The Lesser of Two Evils

Part One

AU, set after Swan Song, and it has little to do with Season Six. I think that's about all you need to know, and you probably can deduce that already from reading it. I apologize for nothing. Mwahaha. And it shall be posted in multiple parts, likely two, because when it comes to reviews, I act rather like a…shall we say…lady of questionable repute. :) High T for swearing.

He should've known better than to expect anything different than this, Dean thought as he stared down at Sam's lifeless body. Stupid of him not to realize that every time, every fucking time the universe or fate or whatever decided to cut them a break, everything would always get screwed royally to hell. And now was no exception. So yeah. He should've known. But that didn't make each blow dealt hurt any less, especially now…Oh God, especially now. It'd been two months—two months—since Sam had jumped into the hole in the first place, and he'd spent the past two months trying not to let Lisa and Ben see the alcohol or the cold-sweat nightmares, not to let them see how completely broken he really was, and pretend that he didn't spend about 100 percent of his time wanting…so badly…to just die and be done with it all. Every minute of every day, the sickening truth of it—Sammy's dead, Sammy's gone, Sammy's in Hell—threatened to knock him flat on his face and leave him without the will to get back up, and now…the irony of it was almost laughable. Hardly a day ago, he finds Sam again. Alive and...not exactly well, but better than could be hoped from anyone who'd spent a stint in the most horrific pit of Hell. And now he's dead, getting cold, and bleeding out in Dean's arms. He could feel the blood soaking through his damn shirt. But he's not in Hell now, at least…he tried to remind himself. Not that that helped. Getting sprung from Hell, only to hop onto the express lane, a bloody agonizing express lane, to Heaven. So-called Paradise. Yeah right.

It figured, really.

A day ago. That was when it all went wrong. Not that anything had been "right" to begin with, really. He'd been down in the kitchen late into the night, unable to sleep and not wanting to wake Lisa or Ben. He was restlessly pacing back and forth, a bottle clutched tight in his hand, when he turned around and bumped right into Castiel. The bottle fell to the ground and shattered at their feet.

"Shit, Cas," Dean muttered. "Don't do that."

Castiel's brows knit. He looked from the smashed bottle to Dean's face. "You're intoxicated," he stated.

"Only a little," he snapped. Not that he hadn't fully planned on getting hammered tonight—a surefire way to finally get some sleep when all else failed—but that was beside the point. "What the hell're you doing here? Don't you have the whole heavenly host to rescue or something like that?" He sounded bitter, and mad, and he knew it. But he was still sort of angry that the second they'd stopped the Apocalypse, Cas had just up and left so fast. Not that what he had to do wasn't important, and not that Cas's presence would really change anything, but as if he wasn't alone and broken up enough, Cas had had to ditch him too. And besides, seeing Cas again inevitably reminded him of everything he was so desperately trying (and failing) to forget. Sam…

Castiel frowned. "Yes," he stated simply. Dean rolled his eyes. "But that's not why I'm here," Cas continued.

"Oh, so you thought you'd just, y'know, drop by for a visit?" Dean growled. "'Cause no offense, but I'm not really in the mood."

Cas's frown deepened. "This is important."

"Really."

"It's about S—"

"Don't," Dean said abruptly. An edge of panic crept into his voice. "I don't wanna hear it."

"Dean—"

"No." He turned away and resumed his pacing. What the hell. Cas hadn't come to see him at all in the past two months, off trying to reconstruct heaven or something like that, and now he thought he was entitled to just waltz in here and bring up Sam? Not happening. "Leave," he said quietly. Dangerously.

"Dean."

"Now." He rounded on him, feeling a sudden urge to punch Cas in the face, and he could give a crap if Cas had his mojo back or not. Like Cas could really bring himself to retaliate if Dean did sock him.

"He's out, Dean. He's alive."

Now Dean felt as if it had been him that had been punched: he could almost feel the air whooshing from his lungs. "Wh-what?" He managed to choke out.

"Yes." Cas looked somber.

"No." He managed to make it to one of the kitchen stools before his knees could give out on him. "No, he can't…" He could feel tears pricking at his eyes, and he angrily brushed them away. "You're shittin' me. Stop it."

Cas got a funny look on his face at that. "No, I assure you I'm not…shitting you. He has returned from hell, and he needs your help."

"You expect me to believe—"

"Dean." Cas sounded angry, and his voice had gained that beware-my-wrath-or-I-shall-smite-thee edge to it that it always got when he was particularly pissed. "Your brother is in trouble, and I'm here to take you to him whether you believe me or not."

Dean blinked. Oh. Cas really was serious. And Cas wouldn't lie to him period, let alone about something like this. So either he was having one seriously fucked-up dream (which was likely), or Cas was telling the truth. "What kind of trouble?" he muttered, feeling strangely numb inside. Dream or not, he might as well go with it. And if it wasn't a dream…well, he'd deal with that later. "Is he hurt?"

"No, but that is exactly what we must attempt to prevent."

"Attempt?" Even though he was still in this-is-all-a-sick-and-twisted-dream mode, this worried him.

"It would seem that…" Cas paused, as if considering what would be the most prudent way to explain the situation. "Some of the more….vicious…forces of hell are bent upon hunting your brother down, and it is our belief that their intent is to drag him back into the pit."

Dean snorted. That's Cas for you. Short, sweet, and to the point. He knew he ought to ask some questions: how the hell do you know all this, ANY of this, how'd Sam even get out in the first place, etc., but what he said instead was, "Okay. What are we waiting for?" He hopped up from the stool.

