the outcome of my brothers' actions, then I would have stopped this long ago."

Sam stared at the angel in shock.

"I am sorry," Castiel said again.


Sam relaxed at the sound of his brother's voice.

"Over here," he called weakly, wincing at how rough his voice sounded.

Sam blinked, realizing just how much the scene around him had changed since the whole encounter with Meg had begun. He had somehow ended up in the opposite side of the Impala, laying in a puddle of mud and quite possibly blood. A tree had fallen on one side of the car, just missing the giant black beast. The rainstorm had finally abated and the clouds were clearing, revealing that it was finally night. There were a ground of people a few feet away, ones that Sam had a funny feeling were angels.

"You have nothing to fear anymore tonight," Castiel said. "Heaven will leave you alone until you've had time to recover."

"Thank you," Sam whispered.

"You have proved to be a greater asset to us then we first thought," Castiel said. "We are beginning to realize how wrong we were about the apocalypse."

"It's about damn time," Sam muttered.


Dean sounded out of breath, but otherwise okay as he came around the front of the Impala. With a flurry of wings, Castiel was gone before Dean saw him.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, feeling suddenly very, very tired. And hungry.

"You okay?" Dean asked, crouching down in the mud beside Sam, who struggled to get into a sitting position.

"Not really," Sam admitted. "But I think I will be. How's Bobby?"

"He's fine," Dean answered. "He sent me to find you. Was worried. Can't imagine why. It's not as though you don't get yourself nearly killed on a daily basis."

"Sorry," Sam whispered, leaning his muddy head against Dean's shoulder.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Sam," Dean grunted as he shifted himself into a sitting position and put a hand on Sam's head. "You're running fever."

"Huh. That would explain why I feel like shit," Sam murmured.

"Couldn't possibly be the fact that you've been through hell these past few months," Dean said sarcastically.

"That might have something to do with it," Sam mumbled. "I'm tired Dean."

"I know, Sammy."

"No, I'm not just that kind of tired. I'm tired of all of this."

"What's all of this?"

"Being Hell's bitch. Lying to everyone. Not knowing what's right and what's wrong. Not knowing exactly what happened to me, but knowing enough to know that what did was really bad."

"You have a concussion."

"I'm tired of that too."

Dean let out a sad chuckle and wrapped an arm gently around Sam's shoulders. Sam rested his head against the door of the Impala and closed his eyes, sighing heavily.

"It's going to be okay, Sammy," Dean said. "I can't promise that Hell and Heaven aren't going to try to use you. I can't promise that you're going to remember everything that happened to you during those two weeks. I can't promise that you want to know what happened to you during those weeks. And I can't say that you're never going to do anything stupid again, cause you probably are."

It was Sam's turn to laugh sadly. He winced and wrapped his good arm around his chest as the motion sent a shockwave of pain through his torso.

"It's going to be okay, Sammy," Dean said again. "And you want to know why?"

"Why?" Sam whispered, his eyes half closed against the pain.

"Cause you have one hell of a brother looking out for you," Dean said, smiling slightly. "And we're Winchesters. We're way too pretty to die. … for good."

Sam smiled, his eyes falling all the way close. The last thing he was aware of before he lost consciousness was Dean whispering his name and then everything went black.