He let himself sink to his knees, pulling the boxes of spell ingredients and Rowena's journals out from under his bed. A sense of calm washed over him the moment his fingers touched the red leather cover, the same way it had for weeks now. Something to cling to in the insanity his life had become.

The magic, all that knowledge right there in front of him, had sucked him in quickly. It had carried him through sleepless nights, most of which had ended with a tear-streaked face—especially whenever he'd stumbled over any kind of personal annotations scribbled onto the pages. Almost as if she'd been right there with him.

He'd been convinced that these journals were all that remained of her, his only way of ever interacting with her again. That's why he'd refused to store them anywhere other than his own room.

Doing what we do, we've had to get used to losing people. Probably too used to it.

When he'd said this to Michael just minutes ago, he'd been talking about Adam. But he realized the statement applied to Rowena as much as to his younger brother.

With Adam, we said goodbye because we thought we had to. We were wrong.

He'd tried so hard to say goodbye, to let go of her. To stop the flashbacks of the moment the dagger had sunken into her stomach. The nauseating squelch still haunted his dreams whenever he closed his eyes.

When he'd used Rowena's spell to teleport Dean, Cas and himself to Hell, he'd done so only in the vague hope of finding Michael. The last thing he'd expected was to find Rowena instead.

Ironically, he'd spent most of the encounter too stunned to say much. And that even though he'd lain awake in the half-dark of his room many nights in a row, imagining all the things he wished he could still ask her, tell her. He hadn't thought he'd ever get a chance to.

Now that the fact had sunken in that she wasn't gone forever, that she was only a spell away, he couldn't let it go. He had to return to Hell.

With any luck, nobody would even notice he was gone. He didn't have the exact numbers to convert Earth and Hell times, but even just ten minutes here should be plenty of time over there. Archangels and God be damned, he'd take the time.

Nobody was there to keep the flame burning in case he'd need longer than the contents of the bowl would last, but he felt that this was something he had to do on his own. In the worst case, he wouldn't exactly get trapped on the other side anyway, not with Rowena calling the shots. He trusted her.

The magic ingredients were exactly how he'd left them, all stacked neatly into a small box next to the spell bowl. It didn't take long at all to prepare the spell for the second time that day. Though he was sure he remembered every word, he still leafed through the journal for confirmation, finding the page blindly. He let his finger pads glide over the elegant handwriting and exhaled with a brief smile, shaking his head about himself.

His blood was the last ingredient missing, so he swallowed and took a deep breath to calm his nerves, then cut into his palm. The feeling of a knife in his hand made him sick to his stomach after what he'd been forced to do to her. A trickle of red fell from his clenched fingers into the bowl, and he had to remind himself that it was his own this time. Not hers.

"Initium ad inferna permittatur," he whispered, his hands trembling as he lit a match to throw it into the mix.

He watched the small flame's descent and rested his fingers against the bowl's edge, the metal cold to the touch.

The explosion of purple was blinding, and he blinked, hastily wiping his sleeve over his face when the by now familiar sensation of tears appeared on his cheeks. He knew better than to think it had been caused only by the brightness.

When his vision cleared, he was standing in one of Hell's dark corridors. He still remembered the way to the throne room from earlier, though he really hoped he wouldn't have to fight his way through.

The alley leading directly to the throne room's gate came into view, framed by golden hooded statues on both sides. Several demons eyed him, and he fell into a combat stance by instinct. But then the demon at the front of the group of guards said, "Let him pass, he's on the list."

He was escorted the short distance to the gate. The demon cleared his throat before pushing it open, then announced loudly, "Milady, Samuel Winchester is here."

And there she was.

Sam had been a fool to think the second time seeing her on that snake-headed throne would be any less breathtaking.

Read Dibs on Samuel on AO3

@spnrarepairbunker @fanficlounge

"Age nunc intellectum," Catriona's lilting, obnoxious voice said over the speaker, casting a spell unknown to Rowena despite her vast knowledge of the arcane. Perhaps it stemmed directly from the Grimoire. "Age nunc intellectum atque voluntatem omnem meam."

The spell created a terrible, high-pitched noise, loud enough that Rowena had to lower the phone's volume lest they'd risk damage to their eardrums even from afar.

Sam screamed.

Screamed like she'd never heard him before.

His agony seemed to resonate somewhere deep within her muscles, shaking that barely contained landslide out of its constraints once more. She could swear she felt something shatter inside herself.

Then his scream broke off abruptly.

A blockage in her chest refused to let her breathe. Completely taken by surprise over her own reaction, she didn't know what to do or even think.

