Author's Note: I am so sorry for the super long time in-between updates! I'm back and ready to wrap up this crossover. Thank you for all your patience! Trigger warning for torture. If that bothers you, please don't read. Otherwise, I hope you'll enjoy the final chapter.

"And if I share my secret

You're gonna have to keep it

Nobody else can see this."

—Maroon 5, "Moves Like Jagger"

"Agents?" Detective Lassiter greeted them with a terse nod of the head as the duo walked back in. He was dressed in a bulletproof vest and holstered his gun to his side. He grimaced, shaking his head, almost in disbelief. "We're leaving in two minutes tops."

"Understood." Sam muttered, forcing his voice to remain steady and even, though deep down, he was scared about who, or what, he was going to face. His memories were vague at best and the more he tried to focus on them, the sharper his headache grew. He didn't know his enemy and he didn't know if Shawn or Gus were even still alive. That uncertainty was definitely not reassuring in the least.

He had to save Shawn and Gus, at all costs.

Even if he were to die—

"Here." Dean slammed a vest in his little brother's direction and Sam sighed softly. No doubt his older sibling was still upset with his choice to rescue Shawn and Gus. Not that Sam could blame him. After all, if the situation were reversed, Sam would have his doubts to say the least.

"Thanks." Sam put on the vest—smirking a bit at the irony of the whole situation; after all, here he was on the right side of the law—and watched as Detective O'Hara composed herself by her desk. Taking a deep breath in, she closed her eyes, and exhaled slowly.

Sam didn't know her exact relationship with Shawn or Gus, but they were definitely close. The way she'd almost broken down the moment she played them the voicemail on the street confirmed that. What her exact relationship was though—especially with Shawn, since Sam had caught Lassiter whispering something to her about her "psychic, too stubborn to die guy"—remained to be seen.

"Agent Hagar?" She glanced up at him, voice light and deliberately neutral.

Sam hadn't even realized he'd crossed the gap across the police department to come and stand by her.

"Detective O'Hara," He started quietly, an easy smile on his lips. "We're going to bring them back alive." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I promise you."

"I know." She beamed, though the smile didn't light up her eyes. "Everything will be fine."

It would be for them, Sam would make sure of it.

This was his mess and he was going to clean it up—damn the consequences. If it cost him his life, so be it. He wouldn't let anyone else suffer for his soulless self's actions.

"You ready?" Dean was at his side now and Sam nodded softly.

"Let's go."

It must be an unwritten rule that all bad guys—supernatural and human—hole up in abandoned warehouses. Even in Santa Barbra, this seems to be the case. The warehouse is by the coast, close to the beach. The sounds of the waves and the smell of salt assault his senses. As the police car pulls around the bend, Sam can't help but wonder how many times he's stepped into one of these warehouses for supernatural reasons. They park down the street, out of the direct line of sight of the warehouse. Getting out of the car, Sam forces himself to take an even, steady breath.

"You understand what's going to happen?" Detective Lassiter is by Sam's side now, eyes locked on the building.

"Of course." Sam replies quietly, checking his vest, making sure it's secure.

"SWAT is en-route." Juliet tells the duo, placing her radio down. She forces a shaky smile on her lips. "Agent Hagar, are you sure—?"

"He's got this." Dean speaks up quietly. His older brother's gaze is downcast and his eyes are glistening, though whether that's from stress or fear, Sam's not sure.

"Here's what going on," Lassiter takes charge, glancing at the two brothers. "O'Hara and I will be right outside, ready to come in should it be needed." He meets Dean's gaze. "You'll be outside too."

"But—" Dean opens his mouth to protest, but Sam places his hand on his brother's shoulder, squeezing it.

"He's got it." Sam completes with a shaky smile.

"When SWAT gets here, we'll move in, grab the perp and get Shawn and Gus out of there." Lassiter continues. "Just stall until then." His eyes narrow and he leans in closer. "Don't be a damn hero, you got that?"

"Yes, sir." Sam replies quietly.

"Okay," Juliet whispers, running a hand through her hair. "We're ready." She and Detective Lassiter move to the side, the two partners discussing a few last minute details in hushed tones.

"Sam."

