Alright, last chapter. (Longer then usual, but I had to make sure everything got wrapped up okay.)

I hope you all enjoyed this birthday fanfic. (Especially you, MysteryMadchen.)

Here is the conclusion ...

Chapter 25: Healing Power

Dean watched in growing anxiety as Alex prepared the herbs for the cleansing.

"You're sure you know what you are doing?"

Answered only with a glare, Dean tried a different approach.

"Ezekiel, why don't you handle this part."

The old man didn't seem to hear him as he continued chanting, one hand on Sam's head and the other placed over Sam's heart.

"He won't answer you." Alex stated, scanning the labels on his jar. "He thinks I can do it."

"Yeah well, I want a second opinion." Dean mumbled.

Alex stopped, a fist full of dried leaves half way to the bowl.

"You think I WANT to do this? Knowing that one mistake and Sam will burst into flames?"

He continued on, but Dean wasn't sure if it was in French or English since he had stopped listening at 'Sam will burst into flames'; his earlier fears of spontaneous combustion coming back in full force. Hovering right next to Alex he watched him carefully measure out herbs and dump them into a bowl.

"Now this one …" He murmured. "No … THIS one."

Dean was sure his heart stopped.

"You don't know?" He growled.

"Je pourrais me rappeler meilleur si vous ne respiriez pas en bas mon cou!" He replied venomously. (Or "I would be able to remember better if you were not breathing down my neck!")

"Alex," Ezekiel whispered just loud enough to be heard, "don't be rude."

Watching the man hesitate before adding a stick, Dean was starting to wonder if HE would survive this thing. Biting his tongue, literally, Dean tried not to distract the man … but big brother instincts tend to overrule common sense sometimes.

"You sure that's right?" Dean asked for the fifth time in two minutes.

Flexing his hands, Alex spoke quickly in French and Ezekiel gave him a warning look.

"Alex, we do NOT threaten people."

"We could have healed it." He mumbled, returning to his work.

Dean looked over at Sam, pain lines clearly visible on his face, and one look at his watch told him they only had fifteen more minutes until the shield dropped.

"Dude, you need to hurry up."

"And you need to shut up."

Pouring oil over all the herbs he had compiled, Alex lit a stick with the nearest candle and held it over the bowl, chanting quietly before letting it fall. The soaked plants were engulfed in flames and Alex repeated the process with a talisman, dropping it into the fire as well. Picking up the doll, Alex held it over the flames. Dean opened his mouth and found himself staring down the barrel of a .45.

"Not one word." Alex growled.

Dean didn't back down from Alex's glare and the two appeared to be at a standstill. He heard Bobby was on his feet, ready to step in, but a painful gasp brought his attention to his bedridden brother. Sam tensed at the sight of the gun, trying sit up, which must have tipped of Ezekiel because the old man actually stopped chanting.

"Alexander." He spoke firmly and calmly, like of of the dad's in those old black and white sitcoms. "Give me that gun."

With an expression of pure annoyance, Alex flipped the safety on and and held it out to the bokor. Without taking his hand off Sam's forehead, Ezekiel retrieved the weapon, placing it on the nightstand next to him. In any other situation, Dean might have made a wise-crack about getting grounded, but the look of pain and fear of his brother's face kept his mouth shut.

"Just relax and finish your task." Ezekiel instructed, returning his focus where it belonged.

With a few French curses on his breath, Alex turned back to the flaming bowl, holding the doll above it in both hands. He chanted softly and released his grip on the doll, turning quickly to see if it worked. The second the doll his the fire, Sam sucked in his breath and for one terrifying second Dean thought they had failed. But Sam just sighed and relaxed against the bed, Ezekiel smiling down on him.

"It's all over." He whispered to the injured boy, removing his hands from Sam's weary body. "Just rest now."

Alex flopped backwards so he was laying on the floor, his fists pressed against his eyes, and let out a loud sigh.

"Ezekiel … never do that to me again."

The old man laughed, picking up the mug of healing herbs and examining the word burned into Sam's arm.

"You just need to work on your people skills." He said lightly.

Alex's head snapped up and he stared at the bokor in shock.

"My people skills? THIS is how you want me to practice PEOPLE SKILLS?!" He pushing himself into a sitting position shaking his head in disbelief. "Ezekiel, you are a good friend and a wonderful bokor … but NEVER become a psychiatrist."

"I'll remember that." Ezekiel chuckled. "How about you clean up while I take care of this young man."

Grunting in response, Alex got up and put away his gun before going around the room blowing out candles and stacking up all the bowls of smoldering herbs. Ignoring him, Dean moved over to check on Sam, who was admiring his smooth, burn free, arms. Moving on the bed to support his brother, Dean helped Ezekiel erase all the physical reminders of Damion's torture from Sam's back and chest.

"His ribs will be sore," The bokor explained, handing the now empty mug to Alex, "but I did what I could."

"Thank you," Dean said sincerely.

He looked at his brother, smiling at the fact he was now able to sit up on his own. When he had seen Damion stab that doll his world stopped, but now he knew everything was going to be okay.

"Ready to go?" Alex asked, shouldering the duffel.

"Yes, I think we better get back to the shop."

"Take care of yourself," Alex said, shaking Sam's hand, motioning his head to Dean, "and keep an eye on l'idiot tempéré rapide over there." (Or "quick tempered idiot")

"Alex," Ezekiel scolded, "we do not insult-"

"The friends and family of the people we are helping." Alex finished, his grin widening. "We aren't helping them now."

Shaking his head Ezekiel said his goodbyes and headed out the door. Alex followed, but not before giving them the shop's business card, should their services ever be needed again, and Dean returned the box and amulet. As soon as they were gone Dean packed up the car, determined to put Louisiana and this whole freaking town behind them.

"Sam, you ready?"


He couldn't help but smile when his little brother walked, slowly but unaided, out it the car. He slipped into the passenger seat while Bobby climbed in the back. Starting up the Impala, Dean headed west to drop off Bobby where he left his truck. After that … they would go as far as the road would take them.

* * * * *

Moving past the broken door, the young man stepped carefully through the rubble that had once been an apartment. Reaching the living room, he gazed sadly on the mangled body of his friend. Kicking aside the knife and cell phone, he knelled down, studying the mark carved into the dead man's left forearm. Flawless, as usual. Noticing the red letters on the wood, he leaned closer.

"Death is not the end." He smiled, turning to the ruined face of the bokor. "You always were one for theatrics, Damion."

Wrapping the worn out rug around his friend's body, he picked up the deceased sorcerer and carried him out of his destroyed home.

Did I say conclusion? I ment ending to story one. (My bad. ;) )

I have the sequel planned out and all I need is another birthday, so let me know whose is closest so I can post. (Besides MY birthday which is on the 18th. :) Hoo-ya 23!)

Even if you birthday is not close by, PLEASE let me know what you thought of my first unedited story. :)

Thanks for sticking with me all this time. I hope to see you all when I post number two, "Mojo Rising".