Nobody had ever—

She wasn't supposed to—

Clinging to the flickering movement of candlelight on the table, she swallowed against the lump in her throat and tried to make sense of what she was feeling. The weak attempt to ground herself failed miserably.

"Sam?" Dean's quiet, doubtful question condensed her thoughts far more effectively than she herself could have.

Sam, was he truly—

Too overwhelmed by the chaos in her head, the sound of Catriona's voice over the speaker actually made her wince.

"Tie him to that chair before he wakes up. I'll be right back."

Before he wakes up.

Heavens above.

She only just had enough sense to press a hand in front of her mouth to stifle the sound of relief that threatened to escape her.

It took another few seconds and several deep breaths until she regained control enough to think clearly. The first thing she did was mute their microphone, so that the ongoing connection would hopefully remain undiscovered, no matter how much noise they caused.

"What do we do?" Dean asked of her, looking at her with open trust as if she held all the answers in the world.

To the echo of hounds in her mind, she realized how much the lad's behavior reminded her of her time in Scotland, back when Fergus had been but a wee thing.

Casting a glance over to the motel room's door, she knew that she could turn her back on all this and be on her merry way. A past version of her would have done just that.

There was a sensation of wetness clinging to the corners of her eyes. Who knew if it had been caused by the memories of times long gone or by the mistaken conviction that Sam Winchester was no more.

At a distance of just a handful of steps, the door still beckoned her. But she wasn't the same woman anymore.

The things the supposed end of the world did to you.

Getting rid of the unshed tears with a hasty swipe of her hands, she squared her shoulders and straightened her posture before meeting Dean's gaze.

"Why, we save him, of course," she said, as if it was the most logical conclusion in the world. Perhaps it was. Or perhaps she'd finally lost her mind.

Dean smiled like a child who'd found the candy. "Oh, good, yeah, that's—" In a mood change as sudden as a lightning strike, he frowned instead. "How?"

He lost his shoe - she lost hers, too.

===

Jack + Crowley:

He lost his family - he found a demon. He lost everything - he found a nephilim.

===

Castiel + HunterCorp Dean:

He lost his body - He lost his world. He found a new one.

===

HunterCorp Sam and Dean:

He didn't lost the man bun - his hair is sacred. He lost his soul - what the heck!

===

Michael + Adam:

He lost his purpose - he found his guide. He lost his body - he found his soul. ===

He lost his sword - he found this guy. He lost nine years - he found this fry. ===

Meg + Balthazar:

She lost her name - she found an angel. He lost his way - he found an army.

===

Mick + Ketch:

He lost his life - he lost his job. He found his courage - he found himself.

===

Gabriel + Ash:

He lost his grace - he found a void. He lost his life - he's cool with it.

===

Kevin + Naomi:

He lost his mind - he found a ghost. She lost the host - she found a mind.

===

Mary + John:

She lost her past - she found the future. He lost his wife - he found his doom.

===

Chuck + Amara:

He lost control - he found enemies. She lost herself - she found a prison.

===

Note: Several of these combinations are not meant as romantic pairings. They just ended up in the same place at the same time in my story. Or they don't even interact, but their character arcs either have something in common or are polar opposites. You know.

(In other words, I just threw characters together into one pic on a whim because It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time.)

I know, I know, I'm crazy for making so many of these, lol. But I injured my leg and can't walk right now, so I needed the distraction.

And I kept thinking "But what about these characters? Don't they deserve a poster, too?"

Something in Dean’s chest constricted, preventing him from breathing the same way Billie’s hold on his heart had. He blinked, trying to make sense of this, of anything, while an expression of enlightenment formed on Cas’ face. “I think I know... I think I know now,” the angel said quietly to himself, turning around and shoving his way past Dean in such a hurry that Dean stumbled backwards and sank back against the dungeon wall.

Stunned, he watched from the cold floor as Cas rushed back to the other half of the room. The angel pulled his cellphone from one of the shelves where he must have placed it when Dean was too out of it to notice, and dialed a number. Dean froze when he noticed the bloody traces on his jacket. Was that… a handprint?

“Sam!” Cas said into the phone with an urgency that matched the beating of Dean’s heart. Dean heard the tinny sound of his brother’s voice at the other end of the line that fell silent abruptly at Castiel’s next words.

“Sam, I realize now what it is I have to do.” A smile unlike any Dean had ever seen on the angel’s face ran over it. “I love you!”

Dean’s jaw dropped in time with the door bursting open after the blood sigil had finally lost its doomed battle against Death’s power.