The younger brother faces the eldest Winchester and he nods his head.

"I know."

They've never needed to say things out loud, never had to take a moment for potential last words. Conveying those words through their actions every day, that's how they prepared to say goodbye. And this . . . this could be goodbye. Sam might walk into the warehouse and never walk back out again.

This might be the end.

"Let's go." Lassiter barks and Sam moves towards the warehouse.

He spares Dean one more look—a look that conveys anything and everything that he could've vocalized—and then he walks into the warehouse.

"Hello, Sam." A voice purrs as the warehouse door slams behind him, almost by magic. A man steps into the light and Sam flinches seeing the pure hatred in his eyes.

"You know my name, but I don't know yours." Sam starts, trying to keep his voice neutral, his posture non-threatening. He glances around the room, finally spying Shawn and Gus' passed out forms on the floor. There are no visible injuries on them and Sam breathes a sigh of relief.

"I didn't kill them." The man interjects, as if sensing Sam's thoughts. He's a plain looking man, dressed in a simple white t-shirt and ripped jeans. His blue eyes are almost electric though and the frown on his lips is so deep that it seems to engulf is face.

"Let them go, they are—"

"Innocent," The man completes, rolling his eyes. "I know, Sam. And, unlike you, I don't punish those that do not deserve it." He flicks his hand and a blinding white light consumes the warehouse.

Sam closes his eyes, though the light is almost searing and when it finally dies down, the youngest Winchester finds himself handing from chains suspended from the ceiling.

"Haven't figured out who I am yet, have you?" The man muses as he contemplates a huge array of knives set out on a table that seemingly appeared from nowhere.

"A warlock." Sam snaps, struggling to get free from the chains to no avail. His feet are just barely above the floor, just enough to cause pressure on his shoulders. He could dislocate them if he isn't careful.

"I'm Carly's husband." The warlock hisses.

"Carly?" Sam echoes, trying to place that name to a face. "Who is—?"

"Please!" The woman pleaded with his soulless self to no avail. "Please, Sam, I promise, I haven't killed anyone! I live off of animal hearts, I swear, and I'm married now, my husband, Adam, he needs me—"

But his soulless self hadn't listened. He'd shot her, right there; let her body slump the floor and the life slip out of her.

He'd seen it as black and white—Carly wasn't human, ergo she had to die.

"She's the werewolf you killed in cold blood, you son of a bitch!" Adam flicks his wrist and a knife plunges itself in Sam's shoulders.

The youngest Winchester screams out as the knife tears itself through his flesh, burying itself deeper and deeper. Blood begins to drip to the floor and his shirt becomes stained crimson.

"Adam, I'm sorry!" Sam manages to get out through the haze of the pain. "I wasn't myself—"

"Do you know what it felt like?" Adam starts, grabbing a smaller knife off his table and coming to stand before Sam. "I came home and she was dead, blood pooling in our home." He ran the knife along Sam's neck. "I've waited for this moment, planned for this day." He grinned, a twisted parody of a smile. "And now, you will finally get to feel my pain, Sam."

"Adam, you want me, you can have me, but Shawn and Gus—"

"Are insurance." Adam interjects. "Against the fools outside. They won't dare come in when I have hostages." He smirks. "And by the time that the SWAT team manages to get past the little roadblock I set up, we'll be done."

Adam chuckles, pleased with himself.

"So, let's get this party started, shall we?"

And with that, Adam presses the tip of the small knife into Sam's neck.

"I don't like this." Lassiter growls, staring at the warehouse's now closed doors. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at his partner. "It's been almost twenty minutes. Where the hell is SWAT?"

"Chief says there's been a pile-up on their route. They're coming as fast they can." Juliet murmurs, though her eyes too, were locked on the warehouse. "We have to wait."

Dean paces the ground, cursing internally. How foolish he was to let Sam go it alone? How much of an idiot is he? He knew that whoever was responsible for Shawn and Gus' kidnapping had a bone to pick with Sam. So what did he do? He let Sam go it alone!

Some older brother he is.

There's something supernatural in that warehouse; Dean can feel it in every fiber of his being. Waiting for the SWAT team that will never arrive is no option.

"I know someone." Dean tells Detective Lassiter.

