Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing, SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all your help and support.

Thank you also to you all for reading. Here's the last chapter of To Not Fade Away. I hope it doesn't disappoint.

Chapter Sixteen

A keening cry ripped through the air that Dean didn't immediately realize was coming from him. The moment he did, it cut off and was replaced by the echoing of his own accursed heartbeat in his ears. He wanted it to stop. He wanted it over. He wanted to bleed, end, die, because that would be nothing to the way he felt already.

His knees buckled and he dropped beside his brother, falling to the side, only stopped from collapsing completely by Castiel who knelt beside him and braced an arm around his shoulders. Dean slumped against him. His eyes were fixed on Sam's face, lax and pale, empty of life and expression.

"It wasn't supposed to work," he moaned. "Cas, it wasn't supposed to work."

"I know," Castiel replied solemnly. "I know."

Dean turned to him, half blinded by tears. "Help him. You have to help him."

Castiel reached for Sam, and Dean had to stop himself from shoving his hand aside. He didn't want anyone touching Sam but him; no one else had that right.

Bright light spilled from Castiel's hand as it settled over Sam's breastbone, and Dean held his breath, waiting for the gasp that would mean Sam was saved, but it didn't come. Sam remained perfectly still.

"Why…?" Dean began, but Castiel shushed him and closed his eyes, his face contorting with effort. Nothing happened. The only breaths drawn were Castiel's pants and Dean's shallow ones.

Castiel fell back on his haunches, his eyes wide and horrified. "There is nothing there," he said. "I can't." His voice broke on the last word.

"What do you mean nothing?"

"His soul is beyond my reach. I can't sense it or touch it. Sam is gone."

Dean slumped forward, falling onto Sam. His face pressed against his chest, his tears damping the fabric of Sam's shirt. He had known from the minute that Sam fell that it was over. That Sam wasn't coming back this time. He had felt it in his heart. Sam had closed hell, he'd succeeded, and it was over now. Sam had been right all along. It had worked.

Dean should have listened. He should have found a way to stop him. He should have trapped him in the bunker until he could make Sam see that you didn't just do shit like this. You didn't leave the people that needed you behind. You didn't abandon the people that loved you. Family didn't do that.

He straightened and gripped Sam's face hard in his hands. "How could you do that?" he asked. "How could you leave me? Why?"

"Because I had no choice, Dean," Sam replied.

He stood beside the body that had been his own and watched his brother grieve. He hadn't been oblivious to the fact that he was going to hurt Dean. He'd asked for forgiveness, but now he saw he'd been asking the wrong person; it had been Dean's absolution he'd needed, not God's.

Despite his brother's pain, he didn't regret what he'd done, despite the fact he was apparently now cursed to spend eternity watching Dean live without him. He supposed it was better than being trapped in the empty, but it was still a cruel fate. How long until he went vengeful? Would it be someone he knew who was compelled to hunt him or would it be some long into the future hunter whose name he didn't know? Would he outlast Dean's life, or would Castiel become the subject of his vigil?

Dean was crying over his body, and Sam ached for him, but at the same time, selfishly, he felt free. Lucifer was gone. There was no voice whispering to him or blades cutting into his flesh. He wasn't hurting like that anymore. Now it was a different pain—the pain of consequence.

He turned away from the sight and fixed his eyes on the angel's. Castiel looked desolate and shocked. Sam would have thought he would be immune to the pain of death by now. He was an angel, and he had seen so much in his millennia of life. Sam underestimated him.

He wondered what would happen next. Would Dean find the strength to salt and burn him, or would he be buried? He had always thought of a funeral pyre when he'd imagined his death, but he hadn't been able to do that for Dean when he'd died. Dean had always been stronger though. He might be able to do the right thing where Sam had failed.

Sam's maudlin thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a high wind rushing at them. The windows of the church shattered and glass flew in. Dean spread himself over Sam's body, protecting him needlessly from the shards, and Castiel spread himself over Dean, his coat held open to protect him.

