Notes: This will be the conclusion of "Never Broken." It's been a WIP for many months, and I'm ready to bring it to a close. I hope everyone has enjoyed it, and thanks to those who have stuck with me throughout!

SPOILERS: There is mention of season 4 and 5 in this chapter, so beware if you're behind.

Sam stared out the window at Dean. He was trying to shoot with his left hand. He had to smile at his brother's determination. Neither of them would be in any shape to hunt for quite some time. He never told Dean about Lilith being at the house. He wasn't sure how he could even begin to tell him. He sure as hell didn't want to tell Keith, either. He was waiting for an answer, though.

He's a shrink… doctor-patient confidentiality, right? Sam thought. He turned back to Keith.

"Something else happened in that house. I haven't told anyone, and I don't plan to. It doesn't go past this room, understand?"

"Absolutely. I don't divulge anything about my patients."

"Okay." Sam took a deep breath, and launched right into it. "Damien took Dean to get to me. He told me that I'm supposed to be a vessel for Lucifer."

Keith froze. This was not what he expected to hear. What the hell do I say to this? How in the hell can I keep this from Bobby?

"Are you sure?"

"Would I lie about something like that?"

"No, you wouldn't. Lucifer?"

"Yeah. It scares the hell out of me. I want to tell Dean, but I just can't. I'm not ready for that yet."

"You just told me a few minutes ago that you were ready to talk to him."

"I'll talk to him, just not about Lucifer. I'm gonna stop it before it happens."

"What if you can't?"

"I will. Lilith is going to die. I'm gonna make sure of that."


After Keith left, Sam made his way out to the porch. Bobby had a rickety swing hanging there, so Sam tested it and sat down. The cushions were old, but still comfortable. He watched Dean shoot for a few minutes. As his brother reloaded, Bobby turned his head to look around, and spotted Sam on the porch. He turned and made a beeline.

Great. More yelling.

"How's it goin, Sam?" Bobby asked as he got closer. His voice was normal, for a wonder.

"I'm a little sore, but better."

"I'm glad."

"Has Dean shot himself yet?" Sam asked, cracking a smile.

"No, but the idjit almost shot me. He should be along any second."

"Thanks, Bobby. For everything."

"You're welcome, son." Bobby smiled and made his way inside.

Sam leaned back in the porch swing as he watched his brother pack up the gun and clean up the mess of bullet-riddled beer cans. The evening air felt crisp, but wasn't too cold. It was enough for Sam to close his eyes and take a cat nap. It was short-lived.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said as he walked up onto the porch. "How's it goin'?"


Dean set his stuff down and turned to his brother.

"In this family, 'fine' usually means you're not fine. What's going on?"

"Can we talk?"

"Sure." Dean grabbed a deck chair and slid it over so he could sit across from Sam.

"What do you remember? About—"

"About Damien?"


"I remember the night he got the jump on me. I was off my game, not paying any attention. I knew I was screwed when I woke up naked in that basement."

"That's all?"

"I tried to be brave, until they came down those stairs dragging you. I lost it. If I hadn't been chained to the wall, I'd have torn them limb from limb."

"With your one working hand?"

"Shut up. I could have done it."

"This isn't funny, Dean."

"I know, Sam." Dean ran a hand over his face. "I-I should have protected you from him. I couldn't. I'm sorry for that."

"You couldn't stop him, Dean. You don't have to be sorry." Sam looked away from his brother. "I'm the one who should be sorry."

"What for?"

"I told you I'd get us out."

"You did!"

"I left you in the Impala to die! Damien wasn't far behind us. He left you in that car because he thought you were already dead, and dragged me back to that hell hole. I was ready to die, thinking I'd let you down."

"Sam, look at me."

Sam brought his eyes back to his brother.

"I'm not dead. You did good. You got us out! Unfortunately, they had guns and we didn't, but that wasn't your fault. It's not like we had time to grab stuff from the trunk or anything."

"I let them get me, Dean. I wasn't strong enough."

"You were plenty strong enough. You broke a concrete wall and carried my ass to the car, and you held on for a month in a coma. Look at you now! You're up and walking, and alive! You're the strongest person I know, Sam."

"Thanks, I guess."

"You did good. I'm proud of you."

Dean sounded like their Dad in that moment. Sam was fine with it.

"Thanks, Dean."

"What do you say we go inside and attempt to get dinner started?"

"Sounds like a plan. Just don't set the stove on fire again."

"Hey! That was flambé!"

"Since when is macaroni and cheese a flambé?"

"Whatever. I'm an awesome cook."

"Prove it, smart ass."

The boys raced each other (as fast as they could) to the kitchen, and a cook-off ensued. Bobby watched them from his study table. He was more concerned about his kitchen not blowing up or catching fire. He took out his cell phone and set it on the table. Five, four, three, two, one… A clattering could be heard from the kitchen, followed by a painful yelp.

"Bobby!" Dean yelled.

Bobby reached for his phone, smiling. He hoped the boys still liked sausage and peppers on their pizza.