"Another agent?" Juliet presses.

"He can help." Dean emphasizes. "I need you to let me run point on this."

"We have orders to wait for SWAT—" Lassiter begins to interject.

"Screw SWAT!" Dean roars. "If we wait any longer, my brother will be dead as well as Shawn and Gus, trust me on that one." He lowers his voice, pleading, begging, "Please, let me do this."

There's a flicker of indecision in Lassiter's eyes, but finally, he nods his head and gives his consent.

"Do it."

"Thank you." Dean tells him, sincerely. Then, glancing at the sky, he shuts his eyes and begins to pray for help to find him.

"How you holding up, Sammy?" Adam coos as Sam struggled to open his eyes through the waves of dizziness that seemed to consume him. The part of his brain still functioning informs him that he's probably going into shock. There's too much blood on the floor and if he loses anymore, it's game over.

"Don't call me that." He manages to say, clear and strong.

"I really am enjoying our time together." Adam states, almost fondly. "Carly was wrong about you. You are just like all the other cold-blooded hunters." He waves his hand and all of the knives begin to float in the air. "I wonder what face you'll make when you finally die? Horror, maybe? Or perhaps, a little bit of sadness?" He chuckles darkly. "I suppose we'll find out."

"Adam—"

"Don't worry about Shawn and Gus." Adam continues. "I'll let them go." He lowers his voice, sinister. "That's how much better I am than you." He sighs softly. "Well, I suppose this is goodbye, Sam Winchester. It's been fun." Another flick of his wrist and Sam braces himself for the pain of the knives cutting into him—

Only, they never come.

"Release him." A celestial voice growls and he can't help but grin, because he knows that voice, knows that it means the cavalry is here.

"I don't know who you are," Adam starts, growling. "But you will regret that—"

"No." The other voice continues and Sam manages to see a glimpse of his trademark trench coat and he beams. "It is you who will be regretful."

It happens fast after that.

One second, Adam is upright and preparing a spell and the next, he slumped on the floor, unconscious and cerulean eyes are meeting his.

"Cas." Sam breathes, smiling through cracked and bloody lips. "Y'came."

"Do not speak," Castiel's eyes scan over his damaged body and the angel grimaces. "You have lost too much blood."

The chains dissolve and the youngest Winchester falls into the angel's arms. He hisses as pain courses through his veins and feels himself being lifted by Castiel. The angel places Sam's arm around his neck and together, they move to where Shawn and Gus lie. Gently, Castiel places Sam down and rests a hand on his friend's cheek.

"There is too much damage for me to heal at one time." He confesses softly. The hand on Sam's check begins to grow warmer as Castiel's grace begins to engulf him. "I shall do my best."

When it's over, Sam's body still aches, but the major cuts have been healed and he can finally breathe without wincing.

"Thanks, Cas." He whispers, before turning to Shawn and Gus. "Are they—?"

"They're unharmed." Castiel confirms with a small smile. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah. I'm good." He forces himself to rise from the floor.

"Dean is waiting."

Sam nods, "Yeah."

The warehouse door opens on their own and before Sam can even take a step, Dean, Lassiter and Juliet are all running towards them, their expressions filled with concern and even some panic.

"Sammy!" Dean skids to a halt before him, before roughly pulling him into a hug. "Jesus, Sam, don't you ever fucking scare me like that again." His big brother is grinning now; his eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

"Shawn! Gus!" Juliet cried, coming to kneel by their sides.

"They're okay." Castiel informed her. "Under the influence of a mild sedative—"

Lassiter raised an eyebrow. "You can tell that by just looking at them—?"

"Agent Moscone has specialized training in medical aid." Dean interjects quickly.

"Jules?" Shawn slurs, his eyes blinking.

"Shawn." She grins, a tear rolling down her cheek.

"S'okay, Jules." He reaches up a hand and wiped the tear away. "Gus?"

"M'awake." Gus whispers, his own eyes fluttering for a few seconds.

"An ambulance is on its way." Lassiter informs the group. "Just to make sure everything is okay."

"Aw, Lassie," Shawn mutters, more energetic. "You do care."

"Shut up, Spencer." Lassiter replies, but he can't keep the grin off his lips either.