The cured demon in the chair cried out in shock and pain as cuts appeared on her exposed skin. Neither Dean nor Castiel paid her any attention. Their gazes were fixed on the devil's trap beneath the chair. The red paint was glowing and bright light was spilling forth from the center. Sam had seen something familiar the night Lilith had died, and his immediate thought was, Oh, God, what have I done?

Then the demons appeared. Black smoke poured through every window, seemingly dragged toward the trap. The darkness of it almost obliterated any sight Sam had. All he could do was stand watching uselessly as the demons poured through the floor, one after the other. They screamed as they went. Sam could hear them, howls of fear as they were siphoned away from earth.

It seemed to last forever, the banished demons being dragged into the pit, but eventually it slowed. The very last demon was the one Sam wanted to see gone more than any other. Deep red smoke tore through the window and Crowley's voice bellowed a curse as it was sucked away into the floor. As the last of him passed through, the light vanished and the trap's glow disappeared. All that was left of it was dull paint that looked years old rather than hours.

"Proud of yourself, aren't you?" a voice said behind him.

Sam spun and saw Billie, the reaper, standing before him. She peered around his shoulder and looked at the devil's trap. "Impressive, Winchester. Didn't think you had it in you." `

"What do you want?"

"I think you already know," she replied. She held out a hand to him, an indecipherable smile on her face. "You're going to need to come with me."

Swallowing hard, Sam took one last longing look at his brother and friend and then accepted her proffered hand. He knew where he was going, and yet he wasn't afraid. He was going to the empty, but he was going triumphant. He had sealed Hell.

For a long time after the last of the demon smoke had been siphoned through the trap, Dean and Castiel were silent, both absorbing what had happened. It was Dean who found his voice first, asking the question he already knew the answer to. "What the Hell was that?"

"That?" a familiar woman's voice replied. "That was quite literally Hell. The Pit has called them all on home. Not a single demon remains on earth. Score for the Winchesters."

Dean looked from Castiel to Billie and reached for Sam's hand, gripping the cold fingers tightly in his own. "You're not taking him."

She raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm here for Sam? Been there, reaped that. He's already been shipped off."

"You took him?"

"Yep. And you know what, he didn't resist. Even knowing where he was heading, Sam took it like a pro and came along quietly."

"Where he was heading?" Castiel asked, his eyes narrowing.

"He didn't tell you?" she asked. "Of course he didn't. Probably didn't want the added angst. See, I told Sam a while ago where you two were heading, and it wasn't anywhere good."

"You took him to Hell?" Castiel accused.

Dean felt sick. That couldn't be Sam's fate, not after everything he'd done for the world.

"Oh no, there was somewhere far more interesting lined up for Sam Winchester than the Pit. Tell me, angel, what do you know about the empty?"

Dean's eyes snapped to him in time to see the color drain from Castiel's face and his eyes widen.

"What's the empty?" Dean asked, afraid of the answer.

"It's nothingness," Castiel said. "It's outside creation itself. Nothing comes back from the empty" He looked as sickened as Dean felt. His blade dropped into his hand and he became murderous.

She laughed. "Are you going to try to kill me, angel?"

"I am going to succeed," Castiel said, stepping forward.

She raised her hands. "You might want to listen before you start jabbing with that pig-sticker. See, I was supposed to dump him in the empty, I told him as much, but last minute orders came through. He got a reward for his sacrifice." She smiled wickedly, enjoying their fear. "I snuck him upstairs. Sam Winchester is sitting pretty in Heaven right now."

Dean felt a wave of relief tinged with bitterness and anger. Sam was in heaven, that was awesome, but he had gone to his death knowing that he was supposed to end up outside creation itself, irretrievable. How could he do that: cheat Dean out of the chance to save him?

"He's just as unreachable now as he would be in the empty," she said. "It would take God to sneak him out, and he's been missing a while now. Still, beats the alternative, right?"

Yes, it did, but that didn't make it good. Sam was still gone.

Billie sauntered forward and Dean stepped back.

"Touch him and I will kill you," Castiel said angrily.

Billie laughed. "As much as I'd love to be the one to say I reaped both Winchesters, I'm bound by the rules. This one isn't ready yet. I'm here for her." She pointed to the bound woman in the trap. Her head had fallen forward and her breaths had ceased. Sam had cured her only for her to die.