"We're waiting for you…"Cas began, confused.

"Nevermind. Don't strain yourself, genius." He hopped up. "Let's go."

"Alright." Cas stretched out two fingers towards Dean's forehead.

"Wait." Dean swatted his hand away. "Lisa and Ben…" Dream or not, he wasn't going to take the chance of leaving them on their own, to get dragged down by the rotten luck that seemed to follow him and Sam around.

"They will be looked after, I promise you," Cas said.

Dean nodded and said nothing else. He'd have to take that at face value. He should say goodbye, leave a note, anything, but Cas looked impatient, and he felt too drained to try to pick a fight with him or with Lisa. Besides, if Sammy's in trouble…

After a quick, quiet trip to the cabinet in the garage from which he retrieved a duffel bag stuffed full of random weapons that Lisa had made him lock up "for his own good," he reappeared in the kitchen and stood in front of Cas. He closed his eyes and felt Cas's fingers light on his temple. Then came a sickening whoosh, coupled with an odd plummeting sensation and the sudden feeling that the laws of gravity had just been reversed, and just as quickly, his feet collided hard with a grungy tiled floor.

They were in a dingy, dilapidated old bathroom that looked like it was inside a gas station. The walls were coated in mildew, and the fluorescent lights were flickering weakly. With a jolt Dean saw at least four dead, bloodied bodies were strewn across the floor.

Huddled in one corner, clutching a shotgun in a death grip, was Sam.

At the sudden sound of movement in the room, Sam's head instinctively jerked upward and he swung the gun forward. Dean started at the expression on his face…jaw set, mouth pressed into a grim line, and empty, empty eyes. It was the look of a hunter. And on Sam, it just seemed wrong.

Dean took a step toward him. It took a few swallows before he could make his throat work properly, but he managed to say, "Sammy?"

Sam's eyes widened, but he didn't lower the gun. In that half a second, those hardened features betrayed an instant of vulnerability. "Dean?" he sounded unsure, hesitant—his voice quite at odds with his tense hunter's stance.

"Yeah," Dean managed. He's alive, he's alive, oh God, he's alive… He cleared his throat. "Hey."

Sam half-smiled. It looked more like a grimace. "Hi."

"Here's your reinforcement," Cas told Sam, looking tentatively between the two of them as if unsure whether he was interrupting something. "We should leave now in case they bring reinforcements of their own."

Sam pushed himself up. "Uh-huh." He glanced at the door and the single window nervously.

"Who's 'they'?" Dean demanded.

"Demons. Like I said," said Cas, who was halfway out the door, gesturing at the bodies with distaste.

"Hold up," Dean said. "Will somebody please explain what the hell's goin' on?"

"Ambush," Sam muttered. "Multiple ambushes, more like." He wouldn't meet Dean's eyes.

"Why?"

"We aren't sure," Cas said. "However, it would seem as though Lucifer has deduced that Sam is no longer in his thrall, and is sending legions of those faithful to him to drag Sam back."

"They can do that?" Fear trickled down Dean's spine and he took a step closer to Sam. "How d'you know that anyway?"

Cas sighed. "There have been some rather…vociferous demons among Sam's attackers."

"Like Meg," Sam added dully.

"Yes, like Meg," Cas agreed. "That seemed to be the gist of her…taunting. Fortunately for us, it means that we know what they are planning on doing. But unfortunately, and likely also thanks to Meg..." Cas gestured to a bloody collection of runes painted onto one of the bathroom stalls, "…they were anticipating servants of Heaven to be among their opposition."

"Friggin' fantastic," Dean mumbled. "They can do that, though? I mean drag Sammy back."

"They seem to believe so," Cas said. He sounded like he was skirting around the issue.

"Cas," he growled. "Tell me. Can they do it?"

Sam nodded slowly.

"How?"

Cas's face again suggested that he was trying and failing to find the words to explain the situation delicately. When he finally did speak, he merely looked sad. "When Sam said yes to Lucifer, he allowed his body to play host to- and his spirit to come in close contact with- what is arguably the greatest force of raw evil in existence. That degree of evil would inevitably have…changed him. Permanently."

Sam kept his eyes trained on the floor.

"Changed him how?" Dean asked.

Sam finally looked up. God, he looked so…defeated. Resigned. "If they find me and they kill me, they'll be able to drag me back like I was one of their own." One of their own. He'd nearly spat the words out with disgust.

"What?"

"Of course, that is saying nothing for the actual quality of his soul," Cas added quickly, obviously trying to sound helpful. "To have been touched by darkness and furthermore to have proven oneself stronger than said darkness, and to have been fundamentally changed by it, are two completely different things. Sam is still Sam."

Dean nodded despite the dread building inside of him. "Damn straight. We're not gonna let them get you, Sammy."

Sam nodded as well, though not looking particularly convinced. He was still staring at the floor. "Thanks."

Dean frowned at his reaction. God, what happened to him? When was Sam ever one to settle for defeat? It was like something had broken inside of him, ceased to function…

But then again, Dean of all people should know that Hell had a funny way of breaking people.

"We really should go," Cas repeated anxiously as the lights flickered once more. "There will be time for talking later."

"Maybe," Sam added.

"Yes, maybe," Cas agreed. "Now come."

They both stepped towards him, and a second later, Dean felt himself hurtling headlong through darkness once more.