It seems that they've made it through.

An ambulance wails in the distance and Dean pulls his brother towards it.

"Let's get you checked out," Dean orders. "And then you tell me everything that happened."

Sam just nods.

"So." Dean stands before him, arms folded across his chest, head bowed in contemplation.

"So?" Sam sighs, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. A few stiches and he'd been good as new. Castiel had managed to heal all the internal injuries and the rest hadn't required too much medical attention.

Shawn and Gus were fine once the sedative was flushed out of their systems. Sam can hear their boisterous voices now, demanding outrageous things like pineapple jelly all the while Shawn claimed he'd been on the brink of death, only for his father to dryly interject that it had only been a mild sedative.

They are okay though, that's what matters.

"You almost died because you went poking at the wall—"

"Because someone found me, Dean, not because of the wall—" He feels compelled to point out.

"Does it look like I care?" Dean snaps. "Sam, Cas told me how bad off you were—"

"I had to save Shawn and Gus." Sam replies softly. "They were in this situation because of me—"

"Because of your soulless self!" Dean snaps.

"Which is still part of me, Dean!" Sam shouts. "I killed Carly, okay? Maybe not 'me' me, but a part of me, Dean." He lowers his voice. "I was responsible."

"So, what?" Dean challenges. "That means you should just lay down your life for everyone that your soulless self might've hurt?"

"It means I need to fix my mistakes." The youngest Winchester informs his older brother. "And walking into that warehouse, saving Shawn and Gus—I don't regret doing that."

"It's just . . ." Dean's face fell. "I almost lost you, Sam."

"I know." Sam breathes.

"No, you don't know." Dean shakes his head, his temper starting to tinge his tone. "If Cas hadn't shown up, you would be dead. I couldn't help you—"

Sam reaches for his brother's wrist, squeezing it with his hand.

"Hey," He plasters a smile on his lips. "It's okay, Dean. It's over."

For one second, Dean smiles and Sam feels like all is right with the world.

"So, you two are taking off?"

The keys are jingling from Dean's hand when Shawn's voice filters in over the roar of the waves. The two brothers turn around to see Shawn and Gus standing before them.

"Seems kind of rude, doesn't it, Gus?" Shawn continues.

Gus nods his head enthusiastically, "Really rude actually."

"Especially since they came to investigate me and never even finished that—" Shawn smirks and Sam can't help but chuckle. Shawn might be annoying to some, but the youngest Winchester couldn't help but find him interesting.

"Shawn, you never finish half the things you start though either—" Gus muses.

"Dude, not true!" Shawn shouts, offended.

"Shawn, remember that time you were going to be a pineapple farmer?" Gus laughs at that memory and Shawn soon chuckles along with him.

"Look," Dean finally takes control of the conversation. "You going to tell us if you're psychic or not?"

"Nope." Shawn answers instantly.

"Then, we're done—"

"But Agents," Shawn interjects with a wry grin on his lips. "We owe you one." Gus moves to Sam and offers him a business card.

"Call us if you ever need something," Gus tells them. "It's the least we could do."

"But next time, use your real names," Shawn counsels. "I think Sam and Dean Winchester are more interesting than that lame cover story you've got going on." He winks at the brother's startled expressions. "And tell Castiel we said 'hi'."

"Wait how did you know about—?"

"See you around boys!" Shawn and Gus wave as they disappear around the corner.

"Dude," Dean turns to his brother, jaw dropped in shock. "What the hell is he?"

"I have no idea." Sam laughs. "But I'm glad he's on our side."

"What do we tell Bobby though?" Dean presses.

Sam shrugs, "I have no idea."

They get into their car, the engine rumbling a familiar and soothing rhythm. They leave Santa Barbra behind them, get back onto the open road that they love so well.

"Sam," Dean glances at him from the driver's seat. "You good?"

Sitting shotgun with his brother, classic rock filtering in from the radio, the wind brushing through his hair, Sam beams.

"Yeah." He replies. "I'm good."

And they drive on into the night.

Author's Note: And it's done! I'm really happy with how this came out and I hope you are too. I might write more Psych/Supernatural crossovers in the future. I really like the dynamic with all of them. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!