Ignoring Billie, Dean returned to Sam's side and brushed his hair back from his face. He knew what had to happen next, but he wasn't quite ready. He wanted just a little longer with his brother before that.

Sam opened his eyes to bright sunshine and the sound of birdsong. He looked up at the clear blue sky and drew in a deep breath of fresh air. He felt good, refreshed, as if the memory of his death and Dean's grief was just a distant memory. He was disconnected from the pain.

He rolled onto his side and pushed himself to his feet. He knew where he was at once, and his immediate feeling was one of relief—not only was he in Heaven, he was there.

Had he known Heaven was where he would end up, he would have imagined one of the twisted memories he had of the last time he was there: a Thanksgiving meal with a family that wasn't his, a cabin in the woods where he had fled. This was perfect though. Exactly what he would have chosen had he the chance, though it was nothing special to anyone but his family: an old farmhouse in the middle of salvage yard.

He started walking toward the house, slowly at first and then faster until he was jogging. He needed to see; he needed to know. When he reached the door, he hesitated. His heart could be broken if he went inside. He could be alone. Bobby could be gone. His heaven could be the memory of what he'd once had in the home of his friend.

He stopped with his hand raised to knock, wondering if it would be better to stay outside and spend eternity in hope rather than devastating knowledge. Ultimately, he had no choice in the matter. The door swung open. For an instant Sam was afraid he was going to be met with a gloating angel, he'd met so many in his time, but a gruff voice spoke and his heart leapt. "You come all this way to stand on the doorstep?"

Sam looked into Bobby's eyes and smiled wider than he had in a long time. "Hey."

Bobby sighed softly. "Hey yourself." Instead of letting Sam into the house, he stepped outside and took a seat on the steps. Sam sat beside him and looked out over the perfect memory of Bobby's place. "How are you here?" Sam asked. "I thought you'd be punished."

"I was," Bobby said darkly. "But what happened to you?"

Sam smiled slightly. "I slammed Hell shut."

Bobby frowned. "Thought that was happening a while ago."

"I got delayed."

"And why do I think there's a butt-load more to it than that?" Bobby asked,

"Because there is. I'll tell you sometime, but can we just be happy about it for a while?"

"You're dead, Sam. There's nothing happy about that."

Sam shrugged. "Had to happen sometime. I'm just pleased I did some good on the way out."

"Yeah, because that's a first for you," Bobby said sarcastically.

"Believe me, Bobby, this is better than what I was living with."

"And Dean, what's he living with?"

Sam looked away, unable to answer.

"That's what I thought. Well, we better move fast if you want the full experience."

Sam frowned. "Experience?"

"Yeah, I got a few people waiting for you, and you should see them before Dean steps in and does something crazy to get you back."

"I don't think he can this time, Bobby," Sam said, an echo of remembered sadness in his voice. "Like I said, Hell's shut tight. There's no deals."

"And that's the only trick up his sleeve?" Bobby scoffed. "Sam, you know better. No, I'm betting on Dean. Aren't you?"

"I always have before," Sam admitted.

"Thought so." Bobby got laboriously to his feet and opened the door. "Come on in then. Don't keep them waiting. It's not often we can all get together, and like we both know, time's limited."

Sam followed him into the house. He froze as he took in the people waiting for him. John and Mary, Ellen and Jo, Ash and Pamela. His eyes filled with tears as he looked from loved face to face. Mary and John stood at the front of the group, their own eyes soft and welcoming. "Son," John said in a gentler voice than Sam had ever heard him use in life.

"Dad," he sighed, his careful control slipping and a tear tracing down his cheek. Mary came forward and wiped away it away with a soft hand. "Hello, love," she said. She opened her arms and Sam stepped into them, feeling her warm embrace and relishing it.

If not for the absence of one person, it would have been perfect. It would have been like home.

Dean was so distracted by his grief that he heard her approach before he felt her. The moment he did, he lurched to his feet and staggered forward. "Amara."

"I felt your pain." She said as she looked from Dean's haggard face to Sam and sighed. "I am sorry."

Dean nodded and swiped a hand over his face.

Castiel came forward, no sign of his usual caution when faced with her. "Can you do something? The reaper said it would take God, but you're…"

"I am his sister," she said. "Yes. I can do something."

Dean's heart contracted painfully in his chest. "Please, help him."

She seemed to stare right through Dean with her intense gaze. "Is he in Hell again?"

"No, Heaven," Castiel said.

Her mouth pressed into a line. "And you want me to bring him back? Everything I have heard of Heaven leads me to believe that it is a place people aspire to be."

"It's different for Sam and Dean," Castiel said, saving Dean the need to admit his selfishness. Heaven was the reward. People wanted to be there. But Dean and Sam needed to be together. It was the way they worked.

Seemingly satisfied, Amara nodded. "I will do what I can for him." She stepped around Dean and crouched at Sam's side. Dean hurried to copy her, taking Sam's other side and laying a hand on his cheek, turning his face to his, wanting himself to be the first thing Sam felt and saw.

Amara took a deep, calming breath, and then rested her palm over Sam's chest. Dean fixed his eyes on Sam's closed ones and waited with bated breath for his brother to come back to him.

Sam was overwhelmed by everything, and the people he loved seemed to sense it, as after greeting him each in their own way, only John and Mary stayed really close.

"And the demons sort of flooded through the trap," Sam said, finishing his explanation of what had happened after he'd finished the last trial. "I think it's really done."

"Seems like it," John said. "You did good, son."

That was high praise from his father, and Sam smiled in return. Mary wrapped an arm around him and leaned her head on his shoulder. Sam basked in her love.

Bobby set a glass of whiskey down in front of him and smiled. "Get that down you. Sounds like you've earned it."

"No hangovers, remember?" Ash called from across the room.

Sam saluted him with his drink and took a sip. He had barely swallowed before the room dimmed. "What?" he started.

"I'd say that'd be Dean," Bobby said in a satisfied voice.

"But…" Dark smoke poured through the wall and came at Sam. He drew a breath and braced himself for pain. None came, there was a feeling of weightlessness and pressure in his chest, and then everything fading as Bobby's voice called, "Tell Dean—" but Sam didn't hear the rest as he was gasping back to life on the floor of a church in Kansas.

Sam's eyes snapped open and for a moment he looked genuinely terrified. Dean patted his cheek and bowed over him so he was filling Sam's vision. "Easy," he said in a choked voice. "You're okay."

Sam drew in heaving breaths and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Sam!" Dean said harshly. "Look at me!"

A tear slipped out from under Sam's eyelid and Dean wiped it away. The action seemed to spur something in Sam as he looked up at Dean.

"You're okay," Dean said again.

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he rasped. "I'm okay."

Dean dragged him up, one hand under his head and the other in his shirt, and pulled him against his chest. Sam's own arms came up to hold Dean.

"Okay, Sammy," he said quietly. "You're okay. You're back. I'm here."

He glanced up at Amara and mouthed a thank you to her. She smiled and nodded, then disappeared without a sound. Castiel moved into her place and laid a hand on Sam's back. Dean closed his eyes, feeling Sam's merciful breaths filling his lungs and he soothed him with quiet reassurances.

When Sam had calmed slightly, Dean released him and held him by the shoulders, looking into his now calmer but worried eyes.

"How did you do it?" Sam asked.

"Without a deal, without offering anything up," Dean said. "We're both okay, understand?"

"You swear?" Sam asked.

"Yes," Dean said. "We're all going to be fine. Right, Cas?"

Castiel nodded and smiled. "Yes. We're all going to be fine."

Dean gripped Sam's shoulders a little tighter and stared into his eyes. The three of them were all that was left of what had been so many friends and family lost over the years, just the three of them now, and they were all going to be okay. There were no more demons to deal with, the monsters they could handle, and Amara had saved Sam.

They'd won this time.

So… How was that? Am I forgiven for killing Sam now?

This story started as a one-shot idea to help me get over the pain of the midseason finale. I never thought it would become this tale. It's been one of my toughest writes, and I am so grateful to you all for sticking with me when I floundered.

Until the next story…

Clowns or Midgets xxx